Psyched to be 3

Psyched to be 3, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Bean's turning 3 on Saturday is part of what kept me away from blogging for so long. She had a real party this year, with four other toddlers plus some babies and big kids thrown into the mix. And their parents. So it was a lot of party prep, even if what we ate was lots of chips dumped into a bowl and an ice cream cake made of ice cream that I didn't actually make myself. Thank God for SIster! She was such a huge help with arranging bowls of chips, helping blow up balloons, decorating a birthday banner, and just generally offering her help up every time we turned around.

So I'm mama of a 3-year old now! Bean is so big all of a sudden and is also coming around to liking me again after the past year spent following Husband around in blind adoration. It's certainly easier to be a stay-at-home mom if your kids actually want to hang out with you.

Speaking of which, when her papa came home from work the other day and asked what we'd done today, Bean replied, "Hanged out." Funny girl.

Struggling

I've mentally settled down a bit since my last foul-mouthed post, but I have really been struggling this week. I had probably the worst day I've ever had with Sister yesterday, where I yelled at her so loud she burst into tears. Felt great about that one, let me tell ya.

Sweet P has entered a phase where she doesn't want to be put down at all and suddenly sleeps dramatically less than she used to. I know, I know, this shouldn't be a surprise to me, a supposedly experienced mama. But it does mean that on top of Sister's horrible homework hysteria nearly everyday, and Bean trying to alternately pick fights with hysterical Sister or surreptitiously squeeze the baby's hands or skull, I have a screaming baby demanding attention, too.

It's enough to make me utterly short out. You know on old Looney Tunes cartoons how you'd see smoke coming out of Yosemite Sam's ears when he was pissed off? It's the smoke of overloaded brain circuitry, I understand that now. And that's been me lately.

This morning--and the rest of today--has gone better. Sister had a delayed opening school day, so she spent the extra time getting me to set her up with an embroidery project that she's making as a birthday present to Bean. A nice, peaceful morning then, and this is hopefully her new hobby. On her way out the door to school, she declared it to be so.

I'm soaking in it

I just want to record here that saying yes means cleaning up a lot more fucking messes. I can't get dinner made, I can't catch my breath, I can't find the time to blog, and I sure as hell can't find the time to do my own projects.

I'd like to try and give this new policy--because that's what it's become--a couple weeks, but I'm really not sure if I can make it that long!

Trying to say yes

Happy little painter, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

I had a good mama friend over yesterday for lunch and we got to talking about a book we're both interested in. My friend actually owns a copy and after hearing more from her about it, I think I'll probably go ahead and spring for a copy myself. I'd seen it available on Soulemama's blog and I think the gist of it is that we parents should allow our little ones access to art and craft supplies instead of keeping them under lock and key for fear of the mess. I mean, don't you want to raise creative, crafty kids? I know I do, so of course it's stupid for me to stingily hide all the good stuff from their creative little paws, right? Today I'm going to try putting all the art supplies into a low cabinet where the girls can use them. I'm going to try saying yes whenever one of them wants to make a project. I'm going to try to quash my first thought that the huge mess won't be worth it. Because I'll bet it will.

Here's our easel brought inside the house this morning for Bean to use. You know, this darn thing has been sitting out on our back porch for the last year, completely without paint and brushes, with only chalk for the chalkboard available. Doesn't it make you wonder why I bought it in the first place? Bean was incredulous that I brought it in and actually put paint in the cups for her. Make no mistake, there was a huge mess, but hey! There is now a gorgeous, pink and purple swirly paint creation drying on the newspaper that Bean is very, very proud of.

It's a nice day for a white onesie

White onesie, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Is there anything cuter in this world than a happy baby in a white onesie? I don't think so.

Happy weekend, everyone!

Scary!

Scary rubber snake!, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Actually, this is just a rubber snake scaring off the rabbits who keep munching my hollyhocks. I keep moving the snake so that the rabbits remain in the dark about his rubber-ness and so far my little plants have only been bothered by a bug or two. Woo-hoo!

But that has NOT prevented them from decimating some sundrops and some mallow plants that were about 20 feet away and that I hadn't even gotten into the ground yet.

Bunny damage, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Little fuckers. I'm fresh out of rubber snakes, so perhaps a trip to the toy store is in order today...

Deep spring thoughts

Big issues on my mind lately as we approach the NC primary. Like, which do I hate more, the stale air of a house whose windows are never opened or having to wipe the film of yellow pollen off every flat surface every couple of days? So hard to choose...

In other news, I'm going to be joining a group of sewing/crafting ladies tonight. I'm kind of excited about this, though it's a world apart from how I used to plan my nights out of the house. If I can manage it with Sweet P in tow, I'm going to try my hand at some embroidery. Not an actual embroidery project, but just some practice stitches. I have this idea that I'm going to make fabulous scarves out of Armani wool scraps--available at my local sewing store!--backed with silk or linen and embellished with a bit of embroidery if I'm any good at that at all. They'd make lovely gifts for my female friends, I think, and I may even try to sell them one of these days...

Who's the bad guy here?

I've gotta vent here, ladies. I just want to say that I'm a little tired of being the bad guy when it comes to tv watching in this house. I remember when I was pregnant with Bean that the subject of little kids and tv came up. Husband was totally against little kids watching anything at all. I remember this because my response was something along the lines of, "Yeah, well I WILL be allowing some tv since I'm the one who's going to be staying at home with her all day long!" Husband conceded that this seemed fair if I needed an occasional break. Emphasis on "occasional."

Now? Bean gets up in the morning and the first thing she wants is for the tv to be turned on. No breakfast, just tv. And Husband is happy to comply because he needs a little time to himself to make some coffee, get the computer fired up, and pee. All totally fine so far.

But lately, it's not just a couple episodes of "Curious George" we're talking about here. He'll frequently turn on movies for Bean, full-length Disney films that I have to turn off at some point to give Bean her breakfast. This morning it was The Little Mermaid and you should have seen the toddler wrath unleashed upon me when I told her it was time to turn it off! Oh. My. God. I had to kick her out onto the porch because her screams were reverberating inside the house and I had to turn down that noise, no matter what the sleeping neighbors might have thought.

Sigh. The thing is that I'm somewhat complicit in this routine because on mornings when Sister is at her dad's I sleep in. If I would just get my tired ass out of bed, I could help Husband deal with Bean so that he could still do what he needed but she wasn't permitted to get so engrossed in a lengthy screening of something or other.

Yeah, you think that's gonna happen?

Blue

I'm in one of those phases where I don't feel like I'm doing anything particularly well. The house is a mess. The garden is being taken over by last year's weeds. All the girls clamor for my attention, all day long, and I only have so much to go around. My sewing projects are stalled. I can't get to either one of my blogs lately. My weight loss is stuck. And I'm late for everything.

Oh, and my every-Wednesday-morning, weekly-spot-of-brightness babysitter's last day with us is April 30th.

I need a little something good here, y'all!

Now, even I hate math!

The hardest part lately of being the mother of three is not the attention demanded by the baby or even by my Bean, queen of the drop-of-the-hat temper tantrum. These days, it's been Sister who's required intensive management from me. Frickin' long division math homework! Sister hates math and especially this math. She just finished TWO AND A HALF HOURS of hysteria- and tears-inducing math and I, for one, am exhausted and extremely pissy. I've had fantasies of farming her out to an afterschool program because I hear that they have homework time and maybe someone besides me could handle this a little better.

Anyone else got some advice for me here? I can't continue having afternoons like this!

Atlanta, part 2

Husband has a dear, sweet aunt in Atlanta that we were visiting, too, the mother of the opera singer and the sister of his deceased father. Let me say first off that this aunt is probably the sweetest, kindest, most baby-loving woman I have ever had the privilege of meeting. She's 83 years old and a native of Belize, though it was British Honduras in her day. She still speaks with a clipped, colonial accent though Husband's father did not.

