Stuff and Things

It's been a busy week here at Me Show central, what with our cousin Hanna visiting and prompting visits to the Puyallup (pyoo-AL-up, Morah, not POY-ul-up) Fair and Seattle Aquarium, among other places, for everyone but Madeline and me.  I'd write something that would encompass all of these events in a witty and pithy way, but I'm terribly sleep-deprived from, you know, the sleep deprivation.  That, plus the soaring crescendo of a sugar high achieved through the manic consumption of an entire box of dark chocolate-covered caramels, have rendered me inarticulate.  So, here, look at these pictures instead.  They're said to be worth thousands of words, or at least a gander.

Sleep smile!  Wakey smiles are rare, but they happen now.  This is Madeline's first smile captured photographically.

Giggles!

Snuggles!

First tea party with Me Show favorite, Liam!

There's Something I Haven't Told You

Look at how big Livy's gotten!  And, uh, someone else, too!

No, I didn't eat too many doughnuts.  Or, rather, the too many doughnuts I ate didn't cause that bloat.  THIS little lady did!

Don't bug me; I'm busy sleeping and growing hair.

That there is Miss Madeline (rhymes with "nine") Mae, and she is 4 weeks old today.  In that picture she was 1 day old.  She is even bigger and hairier and cuter now.  She does things like smile at us in her sleep and fart like a dyspeptic longshoreman all day long.  We love her a lot and are going to keep her forever and snuggle her and pet her and OH MY GOD, SHE'S SO CUTE SHE MAKES ME TALK LIKE LENNIE FROM OF MICE AND MEN!

Wonder Women!

Luckily, we have an in-house (housemade?) superhero to protect "Baby Sister" from Mama's overzealous snuggles.  Livy loves "[her] baby," and we've yet to see any kind of rivalry or jealousy from her.  I may have just jinxed it, but the love has held for 4 weeks so far.  The jinxy statute of limitations must be up after 4 weeks, yes?

So, to reintroduce myself to blogging and to blog readers, I offer both a postpartum mix tape and a personal cri de coeur.

1.  For you nursing ladies in the crowd, let this inspire you to great lactational heights:

Latch on:  Kool & The Gang's "Get Down On It."

In flagrante delicto:  Nirvana's "Drain You."

Digestif:  PJ Harvey's "Dry."

2.  Mr. Weaver, please forgive me for exploiting another tiny person for my own entertainment and pleasure.  I am a limited woman who needs a hobby, and this is better than making God's eyes out of popsicle sticks and nasty acrylic yarn and then mailing them to you in bulk.  What my children lose in privacy, you gain in not having to haul my handiwork to the dump, and now you have to be on my side.  Sucka.

The Goose Is Getting Fat!

Now that Livy is a fully sentient being with the capability of understanding and remembering holiday traditions, I'm trying to be purposeful in determining how we celebrate.  Halloween was a huge deal this year, with 2 parties here, 1 at a friend's house, and trick-or-treating with school, friends, and Daddy & Mommy.  Livy loved all the excitement, and, because Halloween is my favorite holiday, so did I.  It was a great month of spooky fun, and I'm sad to see it go.

So, to replace it, I'm starting to plan our Christmas holidays.  I'm usually a grinchy Christmas grump, but if I'm ever going to be Mother of the Year, that's got to change.  In spite of my grumpiness I've always wanted to do an Advent calendar, not because I believe in Advent, but just for the opportunity to amp up Christmas anticipation.  Because candy makes Livy a crazy beast, though, a traditional Advent calendar is out of the question.  Instead, I'm stealing this fine blog's idea instead and doing a Christmas/Winter/Holiday book Advent calendar.  Because Livy's school (Owned and run by her Oma - see how awesome that is?) participates in Scholastic book orders, I just put in a mammoth order for 24 holiday books to wrap and clothespin to some red yarn strung garland-style in our living room.  Each day after breakfast we'll open a new book, read it together, and add it to our growing stockpile of Christmas goodness.  The final book will be "'Twas the Night Before Christmas," of course, because it's that kind of attention to detail that makes you a wonderful parent in the eyes of blog readers everywhere.

I'm also going to steal Mrs. Miller's fine family tradition of watching Christmas movies together and watch at least one ever weekend in December with SLB and, depending on her attention span, Olivia.  I already love Elf, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, It's a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, A Christmas Story, and Love, Actually, so that's a great start.  And it just wouldn't be Christmas without rereading Mrs. Miller's treatise on whether or not Die Hard is a Christmas classic, which might actually rival "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" for holiday reverence in this household.  Alan Rickman, apparently, is the reason for the Christmas cinematic season.  Who knew?

