Category: Uncategorized

Here’s further proof that Auggie got all his looks from his dad:

How cute is he? This was taken when we were hanging out by the Elephant Fountain at the Zoo last week.

Thanks for all of the reassurances that I am, in fact, not such a bad mommy. Apparently, even though I already knew this kinda, this is a stage that nearly every baby goes through. One of those “give them an inch and they’ll take a mile” type situations.

One of the things I love most about the Internet: listening to my old college radio station KCOU. Where else can you go to hear sheepish DJs not read their playlists for an hour? Oh, I’m sorry, that was me as a DJ.

Surreal moment of yesterday: Waiting for help at The Mac Store, this random guy was playing around on a G4 and, suddenly, the White Stripes’ White Blood Cells starts blaring from the computer. Oh, and the store smelled like an entire generation of mice died there. Yuck.

I’m checking out the new Mac OS, Jaguar. It’s supposed to help with the networking here at home, seeing as how every other computer in the house is a PC bent on destroying my precious iBook. Plus, the salesman assures me that I’ll be able to use my Hotmail account with the new Mail program.

Humpf. We’ll see, I guess.

After all of that hoo-ha, he only slept 45 minutes.

God hates me.

If there’s anything else in this world that makes you feel more like a monster than letting your baby cry himself to sleep, I don’t want to know about it. It just took 45 minutes of tears (him) and struggling (me) to get him down for his nap.

Before you write me off as the worst mommy ever, keep in mind that I put him in his crib after gently rocking him to sleep for 15 minutes. I told him a couple of stories, hummed softly, the works. Finally, he was asleep.

The instant his head hits the crib mattress, he’s awake again. And this is the way it has been for the last six days. Not good.

So, in the immortal words of that seminal 80’s band Heart, I had to “harden my heart, swallow my tears and turn and leave him there.” Sure, I went back in every 5-10 minutes, comforted him and then left again when he tried to sit back up.

Finally, thinking I could not stand it anymore and was just going to pick him up and be done with it, I went in, stroked his little head, and he calmed down. In a few minutes, he was off to Dreamland (again).

This is a moral victory, I would say.

‘So, why’s it so important that he put himself to sleep?’ you may be asking. Well, let me tell you. It’s our opinion that it is important that August be able to fall asleep without using us as a crutch. I don’t want to scar him for life by leaving him alone in a dark room all by himself while wide-awake and terrified, but if he’s been cuddled and sung to and read stories to, etc., and he’s on the verge of sleep, it’s our opinion that he should be able to lie down in his bed and fall asleep the rest of the way easily, while we stand by with a comforting hand on him.

It has worked before. We just got sidetracked a few weeks ago when he started teething. And then Kim came to visit and we didn’t want to disturb her. And then he caught a cold. So what started out as a few nights of waking up in the middle of the night has evolved into a full-fledged, I-don’t-sleep-anywhere-except-in-bed-with-my-mommy-while-nursing disaster.

So there.

But it still doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. I hate to hear my son cry.

Oh. My. I was all ready to blog when I decided to balance the bank account “really quickly” using our spiffy Microsoft Money program. Of course, something that normally takes 2 minutes ended up taking nearly an hour. I was off by $20, which refused to show itself. So, in order to make this less likely to happen in the future, I’ve decided that we should spend less money.

That’s, ahem, rich.

Maybe we should just spend more money in less places on fewer occasions. That way, there won’t be as many eye-crossingly similar entries in the dang program. You have no idea how many entries there are for “ATM Withdrawal,” “Shop ‘N Save,” “Whole Foods Market,” “Kangaroo Kids” and “Shell.” Frightening. I should be a dang part-owner of Kangaroo Kids by now.

So now I’m too tired to finish uploading the photos from my niece Olivia’s second birthday party and Auggie’s trip to the Zoo last week. Maybe tomorrow.

Oh! Auggie has his first music class tomorrow morning. I have no idea what to expect really, but the class is supposed to introduce toddlers to music, so that in and of itself guarantees hilarity, right? I’ll try to remember to bring the camera.

