To do: update blog

This is totally on my to-do list.  Granted it’s like, item number 516, but whatever.  Point is, it’s on there.  And I didn’t strike it off like I did some things in a rare moment of clarity, when I realized that things cannot stay on your to-do list for years at a time.  They simply cannot.  At some point, you just have to let them go. Like dusting or  balancing your checkbook.

Kidding.  I totally dust.  

Kidding again.  Chris dusts.  I complain about the dust.  

Anyhoo, summer is coming to a close and I realize with incredible guilt that:

1) We have not gone on a real vacation, so Jay will have nothing to report on when he has to write the “What I did for summer vacation” essay this year.  But that is o.k. because he won’t have anything to write the essay with anyway, because buying school supplies is like item 987 on my to-do list. See how I am a problem solver like that?  

2) I did not blog about Ella’s birthday.  Despite the fact that she is my favorite daughter, and she turned the big one vee (roman numerals always make something more important.  Google “Olympics” or “Super Bowl” or “film copyright dates.”) I did not manage to get a single post about how awesome she is.  Rest assured, she is awesome and she celebrated three different times and was well sugared up for the entire birthday week.  By the third celebration she did ask if she was still four, or if this actually made her six, instead?

3) Awe, screw it.  I always feel guilty.  I was raised Catholic and am an environmentalist.  Guilt is my currency.  

I sat down tonight to crack out the lengthy to-do list that has been keeping me up late at night.  Funny that  how no matter how tired you are, the random things you need to complete will keep you awake, dancing around in your head painfully like my dad at a polka concert.  No offense, Dad.  (Do they have polka concerts?) 

Right.  So, in other news, Jack is taking his first steps.  It occurred to me that I should record that.  That at some point, he, or I, or his future spouse, or an FBI agent will want to know when he took his first steps, and I should record that somewhere.  Totally. 

Crap.  Where? 

I can’t find a freaking pen that works or a pencil with a point or a pencil sharpener or a sheet of paper without concentric coffee mug circles.

Ah, here!  On this blog!  Be so noted, world, that Jack took his first steps.  Recently.  Like a monthish or so ago.  Or, maybe not that long ago.  Maybe more like a couple of weeks ago?  Like soonish, but not yesterdayish. 

He’s up to about six steps at a time and is on the move constantly now.  Which means we’re all on the move, too, as we follow the newly toddling toddler. 

And now on to item number 517 (crawl into bed before sleeping baby wakes up.)  Speaking of sleeping babies, please go read this: Honest Toddler: I'm Sorry.  I laughed so hard it nearly made me pee (item numbers 324 and 712, respectively).

JackJack

He goes by many names: Jackers.  JackJack.  Sugar dumpling.  Honeysuckle. Jackety-Jack.  But no matter what we call him, he is loved beyond words.  And here is his story.     

One year ago, today, I woke up feeling funny.  Not stand-up comedy funny or amusing blog entry writing mood funny.  The kind of funny you feel when someone in your belly is planning on coming out soon but not right now-ish, but still kind of soon-ish, just not real time definite-ish.  Not necessarily “I am going to have a baby today-ish” but also not “I am NOT going to have a baby today-ish.”  You know? 

I was very pregnant, but not due for another week.  I had a 10 o’clock in the morning meeting with a consultant that had to happen before I started maternity leave.  For weeks I had been experiencing low to mid-grade contractions.  They hurt.  Despite what baby books and my doctor call Braxton-Hicks (i.e., “false”) contractions, these were the real deal.  And I knew it.  I just didn’t know when they would be over. 

It was Monday morning and as I felt another mid-grade contraction wash over me, I wanted to lie on the couch, but knew I had to be at the office.  I put on work clothes and trudged into the office.  I lamented to my office mate that I had been feeling contractions for weeks and worried that they would never stop.  I would be pregnant forever.  Labor would never really start. I would simply be in this state of discomfort and low to mid-grade contractions for several more weeks.  She assured me that I wouldn’t.  You’re turning a corner, she told me.  You’re really close, she cheerleaded. I breathed through another contraction and hoped she was right.  God, I hoped she was right. 

