Sorry....

I'm trying to regain my composure after a few weeks of too-business that just about made me insane.

I sort of lost it, and realized I had somehow (AGAIN) come to the ridiculous conclusion that if I can't do things the way I want each day, I might as well not do them at all. This meant I wasn't exercising, practicing, bible-ing, anything. Even cleaning the house had rather lost its charm.

I'm recovering. The first step- a mandate, really, given to me by a most exceptional mind- is to exercise every day. Go to the gym, use the daycare, sweat if you want, sit in the spa, just get there.

It's only been a few days. I'm still a little stubborn about the whole thing. When I know Toby's tired and he just won't go down for a nap, when he needs to be held all day, when he cries in the car, when he spits up all over himself directly after bathing, I have to remember to choose to laugh rather than swear. (I've been swearing a helluva lot, too. Damnit.)

My friend, a mom to a 9 month-old, says it wears on you that you are never really "off work". Whose job comes calling at 3 and 6am in addition to 9-9? Sometimes I really really really would like to be alone for a little while. But when the babysitters (YAY GRANDPARENTS!) arrive I want that time for me and J, too.

I wish this was a touching 6-month birthday post for the nipper, but I'm learning you just have to take what you can get. He and you all know how my heart spontaneously combusts just looking at the cheeks, two Gerber teeth, bubble-blowing drooliness.

So... technical difficulties, blah blah. We'll be back at it shortly.

Ye-es!

Here's the sculptures I was rambling about. The mystery word was "gospodor". Turns out the guy who owns the land just liked the idea of them, had the means, etc. Probably what makes them most intriguing is the fact that they're in the middle of a boring stretch of highway.

Ahhhh, like an itch getting scratched- nothing real is absent on google anymore.

And POW!

Suddenly it's been a whole week. Rachael is married! Mrs. Tim had a magazine-worthy wedding. I got to wear a dress designed by her brideship (each bridesmaid was different) and have my hair done up all curly funky wild. Her friends are such the zippy bunch. Lots of rockabilly; tattoos, pinup curls, vintage dresses and pomade.

Seattle is my kind of town. First of all there's tons of freaks, beer and coffee. Second, it's fabulously pretty. But then there's the traffic and the winter rain and the distance from babysitters who share a predominance of genetic markers with Tobias.

It's been a busy few months, good and bad melted and mixed and schmushed until it's a blur. There are friends who need prayer, and new ones making their way into our circles. Toby is charming and flirting and thoughtfully studying his way into hearts everywhere he goes.

Warning- repetitive rant ahead. He exploded out of his outfit and flooded our new car today in front of (seriously) Starbucks headquarters in Seattle. And did they have a damned changing table in their inconvenient-ass far away bathrooms for their enormous clientele of thirty-something parents??? Absolutely the hell not.

Later that day, we did indeed find a 'bucks with a changing table for which I thanked them profusely. They were the second one I have ever seen that did. Losers.

Seattling

Yesterday we drove to Seattle for a bridal shower we had today. Rachael is excited to marry Tim. Brings back memories. I enjoyed the Wedding Year of chaos and doom, but it's nice to not worry about planning such an extravaganza. There's also something so intimate about marriage when you have progressed beyond the microscope of the familial forum.

On the drive up we were treated to the clearest views of Mt. Hood, St. Helens, Baker and Rainier I have ever witnessed. The whole Cascade Range was on display, a purply-blue border framing the higher frosted beauties. You should all come visit us here in the Northwest, people.

Every time we go up I-5, on the right side near the turn-off for St. Helens there is this wierd set of three copper monuments and I'm dying of curiousity about them. I just googled random combinations of words for about an hour and can't find any images or sites about them. Damn. The sign says something about the holocaust, Mother Teresa and the cosmodors? Comondors? Osmodors?

Obviously, not much to write tonight, but there's always tomorrow.

Victoria's Secret is not my friend

... because I HATE the way they put life-sized soft porn pictures right there in the middle of the mall. I also don't really like their stuff.

But the breastfeeding community needs to get a grip: they are organizing a nationwide nurse-in in response to two stupid employee mistakes for which Victoria's Secret has officially apologized.

I wrote the organizers this, but I doubt it will matter:

Hello-
I just wanted to remind you that there already IS a law protecting both of those women; a STATE law, which is where this issue should be handled, and which is now on the books in nearly every state. Harassing business owners no matter how mistaken they may have been, is not the way to gain support for your (already legally protected) rights.

I'm a nursing mom, too, and am all about rights for breastfeeding moms. However, I was surprised and disappointed that the moms in this story would ask to occupy a dressing room to breastfeed. Why could they not feed their children in the store? In one of the stories it sounded like the manager was hassling them for that- obviously illegal and rude behavior on VS's part for which the apology was well deserved. However, I don't think breastfeeding gives a mom the right to take up a dressing room (or restaurant booth for that matter) with no intention of buying anything. Victoria's Secret is almost always in a mall, where there is likely to be a bench provided.

If this nurse-in is truly about the desire for a change in legislation, why not take it to legislators rather than to employees of an unrelated business? If it is about educating business owners about breastfeeding rights, again, that's a matter of government business- not a job for a lingerie shop.

I would have joined you if the logic behind this were clear. Please reconsider your tactics and adjust them to match your desired outcome.

Hi! My name is Miriam/Tobias.

I was getting such lovely ego stroking from those comments, I just couldn't bring myself to put up another post and watch it slither down the page into obscurity.