Those of you keeping track of the sleep goings-on: Auggie was in bed with us again last night. I think this will be the last night of leniency before we begin the Crib Reformation tomorrow night. Please send the boy sleepy thoughts. Or at least anti-flopping-around-when-sleeping-by-mommy thoughts.

Thanks!

Auggie has decided that he no longer needs sleep. Apparently, it is a wholly inefficient way to spend valuable play hours. He’s modeling himself after Martha Stewart, who also only needs three hours of sleep each night, and no naps during the day. Unfortunately, he is still somewhat lagging behind Ms. Stewart in the cooking department.

But enough boring you with the minutiae of our daily sleep dilemmas.

I have entirely new topics to bore you! Things like how much I’m craving all things junk food at this time. Chocolate, potato chips, pizza, ice cream, soda… Oh yeah. Have I mentioned how much I totally did not miss this particular time of the month for the 20 months I was without?

Oh! Last night I had a great time, walking down memory lane. You see, it’s all thanks to Fly Lady that our house is getting a little neater each and every day. I’ll have to talk about her some other time, because I don’t want to get too sidetracked from this particular story.

Anyway, I was working on decluttering the office, when I came across a collection of old journals. Now, in case you didn’t know this about me, I love journals. Especially new ones. In fact, I love new journals way more than journaling itself. Journaling is a great way for me to work through things, but, when it comes down to it, I’d much rather read a book at night than write out my neuroses about being overweight for the millionth time.

The most entertaining journal was from my freshman year of college. Here are a few statistics:

Number of times I say I’m in love “for real”: 4

Number of silly crushes recounted: at least 6

Number of crushes on gay men: 2

Number of times I say “I’m drunk”: too many to count

Number of times I talk about my classes: 0

Number of months included in said journal: 11

Average length of “real love”: 2.75 months

I was cracking up at the fact that seemingly every time I turned the page, I was completely in love with another man. Completely, torturously in love. Often unrequitedly in love. ‘Why does this always happen to me?’ I wailed! Uh, maybe because you fall in love with every other guy you see?

Ah, well, I was young and impetuous. And, hey, only one of the guys I dated was actually a closeted homosexual (not counted in the “crushes on gay men” category either). He’s still a good friend too. One who I hope we can see while we’re in Chicago next month.

I happily reported to Tim that there were no tortured journal entries about him, when I looked back on my senior year journals. Mostly because I have never been tortured during my time with him, just sad when he lived in St. Louis while I was still in Columbia, but also because I’m sure that I didn’t have time to even write it down if I was tortured. I had, like, 4 jobs my senior year!

I was going to blog yesterday. Really. Unfortunately, I was insane with exhaustion, so it was all I could do to resist the urge to Cheez Whiz myself and keep my son fed.

Thursday night was the worst ever. Ever in the history of babies, I mean. Maybe some nights spent huddling in a muddy hole in the middle of a rank battlefield have been less restful. As it was, though, I think Tim and I got about three hours of sleep. The rest of the time was spent trying to get Auggie to sleep in his crib.

Oy.

Last night, we used this plan: When Auggie wakes up at midnight (as he has every night this week), we bring him into bed with us and sleep (relatively) peacefully the rest of the night. Guess what? It worked!

Since Auggie is not feeling well — and I’m still not sure if it’s a cold or his teeth — we’ll just concentrate on getting him rested and feeling better. Then we can work on the sleeping thing.

We’ll try to have him out of the bed before you keep him for the weekend, Mom.

Oh. My. You really must see this. The comedy! Oh! (link via the inappropriately URL-ed Rabbit blog, who especially enjoyed the patriot one)

We went to the St. Louis Art Fair last night and the results were mixed. We got there about 6:30 and walked up the street where the food vendors sell their wares. Lots of nice Clayton-area places, with tempting offerings (filet mignon sandwiches, fresh bruschetta and the like). It was when I noticed that there was a booth selling little cosmopolitans and martinis in disposable martini glasses that I knew we were doomed. ‘Adorable!’ thought the Beautiful People.

And so the Beautiful People came. And they milled, and they milled. And made the food area completely impassable, especially those of us with unwieldy strollers and fussy babies.