I sat in the meeting, anxiously looking over my shoulder at the clock on the wall.  The consultant on the other end of the table looked at me in slight irritation and said, “I noticed you keep looking at the clock.  Do you have a phone call you need to be on or something?”

“No,”  I replied.  “I am just timing contractions.”

He was a bit flustered. 

The meeting ended abruptly, at which point I called my doctor.  I told the nurse that I thought I was in labor, but wasn’t sure.  Could I get Dr. Burns to check me out and advise?  The contractions were strong and regular and I would really, really, REALLY like to be examined before I decided on next steps, I told the nurse.  She was more cavalier than I would have liked.  “Well, let’s see… I don’t know.  The doctor doesn’t have an opening until the afternoon…” 

O.K.  New tactic.  I informed her rather edgily, that I would not go home from here and I would not stay at my office.  I was simply trying to decide between the doctor’s office or the hospital.  There would be no going home to the couch at this point.  Understand?  Now, WHERE. SHOULD. I. GO?

She understood.  Come in right now.

I left the office and drove to see my doctor.  Multiple contractions washed over me while waiting for her and I flipped through Parenting magazine with a mix of excitement that it might be the day and worry that she might actually just send me home.  As she came into the examination room she watched me breathe through a contraction and decided it was the real thing.  I was in labor.  I was in labor!  BOO-YA!  She did check my measurements just to have a baseline to provide the hospital and then advised me to go straight to the hospital.  She called the hospital and told them I was on my way.  Weeeeeeee!

I paused on my way out of the building and bolstered myself against the building as I breathed through another contraction.  Calling Chris, I asked him to meet me at the hospital.  “Are you sure?”  He had to pack up Jay and Ella and get them to Grandma before meeting me at the hospital.  This was not a breezy task.  He needed certainty that it was really time before setting these events into motion.  An edge came over my voice as I said, yes.  I was sure.  I was really freaking sure. 

Of course, I did have to stop at Target.  I had not bought Jay and Ella’s big brother/ big sister presents yet, and clearly, this meant that I could not have a baby until these presents were bought.  And wrapped. 

Curses.

Pulling into Target I breathed through another contraction.  Walking into the toy section, I breathed through another.  Selecting their gifts, I breathed through another.  Walking to the cash registers, I breathed through another.  Fumbling through my purse for my wallet, I breathed through another.  O.k.  I got it.  It was time to go to the hospital.  Still, I could not shake the fear that once at the hospital they would send me home, rolling their eyes at that pregnant lady who thought she was in labor but was really just over-reacting. 

Slowly, I drove our manual green station wagon to the hospital.  On the way, I sat through most of a green light as I breathed through another contraction.  FYI, when in labor, never drive yourself to the hospital in a stick shift.  Operating the clutch mid-contraction kind of sucks. 

Parking in the hospital parking garage, I got out of the car and headed into Labor and Delivery.  I braced against the elevator door as I breathed through another contraction.  Arriving on the third floor in between contractions, I strode into triage but was told I didn’t need to be seen there.  Having spoken to my doctor beforehand, the staff was confident I needed a private room.  And how.

Chris arrived within minutes.  Becca arrived shortly afterwards to act as Doula.  We joked.  We breathed.  We swayed.  We tried a few different labor positions.  I moaned and rocked and swayed and breathed.  I can’t say if this lasted a half hour or three hours. But while the contractions were getting stronger, they weren't getting any closer together.  We made the decision to break my water to see if we could help the process along.  

That did it.  Wow.  That did it.  

Suddenly, the contractions became intense and quick, with mere minutes to recover in between.  I breathed and moaned through each one, wondering if I should ask for pain relief.  By the time I was ready to ask for some help with the pain I suddenly had the undeniable compulsion to climb into bed.  I climbed into bed.  A watery memory now, I know the nurses said something about waiting to push until the doctor had checked me and declared it ok to push.  Rubbish.  It was time.  Jack and I knew that. 