Tobias and I have successfully insinuated ourselves in the library Book Babies mama clique. As a matter of fact, we instigated a post-class coffee time all on our own, and amassed a large and diverse group. Most of these insurgents were new to the Hillsdale BB, two of them were even male which made us all chatty and broke the Us vs. Them spell. Plus, to a guy I am apparently an expert even when their child's older. They asked ME questions!!

I really thought this whole bitchy mom syndrome was something made up by writers without enough drama in their lives. And I think for the most part it's not entirely real deep. The problem is that I have been assuming that just because I have one thing in common with these women they would become Friendly. I forgot that these were the same people I went to high school with, lived in dorms with, flipped off on the highway (mentally, of course). Just because we are all formerly pregnant and desparate for outings doesn't mean we will bond efficently.

One of them, whom I have dubbed the Head Vampire, has created a calendar of things to do on nearly every weekday of every month. I was informed about but not let in on said schedule. She is actually the sportiest of the sporty moms and when I asked her a mommy question she all but rolled her eyes. Her kid was biting her shoulder while simultaneously pulling her hair and pinching her boob, so it didn't really bother me at the time. Whatev. She's probably peachy but I'm feeling a bit skittish lately in regard to the momfriends.

Getting in the Jeep and BBBRRRRRRRR-ing away with my radio lover is helpful, though. Twelve, 12! presets are not enough for you, oh Sirius my sweet sweetness. If only you had a baby and liked coffee dates.

Day at the Beach

His Tobiasness's first solid food? Sand!

Today was warm and beautiful. We drove to the coast and talked all day, about building friendships from scratch, mommy cliques, idiot drivers, Sirius radio (my new lover) and dream homes. Oh, and beer, oysters & sunscreen. I love the Oregon coast.

The water was still bone-hurting cold but the air was hot so we braved it for a bit. Every time I leaned down to let Toby's feet dangle in the water he retracted them indignantly and became very quiet. Please don't do that again, harlot.

He giggled, caterwalled, and crowed like he does at dinner. We were seated outside at a pub and no one seemed to mind- luckily even his Pete Townshend shrieks (one of his favorite skills) weren't given the evil eye.

I love this pic because it makes me look skinnier than I am. I'll have to tip that photographer extra...

Mnnnmmmmm

What Toby's doing right NOW!

The paper boy

Tobias has just started really digging books. Of course he makes the odd attempt to injest them solely to retain membership in his age group, but I feel certain it's a much deeper connection for him.

Here he is perusing the Portland Japanese culture paper while we were waiting for seats at a Kaiten-zushi place over on the east side. That's the kind of sushi restaurant where the food goes around on a little conveyer belt and the plates are colored according to price. The chefs stand in the middle of this and between you and them is an endless stream of yummyness. Toby appreciates the poetry of movement and was thus lost in thought as he surveyed the (future) options. In other words, he completely zoned, watching chopped fishies go by... and by... and by.

Proof

I am a ridiculous wuss.

The lump is appreciably smaller.

Plus, it turns out my Grandma (yes, the other borderline hypo) also had this when she was nursing.

So, there's this little paper cut on my right middle finger. It came from the thick aluminum-paper on the top of a bottle of wine and it's right in the fleshy part.

When will it end?

Keep Portland Wierd

That's a popular bumper sticker 'round here.

In the last day I've seen two men working hard to do just that. Each was waiting at a bus stop in nice neighborhoods on busy streets.

The first was doin' a dance, with a long flowy fabric thingy over most of his head. He appeared to be wearing both jeans and a burka-esque dealy. The dance involved lots of emu movements and his hands dangling down from flailing wrists over his head. I gave him a happy little honk.

The second had his shirt on a freshly plucked tree branch slung over his continental shoulder. I think it was a Huck Finn reference. Very PDX.

Do you think they just sat, docile, on the bus when it came? Wonder if the drivers even blinked.

Keep it up, boys.

Go Away, Lumplestiltskin

I've never really lived under a specter before. Yesterday we drove by a billboard for OHSU Cancer care and laughed uneasily, checking to see that we were each thinking what we thought we were thinking.

It's nothing, I'm sure. It's just that it's still there, I feel it all the time now because it freaks me out and it's hard to ignore. J thinks we should do whatever it takes to relieve ourselves. Screw the food allergies theory of breastfeeding. Toby could get them anyway, or he could be fine. Then again, when you're trying to tra-la-la along believing it's nothing... who wants to start in with the procedures?

For now we'll do as we're told and come back in a month, maybe ask about that new boob-specific MRI thingamabob but if you notice me catastrophizing when there are folks with actual problems, smack me quick and take away my Jeep keys. I really do not make a good patient. My grandma's the same way- she thinks and talks about her physical state obsessively, God love her. At least she has things going on for sure.

It's probably just the lawyers. They tell their Docs to hedge bets and blanket their patients in just-checkings. Dang lawyers, every one of 'em. Sexy beasts.

jeep jeep jeep jeep jEEEp

Happy Father's Day, my hands-down hottest muffin of studliness.

You really didn't have to buy a Jeep Liberty Diesel just to show me how you feel. It does make a nice gesture, though. If you're real nice I might even show you how to program the radio.



I love this car already. It's sort of a dark bluish green, and it makes me feel pretty tall, and it purrs and hums with a big-truck sound. And it's a DEEZLE. So y'know, gas mileage. Loooove. But really, the Brrrrrrrrrrrrr of it. Especially when you pull up to order a blended coffee and it echoes back off the brick building. Sweeter than the caramel we all know and love.

This is gonna be hard to top- for a first Father's Day, we did it up right.

Pout.

