Mine mine mine, all mine

spring cleaning redux

I bet you've all been dying to know how fared the spring cleaning task that was set before me this past weekend, and whether I was able to convince Charles that I was perfectly capable of working just as hard as he was while sitting on my butt watching TV.

Tasks completed:

• One (1) load of laundry, darks, washed, dried and folded
• One (1) load of laundry, whites, washed, dried and folded
• One (1) load of laundry, reds, washed, dried and folded
• One (1) load of laundry, infant clothes, bibs and burp cloths, washed, dried and folded
• Two (2) boxes of winter clothes, maternity clothes (yes, Drew is eight months old, what of it?) and outgrown baby clothes packed
• Zero (0) loads of laundry put away
• Four (4) loads of laundry neatly folded in the middle of my bedroom floor
• Zero (0) boxes of winter clothes, maternity clothes and outgrown baby clothes stored in attic
• Two (2) boxes of winter clothes, maternity clothes and outgrown baby clothes sitting in the middle of the upstairs hallway, being tripped over on a daily basis
• Four (4) days of saying, "I'll put those clothes away tomorrow, I swear it."
• Three (3) hours of Law & Order mini-marathon watched while folding above-mentioned clothes

I'll put the clothes away tomorrow. I swear it.

it's your turn

Parenting an infant is so often a two-steps-forward-one-step-backwards kind of deal.

In the first three months of his life, Drew never slept. Well, OK, he slept, actually a lot, but he didn't sleep in big chunks. He liked to generously spread his sleeping out over the entire day and night, making sure that one hour didn't receive too much of its allotted share of sleep, and also ensuring that he didn't fall into any type of predictable pattern which would enable his beleaguered parents to establish a napping routine for themselves. Rather, he wanted us continually alert to the fact that he MIGHT, at any given moment, wake up, at which point he would need one hundred percent of our attention immediately.

I remember crying at mattress commercials on TV, thinking, "THOSE people get to sleep. Why can't I?" I daydreamed about sleep. I hallucinated about sleeping. I fell asleep standing up and I fell asleep while breastfeeding (which just amazed Charles - "a baby is FEEDING on you and you can sleep through that? Wow"). When I was sleeping (in 15-minute increments), I dreamed about getting more sleep. When I returned to work, instead of going to lunch on my break, I went to my car and napped in the backseat for an hour.

At around four months, things changed. Drew started sleeping for longer periods of time at night. A few blessed nights he even gave us an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. We were in heaven.

And then it all went horribly wrong.

This week, Drew has reverted back to waking up every two hours at night. Every. Two. Hours.

And when he wakes up, he's mad. Really mad. We have not yet been able to discern the source of his anger. One night, I thought it was due to the fact that he was soaking wet, but apparently my son does not mind laying about in his own urine, as when I began to change his diaper, he began lustily wailing and flailing in spasmodic rage. (Wailing and Flailing or Spasmodic Rage would both be excellent band names, for what it's worth)

And thus, Charles and I have begun a ritual that I promised myself we would attempt to avoid: the dreaded It's Your Turn dance.

"I handled the 2 a.m. wailing. It's Your Turn."

"Ohh, no. I handled both the 10 p.m. and midnight screaming torture. It's definitely Your Turn."

"But the 10 p.m. and midnight wakings were easy - he just wanted a bottle. The 2 a.m. debacle included a dirty diaper and a crib-sheet-changing."

Charles and I have brainstormed (which is really amusing to try to do when you're sleep-starved) and we've come up with the following reasons why our monster darling son might be regressing:

1. He's getting a lot more activity during the day now, since he's in a new room at daycare, and he's just trying to adjust.
2. He's teething. (no empirical data for this, but it's a great catch-all excuse for any disturbing behavior on the part of our baby)
3. He hates us.

I tell ya, I'm leaning towards number three, because when you're awake at two in the morning, covered in baby pee, you don't tend to feel particularly loved.

he's a bit too young to be graduating from anything, in my opinion

Today marks a momentous occasion in Drew's life.

