More attempts at holiday merriment

On several recent occasions, we've taken a break from the usual Connect Four evening action to wonder if there might be a visual holiday treat on television. And usually, there is! We've seen some Santa, some Rudolph, some Charlie Brown, some Frosty the Snowman -- even some Muppets. We have several of these on DVD; I have no idea why it's a thrill to see that they're in the TV listings and make a plan to watch them then instead of just getting out the DVD. A throwback to childhood, when we didn't have a choice? Who knows, but I've heard we're not alone in that foible.

One night, there wasn't a holiday show per se, but some station was showing Home Alone. Which kinda counts. It's Christmastime in the movie, after all. And Macaulay Culkin used to seem festive, before he grew up and got married at age 17 and drove drunk and did drugs or whatever the heck it was that he's done.

I thought Lizzy would get a kick out of the movie, which (for those who haven't seen it) breaks down into Culkin looking cute, doing impossibly grown-up things when his family, who thinks he's a little kid and therefore worthless, fly to Paris and leave him all alone in their cavernous, though tackily wallpapered, home; and the leadup to the big shebang -- Culkin setting all sorts of traps to foil the attempts of two bungling burglars from invading his home. Oops! Did I give anything away there? Sorry for the potential spoiler. The clever-little-kid schtick is a lot more annoying than I remembered, that's for sure.

Of course, the burglars are stupid, and of course they fall for every trap, exactly as planned. But as this latter part of the movie unfolded, Lizzy began to get visibly uncomfortable. Then she said she wanted to stop watching the movie.

Matt and I asked her, why? What is it about this that's bothering you? It's okay! They won't hurt the little boy! He's taking care of himself just fine, and after all, it IS just a movie!

But that wasn't it. She felt really bad seeing the burglars getting repeatedly and rather nastily injured. Burns, falls, sharp broken ornaments on their bare feet -- they were having quite a time of it. And she didn't like to see it.

Matt and I were kind of touched. You just never know how a kid will take something. Poor Lizzy is as sensitive to weirdness in movies as I was at that age, I'm a little sorry -- yet glad -- to say. Sorry, because it means we have to be on our toes, and deal with nightmares, etc. Lizzy talked herself into my bed that night because "what if she has a nightmare?" Yet I'm glad because it means she's thinking of others, at least sometimes.

let the time stamp show ...

I keep waking in the night to remember little bits of things I want to blog about, but then I don't have time at work. Yes, as I've said, these aren't vital things, but what's a blog for, if not for near-daily non-vital things?
I often, as virtually all moms of infants do, find myself doing tiny ridiculous -- and in my mind, heroic -- things for my baby. For instance, here I am, awake at 5 a.m., when I don't HAVE to be awake until about 6:15. And, well, yes, you have an excellent point there -- Maddie is not, by any stretch, requiring me to blog. However, she IS requiring me to pump just a couple more ounces of milk at odd times. I could let her go a little hungry, of course. "You won't take a bit of formula? FINE! STARVE 'til I get there, kid!", and sometimes it inadvertently turns out that way. But, when she wakes to eat at 5 a.m. and then falls back into a blissful, sated slumber and there's, uh, one side left to go, what's a mom to do but get up, extract a pump from the sterilizer, and pump out the rest for later that day?
The point of this blog post is not meant to be how wonderful I am, but more that I feel a need to have someone SAY how wonderful I am. (no, relax; not you.) I am compelled to relate my heroics to Matt. Not all the time, but often, in the morning, at some point in our commute, I'll casually let drop -- often as he's proclaiming tiredness, which is mean, because it kind of negates his tiredness, since the implication is that it's not due to quite the selfless sacrifice that mine stems from -- how I rose at 5 a.m. to dutifully pump so that Maddie can have her three full bottles. Matt's a pretty good sport about it -- he's never called out this martyr complex, and, in the manner of good husbands, he attempts to muster up some token supportive response. But why do I need to have this exchange?
Worse yet, why do I see this flaw in myself, yet push past the self-awareness and keep doing it, anyway? I guess that's just how small a person I am.

If it's not clear, although the above is strictly true, I'm relaying it in a more whimsical tone. I'm not compounding my issues by heaping self-pity for my immaturity onto my other sins here.

P(o)C

My new computer? The one I spent my bonus money on, that I was so excited about?
Appears to be a piece of junk.
THIS is why I never owned a computer. Yes, in college, in the early-to-mid '90s, I used a typewriter. Trust me, it was pretty backward then, as well. But I just didn't trust a 'pooter with my precious midterm papers or whatever. I didn't want a crash the night before an assignment was due.
But life pretty much demands a computer, and now I'm kind of exctited about it. Also, I have a hubby around who's willing to help! He's no computer tech by trade, but he still has a lot better clue about the workings of PCs than do I.
And Macs, too. He bought himself one earlier this year. He's still pretty impressed with it. But, alas, the Apples are out of my reach, in terms of price. And I'm not altogether certain I'm 'hip' enough for one, anyway. I'm just barely hip enough for an iPod. Just b-a-r-e-l-y.
So my Dell arrived last week. I've been on Matt to hook it up, so that I could compose my already-late Christmas letter on the thing.
He did. I composed it. But sans printer or internet. These things, you see, don't seem to work.
And tech help is a joke. They, clearly, are trained in the art of misdirection, delay, transfer and blame deflection. It's a technical problem! Not a hardware problem! Hooey.
I don't know whether to exchange or return, at this point. I'm so frustrated. But I have no guarantee that any other (affordable) system would be better.
What to do? Except cry a little. :(

myth preservation

Last Sunday evening, we rolled out to embark on one of our northern Virginia Christmas traditions: The Festival of Lights. The park service throws up a bunch of lights that cars can drive through. It's kind of neat. Not sure if it's twenty dollars' (and, at times, a long wait in line) worth of neat every year, but tradition's tradition, right?
Or, as Zoe of Baby Blues would say: Maybe tradition is French for boredom.
Regardless ...

We had the Christmas tunes a'crankin', OF COURSE, and as a particular one started up, Matt said to Lizzy: "Oh! Listen to this one! It's pretty funny. You'd probably like it."
I groaned, recognizing the early strains of the song.
So Matt turns it up, just in time to hear, "You may say there's no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandma, we believe."
"Huh?" says Lizzy. Or something like it. And, "What's wrong, Mom? You don't like the song?" as I groaned some more.
"Uhh, never mind," said Matt, as we skipped on to the next song.

So, you ask. When DO we tell Lizzy "the truth"? Uh, ummm, errrrr, I don't know. But not this year, I guess.

Fiiiiiiive goooooolden mooooonths ...

The wee chubster is five months old today! How CAN this be possible ...
I'm thinking of my little darling more today even than usual. Trying not to stew too much in my sense of the unfairness that someone else gets to hang out with her all day. And then we arrive home in the evening, for the cluster feeds and fussy pre-bedtime.
Oh, but the weekends are sweet.

Yes -- I need to take some sort of photo to accompany this mini-post. But the days have been sliding out from under me even worse than usual for the past few weeks. I've finally composed my Christmas letter (biggest challenge -- containing it to one page), but have yet to, you know, make sure it fits on the printed paper of choice; print it out; address envelopes; mail them. So a lot of folks will be getting theirs late. I have absolutely no confidence that I have many friends' current addresses, either. Did I update them when I received last year's Christmas cards? Or when I received e-mails, letting me know of such changes? Unlikely. How shortsighted of me.
If you'd like to guarantee that you receive such a missive, please comment or (safer, I suppose) e-mail me your address. I'd be happy to spread the love. :)

hunger striker

I keep hearing about how we're all doing our part to get through uncertain economic times these days -- talking to our kids about how they'll get merely a half dozen unnecessary gifts for Christmas this year instead of the usual 20; that sort of thing.
Maddie appears to be doing her part. Granted, her biggest expense is diapers, but I can't blame the kid; not much she can do about that. A baby's gotta 'doo' what a baby's gotta do, right?
Yesterday, I left only two bottles of expressed milk at the day care. She takes three feedings each day there, but some days I've only got two bottles to give. Production varies, and not according to anything that I can really figure out. Some days, there's just less than others, for whatever reason.
So on those days, the ladies make a bottle of formula for that third feeding.
Last time it happened, last week, she refused it at first, then drank it an hour later, then waited to vomit it all over herself and her chair until just after I'd shown up to collect her -- two hours later!
Yesterday, she flatly refused it entirely. She was peacefully asleep when I showed up, and the ladies told me she hadn't eaten since 1. (it was then about 6:15.)
Sheesh. Stubborn little thing. But I guess I'll save some money on formula this way.