So it's not anything scary! Yet. I thought the doc was going to stop after, "We think it's just a cluster of milk ducts," but no. She had to tell me to come back in a month, and list some nasty possible futures including biopsies, excisements, words ending in -oma. But mostly they think it's nothing. Damn, that was reassuring.

I can't wait to go back and get the same slightly molester-y middle aged technician, Gary, who told me he knows all about lactating boobs because of the goats he raises and milks. His favorite slogan is Our Feta's Mo Bettah! which made me smile politely despite the tiniest urge to slap him. I wanted to bolt out of there, blue goo dripping in a Gretel trail after me down the hall. Did I want him to sexualize me more? Less?

I sort of pitied the two other women I saw waiting, you know, because I can't have anything cancerous; it's Not In My Family. Running those pink-ribbon 5k's was my way of showing I cared, not joining any sisterhood crap.

It's (probably) good news. I've been stomping around all night- it clearly should have been "Silly you, you're breasts are not only cancer-free, they are the finest evidence of divine motherhood we have yet to witness. Would you like to lecture to our interns?"

Every Kiss begins with Kay.

I got a wedding band that sparkles! SPARKles. It's for mother's day, our anniversary and for the fun fun feeling you get from impulse buying. I had a perfectly fine plain band, but always did want one with diamonds set in. Actually, they could have been glass as long as they sparkled. It has 12 stones and it was cheaper than I'da thought- about what that crib is at Target. Sorry, kid- Mommy's busy getting blingy.

A prong bent on my wedding ring. I swear I didn't know a trip to the mall jewelers would be so profitable for me. Had I known, I would have gotten out the pliers loooong ago, baby. Shiny.

You could pray for me for tomorrow. I have an ultrasound of my left boob for a lump there. Probably nothing scary, though J told me all the possible outcomes just so I could mull them over... and over... and over. Good thing I only have to think about it for one night, anyway. Maybe it's a pity ring. I'll take it.

Sunnier thought.

No worse than a papercut.

He cried for about ten minutes, warbled his new raptor song a few more and then was out. He has not been swaddled since, and barring any strange inclinations or incarcerations he probably never will. I told my friend Jen that our bedtime ritual consists of changing him, fondling a book and plopping him in bed to fall asleep and she broke up with me. We made up over spit-up stories and a little breastfeeding party in the middle of the mall.

Before you throw things at me for getting out of any real parenting by having the easiest kid in the universe, let me just say we screamed a blue streak much of the way home from Seattle last night. Nothing like a crying jag in a small car so loud and long he's still hoarse. I fed him. I cleaned him. I swore a little and at one point shifted the beleaguered Hondamobile so hard I took a little core sample out of my arm with the straw sticking out of my drink holder. Just another one of those moments I'm so glad there's no hidden camera. Too bad there's that whole omniscient God thing, but at least He's also infinitely prepared for my goofiness.

I've been a little teary lately. Simon had to go to the cardiologist (I know, it's crazy, buy what can I do- he's my dog), my house still feels un-home to me, and I haven't been working out enough to stay happy.

Swaddlers Anonymous

So if you don't hear from me for a while it may be that I have hopped in the car and driven to Nantucket to escape the Kid Who Wouldn't Sleep. He's just too big for the swaddle and he likes access to his fingers and he wouldn't stay asleep tonight after going down easy like he usually does. He was making this pathetic grunty noise while writhing like a mental case in a straight jacket, and I just couldn't do it one minute longer.

Be afraid.

***

I was transported back to junior high today. It was mostly my fault- I wore impractical shoes with a flouncy skirt to a baby Story Time at the library where everyone else got the memo to dress as Sports Mom. So there's Linda-Hamilton-Arms sitting across from me while Teensy-Gymnast and Olympic-Runner-Tracksuit-Mom struck up a conversation about the pleasures of a child who can sit up. Every single child (no kidding) was wearing Robeez shoes for kids, except Tobias who was displaying his bare foot Montanan roots.


It's all about the shoes, see. I had too much, he too little.

The sing-songy library instructor lady came over to chat with me (Pity pity pity) at least three separate times. It was bad.

I'm going back, though- Toby seemed to like it. He even shared a block with Teensy-Gymnast's little girl, handing it back and forth. That kind of genius can't be ignored. I'll have to suit up next time. I just can't decide if I want to be Spinning-Class-Butt or Sleek-Swimmer-Torso mom. Wonder if they'll go for Former-Gym-Regular-with-a-Brownie-Habit?

Verizon Unlimited Plan: $75, On-Call Grandparents: Priceless

So what would it cost to hire a service to:

1. babysit for 7 hours on last-minute notice
2. mow the lawn
3. chop out bunches of blackberry vine from the spider-infested steps up to our door
4. deliver a mountain of fresh-cut peonies WITH a vase
5. make a mechanic house-call to diagnose, purchase and replace two burnt headlights (Honda= 7, Us= 1)

My parents were generous before Tobias made the scene, but now they are unstoppable. If only we had grown us some littlins sooner.

Shall we even begin to describe our incredibly luxurious stay over MemDay weekend in Huntington Beach with the Jonathans? Can I just say, there is something positively sacred about room service when you have an infant? Not to mention beach access, hot tubs, drinks and meals beyond compare.

His unprecedented (and lets be honest- completely unanticipated) glory does make it somewhat easier to let them spoil us so spectacularly. Grazie!

Fee Figh Foe Fum

The giant is sleeping.




