Shock to my School System

The first time I left Nicholas with a babysitter (and by babysitter I mean a person who is not his father, his grandparent, or any other direct relative, and for a length of time that is longer than an hour) was when he was 8 weeks old. It was with Lauren, a close friend of the family, and someone I have known her WHOLE LIFE. I knew that she loved children, I had seen her in action, and I felt OK with it. I also knew she was an adult, and I also knew that - in a wrost case scenario - she could call the police, her mother, or me.

Since then I've mellowed out a bit. I have left my children with teenage college students, with friends of my sisters, and random Mexican hotel workers (we were in Mexico). Taxi drivers. Wait staff. Flight attendants. Watch my kid? Thanks! Of course I'm kidding.

The one thing all the people watching my kid all had in common is that they were all focused on my kid. Here's my child. "Hello!" They all said. And they immediately went along with Nick's agenda, looking at what he wanted them to look at, playing with them, etc.

Today I dropped Nick off at school. AT first there was only one screaming child in the room. (And his mother was down the hall, she hadn't even left yet. ) I tried to show Nick his cubby, where his stuffy and his blanky were. I gave him the My Family collage we made together, and he gave it to his teacher. But then... then he started playing with the toys. And more kids started showing up and talking to the teachers. The one kid was still crying, even thoughhis mother had come back. The room was getting more and more crowded, and Nathan was getting antsy. So I said "Nicholas, I'm giving you a hug goodbye, OK? I'll see you this afternoon." And I pointed out his teachers to him again. He gave me a hug, glanced at his teachers, and kept playing. I left. The teachers were, of course, talking to the other mothers. None of them looked close to saying goodbye.

Moments after I left I began having doubts. Was this right? The teachers looked at me kind of funny - and it is the first day. Was I supposed to stay? everyone else looked like it. Were they not expecting him? Sure, his name was on the cubby, but... I felt like crying. Why wasn't he sad to see me go? What if he didn't realize I was leaving? And then he noticed I was gone and started to cry? Would anyone comfort him? What if Nick had tried to follow me out and no one noticed? No one was REALLY paying attention to him. Because there were so many other kids. And mothers. All monopolizing the teachers' time. I didn't get the chance to tell them about his nursemaids elbow, or about how he might have trouble taking a nap in a strange place. Or about how he would need help with his lunch, getting the zip-locs open. Because the teachers were TOO BUSY! With those OTHER CHILDREN who were NOT MINE!

I thought I would be rejoicing, feeling light and free, dancing around with my one remaining child, doing all sorts of things with this FREE TIME. But instead I feel like I left one of my limbs in that classroom. I am staring at the clock, impatient for 3pm to come around. I want to rush in to pick him up and see how his day was. I want them to tell me he did OK, and that he played with other kids, and sang songs and cried a little bit when it was time to leave the playground. I want them to hand me a picture he drew and tell me ha has goon manners, but that he needs to learn how to use a tissue. Anything. I just want them to talk to me about my child. But I know it will be just as crazy and crowded with other parents.

If Nick tells me he had fun, then that would be OK, too.

Nine, Ten, A Big Fat...

Last night I slept like it was a competitive sport. And by that I mean that it was active. I was in and out of bed so many times I lost count. As soon as someone started crying I was out of bed. It was a throwback to the days when the boys were newborns and I would wake up as I was walking down the hallway. I would either feed (Nate) or console (Nick) the crying child, and then head back to sleep and quickly and quietly as I could, racing back to my warm bed so that I could get a few extra seconds of sleep before the next event.

It was during one of these half-asleep moment, while I was rocking Nathan, that I first heard the noise. It was coming from Nick's bed. In fact, it was coming from Nick. He was siting up, crying in a fake way, but each time he exhaled the crying noise was accompanied by a deeper, hollow sound. The sound of a cough without the coughing. The rest of the night I had dreams about needing to save my babies from vampires.

Nick is still not himself, although he isn't crying every two seconds (knock on wood). His nose is running, his eyes are glossy, and I already know he will not be making it to the first day of school tomorrow. I will have to go without him. (no, really, I need to bring in his diapers, his smock, his change of clothes, and the tuition check.) I don't know who will be more dissapointed, him or me. I'll bet it's me.

Nick Takes the Wheel

I'm sure I've mentioned that Nicholas and Nathan take turns driving me crazy. Driving me to nuts, so to speak. Well, it's Nick's turn.

Nathan woke again at 4am, pretending it was time to get up, and I refused to let him. I put him in his crib and let him scream, returning every 5 to 10 minutes to make sure he hadn't wedged a limb through the bars of the crib, or spit up, or been attacked by a very large rat or a zombie or something.

And then, at about 10am, Nick took over. It started at the library, where he was running around and jumping and doing things one simply does not do in a library. But then, as soon as we got home, the monster took over. THE COLD. Steve insists it couldn't have anything to do with the 4 minutes he was exposed to 40 degree Mt. Washington summit weather in inadequate clothing. But I'm not ruling anything out. The kid is AWFUL.

I feel bad, because he is obviously sick and uncomfortable, He can't stay asleep because he can't breathe. So he wakes up and cries. And screams. When I ask him what's wrong he screams louder - a scream you would give if someone were trying to rip your heart out of your ribcage with their bare hands. Gali Ma. Drool pours from his mouth. I do the only thing I really CAN do, which is to give him medicine. But since putting a dropperful of medicine directly into his mouth requires eight arms to hold him down, pry his mouth open, convince him to swallow, and also manipulate the medicine dropper, and I usually end up with medicine everywhere BUT in the boy, I resort to trickery. I put it in his juice.

But Nick will not drink the juice. He holds it as though it were his only source of comfort, having been abandoned by his mother. "Drink the juice," I say. "AHHHHHHHH!" he screams. He clutches the juice in the bed, and it inevitably ends up upside down and drips, forming a huge wet spot on the bed. I get frustrated. I try to take the juice away. "AHHHAHAGHAGHA!" he screams.

He will not eat. He will not drink juice. He will not do ANYTHING. Except scream and watch TV. School starts Wednesday. I am so tired I could cry thinking about it. So I don't. I just eat - today I had a whole half pound of fudge, ten cookies, and five licorice wheels. I'm eating FOR Nick. Does this make sense?

He's already woken up twice tonight, and there is nothing I can do for him. I plump pillows. I hand him his juice. I try to get him as comfortable as I can. I leave the room and hope Nate stays asleep. That is all.

Once Upon a Time

This weekend we went to Story Land.

I was prepared when we left the house, but I lost control about an hour into our trip. I looked back to check on the boys and realized that Nick would need a diaper change before long. So we stopped at a McDonald's. I changed Nick's diaper, and in the process managed to use every spare article of clothing I had packed for the both of us, and also half the wipes. The dirty stuff got wrapped in a blanket Nick had been sitting on and bunched up in the corner of our car for the rest of the trip


Story Land was a lot of fun. Nick was too small for some of the rides, but there were lots of things for smaller kids. We met the old woman in the shoe, and Mother Goose. We explored the Three Bears House. We visited a crazy scientist lab with colored spongy balls being shot out of cannons everywhere. We rode a train. We played on a pirate ship. We saw a castle and met a princess. Nick drove a tractor and a car. Nick also rode a merry-go-round and explored a sand maze, and afterwards played in the sand. We saw the three pigs and the billy goats gruff at the petting zoo. There was so much to do it was incredible. I can see us returning on a yearly basis.

The town was cute. I had forgotten to bring a book, and reading material was not to be found in the small country stores. But one lady told me to check the library. They have book sales, and the books are left on the porch. Then you put your money through the book slot in the front door. I payed two bucks for two really bad and old novels.

The hotel we stayed in was... ugh. Check in time was 3pm, but our room wasn't ready, so we waited, exhausted, with two hyper kids. The only room they had when they took our reservation had only one queen bed. We had to track someone down to get a crib. I tried using the jacuzzi tub but ended up just SPRAYING water everywhere, so I used four towels drying up, and then Nick came in, slipped and got soaked, and I had to use his one remaining shirt as PJs. This morning Nate woke up at 4am, and there was no putting him back to sleep. He woke us all up. Then at 6am he collapsed and went back to sleep. Nick, however, did no. His job was to watch TV and wake me up whenever it looked like I might actually be falling asleep.


Then we drove to the top of Mt. Washington. The last time I tried to do this they turned us away. A Saturn is NOT a safe car to drive when driving up and down this mountain. It has no low gear. The Hoda Odyssey made it fine. We got to the top and it was in the forties. The boys had no coats. It was cold. I took some pictures. Then we drove through a lot of traffice to get home.

And now we're here! I'll be posting photos from our trip during the next week.

School Daze

Last night was "Meet Your Teacher" night at Nick's new school. For an hour the parents stood around watching as their kids destroyed a classroom, turning it from Very Neat into Disaster Area. He loved it.