That's our preemptive strike against grinchiness, people.  What are your holiday plans?  Do you have any fine suggestions I can add to those above?  I think we can all agree that I need all the help I can get.

Family Of Origin, Meet New Family: A Social Contract

Hi, friends!

I'm about to get into some touchy stuff here, so you'll have to pardon my atypical lack of inappropriate jokes and snarkiness.  You may not have heard, but I have a 2 year-old.  I was also, aside from a few fertile friends back east, on the vanguard of my cohort's procreation, which means that now I get to watch all of my buddies going through their own pregnancy and new parent experiences.  One universal experience, in addition to desperate exhaustion and sore nipples, is the challenge of managing relationships within couples' families of origin while forming their identity with their children as new families of their own.  And so, prompted both by recent conversations with my parent friends, whom I asked specifically for their stories, and recent questions from older family members and friends asking for advice on how best to engage with new parents in their lives, I give you this: A humble code of conduct for both new parents and their families of origin.  I'm sure I'm missing a lot here, and you're all welcome to add your own advice or stories in the comments.  But, after informally interviewing about a dozen friends, I've distilled their stories into a few pithy nuggets, hopefully to the benefit of families both new and established.

1.  It's all about communication.

Lots of people I talked to identified boundaries as the most important theme of blending new families with families of origin, but I disagree.  Differing notions of boundaries certainly did lead to conflict, but preceding the violation of people’s boundaries was nearly always flawed or nonexistent communication.  Most of the conflicts and rifts identified in my friends' stories involved miscommunication and, more commonly, a complete lack of communication between families of origin and new families.  People, you’ve got to talk this shit out before it hits the fan, so to speak.  New parents, just as you have a birth plan that you share with your delivery team, please form and share a visitation plan with your family.  Do you want your mom in the delivery room?  If so, then of course you’d ask her in advance.  Do you absolutely not want visitors at the hospital?  Then you should tell those most likely to visit in advance of the baby’s arrival that you want time alone to recover (if necessary, detail what exactly a fourth-degree tear or cracked nipple is) and bond with your new baby.  It’s hard to tell your parents, aunts, uncles, friends, and whatnots not to show up at the hospital with flowers and chocolates when all they want to do is visit your beautiful new baby, but it’s much, much harder to tell them to get the hell out when they’re already there.  Also, be clear on family visits’ beginnings and endings, hand-washing rules, and any other guidelines you’d like visitors to follow with your little one.  All reasonable people will be comforted by knowing exactly what’s expected of them during visits.  And for those who are unreasonable?  Well, cowboy- and –girl up, new parents, and stand up for your rights as the new sheriffs in town.

And, families of origin, please don’t think you’re walking away from this topic unscathed here.  For the love of all that is holy in both your family and the universe, YOU MUST ASK before you show up anywhere near the new family immediately before, during, or after the new child’s birth.  Yes, I know you’re excited about the new arrival, but this is some tender, private, and intensely personal stuff going on here.  Please, please respect that.  Ask before you show up at the hospital, ask before you show up at the house, and then listen to and obey the answers that you get.  You’ll have plenty of time to hold that little baby, and it’s much better to interact with the loving and grateful parents of a newborn than it is to endure the anger or passive-aggression of new parents who feel put-upon or, in one respondent’s word “victimized” by overbearing relatives. 

Alternately, if the new parents insist that it’s cool that you all visit and partake of miracle of new life, please don’t repeatedly ask “Are you sure?”  Take the new family at their word.  It’s exhausting trying to assuage the emotional fears of boundary-leery families of origin during a visit.  If you’re not sure of being there, family and friends, then say you’d rather visit later.  And on the flip side of that coin, new parents, please don’t force people to hold your newborn.  “Are you sure?” is often code for “I don’t wanna!,” and you have to respect others’ boundaries as much as you’d like your own respected.

Finally, because so many people had similar stories, let me make this one its own all-caps sentence.  DO NOT SURPRISE ANY NEW FAMILY WITH AN UNANNOUNCED VISIT.  No.  Just don’t.  I don’t care how delightful you anticipate it being, I promise that everyone loses in this scenario.

So, everybody, let’s agree to be clear, be fair, and be respectful during this time of joyful transition.  It’s what we’d do in interactions with casual acquaintances, so let’s afford these basic courtesies to our most beloved family members, too.