Several times today I wondered what was giving me a headache, then realized he had been growling/whimpering/squirming for an hour straight. We infidels (the linoleum guy and me) made the mistake of interupting his sacred preparations for sleep, so he skipped that nap altogether. That always starts with smiles as he's freed from the bondage of his triple swaddle system but ends badly with teary-eyed writhing. The baby gets cranky, too.

By 2:30 he needed sleep like Kanye needs Jesus, and praise God he finally succumbed.

Days like this are tough because now is the time I should be practicing, reading, cleaning, whatever it is I think I can't do with the nipper around. The problem is that right about now I am wiped out. So then I'm tired AND vaguely guilt-ridden.

If only I had a Mercedes. And a cleaning service. And a nanny with a degree in massage therapy.

Bring out the bon-bons.

Yupping out.

We went to the gym tonight, ate sushi and wine for dinner and spent an evening ordering things from Amazon and watching Nature.

But I have a darker secret to reveal. We test drove a Mercedes last week. Somehow I find the prospect of driving one of those things profoundly embarassing. Silly. If we might someday afford it and J really likes that one, then why not? Part of me literally dreads being able to do it, because I will no longer have an excuse for J. (He'd buy me what I want anyway, but you know what I mean.)

It's not that I think I wouldn't get used to it. It's that I probably would. If we have 30,000 extra dollars floating around (the less expensive versions of this thing were 30,000 less) then I don't think we should be spending them on a label. German engineering my left butt cheek. I can't imagine a Honda/Acura/Toyota wouldn't keep up in that area.

The other day I told some one we really like a particular neighborhood in Portland and she said, Your husband's a lawyer- you can afford it!

This, besides being currently untrue, made me uneasy and proud simultaneously. His job is tedious, demands meticulous perfection & long unpredictable hours and we owe a lot of zeros in student loans, so it better pay well. But does that mean we're required to flaunt it? More to the point, will I be able to resist rampant materialism in the years to come, when we have paid away our debts and are bringing in enough money to show it off?

It's easy to be confident in the image you project when you know your means are average. I never really worried while I was in school about what my purchases said about my beliefs, because for the most part (scrumptious purebred dog excluded) I was kept reined in.

I think I had a form of superiority complex going that told me I was better for not spending on such "ugly" things. It was a point of personal pride that I could find the same style of clothes at the knock-off shops or even Goodwill. Pride, greed, averice, vice. I know what I'm capable of and like chocolate or cigarettes, it's just better I don't get started.

Skip if you like- a post about TV shows.

Having done our bit for the worship team, eaten a lunch we didn't have to prepare and taken a short jaunt around a farmer's market, we came home for a bit of good old fashioned tv lounging.

There has been a whole lot of nothing on lately, so we settled for Honey, We're Killing the Kids. I will admit to enjoying other TLC shows where the absolutely ordinary is celebrated beyond all semblance of reason. Often the subpar is given wild, panty-throwing cheers for inching imperceptable toward satisfactory. Love it.

This show just lowered the bar. The premise is fine, but here's the problem: a grown man is given Mr. Mom duty. That's right- a man living in America in our day & age (Hey- what do you call this decade, the zeroes? Aughts?) can become so utterly out of touch with his LIFE that he will be applauded for staying in with the kids for ONE VERKLARTE NIGHT. What is that wife thinking, raising such a sloth for a husband????

I have to think that J would not let this happen to him. Can you imagine a dad not knowing what books his kids like read to them EVERY night? Even if he ain't doing the Goodnighting of Moons, still- wouldn't he overhear, maybe even join in the cuddle once in a blue one?

But wait- ignore all of that. A new show just came on- Welcome to Fatland- where a resort has made itself comfortable for the morbidly obese. The show focused on a woman who coaches fat confidence and has written several books encouraging people to be happy with themselves at any weight. Fat liberation.

Self confidence, self esteem- how much more blatantly could these things worshipped? At what point was a wrong turn taken such that a health threat as serious as overweight is a source of pride?! Isn't taking pride in something that harms you an unmistakeable sign of self hatred?

Either way, TLC should be called TSC- The Surface Channel.

The last show (because I want to go to the gym now) is The 627 Pound Woman. Ironic that we were proofing vacation photos of us in the ocean that actually made me cry to see my own flabulousity while watching this poor woman's struggle to "feel human again".

On the heels of Welcome to Fatland, this show seemed worthy of Nobel-level praise. I was completely hooked. I literally prayed that she would survive.



Just kidding with this pic. Fun with my swim skirt dealy- looks like a tumor.



The only swimsuit-at-the-beach photo I will be posting on the internet for a while. Wheeee- look at those waves!

Food, glorious, WHAT IS THAT WHERE MY THIGHS USED TO BE???

Why, it's more thigh! More than the eye can behold in one go- you would need the Matrix camera trick to fully appreciate exactly what I have going on heeya.

So I've been considering adjusting my dietary intake. I considered it at Red Robin today with Tobias, where for some reason I thought I better order a substantial lunch because I was subjecting them (a family restaurant with kid's menu crayons) to... an infant! I considered it further when, approximately one hour after RR, I needed a frozen coffee drink buhbuhbuh bad. Tonight at the Rose Festival I considered selling one of Toby's limbs (don't worry, just an arm or something) if it would buy me an elephant ear since we had no cash and are too cheap to use ATMs with extortion fees included.

Seriously.
I am always hungry- not just snack hungry. Meal hungry. With a salad and a beer hungry.
And a bag of chips.

I have heard the whole breastfeeding reasoning, the 9 months on/off excuse. But dewd. A normal (FORMERLY pregnant) appetite does NOT encompass half a tray of Rice Krispy treats in a single sad sticky sitting.

