Friday, February 20, 2009

Sick House & Numbers

Welcome to the sick ward. This was my ER last week. Sick baby, sick dad. I managed to escape unscathed. I guess my immune system knew I needed it now more than ever.

and a little something I composed in the height of business in Elise's ER, but never had the energy to post it.

I call it Numbers...

zero. number of times in my life I ever thought I'd make a good nurse

one. meals I've had today.

two. times I've taken advil for gut wrenching cramps today

three. times I've left the house today, all to the doctor or to the pharmacy for sick potions and tincures

four. times in the last two hours I've seen my husband run to the bathroom to be sick

five. more minutes until I go to bed

six. times I've cleaned up baby puke today from various chairs, blankets and shirts

seven. meals I have tried to feed my sick baby

eight. diahrea blowout diapers I've changed today

nine. times I would like to shake and shake the head of the octuplet mother. What in THE hell are you thinking after I have a day like this with just one child in a home I own, with a job and a husband.

Monday, February 16, 2009


FLart [fl ahrt] --noun
1. 'Tis the season. This weekend, Elise, Sam and I attended Artigras, one of the numerous art festivals that sprouts this time of year. Occasionally, there is an artist of note in attendance. This year, there was a guy from Burlington, VT who sculpted life-sized galloping Palominos--replete with flowing mane and tail--from the type of wire mesh they usually make into screened-in porches. But most of the time, these shows are filled with what Elise and I have not-so-affectionately dubbed FLart. That's short for Florida Art. FLart are pink, hand-painted, wooden signs pointing the way to "Margaritaville". FLart is the umpteenth watercolor of the Jupiter Lighthouse with a pelican perched on a dock piling in the foreground. FLart are driftwood sculptures. But we stomach FLart for the 'wildlife', flat Miller Lites and arepas. Viva la FLart!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Please step away from the bottle

Ok, lets talk baby bottles for a moment. Cute, little, colorful, inviting and comforting.... all that good stuff. So, when we were instructed abruptly at Sam's one year doctor visit to ditch the bottle, I was rattled. I guess I always expected we would have to wean him around a year, but who the hell expected a year to come and go so fast? Not I. So when I looked at my tiny little boy, and thought of him not having a bottle all day, I thought, "I simply can't handle this I'm not ready for this. This is still my baby, Pampers, chubby baby toes and all." What is a mom-girl to do?

As usual, I hit the books, Internet and mom friends, searching for the best ways to wean the babe. Some said "just go straight from the boob to a sippy cup," (which was no longer an option at around about 6 months of age, some of us aren't blessed with enough breasts or breast milk to feed a small village or a child who is quadrupling his birth weight in a single day). I asked other www.friends who said, "oh it wasn't a problem for us we just went 'cold turkey'" Uh, seriously? They promised it was "hell on earth" for a few days, but then the baby didn't even know they ever had a bottle.

This "cold turkey" you speak of is not (in my opinion) a term to be used for anything having to do with babies. There is such a thing as scarring a child for life and we've all heard of Freud, (whack job or not) we've all known a few anal people. I for one, don't want Sam's need to constantly have a pen, fingernail, cigarette, toothpick or what have you to be as a result of me yanking his harmless baby bottle from his chubby grasp because "this is a good average age for kids to drop the bottle." (I would much rather it was because he visited Eastern Washington too much.)

So we began dropping one bottle at a time, and just a couple of months later, I am happy to say the child gets a bottle at bedtime, and even that, he isn't really into sometimes, bottles are for babies, you know. :)

It has always amazed me how the routines that seem so hard to adjust to in the first place as a first time parent, become so hard to change, and most of the time not for Sam but for us. We always, survive and create a new routines that are just as manageable and sweet as the one before.

So, with out further chatter, I introduce to you to the "morning bed." In lieu of myself or Paul sitting with Sam for a mid morning bottle and snuggle*, we invented the "morning bed." Pictured below, a little nest of sorts, stacked and fluffed pillows** and blankie, just outside the not-so-master bath, that allows Sam time time to snuggle and have a bottle-shaped-sippy-cup-thingy, mom, time to dry and "jush" and dad, time to use the restroom in peace with out Sam standing port-side, flushing the toilet every thirty seconds.

Now what will we replace the morning bed with.......hmmmm.

*(no snuggling was harmed in the making of this morning bed, all snuggle time is made up for at other less chaotic times through out the day)

**(Please excuse the fact that there are no pillow cases on the pillows, it was laundry Saturday, we do not live like fraternity boys :) Which could also explain why Sam is shirt-less! Sam does however, live like a frat boy, bottles, screaming, throwing food, and hooting unnecessarily at older baby girls passing by.)

Thursday, February 5, 2009


Dear Sam,

Please never forget that you were once so little that even sitting on a curb your feet did not touch the road.

Loving your littleness,


(as you can see we had a little fun with sign making this week. I swear I didn't let him beg for cheerios on any main roads just on our front sidewalk and dad delivered the cheerios via snack trap and returned the sign every one of the 100 times Sam threw it into the wind to watch it fly!)

Wednesday, February 4, 2009