The last night of our visit, I handed Sweet P to Husband's aunt to cuddle and say goodnight to before I took her back to sleep. This old lady was so delighted at having a little one in her arms that the whole room went still, watching her obvious pleasure. She told us how she used to sing to her own babies to get them to sleep and began singing a little lullaby to Sweet P, who immediately stopped her grousing and calmed to listen. She sang it several times and I began to pick up the lyrics--something about "little picaninny," "silver Southern moon," and "Mama's little Alabama coon."

Wow. I have to admit I was torn here between real dismay at these lyrics so shockingly racist to my modern ears, and great pleasure that this lovely woman was getting such joy, remembering her own long-ago young motherhood. I know that she would never consider herself a racist. She and her Jamaican caregivers talk a lot about life in that part of the world and seem to me to interact as if they're all old friends. Still, I can't help but feel like this little vignette was a slice of antebellum Southern plantation life.

Here are the lyrics that Husband's aunt sang to Sweet P. And by the way, according to the good old internet, this is the chorus of a song that was first published in 1893. Husband's aunt was singing a song 115 years old!


Go to sleep my little picaninny
Brer fox'll catch you if you don't
Slumber on the bosom of your Mammy
Mammy's gonna whack you if you don't
Loo loo loo loo looah looah loo
Underneath the silver southern moon
Lullaby, rockabye my baby
Mammy's little Alabama Coon

Fabulous Atlanta

You may kiss my ring now, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Did you all know that Atlanta was so fabulous? Actually, it was Husband's cousin who provided us with this excessive bling. As I mentioned yesterday, she spent 18 years as an opera singer in Germany before returning to her native city. Among many other interesting, exotic household items, a trunk load of costume jewelry--from actual stage costumes!--is part of her legacy. My two big girls were in absolute heaven the morning that she busted it out and let them at it. Can you tell?

And lest you feel concerned that Sweet P was left out, behold the baby fabulousness!

Baby got bling, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Back home

My apologies for my long absence from blogging land, but Husband and I took all three girls to Atlanta while Sister was out of school on spring break. We were visiting Husband's uncle and aunt one night, then going on to spend time with his elderly aunt and cousin (who used to be a professional opera singer in Germany).

I still have a ton of getting home work to do--the usual mountains of laundry and replenishing of groceries, not to mention getting the little girls reacquainted with the concept of a daily routine which they act like they've never heard of before. So more on our trip tomorrow when I can find more time and also the cable to upload a photo or two to Flickr...

Until then, I'll tell you about a conversation with my ex-husband who came to get Sister last night upon our return. He walks in and looks stressed. I ask if he's okay and he says, "Well, I've been taking care of my dad for the last 4 days. Mom's in Hawaii visiting her sisters. (Long pause.) He's sick a lot lately. (Long pause.) It's hard work. (Long pause.) You know, marriage."

Um yeah. 'Cause you definitely didn't know that when we were married 10 years ago, didja?

Bless his heart, as we say down South.

Not doing what I should be doing

At Heather's wedding, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

What I should be doing is packing for our trip to Atlanta tomorrow to visit Husband's aunt and cousin. Instead, I am finding all these old pictures on our old computer and uploading them to Flickr. I'm getting all nostalgic and stuff here! What a way to lose an afternoon, huh?

This is Husband and I five years ago at the wedding of a dear friend. (Happy coming-soon-anniversary, dear friend!) I can't get over how young and alert we look just five years ago! I'm such a frigging fat, stressed, tired toad now. Whatever I might have had once, it sure is going quick in these days of sleep deprivation and baking projects with toddlers. Oy!

Easter begins early

Bean and Sister very much enjoy doing seasonal baking projects with me. We make decorated sugar cookies for nearly every holiday. (My collection of colored sprinkles takes up an entire cabinet shelf.) We make pumpkin cupcakes for Halloween, blueberry muffins in the early summer, candy cane ice cream after I undecorate the Christmas tree--you get the drift. So when I saw this idea on Angry Chicken I knew it was perfect for my girls.

Easter baking project, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Aren't these adorable? They're super easy, too, even for toddlers. Just watch out for little girls who like to lick their fingers while doing the nest shaping. 'Cause you don't want a spitty nest.

Happy Easter! Happy spring!

In the garden again

Willow wigwam, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Check out our new "willow wigwam!" I love this bit of garden art. It's much more my taste than concrete gnomes or pagodas or plastic whirligigs or what have you.

With the early--but typical--onset of spring weather here in Chapel Hill, I've been using naptimes for a little gardening lately. I can't tell you how good this feels (and looks! and smells!). It's been a long time since I was able to get outside to do some digging, being vastly pregnant and hot during the prime fall planting season.

Yesterday I transplanted a fancy dogwood that I had put in the wrong spot last spring. The first site got WAY more sun that I thought it did, resulting in utterly scorched leaves by the time the summer ended. But bless it's dogwoody heart, it has valiantly begun leafing back out again now so I moved it into my shade garden where I can enjoy it from the back porch. This new sculpture and some tough old Carolina jessamine will make a more scorching-hot-sun-tolerant combination there instead.

Anyone else got their gardening groove on yet?

Tasty at home

In my weekly quest for domestic coziness, I've begun making my own bread. I say that as if it were a permanent decision to always bake my own bread, but it's not really. In fact, I've only made two batches so far but it was so gratifying, I thought to myself, "I really should do this more often." So I'm going to try.

I've never been much of a bread baker because I just naturally lack the proper temperament to do it well. Which is to say that I'm impatient as hell, want to get things done NOW, and bread just doesn't work that way. The other day I used a whole wheat loaf bread recipe that explained the first rise would take about an hour and a half. Actually, it took six and that was just the first rise. But I just tried to forget about it and let it do its thing and everything came out well. See?

Two beautiful loaves, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

But my original motivation--lest you begin believing that I'm motivated by just sweet domestic coziness and a back-to-the-land, homemade whole grain thing--was a trip to a local chocolate shop with Bean while Sister was having her piano class. The adorable European owner informed me that the big bag of real, dark chocolate sprinkles on the shelf next to me were what European children have sprinkled on their toast in the mornings to get them to eat their bread. He himself, he said, had this for breakfast til he was 15 years old, after which he was presumably too old for such a childish breakfast and switched to espresso and cigarettes, I guess. I'm a sucker. I bought the sprinkles. And needed to make fresh bread to put them on.

Bean with toast, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Town and country

Yesterday, Husband and I took the little girls to Saxapahaw, a very tiny town on the Haw River that's about a 20 minute drive from our house in Chapel Hill. It was a field trip of sorts to check out a renovated mill building that Husband and his business partner are considering for the site of Spoonflower. (I mentioned his new business venture awhile back. It's really cooking along all of a sudden.)

Saxapahaw was empty, there being no downtown to speak of and it being the hour when most God-fearing Southerners are in church. We're not particularly God-fearing, so we took a stroll down to the river. I sat at a picnic table and nursed Sweet P while Husband took Bean further down to chuck rocks in the water.

As Sweet P and I sat there together I realized I couldn't hear a thing but the water rushing by, birds in the trees, and the distant voices of Husband and Bean playing. I just sat there nursing and quiet.

When Sweet P had a nice bellyful, we walked down to where Husband and Bean were and I said to Husband, "I know how we can get the first round of funding for Spoonflower. Let's sell our house in Chapel Hill and use part of the equity to put a down payment on a house here and the rest to get Spoonflower going."

We talked about this a little, a new mortgage, business loans, venture capitalists being involved, etc. The one thing neither of us questioned was the trade-off between good Chapel Hill schools for the girls and a life with abundant time spent outdoors in the woods and fields and by a river for them.