Of course, he's eight months old, so pretty much every day is momentous is some small way.

But today is his first day in the so-called 'Big Babies' room at his daycare. The 'Big Babies' room (the name of which I think will permanently scar its inhabitants with a lowered sense of self-worth) is the next step up from the Infant Room, and one step down from the Toddler Room.

It's for babies who aren't really infants anymore, but they aren't...well....toddling yet. In other words, they're still babies, but they're...um...big babies. I guess it fits, although I'd call it the Roller Room or the Crawler Room, or the Now We Can Puke on Each Other Instead of Just In Our Own Cribs Room.

The draw of the Big Babies room is that now Drew will be able to be out of his crib for the better part of the day, rolling around on the floor with the other Big Babies and, presumably, sharing slobbery germs with all of them.

No! I promised to be more optimistic...he's not sharing various bodily eliminations - he's SOCIALIZING.

What do you think a bunch of not-yet-Toddlers have to say to each other every day?

"So, you walking yet?"

"Nah. I think I'll stick to rolling. Much less is expected of me this way. I mean, once you start walking, it's only a matter of time before they have you going to the bathroom by yourself and then cleaning up your own room."

"What did you have for lunch? Me, I had applesauce with rice cereal. It was quite tasty, but I prefer the pureed peas."

"How does that taste? Mind if I drool all over it and then hand it back to you? You don't? Great!"

Actually, sounds kind of like conversation among my co-workers. This is great! Now Drew and I will have a lot more to talk about in the afternoons.

you know you're officially a mom when...

you can sing the entire Veggie Tales theme song. And do. Often. In public places. Because it's the only thing that will make your baby stop whining.

Lima beeeean! Collard greeeen! Peachy keeeen! Veggie Tales!

it's time for spring cleaning, and mama ain't happy

Yes, I have been informed that, this weekend, we will be conducting a thorough and painstaking spring cleaning.

It's not that I mind cleaning, it' s just I prefer the kind of cleaning that I can do while sitting down and watching TV.

Like, for instance, folding clothes. I can fold clothes all day long. Give me a humungous pile of clothes - I don't care how big it is - and I'll happily fold and fold until everything is neat and pretty.

The problem comes when I'm done folding clothes, and now I have a humongous pile of neatly folded clothes sitting in the center of my living room floor. These clothes will stay there for days. When I need clean clothes, I'll dig through the pile until I find what I need, and by the end of the week, I now have a humongous pile of unfolded, not-neat but still clean (except for the cat hair they collect when the cat sleeps on them at night) clothes scattered about the living room floor.

Because I hate putting clothes in drawers and closets. I can't sit down and watch TV while I'm doing that, so therefore, it generally doesn't get done.

Other cleaning-related things I can't do while sitting down and watching TV include: washing dishes, making beds, cleaning toilets, mopping floors and vacuuming. Therefore, I don't think I should be called upon to complete any of those tasks this weekend.

Cleaning-related things I can do while sitting down and watching TV: Polishing silver. (do we have any silver?) Sewing. (surely something around here needs some buttons sewn on, right?) Shining shoes. (it's important to have shiny shoes.) Giving myself a pedicure. (that's sort of a cleaning task, don't you think?)

Oh, and folding clothes, of course.

So, I think those are the things I should be expected to accomplish this weekend. I shall let you all know how this proposal is greeted by my husband. I think he'll take it rather well.

whine connoisseur

So I read this Psychology Today article a while back about how whining may serve some type of evolutionary purpose - grabbing the attention of a caregiver and serving as some type of attachment-creating function.

The article went on to explain that men are more distracted by a baby's whining, whereas women appear to be more tuned in to crying; the differences likely evolving from the fact that women were usually early caregivers and men became more involved as the baby matures.

I remember thinking it was interesting when I read it, but then I forgot about it. Until this week.

Yes, Drew has started whining, and now the tables have turned.

It used to be that Drew's cries would wake me immediately from slumber, and I couldn't rest again until I made the crying stop. Charles, however, would blissfully snooze away, completely unfazed by the caterwauling.