There are thirteen kids in Nick's class. Because not all the kids are there on all the days, the most they will ever have are eight children at one time. Of the thirteen children, nine of them are boys. Three are girls. And one is named Riley and wasn't there last night, but either way my point is SO MANY BOYS. The youngest child is fifteen months, and his name is Finnean. I worked out that he was closer in age to Nate than Nick.

The teacher is Alyssa, a young woman who just moved up from teaching first grade in Mass. She and her husband and their year-old daughter now live one town over. I'm worried because teaching a bunch of two year olds is VERY different from teaching first grade. Lucky for us, there is an assistant, Drenda. (That is not a type. Her name is Drenda, not Brenda.) Drenda has apparently had 18 years experience working with preschoolers. She also has two teenage sons.

Last night I looked around and was questioning my decision. Did I pick the right place? Is he really going to learn anything there? It's hard to see your child with a bunch of other children and think that, to the teacher, he is one of many, when to me, he is one of one. But then, as I read him a bedtime story last night, I realized that it didn't matter. He will learn how to get along with other children. He will play. He will hear new things and go new places. And at home I will keep on taking him to the library and reading him books and singing him the songs that I know. He isn't loosing me as a parent just because he's in school two days a week.

J'Accuse Linda

I can't remember when ,but not too long ago, I posted about this site called Gather. I learned about Gather via the Bzzz Agency, and I think I said it was hard to navigate but interesting.

Well, this quickly turned into an obsession. I posted an Article, and people actually READ it! They COMMENTED! They rated it. I commented on other people's stuff. It was almost like having an actual conversation, except for the fact that I had NO IDEA who these people were, or what they looked like, or if they were what they said they were...

But then when Linda came, she showed me something else. This Game. It's like Scrabble... kind of. You have to see how many words you can find in the maze of letters. And it is SO ADDICTIVE. I've been playing it whenever I have a spare moment, leaving it open on my computer so that I can find a word while the kids are eating snack, or maybe just distracted.

It's actually gotten so that I have imposed a "computer time" on myself. Once I reach my limit of computer time I will actually SHUT OFF my computer so that I can get on with my day and won't be sitting here playing games instead of doing dishes or laundry, or making sure Nick isn't sticking anythign up his nose.

Have you Seen My Son?

It's like a Steven King novel. Over the past two or three weeks, my son has become... SOMEONE ELSE! Remember how I used to say Nathan was my calm, low maintenance baby? Ha.

Nathan can now move, so instead of sitting where I put him, he immediately begins creeping across the room, pulling his body along like the Zombies from Dawn of the Dead. (the old one, not the new one where the zombies have super human strength and can run like cheetas. I'm sure Nate's saving THAT for when he learns to walk.)

Nathan's moving around means that many things we loved - books, boxes, letters, have been chewed and rendered into pulpy goo. In some cases actually eaten. Other items we keep taking him away from. Wires, coins, paper clips, pens... Once you take something away from him, Nate will protest by screaming and crying.

Nathan loves moving. But it's not enough. See, he knows what he wants, and he will not be appy until he gets it. What this kid wants is to STAND. And WALK! He pushes himself up on his legs, so that he's stuck in a downward dog position, but then he can't get his upper body up. So he protests by screaming and crying.

When I change his diaper he would rather be moving around, so he protests by screaming and crying. When I change Nicky's diaper Nathan tries to climb up my body so that he can stand. When I move him away from me and his brothers icky diaper, he protests by screaming and crying.

He wakes up three or four times a night and tries to pull himself up on his crib rail. Then he protests his existance by screaming and crying.

Oh - and he hates baby food. That mushy stuff? YEah - who has time for THAT! He wants FOOD! So I've had to buy toddler food - mushy chicken sticks and fruit and veggie cubes. He eats those, when he can actually get them into his mouth. When he doesn't he protests by... yep. Screaming and crying.

Oh - Nate has a tooth coming in. He's been drooling for three months, but the first tooth is finally peeping out! Hooray! Except now I need to stop breast feeding RIGHT NOW. Because quite honestly, it's become painful.

Boy Talking

The following is a reconstruction of a real live conversation that took place on Sunday night. I couldn't have made this one up if I tried.

The phone rings one and a half times.
Steve picks up the phone.

Steve: Hello?
Nick (on upstairs phone): Hi!
Telemarketer: Hello, I'm calling from an independant blah blah-
Nick: Hi Daddy! Boy Talking?
Telemarketer: -and I'm looking for a registered voter?
Nick: Boy Talking?
Steve: Why don't you talk to my son. I don't know if he's registered. He's two - he'll answer your questions.
Steve hangs up the phone. He walks upstairs. Upstairs, Nicholas still has the phone to his ear.
Nick: Boy talking? Boy talking?
Steve hangs up the phone for him.

By the way, Nicholas has not yet stopped calling himself "Boy." However, he also sometimes calls himself "Nicholas." As in "Nicholas toy?" Or "Nicholas Funny?"

Starting Young

At seven months one of Nathan's favorite toys is this remote control dump truck. Steve got it for Nicholas last November. Nick liked it - as I recall his entire body shook with excitement. But the toy was very loud, so we hid it, only taking it out when we needed SOMETHING as a distraction.

Nathan understands that, if he plays with the remote, the dump truck with do things. I don't know if it's the loud noises, the bright yellow color, or or the fact that it's completely age inappropriate, but he's drawn to that toy like no other.

And yes, this picture is new. I have a NEW CAMERA!

silence

Don't YOU ever run out of things to say?
Hard to believe, but I do, too.
And today is one of those days.

Food, Glorious Food

So far since Linda's been here we have gone grocery shopping, printed out 16 recipies, gone to Mac's Apples and shopped at the farm stand (fed the goats, the ducks, and watched Nick freak out twice over a stuffed owl and once over a stuffed moose head). Linda has made a roast chicken with leeks, roast potatoes with rosemary, and lemon green beans. She also made a peach blueberry tart, about three gallons of marinara sauce for us to freeze and eat later, and batter for cornmeal blueberry pancackes which I tried to make this morning and simply proved my point which is that I CAN NOT MAKE PANCAKES. It's not the batter, it is ME.

Today Linda wants to grill steak and shrimp and stuffed peppers. We are going to the meat store and the seafood store. She's dancing around with herbs and kitchen utensils and I think she's just happy to be an a kitchen with counter space and a separate dining area.

And I am uber tired from dealing with Nathan, Mr. Grumpy nighttimesleepdoesnotapplytome. This morning he cried as he ate and he cried as he crawled around and he tried to climb up into my lap and onto my head as I was chaning his brother's diaper. T'aint funny, McGee!

Remember Me

Remember this bugger?

This is the guy that loves me so much he woke me up SIX TIMES last night just so that we could be together.

Seriously, if we were dating instead of related, I'd break up with him. No matter how cute that little face is.

Weekend in the Country

Today I am picking up Linda from the airport. She is going to be here until Sunday.

In some ways I am nervous - what if she hates it here? What if she finds it terribly uncomfortable and boring? What if she gets hand, foot, and mouth disease?

But in other ways - most ways - I am just excited. I do like having people come up and visit. It varies my days. And Linda has never seen my home. And I hardly ever see Linda. So this will be great fun.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand, Foot and Mouth

Remember that episonde ot Little House on the Prairie when one of the children had Scarlet Fever, only then it turned out it was actually Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease?

Yeah, I thought not. Because things like that only happen in real life.

Nick has Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease. I know, I know, it sounds like an illness that many guys I've dated has suffered from, a social illness that affects the filter of the brain, ensuring that the victim keeps saying inappropriate things, or sticking one's foot in one's mouth. But it isn't that. Nor it is Foot and Mouth, or Mad Cow, or anything like that.

The closest thing I can think of is Chicken Pox. Nick now has blisters on his hands, his feet, and - oh yeah, his mouth. It's contagious like Chicken Pox. Only Chicken Pox now has it's very own vaccination because apparently it was SOOO DANGEROUS and we just didn't know it when we were kids and people exposed their kids to it to get it over with.

I took him to the doctor, who told us to give him Tylonol if his fever comes back, and also not to feed him certain foods. He then listed off every single item I had fed Nicholas since this ordeal began, making me wish I could dig a hole in the floor of the examination room, crawl into it, and make Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease go away. Especially since it sounds made up. Made up my some kid with very little imagination.

For the record, Nicholas is fine now. The fever is gone. He's jumping around and absolutely frustrated by the fact that I won't let him go anywhere or share any toys with Nathan. It's just that he might still pass it on. And since we have a few ideas where he might have contracted this illness but all over them are very far fetched, I'm reluctant to bring him to places where he might see other kids, touch other people, touch things that other people might one day touch...

Gather Together

I got sent a link to this new site. Gather.com.

I was introduced to this site via the Bzzz agency. I guess they are trying to create Bzzzz about this site. I wasn't terribly excited about it because I already have a blog I post to EVERY DAY. I already have a friendster account. And I already have an online kodak account. DO I REALLY NEED TO JOIN SOMETHING ELSE?

Of course not. But George was Curious, and so was I. SO I checked it out.