Maybe I'll go back to writing down everything. Maybe I'll check out South Beach. All this thinking... I'm famished, and I have half a bag of marshmallows left.

Lull is a funny word.

So I says to the boy, I says, Hey boy- stop with all that distracting needing of things and daily developments so I can find something to write about. Alas, he listeneth not.

Yesterday he was playing around with his lunch (and oh how that game goes over big in the middle of the yuppy brew-pubs we frequent), so I whinged to J- Maybe he's waiting for pheasant under glass? J, always the bright bulb, fired back, You mean instead of boob under blanket?

I'm redoing my dye job tomorrow. Do you think I'll look trailer-trash in black/blue? Remember the time zone change if you decide to advise me, just in case I do it and you're all, Don't do it- you'll look like shite. And then I'll be like, Damn- I wanted to be original yet classy.

Lull lull lull. See?

Yum!

Minivan convention

I thought the gym would be deserted at 9am. I thought everyone else in the world would be at work and I would have my favorite equipment all to myself. I thought WRONG.

There were thousands of wildly motivated, serious mom-types there. So many with upscale just-so ponytails and matchy-matchy workout wear that there were only two treadmills open despite the two full aerobics and spinning classes.

You would have thought the Kidsworld was holding a rodeo. I glanced past Tobias' room (nine infants there) to the toddlers just in time to see a little flock swirl past led by a wirey shirtless heart breaker- Toby in a few years?

The nannies love T because he's such a calm kid just now. My favorite lady said he just liked watching all the chaos from the play pad today. "He laughs so easily. He's such a good baby." Why yes, yes he is. Clearly, we should pay some one of such insight much much more.

Ooooh, there's one with fewer zeros!

So our friends Barb and Frank (pronounced "Frawnk" because he's all foreign-born and stuff) were here for three days to look for a house. They told me they were looking in a Reesonabul (Margie from Fargo) price range and we tried not to laugh aloud much while they were in the room.

When they said their agent found thirty listings, we remembered there have been a lot of meth lab evictions of late, and that corner with the prostitution busts on the nightly news might have some vacancies now that business has cooled somewhat.

But. They found a house. In fact, they found TWO they liked enough to haw and hem.

So tonight when I picked J up and his cold had him feeling Meh enough to skip the gym, we went for a little drive and collected real estate sheets. Two places in particular were fun- one pretty much out of our range unless we stop eating or start breaking laws and another we think must have had a murderer-rapist living there it's so comparatively cheap.

I think perhaps this here is the funnest part about house hunting: the initial thrill. Like Jr. High girls flipping through Bop magazine, we can look and idealize and dream. Plus drool- though Toby has done so much of that lately that J and I will just leave that department all up to him.

Eventually, looking at houses leads to Wanting houses. And to Mortgages (mort=death in french). And to J calculating and recalculating, his fingers ticking back and forth in the air while his eyes roll up in his head. Creepy, really. I prefer the 'We're just looking, thanks' stage.

And the Honda has cooperated with our new hobby how? By springing some sort of drool capability all its own, sputtering right on the feet of whoever is lucky enough to be in the front passenger seat when the A/C is running. I wonder how many minor yet expensive problems you can ignore on a marvel of Japanese engineering before it bites you in the a$$. No, really, we'll keep count and let you know when we find out!

Navelation

Here it is- traditional flash swallows around my belly. They're handily covering up some pregnancy stretch marks, but also I just wanted a tattoo. Kudos to Ben Matthews of Tigerlily!

Book Drive

This morning after dropping J off at work, Toby and I saw the saddest sight on the highway. Sadder even than the time there was a cop car chasing some kind of animal (deer? great dane?) slowly down the freeway, three lanes of cars crawling along behind.

Some one dumped a load of hardback books all over I-5 today.

The remainder of the morning I came up with scenarios for how they came to their 10-mile long fluttering demise. Could be a graduate fed up with the years of studying gleefully littered in the small hours of the morning; or a Powell's Books delivery truck rambled along too fast on the bridge above the freeway, toppling precious bon mots to the lanes below; or Luftansa freight forgot to secure a mailbag full of primers for orphans. In any case, it just seemed so banal- such a waste. Unless it was the Book of Mormon or something, but still. Hardbacks!

Check it.

Here's some good readin'- I am enjoying the eentahrnet of late as a nice diversion as Toby had shots and is alternating between mellow and supersonic baby. He's all like, Thanks, Mama, for protecting me from them deadly epidemics- I love you and will gaze sweetly giggling into your eyes now. OR! Yo, beeyatch- here's a 4-wipe diaper and a crying jag to peel paint off the wall as payback for the needles.

You'll have to copy and paste the addresses if you're into that because I'm lazy.
1) Plastic super-heroes doing Yoga: www.yogabeans.com/2006/04/utthita-trikonasana-and-parivritta.html

2) Hilarious talented writer chick (who does drop the f-bomb like it's the blitzkreig, but I swear it's justified, beautiful use of the lingua franca): www.fussy.org

3) If this is the "top-selling artist" in the united states, then the world is and should be coming to an END.
Ohhhhhhh noooooooooo. http://www.artifactsgallery.com/art.asp?!=A&ID=759

4) In this week's Willamette Weekly, I found the best description of the latest action flick we just had to see. "...In a film overflowing with special effects, none seem more special than Cruise's ability to get misty-eyed on command for no apparent reason. For a super-agent out to save the world, Ethan Hunt is a crybaby bitch boy. Mission: Impossible III is more entertaining than it is bad, but also more stupid than it is good."