2.  It’s all about calories.

Everyone I spoke with – everyone – answered my request for advice on things that would most help new parents with a unanimous “Bring food!”  I couldn’t agree more.  I remember every single meal my family and friends brought to our home after Livy was born, and I’ve never been so grateful for chili, pasta sauce, and bean soup (Mom); Whole Foods haul, meatloaves, yummy chicken dish, and tomato and egg pie (Kirk & Katie); veggie lasagna (Edie & Michael); Pasta & Co. extravaganza (Nathan & Ruby); nummy Indian food (Katie & Jonathan); Israeli couscous & green salad (Morah); sandwiches & salad (Kathy & Omi); and more Cupcake Royale deliveries than I care to admit to (Jeremy & Krissie).  There.  See how I did that more than 2 years after the fact?  That’s because when you’re exhausted and don’t want to cook, injured (Oh, HI, enormous abdominal scar!) and can’t cook, and are nursing and want to eat all the damn time, food matters.  So if you go to visit a family with a new baby, you’d do well to bring some chow with you, and you’d do best to see what kind of chow your new friends want or crave.  Don’t bring meat to a vegetarian, and don’t bring a 9^th pasta dish to a family that’s choking on donated carbs.  Call, ask, and deliver.  And, no, friends, those calories are not for you.  You’re not going to a potluck; you are on a mission of mercy.  Go, drop off the food, say how beautiful the baby is, and take off.

Or, if you’re going for a gold star, before taking off ask what chores or errands the new family needs you to do or run.  That’s right; an offer to burn some calories for the happy family will be as appreciated as a direct delivery of calories to them, possibly more.  Hold the baby while Mom & Dad catch up on sleep or get out of the house for a while, or fold some laundry, do some dishes, take the dog for a walk, or the like.  Ask what the new parents need, and then give them what they ask for.  And, hey, new parents!  When people offer to help, let them!  Answer honestly if people ask you what you need help with!  The people who love you will be delighted to help you, and, admit it, you need the help. 

3.  It’s all about support.

One respondent to my informal interview said that a family member visiting her new little family to lend support told her how awful she had looked when she was in the hospital.  That’s not supportive.  Another friend wrote of how her mother-in-law compared her new grandchild to her other grandchild, the son of my friend’s brother-in-law.  That’s not supportive.  A family member told me that it was too bad that Livy got my (luminous!  glorious!) pale skin.  That’s not supportive.  A family committed to cloth diapering was told how stupid and wrong it is.  A mother working hard to breastfeed on demand was told that she was spoiling her child and should stop.  A mother who couldn’t breastfeed was told that she was depriving her child and should start (how exactly we haven’t yet determined).  Parents committed to comforting their child on demand are told to let their child cry it out, and parents letting their child cry it out are told to respond to the child on demand.  A mother of a colicky baby was given a dismissive lecture on how much harder it will be to raise her son when he’s a teenager.  That’s not supportive. 

What is supportive is helping new families make the parenting strategies they’ve decided on work for them.  Figure out how you can do that, and if you can’t do that then politely and silently remain a shoulder to cry and vent on.  Anyone can say “I know this is hard, but it won’t always be so difficult.”  Try that.  I promise that you’ll do more good that way than by responding to other people’s challenges with criticism.  And, as a rule of thumb, every new baby is gorgeous, every new mother is a pillar of strength, and every new father is a natural.  If you can’t find anything genuinely complimentary to say, then stick with “What a sweet baby!,” drop off a meal, and leave feeling like the hero the new family thinks you are.

4.  It’s all about family.

During times of great change, such as weddings, births, and funerals, it seems that family members either become their best selves or their worst selves.  Birth is a joyous crisis of sorts, a happy crucible through which families are permanently changed, and not every individual has the strength to endure this change gracefully.  So, people, do the best you can.  Resolve to be your best self and show up to be the best you can be to the people who most need it.  And, should someone fall short of your expectations, endeavor to forgive.  This is a tough time for everyone, but, as anyone can say, it won’t always be this tough.  There’s plenty of time to absorb these changes and settle into a new normal that’s so much sweeter for the new little person in it. 

(And if you really can’t forgive, feel free to comment anonymously here with your rants for us to enjoy.  Win-win!).

Know This:

Friends, you're more than welcome to come to our Halloween party, but you'd better be prepared to work for your treats.

Sweeping the doormat = One pumpkin muffin or one juice box/string cheese combo.

