Best Advice Ever

If you are a mom (or like moms), go to dooce.com.

Excerpt:
"In preparation for the photo shoot someone from Glamour headquarters called to instruct me on what to wear, mentioning specifically that I should have at least three outfits on hand: a “yummy, chunky sweater,” or perhaps a “fresh, crisp button-down,” and definitely a “pressed pair of khakis.” Alas, all of my yummy sweaters were NEVER IN MY WARDROBE IN THE FIRST PLACE, and the last time I wore a crisp button-down was when I didn’t have to worry about another human being walking up to me for the individual purpose of wiping their chocolate milk mustache on my shoulder."

Worst Advice Ever

I am writing this post in hopes that some pregnant lady or lady-hoping-to-be-pregnant googles "pregnancy advice" and hits the jackpot here.

Worst advice ever? When you're pregnant, you can eat for two!

NO YOU CAN'T. NO YOU SHOULDN'T.

Tradition

I continue my tradition this year of purchasing one winter jacket per winter. I realize this is both selfish and consumeristic, but hey, I like jackets. At least I buy them on sale. This year, I bought a fitted, cream jacket from the Gap.

It is going to be difficult to keep this cream jacket clean, especially when every car in every parking lot is covered with filth. This is one of those grown-up, big girl purchases that defines whether or not I can be pristine and sophisticated in my adult life.

And I wish myself good luck.

Definitions

Wanigan: What a man says to a woman after a good romp...wanigan?
Cymry: A type of beer made by Martin Luther King, jr.
Zouave: A hand gesture made by someone who is ridiculously good-looking
Saturnalian: someone who participates in unrestrained, often licentious celebration

List

1. Wake up. Feed Tommy. Change diaper. Make John's lunch. Give Tommy a bath.
2. Go to gym. Run 30 minutes to nowhere. Climb 30 minutes to nowhere. Lift weights.
3. Drive home. Feed Tommy. Change diaper. Put Tommy down for a nap.
4. Get bored. Try unsuccessfully to take a nap. Make Christmas tree thank you cards out of Wells Fargo home mortgage folder and silver Christmas paper.
5. Eat lunch. Hear Tommy crying.
6. Feed Tommy. Change diaper.
7. Play with Tommy. Pick up toys he throws on floor. Again. Again. Again.
8. Put Tommy down for nap. Fiddle around.
9. Hear Tommy crying. Change Tommy's diaper. Feed him. Play with him.
10. Eat dinner. Do dishes. Get tired. Put Tommy down for the night.

Bleepity Bleep Blah

It's not profanity. It's boredom.

One Big Happy

When I was a kid, my mom...er...Santa hid wrapped presents in a large storage closet in the basement. My brother and I knew they were in there so instead of just scoping out the packages, we actually unwrapped them, checked out our loot, and then rewrapped the presents. Actually, I did the rewrapping because my brother, like all men, still doesn't know how to wrap.

I've told this story to John many times in an effort to make him understand why I don't like surprises, and he is still just baffled. I guess some people really like getting things they don't want, need, or expect, and they don't immediately look to see if a gift receipt is conveniently taped to the bottom.

In my family now, we pretty much just give money.

At any rate, if you're wondering how this came to be, note the following incident which occured this week:

My father, per usual, requested my assistance in finding a gift for my mom. We left for our father/daughter shopping adventure on Sunday and returned with the gift. My dad was waiting in the car to leave with mom immediately, so I snuck the present inside and set it down in an inconspicuous location as I said to my mom,
Dad's waiting in the car and you guys are supposed to go to Grandpa's RIGHT NOW.

In the 3.5 minutes it took my mom to leave the house, she discovered her hidden present. How do I know? She moved the package just enough that my purse, next to the package, slipped.

I accused her later and, since she can't lie, my detective work was confirmed.

So, now the gift to my mom, wrapped by me, bought by my dad, contents known to ALL...sits under the tree for Christmas.

Two Kids I Love

Wish List

Ok, you didn't really think all I wanted for Christmas was Tommy's 2 front teeth, did you? Oh, you did? How cute.

Today I was musing aloud to my mother, Why do we expect our husbands to buy us gifts, anyway? I have no trouble picking them out on my own. Then they could just wrap them. To which she replied, But they can't do that, either.

True.

My husband is welcome to spy on THIS WISH LIST.
Black. Small. Thank you.

All I Want For Christmas

is Tommy's two front teeth. They've started busting through and he is going to get even CUTER. IS IT POSSIBLE, PEOPLE?!

Perfume. Lipstick. Curlers.

