Moving forward

I am pleased to report that there have been no further poocidences since last weekend, I’m happy to move forward and to stop talking about it for as long as possible. Or at least until something awful happens again and I feel the need to share it with everyone.

And so, on that note, moving on!

Please save us from poo…

Yup, that's pretty much how I felt about it too...

So yesterday morning started off on a good note. It was the last day of Spring Break for Edward and we had a family day planned. Vince was not going to daycare and we were all going to try and sleep just a little later than we normally do, you know, for fun.

Edward and I woke up to Eleanor’s noisy morning cries and I busied myself with feeding her. Edward interjected just before I got started with “Did you want me to feed her and you handle Vince? Or what’s the easiest for you?’ (Bless him, he’s trying to help). I shook my head no and indicated that I would prefer him to handle Vince. Total non-verbal communication-style. Yup, that’s how good our marriage is. I grunt and he translates that to complete sentences and vice versa…

Most of us are adjusted. Mostly. Honest.

Edward and I comprised the adjustment team in our household. Most of the time we function properly...

Ok, so I know that I said that having a second child was a piece of cake. And it is. Honestly.

Honest honest.

For the adults anyways. Should I have clarified that?

For Edward and I, adjusting to Eleanor (who is delightful, smells delicious and is, in general, gorgeous) is like nothing. We already had 9 months of me sleeping like crap, so getting 3 to 4 hours a night in a row is a total bonus. Plus, and maybe I shouldn’t say this but…, she’s perfect and so much easier than Vince ever was as a newborn.

Get this: She cries when she’s hungry. The end.

Well shit. I think I can manage that…

Edward and I have this theory that she is going to be the ‘easy baby’. Vince was a nightmare as a newborn. I have recurrent bad dreams of singing ‘He’s got the whole world in his hands’ repeatedly and watching endless infomercials on the couch. Edward and I would compare notes every morning on what we’d seen (we took turns every evening). Vince would not got back to sleep after being fed, he was always awake and miserable.

Now Eleanor? Angel! Sleeps like that’s her goal in life. I haven’t watched an infomercial in the last 3 weeks. Hopefully I can keep this up. Or she can keep this up.

So as for the adjusting… well, like I said, Edward and I are adjusting just fine. Now Vincent? Not so sure…

There is no doubt about how much he loves his sister. Every day he makes some sort of comment about how she is ‘people’ and in his family. As opposed to the dog, who is not ‘people’ but is still included in the family member count.

He wants to rock her, feed her bottles, give her a pacifier (or binkie as it’s randomly been named here). He kisses her all the time, sometimes at rather precarious angles. He pats her on the back and head and says ‘excuse me’ when she burps. He is just great with her.

And with us, he is a complete and total basketcase. So awful. Horrible. Ick. Yuck. And ‘nasty’.

He’s started spitting in the house and has spat on the dog (for no real reason we can see, poor dog) and us randomly over the last few weeks. He has completely stopped listening to us and as a result we’ve had to implement rather strict punishment. Which means that pretty much E and I are laying down the law all day, every day and it is exhausting. I hate to list his misdeeds, so just imagine everything awful that an almost 4 year old could do and that’s whats going on. Frankly, it’s a relief when the weekend is over and he goes back to school. I think he might be a tad easier to handle there, where there are more children and very strict rules that are rigorously enforced (unlike some places…).

Like my house. In case you hadn’t picked up on that.

Listening right now is a huge issue for us. As in he doesn’t. At all. Or pretends to, but does something else entirely. So you ask him to do something and his response is to ignore you. You repeat yourself several times. No response. Or my favorite response: spitting. Or something else that’s just poor manners.

A confrontation regarding bad behavior yields not that much. The only thing that’s gets his attention is to remove privileges. And that’s where you get a response. A huge ‘I’m a liar’ response:

“I’m going to be good”.

“I’m going to be nice”.

“I’m going to listen”.

It’s usually one of these followed by “Mummy, are you happy of me???”