Vacuuming the rug = Two funsize Crunch bars or half a bagel with pumpkin pie cream cheese.

Now get to work.

RELEASE THE KRAKEN!

Did you know that the Giant Pacific Octopus has 8 arms to hold you and 3 hearts to love you?  That explains why this specimen that's been running around our house since our Halloween party last weekend is so snuggly.

The Importance of Not Being Earnest

Here.  I'll toss you a cute bone for listening to all of my earnest attempts at personal development and self-improvement.  Here we are on the way to the the-ah-tah.

Our CB nicknames are Hot Mama and Little Biscuit.

Little Biscuit's not really that blurry in real life, but she never did meet a wiggle in which she didn't want to indulge.

So sometimes Hot Mama has to wrestle Little Biscuit still to get a semi-decent photo.  Thanks to Big Poppa Daddy Studmuffin, Esq., for the fine photography.  Hot Mama over and out.

Movin' On Up

Once upon a time there was an expectant mother who looked like this:

Rock out with your bellybutton out.

And an expectant father who, seeing his wife's increasingly gargantuan belly, decided that the time was ripe to assemble a crib for his growing baby girl.  That process looked a lot like this:

He's just pretending to hammer.  Our crew of crib-building elves is just out of frame.

And this crib worked for a long, long time.  Like when that baby looked like this:

Yes, I know I was supposed to take the bib off before her nap.  I can't go back in time, so don't nag.

or like this:

Cat always was, cat always is, and cat always will be Livy's snuggly little nighttime pal.

But now that that baby has started looking more like this, it was time to think about transitioning the crib into a toddler bed.

She never climbed out, but she could have.  It just never occurred to her to do it when yelling for us to get her out was so much more efficient.

And so now she sleeps in a Big Girl Bed that looks exactly like this:

Why is it that pretending to go to bed is always more fun than actually going to bed?  Why would you play at something you apparently don't like much anyway?

The transition to a Big Girl Bed wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, but I can't say it was easy given how much sleep we've lost in the last week or so now that the crib is gone.  Livy stays in it well enough, but she has a hard time getting herself back to sleep when she wakes up in the night in her new bed.  This means, of course, that we have to help her settle down and then settle down ourselves, often to just have to get up again and calm her down again.  She loves playing in it, though, and just hanging out in her bed with her toys and books keeps her occupied for whole dozens of minutes.  That alone makes the switch worth it.

We celebrated her first day with her Big Girl Bed with another first: Mama's first attempt at making a Mickey Mouse pancake.  While I would never post a photo of what it wound up looking like, it started off looking like this:

A little misshapen, but delicious nonetheless.

And, in the spirit of "out with the old and in with the new," SLB finally replaced his old collegiate printer with one from this millennium.  The old one, an Okidata (???), looked like this:

It printed at maximum 3 pages before it would jam, and sometimes it had to be hand-fed paper.  My blood pressure is spiking just thinking about it.

We also finally man-,woman-,and childed-up and said goodbye to Livy's cardboard clubhouse, which we've had in our "formal" (HA!) living room since we bought our new range back in April.  She misses it, but it was starting to stink and collapse.  So getting rid of it was good practice for when she shoves us off onto an ice floe when we start to stink and collapse too much, too.  You know, like in the next year.  That fetid, structurally unsound hideaway looked like this:

Yes, we remembered to take the toys and daughter out before hauling it to the dump.

So, as we're upgrading and improving around these parts (this leak-plugging has become a real family affair), I'm just grateful that there's one old thing we aren't tossing out yet.  And that looks like this:

Because, DANG, I don't want to find a real job.

End of Summer

Hi there, people!  Tomorrow is September - no joke! - which means, meteorological calendars aside, I am declaring an end to summer and the beginning of autumn.  I love the fall.  As a longtime student and sometime teacher, fall has always meant new beginnings and fresh starts to me.  SLB and I got married in early September for this very reason.  September is a breath of fresh air and a chance to start anew.  It makes me think of newly sharpened pencils and possibilities.  In this calendrical and inspirational vein, I'll be starting some new writing projects on and off of this blog soon.  Summer's over, and it's time to hunker down and do something good, dammit.  But, until midnight when I become all virtuous and productive, let's linger over fine summer memories, shall we?

Like that time I took Livy to the Ballard water park, where she proved that a fleece Viking hat is, in fact, all-weather gear.

Pillaging knows no season.

Or that time I rode a mechanical bull in Las Vegas.

