A New (Ad)Venture

I'm not abandoning you, dear readers; I'm just demanding more of your attention by co-founding a second blog.

Come here and see what I'm doing with all those grad degrees!  Hint:  It's swearing and talking about pants!

I proudly present Smarty Mommies!

xoxo,

Me Show

'Til Death, Dammit.

I don't know why they're so tired.  I sleep fine, as long as someone nurses me constantly after dark and puts my binky back in my mouth after each of the 8,000 times I spit it out at night.

Making up from a sleep-deprivation-induced marital skirmish last week, this exchange took place as we read our respective books (his on statistics, mine on hiking - neither of which we practice) and attempted to make up (MULTITASKING!) before going to sleep.

SLB:  (grudgingly) I love you, you know.
Me:  (pain in the assishily)  Say it all romantic.  Say it like Shakespeare.
SLB:  (ghoulishly) WOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOOO!   I looooooove YOOOOOUUUUUUU...

At which point we both laughed, because Shakespeare is dead and the only way he can say anything, even romantic stuff, is like a ghost.  Ha!  Silly dead ghost bard making us stop hating each other!

And that, my friends, is why I can't stay mad at this face for long.

"I'm sorry for all the times I was always wrong and you never, ever were wrong.  Never.  Not once.  Have some flowers"

Thank You, My Friend

A couple of weeks ago I posted a link to a wonderful onesie to Facebook with the chastening plea that "Every minute you're not buying this for Maddsy is a minute in which you're proving that you're not really my friend."  Or something like that.  I'm not looking up the actual line because 1) I'm lazy, 2) I'm not a journalist, and 3) Shut up.  This is just a blog, so why don't you take your standards and shove them right quick.  RIGHT GODDAMN QUICK.

Anyway, I posted this inexpertly quoted message, and within a few days Miss Madeline received this expertly modeled gift in the mail.

Yeah, she was in the shit.

I have yet to find out who sent it, which is very exciting for me and deeply disturbing for SLB.  I'm assuming that the generous angel who sent this onesie reads this blog, or at least he or she will read it when I promote it on Facebook, and so I send him or her sincere thanks for his or her thoughtfulness and quick response to greedy demands.  We'll go far, my anonymous benefactor and I.  

And, yes, for those who ask tongue-in-cheekily, Madeline Mae IS just about the happiest baby in the world.    We're still exhausted by the nighttime wake-ups, but the daytimes are all about snuggles and smiles and kisses and uncoordinated wiggling on everyone's part.

Even the paparazzi likes to get in on the wiggly action during photo shoots.

She's totally going to sell that to OK! for thousands...

...or just blast through the photographer/subject divide for some sisterly bonding.

"Livy, get out of my light!"

Clearly adoration like this is worth compromising a few key shots.

In Which Uncle Damon, SLB, and I Throw Fists Like John Bender

Livy had a rough day today and an especially difficult evening.  She's sick and running a low-grade fever that just serves to damper any fun she can work up the energy to seek.  Her nap was ruined by a sweaty, febrile nightmare.  She accidentally misjudged her depth when eating a carrot at dinner and bit her finger, which was so painful and upsetting that it caused her to throw up her last bite.  Dinner ended with her curled up under a blanket on the couch, weeping and clutching an ice pack to her finger and a lovey to her chest.

It was tragic.  My heart ached for her sick, sad, tired sorrow, and I figured we were headed to an early bedtime.  It's hard to come back after a few hours that challenging when you're 3 1/2 and sick, and I wouldn't have begrudged her an evening of limp snuggles on the couch.

Then, weakly and sadly, she asked if she could sit on my lap and watch a video on the computer.  I said yes, cuddled her close, brought up YouTube, and asked her what she wanted to watch.  I thought it might be The Sweptaways' "Oh My Darlin' Clementine," or maybe Mike Doughty's "Madeline and Nine," but she shocked  and delighted me with her completely badass request.