And this one is a hard one to answer. I hope he is addressing his behavior, but since he is in preschool, I am pretty sure that I would be reading too much into the issue if I did. I certainly don’t want to tell him he isn’t making me happy, implications and all… So E and I have compromised with ‘I am not happy with you when you spit on me, but I am happy when you have nice manners’ or something to that effect. At least we can let him know his manners are bad, but we still love him.

Such a precarious balance.

And really this balancing act is what is making things a little bumpy. I like saying ‘bumpy’, makes it sound like a plane ride that is a little out of hand and will be over soon. Optimistic overtones, ya?

I’m going to keep these tones in mind over the next few weeks and try to double my smooth breathing technique and monitor my blood pressure. And drink my tea every morning and make sure my pants are pulled up properly. All of these morning techniques should make for me having a calm and even temper and, of course, make sure that I KEEP MY TEMPER IN CHECK.

Because I certainly would never let me any 4 year old get to me.

Ever.

And I still have most of my own hair.

Partial wig only, swear… xoxo a.m.

Where I use the word ‘dearth’ correctly…

Theres been a bit of a blogging dearth over here and I’m blaming it on my unborn child. It is entirely her fault.

She has gifted me with asthma, a pinched nerve in my groin, gestational hypertension among all of the other lovely things that pregnancy does to a body. So on top of the crap I just listed is garbage like swollen hands and feet, a wee rash, no bladder, no stomach, periodic insomnia  aaaand I think I’ll just stop there. Because I could go on. But since lots of people have been pregnant, it’s not like this is new news. Blah blah blah, I’m a big whiner.

So basically she’s been doing a number on me. And the funny thing about being pregnant with your second child is that OH MY GOSH is it ever harder when you have a 3 1/2 year old to keep track of too.

None of that lounging around on the couch with elevated feet watching endless James Bond movies (which might have been how the last few weeks of pregnancy number one ended).

Instead it’s things like: Aldi, WalMart, Nap interspersed with a small boy running upstairs every 15 minutes to throw himself on you and say things like ‘Mummy, I LOVE you!’ or ‘Are you tired Mummy? I’m tired too!!’. Followed by birthday party, dinner, StarWars wall decal bedroom decorating, evening meds, a few books and bed time.

So for the last few weeks I’ve been in bed at anywhere between 7pm and 8pm. Tonight is an exception, but probably I’ll be in bed in 20 minutes. And so? No blogging. No much of everything.

And now, suddenly, there’s pretty much no time left.

I’m due in 19 days, but based on my fantastic diagnosis of gestational hypertension I’m being induced about a week and a half early. And so suddenly we are down to 9 days. Which really is 8, since today is over. So 8 days. Which is not a lot of time to do much of anything.

Today we installed the car seat. Tomorrow, I’m going to try to pack my hospital bag. Baby steps, eh??

And packing my hospital keeps making me laugh because I have recurrent flashbacks to doing it the first time. Oh, I was so innocent and had no idea what I was doing…

I packed a book. A rather thick one too. ‘The Thornbirds’ to be exact. And some pillow spray. Apparently for ambiance? I might have had 2 changes of clothing too.

I seriously went through those lists ‘they’ publish and checked off everything on each page and packed it away. You’d have thought I was going to stay at a spa.

This time, I’m aiming for clean underwear, deodorant and clothes for Baby Girl. Should take me 2 minutes tomorrow. In between naps, tickle fights, wiping bottoms, shopping, make multiple meals for a picky eater etc etc.

Piece. Of. Cake.

xoxo a.m.

Just a wee post about pee (snicker)

The waiting room was full, but extremely stylish...

Things are starting to wind down over here, pregnancy-wise, and I am starting to get a little apprehensive regarding what is coming. Apprehensive might be the wrong word, actually. But I’m having a hard time coming up with what exactly is the right one.

I’ve about 6 weeks to go and am just starting my bimonthly doctor appointments. Tuesday is my first one and since I’m not totally jazzed about my doctor and the office staff, I’m not too jazzed about these more regular visits.