Would I really trade our townie Chapel Hill life with its organic grocery stores and top-rated schools and nearby piano lessons, play groups, soccer leagues, and public access pools for a move to some land and an old house out in the country?

You know, I think I would.

I don't know about where the rest of you are...

Back porch, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

...but here in NC it's porch season! Happy weekend, everyone!

Sister growing up

Sister has all of a sudden begun to care about her appearance. She's requested that I get a book about hairstyles so she can begin experimenting with her hair which she's decided to grow long. She enjoys mixing up beauty potions from a kit she received for Christmas--toners and bath oils and such. The other day she wrote up a list of her ideal spa day which cracked me up. My 9-year old! Daydreaming about her perfect spa day! The damn list was, like, a dozen items long! Hilarious. (And where can I sign up?)

But she's still a little kid, really, and doesn't quite know how to do this stuff yet. I can't wait to see how she'll come down the stairs in the morning these days. The other day, she came down with a small pigtail jutting out of the side of her head at a 60 degree angle. Just one of them, and definitely had NOT used a brush to smooth it out first. This morning she came down in leopard print capri pants, a blue sequin shirt, blue kitty-printed socks pulled HIGH up her legs, and pink and white sneakers. Bless her heart. I think I love this phase of her growing up.

Better than the super low-rise jeans and belly shirts that she'll want to wear soon, huh? Yeah.

Sore legs

I woke up with pleasantly sore leg muscles this morning. See this?

Vegetable garden to be, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

And this?

Lettuce, broccoli, strawberries..., originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

And here are my two big girls:

Girls ready to garden, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

We planted our vegetable garden yesterday!
I, of course, started out with visions of mama and big girl bonding, Bean incidentally learning a lesson about where food comes from, and just wholesome good fun for all. I should know better by now because it ended up with Bean trying to gouge out freshly planted lettuce with a stick when my back was turned, Sister taking all the broccoli seedlings out of their cells to chill and dry and be stepped on, a bit of worm murder, and me trying to keep the girls from walking all over the freshly turned (and very moist) ground. But it all eventually got planted! And here's the result:

Lots o' lettuce, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Salad anyone?

Why I hate having a guest room

It's anti-American, right? To have a bit more house than you need and find it annoying rather than desirable? Nevertheless, the guest room is beginning to piss me off.

When we first bought this house almost two years ago, the "upgrade" from three bedrooms to four seemed to make sense. Knowing that we wanted three kids meant that someday we'd have the option of giving them all their own rooms. Sister wanted to share a room with Bean then which meant that we wouldn't need this configuration right away, but someday the girls would want their own space. In the meantime, we had visions of hosting out-of-state friends in our fourth bedroom and we outfitted it accordingly. We bought a new mattress set to go on the bed frame that had once belonged to Husband's mother when she was growing up. We moved her entire suite of furniture from Atlanta to here--the bed frame, two large dressers, a night table, and a wall mirror. I added a quilt rack with vintage quilts, some toiletries that our imminent guests could use if they forgot theirs, a framed picture, some knick-knacks...

Who have we hosted in the almost two years in this house? Exactly three sets of guests. And one of them was one of my local college girlfriends here for a grown-up slumber party I hosted once when Husband was out of town.

What our guest room is really used for is storage of a lot of unnecessary shit. For example:
--a three-foot square box of unopened mail that is now two years old! I'm not exaggerating here! But Husband doesn't want to throw it away because there might (still!) be something important in there. The cats use the box as a scratching post, though. Perhaps that keeps them from using the sofa arms quite so much for the same purpose? Fucking cats. Fucking box.
--a turntable and two massively heavy boxes of record albums. Will we ever listen to them again? I know I won't listen to my portion of that ancient vinyl, not least because to do so would mean replacing the turntable's needle, lugging the thing downstairs, and routing it through our receiver somehow. Can we get rid of the turntable and the albums? Husband says no. He might want to listen to them someday.
--other electronic stuff. A couple of computers, a couple of old telephones, bundles of wires that belong to god-knows-what.
--a hideously ugly woven blanket that traveled with Husband from Guatemala that he wants to keep as a souvenir. Never mind that we never use it because it's entirely too scratchy to be comfortable and is suspiciously hairy. And did I say super ugly?
--a large plastic box of family memorabilia that doesn't belong to us, that we've been charged with looking through, scanning if we want, and mailing back to the cousin who loaned it to us. She sent it when Bean was born because it contained items belonging to Bean's namesake, the cousin's mother. That was almost three years ago and I'm guessing she'd want it back...oh, 2-1/2 years ago?
--a closet full of out-of-season vintage dresses. If I'm being fair here, I should admit that some of the stuff is mine. I keep telling myself that once my little kids are big, I can wear my gorgeous frocks again without risking spit-up, "washable" paint, and peanut butter destroying them. Maybe I should let this little dream go?

Humph. Maybe we can get rid of the other crap first and then we'll talk.

The weekend, the sewing projects

This weekend was a pretty nice one despite losing a precious hour of sleep. I finished up brunch at Crook's Corner with two of my good college girlfriends a few hours ago. Conversation with them is always so comfortable, but on top of that there was a plate full of biscuits and sausage gravy and a big, spicy bloody Mary all for me. Yum! Makes my mouth water all over again, just thinking about it. We're going to try to make it a once a month thing now. Not much time to spend together considering that we were all once living together and going to the same parties and drinking coffee around the same kitchen tables and (ahem) dating the same men. But it's time nevertheless, and I'm going to start looking forward to it every month.

I also managed to finish making my new skirt, complete with invisible zipper. It's composed of four unhemmed tiers that will start to get frayed and fringey after washing and wearing it a few times. I'd post a picture here, but I had no idea how frigging hard it was to photograph a skirt not on your body, or ON your body while you're the one holding the camera. So some other time maybe, when Husband is home and I can wear it, or after I've made a few things and can just photograph them hanging all together. It fits me perfectly, which is, of course, the great thing about making your own clothes. That is, if you can get past the fact that sewing pattern sizes are WAY bigger than the one you wear off the rack at, say, Ann Taylor Loft or what-have-you. You just have to not take that insulting little fact personally.

And speaking of sewing--which I'm kinda doing a lot lately, huh?--I read this great article by Susie Bright today in Craft magazine about making handmade gifts for others who may not appreciate them. For those who don't know, Ms. Bright is much more famous for her writing on sex and porn than for her sewing. But sew she apparently does! I'm just going to quote her verbatim here because I love this:

So why do we all ignore this hard-won bit of advice [to handmake gifts only for other crafters who know what you put into them]? Because we're showoffs. We know modesty is supposed to go hand in hand with our steady stitches, but we yearn for people's jaws to drop open at our handiwork. We like making things for our beloveds and watching their hearts melt. We're sentimental fools who want only to be adored for our talents. Is that too much to ask?

You must be a subscriber--or a holder in your hand of a hard copy--to actually read the article, but this is a link to the projects and resources she suggests should you decide to make up a little something for a non-crafty type anyway. And good luck with that. I know it doesn't always work out so great, right Kat?

Nice morning

I was grocery shopping a couple days ago and saw rhubarb and strawberries, both on the shelves looking all luscious and ruby-like. I bought enough of both to make a large pie and, while the strawberries weren't as good as they'll likely be in another couple of weeks, they made a beautiful mama and baby pie. Not to mention that it was a lovely way for Bean and I to while away the morning hours today. Sweet P lay contentedly in her bouncy chair, watching us and listening to us chat.

Mixing the fruit, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Preparing her crust, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

More fruit, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Proud Bean, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Mama pie and baby pie, ready for the oven, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Beautiful finished pies, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Now, this is what I thought being a stay-at-home mama would be all about for me!

Too good to be true?