Filled with that instinctual and time immemorial urge, I pushed.  Another contraction, another push.  A mere four minutes later (four minutes!) Jack, beautiful Jack, was born.  Upon seeing him for the first time, I wept while my heart exploded with joy.  I have been skipping on clouds ever since.  His easy smile and joyful spirit make everyone in the room light up.  Scrumptious beyond description, I get lost in his eyes when we nurse. We totally lucked out.  

Dear JackJack, 

Having evaluated you for a full year now, your trial period is over.  I think we’ll keep you. 

We are ecstatic that you are part of our family and that you have delicious neck rolls and ticklish thighs to keep us entertained. Most of all, we are ecstatic that you were born in our lifetime and we get to share our lives with you.  Each day brings us your wonderful grin along with some new trick or surprise. Maybe it's the discovery that you like peek-a-boo or can now initiate a rousing game of “Chase Jack around the coffee table” or finding out that a silly toy that crunchy granola moms buys for their kids because they are BPA- free and chemical free and totally bland and boring actually frightens you or that hey, you like avocado, or that you love to hug.  Every day is like a birthday to us with you in our lives, Jack.  

Thanks for a whole year filled with joy and love, and here’s to many, many more celebrations of your life.     

Love always,

Mama

More Gardening!

Today we filled the raised beds with compost and top soil, mulched the space between the beds, and found the strawberries. In addition to pulling the weeds that were covering the patch, we discovered several strawberry plants had crept out into the surrounding area, so I dug them up and carted them back to the strawberry patch, where I told them they would be very happy. Very happy. Why would anyone want to leave? I did sort of feel like Kathy Bates in Misery. Only without the sledge hammer or creepy fanaticism over an injured novelist...

Anyway. We still have a lot of work to do. Across from the raised beds, where there is grass now, we will till up the ground, spread compost and plant corn, beans and squash. The raspberries need weeding, and we have to sow seeds in the raised beds. Then, we have another entire garden plot to plan, prepare and plant. The plot that adjoins our current one (I was standing in it to take this picture) is now ours (!) giving us one long plot.



I am giddy with garden possibilities. More tomatoes! Carrots! Beets! Spinach! Broccoli! Potatoes! Swiss Chard! Hooray! Also, more tilling, weeding and watering. Okay by me.

In other news, we think Jack may have Roseola and we have a condo showing tomorrow. Double shit. I’ve come to loathe showings. Granted, in theory every time we have a showing there is a possibility that we could sell the condo. But in reality, we spend hours organizing, cleaning, scrubbing, and detailing. We get stressed out, are liable to snap at the kids, and run around like chickens with our heads cut off as we try to prevent the kids from undoing all of the work we just did. We breathlessly dash out of the condo just before the scheduled showing and then… nothing. So, I have come to temper my expectations when we get a request for a showing. But we still clean and prep the condo till it shines. This time we are a bit hamstrung , though, as Jack has a fever of 103 and is only comfortable when nestled in my arms. Trust me, I’m not complaining about having to hold him, but, it does make it even harder for us to get the condo show ready. Since he has been fussy and lethargic but has no other symptoms, we suspect Roseola. Both Jay and Ella had it right about this age. We’ll watch for the tell tale rash in a few days.

Here’s hoping for an offer on the condo, fast healing for Jack and more superb gardening weather.

Dear third child who is so completely awesome yet you would never know it by reading my blog,

You are awesome. Today isn’t your birthday. We’re not marking a milestone (unless you count, oh, I don’t know, your BIRTH, which was only lightly chronicled here). I realize that compared to your siblings, you have scant pictures and stories about you on this blog. But you? Wonderful, smiley, chronically happy, you? You don’t seem to mind. I keep meaning to post your birth story (Cliff Notes version: Contractionscontractionscontractions, meeting at the office at 10 am contractionscontractionscontractions, um, I think I have to gOOOO contractionscontractionscontractions now. Hi Doctor? I think I am in labor. Am I in LAAAAA… contractionscontractioncontractions… bor? Oh. I am? Go straight to the hospital? Right-O. Contractionscontractionscontractions, trip to Target, stand in checkout liiiINNNNEEEEE contractioncontractioncontractions, get to hospital, take the elevAATOOORRRR, lean heavily on elevator door door contractionscontractionscontractions Best friend/doula/hair-holder-while-in-labor, Becca, come quiIICCCCKK! contractionscontractionsconTRAC…tions… oh! Here he is! Jack is here! Beautiful, perfect, wonderful, squirmy lovely tiny Jack! Welcome to our world!)