She's been sleeping much more erratically for the past week or so. I suspect it's weather-related, somehow. She seems a lot more congested, and wakes up more, and the only thing she seems to want is to be suckled a little bit before passing out again. It gets really annoying for me when it happens every hour and a half or so. Makes me long for the 'good ol' days' of the every-three-hour feed.
People ask occasionally if she's sleeping through the night yet. To which I reply with a hearty laugh, an eye roll, and a "don't I wish."

The Dark Knight effect

So Lizzy tells us this morning, very matter-of-factly, as we pull into the day care that also serves as her before-and-after school care, that a girl (her age, as it turns out) told her yesterday that if she didn't get up from the chair Lizzy had just sat down in, she was going to "stab her in the eye with a pencil." Hmmmm. A familiar scene, for anyone who has seen summer's charming blockbuster.
We asked what happened next, etc., etc., and Lizzy says she ignored the girl, who kept bugging her, so she told a teacher about it, who told Lizzy to "tell the girl to chill out." Lovely proactive intervention on his part. And it sounds like the girl didn't chill out. Lizzy says she eventually moved off to somewhere else to avoid the girl.
It's hard to know what actually happened in these instances -- was Lizzy more at fault than she told us, or even than she realized? -- but regardless, Matt and I were pretty horrified by the ghastly quality of the girl's threat. It's one thing to threaten someone; it's quite another to do so in such a graphic manner.
There's a reason we don't watch PG-13 movies with our kid, especially ones that should have been rated R in the first place. If only more parents followed suit. Granted, that's quite judgmental of me. But ... gimme a break with this. Perhaps at least have a conversation with your kid about how a deranged, amoral killer is not a good role model?

Thanksgiving sillies

We spent Thanksgiving evening at Matt's aunt and uncle's house in Burke, Va. Which is what we usually do, but this year, Matt's dad wasn't there -- he moved to the Philippines about four months ago. Here's some of what he missed!

Matt bought some pilgrim and Thanksgiving-related hats a couple of weeks ago because some friends of his had a "Halloween party" two weekends after Halloween, and Matt wanted to jokingly rub in their faces that this was rather silly. So most of the people at the party wore Thanksgiving-related garb.

He couldn't resist bringing some of the headgear to Thanksgiving. Here are a couple of girls who are willing (or too young to know better, or both) to model it for you!

Our first models are known as 'Lil' Hiawatha' and 'Big Hiawatha.'





















Next down the runway is 'Girl Who Wears Two Hats.'

This child was at first unwilling to sign release forms to be photographed with a Pilgrim, but she finally agreed. Paparazzi can be so relentless!

Last, but certainly not least, wild turkeys!

Lizzy killed all comers at Connect Four, by the way. She is one 6-year-old who can bring the PAIN!!!

where'd all my time go?

My husband, of all people, introduced me to Facebook last Friday, and there's been no looking back. (he's already regretting it.) The blog has taken a hit as a result. It's probably the one thing (well, aside from IMing, I suppose) that makes blogging look like it's too slow at updating me on friends' lives. On Facebook, it's all just too easy. And when I say too easy, I mean TOO EASY.

But Facebook, like other sites of its kind, won't allow people to surf around and check out folks' pages unless the folks say it's okay, and everyone's signed into Facebook and got a page of his/her own. So its usefulness is limited.

So now I've got friends on Facebook who don't visit the blog; friends and family who see the blog, but aren't members of Facebook, so don't see that; and those unfortunate souls who are confronted with both. Let the overlap begin!

In that spirit, here are some photos, which folks on Facebook could see yesterday, taken from this past weekend's church retreat. (disclaimer: Lizzy, Maddie and I were only there for about five hours because Lizzy was puking her guts out for most of Friday night. I do not exaggerate.)









The low point, Facebook-wise, came when Matt was in the basement, on the computer, and I, who had told him I was going to bed, decided after brushing my teeth to check the computer on the midlevel of the house 'one last time.' So he learned of my 'status' through an e-mail automatically sent to him that I was on the computer. We know we're not the first this has happened to, but it does seem distinctly sad when you learn of your spouse's whereabouts and activities, WHILE IN THE SAME HOUSE, through the computer.

Yes, dear. We now ARE those people.

(to my friend Lisa: Yes, this is the adorable outfit you bought Maddie! I LOVE IT. I am sad that, in a month or so, it will likely no longer fit.) :(

mom of the year

I'm sitting at my desk at work. I just received a phone call -- on the cell phone, no less, which I hadn't turned down the ringer on because I rarely receive calls anyway -- from Lizzy's school.
At least they weren't checking her for lice this time around. No -- this time, she's in the office, crying.

Why, you ask? Lizzy loves first grade! What happened?

Well, the parents were invited to some sort of luncheon today. Some special thing. And Lizzy's parents aren't there.

It seems she thought we were coming, despite the 10-minute conversation we had last week about how we were NOT coming. And everyone else has at least one parent there, naturally (according to Lizzy).

"Please come!" she sniffles into the phone. "I want you to come!"
I explain that, even if I left now, I wouldn't be able to make it before the luncheon ended.
"Yes you can!" she sobs urgently. "Just try!"

You have no idea, gentle readers, how hard I worked to carve out time for each and every stunt of this nature that her day care pulled over the years. I NEVER wanted my kid to be "that kid" -- the one looking mournful in a corner whilst the other kiddies proudly pulled their parents around the room at this or that holiday party. I always felt for that kid. To make matters worse, these parties -- which were, at least, scheduled toward the END of the day, not the EXACT MIDDLE -- tended to end earlier than the kids were normally picked up, so all the kids would go home early. Except that kid.

So, right now, as I type, Lizzy is 30 miles away, crying at school because I'm not there for her special occasion.

I could, and perhaps should, take this opportunity to rant about why the schools feel the need to do this. They require plenty of our time -- parent/teacher conferences at times convenient to THEM; early dismissals before holidays that are padded before and behind with days off; teacher workdays; snow days; etc. Whatever "vacation" I receive at work must go toward covering these, plus days that my children are sick. And I can't just plan an actual vacation around times when Lizzy's off of school, because only one of us in my department is allowed to take vaca at any one time. So, Thanksgiving? Christmas? Spring break? Taken, taken, taken.

I know I should be there for her more. And for Maddie. I love my job, but hate that we have to maintain two full-time gigs to have any hope of keeping this ship afloat. Don't you think I would do it differently, if I at all could?

So now I sit here at my desk, feeling like total crap. And, as Matt points out, this will go down in Lizzy's memory banks as a significant time that her parents WERE NOT there for her. She'll be traumatized, and vow not to do this to her children.

It really just doesn't feel fair.

growing girl

Lizzy and I took Maddie to the doc on Monday afternoon for her 4-month-old checkup. Lizzy wanted to come to see 'how loud Maddie will scream' when she got her shots. Sounds a little sick to me, but, okay. (she has a half day of school on Mondays, so it was that, or hang out at the after-care place.)

Maddie's such a trooper. She weighs 15 pounds, 5 oz. now, which is around the 80th percentile for babies her age, and her length (forget how much -- 24 inches and some, maybe?) is around the 60th percentile. Her little thighs are so chunky, even the nurse commented on them. ("A nurse's dream!" since that's where they give the shots.) Maddie's such a little sweetheart, too. She does her screaming thing for about 10 seconds, then quiets right down. Does the same for each shot. But then she's pretty okay afterward. Such a lovely child.

After the shots -- Lizzy said she wouldn't like to see that again, thanks. She's quite desperately afraid of needles, but then again, perhaps every kid is -- the nurse said, "Hm, Madeline M----l. My daughter dated a Matt M----l when she was a teenager." I said, "oh-ho-ho REALLY! What's her name??" I must have looked a little too eager to hear about it, because the nurse asked me a series of questions first to ascertain whether it was likely to be the same Matt M. Yep -- same high school, same grad year. So she told me about how her daughter -- whose name I'm pretty sure my husband has never mentioned -- was doing these days, and what she was up to.
Naturally, as soon as I got home, I quizzed Matt about this. "I never dated her!" he says. "I WISH I had dated her! I had a crush on her in middle school! She was SMOKIN' HOT. -- still is, last I saw her!" Okay, okay. That's enough now, mister.

Lizzy's latest craze is playing Connect 4. There's a guy named Mike (a grown-up) at her before and after care center who plays it with her a lot, so we bought a game for our home, and we play her a lot there. It's a great mix of not mind-numbing (think Candyland, or something similar), and something that, quite honestly, Lizzy wins as often as Matt or I do. We're perhaps not trying SUPER hard, but we're certainly not 'letting' her win, either! She's quite the smart one. The game purports to be for ages 7 and up, and she's just turned 6. What can we say -- we simply have a couple of smart, beautiful girls. :) We wouldn't trade 'em, that's for sure.

it's a mystery

Does anyone watch Monk? It's my new favorite show.