I've fallen off the weight loss wagon lately, indulging in Thin Mints, pork dumplings, chocolate chip cookies, and just any old thing I felt like eating. It's just easier not to think about food these days. Plus, Bean and I do at least one baking project together each week which, while it keeps her happy and busy and proud, is a real killer for me. Can't.resist.the.sweets.

I renewed my determination a couple of days ago, though, and spent all day yesterday feeling very virtuous about my eating choices--bran cereal with strawberries! Grilled chicken salad with dressing on the side! Snacks of apples and raw baby carrots! I mean, is that virtuous as hell or what? (And I wonder why I was so freakin' cranky...?)

But get this. I weighed myself this morning and was a full three pounds lighter than when I went to bed! Woo-hoo! Only 6 more pregnancy pounds to go!

(Note to readers: I know this is probably not a permanent 3-pound weight loss, but humor me, okay? I need to seize my small successes where I can this week!)

A mama stuck

Oy vey! as my Jewish mama friend would say. It's been a rough week over here in the cave. Bean's been so wild and contrary I'm beginning to take it personally. What am I doing to my poor almost-3-year old child to make her so enraged nearly every hour of the day? Why does she spurn my love in favor of her dear papa's? Why does she scream at me if I come to get her up from her nap if I happen to also have Sweet P with me? Sigh. I just can't seem to make her happy these days, and she's still requiring SO much entertainment out of me. WAY more than her tiny baby sister, which makes me kind of sad. I keep thinking we're going to turn a corner any day now and Bean will be happy to hang out with me, happy to do her own thing at least a little during the day, just happy. But maybe I've got a girl whose default mood is more restless than happy. I dunno.

New skirt project stymied by the prospect of installing an invisible zipper. Gardening is on hold after last night's big, big thunderstorm turned our yard into a bog. Meh.

Vintage dress love

All of a sudden I find myself without sewing projects! Sister's silent auction has come and gone. The wall hanging I put on hold for awhile is done and on the wall. My Japanese girl clothes sewing books are out for translation. I have nothing to do! I mean, other than take care of three little girls, of course.

But a mama needs projects, no? For those few minutes here and there where both little girls are sleeping at the same time? So the sewing project vacuum and the just-around-the-corner arrival of spring--not to mention my shrinking post-pregnancy body--have conspired to induce a new obsession in me. Here's a clue:

Favorite dresses, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

And another:

Lovely repro vintage prints, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

I do love my old vintage cotton and rayon print dresses, but at mt age I find myself unwilling to ignore the armpit stains, holes, and poochy boob area. (Is it just my tiny chest, or did everyone stuff their bras back then?!) I should also say that I find the greasy feel and almost slimy texture of my former favorites unacceptable. "Greasy and slimy?" I hear you wondering. Greasy and slimy indeed, from their many years spent as work dresses during my baking years. (I used to joke that I would get white lung one day from all the flour thrown into the air while mixing gigantic batches of chocolate chip cookies and gingersnaps. But it's my wardrobe that has suffered. Who knew?)

The solution I've come up with is to try to recreate my favorite frocks in vintage reproduction prints. Brilliant, right? Except that I have very little clothing sewing experience and absolutely no clue how to make a pattern from an existing dress. Do you have to take apart the dress in question first? Can you just sorta...I don't know trace the dress onto some wrapping paper or something? Any advice from any sewers out there would be greatly appreciated. I promise to post photos of any cute items I'm able to make up!

My three daughters

It's almost a cliche among parents out there that children are born their own selves from day one. Sure, nurture has something to do with them ending up a responsible adult who is kind to animals and other people down the line, but they're pretty much hard-wired as to temperament and interests. This is the prevailing attitude among the mamas I know, anyways.

And with my own girls, it's been noticeable from a very early age that they were very different kids. Sister played independently (and happily) from about the time that she could sit up on her own and grasp things. She's always been a fine motor skills kind of girl and to this day, her preferred mode is off in her own dream world, dreaming up plots involving fairies, goblins, small rocks, and "magic" little detritus found around the house.

And Bean? Well, take a look for yourself!

Wall-crawling, originally uploaded by salutor.

She's not even three yet, y'all!

She's an intensely physical little person, wanting always to be moving--climbing, running, dancing, hopping on one foot. Phew! That child wears me out! Yesterday while sitting together in the piano teacher's living room waiting for Sister to finish her lesson, Bean and I were looking together at some travel magazines lying around. I turned to a page with a photo of some white water rafters. Bean gasped, pointed at them, and asked, "MAMA! Can we do that someday? Can we do that, too?!" I told her we could. Next, there was a page of a hiker on Mt. Everest, crossing a deep ice ravine on a narrow rope. Again, Bean asked me, "MOM! Can we do that someday?!"

Do I need to say that Bean has no interest in playing quietly and independently in her own little world? Maybe when Hell freezes over.

I'm so interested to see how my Sweet P turns out. All I know about her so far is that she's super mellow and super sweet. Maybe I'll get my mama's girl sewing buddy one of these days after all...

My night last night

Last night went better than expected. And I wasn't expecting anything easy 'cause, I don't know about the rest of you, but evenings with no back-up from Husband tend to fill me with an inordinate amount of dread. It's kinda lonely without him after I already haven't seen him all day for one thing. And I'm often pretty tapped out by the time dinner rolls around for another thing. I NEED my dear spouse to just get the hell home some nights and take over the girls for me so I can steam the broccoli in peace.

But, as I said, last night went pretty well. Bean's behavior is on an upswing and Sister was feeling big sisterly and cooperative. It probably helped that I broke our new no-t.v.-on-weeknights restriction and let them watch a few Looney Tunes cartoons while I gave our littlest girl her bath. This baby does love a bath. When she realizes that she's naked and being carried over to the kitchen sink where we set up her bright blue tub, she catches my eye with a look of breathless anticipation on her face. And then when I ease her into the warm water, you can tell she's absolutely thrilled to be there. I can't recall if Bean liked it quite so much, and Sister I remember screaming like I was immersing her in boiling oil every.single.time for her first 6 months of life or so. It's lovely to bathe a delighted baby, no?

Anyways, wanna see something cute? It's my chicken leg little 3-month old angel, checking things out from a new vantage point after her bath and a nice massage.


Isn't she fabulous (if a bit blurry)? Her elbows have dimples!

Jealous

Husband just walked out of the front door with a 6-pack of beer, framed in the doorway for a moment by the darkening evening sky. He called out that he loved us but did NOT look back. He's going out to play cards for the evening with some guy friends and I was struck by an unexpected bolt of jealousy as he walked out the door, shutting it behind him on a house full of little kids and me.

I remember going out with friends in the evening with a bottle of cheap wine under my arm and no idea where the night would lead. How long ago was that?!

Another project, done

Blue and orange batik wall hanging, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

I've been working on this batik wall hanging for a month or two now to go in our newly painted family room. It came out well, even though once again I made the mistake of thinking our sofa is orange when it is, in fact, a sort of rusty, persimmon pudding-y color. So it doesn't completely match, but it's better than the things I had on the walls in there before. Mostly I made it because I wanted to try using batiks for a change and also wanted to try making something with wonky shapes. I think I might love wonky shaped things. Yes, you do waste a fair amount of fabric in the trimming, but personally I find it much easier to be precise in trimming than in sewing.

It's good to have one of my sewing projects come to a good end. Kinda takes the sting out of Friday's silent auction humiliation. The three items I made and donated got bid on and sold, it's true, but were not exactly wild successes. I had a large green purse sell for $19 with maybe 4 or 5 bids on it. The leaf print bag I posted a picture of sold for $16 with 4 bids, one of which was (ahem) mine when I realized that someone was going to get it for only $10. Is it gauche to bid on your own donations at an auction? I don't care! I LOVED that bag and wanted it back if the world wasn't going to appreciate it! But when the little 5th grade girl I'd just outbid came marching up behind me and bid $16, I just let it go. If she wanted it that badly and all...