Grit, Grit, Grit

Dear Tommy,

This is the sound your 6 month old self makes as you grind your bottom 2 teeth into your newly-emerging top 2 teeth. The sound is horrific, but you jut out your chin while you're making it and you look so proud that I have to love you.

This has been a big month for our family. We finally buckled down and decided to teach you to sleep once and for all---and through some miracle, you decided to learn. Last Tuesday night, we put you down in the Pack N Play, ferberizing you while you cried in true desperation. After 2 hours, you zonked out and SLEPT THE WHOLE NIGHT THROUGH. And then you did it again the next night, and the next night, and the next. Even as I write, you are taking a 2 hour, predictable morning nap. What a God-sent gift. We may give you siblings, after all.

You continue to slurp whatever mushy food we put near you, wearing your appropriate "little stinker" bib and grabbing for the spoon because you need to be in control. You think you're oh-so-funny to drop 10 or 15 toys on the ground and, gee, won't mommy pick them up since your dimple is impossible to resist? You've discovered a love for vehement kicking in the bathtub, sending splashes over the rim and onto Mom. Whenever we take you out, people say what a good baby you are--- and I really have to agree.

We are still living with Grandma and Grandpa, so we all sleep together in the basement room. We did kick you out of the family bed, Tommy, and your Dad and I appreciate the space but still miss you in between us. This morning, you awoke at 5:30 AM so we pulled you in with us under the down comforter for a little snuggling.

I weighed you yesterday and you're about 17 pounds, just growing out of the 6-12 month clothes I bought at the start of the fall. I can tell any day now, you'll be sitting up without my hand at the small of your back, without a pillow to catch you.

You have this wide-eyed look for Daddy and me that so clearly says I love you. You don't need words to communicate, but they'll come soon.

I love you, my Thomas-ino.

Your, Mom

I Love It When

the coffee is lukewarm and I can sit and read Frank McCourt, musing about how quaint a phrase is "bladder near your eye" and truly believe my Dad is getting better and enjoy an easy Sunday morning because Tommy now is a champion napper and we went to Mass last night. I love it when my husband tells me he can't wait to make a little home with me and his perfect Saturday night is snuggling with me on the couch and don't I look beautiful. I love it when I answer the phone and Claudia is on the other end saying "I Caudia" in her proud, 2 year old style. The world is bright and I believe the best is yet to come. The best is yet to come.

Ferberizin'

For those of you who don't have children or haven't studied child sleep patterns, Richard Ferber is a pediatrics specialist who advocates that babies should learn to fall asleep on their own. He outlines a method of teaching them this habit by letting them cry it out, with Mom and Dad only checking in on the baby in period increments which grow longer as the days continue.

We are ferberizing Tommy.

So far, he has slept TWO FULL NIGHTS through, which is a blasted miracle considering how many times he "needed" to nurse each night prior. How long have I been losing sleep for nothing??!

It's (A) Nigh-Night Time

Tommy slept from 8:30 PM to 5:45 AM!!!!!

(He also cried from 6 PM to 8:30 PM. )

Goodbye Little Place

We are getting rid of our apartment. Our first, bonified spot together. Our family place. This home saw us from the honeymoon to the crib-in-the-kitchen stage. Alright, it wasn't that long of a transition.

I'm sad to say goodbye to it, though, no matter how difficult it is to cram Tommy's clothes and toys and amusement chairs into its 3 rooms. We have a lot of memories there---from signing a lease as seniors in college to sitting on new leather couches and staring with shock at 1) the bright green walls and then 2) the positive pregnancy test.

And then Tommy's first day home, in the bassinet. Who could forget the feeling of shock that we'd been entrusted with such responsibility?

Somehow, our lives changed in our little apartment, such that we would never be the same.

Tribute

You curl into me in your sleep-dream state, little toes pushing my tummy on the outside just where you once pushed them from the inside. Your eyes flutter, fighting the drug-induced coma. You are so sweetly drunk on nursing.

I never believed it could be so euphoric to be your mother. To lay in bed and genuinely not want to hurry putting you down for a nap. You're snuggled in me and I'm snuggled in you underneath the mounds of down covers.

My son, there was never more beauty in my life.

Little Angel

My nephew, Will, has developed this Look of late...it's hard to describe, but if you can, imagine a face so contorted with anger and hatred that a 3 year old boy is about to explode.

I see him make the face frequently, particularly when his little sister takes his Matchbox cars.

Apparently today, Will made the Look and immediately assaulted a boy twice his age at a McDonald's playland. The older boy ran away in fear and Will, when prompted, insisted that his assault was preempted by the boy's pushing.