I tried it years ago -- as many as five or six years ago -- and didn't like it much. Thought it was kind of cheesy. But now I love it, and am trying to catch every episode. (I think they're up to 102 at this point.) Isn't that funny, how you can think, "eh," about something one time, then adore it sometime later? I've got 'em stacked 14 deep on my DVR. I'd do an all-day marathon viewing session some Saturday, but I suspect my family would object.

I realized the other day that my three favorite shows are murder mysteries. What is it about a murder mystery that's so compelling? Isn't murder a pretty terrible thing? Does it make the mystery that much better, that the stakes are that high? Or, in our fictional worlds, do we need high stakes to make the solving of the crime mandatory? Murder mysteries in books are fun, as well. That's something I've just never understood.

One of the really great aspects about Monk is its PG-ratedness. It's not something I'd watch with Lizzy around, just because of the murder/criminal aspect, but nor would I worry about her walking in to see something really gory, or to hear an inappropriate word, etc. My other shows (House, Bones and e.r.), now -- totally different story. In fact, over the past couple of weeks, House and Bones have gone the 'two women graphically making out' route. Whatup with that? Is that what we trot out for sweeps week these days? Sheesh. I was really not impressed. I don't even so much object to the lesbian/bisexual plotline as I do to the graphic visual. It feels like someone's trying desperately to capture the '15-year-old boy' demographic. Gimme a break.

Another thing Monk does, that many TV shows do, but Monk's been doing it for seven years, is get a lot of famous guest stars. Not of the Jolie-Pitt caliber, but lots and lots of sidekicks and character actors. Which is fun. And there's a lot of pathos, and story arcs that are picked up again and again. I really like that in a show.

Monk himself is a funny combo of lovable, and utterly annoying. Tony Shalhoub does a great job with him. And I'm juuuust OCD enough to be made uncomfortable by a few of his phobias -- that I sort of share them, too, that is.

Lizzy

I just read this, from babycenter.com. I've never really heard anyone put it like this:

It's sometimes said that a mom is the center of a 5-year-old's universe, but at 6 she gets pushed aside. At 6, the 6-year-old himself is the center of his universe. You're still apt to get your share of hugs and heart-strewn handmade cards, but don't feel too hurt if this blatant love shifts from boil to simmer.

When I got pregnant with Maddie, and counted forward to see what we'd be in the middle of when she was born, I'm not sure I fully realized all the changes that Lizzy was to go through all at once. It's hard now to separate what's due to starting a new school, and a new grade, and lots of responsibilities (most everything, I suspect), what's simply due to being a little older (some), and what's due to changes within the family as she adjusts to being an older sister, and not the only kid in town (yeah, some, to be certain).

I feel so much less patient with her these days. So easily frustrated. So desirous of her obedience -- wouldn't life be better if she would just DO WHAT WE TELL HER TO?!
She's a great helper, and she does seem to understand and accept most of the changes that come with being a big sis. But she seems to test us AT EVERY STEP. I just don't know why. I'm sure I did the same. It's funny, though -- I remember pulling some of the junk she pulls, when I was young, and yet it seems like my parents had things much better in hand. Did they? Or am I remembering later years? Or am I not remembering it accurately at all? Hard to know.
Then again, my mom stayed home with us -- our lives weren't all one constant rush to the next activity. Ugh, I hate that. I've fallen into a pattern of skipping activities here and there over the past few weekends, rather than making one more push to get to the next thing. It just gets to be too much. And we're not doing that much! I guess the birthday/Halloween parties add up after a certain point.

Lizzy's REALLY been into High School Musical lately. We still haven't seen the third installment -- currently in theaters; we're possibly going with friends, so the mother and I can commiserate as our daughters fanatically soak it all in -- but Lizzy asks to see some of either 1 or 2 just about every night.

Last night, I thought, okay. You want to see a musical? I'll show you a MUSICAL! We popped in The Sound of Music. It's in my genetic heritage to love musicals. My dad, for whatever reason -- when I asked him recently, he couldn't think of an answer -- adores musicals. Certain ones particularly, of course. He sounded shocked this summer when I said I hadn't been to see Mamma Mia!, the movie based on ABBA hits. And I love ABBA! There's just something about having a tiny baby that interferes with carefree outings such as those.

At one stretch, I had to go upstairs to try to get Maddie down to bed. Lizzy watched by herself, and I told her I'd answer any questions when I got back. (there are always questions!)
She was puzzled by the "I am 16 ..." song. 'Was the girl (Liesl) trying to get the boy (Rolf) to kiss her?' she said. 'Uh, well, not really,' I said, then launched into a halfhearted attempt to explain flirting. 'And then they kissed at the end of the song!' says Lizzy. 'But they shouldn't have, right? Were they supposed to?' I said, 'Well, I think she's trying to keep it secret from her dad, so I guess not.' 'Yeah, and if she kisses a boy, she'll have to tell the boy she marries later that she kissed someone else,' says Lizzy, and expounds on this theme for a few more minutes.
Me: "Uhhh."
I liked the moral certainty there. We'll see how long she sticks to it. I'll certainly have to remind her of that mentality when she's prime boy-kissing age. Which is, what, these days? 9? 10??

(sounds of Kate weeping openly at her desk)

camera envy

I get this funny sense of paranoia whenever I'm going to say anything about Lizzy these days that's a secret (from her) -- as if she might read the blog. Ha! Although, I suppose that day will be upon us at some point ...

I bought her a camera yesterday. Actually, her Pop-Pop (Matt's dad) and my parents bought it. Or the money they sent for her birthday bought it.
Anyway, she's getting a camera for her birthday, which is today, and it's pretty sweet. Yeah, I probably could've bought it cheaper elsewhere, had I done some research, etc., but I'd talked to a guy from Ritz Camera about this awhile back -- I took in Lizzy's 'kid digital camera' to download the photos, and whoa, you can barely get a decent 4-by-6 with the resolution that thing doesn't have -- and he recommended that, next time, I purchase a 'grown-up' camera, and get a replacement policy for it. If she drops it, I can get a new one. Of course, if she loses it, I'm outta luck.

So, this time, that's what I got. She's been borrowing my camera lately, and it makes me nervous. She can have her own to destroy.

Problem is, since mine is umpteen years old (in reality, probably about 4), hers is nicer! Has a way better view screen, anyway, and 8 megapixels. Eight! I don't even know what mine has but it's something pathetic, like 2 or 4. Bah!

It's gonna cause me a little pain, along with the pride, to see her whipping out this sharp, compact camera that kicks the backside of my bit of old technology. Except for my killer zoom. A large part of what I was going for with my point-and-shoot purchase.

You can bet that, if she opens it tonight and isn't exploding with joy, I'm taking it right back. Darnit.
Perhaps it's Mommy's turn to borrow Lizzy's camera now and then ...

Added bonus! She'll be taking twenty thousand photos of Maddie. (The poor baby's going to go blind.) If any of them turn out well, I can fold them into the Baby Pics collection.

The one wrinkle in my plan is in how to limit the number of photos she wants me to develop. Set a limit over a certain period of time? Make her pay out of her own money? (that's the source of another blog entry, probably.)

Suggestions welcome. :)

this 'n' that

I keep composing blog entries in my head, but never getting (or taking?) the opportunity to type them out. Your loss, people! Real award-winning material here. (yeah, right.)

I have to confess, I am so, so happy that the election is over. Not necessarily about the outcome. Then again, I wasn't a feverish devotee of anyone -- I never am -- and that, I think, is what made me so very VERY sick of this particular campaign. Because, you see, there was a RIGHT and a WRONG candidate. Even more so than usual! Of this, many, many loud people were absolutely certain. And you were an IDIOT if you did not see it THEIR WAY. This certainty gave them the right -- nay, the moral imperative! -- to flood my mailbox, and doorknob, with all manner of literature. (in fairness, both sides, in all races, did this. Profusely.) I just hope none of them were touting their care of the environment, because none of that stuff ever even made it into the house. Straight to the circular file in our driveway. And two or three groups of people (from the same side) visited our home. It was apparently the thing to do if you can't be satisfied with contributing just your one vote. You had to go out and "make a difference." Apparently, that's code for "bothering people in their homes." But I will say, it paid off for said busybodies. Their guy won Virginia, and not by a lot.
So, as I always do, I have quite mixed feelings about this outcome. Extreme relief that it's over, and strong curiosity about where it will all lead. I'm pretty sure it's not a politically paved road to the Promised Land, but I realize I'm in the minority by thinking that.