The cloth grocery bags I donated as a set went to one of the Girl Scout moms who was maybe (but maybe not!) doing it out of pity. She seemed to genuinely like them and even stood guard over them at the end so that no one else would outbid her. Bless her, I was flattered even if she WAS being a little effusive with her admiration.

All in all, I raised $60 for Sister's school. Meh. I also spent $80 on a cooler full of plastic beach crap made in China that I stupidly bid on and won. At least it's for the school. I guess. Though Husband pointed out that people's priorities are all wrong if we'll pay that much for plastic mass-produced shit and spurn something someone made by hand. Bless him, too.

As I said, a bit humiliating.

Points for mama

Beanbags for the girls, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

Sometimes it's just so easy to make a kid happy. An example: it's dreadfully cold and rainy outside today and I needed something new to entertain them. It took me about half an hour to make up some bean bags with squares of fabric I had left over from a project, a few bobbins with a bit of odd-colored thread still left on them, and about 4 pounds of dry beans from the pantry that have been sitting in their jars for probably years now. (I used to be a vegetarian and cooked a hell of a lot of dry beans once upon a time...)

The result is pure kid nirvana. Who knew? Sister came home from school and helped me finish stuffing them, was literally jumping up and down while I sat at the sewing machine stitching up their last seam, then spent half an hour arranging them in order from her least to most favorite. I can't wait to see what Bean does with them when she wakes up!

More on walks

I think I've mentioned here that I've begun taking regular morning walks before Husband goes to work. The original idea was that I'd be getting some exercise at least. It's maybe helping a bit to take the baby weight off, but even more than that, I get some mental S P A C E on my walks.

And that is rare indeed these days.

This morning I went into the little patch of woods near our house. It's not an old piece of woods--maybe 40 or 50 years worth of equal parts pine trees, sweet gums, maples, dying cedars, and scattered oaks. There are many trails running through it because it's squeezed between Sister's elementary school, a couple of '60's era neighborhoods, and the American Legion building. I seldom see anyone on these trails, though, which was why this morning I felt a mental looseness I haven't felt in a long time. Maybe in years.

I was remembering when I was a kid in Miami, FL and then later in the rural NC foothills that I spent all my free time outside. There was just so much to do outside and really not so much inside since my mom wouldn't let us watch t.v. during the days. So my brother and I and the neighborhood kids rode our bikes in the street, threw rocks at passing cars, built forts, and played spy from the treetops.

I know this isn't that unusual a childhood for someone my age, but it sure as hell seems unusual for kids these days, don't you think? Do any of you out there just let your kids roam free in the neighborhood or in some nearby woods? Does anyone out there even have access to nearby woods anymore? Isn't it bizarre that only one generation after our own, most of us probably don't?

Our neighborhood is a safe one. We get the occasional break-in of cars parked on the street with stuff left in plain sight inside them, but that's about it. We lock the house at night but that's the extent of our security precautions. So maybe this is the summer to let Sister have the run of those woods before she gets too old to think that's a fun thing to do. I was imagining I'd give her and the friend that stays with us during much of the summer a couple of kid-sized hammers, a box of nails, and free access to the lumber pile. Maybe I'd say yes when they asked if they could go off by themselves to do something and needed the loan of an old sheet, a shovel, and a basket of snacks. (As long as it was okay with the other mama in question, of course.) Maybe I'd even call up the other neighborhood moms with kids at home, let them know my plan, and encourage them to do the same.

I just hate to see my kids' childhoods be so very devoid of free time outside, you know? And Sister's real little girlhood, at least, is coming to an end soon.

Leaf print handbag

Leaf print handbag, originally uploaded by Secretsugar.

This is one of the handbags I made for Sister's school's silent auction event coming up this Friday. I love it, but I'm terrified that no one will bid on it. I'm having visions of overhearing the scornful comments of the suburban school mamas there who can't believe someone would actually expect such a homemade looking thing to appeal to anyone. Yikes! And of course, Sister will be telling anyone within earshot that her mom made that, so there'll be no hiding. I'll keep y'all posted. And cross your fingers that SOMEONE buys it, even if only for $5!

A new low

This week started out better than last. I got some sewing projects finished to donate to Sister's school silent auction (photos to come soon!), got some much needed sleep this weekend, got the laundry caught up on after our machine broke and we lacked a new one for half the week, plus got the house put back together after a paint crew was here to repaint our shiny gold living room to a nice, soothing aqua blue. (Wish I'd taken before and after photos...)

This week is comparatively empty, then, and for most of yesterday the house was peaceful and calm. But starting yesterday evening, Bean has entered an even more terrible phase than the usual terrible twos I thought were bad enough before. Yesterday evening, she ripped me a new one for taking her to the "wrong" park.

I'd been talking up the park all afternoon because the day was gorgeously sunny and warm, and she was excited about going after nap. I got her into the van without incident, drove over and everything went to hell. She took one look at the park and went into hysterics. This was NOT the park she had mentally pictured, I guess. Which was confusing as hell to me since it's pretty much the only one we go to. I got her out of the van, managed to make a walk to the community center next door seem like a good idea. We got inside and there weren't any kids there, so more hysterics, this time lying on the floor kicking and screaming with tears running down her face. I managed to get her back outside so as not to annoy the front desk clerk, but I had to drag her by one arm to do it. I could go on here because SHE went on. You know it's bad when other parents are staring at you, wondering what the hell you're doing to your child to make her scream so loud.

This morning, Bean began screaming, "NO! NO! NO!" at me the minute I walked into her room. I'm not exaggerating here--she screams at me! The dog bit her twice and me once, the Girl Scout cookies suck so much the local paper did a story about them and I need to exchange them for new ones in another town, and the chickweed is taking over my perennials and it's freaking February, fer chrissakes.

What the hell is a dispirited mama to do?

Sweet Bean

For all her temper tantrums and general contrariness, Bean really is a sweet child. A conversation between us not 10 minutes ago:

Bean: Uh-oh! I got scratches on the table!
Me: Oh, honey! (taking away the safety scissors I was letting her cut up paper with) Sweetie, we never, NEVER make scratches on the furniture! I'm so disappointed that you did that!
Bean: (hanging her head while I lecture her) I know something that will make you feel better.
Me: (dubiously) What?
Bean: A hug and kiss.
Me: (totally melting) You're right. That would make me feel much better.
Bean: (hugging and kissing me) There. I'm sorry. It was a accident. It's okay, honey. It's okay.

And I did feel much better. How could I not? Sometimes the things that come out of her mouth are awfully nice to hear.

A mama, torn

I suspect every American mom out there struggles with some brand of personal schizophrenia. For some, it has to do with clothing. Whatever you wore before kids, you're likely to have made the switch to only things that can be easily washed, that you don't mind spit-up on, and that are comfortable enough to sit on the floor in once you've had kids. At least if you're staying at home with your kids, you have.

I don't struggle so much with clothing these days, but maybe that's because I've had a kid for almost 10 years now and can barely remember what a lovely vintage frock feels like against my skin anymore. For me, I find myself a bit schizophrenic about food.

To wit, on tonight's menu at my house is homemade vichysoisse, a tossed salad with homemade mustard-shallot vinaigrette and...fish sticks. Not fillets that I have picked up at Whole Foods, then lovingly sliced and hand-breaded my own self with French baguette crumbs that I have personally supervised on their journey to crumb-dom in my food processor.

I'm talking Gorton's frozen, buy one get one free at Harris Teeter yesterday. "30 Crunchy Golden" in a bright yellow box and shit. Go ahead and laugh it up, ladies. Former pastry chef and make-her-own-organic-babyfood has been laid very, VERY low.

I might be bothered to whip up my own tartar sauce. Or maybe not.