It's a bit difficult to navigate at first. I still can't figure out parts of it. But I like being able to write "articles" and send them to people. I like being able to join a group of stay-at-home moms. I like being able to read poetry and short stories written by other people. People have invited me to join their goups! Unlike friendster, where I feel that I'm OLD, most of the people on Gather are grown ups. Unlike posting on a blog (which I probably will not stop doing) I'm posting to a groups of people. I can get notified when certain people post their articles, too.

SO for about a week I've been writing, posting photos, commenting on other people's work... it's kind of fun. I feel like I'm making friends or actually interacting with people, which is sad, but also good for me, in a strange placebo-like way.

Anyway, if you've got the time, check it out. Look me up!

padded room needed

I forgot to mention this about Nate.

The other day we were visiting Steve's mother, Lillian. We were sitting on her back porch. I switched chairs to put Nathan in the shade. 30 seconds after sitting down I realized the stool I picked was actually a side table. Because it broke beneath me. I heard shattering, and reached down with one of my hands to try and stop myself from being impaled on shards of glass. And Nathan, who had been on my lap, tumbled off and landed face first on the deck.

It all happened in about .9 seconds. His nose got scraped. He now has a scab on his nose.

And Nicholas is NOT better, as I had posted yesterday. His fever returned in full force, and he started complaining that the inside of his mouth hurt. I kept thinking he was teething, because the kept pointing to the back of his mouth. But he won't let me look, so I can't really tell. And then, as I was drying him off from his bath, I noticed a rash all over his body. Including the palms of his hands and his feet. And of course I went online and I am now convinced he has Scarlet Fever. Nothing ever happens during the week. Only on the weekend when the doctor's office is CLOSED. Even if he does get sicker, I have no idea what I will do about it.

And both boys woke up at 4:30 AM. Nick is being calm and well behaved - probably because he feels so awful. But Nathan is so irritating. He just keeps whining and fussing - HE'S the reason we're up so gosh darn early, because he wouldn't SETTLE DOWN. He won't settle down with his bottle, or a biscuit. He just wants me to hold him ALL THE TIME. But quite frankly, I don't like being drooled on before 7am. Or spat up on. Or used as a chew toy.

Today is a great day to disregard any rules I might have previously had about caffiene.

There's Something About Nathan... and Nick.

Yesterday I posted that Nathan was creeping around at lightning speeds.

Well, yesterday Nathan learned to sit up by himself. Steve and I were both looking at him and discussing how quickly he was developing, new skills popping up every day. And just then Nate rolled and sat up.

He can also clap his hands. They don't make a clapping sound or anything. In fact, I wasn't sure he knew what I was doing, so I sat across from him and clapped my hands - he clapped his. I raised my hands up, and he brought his hands out to the side. I touched the ground - he touched the ground. I clapped my hands - he clapped his hands. HE IS A GENIUS! BWAHAHA!

He also babbles as though he's speaking, although he's really only saying "dada dada dada." He prefers to be standing, even though he can't do it on his own.

Nicholas, on the other hand... has a new backpack. He has "school shoes." He is ready for school, which starts August 30th.

He also had a fever yesterday. By noon he had a fever of 101.5°F. No other symptoms, although I had nightmares about mystery infections. Food poisoning? Lingering effects from the Dog Bite? Or is it something as simple as picking up a toy at Wal-Mart? He was feverish all afternoon and all night. This morning he is back to normal. IT was just one of those freak things, and I am a dramatic worrywort.

Ready, Set, and...

Nathan is now officially mobile. He can push himself with his foot across a room. He sees something he wants, starts moving, and within ten seconds of the original sighting he has destroyed his target, which has been masticated to bits and is scattered about in puddles of drool. Books, cherry tomatoes, and a few of Nick's toys, all victims of this ruthless predator.

Boy are we in trouble.

I'm SORRY! I'm SORRY!

In the movie Simon Birch there is this scene where the little boy, who has just accidentally killed Ashley Judd by hitting her in the head with a baseball, is running away from humanity when he stops on a bridge and cries out to the world "I'm Sorry! I'M SORRY!" And this scene never fails to leave me in tears. Other than that, the movie is just a shortened a rehashed version of "A Prayer for Owen Meany" which I loved.

Delta called me the other day. I mean I got a phone call in response to my letter. They called to apologize for the awful trip I had. "You've been mistreated," the lady said. "We feel bad about that because it shouldn't happen." They will be speaking to the flight attendants and to the airports, too.

I don't really know about that. I mean, I can imagine the red tape involved in tracking down who was working the desks, who was on which flights, etc. I was just impressed that they called. I really wasn't expecting a response to my letter. I was half expecting it to be pinned up on some wall of shame where office workers would read it and laugh. I know they probably have a special department simply to deal with complaints, and they probably tell everyone that they are sorry and they will be looking into it. They probably offer all disgruntled passangers $50 flight vouchers or 5000 sky miles (this translates to about $1 per 100 miles, right?). But hey - skymiles! I'm that much closer to a first class flight to Bora Bora! I figure Steve and I can take our three week vacation to a dream location on our 25th wedding anniversary. Which is great, because we won't need a baby sitter.

Hug-A-Mole

Quite often, as I'm changing Nathan's diaper, Nicholas will come up behind me and throw his arms around my neck in an affectionate sort of piggy-back hug. What he doesn't know is that he is actually squeezing my windpipe when he does this, and it's a little bit painful and I can't breathe. But I can't work up the courage to tell him this. I know he's a little bit jealous of the attention I am giving his brother, and that he might take any negative reaction as a rejection. I know I need to come up with an alternative, it's just that, until I do, I'm thankful he's not sticking his fingers into his brother's eyes.

Today, after I completed Nate's diaper change using half my usual oxygen supply and supporting and extra 27 pounds around my neck, Nicholas began patting my back. "Mole? Mole?" he asked, pointing to a specific location on my back. "Yes," I said. "It's a mole."

"Hug a mole?" Nick asked, and then proceeded to place his head on it to give it a hug. He's hugging my moles. He loves me so much, he loves my moles. How great is that?

Sleep Aid - a Kool Aid

I may have posted about this before. If so, I apologize. But I'm pretty sure that, if I did, it was only in passing.

I am tired. Not as tired as Nathan's first three months, when I was living in a haze and getting to the store took a week's worth of planning and a shot of adrenaline. But these days Nathan is getting up four or five times a night. At first I blamed the heat, then the fact that it was too cool in their room... but now I just think he's getting used to me helpinghim back to sleep. At some point I must take a stand and let him cry a little, let him deal so we can get through this part... but at 2am I always think I'd rather get him to fall back asleep FASTER instead of letting him learn anything because, quite frankly, I am too tired to lie there and listen to him scream. And the thought of him waking up Nick terrifies me.

When one is sleep deprived, there is nothing more irritating than sleep aid advertisements. And let me tell you , there are a lot of sleep aids out there. Lunesta, Rozerem, Ambien, not to mention several over-the-counter sleep aids, like Tylonol PM, Advil PM, and my personal favorite from way back when, Valerian Root Tea. (It smells like the garbage, but it always put me right to sleep.) The things is, with all these sleep aids, the advertising people speak as though the ONLY THING keeping you awake, the ONLY thing, is tension or some other thing that CAN be cured with a drug.

Personally, unless the Advil PM people are going to come over and get up with my kid five times a night, they aren't going to be doing me any good. Or how about this! Those people having trouble sleeping? The ones we see on TV wandering and looking at the clock and then out the window and sighing... why don't THEY come over and take care of my kids for a couple of days? I could sleep for a couple of days, and I promise them they will be exhausted and ready to sleep after 48 hours. They won't need a perscription, only references and an FBI background check.

Besides, I happen to know that taking sleep aids like those listed above are not good for you. Anyone can become addicted to them, making insomnia worse. And I don't think the sleep you get with them is as restful as the sleep you would get otherwise. Unless there is a real reason, they should be avoided.

But still, each time I hear a commercial, see images of people sleeping peacefully, and that silly butterfly, I can't help wanting to swallow these pills by the fistfull. YES! I want to shout. YES! I AM TIRED!

wrong side of the bed

I woke up this morning with my nerves already rubbed raw. I wa so tired, because Steve is away and I never sleep as well when he's gone. Also, Nathan decided to practice sitting up by himself ALL NIGHT last night, and I would go in to nurse him and put him back to sleep and he would be AWAKE, complete with cooing and laughing and for some reason kickng me in the gut.

This morning, just before 6am, he woke up AGAIN and I took him into the bed with me. He wasn't hungry, he just wanted to alternate scratching me, pulling my hair, and kicking me, and I was doing my best to sleep through it. But Nick woke up and that was that.

Nicholas, on the other hand... I told him we would go to the library today. I should never tell him ANYTHING like that, because then I said "OK, let's go get breakfast!" And he was clearly injured "No! Library!" And I said "No, not yet, we have to eat breakfast and get dressed before we can go to the library." Nick began to cry. "The library is closed, Nick." He started crying louder. "Nick! It's 6am! Nothing is open yet and anyone that can still sleep is still sleeping! When the library is open we'll go! But not yet!" Nick kept crying, "Library! Library!" And of course by then I wanted to ship him off to the Library for keeps.