Can you even begin to guess what she asked for, friends, after months of not watching it?  Do you know which video called out to her from the wide breadth of her media consumption?  Do you know what she said that made me laugh out loud with surprised delight and pride?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID?

"Rocky."  She said "Rocky," and I fell in love anew with my resilient little warrior beast child.  So we snuggled, and I stroked her hair while we were reborn with Rocky's every triumphant step.

Good on ya, Rock.  Good on ya, Liv.  Gonna fly, indeed.

Teach Your Children Well

Hello, old friends!  We're finally starting to come up for air here at Me Show Central after a relentless whirlwind of Halloween, colds, Thanksgiving, colds, stomach flu, Christmas, sleep training, colds, New Years, and colds.  That's an overwhelming list to try to recap in one post, so let me just say this:

Larsen ladies in effect, y'all!

You see those people?  The little ones snuggling in that chair?  They are relentlessly adorable and relentlessly exhausting in equal measure.  I look at that picture and I'm as weak with devotion as much as I'm weak with fatigue.  God, I love 'em.  God, I'm tired.  Wash, rinse, repeat for at least 2 more years, or until they both agree to sleep through the night - the same night - at the same time.

So, this may not be my most coherent post, but due to repeated requests for information on my jumbled (but effective!) approach to teaching Livy to read, I'm writing it anyway.  Jessica, Aley, Katie, and Mrs. Miller:  This one goes out to you.

First things first, my kid ain't your kid, and my kid ain't normal.  She knew her letters by sight at 18 months, she spoke early, and she's always been drawn to language and books.  She is this kid.

15 months, and all we did was read books all day long.

She is also this kid.

20 months - letter recognition fully down and working on bizarre sight words.

So, no, she's not typical.  This means that, as much as I would love to take credit for being a fantastic, Annie-Sullivan-caliber teacher here, really I can't.  Livy was bound to acquire verbal skills readily and easily because of who she is, not because of what we've done together with books and reading tools.  Thus, obviously, but it must be said lest I start sounding too much like a blowhard, your mileage may vary with these suggestions.  

1.  Read to your kid frequently, early, and often.

This seems intuitive, but it was really hard for us to implement until I built it into a regular schedule.  I began when Livy was a little over a year old by choosing three hardcover picture books every morning and reading them to her with her on my lap so that I could control the paper pages and make sure she couldn't maul them too badly during story time.  Then I added in an afternoon, post-nap book time during which she and I would paw through her basket of board books, and I'd read anything she chose as many times as she chose it until she was ready to do something else.  Sometimes afternoon book time lasted 5 minutes, and sometimes a half hour or more.  Now, being an Awesome Housewife, I had the luxury of time on my hands, but I believe it was the regularity of this practice that nurtured her love of books rather than the quantity of time we spent reading.  On days when we're really pressed for time, I've read to Livy during meals and during bath time (We had a good thing going where I'd read her poetry during her bath - we need to start that up again.).    

2.  Regularly expose them to letters.

It's easy to understand - if you want your kid to learn his or her letters, then you've got to show him or her letters.  We started insanely early because I am an insane babbler and constant singer.  In addition to repeating the alphabet song until my voice hurt, when Livy was a baby I also made up a goofy little song whose only words are "O-L-I-V-I-A, O-L-I-V-I-A, Olivia!," and then I sang it all the time.  That, plus Livy's love of a beautiful piece of custom name artwork from Auntie Morah, led to this:

Yep, she's 19 months old and attempting to spell her own name.  Also, there is a poop joke in there, you lucky devils!

We also played with a smaller set of these foam letters a lot, at first in the tub and then out of the tub, where she'd randomly fish them from the dispenser lid of old, plastic wipes holder for me to identify.  My mother-in-law's preschool also had this toy (It wasn't this expensive when we bought it; there must be a new version that's cheaper), which Livy loved, and so I bought one for our house, too.  That, plus reading tons of alphabet books, both ours and those that we borrowed from the library, really helped cement her alphabet identification.