I had to swap out doctors this pregnancy when I found out that the physician that delivered Vince stopped delivering babies because of some random OR incident (or at least that’s what her office staff muttered to me when I asked. “Fractured collar-bone in the OR”, she said through pursed lips.)How that even happens, I honestly am not sure. Or if, indeed, it’s even true.

Anyways, I’m not in love with my physician is what it really boils down to. And I am not particularly fond of the office staff either since the second visit when they randomly asked me for a large sum of money without explaining why it was being requested. And then looked at me like I was an idiot for asking what it was for.

But let me just get my real issue out in the open air…

I went to put my urine sample in the bathroom cupboard…. Wait, is this tmi? Well, maybe just stop reading for a minute or so. Let me get this off my chest….

So as I was saying, I went to put my sample in the bathroom cupboard (designed specifically for this purpose so the medical staff can remove it from the outside by a separate door). I opened the cupboard. There literally were about 7 samples inside that had clearly been there for a while. And there was nowhere for mine.

I just kind of stood there for a few seconds, staring at all that pee. All that pee that belonged to other people, people named ‘Jennifer’ and ‘Samantha’. Ugh.

What the hell did I do with mine? I ran a couple of scenarios through my mind and finally settled on the least ridiculous one. I calmly shifted other peoples urine around on the shelf until there was room for mine and then carefully set it down.

And then I went out and washed my hands thoroughly.

What. The F.

It’s just a one physician practice. It’s a teeny office. There are 2  nurses. How on earth does it reach this stage especially when ones appointment is at 8:30?

I’m no stranger to urine and feces either. I do have a 3 1/2 year old. And a baby on the way. And a husband. It’s not like it’s a mystery. But there have to be some standards, right? You don’t just ignore a cupboard full of pee, especially since this is a ‘deposit’ you are expecting from every single patient that enters the office. You’ve got to give us some options other than ‘touch everyone elses pee cups to make room for mine’. Although, I guess I could have asked them to move it, or told them it was full instead of passive aggressively being angry about it still weeks later.

Bahahahaha…. Where’s the fun in that??

I will really enjoy going back to my previous physician once darling, sweetest baby girl has arrived. And never, ever stepping foot in that grotty little office again.

I hope you enjoyed my story about pee.

Happy Sunday night 🙂

xoxo a.m.

Where I am a pain in my own ass and other ridiculousness

Mmmhmm, it’s Saturday night and hey guess what! I over-did it today! Probably I should get a high-five for that?

"I am very serious about my tools"

Even though I am 31.5 weeks pregnant, my brain seriously seems to shut down and think that I am not pregnant at all. And so I proceed with my Saturday like I normally would. So told it was Home Depot with friends for the free children’s workshop, then off for donuts, then over to BabysRus to register, then to Waterford Lakes to Barnes & Noble for a quick book look, then to the movies to see Alvin and the Chipmunks 3, back home to Lake Nona to hit the grocery store and finally home to make dinner, bathe the munchkin, do 2 loads of laundry and put Vince to bed.

Regular Saturday stuff. Usually this kind of thing is de rigueur for me. Edward working 7 days a week and the fact that he’s in the middle of a ‘marking papers’ marathon necessitates me keeping Vince busy and out of his hair.

But seriously, I’m a total dumbass. I was so worn out from life, work, toddlers etc that I could barely function on Friday at work and had to go home and sleep. I can’t walk fast anymore. I am in full on waddle mode. What the hell am I thinking?

Gah, I’m a pain in my own ass.

And the seriously funny thing is that I honestly was planning on doing crafts with Vince once I got home. So much so that I was actually shaving crayons in the kitchen while he was eating dinner in prep for some crafty business.

This is what we are planning on doing tomorrow. Thanks Martha Stewart! Crayon hearts are awesome, easy and will look lovely hanging in the window and maybe even Baby Girl’s bedroom? I’m mentally planning lots of Valentine’s day crafts with Vince this month.

Partially because we had the following ridiculous conversation about Valentine’s Day:

Me: “Valentine’s Day is a day where we tell our favorite people that we love them an extra lot and maybe we make them a special present too!”