The day has been pretty much like that. The bananas were gross so I threw them out, and then that's all Nick wanted for breakfast. Nathan cried for 20 minutes and then refused to nap. Oh, and it's pouring rain. I took an Advil, somehow thinking Ibuprophin would have a Soma Tablet effect on my mood. But it was not to be. I hate it when I get like this, just edgy and cranky and short tempered and I know it but there's still nothing I can do about it. Except sleep, but that might as well be a trip to the moon at this point.

How to make Play Dough

I have made play dough for Nick before, and although at first it freaked him out a little bit and caused temper tantrums because 1 - it might be hot 2 - Steve poked his finger in it and "broke" it and 3- some fell on the ground and Gunther sniffed it, only Nick thought Gunther ate his toy... Although it has such a rocky begining, Nick has come to understand and appreciate play dough.

Yesterday I pulled out the play dough, which has been mushed into a purple-yellow mixture and which is easily 3 months old at this point. I let him play with it (which he did for a WHOLE HOUR, I might add) but I thought I would make him some NEW play dough. Some BLUE play dough It's not hard, and it doesn't take long.

Mix 1 cup of flour with 1/4 cup of salt and 2 tablespoons of Cream of Tartar. Mix it with 1 cup of water, 2 tablespoons of food coloring, and 1 Cup of oil.

Wait, did I say one CUP of oil? I meant on Tablespoon.

Which is exactly what got me into trouble yesterday. As soon as I added the whole cup I realized I had made a mistake, but I attempted to remedy the situation by adding more flour, more water, more cream of tartar, and more salt. But honestly, I would have had to add a LOT more of all these to make it right.

To make matters worse, the play-dough was made with neon food coloring, giving the mess the exact shade I imagine Smurfs to be. If this WERE a smurf, his name would be Acne, the oily Smurf, because oil just POURS from it. I left it on the counter to dry out, hoping it would help and become usable, but within ten minutes oil had pooled out of it, dripped over the edge of the counter, and formed a puddle on the kitchen floor.

This morning I checked it again. Oil has stopped seeping from the pile of blue goo, but if you touch it or kneed it your hands are then coated in oil. It's like a rather oily moisturizer. It made me think of Palmolive, and how it used to claim to soften hands while you did dishes... only this is play dough, and not dishes.

Through out the entire production I kept thinking "Why don't I have a camera so I could share this with the world?"

Bath Brothers

Nick and Nathan love each other.

I really am grateful for that. I mean, Nick doesn't try to hurt Nate. Sometimes he'll try to poke him in the eye, and there was that time in France he emptied an entire bottle of shampoo on Nate's head. But he doesn't do these things out of jealousy or malice. It's mostly play or curiosity.

Nathan can sit up now, if you sit him up. And he's pretty stable, usually. So I've been sitting him up in the tub and I'm actually able to do something like reach for a washcloth or a towel, or even put the dirty clothes in the clothes hamper. Nathan LOVES the bath. As soon as he hits the water he starts flapping his arms, sending water everywhere.

Nicholas will tolerate a bath, as long as you don't try to touch him with a washcloth. But when Nate starts splashing and sending bathwater, water that may contain SOAP into his face, he cries.

When he cries, Nathan laughs. For some reason he interprets Nick's distress as something funny, perhaps laughter? Or maybe he hears something phoney in it and thinks Nick is faking? Whatever the reason, Nathan begins laughing and waves his arms harder, thrashing his feet, getting them going, too. The water in the tub is churning (a little) and tiny drops of water are going everywhere. And Nicholas is looking at me, crying without tears, and saying "Nay Nay Done? Nay Nay Done?" basically begging me to take Nate out of the tub.

But Nathan is having such a good time I can't do it!

OH - and yesterday Nathan pulled himself up (with my help) to standing and actually looked as though her were going to start walking around. "Look how short you are!" I said. "Nicholas could kiss you on the top of your head! And thenNick came over and did. And I tok a picture with my mental camera, and framed it and hung it on one of the bare walls in my brain.

I need a swimsuit

The photos I have been posting were taken on our Honeymoon to St. Lucia. In this one we were on a hike. We didn't actually have hiking gear, so both Steve and I were in sandals which got slippery when they got wet (on the inside, so your feet would slide IN the shoes) and I was also wearing my swimsuit.

I gave away this swimsuit, because, if you haven't noticed, it's a two piece. I also gave away my string bikini and the one piece that no longer fit over... well, over ME. I refuse to wear my maternity swimsuit, which is a tankini with a flowy top that immediately floats to the top of the water unless you are pregnant enough for it not to be able to budge.

I purchased a swimsuit at Wal-Mart for my vacation to France, and I wore it, and it was OK. A bit small on bottom, big on top, but not indecent and I could get it on and off without a problem. This swimsuit was yanked out of my suitcase at the airport and left on the plane with other items of dirty laundry.

So now I need a swimsuit, because I will be visiting a friend with a pool in a little over a week. And the stores have already decided that swimsuit season is over. Now the displays are all back-to-school displays. I'm sure I could find onw if I had the time, but really, I have two small children, one who climbs out of the cart and pulls things off shelves. I do not have time to browse. WHERE TO GO?

Riddle me this:

You have just pulled into the garage. You have a sleeping 2-year-old and a should-be-sleeping 6-month-old in the car. You also have a car full of groceries.

Once the 2-year-old wakes up he will not go back to sleep. The 6-month-old can be breastfed or formula fed. He prefers formula. There is no bottle prepared. The groceries include perishables and frozen items. If the 2-year-old stays in his carseat too long he will wake up. If you leave the 6 month-old in the carseat for more than 45 seconds he will scream. If you leave the groceries on the kitchen floor or counter the dog will eat the meat, and probably most of the snacks.

You need to put the groceries away and get the kids to sleep so that you can have time to work out / read / nap / stare at the wall / whatever.

So what order do you do these things in? How do you DEAL?

Please use only a #2 pencil and write only in the provided space. You have 20 minutes. GO!

We're having a heat waaaaaave

OK, so I know it's much hotter in Thailand than it is here, generally speaking. But it's hot here. Not just hot, but humid.

Yesterday I checked Accuweather to see what the temperature was like. The actual tempereature was 90° F, but the "RealFeel" after factoring in wind, humidity, and probably the position of the moon, was 107°F. That's 107°F. That's hot.

Last night I kept waiting for the heat to break, for that coolness I assiciate with night time to rush in through the windows as it usually does, causing us to dive under our summer blankets and get up to turn off the fans. It never happened.

Right now it is 84°F by Accuweather's report. The thermometer in Steve's car said 90°F. It is 8:15 am. Supposedly it's supposed to reach 101°F today. RealFeel of 106°F.

Because we have no airconditioning, I have to get creative with things. I plan on taking a trip in the coo, airconditioned car later this morning. We shall go to the dump, and to Dunkin Donuts for a snack. I'm hoping the kids will fall asleep in the car on the way back, and I can carry them into the Den, which has the airconditioning. They won't fall asleep in there on their own. It's WAY to exciting. When they wake up I shall drive us to the mall to do some shopping - weddings, babies, I can always look for a gift. And we shall stay out until at least 4:30. Because it won't get cooler until later.

Actually, it won't get cool at all, I just checked. So we will be hot no matter what. At least some time in airconditioning will help cool us down.

Loving the skin I'm in

What do people use on their faces?

I'm not talking about make-up. That's a whole different story. I myself am still using techniques that my friend Larissa showed me from a magazine in the late 80's. But it seems to work, so...

No, what I'm talking about is a skin regimen.

I have spent years wading through different products and different brands and wondering exactly what it was that each one DID. I still don't know, to tell you the truth. Toner? What IS that? Anyway, after years of experimenting, I finally saw part of a Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, and this one "Queer Guy" was telling a "Stright Guy" that he absolutely HAD to have a skin regimen. EVERYONE should have a skin regimen. Women knoew this, but this Straight Guy, he had to be told.

I immediately went to Wal-Mart and purchased a number of skin products, not wanting to be left behind in this world of women.

I have settled on Olay prducts. First of all, I am pretty sure I saw my sister use these products at one point. Second, they are not too expensive (less expensive than the Clinique stuff I used to get - although I still feel silly buying them.) Lastly, their advertizing worked, the brand name is seared into my brain.

But this weekend, while getting my facial, SANDRA told me a few things. 1 - I have sun damage (I knew that.) 2 - My skin is dry and sensitive. (Really? Because I would have said oily....) and then she told me 3 - Olay products are not good, and they irritate sensitive skin such as mine. I would do better off with a "professional product" or even with a product called Neveablahblah (can't remember) that I can find at the mall...

The product they sell at this place is Murad. I have been to their website. I am frightened. I can not see myself EVER spending $60 on less than two ounces of face cream. Besides, these people promote supplements and celulite products as though they were actually real and working products. And I still say that if these things were real, EVERYONE would be using them.