3.  Books, Books, Books.

Quality is good, but at this point quantity is better.  If you're going to read lots of books with your kids, then you need lots of books to read.  Although I am an admitted book snob (Sookie Stackhouse and Alexia Tarabotti notwithstanding), in the early days of Livy's book journey, I put no limits on what we read during the day.  The booty from a book shower at the school where I was teaching when pregnant with Liv got us off to a good start in building a children's library in our home, and my rampant bibliophilia has added to that library mightily.  Now that Livy has a keener understanding of narrative and plot, I'm starting to weed out the literary twaddle and replace it with more quality children's literature, specifically feminist picture books, Caldecott Award winners and nominees, and books about whatever scientific topic is currently piquing Livy's interest (mostly space, volcanoes, and snow/winter).  I buy from everywhere, but especially love finding books at thrift stores, yard sales, and used book stores.  Scholastic.com is a great resource for paperbacks and thematic packs of books, plus my mother-in-law's preschool benefits from our purchases.  We also bring home sacks of books from the library to enjoy, and I'll order particular favorites from Powells.com or Amazon.com (Having worked at the best children's bookstore in the world, Bank Street Bookstore, I realize that I should be ordering from them.  I will remedy this immediately.)  Out of print favorites from the library are easy to find on Abebooks.com.  If I'm feeling adventurous and have the time and patience to go browsing with Livy, we'll go to Secret Garden Books or Third Place Books, both of which have excellent children's sections.  

And so that's what has worked.  Now that Olivia is showing an enormous interest in learning how to read, which I have expertly discerned from her cryptic comments like "Mommy, would you please teach me how to read?," we're off into the world of direct instruction.  So, these aren't so much suggestions as mere peeks into our current practice.  I don't know if or how they'll work in the long run, but this is what we're doing.

1.  The Ordinary Parents' Guide to Teaching Reading.

So far, with some tweaking, I really like using this book.  It's a great, straightforward curriculum for teaching phonics at home.  We followed the plan strictly for learning short vowel sounds, and then veered away from it a bit since Livy already knew her consonant sounds.  Now we're back for learning three-letter words using those short vowel sounds, and it's working wonderfully.  It involves a lot of index cards, so we've invested in a few packs of those and a plastic envelope for containing them.  Beyond that, all it requires is the book - no special materials required.  Easy peasy.

2.  Bob Books

We used to sell the daylights out of these at Bank Street Bookstore, and I know why now.  They're fantastic for the little people using them to learn how to read and easy for the big people helping them to use.  Each book has an illustrated list of the letter sounds used in it (M has a moon next to it, etc.), so kids can tell right away which sounds to look out for.  The stories are not riveting for adults, except for the book with the line "Muff has nine rags," but Livy genuinely likes them.

3.  Homeschooling binder & activity books.

We just started this a couple of weeks ago, and it's more of a playtime toy at this point than a serious piece of instruction, but I've made Livy what I'm calling her homeschooling binder. Livy has a number of preschool-oriented workbooks, some gifts and two that I purchased on learning how to print, and I've torn out some of their pages and put them into page protectors within the binder.  With the page protectors over the worksheets, she can use them over and over again with whiteboard markers.  So far my only intention with these pages is to get her to practice her pencil grip and start controlling her pen strokes in preparation for learning how to write.  She thinks it's fun to use the whiteboard pens, and she gets in a few minutes of concentrated small motor practice a day.  If it works, we can continue to use it for the reading, writing, and math exercises included in the workbooks.  So far she likes "doing school" with her binder and seems to be controlling her writing grip better.  Liv also has a number of cheap activity books with dot-to-dots, puzzles, and mazes in them that she likes to do.  While they're clearly games, I consider them legitimate educational activities in that she practices her small motor skills while improving her concentration and perseverance (you'd better bet I don't let her leave pages half done).