If Drew cries during the day, I have to stop whatever it is that I'm doing and go see to him. I have a really hard time letting him cry without trying to do something about it. (but according to Psychology Today, I'm not a big sucker. I'm just responding to biological demands!) Charles can let him cry it out with seemingly no ill effects.

But the whines - those I can ignore. I just turn up the volume on the TV, or keep reading my book, or talking on the telephone, or whatever it is I was doing when the whining started. Charles, on the other hand, looks like he's listening to someone scraping their fingernails across a chalkboard.

"Make. It. Stop," he'll say, clutching his head.

I and another mother tried to explain to a single, childless co-worker of mine the difference between crying and whining. He seemed to think that all non-verbal infant communication was crying.

"Whining is like crying, only without a reason," I tried.

"Whining is like 'nothing's really wrong, I just feel like complaining'," the other mother said.

This other mother also confirmed that she had no problem ignoring her childrens' whines, although real cries drew her attention very quickly.

So, thanks to Psychology Today, I could explain to Charles that the whines bothered him more than they did me due to biological and evolutionary factors beyond his control, which made me feel really super smart.

"Did the damn article tell you how to make it stop?" he responded.

a morning in the life

Thursday, May 12, 2005

6:15 a.m.: Alarm clock rudely intrudes into my slumber. I hit the snooze button. Charles doesn't even stir.

6:24 a.m.: Alarm clock is relentless, won't allow me guilt-free oversleeping.

6:25 a.m.: I hear the sounds of Drew awakening from his bedroom down the hall. He's not angry yet, but you can tell he's a bit perturbed that someone didn't pick him up the VERY SECOND he opened his eyes.

6:30 a.m.: Drew is still making grunting noises. Charles is making snoring noises. I decide that a shower is a good way to muffle all the morning complaints.

6:40 a.m.: I emerge from the shower to the sound of Charles continuing to snore and Drew in full-blown "pick-me-up-RIGHT-NOW" mode. Hastily towel myself dry, throw on a T-shirt and shorts and trod down the hall to the nursery. Drew is on his stomach, moaning as if he's given up all hope of being rescued. I pat his back, thinking that his mother's touch will soothe and comfort him. Instead, he begins to yowl. He doesn't want patting. He wants picking up.

6:41 a.m.: I deposit Drew into his bouncy chair and hit 'play' on the DVD player. Realize Drew probably doesn't want to watch 'The Village' by M. Night Shymalan, even though it's a damn good movie, albeit probably somewhat too scary for an infant, so I replace that with Baby Mozart video. Charles, groaning, manages to find his way out from under the covers and stumbles downstairs to make a bottle.

6:45 a.m.: Make the tragic mistake of stepping on the scale in the bathroom. Spend the next three minutes berating myself for the chocolate cheesecake surprise.

6:48 a.m.: Drew is not mellowing out in the bouncy chair. It appears that he is trying to climb out of the chair, or at the very least tip it over onto its side with him still in it. If I don't take immediate action, he'll be on all fours with the chair still strapped to his back, looking like some alien breed of turtle.

6:50 a.m.: I deposit Drew on the bed, where he promptly rolls onto his back, grabs his feet and chortles. A chortle is a cross between a chuckle and a coo, in case you didn't know.

6:51 a.m.: That bed looks inviting. And Drew looks so warm and snuggly. I think I'll lay down. Just for a minute.

6:55 a.m.: I'm awakened by Charles telling me I now have 15 minutes to put on makeup, dry my hair and get dressed. Drew is eating his toes.

7:05 a.m.: I'm in the bathroom, just finishing my makeup. Drew has finished with his bottle and thrown it disdainfully to the floor. Charles says he has to iron his clothes and puts Drew on the floor with some toys, whereupon Charles makes his escape to the office while I'm distracted with the hair dryer.

7:10 a.m.: Drying my hair. Drew has managed to roll all the way across the room. I worry that I can't remember the last time we vacuumed the carpet upon which my child is currently pressing his lips and tongue.