So what do people thing? What do people use? Not that this is life or death or anything, I'm just wondering if I'm the only one that thinks the cost is outrageous, and that I can stick with Olay, despite the "irritation" on my skin?

Caffeine Free

I require a certain amount of caffeine to make it through the day.

When I was pregnant - both times - I tried giving up caffeine, but it didn't worked. I failed horribly. So I decided to limit the amount of caffeine I took in, instead. One soda a day. Two tops. And some chocolate. Maybe.

When the babies were being mostly breastfed, I also tried to limit caffeine intake. Mostly because I didn't want to keep the babies UP at night, but also because I didn't want any precious sleep time I had to be wasted in TRYING to fall asleep.

Now that Nathan is drinking more formula and eating mushy "food" from a jar I have stopped paying attention to how much soda I have been drinking. All I know is, it's a lot. A lot a lot. All of it loaded with chemicals designed to make me feel good and alert. And for the past few nights I have been up until at least 11pm (I know, early for most, but late for me) watching TV and wondering WHY oh WHY I didn't feel sleepy. It's also making me VERY irritable. That's right - every little thing anyone says makes me want to crumple them up like a scrap sheet of paper and stuff them in the trash can. Awake but tired, wired but irritable... not a pretty picture.

So that's it. I must now go back and wipe the slate clean. One soda per day. Maybe two. Go back to drinking more water. Juice, maybe. Maybe even milk. It will be hard. Detox is always hard... but I hate string up at the ceiling and wondering if I'll be tired the next day.

This is Not a Repeat

Yesterday afternoon, after my glorious facial and massage, after a long late afternoon nap, as we were watching our 4:30pm TV program and I was gearing up for starting our dinner / bath / bad routine... I accidentally dislocated Nick's elbow. Again.

I didn't do it on purpose. I've actually been quite careful to hold him by the upper part of his arm if I'm trying to guide him to a place he may not want to go, and I have stopped lifting him by his arms... It's just that, in this case... he was behind me, on the ottoman, and I was on the floor with Nathan in my lap. And Nick was kicking me in the back of the head, laughing gleefully, and either not hearing or not listening to my requests for h im to stop. So I reached behind me to pull him OFF the ottoman... and apparently I pulled on his arm.

He's better. Three seconds after the doctor squeezed it back into place he was using his arm again and shouting out numbers (one! two! SixSevenEight!) So he didn't evenget X-rays this time. Which is great.

But for crying out loud, it isn't fair. If I send my child to the emergency room I should at least get the luxury of being negligent or loosing my temper. If I remain cool headed and attentive and feed them and clothe them and do their laundry and pick up their toys and make Nick hold my hand when we cross the street, then this sort of thing shouldn't happen. Right? RIGHT? I mean, I simply do not know how to discipline a two year old without touching him or moving him occasionally against his will. It's just not possible. Otherwise he's spend 24 hours a day in front of the TV or in the driver's seat of the car.

the cure for everything

This morning I collected on a gift Steve gave me for something - our anniversary I think. I went to Bein Soignee and got a facial AND a hot stone massage AND my hair got washed and blown dry. Hooray for me!

I was never quite sure I would LIKE a hot stone massage. Frankly, it sounds like a kind of torture. You get undressed and then someone you have never met before will put hot ad cold rocks all over your body. You will lie down on hot rocks. Hot rocks on your face, your feet, your hands, your tummy... Yeah, really relaxing. But you know what? IT IS! The rocks are hot, but not so hot you can't stand it. And whatever. It worked. I left feeling as though I were floating.

So maybe it's not really the cure for everything, but it was the cure for most of MY ills... which is probably just proof that there was nothing wrong with me to begin with.

Bleak House

Today is overcast, but very hot and humid. And I found myself thinking, I know people used to live without airconditioning. Ever. Because it didn't exist. These people... they weren't walking around in string bikinis, either. In fact, for many years they wore lots and lots of clothing. Long sleeves and skirts with layers and undergarments, not to mention corsets. Jackets, stockings, hats... I just can't understand how they did it. No wonder they all died young.

Nathan is just over 27 inches long - over the 75th percentile for height in his age group. And he weights 17.9 pounds. Yesterday he got three new shots and a crayon bandage. When I came home Nick was standing in his diaper in the dining room with his grandmother's keys and a juice cup.

Not much on today's agenda. Mostly it's about keeping cool and keeping sane, and trying not to let the overcast-ness get to me. Yesterday my parents put Cleo down, and I'm a little bit sad about it.

Boy Growing

Everyday one of the kids does something to surprise me.

Nicholas's vocabulary is out of control. Remember the little Nicholas Glossary I printed awhile back? Dat = cat, guk = book, guk = milk, etc? Well it's a bit out of date. It's VERY out of date, in fact. It is SO out of date that I can't even create a corrected version. I need a whole new system to explain the breadth of his vocabulary and how many words the kid knows. He has told many people, including people we met randomly at the town beach yesterday, about his trip to the amusement park, his nightmare, the dog bite, and how his daddy goes on a tractor. He now tells me what he wants to eat, what he wants to wear, and where he wants to sit in the car (never mind that he always ends up in the carseat, he's sure that one of these days I will let him drive.) He is now able to tell me about basic emotions, both for himself and other people. Gunther mad? Boy scared? Mommy funny? Nay Nay wants a nap? And this morning he looked me straight in the eye and said "Boy growing?"

Nathan is also growing and developing. He has his 6 month checkup today, so I'll find out how heavy he actually is and can modify my workout as necessary. But Nathan has also taken recent developmental leaps. For one thing, he is mobile. He doesn't know how, but he can get himself clear across the room by rolling or twirling on his tummy. If I sit him up, he can stay that way for a while. He can even pull himself into a standing position, and I've let him support himself at one of the play tables we have, putting pillows all around in case he falls. I've now officially started giving him teething biscuits, which he just mushes up and spreads around the play yard or the blanket or the carseat... but it keeps him quiet. This morning I tried a sip cup for the first time - a brand new beginner's one. Nick was jealous that Nate got the cute cup. But Nathan didn't seem to care, anyway. He sucked it for a minute or two and then shouted very loudly that he preferred a bottle. And a few days ago Nathan began babbling. Not the cooing, but honest to goodness "DadadadababababBAbabBA!" Nick never really did that, and it's so funny to hear when you're in the middle of a conversation!

Anyway, enough for today. We're looking into getting a new camera, so perhaps new pictures will return soon.

The Trip Home - Part 2

Part 2 - Our Return, or how bodily functions keep me from reaching my destination.

On Sunday morning, after the dog bite incident, after I had been up for 7 hours, had eaten breakfast twice, and had woekn everyone I could think of up before 9am... we finally left. Emily and her friend Chris? Kris? Helped us to the car, which was great because even then we had trouble making it across the street and to the garage.

After driving around town for 20 minutes in the right general direction but never actually getting to the highway because of the stupid street fairs, I finally m ade it to the highway. I kept expecting to relax and settle into the groove of the drive, but instead my head just kept pounding and pounding and pounding. I was VERY upset about Cleo, and about how my husband would react when he saw his son's face (I needen't have worried, but once I start stressing I just keep going.)

I pulled over at McDonalds to get a coffee, thinking that would help me out, but it didn't. My head kept hurting. And then I realized I also had to pee.

Stupidly, I did one of those "I can make it to the next exit" things. Which is great when you are alone, or with other adults, and can then hop out of the car and rush into the rest room. But when you have two small children in car seats STOP EARLY! By the time I could stop again I was almost in tears with fear that I wouldn't actually make it into the rest room. I then had to unstrap Nick, walk him around to the other side of the car, unstrap Nate, walk them across the street with the heavy diaper bag, stand in line, wedge ourselves into a small stall meant for one very skinny person with no diaper bag, and manage to undress myself, go, and redress myself all while holding Nathan and trying to convince Nick NOT to open the door thank you very much.

After changing diapers I stopped by the vending machines, hoping against all hope that one of them would sell Advil or Tylonol, but all they had was soda or candy. I feed wrinkled dollar bills into the machines to get a diet coke and some m&m's for Nick (the candy, not the soda) and the man in charge of the rest stop came over and started chatting, asking about my kids and telling me about his nephews, which was great but I have to say I was NOT in the mood to be friendly. Once in the car I rummaged through my luggare and used the Afrin nose spray I had for the trip OUT, hoping that somehow it would do something for my head ache and we could get HOME.

Then Nate started screaming. He screamed and screamed and screamed. I pulled over to get gas and feed him, and he screamed. He kept screaming and kept screaming and suddenly I had to use the bathroom again (so soon? Yes. I don't get it either) VERY BADLY. But I was determined not to pull over again. I wanted to get home. I didn't want to have to get everyone out and then get everyone back in - each stop added an hour to our drive.

And then it becase exceedingly obvious that Nicholas needed a diaper change, in more than just a superficial way. I had to open the windows until we made it to the next place where I could pull over.