4.  LeapFrog Fridge Words Magnetic Word Builder

Santa got Livy this for Christmas, knowing that she loved the letter-based version of this, but the jury is still out.  Sometimes she plays with it, but she prefers to just make me write 3-letter words on index cards for her to carry around all day long.  We'll keep trying with it, but so far the verdict is an apathetic "meh."

Having written all of this, it seems like a lot.  It's not.  At all.  We do about 4 dedicated "lessons" a week, usually during breakfast, and each of those is about 5-10 minutes long.  No biggie whatsoever.

Best of luck, friends!  Happy reading!

The Burden of Genetics

Upon reviewing their passport photos, SLB and I concluded that one of these children takes after me.  Can you guess which one?

As a reminder, this is me.

I will NEVER STOP posting this photo, so quit begging.

And now, the children.

Child 1:

Oh, hi, I'm all charming and adorable.  Love me!

Child 2:

WAIT!  WHAT?

No maternity test required.

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.

Happy Blogaversary!

2 years of this thing.  2 WHOLE YEARS.  Who knew I had it in me?

Good lord, I'm not aging well at all.  This picture is starting to look better every time I use it.

And happy blogaversary to you, dear readers!  You're my 4 favorite people EVER, and that includes Mr. Weaver, who insists that he's roughly 90% of my readership logging on from his hundreds of different techie device gizmos every day.

The People Have Spoken!

I wish I'd thought of this.  My friends Katie (who gave birth in a Honda Civic) & Jonathan (who delivered his son in a Honda Civic - coinkidink!) had help this election day from their daughter Amelia.  Next time election day rolls around, you can bet we'll be including Livy's counsel in our choices.  It's time for that kid to pull her weight in this democracy.

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!).

Operation Awesomepants: Look Who's Balking!

Before we begin, why don't you look at my sweet Halloween punkins?

They are luminous, no?

And now on to the less luminous of our October doings.  Dudes, I have been crazy off the resolution wagon this month.  CRAZY off the resolution wagon, I tell you, and in a remarkably predictable way.  I start all big projects just like this:

Step 1:  Huge declaration of intent.

Step 2:  Phenomenal dedication to goal.

Step 3:  Minor initial success! 

Step 4:  Arbitrary rebellion against stated intents, sought-after goals, and achieved successes (Also known as the "SCREW YOU, I DON'T HAVE TO!" stage).

Step 5:  Self-loathing hidden beneath self-deprecation, shame spiral, quitting, insane consumption of impossible amounts of sugary deliciousness.

And friends, OA reached Step 4 on October 9th, when I first began to avoid filling out my resolution chart in the evenings.  I also stopped keeping my one-sentence journal in real time and resorted to retroactively batching entries, which led to a date screw up, a mystery day I don't remember at all, and an irreparable rift in the space-time continuum.  Sorry about that, science!  

So, shithowdyduckfuckinggoddamn, it's time to saddle back up before I slide into Step 5 and start to smell constantly and strongly of fun-sized Snickers, Nutella, and humiliation.  So here's now that's going to work.

*Edit those resolutions down.

There are too many of them for me to keep them forefront in my mind without constantly checking a list, and so some of them have got to be enfolded into others or let go of entirely.

The new list of resolutions for months 1 (Energy) and 2 (Health) now consists of

1.  Use energy honestly.

2.  Exercise better.

3.  Plug leaks.

4.  Make the right effort.

5.  Plan meals and snacks.

6.  Weigh in.

*Take some time to make these habits regular.

It was ridiculously optimistic to think that jumping into a huge project like this and following new resolutions and goals every day would come easily and enthusiastically.  Then, when it inevitably became work, I stomped my bratty little foot, screamed "Don't wanna!" and sulked in a pile of Halloween candy in the corner.  Now that I know how hard these life changes are, I know that I need more time to settle into them before adding new resolutions to old.  So, this month, I'm paring things down a bit and reinforcing previous goals by making November's overarching theme and single resolution be Pay Attention.  