I had a scare this morning -- the nurse from Lizzy's school called me. I kind of outed Lizzy yesterday when I was at school for her parent/teacher conference. (which didn't inform me of a whole lot; it kind of reeked of 'obligatory meeting'.) I had a few extra minutes beforehand, so I popped into the front office to inquire about what to do if my kid had lice. BAH! Why do I do these things ... a lady chased me down the hall to ask who my daughter was, and I wouldn't tell her, and still, they somehow knew and plucked Lizzy out of class this morning to pick over her scalp. Miraculously, they found only one dead louse. So they packed her back off to class. Woo! Victory is OURS! We did a lice treatment on Sunday, but I didn't think it had worked, because Lizzy was still scratching Monday and Tuesday. I spent some time last night and this morning going through her hair for nits. Guess I got 'em all. Or else the nurse didn't look hard enough. Either way, YESSSSSSSSSSSS.

Yesterday was unfortunate in another way (and I don't mean the election) -- one of my nightmares came true, and I forgot to take my breast pump to work. I'm not sure I can adequately 'express' (HA! breastfeeding humor!) the horrors of that situation. Let's just say, I worked only a half day, then got home, and pumped 9 1/2 oz. I'll also say this -- ouch.

In other postpartum fun, my hair's been falling out for about a month now. I find it everywhere. I've fished it out of poor Maddie's diaper a few times -- nothing like, er, flossing your newborn -- and she keeps grabbing it and getting it wrapped around her fingers. Naturally, the bathroom is a disaster area, where hair is concerned. I've always been weird about hair; once it leaves its home on the body, it freaks me out. I'd rather see dirt on the floor or counter than hair. Don't know what that's about. So it's pretty yukky. I spend half my time in the shower just running my hands through my hair and collecting giant clumps.

Thanks for reading this far. You are indeed brave souls.

In a moment of extreme insanity, I signed Lizzy up for Monday/Wednesday night swim lessons. I was in a panic to get her into this class by the time she turned 6, as that was the age recommendation. Poor child is older enough as it is than the other kids. Weird thing is, it's working out great! She looks forward to it, it's a pleasant little evening at the pool, and Maddie's reasonably well behaved, and we get a treat from Wendy's on the way home. Then we swing by the bus stop and pick up Matt, so he's able to stay at work a little late those nights.

Speaking of commuting home -- it's about that time.

I am undeniably geeky sometimes

That new Star Trek trailer – well, it’s not really new, even! – the one that just says that a new movie is coming? And has Leonard Nimoy speaking the first few phrases of the 'Star Trek' info, plus the first few notes of the music? It gives me chills and lifts my spirits every time I see it.

Yes, it's yet another prequel. But it's a franchise that sorely needs a reboot. I suppose you could argue the same for Batman or Superman, or any of the others that have had the same, but I guess I care more about my little Trekiverse.

J.J. (Abrams), come through for me, baby. I’m counting on you.

(I told you people I was bored.)

little bee

We've officially found Maddie's Halloween costume. I should probably just wait until November 1 and post a photo of her in it, but what the heck. I'm bored at the moment.

Cute, huh?

Lizzy's going to be a princess -- AGAIN -- but this time, the costume came for free. It's something I purchased for a few bucks at a drugstore after Halloween was over last year, thinking she'd like it for dress-up. But it's got a hoop skirt, and she loves it, and wants to wear it this year. Fine with me -- no more boosting Disney's late-October revenue for us! Sweet.

Matt thinks he and I should come up with something for our church's party Nov. 1. He says we were all TOLD to come dressed up. Hmmmm. What to be, what to be ...

young love

Lizzy announced last week that she has a boyfriend. His name is David, and he is in her class.
Apparently, this relationship is SERIOUS, and requited, not like the crush she has had since the start of school on Connor, the boy who lives down the street (but we're not sure where, just that he gets on the bus at the other bus stop) and whom she would spy in the school hallway or the cafeteria from time to time.

David, apparently, acknowledges that Lizzy is his girlfriend, and yesterday wrote her little notes on scraps of paper. Two of them said "I (heart) you I (heart) you I (heart) you," and one said, "Your the best."

It's not so much this early declaration of love that has me a little puzzled and a mite tad concerned. It's that Lizzy seems to be taking it so seriously.

I overheard her mentioning this boyfriend to our relatively longtime neighbor friend Ethan yesterday when he stopped by our house for awhile. I think he must've seen the scraps of paper, and Lizzy endeavored to explain the situation to him.
"Oh -- those are from my friend, David. He's my boyfriend, at school," she said. And then: "Sorry to talk about him to you." The social realization that this might (I suppose?) hurt Ethan's feelings ... wow. (for the record, Ethan didn't seem to care one way or the other. It's quite possible he has his own social dealings at his own school.)

She has explained to me a few other times that David PROMISED -- as many as three times, one day -- that he would play with her on the playground at recess. Unfortunately, sometimes he goes off and plays some soccer game or other in the grass with his guy friends. One day, Lizzy had to tell me the elaborate tale of the unkept three promises, and the resulting fight they got into, and the sadness on behalf of both during music class, and their happy reunion afterward. (Lizzy: "Do you forgive me, David?" David: "Yes." Hug.) She doesn't know where he lives, but he apparently takes Bus 3. Meaning his parents must be from a richer side of the tracks than we are! I hope they don't mind, once they find out. (yes, that was a joke.)

David is now in her reading group, and this delights Lizzy no end. She has repeatedly bemoaned the fact that he does not sit at her table, the "red" table. No -- he is at the "blue table." How can she BEAR it?!

I asked if anyone else in the class is boyfriend/girlfriend. Nope, says Lizzy. She and David are the only ones. I asked if anyone else knows about them. Yes! She says. Everyone knows.

I asked one day, just for fun, if Lizzy gets mad if he talks to other girls. "Of course not!" she said, indignantly. "Why should I? He can have other friends that are girls."

I plan to ask her teacher about all this when I have a parent/teacher conference with him in a couple of weeks. I'm curious to get his take on it all.

Lizzy was in agony the other night because I explained to her, in the midst of one of these conversations in which Connor also came up, that she really couldn't have more than one boyfriend, and she definitely could NOT marry more than one boy(/man). She just wasn't sure she'd ever be able to choose! It seems there are some residual feelings for Connor that she simply can't ignore.

I wonder if David knows.

update

Hi -- obviously, yes, we made it back from our trip. I was going to write much more about it, but now I don't know quite what to say.

We had a good time with family, and I got to see Mom and Dad's lovely and awesome new house out in the outskirts of Chehalis, Wa.
I actually ended up speaking at Grandma's memorial service, which seemed to go fine. A number of people shared a number of touching stories about her, including the amusing tale of how she and I practically broke our necks during a really fast carriage ride (we weren't driving!) through the Siq at Petra, Jordan. I honestly don't know how I held on, let alone my then-82-year-old grandma. She was a tough old bird, to be sure. And a very kind lady. And a wonderful grandma. Someday, I'll miss her dreadfully.
(the photo at right is my mom, my grandma and me at the Dead Sea in Jan. 2001.)

CORRECTION -- that is not the Dead Sea. I cannot recall right now what it actually is -- the Mediterranean? Something like that -- but the Dea Sea does not have waves. Unless it's really really windy, I suppose. Sorry about misleading y'all. It is from that same trip, though.

I enjoyed reminiscing about her, but it kept niggling at my brain that it was such the type of gathering she would have enjoyed, she must be there somewhere. As I said when I spoke, it's still inconceivable to me that she's not on this earth any more. My mind can't quite grasp the reality of that. I was hoping that the funeral and memorial service -- and, hey, staying at her apartment while we visited, and even divvying up some of her possessions with my cousins and family -- would help. But it didn't seem to.

The actual trip there and back was a bit hairy, considering it was the two kiddos and me, but we made it. We forgot Lizzy's car seat, but it's just as well -- these days, your first checked bag costs $15 (on the airline we flew, but most of them charge something), so it was actually a hair cheaper to buy a $25 one when we got there (we'd have had to check it in both directions). Maddie was just about perfect on the whole trip, despite a couple of colossally poopy diapers before we got on planes; typical. Lizzy was not so great at times -- I had planned to rent a DVD player at the airport, but we didn't have time, so the first three-hour flight was quite a nightmare. I fail to see why my newborn should be so much less trouble than my almost-6-year-old; more on that later. I had splurged on a direct flight on the way back, and never regretted it. It also got us back in time to get home and breathe in and out a couple of times before we had to hop in bed for the night. And I've gotta hand it to United -- they've messed me over but good a couple of times in the past, but on this trip, everything went like clockwork. All flights on time; our last-minute seats were grouped together; everyone was very polite and helpful. Thank you for your prayers. They were answered, abundantly.



Overall, I've been quite a bit more tired since coming back to work -- the trip was no help, most likely -- and I find myself inadvertently falling mostly asleep on the metro on the way home. It's been a push -- an unsuccessful push, thus far -- to squeeze in an 8-hour work day and commute in and out in time to get the kids. Let's hope I figure this out before I get in lots of trouble here at work.