Once I stopped the car I spread a blanket down on the floor. I ended up having to change Nick's entire outfit. I fed Nate the rest of his bottle (which didn't make a difference, as he began screaming the second he finished and was still in the awful car seat.) And I took care of my own needs but you don't need to know any more about that.

For someone who had a good vacation, I have never been so happy to get home in my LIFE.

The end.

The Trip Home - Interlude

The Interlude: I heart My Dog

After our return flight to NYC all I wanted to do was get HOME. I actually thought about just getting into my car and driving home that night. The kids would be tired and would sleep. Traffic would be minimal. And I could sleep in my own bed that night. But by the time we got back to my parent's apartment, I was a walking zombie. I knew I would never make it without rest. So I made a date with my sister for the following morning - I needed help getting both kids and all of our stuff to the parking garage.

The next morning, confused by the previous day of travel and the time change, both boys were awake and ready for the day to begin by 2:30. AM. A large percentage of New Yorkers were probably not even HOME yet from their Saturday night escapades, and my kids decide it's a good time to eat cheerios and scream.

I am not sure exactly how it happened, but around 6:30... one minute I'm scolding Nick for emptying the contents of my wallet onto the coffee table and telling him to come back with my house keys, and the next minute the dog snarls, snaps at him, and Nick is on the floor, his hand clutching his face, screaming.

My parents have a 10 year old dalmation named Cleo. She is a wonderful dog, but is not very sociable. To other dogs, or to people. Especially not children. She has been known to bite, and people are warned to give her her space and not touch her ears. Besides being very nervy, Cleo has allergies to wool, cats, and humans, and she breaks out in a rash frequently and has to be givin steroids. She also has - I think - a tumor or something on her pituary glad, which causes her to be even MORE jumpy, and also to drink a lot of water and pee an average of once every 30 minutes. Don't get me wrong, I love this dog. She's even come up here to run around in our yard and she plays with Gunther... But she's not an EASY dog.

I immediately jumped over to my baby and made sure he was OK. I was picturing an emergency room, stiches, and future scarring... but he's fine. He was very lucky. The bite just missed his eye, and the wound didn't bleed all that much - more of a scrape, really. He was more frightened than anything else. So was I. I called my mother and told her I could not have the dog in the house with my kids, that it wasn't safe, etc.

And that is that. At this point, there is really no one else who would take her. She's on expensive medication and she's a biter. So she's going to be put down. Which is tragic. I feel guilty because I know I might have prevented it if I had been more awake, or had even noticed her sitting there in her chair. At the same time, Nick is my baby, and it could have been worse...

The Trip Home - Part 1

Part one - the flight, or how Delta broke my heart (this is a long story, so it is broken up into different parts. But just so you know, these shorter parts are also very long. Sorry.)

Checking in: The line didn't LOOK very long. However, after fifteen minutes of not moving forward AT ALL we realized that looks could be deceiving. Finally we arrived at the midway point, where a delta employee looked at our passports, and asked us about our bags - who packed them? where have they been? are there any electronic appliances inside? drugs or animals? plants? jam? where did we buy the bags, anyway? We then waited in the second part of the checkout line, where I had a better view of people arguing with the delta employees checking people in.

The first thing the check in lady said when we handed her our itineraries was "You will need to purchase tickets for the infants." I pointed to the itineraries and explained that they had tickets, and indeed they had seats, just as every other passanger on the flight. She looked profoundly dissapointed, but began to cheer up when we placed the stroller on the check in weigh system. She informed me that I couldn't check it in THERE, I had to bring it around to a different location. Then - and this is very interesting - she called another woman over to ask about my suitcase. Now, I packed a heavy suitcase - I am the first to admit it. But I decided that it would be easier to deal with one heavy suitcase and two kids than two medium heavy cuitcases. The checkin lady asked the other woman about the weight of my suitcase "It's for three people," she said. "Does it matter?" But the other woman said "No, it's over, just tell them." As though it were a small matter. They spoke to each other in French, and I'm sure they didn't think I could understand them. I was then informed - in English - that I had to remove seven kilos from my suitcase. No matter that I left sip cups, a camera, baby food and formula, not to mention several bath products and cosmetics behind. My luggage, acceptable at JFK, was too heavy by French standards.

I don't think I would be as upset about it, except that by then I had realized that every other passanger was being asked to either unload weight from their luggage or pay a $100 fee. The arguments and discussions that followed were what was holding up the check in line. I don't think the weight they were asking to be removed would make much of a difference. My feeling was that they were just out to make a buck that day.

I snipped at the ladies as I zipped open the bag and began pulling out plastic bags of dirty laundry, my tioletry bag - I had to remove my fingernail scissors - and the bigger books I had taken along for the boys. These I flung back to my sister and my father for them to stuff in various other carry ons. "I hope you have children one day," I barked," and I hope you get to travel with them." That's about as close as I get to calling someone names - wishing them a mixed blessing. At that point the ladies stopped speaking English to us completely. Which actually didn't make a difference, except that I know they thought it would. No one was at the special place - ten feet away from the check in desk - that they told me to take the stroller. I had to flag down a small man with excellent people skills who took it from me.

Getting to the Plane: I had to take the wheels off the car seats because they didn't have wands at the security check point. It took us 30 minutes to get through the passport check point - I'm not sure why, but I think it had something to do with a small woman in lavendre who wanted to bring extra bags with her or check her bags there or something. We joined the mob of people who pushed pass each other to get on the plane - HELLO PEOPLE! WE HAVE SEATS! THEY WILL NOT DISSAPEAR! Before we got on the plane we were questioned by yet another Delta employee who asked us the same questions about our bags as the firt guy. "Where have your bags been since you arrived at the airport?" she asked. " On line with us," I said.

The Flight: A first class passenger, seated well before everyone else, helped me carry Nathan's carseat to the back of the plane while the flight attendants watched. Emily pressed the call button so that she could get an extention for Nick's carseat, but the flight attendants ignored it. She had to go find one herself. Actually, the flight attendants never once responded to the call buttons, any of the 10 times they were pressed, including the time Nick accidentally pressed it in the bathroom. Once Nathan was screaming and all I needed was water to make formula, but after 10 minutes of no flight attendants in sight I got up to find water myself. I found it in back, in a basket with some rolls. Next to it was a flight attendant reading a newspaper. This was not the same flight attendant that wonked me in the head with the drink cart - an accident, I'm sure, but it still would have been nice to say either "I'm sorry" or "are you ok?"

The rest of the stuff that happened on the flight - Nicholas having a tantrum, needing to change Nick's entire outfit because of a wonderfully timed poop, and my forgetting the plastic bag of dirty laundry on the plane - cannot in any way be blamed on anyone.

That's the end - for now. More complaining to come.

Adieu, Adieu, to yeu and yeu and yeu

Tomorrow we are going home... well, at least to NY. To be honest, part of me is looking forward to getting back to my own house, my own bed, and getting back into a schedule. Not to mention, of course seeing my HUSBAND again! We all miss him very much at this point.

But there is still something very bittersweet about leaving. I have been looking forward to this vacation for so long, and it's just wooshed right by me. I really do hope we get to come back next year - with Steve, of course. There must be a way to make it happen.

I have been packing all morning, trying to track down all of our belongings - the swim toys, the books, the socks, the sippy cups... and then trying to put everything in our suitcase before Nicholas gets the chance to remove each item and put it in an unlikely location. This morning I put the same flip flop in the suitcase 6 times before I found my hair iron on the porch outside. When I dragged it back inside Nicholas was sitting INSIDE the suitcase and had removed the bottle nipples from the ziploc I had put them in, and had returned them to the tupperware container I was using while we were here. Apparently he doesn't really want to go, either.

I think what I want

I could post about many things today. Among the possible topics are my trip to Luna Park, which is now called something else and which is very much different than it was twenty years ago. I could also post about Nick's horrible nightmare, which woke him up screaming at 2am, and a few more times besides, and which he has been referring to all day. Or I could post about my trip to Biot, which I took with my mother, where we got not lost but displaced, and where it took us over two hours to GET there, let alone watch glass being blown and brows the shops.

Instead I would like to post about last night, when we returned from Luna Park-not Luna Park... Emily and I sat up working on this puzzle, and we just laughed and talked and laughed so much about absolutely nothing and it made me giddy. I loved that. Because I don't get to do that with people very much any more, especially not my sisters. Usually visits are too time constrained. And this was nice and fun and I hope I get to do it again soon.

Memories Lost

Here is a list of the photographs I remember taking with my camera - moments lost forever.

- About 47 pictures of a hand holding a spade being stuck through the trash chute in the kitchen counter.

- A wonderful shot of Nathan wearing his baby sunglasses, the only time he's ever worn them unless you count last night when he used them as a chew toy.

- A cute picture of the boys sharing the king bed.

- A couple of pictures of us walking to The Diament for lunch, including a great one of my father pushing the stroller.

- Two great shots of Emily wearing a very tiny black and gold bikini. These were great shots because she was standing in front of the mirror and you got the front AND the rear view.