7:15 a.m.: Hair is as good as it's going to get. Put on clothes and pick up my son, realizing that I probably should have gotten dressed after taking care of him and praying that he's not feeling particularly pukey this morning.

7:20 a.m.: Have just spent five minutes convincing son that he does, in fact, need to wear clothes to daycare, no matter how adorably, tickly, kissably cute I think his naked belly is. Drew protests by grabbing my hair and stuffing it in his mouth. Oh well. At least I know my hair is clean. Well. It was. Now it's caked with drool and curdled milk.

7:21 a.m.: Drew takes my hair out of his mouth, frowns and says, "Babababa" in an urgent tone. This, we have discovered, is short for, "Please give me another bottle of milk as I am currently about to die of dehydration."

7:22 a.m.: I carry Drew downstairs and get Charles to stuff him into his carseat while I tuck his bottles and diaper bag into the car. Charles makes him another "Babababa", which he crams into his mouth desperately, as if we've been starving him.

7:27 a.m.: We pull out of the driveway. Drew is happily munching on his BaBa. Life is peaceful and good.

7:34 a.m.: Drew finishes his second breakfast, (I think he's a Hobbit from Lord of the Rings - next he'll be asking for elevenses) and decides he wants to be picked up and held. He doesn't understand (or care) that it's illegal for me to take him out of the carseat while we are travelling down the road at 65 mph. I try to explain it, but he's having no part of it.

7:40 a.m.: His cries taper off to whimpers, his whimpers to occasional, angry grunts, his grunts eventually turn to snores.

8:15 a.m.: We arrive at my workplace. Drew is still sleeping soundly in the backseat. I hop out of the front, open the back door and plant a big smooch on Drew's soft little cheek. He awakens immediately, looks around with a puzzled air, and emits a howl when he realizes I'm not taking him out of his carseat. Charles shoots me a glare and tells me to stop pissing off our child.

I can't believe I manage to make it to work on time more mornings than not. Thank god for Charles, who makes the bottles, takes care of the stinky dogs and the irritated cat and irons our clothes - all with minimal complaining.

stuff about me you probably wish you never had to know

I'm a sucker for these questionnaires. I get them in emails all the time, and I peruse them avidly, looking for neat little details about my friends and family, and then I fill them out and forward them, thus adding my little contribution to the spam problem that will eventually cause the destruction of western civilization as we know it. I got this one thanks to my friend Liz.

1) My uncle: lives in a very large house and grows tomatoes. One of them does, at least.

2) Never in my life: have I been comfortable with math

3) When I was five: I was in pre-kindergarten, and in the same class as my cousin Ritch

4) High School was: full of drama

5) I will never forget: the day I married Charles and the day Drew was born. No, it was not the same day.

6) I once met: Willy Nelson. I was like 6 though, so I don't remember much about it except that I was supposed to be impressed because he was famous even though I had no idea who he was.

7) There's this girl I know who: will happily spend $200 on a pair of shoes and think she's getting a good deal.

8) Once, at a bar: I saw a guy singing "Rawhide" while riding an inflatable sheep

9) By noon I'm usually: really really freaking hungry, no matter how much I had to eat for dinner the night before

10) Last night: I made chicken and rice casserole. It was yummy. I’ll still be hungry by noon, though.

11) If I only had: enough money so that one of us could stay home with Drew.

12) Next time I go to church, I: will promise to go to church more often.

13) Terry Schiavo: will probably be haunting her husband from the grave.

14) What worries me most: money, and not having enough of it.

15) When I turn my head left: a window with a view of a large, gray, metal box that I think is a heating/air unit. Just over that I can see a skyscraper, and a little scrap of sky.

16) When I turn my head right: My desk, chairs for my clients, my door and the hallway, where I can see the secretary.

17) You know I'm lying when: I tell you I'm not worried about money

18) What I miss most about the eighties: the music, definitely. 80s music is just so kicky.