So, yeah, Lizzy's been full of 'tude lately. It's probably got a lot to do with being a big sister, and even more to do with the fact that I'm so much less patient and accommodating with her than I used to be. And a bit more to do with her having started first grade, and coming into contact with lots of new little 'tudes and their too-cool little ways. I have to confess, though -- there are times I want her to GO AWAY, and I'm not too bothered about for how long. In some ways, I wish there were a little island I could escape to with baby Maddie where I'm alone with her to soak her up, uninterrupted. I suspect that island was called "maternity leave," and it has since been destroyed. Ugh.


Don't tell Lizzy, but I just ordered her the dollhouse she's been longing for. That's pretty much going to be her Christmas. It'll be fun to see her freak out when she sees it.

I've probably got more to say, but it escapes me now. Also, it's time to shove off for home again.

it's that time once again

I've officially decided what my most-loathed annual task is: Composing a self-evaluation for my boss to slap onto my annual review.
What is the point of this, anyway? What I think of my own progress/performance should have little to do with how I’m evaluated. Tell ME what YOU think. It’s almost lazy on an employer’s part. (it's not something my boss himself requires, I should say; everyone in the office has to do it.)
And it’s ingrained in me not to brag about myself. Not that there’s a lot to brag about this time around: Let’s see. I got pregnant about this time last year, and then I was out for almost three months of maternity leave, from which I returned only to take two days off for a funeral a week later. Yes! Star employee! But I think women are subtlely trained not to build themselves up much. If anything, we’re taught to knock ourselves down to make each other feel better. “No – you’re not fat! It’s ME! I’m the one who can’t fit into any of my clothes.” Taking a compliment is an incredibly awkward exercise. All in the name of empathy and sisterhood.
In any case, I am feeling ill-equipped to brag about myself, especially this year. I feel so foolish sending my boss an e-mail full of my supposed accomplishments. What must he think? I suppose he understands that he’s the one who asked me to do so. And he doesn’t seem to disagree. He gives me good reviews, so perhaps I should stop flagellating myself.
Still. I hate this. When “I survived the past year! Yay me!” is the best I can do … and yet, given our stupid new computer system, it is something.

On a related note: I have worked for this company for 12 years now -- 1 1/2 in Germany, and nearly 10 years here in D.C. Amazing.

weekend

Lizzy, Maddie and I are hopping a plane in a few minutes to go to my grandmother's funeral in Washington state. Wish me luck on this outward-bound journey -- I change planes in Denver. That could be a zoo. I splurged on a direct flight on the way back.
See you all later.

first day back

Well, we all survived it. I can say that much.
When Matt and I dropped Lizzy and Maddie off at day care -- Lizzy for before/after care, and Maddie for her first full day away from Mommy -- Lizzy shed a few quiet tears, and Maddie practically waved us off with a cheerful smile. She appeared to have had a pretty good day -- lots of quiet observation of the other babies, a bunch of little catnaps, and a few bottles of Mommy milk, taken without complaint from a bottle. Not such a bad day, I suppose. No glass-shattering screaming until about 5:30, when the good ladies who work there decided maybe she could use another bottle, feeding schedule or no ... which is perfectly fine with me.
Lizzy seems to have taken to her new friends by day's end, as well.
Maybe I was the one with the greatest sense of shock. Which is strange, because I wasn't away for THAT long! But I could hardly sleep the night before. I felt quiet despair, yet resignation, at returning to the old routine (the job, I mostly love; it's the commute and the prospect of leaving my baby that I despise). And, I guess it was okay. But we're dismayed by the sheer quantities of time it takes to get in and out of the city from here. It's just almost undoable. We might have to rejigger our schedules a bit, somehow.
But I keep coming back to this: We made certain decisions, and we stand by them. We have to consider the entirety of our lives, or at least the next 20-ish years, not just the here and now. Our girls are in a TERRIFIC school system. We live in a beautiful, family-friendly neighborhood, with kind and friendly neighbors. We have a roomy enough house that's been fun to improve in ways large and small. Yes, we could perhaps be in a two-bedroom apartment in Arlington, with a much shorter commute. But we'd go nuts in a different way in that scenario. And we can't suddenly double either of our salaries, or work from home, or get a job out near the house.
So, this is what we have -- for now. And we're making the most of it. But even knowing that doesn't make it easy to wave goodbye to those dear smiling little faces five mornings a week and forge out into the soul-destroying slog that is the D.C. commute. Ugh ugh UGH. Thank God for weekends.
Did I mention, I really enjoyed my maternity leave?!?

this week

I've been thinking a lot about my 90-year-old grandma, and about family, this week.

I suppose that's because Dad called me late Friday night, telling me that Grandma had had a massive stroke and wasn't expected to live through the night.

One might say, by misguided way of comfort, that she's lived 90 great years, and has had a good life. And one would be right. But what I have failed to realize until now, when I've had similar thoughts directed toward other people whose grandparents have died, is that it doesn't so much matter what the quality of the person's life is. The more important fact is, I'm going to miss her.

I have a lot more eulogizing to do, but fortunately, it'll have to wait for a later post. Turns out, Grandma's more of a fighter than the ever-pessimistic doc gave her credit for. She'll never be the same, but she's still with us -- paralyzed on one side, but holding her own without life support machines. The doc's still pessimistic, but I haven't had a 'bad news' call from my parents yet, so there must be hope, or at least stability in her condition.

Needless to say, it's frustrating to be this far away from her. (she's in Washington state, with the rest of my family.) I used to enjoy hanging out with my grandma now and then, when I lived near Seattle. She's a gracious, loving woman, and a tenacious game-player. The same could be said for most of the members of my family. It's not a family gathering without at least one hotly contested game of cards going on somewhere in the house. That's one reason why it never feels like a holiday when I'm not with my family, and always does when I'm with them, no matter what the calendar might say.

I thought at first that I might be spending this last week of maternity leave in Washington state, for Grandma's funeral. I'm certainly glad that had turned out not to be the case. Instead, though, I have two tumultuous transitional periods of life to sit in this week. Whoopee! It's not like I've been reacting openly, but today when I was driving home from the doctor (nothing serious; a consultation about birth control methods, if you must know), a turtle was crossing the road in front of me, and I was going about 45 miles an hour and swerved to avoid hitting it. So help me, if I had squashed that turtle, I would've been a sobbing wreck for most of the rest of the day. (for the record, I love turtles. They're one of my favorite animals. But still.)

Yesterday was Matt's and my second anniversary. Thus far in our union, we've been doing things in as low-key a manner as we feel we can get away with. Recent penny-pinching (two kids in some form of day care! Parts of two mortgages to chip in for! Higher gas prices! You know the tune for yourselves, no doubt) has led us to go to almost no extremes in our observation of things like birthdays and anniversaries. But that's okay, we've decided. It feels better to be wise these days than to feel obligated to make purchases we really don't need.

Things aren't what make the day, and our marriage, special, after all. It seems that, particularly for an anniversary, I'm just not in the mental groove yet, anyway. We got married. That was fun. We have a marriage, and that is special in and of itself. The day it happened seems not to have much relevance to me at this point, other than that it's my favorite time of year. Largely why we chose to get married when we did -- we both feel the same about autumn. Especially here in the D.C. area, where one can once again step outside one's house without being fried (in the sun) or eaten alive by bugs (in the shade). Where one can again hope for an electric bill that won't be too much of a shock (hee!). When one can watch the leaves change color, and contemplate the passing of seasons, and of life, and the fact that one cannot hold too tightly to any stage, even if one wished to.

baby bigger

I've begun to accept the fact that Madeline is definitely getting bigger.

I was in denial for awhile. I'd ask people who hadn't seen her in a week or two, or even a month, if she seemed to have grown. Inevitably, they would say she had ... sob!
It's not like I want her to have some sort of developmental problem. I just want to keep this baby, well, a baby! I'm having a lot of fun with her. It's new baby territory for me.
Her little noggin especially seems to be growing and firming up. Those soft spots have all disappeared, except for one.

As I've told a couple of people: I want her to stay the same squishy little newborn she was at first until the very moment I hand her over to strangers at the day care a week from Monday morning.
From that time on, I want to think of her as grown up and practically self-sustaining. So my guilt won't be quite so profound.

in two weeks

... I return to the workday routine. Alas!
It's been a great maternity leave. I was honestly not quite sure if I'd live through another maternity leave. The last one was unbelievably challenging. The sleep deprivation! The colic! The sub-freezing weather and tiny apartment! Not to mention the dramatic adjustments that a baby naturally necessitates. But this time ... it's been a lot different.

A lot of things are the same, but my life is already structured around being focused on kids. It's not like I'm sacrificing that much to 'start over.' And hoo boy, have a lot of things -- all the right things -- been different!