So we managed to wrangle a handful of toasted ravioli (stuffed with pepper cheese and served with salsa — uh, no thank you), and then we got the heck out of there.

The Beautiful People are very rude.

Oh! And we managed to see a little art! We missed our favorite photographer, William Thayer, but, what are you gonna do?

Today, my sinuses are totally messed up. My nose is all stuffy, my throat hurts, my eyes feel twice their normal size. Yuck. Could I have Auggie’s cold, or am I teething too?

Is there something fundamentally wrong with me when I cry more over Dr. Green’s death on a repeat of ER than I did all day yesterday? Or is it simply a case of misplaced priorities? Or both?

Hm.

Auggie has been a complete mess today. He started getting snotty just before bed last night, and, sure enough, he woke up every two hours until I finally brought him into bed with us around 2:30. Then he was simply squirmy every two hours until finally I begged Tim to get up with him at 6:30.

Remember back in Psychology class when you learned about sleep? How, when you deprive someone of REM sleep, you can potentially drive them insane? That was me this morning. Two nights in a row of sleeping with the world’s squirmiest baby has driven me to the edge. If it weren’t for our two-hour morning naps, I would probably be running through the neighborhood wearing a Cheez Whiz bikini. And believe me, nobody wants that.

So Auggie was totally snotty and very clingy all day. I’m pretty sure that the snottiness is completely teething-related, but, hey, what do I know?

This is especially disheartening as it comes on the heels of three golden days of baby fun. We had been having a great time, just hanging out at home, trying to not spend money. Auggie was extra-cute, extra-loving and having a great time just playing in and around the house.

I cannot tell you how much I wish today was Friday. But alas, I am on my own once again tomorrow. Alone with The Beast.

Aw, he’s not that bad.

The truly sad part is that I have no idea which teeth are coming through. Usually, up to this point at least, there have been two swollen spots on his gums where the teeth are cutting through. Now, there is nothing that I can feel at all. Poor Auggie.

To end on a more positive note, I’ve gotten several (OK, 2) nice comments from people on the blog. Thank you so much! It warms the cockles of me heart to know that ya’ll enjoy it. (Sorry, I just haven’t been able to stop talking like a pirate ever since I heard about “Talk Like A Pirate Day” — which is September 19, in case you didn’t know. [Link via the intimidating but highly entertaining Mimi Smartypants])

OK, I’m going to bed now.

I’m tempted to just sit here at the kitchen table, nurse my son to sleep, eat my can of fruit cocktail and not say anything about all this hullabaloo (bet you didn’t know I could do all of that at the same time, eh?). But I might just have something to say. Even though it feels like everything’s already been said. Here are some random thoughts:

Tim and I were talking last Sunday about our feelings one year later, and I was trying to put into words my feelings of disconnection from the whole thing. I guess it’s normal that the wound doesn’t feel as raw as it did a year ago, but it’s almost like I’ve just built up a cynical wall around it instead. It just seems much easier to carp on about how much the media is oversaturating everything with remembrances and tributes and memorials, etc., etc., etc. instead of peeling back the bandage to take a few test pokes at it.

One of the things we discussed was this woman named Lauren Manning, who was horribly burned at the World Trade Center one year ago. Her husband wrote a book called Love, Greg and Lauren that was filled with the emails he wrote to loved ones documenting her recovery. Surely, you’ve heard about these guys.

Anyway, I was commenting that I had absolutely no desire to read such a book because I couldn’t even imagine the pain and suffering of that family, and, frankly, I don’t want to. I mean, one year ago, they had a 10-month-old baby. The whole thing just hit too close to home.

Tim commented that he remembered seeing them on one of the morning shows and he was struck by how quickly the book was released. It seemed obvious to him that Lauren was in no condition to be discussing these things on television. Hell, she wasn’t even out of the hospital yet. Yet there they were, her husband schlepping his traumatized wife out for all to see and pity.

Of course, I have not read the book. I do not know those people. I have no idea what I’m talking about. But this book was just the first in a line of books about the tragedy. A couple of weeks ago, I spotted Let’s Roll a book by Lisa Beamer, wife of Todd “Let’s Roll” Beamer of Flight 93. The jaded cynic in me is scoffing like it’s going out of style!