May 14th, 2006

Tobias, today was for me one of those handful in life you will realize is a gift in itself. Looking back over the last nearly-four months, plus the months before that when we were waiting for you, I see radical blessed jarring wonderful massive change. Today I took a breath or two and stopped to look around a little bit.

This is Mother's Day. I know, it's just a scam for the world's purveyors of cheezy schlock, but it's my first so it felt important. We piled a bunch of baby-goods, the dog, and our Evanescence CD in the car and drove to your grandparent's in Salem for a barbeque. My mom was firing a huge outdoor brick column kiln with her art gang, it was a pristine first hot day of summer and what more excuse do we need to head down there?

You started to fuss some out under the shade of their pines, sort of whining low with your eyes closed and your hands clasped together so I knew you were ready for your nap. Your dad- who is so cute with you, and who you love to follow around with your eyes- was sweet and sat outside the window where you slept so I could go for a run. At this age you are a very easy baby but in a way that's like saying you're friendly for a polar bear, considering the amount of time you require. In fact, you pretty much require all of it.

With this slice of time, I went for a run. The route is one I've run for years; before I met your dad, before I was pregnant, while I was pregnant and now that you're here. As I ran it today I thought of you and what it is like to be a mom. To be your mom.

You are by far and without bias the cutest child I have ever seen. When we are playing and I say Boo you startle with your whole body and then search my eyes while you decide whether to laugh or not. In that moment while you are looking as deep as you can into me and while I wait to be sure you are okay, that you are enjoying our play, I see sweetness so becoming my heart might literally break. I thought about that look as I ran, and I thought about so many of the things I look forward to watching you see for the first time. Laughter is almost always a good choice (except where your dad's jokes are concerned as that might encorage him) and you grace us by choosing it constantly.

There is something about the way you move your hands lately that makes me think you are going to be a very determined individual. Your father and I are stubborn as mules- bronze ones- so this is no surprise, but I secretly love seeing it in you. I know that everyone's infant is fascinated with hands/fingers and their ability to levitate things to the all-important Mouth at this age, but you are set apart. I can tell by the way you make an O out of your lips and stare down with such hopeful intent.

You and I have worked ourselves out a schedule. Before you appeared I thought I was an impulsive person, but now I know otherwise. My proclivity is to break a day into hunks like a warm yeasty bread. Practice, run, nap, web-surf, cook, anticipate your Papa's return. Now it's more like... birdseed, cracker crumbs: big piles of tiny activities repeated until suddenly it's 5:45 and time to go get J from work. Feed, change, play, clean, sleep, feed, clean, placate, entertain. And BAM! months go by.

For the first three months I felt this was really all I did, and I was a little lost in all of it. It wasn't an unhappy lost- more like the times (yeah- plural) I tried to run through the back trails of the Arboretum in Madison and ended up twisting about endlessly among the ponds and trees before sheepishly finding my way home, legs tight and rubbery. Now, though, I think I'm on my way along the shady lanes with you. We communicate, we play, you are still alive and in one piece. (Don't EVEN bring up the whole ear-in-the-strap-clip incident, J.)

I have never been so surprised to be deliriously happy, Tobias. I love being your Mom. Both the job it entails and the relationship we have. I'm looking forward to the revelation of each bit of your personality, so keep 'er coming little man.

Happy Mother's Day, Toby.

We live here, we do.

Today started out exactly perfect. We slept in, by which I mean that the one of us who hasn't grown any teeth yet woke up laughing and decided he and I should hang out downstairs for an hour before getting in another little stolen bit of shut-eye. Once we really got up, we took off on a run with the super high-tech Trek baby jogger. Toblerone donned his sweet blue miami-grandpa hat and rock star guitar look. I noticed some of the lady runners twittering and swooning- we tried not to endanger any of them too much by keeping the shade pulled over his Ridiculously Tobyness.

We went down the hill (it is a real hill, first gear in the Honda like living in San Fran) past the French school's Saturday market and over to the trail along the river. There are always sailboats, hawks and herons. Looking out over the river under the squint-worthy blue, I realized it. We LIVE here. We are locals. I always wondered which part of the NW I would have to settle for. Ha HA! Turns out I got the golden ticket.

We barbequed, we picked up moderately crappy free metal shelves, we found a store with the brand of Japanese plum wine I love above all others.

I still (seriously) have some work to do on the Hello, I'm a stereotypical lonely-tired-busy-nutty new mom thing, and I might need to take a hit out on our neighbors' dog, but I do LOVE this town.

I'b got a cold.

Tobias got it first and kindly shared. It's not too bad, really- I just sound awesome. Like Simon, you can tell whenever I'm alive because you can hear the breathing from ten feet away.

Toby was a clingy kid today, like a chubby little sloth with extra drool. Such a baby. We watched obscene amounts of TV, him sitting back in the rocker in a striking imitation of a WWE fan with a beer gut. That amount of nothing is fun for me for the first part of the day, but by evening I get restless. The cold made me too sleepy to do anything about it, but if I sit on my butt tomorrow I will become No Fun Wife. We're planning to take our cold to the library and see who might benefit from our generosity there.

My dad and J are conducting a Craigslist experiment for me this weekend. They're going to pick up some metal shelves I found in the free category and see whether they are worth their price. They are actually driving about an hour from Portland to get them so I'm really hoping they are worthwhile. I am addicted to craigslist. It's fun to see what people are selling, and it's more fraud-proof than ebay because it's all done face to face. A big city like PDX is even better than Madison was for this.