My addiction

I sometimes tell Husband how lucky he is to have such a low maintenance wife. Getting a pedicure is a twice a year treat. If I'm lucky. I color my own hair rather than paying for the salon to do it. I seldom go shopping for clothes or shoes or jewelry or any sort of personal adornment you can think of. Which is not to say that I'm completely divorced from the realm of self-indulgence. I have exactly two categories of things that I routinely spend money on but don't really need. The first is plants, but I can justify them as an expense we'll recoup in the sale price of this house, should we ever choose to sell it.

The second is fabric. Like this. And this. And ooh, thiiiiiis.

Sometimes I have a specific project in mind when I pick up a yard or two. But sometimes it's just because I've just laid eyes on something so beautiful I can't possibly walk away from it.

Husband is beginning to catch on to me, I think. Which could be why he's tossing around the idea of starting a fabric-related business in the near future. Want a hint as to what it might be? Take this little survey and find out! Our joint bank account may thank you one of these days.

On walks

Another great thing about walks--apart from the occasional suburban chicken sighting--is how it lets me get out of my usual routine and into a quiet, meditative head space that is rare for me now. Actually, I literally NEVER get the sort of mental solitude afforded by a walk in my usual life. It's too noisy here, even if the noise is usually pleasant little girl voices. There are nearly constant meals and snacks to prepare, even if I love being the cook for our thriving family. My brain fits everything in the day into a sort of puzzle--"I'll take this pile of shoes upstairs now while the baby is sleeping because when she wakes I won't have my hands free. And while I'm up there I'll make the bed and bring the laundry down. Then I better start dinner...." Is this a function of the female, multi-tasking brain? I didn't see it happening. I swear, I used to just be able to relax during a spare moment and think about things....

Anyways. I've been thinking a lot lately about getting old. It's definitely because I'm no longer pro-creating and am now on the path towards death. That sounds grim as hell, no? The less dramatic of you will point out that I've always been on the path towards death, like my sensible Husband did when I said this to him the other day. I know that, but still. If I were more chemically volatile I might be depressed, but instead I'm just feeling thoughtful lately.

On my walks I am, that is. 'Cause right now I've got to watch Bean as she empties the trunk of dress-up clothes in search of the perfect pirate costume...

Morning walk

On my morning walk today, I took an unfamiliar route into a section of streets I hadn't been on before. I rounded a corner and was surprised and pleased to see a hen scratching in the grass. In the same yard a few yards away there was a box bee hive.

This is something I love about living in the South. People still have vegetable gardens and raise chickens--right here in the suburbs!--and apparently even keep bees. The agrarian past really isn't that distant a memory even if you now have to drive twenty minutes out to see a real farm.

That makes me happy.

Super fat old bag Tuesday

A title totally unrelated to anything I'll write beneath it, but I was having a bit of fun at my own expense last night.

There have been a dozen times at least in the last few days that I've meant to sit down and blog something about this busy kid-full life of mine, but alas! I'm just too damn busy. I think I can manage a few odds and ends, though, before all hell breaks loose between Sister and Bean playing upstairs and the baby about to wake up and begin yelling for milk in her bouncy seat next to me.

Okay. Deep breath.

Bean is potty-trained! She even skips a diaper at night because Husband kept forgetting to put them on her after her bath and she was making it through just fine. Score a point for us!

Sister is still utterly absorbed in her library book about puberty. She's making all sorts of funny connections, though, because she is after all still only 9. For example, today in the car she asked me if a "con-dome" was just for boys. I confirmed that it was indeed something that only male members of the anatomy club could wear. (Get it? Get it? I used the official p-word when I said it to her, though.) She then smirked and said smugly, "So they have a tampon kind of thing, too!" I tried not to laugh. Oh, and Husband found the book open in front of the toilet last night when he went up to run their bath and looked to see what page she was on. I won't write it hear for fear of pervs, but it rhymes with master station. Husband's a bit freaked out, I think, but I assured him she probably already knew all about it if my experience as a young'un was common. (What the hell else is there to do when you're 5 and confined to your bunk with chicken pox, I ask you?)

Our Sweet P is a darling, easy baby, super smiley and thrilled to squeals to see a friendly face (or an interesting blanket, or the cat, for that matter). I can't remember life without her and I'm still sad she's the last one for me. Husband suggested that "Some people start looking forward to grandkids" when I told him I was sad to have put an end to my procreative life. No rush for that, though! Maybe I'll go be a volunteer baby holder at the hospital when my little ones are all big and I get a jones for something tiny to hold.

I'm feeling old all of a sudden, but this life is a very, very good one.

Isn't this happening a bit early?

A conversation with Sister last night, after we returned from the library with a book on puberty for her:

Sister: Mom, I think Lily and I have had the wrong idea about sex.
Me: Oh really? In what way?
Sister: Well, we thought that every time you had sex you got pregnant. But in this book it says there are other reasons why people have sex.
Me: (weakly) Oh, uh, you thought that, huh? Well, no, a woman doesn't get pregnant every time, but it can definitely happen.

Secretly I was thinking, "Rats! They're on to us!" But I promise I didn't perpetrate this little fiction on Sister on purpose, like, strategically.

She has been utterly engrossed in this book for nearly all her waking hours since yesterday, though I forbade her from taking it to school on the pretext that it was a library book I didn't want lost. The truth is that I have no idea what sort of thing might happen on the playground as a result. I could easily imagine Sister holding forth on all sorts of titillating topics to an astonished 9- to 10-year old crowd. When did I first become aware of the facts about sex and puberty and that sort of thing? I can't remember at all...

Her friend Lily got her first training bras yesterday and they're having a sleepover tonight at Sister's grandma's house. Oh to be a fly on the wall over there tonight!

Done now

My, it has been awhile since my last post, hasn't it? And since my last comment to any of you. I haven't been utterly swallowed up in toddler hell, I assure you, though at times I've felt awfully close. Just busy with life as mama of three. After around seven weeks, I believe I'm getting the hang of it. Planning dinner before lunchtime helps. And I've found that I better start cooking around 4:00 to be sure that after a gajillion interruptions it might actually be ready by our 6:30 dinnertime. I do laundry less often, but I do enormous quantities of it when it happens. And I've figured out how to wipe Bean's poopy bottom after she visits the potty WHILE I'm nursing her baby sister, thank you very much.

It's definitely busy around here, and I once again celebrate wine o'clock every night to reward myself and, let's be honest, to keep from utterly blowing apart at the end of my very long days.

So given all that, are you surprised that I left the midwives' office last week after my very last pregnancy-related appointment ever in tears? I was surprised. My 6-week check-up this time around marks the end of my baby-making career and it makes me very sad. Do I really want a fourth child? I really don't. I want my body back and I want to believe that Husband and I could have the time and money to travel again one of these days. I also look forward to being the mother of adolescent, then teen-age, then grown-up girls.

But it's still hard to be done with babies.

Hell day

Today was hands down the worst day I've had so far as the mama of three girls instead of two. Bean has been in a foul and obstreperous mood for the past couple of days, and today she got to take it out on the kids in her playgroup for a change instead of on me. I ended up having to haul her away bodily after many warnings for slugging others, snatching toys, screaming in my face, and just general toddler thugishness. You mamas of older children will understand when I say that she was horrible today and it was just awful to have to spend the day with her.

A two-hours-earlier-than-usual nap didn't improve her mood, and on top of that, Sister came home from school feeling cranky her own self. Add a gassy, screaming baby to the mix and I was almost in tears by the time Husband came home. Especially as he was planning to spend the evening playing poker with some friends.

When he saw what sort of state I was in, though, he called his friend and said he couldn't come after all. I tried to insist that he go and that I would be fine once I got dinner into them, but he saw through my rather thin protestations, bless him.

And then I was in tears, so relieved to be rescued from mama hell.