Matt and I joke that Madeline is a made-to-order baby, right down to her greater resemblance to -- and preference for -- her father. Well, perhaps preference is too strong, but she really seems to get a charge out of him. Her face lights up into the most delighted of smiles when he holds her. They really have a connection. He was the first one to figure out that we could 'talk' to her -- she's always been a cooer, and if we coo to her, she smiles big and often coos back. If her tummy is full and she's in a good mood, that is.
But I digress. She's a sleeper -- just like we wanted! She's a great latcher-on and eater, and doesn't spit up much -- just as I hoped for! She's quite healthy, which is of course wonderful. And we thought it would be fun to have a dark-haired flavor this time. Matt's mom keeps declaring that she looks like 'Matt in a dress.' I'm falling short of inflicting that description on her, but there certainly is a strong resemblance! And people are starting to say she looks a lot like Lizzy, too. It's those Maisel eyes.
Anyway ... it's been such a treat, getting to know her. It's going to be so hard to hand her over to someone else for 11 hours a day. ELEVEN HOURS. I don't think we ever left Lizzy for more than nine. Just the way the commute works out -- Maddie's day care will be close to our house, whereas Lizzy's was closer to our jobs -- but it just seems wrong. It's just tough to leave them, period. Don't get me wrong -- I have the highest respect for stay-at-home moms, but I'd quickly go insane if I was one -- but it's just tough nonetheless. You have to do what you have to do, I keep telling myself.
Two more weeks. Just two more weeks ...

Bonus photo -- we allowed Lizzy to decide when we went to the local, but very well-known and well-attended, farm's fall festival. Her school bus passes it twice a day, so she had its 'grand opening' date reinforced often, and thus she wanted to go this weekend. So we did, despite having only two hours on Sunday afternoon to do so. It's been an annual tradition of Matt's and mine since Lizzy was 11 months old -- long before we lived so close to it.

I ran around getting as many photos of the fam as I could with the dying camera battery I'd brought, and only realized at the end of the day that the lens had a huge smudge on it. Whoops.

If you pretend I'm the goat, it's a family photo!

gratitude

Things I'm particularly grateful for today:

* Running water in our home. Running through the pipes, that is. Particularly our now-functional toilets, and the ability to easily wash my hands in the sink. (imagine doing all those diaper changes, and you can see why hand-washing is a desirable thing for me just now.)

* A husband who is willing -- nay, eager! -- to take a day off work and attempt to install a water heater himself, thus possibly saving us about seven hundred dollars.

* An appliance repair guy who will do house calls that start as late as 8:45 p.m. and run until 11:45 p.m. Even if he was a jerk.

(Matt and his brother did a great job installing the water heater, but the soldering part was just a bit beyond them. No shame in that, methinks. Also, we needed an expert eye on the a/c unit, so it was just as well that the repair guy hit two things at once. It still saved us a few hundred bucks over a repairperson doing the job from the beginning.)

* A husband who really loves me, and who is worthy of loving in return. Even when we might not like each other for a few days now and then.

* Last, but foremost, two precious, darling little girls -- and their bedtimes.

weekend of water

Yep, we just can't get enough water 'round here.
But first -- what the kidlets were up to. Somewhat water-themed, as well. Sort of.
Lizzy had her first soccer encounter/practice/game on Saturday at 1 p.m. The under-6 crowd has a half hour of drills, then they do a very light scrimmage for a half hour against another team. They'd never met before, and in fact, the coach had an unavoidable conflict and was unable to make it to the event himself. It's low key, is what I'm saying.

Lizzy's team is purple, and was asked to vote on a team name. Front-runners were "purple grapes," "purple dragons," "purple girls" and "purple princesses." Matt and I liked purple dragons, but we weren't allowed to vote. The winner: The purple princesses! Or, princesses for short. You can only imagine how weird it is to cheer on the princesses on a soccer field. As apropos as it might, in fact, be. Just more to tease her about when she's a teen.
She sure looks darn cute in her uniform, though! She and her soccer-loving dad posed for me, as you see.
So, after we'd trudged about 10 minutes up a gravelly path from the parking lot (we had the far field, naturally) in the late-summer heat, Matt and I turn to each other and say, "Hm. Did you bring anything for Lizzy to drink?" Cue the water break ... and we had to tell her that we had nothing for her. We are the world's worst parents! So I tore out to the nearest gas station for drinks. I cannot believe we forgot drinks. My line is, hey -- I can keep track of the needs of one person at a time. That person used to be me. Then it was Lizzy. Now it's Maddie ... yikes.
With about five minutes to go, Lizzy decided she had to use the bathroom. Which was an outhouse near the parking lot. So, we just left. No point in walking there, then walking back. Apparently, she told her dad at that point that she wanted to quit soccer. She didn't like it. She'd changed her mind within about 10 minutes, though. We figured she'd find the actual physical exertion portion of the sport (is there any other?) fairly challenging. She doesn't exactly like to move much. Quite like her mother (at that age), in fact. She told us that she overheard someone saying, "Hey, Lizzy's good!" She was pretty stoked about that.
Matt had her out in the backyard doing games and drill-related activities for at least an hour on Sunday afternoon. She'll be our little star princess yet!

Today, our church had a baptism/dedication service for Maddie and C.J., our almost equally young neighbor. Man -- did we ever get a photo of the two of them together? I don't think we did. Bummer. But the lovely and talented Ms. Stacy got lots of photos of them separately -- I hope to post one or two of Maddie here soon. We borrowed a lovely dress from the Stavs for the occasion. Maddie managed to cry and scream her way through at least half of it (the occasion, not the gown). That was unfortunate. Other than that, though, it was a blessed time. Thanks, church community, for all your support. Easy to say, but it comes from the heart. We love all of you, and we're so, so grateful for you all.
Lizzy also dressed up today, and sang a little song during the service about family as her contribution. Here they are, in their regalia:


What appears to be a huge smile on Maddie's face was exactly that. She's been quite smiley lately! Not for insignificant events such as, say, her baptism, but, you know, when only one or two people are looking. Argh. (and no, it's NOT just gas pains! It's not it's not it's not.)

They say troubles come in threes. We had our second and third basement flooding events this evening. The a/c unit has been leaking for the past, oh, week or two or so. Matt's shoved a bucket under a pipe that's dripping, and emptying the bucket every few days. Except that we emptied it Friday or Saturday, and it was full -- and leaking -- again today. Whoops. So, we called for professional help.
While Matt was down looking at it, the water heater burst and sprayed its contents all over the closet. So we bailed water for an hour or so until the thing ran out. Then we called yet more professionals.
Then Matt decided he and his brother could replace the water heater himself -- and, why not? Fix the a/c unit too. That fun will commence tomorrow. I'm a bit skeptical, but what do I know? I guess if you have to call a plumber, might as well have a go yourself first. Should be entertaining, anyway. Maybe I'll do a pictorial of the proceedings.
I just don't know what's with all the pipes and things going wonky down there recently. And they all waited for the father in law to leave. Lucky him!
In other house-related news, we're having the chimney sweeps over tomorrow to clean and inspect. And we're getting roofer guys to fix the roof where the fool squirrels are getting in. Quite a sizable hole up there, we're told. Four hundred dollars' worth of repairs should do the trick!
Cue my usual rant about home ownership.

shots (heard 'round the world?)

I'm about to take my sweet little smiling baby in for her eight-week checkup. That means four shots in her chubby thighs. One of the most miserable moments for a parent? At least at the newborn stage, quite possibly. Yet I am a staunch supporter of vaccinations. So it's a necessary evil. Kind of like vegetables and (I believe) spankings. No fun for either party, but a must-do.
What amuses me about it this time around is that Lizzy is quite disappointed that she won't be there to watch. Not 'to support my sister' or something -- to WATCH. She expects me to take her out of school early, or let her stay home the whole day, so she can go!
When I explained that this was quite impossible and would not be happening, she said, "Well, that's okay. You can just take a picture, I guess."
Strange child.
I found out yesterday that Maddie did NOT get put into my insurer's system, as I had carefully ensured would be the case by my many calls to my HR dept. I think we have it all figured out by now, but let's hope I don't get there and get told that I need to pay hundreds out of pocket for these shots. That would certainly make it doubly painful.
The baby's fussing now -- no doubt anticipating great pain to come -- so I must away! I've been offline for about a week. I'm feeling chatty. Maybe I'll jump back on later to discuss my thoughts on such matters as Ruby Tuesday's new ad campaign, and the belts in my closet. You can't wait, I'll bet!

Sissy stuff

My little helper!

the first day (of the rest of her life)

Maddie and I packed Lizzy off to first grade this morning. Whoa!

I've been feeling a lot better about this stage of life since we went to her school's open house last Wednesday afternoon. It's simply a tremendous school, and the kids and teachers alike seem really sweet and nice. I'm sure there's devilment in every school, or every area where people come together, but as far as mommies can expect, it's a great place to be.