19) If I were a character written by Shakespeare, I'd be: Katherine the Shrew

20) By this time next year: I will be the mother of a toddler. God help me.

22) I have a hard time understanding: why Algebra exists.

23) If I ever go back to school I’ll: probably kill myself

24) You know I like you if: I laugh at everything you say

25) If I won an award, the first person I'd thank would be: my husband and my parents and God

26) Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens & Geraldine Ferraro: walked into a bar…

27) Take my advice, never: be afraid to act like a total geek

28) My ideal breakfast is: hash brown casserole, eggs over medium and lots of coffee

29) A song I love, but do not have is: Piece of My Heart, by Janis Joplin

30) If you visit my hometown, I suggest: Going to the Atlanta Zoo and seeing a show at the Fox Theatre

31) I most like shopping for: books for myself and clothes for Drew

32) Why won’t anyone: pay off my mortgage for me?

33) If you spend the night at my house: be prepared to share your bed with a very angry cat

34) The world could do without: Michael Moore.

35) I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: the belly of a spider!

36) Paper clips are more useful than: Michael Moore

37) If I do anything well, it’s: making Drew laugh

38) The last time I was drunk, I: was in college. It was a really long time ago, I know.

my first mother's day

On my first Mother's Day as a mother, Drew rewarded me with a big smile and the word, "Daaaad."

"Drew," I said sternly. "It's Mother's Day. Let's hear a Mama or Mom...or I'll even settle for Ma."

"Dada," he responded.

"Mmmm-aaaahh-mmmm-eeee," I enunciated, trying to help.

"Dadd-eee," he said, grinning.

Oh well. Maybe for Father's Day he'll throw me a bone and cough up a "Mama".

Overall, though, it was a very nice weekend. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, my hay fever gave me minimal fits, Drew was an angel (most of the time) and I got to eat a lot of stuff that's probably really bad for me, like Double Chocolate Cheesecake Surprise. (I have leftovers - are you jealous? I bet you are.)

Now, for the pictures:

Here we are - Drew and Mom and Dad. Drew looks a bit distracted, but hey, there's a cat in the window, so you can't really expect him to pay much attention to us mere humans.

Here I am with my mother, and Drew with his mom and grandma. How multi-generational.

Drew and Grandpa - making Mommy nervous with the tossing-in-the-air thing.

I love this picture. It looks like Grandpa is telling Drew some very important secrets. Probably nothing I'd really want to know about.

I promised I'd show a picture of Drew sitting up on his own. Unfortunately, he was not in the mood to sit up on his own at the time I took this, so he's a bit disgruntled. So, here it is - Pissed Off Drew Sitting Up.

And finally, here's a caterwampus picture of Drew squirming and trying to get free. Free to do what, I don't know.



This signals the end of his cooperation with picture-taking time.

thumberlicking good

Drew has a favorite toy. It's not a pacifier. It's not a stuffed animal or a block or a ball or a blanket.

No, it's not the blue elephant.

I love that blue elephant. If I were a baby, it would be my favorite toy.

However, Drew's favorite toy is his thumb. Specifically, his right thumb.
Some people have expressed concern about this. I've heard that it will be hard to break him of this habit, that it will ruin his teeth and that it's unsanitary.

I've also heard that thumbsuckers grow up to be rude, nosy busybodies who think they know everything. Oh, no...wait... I was thinking of somebody else.

Personally, I am thrilled that Drew loves his thumb.

He will never drop his thumb in the car and have it roll under the seat collecting dust bunnies and french fry crumbs. The dog will never chew up his thumb thinking it's a doggie treat. (hopefully)
When he wakes up in the middle of the night, we don't have to rush around trying to find his thumb to calm him down. He will never misplace his thumb and make us run out to the store trying to find one that's enough like it that he won't know the difference.

If he's still sucking his thumb when he's ready to start school, well, maybe then we'll have a chat about it.

But for now, I say thank god for thumb sucking.

Drew and Granddaddy - the Sunday Afternoon Nap (tm)