Plus, look at the funny stuff people do without spell check:
Chairy Dressers
Armed Chairs
Cabnets
Sowing Machine

And then there was this, posted in the free stuff:
Kama Sutra Oil of Love original--New! Never used
Well I would certainly hope it wasn't used love oil. I mean, if they went to all that trouble to recover it, they would have to charge something, right?

I like it a LOT.

I happily bought eastmountainsouth, Jack Johnson, and Rocco DeLuca. I am in lust with I-Tunes and plan to take over the world from within its vast infrastructure. More suggestions, I so love them.


Today was brilliant. I had a coffee/mall date with my one Friend, lunch with the hottest guy in two hemispheres, and Toby had such a great time at the gym. There were two chicks playing with him when I checked the monitor and he was sleeping when I picked him up. One of them said he kept laughing with her.

Tonight feeding him while putting him to bed, he kept looking up at me like, Are you still here? Then laughing. Last night as well, he also giggled and pbltpblt'ed himself to sleep.

We have it so good.

Help me out here!!!

Last time I made a request to you, Internet, you came up with some excellent reading material. I bought a bunch and have read about 5.2% thus far. But hey- that leaves me with lots of things to do when I need to do things.

Now I have a new request. I have asked BD this a bunch of times, but I'm going to pester once again anyway:

What are you listening to lately? I need new music. Genre is unimportant. Anything, just some new stuff to hear.

Is it just me or does most of anything on the radio leave the innocent listener unsatisfied? Excepting the kick-ass classical station here, I can't find anything decent. It's been that or talk radio- and Tobias has a strong preference for the classical. Seeing as it is usually just he and I in the car, the radio has helped fill certain gaps in the conversation.

So PLEASE, it doesn't have to be New Music- anything you've been grooving to lately would be most appreciated.

More signs of a good vacation.

Today turned into a bit of a rough day. I think the problem is that I was wanting my life back. I love being a Mom, but I often catch myself trying to find a way around Tobias.

Tiffany and I were talking yesterday about how it’s not that you can’t do the things you want- it’s that you can’t do them in exactly the way you’d like. I can’t set up my stuff and practice for 3 hours, have some lunch, and put in a couple more.

The thing is, I’m selfish and stubborn and that has been translating into me deciding I might as well just not do things if I can’t do them “right”. Why even start cleaning the bathroom if I won’t have time to scrub all the grout with a toothbrush? What point is there in practicing if I’m limited to 15-20 minutes?

I want to enjoy the kid all the time like I do in my better moments. To pick him up slowly, rub his back, catch his eye and make him giggle, watch the ladies smile at him across the supermarket aisle. Instead I’m more likely orchestrating a way to have him continue to ride quietly from chore to chore or entertain himself while I perform some inane task. This is it- the golden time. He will look me in the eye, I can be the center of his world, I can change the way his gray matter squiggles.

Parenthood is such a strange amalgam of intense emotion, physical demands, and guilty attemps to placate, distract and appease.






The wierd knife one and the blue one are from the ferry from Nanaimo to Vancouver. A lovely ride.

Further Vic-pics

Here's what you get when you combine two tired-from-walking of us with an Irish pub in VICTORIA. Yay.

Victor victoria

We are anniversarying in gorgeous Victoria, BC. Yesterday we wandered about, took pictures of anything that remotely interested us (including J with the ferry mast growing out of his head and the flying fish roe I spilled at the Sushi restaurant we fell in love with last night).

Turning on the TV last night we found hockey and today it's men's figure skating. When in Rome, eh.

What does that move mean anyway, where a skaterix (oh excuse me, I mean athlete) holds his open hand up in front of his face and slowly moves it downward, anyway? While wearing turqoise tights with an infinity symbol made of sequins on the ass? My butt is everlasting? There is no end to my buns? Wierd. But yes, if that's what our son eventually wants to do, we'll be out there shopping at the sequined-tights shop with all the other desperately supportive yuppy parents. Do people even use the word Yup anymore? Hmmm.

I am a bit out of it with no little lump of Toblerone along for the trip. I keep acosting people with infants, forcing them to listen to me gush about our left-behindlet. They back away slowly, strategically placing themselves between us and the stroller, performing the old nod-and-smile. I have somehow refrained from grabbing their offspring to hug, rock and smell.

Right, then, tally-ho, cheerio. We're off to get some Starbucks- can you believe they have 2 in one block just like Salem? We'll save a seat for you, Dad.

Great Balls of Fire

My husband, the stud that he is, done won me a t-shirt. It's a purty one, too. You may be wondering, Did he shoot little metal duckies? Did he bounce a ping-pong ball with stunning accuracy into a goldfish bowl? No, fair reader, here I'll tell you the tale of what dragon he conquered just for me.

It was an entire quintuplet order of Great Balls of Fire at Salvador Molly's, that finest of Portlandian eateries. The restaurant is cute. The balls, not so much. They contain habaneros, and a little bit of cheese, but mostly habaneros made into fritters. I tried a small corner of one of my own (a full order is FIVE) but it wasn't fun to eat- it just hurt. Plus, why injest someting so dangerous to your parts that you have to wash up before touching your infant?

But my man, he finished, vanquished, prevailed. They took his picture for the Wall of Flame (I swear it ain't a gay bar) and I got a sweet hot-red tee with neato tattoo style design. Wore it today, in fact, at a barbeque celebrating my dragon-slayer's swearing in to the state Bar.

Slay on, J, Slay on.

Separation Anxiety

We have left our precious little cargo-let with complete strangers for the first time this week.

It was not even an ideal situation, but let me explain before any of the relations have coronaries.