V: “I like presents. I’m going to buy a present for ME! And it’s going to be GREEN! Like the pig from Angry Birds!”

M: “Hmm, well…”

V: “And then we are going to play Angry Birds. And then we are going to give Chewie an Angry Birds present! And Mummy, can I play the Angry Birds Seasons game on your phone? Now?”

M: “…..”

So clearly we need some more education regarding this made-up holiday. Which is what the month of January is going to be devoted to. And clearly I need to remove Angry Birds Seasons from my phone OR stop using it as a bribe while grocery shopping.

So tomorrows plans will be a little more laid-back than today’s. Because I am not a crazy person. And I still work full-time. And I need to make sure I squeeze a wee bit of rest into the day. I’m daydreaming about a pedicure right now…

I’m going to go and prop my belly up on a pillow in bed and watch something totally ridiculous on Hulu.

xoxo a.m.

Sports and Art, Or how I am not a Soccer Mom

Yesterday heralded two big events in Vince’s young life. His very first soccer game and his very first exposure to ‘The Arts’. And for his pregnant Mummy? Perhaps one of the most exhausting days of my life. Including that time when I gave birth. This trumps that…

Soccer

Let’s start with what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Well, I guess the usual things that parents think when they sign their kids up for this kind of stuff. “Learning organized sports, interaction with other children, teamwork, exercise, etc” with the added bonus that we will meet some more parents in the neighbourhood (E and I are notoriously bad at that.), so total bonus.

The first practice was a wee bit of a disaster, but ended up ok. Second practice was this past Wednesday and was cut short by torrential downpour. Apparently it was more successful than the first one. Vince participated in group exercise and kicked the ball. Hurray! So based on this, I had high (perhaps too high) hopes for Saturday mornings first game.

And let me add it was everyone’s first game, all ten million different teams ranging from 3 to 16 years old. And their parents, chairs, coolers, dogs and siblings. It was like a circus. It was like being inducted into a whole new world. And Vince hated every single thing about it, including his new team shirt that we had to stuff him in while he flailed about and screamed that he wanted to go home. No going home for you, my dear!! We are going to force you to participate even if the coach has to carry you around!! Which she did!! You know, when she wasn’t forcing his leg to kick something with her hands.

At the 40 minute mark, he had kicked the ball twice and *gasp* ran unaided on the field. But stopped when he saw us watching. And then started crying again.

And then, thankfully, it was all over. And we went and got donuts. I am positive it will get better with time. It was overwhelming for me too, so I can just imagine what he thought.

The Arts

Post-donut and a clean change of clothes, Vince and I headed out on our adventure. On my numerous trips through Winter Park, I had noticed a very innocuous sign mentioning ‘museum’, once that was in such an odd place that it was easy to overlook. Especially if you drove past it 2 times a day on a really busy road.

So I checked it out online and  it sounded amazing. 3 acres of gardens full of sculptures, mostly those of the artist himself and some of other artists. On the edge of a lake, surrounded by old gorgeous houses.

OK, I thought, this might be the perfect place to take Vince. I’ve been wanting to start taking him places that were less ‘Disneyfied’ and more full of potential of even greater wonder and discovery. In a less commercial sort of way.

It was beautiful. We did not tour the historic home of the artist because I am not a crazy person. Vince only kind of destroyed one display in the gift shop, but in my defense it was left open and was full of little shiny trinkets.

“He didn’t touch anything, did he??”, asked the very earnest young woman manning the counter.

“No,” I immediately lied, “Just one of the display signs.” She doesn’t need to know that he squeezed that piece of jewelry, probably would give her a heart attack.

And then we hurried out of the gift shop and went into the gardens for a little wander. It was the type of place that had wild, lush gardens that immediately make you think you could do the same to your backyard with minimal effort. But in reality, it would take an army of gardeners. Statuary was perfectly placed amidst the green. The bamboo forest rustled invitingly. The lake gleamed where the garden ran into it. It was heavenly.