I’ve been holding you nearly every moment ever since. Well, except when Daddy is holding you.
Or Jay is. Or Ella is. Or Grandma or Grandpa. Hey. My turn.

I keep meaning to post pictures of your irrepressible smile.

I keep meaning to write about how much your siblings adore you.

I keep meaning to write about how much everyone loves you.

I keep meaning to write about how you are cooing, and then wait! You’re sitting up all by yourself. And then scooting around on your belly and then pulling yourself up to a stand… and by the time I sit down to write about how much you have grown and all the cool stuff you can do, you are on to some other developmental milestone and then Bam! We’re off childproofing the condo or fishing pennies out of your mouth (as an aside, Ella informed me the other day that when she grows up, she wants to be a butterfly. And a ballerina… and a hunter. Considering that Daddy had to pull a penny out of your mouth yesterday, we are wondering if you plan on being an ATM when you grow up. We could use the cash. Just a thought. No pressure.)

I keep meaning to write about you. Marvelous, sweet, deliciously happy you.

But I think I have to hold you instead.

Sick

Does your throat feel scratchy?

I dread this question. For us, it signals the start of an unavoidable, unstoppable, week-long, sleepless, I-am-worse-than-you-so-you-have-to-take-the-baby, ear infection riddled sick fest.

First, before you read this and then hastily run off to locate a can of Lysol and a case of hand sanitizer, we are all on the mend. Mostly. Second, it’s too late, anyway. Find a box of Kleenex, a jar of honey and a good book. In my case, you won’t be able to read the book because you’ll be busy dealing with the needs of three simultaneously sick and needy small people, but it may cushion your face as your head drops from exhaustion sometime around 2 a.m. Anything in paperback is a good choice.

At this moment, we have three bottles of antibiotics lining our counter, to combat double ear infections and pink eye in all three of the kids. We have made the trip from pediatrician’s office to pharmacy and home again three separate times in less than a week, and Chris has been gone for three of these days to go deer hunting. If I am doing the math correctly, that means… let’s see, two parents, minus one who escaped to hunt all by himself for three whole days… carry the zero… I’ve got it! That leaves ME all the hell alone for three days with three sick kids all five and under. That’s some math for you.

It has meant bodily fluids coming out of eyes, noses and mouths, lots of children’s Tylenol and ibuprofen, much pacing in the middle of the night and general crabbiness throughout the day. But it hasn't been all bad. It's uh... no. It's pretty much sucked rotten eggs.

(Pausing to shush and bounce and pace with a very uncomfortable Jack)

O.k. so we are not all quite on the mend… and typing this post… is taking way longer than I planned… as I am only able to type short barrages of words… and only when I get to the end of my pacing loop… with one hand… while swaying and humming,… and trying to make it seem… like I am not typing… but just kind of pacing in place over here by the computer… and then Jack rouses… and I take off for another loop through the condo… because what? I am totally… not typing! I am the most non-typing, only pacing person I’ve ever met… maybe who has ever lived… Only pacing! Pace, pace, pace! That is me! I just… can’t get enough pacing!

No devil couch! I will not sit on you, no matter how much you try to seduce me… with your soft cushions and supportive frame... The way you call to me while I blearily stumble back and forth in the living room… You see, sick babies have a sense for these sorts of things. When they sense that their parents are feeling any level of comfort (i.e. blood flow to all limbs, a chair to perch a partial butt cheek on, etc.) they stir and proceed to wake themselves and anyone else in the house who has managed to find some sleep.