- A shot of Nicholas on the carousel near the beach.

- A few nice pictures of my father and Nicholas in the water, including a video.


Now even though I don't have the pictures, the moments are captured here. Funny how that works, isn't it?

My Fans! My Fans!

My mother lost the remote control to the ceiling fans in the living room.

First of all, my parents should never be given anything to operate that requires a remote. It's just asking for trouble. Once they left the downstairs TV on for a week because they couldn't find the remote to turn it off. They never thought of unplugging it. And sooner or later ALL remotes will be lost or misplaced or accidentally taken back to NY.

Not to mention the fact that ceiling fans just shouldn't have remotes. Put a switch on the wall - are we so lazy that we can't walk to the wall or pull a chain?

The remote went missing the day before we got here, and ever since we have been living... well... without ceiling fans. And we have been getting by.

But today, suddenly, my mother pointed out that ONE OF THE FANS WAS WORKING! That's right. One of the fans had, by itself, just started working. And so had the other. A thousand horror films streamed through my brain, as well as all the Stephen King short stories I have ever read, but I simply couldn't think of one where ceiling fans had come to life on their own. Cameras, cars, computers, yes, but not ceiling fans.

Then they stopped.

Then there were a few freaky beeping noises, and they started again.

Finally the electrician came and - get this - PUT A CHAIN on one of the fans! Hooray! But for some reason the other still won't work.

Anyway, that was the excitement for the day. We now have a working fan, which is cool (ha ha) and I am out of words.

Mama don't take my digital camera...

Yesterday morning I discovered my bag and my mother's bag on the back steps, the contents - including credit cards, passports, and baby diapers - strewn in the dirt. Apparently, with people coming and going at night, we were not as careful as we needed to be about security. Here's a nice bit of information - just because you are in the house and awake doesn't mean someone won't enter your house and walk around it until you fall asleep.

Then the person that entered your house may take the cash from your wallet and toss your purse out the window. They will take the digital camera you left in your purse with all of your vacation photos on it. They will take your father's laptop - how they missed this one is a huge mystery. And they will instill in you a feeling of helpless ness, frustration, and creepiness because, really, how long were they IN this house before the took off? Was I awake? Alseep? Did they open the door to my bedroom and see me and my children sleeping?

We are now locking all doors, including some internal doors. We are then shutting the keys up in drawers and locking THOSE drawers, and then sleeping with those keys sewn into the hems of our nightclothes. OK, fine, maybe nothing THAT extreme, but you get my drift. It's really easy to let one's guard down, especially on vacation. And that camera... that's how I got most of the pictured onto this blog. Not to mention the safety of my babies.

How The Girls Are Doing It

I have always been amazed at how effortless summer garb comes to some women. You know the ones I'm talking about. These are the girls that are always in shape and don't seem to worry about how they will look in their swimsuits. They are able to don flip flops without worrying about their feet or toenail polish. They either don't need bras or they have magical summer-wear that does the job for them. And they also seem to have no problems whatsoever with shorts - and my that, I mean leg hair.

I have always had an issue with leg hair. I know, I know, this post is getting personal - please just stay with me. I used to shave my legs. With some people, thi is enough. They shave their legs and they are good for two or three days. Well, they are probably natural blonds with pony tails that look like a rat's tail. Not me. I am hairy by nature. I have a huge head of hair. And I have lots of hair on my legs. I am the only person I know that gets five o'clock shadow on my legs. And I NEVER get that smooth, hairless look because my hairs are so dark and my skin so pale that, when shaving, you can see the hairs under the skin, waiting to peek out.

A few years ago I began waxing my legs. I used to go to a salon to get it done, but then I just started doing it myself every few weeks. The trouble with waxing is that you get a few days of being able to wear shorts or skirts without worry, and then the hairs starts growing out again, and then you have to wait 2 more weeks before being able to get it done again. Nevertheless, I subscribe to this method of hair removal because it eliminates the "hair under the skin" problem I associate with shaving. I end up wearing long pants a lot, even in summer, or just hoping people are not looking at my legs.

The other day, walking to the beach, I saw a daisy chain of girls - five or six of them - sitting on the bench outside the public toilets. These girls were either in their late teens or early twenties, and these are the girls you find wearing tank tops and sundresses effortlessly. Over their perfect tans. Each of these girls had a leg draped over another, and each held a pair of tweezers. Each girl was studying the leg on their lap and very carefully plucking out individual hairs. So THIS is how they do it, I thought! I have discovered the secret to perfectly groomed legs! However, I don't think I will be hopping on this bandwagon anytime soon. I think the tweezer method would take to long. At least on me. Not to mention the fact that I would need five friends to pluck their legs with me, and I don't think these would be easy to find.

Beach Brain

I simply cannot focus enough to write anything these days. I don't know how people come to this part of the country and get inspired... Actually, that's a lie. I can see very well how people who come here get inspired. But then I don't see how they can get past that and actually DO anything with the inspiration. I would have to take a bunch of pictures and then go back home before I could settle down enough to work on my novel, or my painting, or what have you.

It's different here from when I was a kid. I used to use sunscreen for the first week of my vacation, using the smallest number I could find - I think it was 4. Then I would grab a book and lay out in the sun, trying to achieve that bronze look. Instead I just got freckles, and now I have a billion moles for my pains.

These days I am putting sunscreen on five times a day. I never leave the house without a hat and sunglasses. If I go to the beach there is no soaking in the sun, just cavorting in the water for a small time. And forget about the books - I have three books I took from home and I'm still reading the first one because I rarely get the chance to read more than half a page at a time.

I am enjoying this vacation very much. But I miss Steve.

It's Good To Have A King... bed

I have a King sized bed here. I love king sized beds because it gives you so much room to roll around. They are pretty cool that way.

The thing is, I am sharing this king bed with two other people. Two SMALL people, but let me just explain how this works... the smaller the person, the more room they need.

I woke up at 5am with Nathan glued to one side of me and Nicholas glued to the other. They each had three feet of matress on the other side of them, but for some reason they both felt the need to be close to ME. So close that I couldn't roll over or shift or get the blood flow to return to my arm.

Also, there will be no pictures... Hey Steve - I think I left the cable that connects my camera to a computer in the guest room where I was packing... oh, well! I have an extra card, so all my photos will make it home. THEN I'll post them, OK?

Words words words

I still haven't played around and tried to download photos to this computer. So today's post is still JUST WORDS. Those of you who tune in simply for the daily photo can now excuse yourselves.

I am a bit affected by the time change, and I can't really focus my thoughts, so today you get random and unconnected thoughts. Now don't you wish you had left with the photo people when you had the chance? Too late now. Now it would be rude.

It's hot. I should have packed more of my tank tops, except they make me look like a skanky teen... or a middle aged woman trying to look like a skanky teen, which is worse.

I need to go shopping today for baby food and baby wipes and diapers and diaper cream... and possibly bug stuff.

I got to sleep until 9am today. Hooray! Of course, that's 3am in the states...

Nathan sleeps better in the big bed with us. And there's enough room, so...

I still have a cold.

Did I mention it was hot?

This place is a lot less childproofed than our house. Nick has already scribbled on one of the windows with a crayon.

I need a drink of water.

I will try to download some pictures today.

Warmish Welcome

We are here!

The flight was amout what I expected. There were peridos of calm, and periods where both boys were screaming their little heads off and I simply could not be in two places at once. Once we arrived we went through customs and got our luggage with no problems. And then I got the car I rented, which was NOT a large automatic, as I requested, but instead a car the size of our mower tractor - now I know cars are smaller here, but I specifically said I needed to be able to fit two car seats in this thing, and we did, but we never would have been able to take our luggage as well. Nick's knees were up near Emily's shoulders and Nathan was wedged in his car seat in the back...

The relief at getting here and being able to relax a bit is indescribable. We went to lunch at the little place by the beach, and then, weary from travel and rose, ready for naps, we came home...

only to realize that neither of my parents had the house key with them.

That's right. We were locked out of the house.

We circled the house looking for a way in. My sister went looking for a bobby pin. A bunch of us tried reaching the window lock through the garbage chute. And I took some nice pictures I will share with the internet later.

Finally my dad broke a kitchen window with a bocce ball wrapped in a tarp found in one of the cars, Emily climbed in, and the doors were then open from the inside.

Never a dull moment, really!

Yesterday I drove down to New York with the boys. They were great on the drive down. And ever since we've got here they have been clingy and into EVERYTHING! Already Nick thinks the bidet is his own personal sink, and he has taken off ALL of his clothes TWICE. Just this morning. Even his diaper. I leave the room for 30 seconds and come back to a naken child, and all I can think is "please don't pee please don't pee please don't pee."

Here's a fun link to hear some songs by my sister EMILY. I'm also putting a link on this page with the other links... maybe. If I can remember how... OK, things are showing up funny on this computer so I CAN'T post the link... look for it with the others. Maybe that will work better. Now I have to go pull Nick off the fax machine.