A better butt

I've been feeling like such a fat slob lately since the only pre-pregnancy clothes I can wear are elastic-waisted knit items. I've never been someone who felt comfortable leaving the house in workout clothes, or anything that resembled such (since--who are we kidding?--when's the last time I worked out?).

So even though I still have around 15 pounds to lose, and buying larger clothes is ultimately a waste of money, I went to Ann Taylor Loft yesterday, minus children.

I tried on many, MANY things before I found a pair of dark wash jeans and navy blue pants that fit me well. They were 2 sizes bigger than is normal for me and a bit pricey, but I bought them anyway.

I'm wearing the jeans today and feel...great! Not like a fat slob at all because only I know what size they are, and Husband has told me they're "hot." Good Husband.

I shouldn't be so shallow, I know. I shouldn't be obsessing over my post-pregnancy size and shape with so much else to think about--the possibility of a female or a black president! My beautiful new baby that I adore! The huge amount of packaging and paper we threw out after Christmas that's going straight into the landfill or into the overflowing recycling center's dumpsters!

But I care. And flattering clothes, big and expensive though they may be, make me feel good. So maybe now I can move on mentally, huh?

This new life

I've said to people who've asked how I'm doing lately that this 3-kid gig is easier than I thought it would be. I think I was psyching myself up for a brutal new reality that would have me chewing my fingernails, grabbing for the gin, and yelling my head off all day or something. In truth, our new sweetie is an easy, mellow baby whose needs are very easy to interpret and satisfy. Give her a clean diaper, a belly full of milk, and some time spent ON you everyday listening to your heart beat and she's happy indeed.

Which is not to say that this is easy exactly. I had a good friend over yesterday and felt like my new baby-full life must look pretty frantic from the outside. Maybe that's just because Bean was going nuts that day, chucking toys at Sister's head, yelling at me when I reprimanded her, spitting food out onto her lunch plate, etc. She generally chooses to do this sort of thing when I'm distracted by something else, of course--nursing, talking on the phone, talking to someone besides her, merely thinking about a sewing project. So finding time to blog is difficult now. Bean has been asking several times a day lately, "What are we gonna do NOW?" when there's a perceived lull, which means no seizing a few quiet moments to electronically scribble down a few thoughts for me. I'm only able to do it now because she happens to be napping at the same time as Husband and her baby sister.

Anyways.

This is not a complaint. I always have the thought lurking in my mental background that this is the last time I'll do this--the last time I'll have a sweet little baby to take care of and the last time that Bean will be this crazy, sassy, tornado of a toddler. It makes me feel a little sad, a little old, and a little less likely to indulge in a temper tantrum my own self.

Most days.

Hungry

I've got a batch of chocolate candy cane ice cream whirring away in my electric ice cream machine just now. And, having vowed to get back in shape this year, it was all I could do not to guzzle a big mugful of un-frozen ice cream a little while ago.

I am starving today.

I'm not actually walking around with an empty belly here, mind you, since as a nursing mama I realize the importance of continuing to eat well to make sure our littlest girl gets what she needs in liquid form. I assure you, I'm still eating plenty. I just want some calories, dammit! A single day of eating flaxseed cereal with skim milk and bananas for breakfast, vegetable-barley soup and a cheese quesadilla for lunch, and no, repeat NO, brownies out of the freezer or any of the chocolate we have lying around or even a freaking gummy worm has me thinking of nothing but what high-calorie high-fat snack I could possibly justify right now.

If I can hold off til after dinner, maybe I'll have just a little cup of homemade ice cream though. It's not good for the mama to be utterly deprived, right?

Getting rid of this 20 pounds will be hard.

Idle

It's been so nice having Sister home from school lately that I found myself idly thinking about home-schooling her today just to have her around more. But that's because today she's chosen to be in her awesome big sister mode. In this mode, she does things like freely offer Bean piggyback rides to coax her out of a store we're running an errand in. She'll ask if she and Bean can share a smoothie when we're picking up a snack at the soft pretzel stand, and then she'll share it without minding when Bean demands very close together sipping turns. She'll try to engage Bean in noticing interesting things on a walk. When she feels like it, Sister is a ROCKIN' big sister.

It's 60 degrees outside today, warm enough to be outside at the duck pond with only long sleeves and no coats. It was just me and the girls since Husband is gone back to work now. The ducks had a damn fine treat--a freezer baggie of guglhupf cubes. The birds snarfed it, but Bean got at least a third of it. Why is it that I can serve that child delicious, perfect toast dripping with honey and butter in the morning and she'll only deign to lick a bit of honey off the top before pushing back from the table, but if I hand her some stale bread for duck-feeding she'll eat most of it? Not just stale pastry either, but hard, whole-grain bread heels that I've been accumulating in the freezer for 2 months? Anyways. It's best not to question why my middle child eats or doesn't eat the way she does. I can only hope that the baby will follow in Sister's eating footsteps someday. Sister, who requests Manchego and aged Gouda snacks without prompting...

Over it

Christmas is over and I, for one, am relieved. Not too sound all bah humbuggy or anything but the best part of Christmas for me is the day afterward. The girls (and Husband!) played with the new toys, I played board games with Sister and helped her mix potions from her new spa kit, started a sewing project, did a little laundry, nursed the baby, snacked...so relaxing. After dinner we went bowling which was not so relaxing since Sister finally hit her post-Christmas meltdown mode. But still, a lovely day.

Anyone out there making New Year's resolutions this year? I'm thinking about some, one of which will definitely involve my fat ass. Nothing specific yet, though...

Poopy

Alright, this just happened. I caught a whiff of poop-stink wafting my way from Bean's direction. I asked her, "Bean, are you poopy?" She replied gleefully, "Yes, Mama, I have a giant poop!" I plopped her down on the changing table and her feet are propped up on the wall, she's so big. She held her nose the entire time I changed her, asked me, "Is the poop all gone now?" before daring to unpinch her nostrils, and then complained when she still smelled poop in the air around her.

What do you think? Time to potty-train this 2 years and 8 months old girl? I mean, if she's using adjectives to describe it and all?

No time for prose posts!

I'm still here, living large in baby world. Actually, it's more like all toddler/all the time at our house these days. Was Bean always this attention grabbing, or is it just in stark contrast to her new baby sister sleeping through most of the day, crying only if her diaper is wet or if she needs to nurse? I'm too tired to remember just now. Bean is busy, but at least the baby is still easy. And I must spare some mental time to come up with a blog alter ego name for our new little angel...

In the meantime, here's what's new:

1. Utter disgust with my post-pregnancy body. At my 2-week check-up yesterday, I learned that I still have 20 pounds to lose. My friends are all like, "Oh, nursing will take it off. You'll be fine." And Husband is like, "Hmmm, that'll be challenging. Wanna go for a walk tomorrow before I go to work?" Maybe my ass looks worse than I think...

2. Christmas madness, but it hardly merits any detailed explanation. I will say that I managed to make a few batches of goodies over the weekend, if not my usual vast quantity and selection. And I did manage to ship a couple of packages in time. Other than that I've got a fair amount of shopping to do. But if it doesn't get done, no one will know that I intended to buy them an autoharp, or a Webkins, or what-have-you.

3. Back to my horribly slack body. I bought a Pilates video at Target a few days ago just because I happened to walk by them and because a couple of rushed walks per week in the mornings ain't gonna take off 20 pounds anytime soon. I feel like a total dork doing fitness videos all by my lonesome at home, but at least it's something. I guess. I just hope no one sees me through the living room window.

4. Off to haul Sister, Bean, and new baby out the door to piano class. It starts in 30 minutes, but I've recently learned how FRIGGING LONG it takes to get three kids out of the house and into the van. Oy!

Hope you're all well. I'll catch up one of these days.

Getting out

Today wasn't my first trip out of the house with both little girls, but it was my first attempt at a major excursion. We went to the Museum of Life and Science in Durham, about half an hour's drive away.