Oh! Look at me! Pacing away! Pace… pace…pace…

Does your throat feel scratchy?

Stupid Country Song

I used to be a fan of country music. I am still, actually, except when it makes me cry. There are enough crappy things in life, do we really NEED music that depresses us, too?

Jay’s school had its fall/Halloween dance tonight. Being someone who loves to dance (in public, at drumming circles, at weddings, in the shower, when trying on clothes in fitting rooms- yes husband, that is why it takes me so long when I disappear into a fitting room. For each garment I try on, I lipsynch Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” and strut back and forth in front of the mirror, as I assume most women do. Your suspicions have now been confirmed). Where was I? Yes, the dance.

So I love to dance. Of course, before coming I did make sure that parents were actually supposed to show up, because I have a whole lifetime to embarrass Jay, and I wanted to hold off just a little before getting started on that. So parents invited? Check. We arrive at the school gym and the DJ announces a dance contest. I am cool with that. I can throw down with the best of these parents. I am ready with my Electric Slide and Macarena and Funky Chicken. Bring it.

The DJ urges the kids to grab a parent and get out on the dance floor. Jay and I make our way out into the colored lights amidst the princesses and pirates.

And Then.

This:


Yes folks, “Don’t Blink” by Kenny Chesney. Seriously. Who the hell thought that this would be a good idea? In case you didn’t play the video, I’ll give you a little taste of the lyrics.

Don't blink

Just like that you're six years old and you take a nap and you

Wake up and you're twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife

Don't blink

You just might miss your babies growing like mine did

Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your "better half"

Of fifty years is there in bed

And you're praying God takes you instead

Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think

So don't blink

Oh, I blinked alright. I blinked a crap ton, because tears were streaming down my face and were totally ruining my mascara. I mean, why not throw a little Sunrise, Sunset in there, too, DJ? Butterfly Kisses? Some other song that makes us all despair over how fast kids grow up, and then finishes with a reference to our spouse dying? Jesus.

Jay and I danced, while I held Jack snuggled against me in the sling and Ella shyly hid behind Chris’ legs wearing her pink princess gown and hiking boots. I sniffled. I tried not to be one of those girls at the school dance who runs out of the gym and into the bathroom sobbing (there’s always one. Just like dancing in the fitting room, this is another truism of our gender.)

After that, things got better. The country music ended and we got jiggy with it. Turns out Ella can get down.



Which means that shopping trips for clothes with us will start to take a lot longer.

Owned

We have a dinner tradition in our family. It’s a little hokey, and maybe when we have three teenagers they will roll their eyes and sigh about it, but for now, it works, and we like it. At dinner, we go around the table and everyone says what the best part of their day was. It’s simple. It’s enlightening. It’s entertaining. Often we also go around and share the worst part of our day. Sometimes we also go around and say what we are thankful for. Sometimes our responses are variations of the same answer. “The best part of my day was going for a long run in the Arboretum. The worst part of my day was the call with a funder that was so bad that I had to go out for a long run in the Arboretum to clear my head. I am thankful for good running shoes.” Sometimes I hold Jack up and speak for him in a low voice, all ventriloquist style, and say the best part of the day was burping or laying naked in the sunshine or chewing my hand, which never fails to get big belly laughs from Ella and pleas of “More! Talk like Jack some more!”

Today as I dropped Jay off at school (which is almost always the best part of my day) Jay asked me to pick him up after school. I told him I would try, but that I really had a lot of work to do and didn’t know whether I could take off from the office in time to pick him up. He nodded his head in understanding. Then he said, “If you did pick me up from school today, when we have dinner tonight and talk about the best part of our day, then I’ll say it was you picking me up after school.”

Stop. Let’s pause right there. That moment. That was the exact moment that I realized that I was OWNED by this boy. Because instantaneously I mentally began jettisoning items from my to-do list, rearranging my schedule, pushing up phone calls and weighing the option of simply quitting my full time job in order to be a professional to-school and home-from-school walker person. What would my business card look like? Would I have to craft a mission statement?