As you can see, she chose her trademark 'two unmatching patterns' look for her first day. Hey -- why change things up now!

So I'm sitting here hoping that, despite her refusal to eat more than three bites of cereal this morning (at her day care, they provided a breakfasty snack at 10 a.m.), she made it until lunchtime (11:15) before expiring of starvation -- or worse, whining about being hungry! Also, that she managed NOT to scratch her head so much that alarm bells rung in the minds of teachers and school nurses. Yes, parents, feel free to hate me -- we did treat her hair (and bed, etc.) for lice on Saturday night, but she's still scratching. Forget cockroaches -- lice are the REAL survivors of the apocalypse! We plan to treat her again this weekend, as the directions suggest (second treatment a week to 10 days later).

Also, the kids have this seven-digit student code that they're supposed to remember to access their line of credit for lunch. I'm serious. We plugged in some lunch money on the computer last week, and she should be set for a couple of months. So stealing lunch money now, I suppose, consists of swiping someone's number. Which I sincerely hope doesn't happen. It's all so ... so ... so the year 2000 now! Not the days of dinosaurs, as when I was a kid. Man, I drank so much chocolate milk in elementary school, I've been soured on it ever since. Those were the days.

Here she is, getting on the bus. *sniff* My girl's growing up so fast ...

cuteness at the Sears studio

We went a-studioing today. Here is some of the crazy cuteness that ensued:

Those girls just kill me. They just KILL me. Once they start teaming up against their parents, we will be powerless to resist.

hairy dilemmas

We've been having lots of drama over the past couple of weeks regarding Lizzy's mane.
The trouble with tresses started when she arrived home from school one day with what looked like totally ratted-out hair. She was asleep, and I assumed that Matt had had the windows down, and then her head slid around on the seat.
We didn't wash her hair that night, and by the time we did, it was in unbelievable condition. I had to keep applying handfuls of conditioner and running my fingers through it again and again, while she screamed "NO! NO!" and Maddie shrieked in the other room (Matt was trying to pacify her while I dealt with Lizzy's hair). If we were still in an apartment, I'm convinced the authorities would have arrived by the end of the shower.
Afterward, I sprayed copious amounts of detangler into her hair and combed it out. Problem solved! Except, it happened again (to a slightly lesser degree) the next day. What on earth?! This has never happened before. What was different?
Parenthood feels like an exercise in problem-solving so much of the time. Often when one's child is too young to verbalize its symptoms, but a good deal after that stage, as well. This time, I realized somehow that, irony of ironies, it was the detangler itself that was the culprit. I'd used this brand before (rhymes with, ahem, Schmanteen) with success, but this batch, for whatever reason, was stickier. But not enough so that I noticed when I applied it. So that junk got tossed.
This week's issue is ... I'm almost afraid to say what I suspect. But Lizzy's been scratching her head vigorously all week, and I'm concerned that it might be *wince* LICE. I haven't heard anyone at school or church say there's an outbreak, so I don't know where it would've come from. And on the eve of first grade. Not great timing.
I've halfheartedly looked through her hair a couple of times, but a) I'm not sure what I'm looking for, besides some kind of little bug, which I haven't found, and b) I kind of don't want to find anything. But the scratching continues. I'm scratching my head a little more these days, as well, possibly psychosomatically.
I'm not entirely sure what to do at this point. I know there are shampoos, and fine-tooth combs, and much washing and bagging of sheets and pillows and mattresses, and I'd soooo like to not bother.
It's odd to me that the baby herself is supplying the least drama around this house these days. (knock on wood) (prayers that it continues to be so)

just when you think you're making it ...

I've been grateful recently that, in what feels like an incredibly debt-ridden, not-so-wealthy stage of our lives, some expensive things that could go wrong with the house(s) we own, haven't. And then I feel anxious for having thought that, as if I'm going to jinx us. And then I feel as if I lack faith for worrying about 'jinxing us,' and not relying more on God's provision, regardless of circumstances. And then I remind myself that God's not the one who decided to take on some of the debt we have. So why would I pin anything on Him, anyway?

The basement -- which, as most of you probably know, we just 'recovered' from Matt's dad last month -- is one of those things I'm anxious about. It seems like a lot could go wrong with the lowest point of one's house. The homes in our neighborhood, to my knowledge, have either a basement or a crawl space. So it's rather important for that pump to keep workin', because we all know the nightmare of flooding in a home.

It hasn't rained recently, so imagine my surprise when my foot lands with a *squish* on the basement carpet at the bottom of the stairs. Okay, who spilled something??? Must've been water, because I don't see a discoloration on the carpet. But then I looked a little closer, and realized, with a sinking feeling (figuratively), that the moisture was coming from underneath.

That was Sunday -- right before we had guests coming by, no less -- and we still don't know what's up. Matt and his brother have pulled back the carpet and are trying to keep the carpet and pad dry with towels and a dehumidifier, and Matt's planning to tear into the wall tonight or tomorrow in the hope that it's a broken pipe, and not a crack in the foundation. Which, need I say, would be catastrophic? I don't even want to think about the expense/effort/sacrifice that would be required in that instance. As Matt put it, "we wouldn't have a basement any more."

Here's what it looks like in that corner right now:


Here's hoping it turns out to be something relatively minor. And relatively cheap.

Woe is Wii

Matt procured a Wii Fit for us -- he's been talking about it for probably a couple of months. It's pretty cool, as I've heard. Also, humiliating, as I've also heard.
The clever little balance board takes your weight, and you key in your height and the weight of your clothes, and your age, and it tells you exactly how sad a mass of goo your body is. We had "fun" figuring it out last night. I'm technically obese -- hooray! Right now, my body is about 30 pounds sadder than it has ever been (non-pregnancy-related). And that 30 pounds lighter is no testament to a fit body, either.
I realize that now counts as pregnancy-related, but the fact that I haven't lost any weight since about the first week and a half after I had Maddie is a great concern. What have I been doing? Sitting like a lump in front of the television, but also -- BREASTFEEDING! It just isn't working quite as magically as it did the first time around.
Maddie's protesting that she's been put down for 10 whole minutes, so it's time for me to get over myself and go get her. Ugh. And, well, take a walk, I guess. Darn the brutal Augusts of the D.C. area. :(

another take

Here's a fresh photo of baby Madeline, upon request, taken just a minute ago:

She seems to be feeling better than she did on Monday, so I'm hoping colic remains merely a paranoia for me.

uh-oh

(I don't know why this is all underlined, and I can't figure out how to fix it ... sorry.)

Could we be entering ... the colic zone? (cue Twilight Zone music)
My sweet little girl disappeared yesterday, and a tiny screaming monster took her place. Ugh.
I think she was having some tummy troubles. I sure hope they're temporary.
I told Matt and Lizzy about it when they got home, and Lizzy suggested that maybe Maddie was tired of watching the Olympics. Cute, kid. Real cute.
Madeline is also breaking out, as I told Matt, "like Atari in 1977." Yes, and I'm actually pretty proud of that joke. The curse of baby acne. So she looks AND sound miserable.
But, in general, we're doing fine. I just hope and pray that the screaming jags aren't to be a regular thing around here.
And now, if I can get them to work, here are a bunch of more recent photos of the fam.



Lizzy's having fun with Daddy down in his new 'studio' (back corner of the basement). We found a nice futon on Craigslist for the studio, and he's got his new music-making computer down there, and his brother's drum set and his guitars ... it looks quite impressive. Lizzy enjoys laying down some drum beats from time to time.

Daddy love!

Lizzy thought this was cute -- that it looked like Maddie was waving. I think it looks like she's drowning. Big sisters! Hmph.

I've gotta repeat something Lizzy said recently. She said, "I wish I were Maddie." When I asked why, she explained that she's so little and cute. I said, "You were a cute little baby at one point! And you still are cute!" She said, "Well, she's got one thing I didn't have." (what's that?) "A wonderful big sister." I love the lack of modesty. But, she's right!

The two of them sleeping next to each other is, while a mite dangerous, about the cutest thing I've ever seen in this world.

still chuggin' along

I was reminded yesterday that I haven't blogged since my boast that, basically, it was 'so far, so good.' Yeah, well, things are still good, but that kid loves to snuggle on Mommy's chest! And all the 'guest chests' left town last weekend when my parents' weeklong visit came to an end. I am learning to put her down, but I don't entirely want to, either. We have a good time snuggling, my Maddie and me.