In hindsight, the blouson peasant top wasn't my most flattering bull-riding option.  Learn from my example, people.

Or that time I made forty-freaking-eight cupcakes, along with forty-freaking-eight cupcake toppers for Livy's 2nd birthday party.

I'm crafty.  I'm just your type.

Because I have an embarrassing tendency to do dumb things like this in the presence of a camera...

... let's let this sweet picture of Liv and her good friend Margaret stand in for the touching one of Liv and me that never manifested.

Or that time we went to the Oregon coast to play and to Sauvie Island to meet some new friends.

Livy LOVED the beach...

...

...

... until she didn't.

Handsome Baby Jake may be Sauvie Island's newest resident...

... but Livy preferred the goats.

Or the time we saw my boyfriend Steve play at the Snoqualmie Casino.

Flawlessly silver.  Flawlessly foxy.

Or that time I read 9 horny vampire novels in 6 weeks?

So far #9 was the best.

Or that time that Toddlers & Tiaras started making sense.

Bathing, basking belly.

As you can see, it's been a fantastic summer for frolicking and fun.  But my pencils are sharp, the tags are freshly off of my school clothes, and I've got a Trapper Keeper full of fresh college-ruled paper.  Summer's been great, but fall is here, and that's time to shine.

Mother's Day II: Red Dawn

O.K., people.  An admission before I begin smugly reporting my Mother's Day indulgences.

I dyed my hair red.  Bad red.  Shitty, fake-looking, clown red.  It made sense in theory, is awful in practice, and, should the appointment-making gods smile on me, will be gone by this time next week.  We will not speak of this again.  Dammit.

O.K.!  Mother's Day!

Slept in.  Family snuggles.  Breakfast.  Massage.  Wine.  Tacos.  Presents.  Mariner's game.  Sad toddler.  Happy toddler.  Home.  Wine.  Take out Chinese.  Wine.  Black Swan.  Wine.  Books.  Bed.

I was happy because I couldn't see myself.  She was quietly freaking out at the crowds, noise, and Mama's hair.

Liv hadn't mooshed abrasions into my face in a long time.  She did today.  Plus, she's strong now, and my neck still hurts from counterbalancing against the pressure of her desperate, burrowing snuggles.

So we plied her with french fries with lots of tipsip (catsup) and her first diet Pepsi...

... then took her to the playground, bought her a Mariners bear, and found her smile.  She spent the rest of the game screaming, clapping, dancing, and randomly spouting "YAY, MARNERRS!" and "ICHIWO!"

Ergo = (forced snuggles - face abrasions) = AWESOME!

Happy Mother's Day!  Love, Little Biscuit and Big Red

Hippity Hoppity Hippie

Today, in honor of a holiday I find creepier than Halloween, Livy and I joined our friends Sandy, Mike, Gavyn, Katie, Liam, and Ian at the Woodland Park Zoo for some egg huntin' fun.  It wasn't as fun as Buck Hunter, but it was a lot more fun than Rick Hunter, so I call it a success!  Plus how can you go wrong with a day filled with springtime sunshine, goofy toddlers, and good friends at a zoo picnic?

Because I couldn't be bothered to get Livy an Easter dress and instead delegated the responsibility to Bubby, who is an actual Catholic and former altar boy, she went to today's festivities as a hippie clown.  And because we live in Seattle, I spotted 3 other people in tie-dye as soon as we entered the zoo gates.  OF COURSE I DID.

I sure hope these plastic eggs are local and from organically fed cage free heirloom plastic chickens...

She had a good time finding eggs, but maybe it was because of the outfit, she had just as much fun putting them in other kids' baskets as she did in her own bag.

... to each according to his need, and you need another empty plastic egg!

But the best part of the day by far was eating and playing on the grass with her homeboys Gavyn and Liam.  Those three are like adorable and poorly coordinated peas in a pod.

Liam in hat, Gavyn with ball, and Livy.

So, until tomorrow when we hit the south end for a grandparental explosion and a froofy cupcake dress, happy Easter! 

Love SLB,

Easter posies, m'dear?

Livy,

Upside down sunglasses = Geordi La Forge!



And me, Bruce Wayne.

My secret is safe with you, yes?

These Little Piggies

Oma makes the best pigtails, hands down.

Excuse me, miss?  You have a little something green in your teeth...

... and a little something evil in your eyes.

But not even Oma can tame the chaos that nature hath wrought on my baby's head forever.  Come bathtime the curls run wild!

Born free!  Free as the hair grows!

Goofy fraggle.