I beamed. I told him I would be there. I sighed, knowing that I wouldn’t get to all of the things on my to-do list. Eh. That’s what Mondays are for, right?

The Two Minute Post that turned into the Much Longer Post because I have no time management skills

I have emerged from the protective cocoon of maternity leave and have jumped right back into the fray of full time work. Crimini! We are presently consumed with trying to figure out school schedules, work schedules, nursing visits and more. Sleeping and eating are important, too, I guess, if you like that sort of thing.

Jay is enjoying school. Ella is enjoying life without Jay to boss her around during the day. She misses him from time to time, but not enough to actually, like, vocalize it or anything. But, I know that when she gleefully declares, “When Jay goes to school today I am going to play with his toys!” that what she really means is that she misses him. Or something.

Also, did anyone else know that we actually have a daughter? Like a whole middle child, who is not her older brother Jay or younger brother Jack, but an entirely different, and wonderful little person who says funny things and likes to dance around wearing pink sparkly ballerina slippers? Huh. Once Jay started school, Ella came into her own and I realized just how much she had been relegated to the role of middle child. Let the guilt trip begin.

Speaking of guilt, I find myself feeling a lot of guilt lately, especially now that work has started. I realized recently how hard I had been trying to meet my own and others’ expectations. Read to your children at least 30 minutes a day. Eat organic, locally sourced food. Exercise an hour a day. Floss. Write thank you notes, on time. Spend quality time with your family. Keep a clean house. Meditate daily. Work at least 8, but preferably 10, hours a day to make an impact on the world. Read the newspaper. Follow local politics. Get involved. Volunteer. Walk, don’t drive, it’s better for the environment. Always do what’s right. Tell the truth. Be happy- no one likes a sad noodle. Be calm. Women who aren’t are called bitches. Bake cookies for your neighbors. Vote. Donate.

The list in my head keeps going.

On any given day I am giving it my all to do all of these things, and do them well. I had it in my head that women everywhere were doing all of these things simultaneously and that I was just behind the ball. Then it struck me that no one person I knew was doing all of these things at the same time. The women who were fit and physically active and highly involved with their kids didn’t have full time jobs. The women who had high powered jobs didn’t have kids at home. The women who were calm didn’t have spotless homes or a fulltime job/small children one-two punch.
After realizing that I was striving for the impossible, I exhaled deeply. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to keep a clean house, cook all of your meals from scratch, take public transportation, exercise for a full hour, volunteer, work a full day, eat dinner together, read to your kids and still get the prescribed eight hours of sleep a night. I still feel guilty much of the time, but I am now conscious that I was pushing myself into the realm of near insanity, and now I can allow myself to scale back on my expectations. And, just like that, Ack! I am late for heading home! Guilt again!

A post in which I answer fan mail and say other stuff, too

I know I have been out of touch for a month, but that hasn’t stopped the deluge of fan mail I get from my thousands (hundreds? O.k., dozens) of readers from reaching me. I read all of it and though I can’t respond personally to each and every one of my readers, I think it is time that I respond to some of the more commonly asked questions. (Some of these may or may not be actual reader questions. Some of my responses may or may not be complete and utter nonsense.)

Anonymous: Um...has anything been going on since July 24th?

MG: Jack pooped all over my shorts yesterday and Kodiak horked something greenish on the carpet near the sliding glass door. Overall, I’d say it has been a pretty productive month.

Melody Yap: Can I know what song is this ?

MG: Melody, I would love to be able to tell you, but I don’t know. I only know it as the la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la la la la song. My awesome mother-in-law made the video. I would like to promise you that I will ask her when I see her in a few days, but I have already forgotten what this sentence was about.

Anonymous: Um, is that Jay making espresso? I don't mean to pry, but isn't he a bit young??

MG: Dude. Psssshh. And also, No. And when we get him good and trained we’ll force him to open a kiddie espresso stand in the front yard and sell it to passersby to help pay for those new kindergarten school supplies. Elmer’s glue don’t come cheap there, Anonymous.