SLB works in a field where he's required to keep track of his time at work so that he knows to which clients he should bill his working hours and minutes.  He complains sometimes of the burden of remaining conscious of his time when he'd rather lose himself in his work, but I think it sounds like a fantastic tool for keeping worthless distractions at bay.  Continually asking "O.K., what am I doing right now, and is it what I should be prioritizing at this time?" would be irritating if you were sure to be efficiently focused on relevant tasks at all times, like my husband ALWAYS is (Have I mentioned that he's part German and part Mormon?  Now imagine the discipline and ambition of both of these cultures funneled toward good instead of National Socialism and/or Manifest Destiny, and you've got SLB.  The man GETS. SHIT. DONE.).  But, friends, I am a flibbertigibbet, and flibbertigibbets really benefit from asking "O.K., what am I doing right now?" because so often the answer is "Stalking people I don't care about on Facebook while watching bitches hoard cheap barbecue sauce on Extreme Couponing," which, I think we can all agree, is just no way to live.

So, I am going to make November my time to pay attention and remain conscious of my goals while I go through my days.  To do this right, I'm going to literally make myself uncomfortable (I almost said "take myself out of my comfort zone," but then remembered that I'd have to smack myself bloody for using such stupid and vapid cliche'd language on this esteemed platform if I did) by doing something I usually don't do: wear jewelry.  I've read in various motivation and time- and task-management books and blogs about wearing a bracelet or other piece of conspicuous jewelry to remind one of one's goals.  So, I've got a nice silver bracelet that sits closely enough to my wrist not to be a physical burden while still feeling foreign enough to keep me from getting too distracted from the day's stated goals.  

Yes, November is going to be like a do-over for September and October.  But a do-over is better than a never-done, and so I'm starting over by re-starting differently.  Besides, I've had some successes (5 lbs lost, no headaches AT ALL in October, spending better time with Livy, working out harder on higher resistance levels at the gym, reading record numbers of books, etc.), and I don't want to disrespect the effort it's taken to earn them by backsliding into old, bad habits any more than I already have.

Achtung, babies.  Let's get this done.

How It Really Went Down

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S NO ROOM AT THE INN?!?!"

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 New Hybrids

Here in the Pacific Northwest, we're all about hybrid technology.  And so, in the spirit of all things green, crunchy, and Northwesty, I give you these latest, heretofore unseen hybrids:

Behold!  The Liamoctopus!

Tentacular Spectacular!

And gaze upon the Jeliviafish!

Given her constant desire to be nakey, it's no surprise that she's a moon jelly.

If we could exploit the vast energy potential of these two hybrids we could solve the energy crisis entirely.  Scientists will continue their study of these two powerhouses as soon as naptime and snacktime are over.

Hipster Halloween Ideas

Step 1:  Dress up as Jacqueline Kennedy.  Be iconic, otherwise no one will get it, and you need them to get it for the rest of the costume to work.

Yes, this costume is widely available.  Because you know what's festive?  Having your husband murdered in your lap and then having that image of the worst moment of your life become an international icon.  I know I have no room to talk, but I will anyway.  My talk is like Jell-o; there's always room for it.

Step 2:  Sew or glue a bunch of these to your pink suit and pillbox hat.

Honey badger don't give a shit: The "That's what she said" of 2011.

Step 3:  Glory in your costume interpretation of New Pornographers' "Jackie, Dressed in Cobras."

EXTRA HIPSTER BONUS POINT 1!:

Dress up as Jackee Harry instead.

"Oooooooh Mary!"

EXTRA HIPSTER BONUS POINT 2!:  Cover yourself instead with G.I. Joe Cobra logos.

Knowing all of these references is half the battle.

Buy Me That: Caramel Apple Headband

EAT MY HEAD!

Yummers.

EEEEEEEEEEAT IT!

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.