The hardest part? Just getting out the frigging door! I was shooting for 9:30, was feeling our departure was imminent enough to say so to Husband and the water company guys dropping in for a repair at 9:55, and was shocked to see the minivan's clock reading 10:25 by the time we were backing out of the driveway. Two sets of diapers must be freshened now. Two changes of clothes must be packed (and appropriate for the 75 degree day we're having). The baby must be tanked up with milk. Bean must be not too far past her famously meager breakfast or snacks will be in order. Who am I kidding? Snacks are always in order for Bean these days, so last minute tangerines must be peeled for the car, tissues must be stuffed in any available pocket for Bean's runny nose, and I need to not be too hungry or it will all go to hell.

Phew! Fortunately, the museum itself was just fine. I'm a mama who firmly believes in bribery, so butterfly and dinosaur stickers from the museum shop, conveniently located next to the exit, plus gummy fruit snacks for the car ride home made leaving in time for a nap amazingly easy on everyone.

One point for me!

It is NOT gas

Winner, originally uploaded by salutor.

Can you honestly tell me that this giant baby grin has anything to do with gas like Husband says? And why would a baby be grinning because of gas anyways? I say my baby is smiling on purpose because she's on her mama's lap with a belly full of warm milk.

So there.

New little sweetie

IMG_0367, originally uploaded by salutor.

Our sweet little girl finally decided to make her grand entrance! She was born at 1:11 pm on Monday, December 3rd, six days after her due date.

Labor took 9 hours and was made weird and fitful by the baby not dropping til the midwife broke my bag of water and I was totally dilated. Then toward the end she got stuck crowning, which felt just as awful as it sounds. After a gigantic push, the stuck half of her head, the rest of her, and a deluge of amniotic fluid, blood, and poop--the baby's, not mine--came out all at once. It wasn't pretty, but she got born!

Turns out that she weighed a chunky 9 pounds 7 ounces and had a 14 1/4-inch head circumference. Also, her shoulder was sorta torqued sideways which the midwife said was probably why labor progressed which such strange timing and why she was so hard to push out. I would definitely say this was my hardest birth, but she was my biggest baby so it's maybe not so surprising.

Things have been fairly relaxed around here today. Sister is at school, and my mother came to pick up Bean for the day. I've had a shower and found something that both fits and that I can nurse in, both of which seem like minor triumphs all on their own. Husband has been so solicitous and sweet and has said all manner of complimentary things about my labor. Our new little one is nursing beautifully, and I get the distinct feeling that she's happy she's here.

It's so nice to have another baby girl in the family!

Later

December 1st would've been a lovely, easy-to-remember birthday, but alas, that was NOT the birthday of our baby. December 2nd doesn't appear to be shaping up as her birthday either. This baby is officially 5 days late, and I'm feeling pretty damn down about it now. The waiting around trying to come up with busy work is hard. The pelvic pain, waddling, hormonal grumpiness, and water retention make it suck.

Husband and I thought she might be coming Friday night. I had pretty intense contractions starting at 9:45 pm, and since the midwife had stripped my membranes that afternoon it felt like things were happening down there. The contractions were 9 minutes apart and about a minute and a half long for two hours...and then just stopped. At the time, I was sorta grateful because I'd been up since 3:30 that morning, just unable to go back to sleep. I was exhausted, thinking it probably wouldn't go well with me that tired. I decided to lie down to rest and started falling asleep between contractions. Finally they must have just stopped coming and I stayed asleep. I woke up the next morning thinking, "Shit! I shouldn't have lay down! Maybe I could've kept it going!" But maybe I couldn't have. Probably I couldn't have. If I had any control over labor I would've had this baby a couple of weeks ago.

Anyways. It'll be exciting to meet this new little girl and see what she looks like and all. But really all I can think are more selfish thoughts about how much I want not to be pregnant anymore.

Something completely different

Still no baby. Dammit.

It's a dreary day outside, Bean is indulging in a brutal new temper tantrum phase, and I'm in need of some novelty to take my mind off my enormity and sore pelvic bones. A friend is bringing over her 2 kids and some empanadas in a couple of hours, bless her, and Bean and I whipped up a (ahem) congealed salad just for kicks. That's Jell-o salad for you non-Southerners out there. Got the recipe right out of my local garden club's cookbook which lists about a dozen different Jell-o salad options.

I don't know why the prospect of Jell-o has been lurking in my mental periphery lately as something delicious and desirable, but it has. I haven't made Jell-o since I was about eye level with the kitchen counter and it was a big deal to help my mom make it. Chalk it up to nesting, I guess. Once it sets up, it's going to be such a fabulous afternoon snack, though!

No news

For those of you checking up on me, I still haven't had the baby. Today is my due date, so my hope is that within the next 10 days--which is how late Sister was--I will have had her. But not yet. And absolutely no sign or feeling that it will happen soon. If anyone says to me, "No one's ever been pregnant forever," one more time I'll reach through the screen and slap them.

I've been trying to keep myself busy with plans each day so as not to obsess too much. On the agenda today: a trip to the grocery store for some things we don't really need right this minute and a drive to Raleigh to pick up some Girl Scout badges ordered for a meeting on 12/7. Woo-hoo! the PTA's pizza and bingo night is happening tonight at Sister's school, so we're planning to go to that, too, though I dread enduring the "why-are-YOU-still-here?!" themed repartee I'll be hearing from all the other parents there (who should know better anyway).

It's the long, dark night of the pregnant woman's soul here, y'all.

Pop quiz

Does a pair of testicles, the internet, a long weekend, and a 1966 copy of The Handyman's Book make you a plumber? Please discuss, offering at least two examples to support your argument.

'Cause I can't discuss it.

Thanksgiving

The baby was not born on my best friend's from high school's birthday, not on Thanksgiving, not on the last day of Scorpio, and not with her moon in either Aries or Taurus. In short, the baby is still not born. I'm now entering the voodoo part of my pregnancy, in which I wake up every day thinking of bizarre and utterly antilogical reasons why the baby must have been waiting til THIS particular day to be born. She clearly has her own vision of when her best birthday would be, but so far I have no frigging clue what it is. Perhaps my stepfather's birthday in 3 days? My deceased aunt's birthday on the 28th? A moon in Cancer? The full moon on Saturday? Pizza-and-bingo night at Sister's school on my due date, fer chrissakes?

Well anyways. I do hope that everyone had as pleasant and relaxing a Thanksgiving as I did. My mom did all the cooking and even cleaned up afterwards, insisting that I was way too pregnant to do anything but eat and watch her. My little brothers were charming and solicitous. Though my stepfather got worked up debating with Husband about how great Rush Limbaugh is, and my brother called in to wish us happy Thanksgiving from jail, it was all still very restful. I couldn't have asked for it to have gone better,

Though it would have been nice for the baby to have come.

Yet more pregnancy whining

Earlier today, Bean and I were waiting in line at Target behind another mama with her 1-1/2 year old son. He began squalling about something, prompting Bean to scowl at him and boom fiercely, "NO! Settle down!" And prompting me to think to myself, "Jeez, do I sound like that?" And I have to assume that I must, especially lately as my self-pity at being so massive and uncomfortable deepens.

My newest pregnancy symptom is genuine pain down around where I imagine my cervix to be. The baby puts herself in some weird position--like with an elbow inserted into the middle of that little internal donut--and wiggles there, causing me to suck my breath in through my teeth and stop whatever it is I'm doing to very theatrically clutch my lower abdomen. It's not just twinges here and there either, it goes on for hours at a time before it pauses a little while. I assure you, I am neither a wimp nor a drama queen, having acquitted myself damn well through two natural childbirths. But this frickin' hurts and I don't want to have to go through this for the next 2 weeks before going through labor, fer chrissakes! (Insert big, whiny, ugly mama temper tantrum here.)