Honey Hiring: HoneyHirting Smart Recruiting for jobs management Track multiple jobs.Track jobs from scheduling to hiring.Shortlist Candidates and Schedule interviews.Maintain historical data of jobs.Recruiters management Tracks all jobs Tracks Company accounts Tracks candidates history Tracks candidates from short listing to interviews to hiring. Candidate management Tracks multiple candidates Mass upload of candidate data. Maintain historical data of candidate Company management Tracks all jobs of a company Tracks all interviews of jobs Tracks company job and hiring history Copyright © 2011 HoneyEaters Software Pvt Limited Solutions. All Rights Reserved. www.honeyhiring.com

MG: Hmmmm, good question, HoneyHiring. But really when you think about it, I think you’ll agree that Bounty paper towels are the quicker picker upper.

Anonymous: Is it true that you climbed Mount Everest wearing a kitten costume and playing the clarinet last year?

MG: Twice. Although it was a cold weather grade kitten costume.

Anonymous: O.k., that was a nonsense answer.

MG: That wasn’t a question. You have to ask a question. Read the part above where I talk about responding to reader’s questions.

Anonymous: O.k, that was a nonsense answer?

MG: Wait. You still didn’t ask a question. In a question, your voice is supposed to raise a *little* at the end. You didn’t do that. You just swapped out the period for a question mark.

Anonymous: ?

MG: …………….?

Anonymous: ??

MG: O.k., that was just sassy.

Other Anonymous: You have three young kids and a busy schedule. How do you manage it all and stay sane, beautiful and vivacious?

Anonymous: Hey wait, Missy wrote that question. That wasn’t a real reader’s question.

Other Anonymous: Yes it was!

Anonymous: That was just Missy using a high pitched voice and putting her hand over her mouth to make it sound like it was coming from somewhere else.

MG: Well, Other Anonymous, I am glad you asked. I couldn’t do it without (insert product name here- this space available for your product today for the low, low price of only $399 a day). I love (insert product name here) because it makes my hair shiny, my boobs perkier and my feet smaller. No matter what tomorrow brings, I know I can depend on (insert product name here) to carry me through the day with confidence and bowel regularity!

Well, that’s all the questions we have time for today, folks! Feel free to send more in for another riveting mass response post next month!

Other stuff:

We are all doing fine, having returned from a three and a half week trip down to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Florida (which is why I haven’t written. Because they didn’t have internet access. Bet you feel real guilty for being pushy about me not posting, don'cha now, Anonymous?)

Jack is super awesome and still squishy and soft. I’d post pictures, but that does involve me putting him down.

A huge shout out to our friends Becca and Julio who just had a beautiful little girl, Amalia Susan, yesterday. Congrats guys!

Ella turned three while we were in Florida. Our attempts to shield her from princess-mania have proven futile.We partied in full on pink princess style.

Kindergarten starts next week. Blargh and yes! And also yikes and OMG and woohoo and boohoo and every other possible mixed up emotion I can feel and attempt to convey via a keyboard.

I explained to Jay that he could have anything he wanted for dinner on the first day of kindergarten. Anything at all.

Jay: Could I have a bowl of yogurt?

Me: Yeah, but, you could have anything you want for dinner. Anything. Whatever you want. This is a celebration dinner!

Jay: (contemplating) ... Could I have THREE bowls of yogurt?

…And I’m spent.

Smiles! First Smiles!

What's that? Who's that back there?


Oh it's my sister. She's cool.


Hello, Mama! Now this lady is cool. She's like a dairy, but softer.


And there's that Daddy guy. I kind of like him, too.



Man, this whole optical focus thing kind of rocks.


Note to my mom: I could only coerce these smiles by promising him that he would be seeing Grandma soon. It had absolutely nothing to do with me grinning and cooing and shaking my head while saying, "Boooza booza booza!" Nothing. I swear.

Note to husband: Um... the boob shots? Really? Dude. My mom reads this blog. See above note.