So I went to the memorial service at our church tonight, trying to put these random feelings into some kind of order. Tim stayed home with Auggie. It was really nice and very tasteful. Not overly maudlin. And it helped address my feelings of disconsolation and confusion with some of the aftermath.

One of the things that I had a very hard time with last year (over than the overwhelming horror of it all), was the incredible anger that seemed to surge through the country in the days following the tragedy. This completely confounded me. Who were we supposed to be angry at exactly? The terrorists, I guess. Osama bin Laden, I guess, even though we weren’t sure that he was even involved at that point.

I just couldn’t understand how anyone could see past the grief and terror to anger. All I could think about that day was all the mothers who died, who would never be able to see their babies again and how much I hoped that nothing like that would ever happen to me or anyone I knew. The service tonight brought these feelings into stark relief, when at one point, we asked to be able to see past our own selfish feelings.

It reminded me of the time back in elementary school, when going to church with a friend, we were arguing about the devil in the backseat of her car. I was under the impression that being a Christian meant that you had to love everybody, including the devil. My friend’s mother crisply informed me that this was not the case.

That’s me, I guess. Wanting to love the devil so that he will change for the better.

That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?

Perusing the new “Style Issue” of The New Yorker almost makes me wish I were more into being fashionable. Those of you that know me are snorting with laughter by now, but I’m trying to be serious here!

It’s a brief feeling, to be sure, this desire to be fashionable. It’s down there with the wish that I were into pretty jewelry, expensive, uncomfortable shoes and high-end audio-visual equipment. But these things pass. Quickly.

Then I am jolted back to reality. I am a plus-size mommy in a one and a half income household. I have four dogs that are very fond of eating leather. Two weeks ago, I bought a baby blue wallet at Target for $12.99 simply for its baby-proof qualities because of Auggie’s penchant for relieving my old wallet of its contents in the middle of the grocery store.

If I take off my wedding ring to clean with dangerous chemicals, it can be days before I remember to put it back on. (Sorry, honey, it’s nothing personal. I love being married to you.) I rarely wear earrings, mostly because I fear for my earlobes with a curious, grabby toddler around. As I mentioned earlier, I own a pair of Keds. And not just one! I have several different styles of Keds, some of which I even deem “fashionable.”

Hey, I did buy a cool pair of Nikes on sale a couple of weeks ago. They’re those cool ones that don’t have any laces, you know? I’ve gotten tons of compliments on them from total strangers that looked adequately stylish, so that must count for something, right?

(Just don’t tell my friend Michael that I bought Nikes, because a few years ago, during the sweatshop scandal, he made me feel really guilty for owning a pair, which I purchased pre-scandal.)

OK, enough superficial nonsense. There are important things to be discussed! Such as my friends, Chris and Shelley, who are expecting a baby any day now! Please take a moment to send them good, pain-free birthing experience, healthy baby and mommy, super-easy first days, natural nursing baby thoughts. You guys are in my thoughts all the time, and I wish you both the best!

My recommendation for your last days as “normal people”? Go see a movie. I totally miss seeing movies. I know most people recommend to sleep as much as possible, but I found this completely impossible during that last week. I was too excited to meet Auggie, too worried about what labor was going to be like, too moony-eyed over pictures of breastfeeding mommies and babies on my favorite web site and too uncomfortable to lay around for long.

And if you want to stop answering the phone, that’s OK. I know that all those people calling to ask if the baby is here yet are driving you nuts. Just know that if you don’t answer the phone, they are going to assume that you are in labor. Maybe you could make some kind of answering machine announcement? ‘Sorry we missed your call. No, Shelley is not in labor yet. We promise that you will be the first person we call as soon as the contractions are five minutes apart. Really. Ta-ta!’

It fun to think about fun things right now. All this 9/11 stuff is bumming me out. Maybe I’ll talk a little more about it tomorrow (along with everyone else out there, right?) One Beth guarantee that you can take to the bank: There will be no poetry here!

Oh! I almost forgot! Auggie slept until almost 6 last night! Bliss! Joy! Thanks for the sleepy thoughts!