Vince tramped around with his stuffed Clifford dog, which added such a delightful element of whimsy to the whole scene that I laughed out-loud repeatedly…

We were only there for about 20 minutes, just about the right length of time for a three-year-old.

As we walked out to the parking lot, Vince announced “Mummy, that was a very nice walk.”

If you are living local and would like a very nice walk with your little ones, check out the Polasek Museum on Aloma (polasek.org). A truely lovely experience…

xoxo night night my lovlies

Buddha

Every morning as V and I are driving to daycare, we pass a rather lovely Buddhist temple. And there is a huge sign at the entrance, one that always seems to be enticing me to just pull right in.

But, usually, it’s 7 am. And it’s closed.

And also, usually, my son is extremely sticky, which just doesn’t seem temple appropriate.

For the last few weeks, the sign has been advertising an upcoming festival and I felt that this was a sign (which it was) and also a ‘sign’. I should go! I should bring my three-year-old! Monks don’t mind kids, right? What could possibly go wrong!

Well, my memory for one. V and I showed up at the temple yesterday. And even though I saw the sign that said ‘Ceremony 5-15-2011’ and yesterday was clearly the 14th, I pulled my big girl pants up a little and drove in anyways.

I mean, so what, right? It’s open to the public. I can just go and check it out. Right? Jaw clenched, I drove into the parking lot and then for no reason at all, followed the car in front of me around the temple. All around the back, passed the pond, the basketball hoop and that random guy on his cell phone near what looked like monk quarters to me and parked. Right next to the car I was following.

He peered in my window as he walked past us. I pretended I was busy doing something and tried to avoid eye contact. I extracted V from the car, brushed him off in the parking lot and, holding hands, we bravely headed in.

I should note that I used to be extremely uncomfortable doing things like this. Edward used to joke that when we lived in Japan, he was surprised I went anywhere. But I am a big girl now, I can go where I want to. Really.

We were inside for about a minute. It smelled soothing. A lot of people were very, very busy doing things that looked rather important. On the other side of the main entrance, a hall extended filled with chairs ending with an enormous Buddha and a monk lovingly tending to the area surrounding him.

I know that sounds rather vague, but upon seeing Buddha, Vince promptly stated “I wanna go dere.” and attempted to drag me ‘dere’. So we left. Planning on coming back today

Which we did. All three of us. How lovely! It was a lovely morning full of chanting and praying. We wandered aimlessly amongst the shaved ice, mochi and assorted religious paraphernalia. We did not buy raffle tickets. We listened to the monks and with every step, V tried to drag us into the temple.

We finally were dragged up to the front of the temple by V, where some interesting things were going on. Several people were very busy putting the finishing touches on the most gorgeous fresh flowers surrounding numerous little buddha statues, which were standing in a beautiful fountain. Ceremonial ladles were next to each one, for the ‘washing the buddha’ ceremony.

V and washed Buddha. First we washed him the wrong way. “Not on the head, just on the shoulders…” Glad that we watched some other people who didn’t know what they were doing wash Buddha the wrong way too. Yikes!

Anyways, we washed him together, thought thoughtful things about cleansing, peace and love. Slipped a donation in a red envelope and gave it to a lovely woman who told Vince he was the cutest Gator fan ever. Even though he was wearing a Giants jersey.

It was, honestly, a lovely way to start the day… pictures to follow once I find my card-reader.

xoxo to all my sweet, peaceful and thoughtful readers.

a.m.

Some more about poop

Look Mum! No Poop!!

As if I don’t write enough about it. Geez. I am annoyed with myself. But, you know, you draw what you can from your own experiences and this is apparently what my life is consisting of lately.

Today was a particularly special day.

It started off with poo and ended with it as well. How blessed am I! I guess I am blessed with an almost 3 year old that can pee in the potty, but hasn’t quite mastered the poo. But has mastered the ‘holding it’ part of the movement and is rather good at it.

Blah. Anyways, thats how it started today. A nonchalant statement ‘Mummy? I poo in my underwears.” It was just a flat out statement. No emotion at all. It has become de rigeur. Routine. Normal.