Second note to my mom: Those are totally not my boobs! OK they are, but Chris did not actually look at my boobs when taking these pictures. I swear! OK he did. But he insisted that he really likes my personality and he was focusing on that when taking these pictures.

Note to self: Check for personality in cleavage.

Jack is one month old today. How did that happen?

Where has the month gone? It has gone into staring into his eyes, stroking his fuzzy head and admiring his tiny hands, feet and nose.

Typing with one hand is no fun, and as I am loathe to let anyone else hold the boy, I have been neglecting my blog. We are all healthy, happy and tired here in the Gavin household, though. In losing sleep, I have also seemingly lost my ability to use words with more than one syllable or coherent sentences, though, so I have arguably been doing the internet a favor by not writing. Thus, I offer up a video, put together by my most awesome mother in law and Aunt Joy.

Hands off the kid

There have been a lot of arguments over here lately. Most of them center on one thing, or one very small person. Despite my claims that he is “All mineminemine!”, I am constantly having to fend off sneak attacks from other family members who try to steal Jack. Jay and Ella and Chris all seem to feel like they should get an opportunity to hold or touch Jack. Like what the HELL? Chris says things like, "Um... He's my son, too you know" and Ella crowds against my side for top of the head kisses and baby shoulder caresses. Jay wants to sing and dance and read his favorite books to Jack. I argue that he is my prize for nine months of pregnancy and several hours of labor. Chris argues that he suffered through my pregnancy, too. Whatever. I’ll have to think up a really important errand to send everyone on in a few minutes… In fact, I think I need corn. Fresh corn on the cob. Picked by the kids. At a u-pick field. In southern Illinois. And then… Texas watermelon.

Chris getting his weekly allowance of Jack time:

Aw... isn't that sweet. Now that's enough. Unhand the kid.

Videos... because typing with one hand sucks

Jay reading "Go Dog, Go!"


Ella reading "What's Up Duck? A Book of Opposites":


Baby Jack, just doing his thing: (sure he can read, but only in Latin)

Mine, mine, mine

Or alternatively, I am hormonal and weepy and starting to worry about college funds.

Jack is perfect. Everything about him, from his perfectly round head, to his perfect toes, everything is perfect. I am so totally, utterly, completely in love and so very, very happy. And yet, I can’t stop crying.

I can’t stop crying because I know that tomorrow he will be older. He will be bigger. He will be different. And not this. I can see him leaving for college and having kids of his own, even as I hold him tight in my arms and kiss the top of his tiny fuzzy head. And I want so desperately to stop time. To freeze it in a little jar and make it stop going by so quickly.

I find myself getting angry at Jay and Ella because they won’t let me spend all of my time with Jack, breathing in his delicious scent and admiring everything that is so perfect about him. And they are wonderful too. And I know they are growing just as quickly and I love them every bit as much, but they gave me an appreciation for how quickly newborns become babies who become toddlers who become big kids who start kindergarten this fall. Today as I sat in the pediatrician’s waiting room, a woman with a teenage daughter cooed over Jack and reminded me again that “it goes by so quickly” and she remembers bringing home her daughter and how giant her then two-year old son looked suddenly. I could feel my chin quiver. I know it goes by quickly. And I think that sucks.

There are times when I think this will last forever. When the kids are fighting or when Chris is yelling at someone to GET OFF THE TABLE or when Jay is asking for help reaching the glasses or when Ella needs help getting onto the potty. Times when I would kill for a little privacy, when I want a nap or when I need to sit by myself and think my own thoughts. And then I realize what I trade for those moments. And how much I will miss the squabbling, the singing, the pint-sized person running full force into the couch headfirst, the bedtime routine, the helping them do everything as they learn to do it all by themselves. And then I start to cry again, with huge gulping gasps of air and snot bubbles.

Am I hormonal? Sure. Am I a bit sleep deprived? Yes. Am I keenly aware of how fast time passes, especially when you are not paying attention? Absolutely.

All this by saying, if you come to visit us, and I slap your wrist while shouting, “Mine, mine, mine!” as you try to pick Jack up, you have been warned.