We had a great time while the grandparents were here. As usual, it was really hard for me to see them leave, after they've been such a help and support in that first new-baby week.
Grandpa Williams got us all hooked on the Tour de France, of all things -- we're all suckers for athletic competition on TV of all weird kinds (excluding golf and auto racing, that is, but almost everything else) -- and we went on a few outings. That Sunday -- Maddie was three days old, or four, if you count Thursday (since she was born at 3 a.m., after all), Matt and I took her to see The Dark Knight. I don't know if it was my 'mother of a newborn' mentality, or the fact that I had to leave at, oh, about the time any self-respecting movie would be over, anyway, to change a very poopy diaper, or what, but the movie seemed like one of the LOUDEST I'd ever seen. And, really, too dark. C'mon, now. It's a comic book character, for pete's sake. Must we overdo the psychotic element to quite that degree? But, again, in fairness, I was a bit distracted, and I did miss a few minutes in there somewhere. I've gotta give it a thumbs-down, though. Iron Man still rules this summer, as far as I'm concerned. Maybe I'll give it another try when it comes out on DVD. Then again, maybe not.

Mom, Dad, Maddie and I went to Harper's Ferry on, uh, Wednesday, I think? So she was a week old. Dad's into the Civil War history stuff, so it was fairly enjoyable, though it's far more geared toward the cheesy tourist population than I recalled from my last visit there. Pretty place.

On Friday, we took Lizzy and Maddie to the local air and space museum -- the one at Dulles. Lizzy gave it a "I didn't like it; I LOVED it!" review. Not sure what she loved -- perhaps the ice cream she stole from me at the McDonald's eatery there? or the Astronaut Barbie? -- or maybe it was actually the planes. In any case, cool museum.

I was out and about in Alexandria and D.C. for the day with Maddie this past Tuesday. It feels a little like being a celebrity. Or perhaps accompanying one. This feels especially odd, coming as it does so soon after being heavily pregnant, when I felt like more of a freakish oddity than anything. Now, I've got people coming up to me with adoring looks for the baby, questions about her age or tales of their own offspring, and looks of shock when they hear how young she is. It would seem that some people don't believe in taking their babies out of the house until they're at least three months old. "And how are YOU doing?" they'll often ask. Uh, I'm fine. Except for this infernal D.C. heat. That sucks, but it would do so regardless of my physical condition otherwise. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate it here in the summertime? (I don't care for the winter here, either, but I digress.)

So, oh yeah, the baby. She's doing well. They're so 'not quite human' at this stage, it cracks me up. More like funny little pet mammals of some other species. She'll do this thing when she's trying to convey that she's hungry (besides crying, I mean) where she'll open her mouth really wide and shake her head back and forth really fast. Or, if someone's holding her, she'll head-butt them repeatedly in the chest. She likes her FOOD, darnit! Give it to her NOW!

She's still an 'eating and sleeping and peeing and pooping' champ, except, oddly, late at night. It seems to take her until close to midnight to settle down for another good sleep. She suddenly turns ravenous, and wants to feed repeatedly. I try explaining, with less and less patience, that the breasts will not suddenly swell with milk after having just been drained, no matter how much one attempts to drain them again. I'm about at the point, against the midwife's advice, where I'm considering having formula on hand (haven't given her any yet) so she can have a bottle on these particularly hungry-seeming nights. It just doesn't seem right to try to get her down with an (apparently) empty stomach. But I took her to the doc on Friday, and she's up to nine pounds, so she's gained back what she lost, and then some. Hooray! This breastfeeding thing is actually working this time around. My faith in the human design is (at least partially) restored.

I'm finding it hard to have patience with Lizzy these days -- now there's an unexpected shocker, eh! Yeah, I know. It's so (again, brace yourselves for a revelation) different, having more than one. I just feel like telling Lizzy to go away and leave me in peace a lot of the time, but how fair is that? She deserves some attention, too. Matt decided to stay home from work on Thursday, and I was filled with a wee sense of despair at the idea of my solitude being thus intruded upon. Clearly, I haven't been at this maternity leave thing very long. Shouldn't I love the idea of the rest of my family being around? It's great some days, but on other days, I have to admit, I'm really enjoying the quiet time with my newest daughter.
All in all, she's a pretty cool little mammal.

piccies

Sorry about the delay. It's been a 'not five minutes of opportunity' kind of day.

We're all doing pretty well. Maddie decided that she wanted to try to feed ALL NIGHT LONG, which will probably be great for prompting milk production quickly, but not so great for Mommy. So I'm hoping (for no good reason) that this upcomnig night won't be the third almost entirely sleepless one in a row. Ugh.
Lizzy would hear her crying in the middle of the night and come downstairs and find us, wherever I had stolen away with the baby so that she wouldn't wake up her big sister. But Big Sister insisted on helping. "I don't mind!" she'd say. "I'm getting some good sleep!"
Come on, milk production -- and bring a sleepy, sated baby with you.

Here are some photos that Stacy the Baby Whisperer (and super photographer, along with her many other skills) took yesterday -- about 12 hours after Maddie was born. Isn't she a little doll!

welcome, baby M

She's here! She's here! Madeline Claire was born this morning (Thursday) at 3:06 a.m. She weighs 8 pounds, 10 oz, is 21 inches long and has short, dark, likely curly hair. Awww -- just like Daddy! She appears very healthy and responsive, and -- most importantly to Mommy -- appears to be VERY mellow, and LOVES to sleep. I don't quite know what to do with a child like that, but I'm looking forward to finding out. She was made to order! Oh, and she even latches on well. Such a perfect little package.

We're all doing pretty well. Matt's ably filling the role of SuperDaddy, martialling the forces here at home. He's giving Lizzy lots of opportunities to be a special Big Sister helper, and chances to bond with baby sis, not to mention making sure all Mommy's needs are met, and if that weren't enough, he and Uncle Nick are still moving everything all around the house to rearrange, now that we have the basement back. Grandma Connie is helping a ton by amusing Lizzy and generally doting on her granddaughters. Matt's threatening to scrub the place from top to bottom in advance of my parents' visit next week. Which they insist we shouldn't do, of course, but Matt likes to run a clean ship, I guess.

I know I should be sleeping right now, but it's just too weird to take all those naps during the day. Perhaps after another mostly sleepless night, I'll get with the 'sleep when the baby sleeps' program!
I'm feeling okay. I knew what to expect, post-birth, this time, and that helps so much. I've got the 'spayed cat' feel from the stitches, the crampiness from the breastfeeding kicking my uterus back into shape, and the weirdly still-huge gut, but aside from those fairly minor things, all is well.

It's so neat to be a mom (again). It's so wonderful to feel settled in this role, and to know that there is nothing but joy surrounding this situation. To add something wonderful to our family, instead of starting something that we didn't really know what to do with. God is so incredibly kind and merciful. Who could deserve these sort of gifts?

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(what follows contains a 'too much information' warning, especially for the male types among us)
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As for the childbirth itself ... apparently, I cannot pop out a kid without the use of castor oil. Okay, it's not SO bad. I took it late enough in the game -- not sure if it was that, or the enema shortly before, that finally kicked my body into gear -- that there wasn't a lot of, well, stuff all over the place when the kid arrived this time. Later yes ... the big difference this time around, aside from time of day, was that I pushed for only nine minutes. And when that pushing stage started, BOY. It was more sudden (though greatly appreciated) than I could imagine. It took the midwives, and my poor sleeping husband (I think he grabbed about three hours that night while I was having those increasingly wild contractions), by surprise. I recall being a rather wild banshee for those nine minutes, as well, not nearly the chilled-out character of last time. The difference between ages 30 and 36? Or just how fast it was happening? All I know is, I wanted that child OUT. And out NOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW.
They tell me that when her head came out, she looked to one side, then the other side, then lifted her head up and looked all around, as if looking for the proper exit. "Pick a side, little one!" I heard the midwives say. (I guess they're supposed to turn to one side and kinda slip out the rest of the way that way, to get one shoulder out at a time.) I thought to myself, "No worries, little one. Your big sister is going to LOVE telling you exactly what to do from now on ..."
So both my kids like to make dramatic entrances, it sounds like. (Lizzy came shooting out through the air, the umbilical cord acting as a bungee cord. So I hear.)
All I have to say is, whatup with this natural birth crapola? If I were doing it again -- which I am NOT -- I would embrace an epidural as my best friend. When I said this to my friend Stacy, she said she thought all moms said that in the days after the birth ... and perhaps that's true. All I know is, it makes me want to shudder to think of those dark hours right before she was born. But, I survived. As women tend to do. And the literally hours of stitching me back together afterward -- I was serving as a sort of training ground for one of the women, it appeared -- were no treat, either.

Yes, we had enough food for the midwives! :) Much of it didn't even get opened, but the mini-quiches from Costco were a big hit. I highly recommend them.

This same friend Stacy, the Baby Whisperer, and her wonderful husband Mike visited with their rockin' camera this afternoon. She got some incredible photos that I hope to share a couple of here soon.

Thanks so much for all your support and encouragement, everyone. Much love to all of you who keep up with us here. We can't wait to share our littlest charge with you!