And then this afternoon? We got home, walked the dog and then headed out into the courtyard to pull some weeds. We have had a serious weed eruption in the last 5 days. It’s insane. V and I pulled about 3 pounds of weeds this afternoon and in the middle of all of this vigrous pulling, V announced:

“Mummy! Dere’s poo! Right der!”

“Oh?” Uninterestedly… “There is?”

“Mummy!! Right der. Da poo. It’s icky. It’s on my sock”.

Ok, now that got my attention. What? And then? There it was. In the middle of the courtyard.

A turd. Just one. But don’t worry, there was a shower of them to follow.

I had to pick them all up individually. With my bare hands.

Ha! I kid. I keed. I used a papertowel.

And just when I thought I’d got them all, we started heading upstairs and then one more appeared. Renegade poop.

Vince shouted: “It’s a stinky icky poo!! Ewwwwwwww!” Which made me laugh as it rolled out of his pant-leg and on to the floor. He created and disowned in a microsecond.

Having nothing near by to pick it up with, I used V’s dirty sock to pick up the turd, carry it upstairs and deposit it in the toilet.

And that, probably, is the perfect example of the regular life of a normal Mummy. Sock poo pick-up. Vomit slasher-film type experience. Random wet pants.

Edward got home 15 minutes later to a clean Vince, pj-clad and pleasant. Neither of us mentioned anything about poo. To Daddy or each other. Not that, I think, its something we’d have a conversation about. But it was just not mentioned.

And then, I watched Beauty and the Beast and went to bed. Clearly a win of a day…

xoxo a.m.

Inappropriate English

Just yesterday, Edward and I had one of ‘those’ conversations. One that, I think, he was pretty sure was a HUGE lecture. Probably one that lots and lots of wives have had with their husbands. Or not. I mean, I am married to Edward and he is a huge pain in my ass.

But they all are, aren’t they?

Anyways, I came back from the March for Babies in downtown Orlando to a happy home. Vince was full of appetite and life. Edward was cheerful and non-sleep-deprived. The dog was walked. Everyone was terribly happy.

“Vincent, would you like another cup of booger poo-poo milk?” asked Edward, oh so politely.

“NOOOO! I no like booger poo-poo milk”, Vince responded in a manner that indicated that he had been asked this question before.

And why would I even be a little surprised by this. Edward teaches him all sorts of ridiculous things, things which usually result in ‘looks’ from me. ‘Looks’ that I am pretty sure that Edward has learned to ignore.

Because he still teaches him ridiculous things.

So back to yesterday….

“Please, please. Can you teach him English?? Please?”, I asked, while most likely making a face, which means I was trying to not make a face. Which is another face entirely.

Response?

“I will teach him anything I want to!”, he proclaimed proud and firmly, “It’s my fatherly right.”

I rolled my eyes. Men. Whatever. This was just a pointless argument waiting to start. This was something I was going to leave alone for the time being.

Or, at least I thought I was going to…

Later that day, Vince and I hit up the grocery store. We were running low on Vincent snacks among other things. Needed some fruit, stuff for dinner, some milk.

We hit up the dairy section and I reached into the case to grab a couple of litres of milk.

“Mummy! Mummy Mummy Mummy! I no like booger poo-poo milk!”, Vince sing-songed while I was reaching.

“Booger Poo-poo! BOOGER! Poo! POO!!” he proclaimed, “BOOGER POO POO BOOGER BOOGER POO! POO! BOOGER! POO POO POO POO!”

And as we rolled through the aisles, he continued to shout this out at varying levels of loudness.

Finally I called Edward. “Thanks honey. Thanks”.

“What?!?!” he replied bewilderingly. But he knew. Oh, he knew. And then I made him listen. Listen as his son sang the most ridiculous song about boogers and poopoo at the top of his lungs while I pushed him around the grocery store.

That Bastard.

That Bastard who then apologized to me profusely. And then promised to be more conscientious of what he talked about with Vince. You honestly would think an English teacher would have better sense. Right?

Clearly I have married a crazy person.

xoxo a.m.