On your marks... Get set...

My life is all about getting ready to go. I'm just tying up a few loose ends. Does anyone else think it was too early to strap the kids into their carseats?

Just kidding, of course. I took the carseats inside to try them out and practice putting putting the wheels up and down on the Sit'n'Stroll. I also practiced putting the GoGoKidz on Nick's regular carseat. I am trying both of these out, comparing them to one another, and I will let you all know how they work out. I know you are all holding your collective internet breaths.

ANYWAY, Nick was so excited at having the carseat in the house that he sat in it and refused to get out. He sat quietly, watching Noggin, and cried when I tried to unfasted his safety harness. Go figure. Usually he cries when I try to do it up.

I will try to post from France, but I don't know how it's going to work from there. I might be able to get words in but not pictures... I might not be able to get anything up at all. I will do my best!

Passport

It's official.

I am holding in my hand a passport that belongs to NATE THE GREAT, NATO POTATO, NAY NAY, DROOLSTER!

so THIS is what breathing was like!

pitcher of water down mail chute - CHECK

In taking stock of the things I need to do before I leave, I'm actually in pretty good shape. The things I CAN do have been done. I'm waiting until tomorrow to do a few others - like change the cat litter and buy a lot of frozen pizza for Steve. I'm now trying to find a few other things to do so that I won't keep finding small items to shove into my suitcase.

I wanted to say something about yesterday's Sisyphus post. I realized a while ago that I complain a LOT on this blog, and that I could have named it "WHY NOT TO HAVE KIDS" and not be too far off the mark. BUT, it's not my intention. So I'm posting this link to the sisyphus myth as told and explained by Albert Camus. He imagines Sisyphus happy at his task, and also says "happiness and absurd are two sons of the same earth."

In other words, if I didn't have crazy nights where I hardly slept, and if I didn't wipe noses and change diapers and wander around like a zombie, I would not be having as much fun. OK, fine, not at that particular MOMENT. But it is kind of funny, a day later. Plus, I love my kids so much, and I wouldn't DO those crazy things if I didn't have this crazy insane stronger than you could even imagine emotion.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm happy. I'm crazy. I'm really tired, but given my choices, I'd rather be tired this way than not tired without kids.

Thank you very much, and have a nice day.

Sisyphus

Last night I had everything ready. Anything that I could do to prepare myself, I did. I did a load of wash and put it in the dryer before bed. I mixed a huge batch of formula. I was ready to go. Won't it be nice, I thought, when we wake up tomorrow and I won't have to rush to get these things done? I won't have to listen to the baby fuss while I make the formula, I can just mix it in the cereal! I can fold these clothes whenever I want! I have just given myself a the gift of time. How nice and relaxed it will be tomorrow.

And then Nate woke up every 2 hours - probably because of his cold. And Nick woke up screaming with a nightmare - twice. The first time I realized I was hungry, and since we ate a very early dinner the day before I went and got him a cracker and he went back to sleep. Then I heard some animal howl and I had to wander the house looking for Puck, who has spent a couple of nights outside by accident and now has a dore nose and ear. I found him, so he was fine. I also found some cat puke by stepping right in it. Then Nick woke for the second time and I just crawled into bed with him so I could get some sleep. But after a few minutes Nate woke up. I fed him, put him back to sleep... and creeped back to my own bed. But before sleep could really take hold, Nick began screaming again. So back to his bed. Nate woke up at 4:30am, and refused to go back to sleep. I tried nursing him, sleeping with him... he did his Karate Kid impression (Latch on, Latch off) and when I tried to just sleep he kicked me in the belly, scratched at me, and pulled my hair. He didn't mean to be mean, but COME ON!

And of course Nick slept until 6am for the first time in three weeks, but I couldn't take advantage because I had this Baby that wanted... what? What did he want? I have no earthly idea.

It never ends. As soon as I feel that I have accomplished something it needs to be done again. If I do dishes, there will be dishes waiting an hour later. Laundry? The same. I'll buy or cook food and it will be gone. I'll clean and it will get dirty. I change a diaper and an hour later will have to change it again. So today I'm asking myself WHAT IS THE POINT!

The good thing is, I was up so much last night that I only had time for ONE panic dream about Nate's passport.

HAPPY 4th of JULY

There are three things I wanted to post about today, so instead of one big post you'll get three smaller ones SMOOSHED together.

#1 - Complaining Post: It isn't even 7am yet and I've been up for almost 2 hours. I had to change Nick's bed sheets because his diaper leaked. I thought I was being so organized by bringing the boy's clothes downstairs and by trying to make a huge batch of formula in the morning so I wouldn't have to make it 3 times during the day, but then I realized - after 11 scoops of formula, that there were black specks floating in the water. Nick wanted toast instead of waffles. And as I was spooning oatmeal into Nate's mouth I realized it was goopy with baby snot because his nose was so runny.

#2 - Nastalgic Post: I love the 4th of July because it always reminds me of the musical 1776, and if you ask me it's a work of genius - who would have thought you could make a musical out of the Declaration of Independence? And it fostered my love for John Adams. Despite which I still could not make it all the way though his autobiography.

#3 - Hair Post: Here are before and after pictures of my hair. It's not the hair, but don't I look like Emily in the after photo? Don't I? DON'T I?

They call it humidity

Remember when I said I found Nick in the crib with Nate? Here is is.

In other news... it is very humid. Humidity really is awful. It makes heat so much harder to live with.

I never used to sweat until I started working out about 10 years ago. Or maybe it had nothing to do with working out and had to do with being an adult. In any case, I remember my surprise at how wet I was, and the salt coating my body. Needless to say, I began showering more.

With the humidity, I feel that I need to shower twice a day - like my brother Winston. In fact, I would probably live in the bathroom, showering, getting dressed, and then just showering again because that's how long I feel clean. In this humid weather.

It really is crazy - the pages of my books feel different. They are all slightly damp. Doors swell shut and it takes two people to open them. One of the doors to the boy's room gets stuck before it closes all the way, so there is an inch gap at the top, but you still have to yank on it to open it. Food... don't get me started at how fast food goes bad. And the pet hair... OK, I guess technically pet hair has nothing to do with humidity, but the pets are shedding like crazy. I am now brushing them every week - sometimes more. And yet, each time we open a door clumps of pet hair drift by, testimony to my poor housekeeping.

Fates Conspire

Last night, as Steve and I watched KING KONG, an awful noise came over the baby monitor. It was a rough, rasping sound. A cough. Nick coughing, actually.

This morning he sounds even worse. HE isn't coughing a lot, and by that I mean he isn't coughing too often. So it's easy to forget about it. But as he threw his morning temper tantrum when I actually had the gall to try and change his soggy diaper, he began making this other sound... whenever he inhaled he would make what sounded like a... like a honk, almost.

I am pleading with him to drink his juice, which I secretly laced with vitamins and Tylonol Cough medicine. I made sure he was wearing sweatpants as the air was chilly this morning. And I am considering enforcing a longer nap time, which may prove inconvenient and impossible. And I am trying to put some space between him and his brother.

But Nicholas needs to get better because we leave on vacation next Saturday. We have no passport for Nate. I can't pack more than 3 items at a time. I have a billion things I promised myself I would do before we go. But we will be leaving. Somehow. Even if I have to give him cough medicine as we get on the plane. Even if he's miserable on the trip over.

I need him to get well.

If anyone hasn't seen King Kong yet but was thinking about it... it is 3 hours long. I have no patience for movies that are 3 hours long when there are scenes and parts of scenes that could so obviously have been cut out. And some movies can make you forget how long they are because they are so engaging. This is not one of those movies.

Through the Looking Glass

"In another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly down into the Looking-glass room."

I got that directly from my copy of Through The Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll. I last read the story as a Teenager, and I loved it. The only copy I have in The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll which used to belong to my mother, before she was married. Apparently she was living on 16th St. in NY, at least according to the address in the front cover. In any case, the book is older than I am.

I feel as though I am through the looking glass myself. I can't seem to figure out Blogger. Yesterday I thought I posted a post with no pictures, but when I checked it out on another browser, I had apparently posted five photos of Nate's bum in his smiling ducky outfit. When I use my usual browser I can't see this picture at all. When I use The browser that came with the computer I can see it, but when I look at the "compose" section I can't see the picture, only html code. I can't see it any other way. And when I posted a photo this morning on that browser, it wouldn't actually POST it. Plus, while posting it it wouldn't let me see the pictures, only the names, and they are all something like DCjpg10078, and who KNOWS what that it, so it turns out I posted a previously posted photograph, and who needs THAT!
So I went back to the Firefox browser and I posted a picture that I can't see, but I hope you can.

Puck, melancholy after returning from his trip outdoors, is now packing up and moving out.

I am already packing for our trip to France. Not only is this in my nature, trying to be prepared, but I have a feeling I will need to do my packing at 5 minutes spurts. I f I take any longer Nich starts removing the items from the bags, and next thing I know he's walking around with an empty suitcase and our vacation is stuffed under the bed.