We joined a gym, see. It's a super-posh gym. There's a guy who comes around offering water. There's the largest climbing wall in Oregon, which is a state nutty about climbing. The locker rooms smell nice. Not just inoffensive- actually nice.

The kidsworld part of the gym is really posh, too, with lots of young girls and sweet grandmother types who have been criminal background-checked and such.

The thing is, we walked in to leave him in the infant room and there were already two infants there. Both were screaming their little tiny heads off. I mean, they were crying in a way that Toby hasn't since way back in the day of the circumstrainor. There were two ladies caring gently for them, but still they shrieked, and what did we do?

We left Toby in a swing (another first) and went to work out.

At least, I worked out some, in between checking the video feed from the infant room and hyperventilating and wondering if they would maybe let me put my own monitor on him- you know, one of those helmet-cams like the bobsledders use.

And Toby's reaction? He presented them with a diaper to deal with and then fell asleep in the swing.

We're going back today.

1946-2006

Today was my uncle Tommy's funeral here in Spokane. He was released- and it was a release for him- from this life on Thursday last week, just a few days after we visited.

It was rough in a good way watching the slide show of pictures from his life. One in particular stuck in my mind, though there were a bunch of great ones. In this pic, he's sitting at a kitchen table with an enormous pumpkin, his arm up to the elbow in it, and he's smiling as he nearly always was. Tom was "handsome in a boyish way"- maybe whoever invented that phrase had met him with his twinkly eyes and slightly rounded cheeks.

As he's working on the pumpkin, his son Bradley at about age 8 is hanging on his arm, looking rapturous into the depths of the gourd. It's such a sweet little moment, and I never saw Tom or Candy any other way with Brad. They would drive all day, arrive at our house tired, and still jump up when Brad wanted to go outside or play some ball. Tom would endlessly repeat inside jokes he had with Brad- and for the pleasure of everyone he knew, for that matter.

At the funeral today folks kept standing up to say what a funny, well-liked man my uncle was. Somebody mentioned that Brad needed a special dad to help him with his challenges. Too bad the word is over-used, but Uncle Tom was absolutely special- spectacular, actually. There was another pic of he and Candy with a baby Brad in one of those Olin Mills studio shots, and they are smiling with such unrehearsed joy. This would have been just a few weeks after being informed of Brad's physical and mental challenges, but there they are in relaxed grace.

John Moody came down to do the service, and was so very good. He kept talking about having the faith to entrust loved ones to God. It's hard. I know there's a God, but today I just kept praying, frantic really, that it's all True, and that Jesus has him and it will all make sense in the end. Funny to pray to some one in hopes they are who they say they are...

I'm grateful he is a patient and loving God, and I entrust Tommy and the people who loved him to Him tonight.

The purpose of Blife

My good friend, favorite author I know personally and the chick who brought me into this century by introducing me to blogs is quitting hers. You can read why here, at least for a few more days...

Like most blogfolk I've wondered why I write on this thing.

Usually it is, like Tiffany says, my own fascination with all things me. The motivation behind that self-fest is what varies. This year, moving away from my friends, school, work, church, and house has been one of the harder moves I've made. It lacked a little of that sense of adventure you have when you're headed to new career commitments, seeing as my only job now is spit-up collector and cry averter. "Only"- of course I have my Hallmark moments, and I won't bore you with the treacly reasons I love the kid just now. I'll just trust you know that part.

Even though every single thing I post about is some trifle I find related to my own life, I am compelled to look for angles or items I might not have noticed if I wasn't blogging them. I step out of myself, look up from the trail every once in a while. While I hold no delusions nor desires that I will be the next idol of the blogosphere, just knowing people could read me makes that little difference. Like cleaning up the living room floor when the plumber is on his way.

Yahtzee!

Just had to announce, internet. I have a coffee date. A chick from the mom's group last week and I are meeting at Lovely Corporation Bucks to hang out!!!!! (Exclamation point...)

Don't worry, I'll try not to smother, but at least this proves it's possible to find another human- a mother with youngins even- to be chatty with.

I just found an interesting link whilst looking for a fun image for this. Apparently several Starbucks have asked nursing moms to leave, cover up, or go into the bathroom. Luckily, Oregon has a law prohibiting messing with a nursing mom, but still. They also have these lovely huge handicapped accessible bathrooms that NEVER have changing tables. WHY, Mr. Bucks, WHY? You can get posh looking brushed-steel ones like PF Changs, you can get the in-the-wall kind if you're worried about infringing on the spaciousness. What the heck? You're all granola-y and human friendly, why not start branding children as young as possible?

Anyhoo, here's the link.

On a lighter note, here's Xena the Warrior Princess breastfeeding. Woo hoo.

And guess what else!

I'll have to post the real pic in a while, after it's all healed up.

Exclusive! Look upon it and...

...well, reactions may vary, especially depending on whether you are a parent to either one of us.

My husband is the proud sporter of a sweet tat. He sports it!

It's got a celtic cross with knotwork and there's a calf, phoenix, lion and man to represent different aspects of Christ.

It's big! It's bold! It's J's shoulder!

Respect and accolades are due to Ben the tattoo artist at Tigerlilly. www.benmatthewstattoooing.com

feast!

We tried and tried last night to get a shot of one of T's full-body smiles. He does this thing now where he smiles open-mouthed like an ingenue while writhing in joy, his arms shooting all about.

There's another expression he has that I've yet to really catch with a camera, where his mouth makes a tight little "o", eyes look down & open WIDE and head juts back in such a way that all 39 of his chins become visible. It looks like a face a comedian would take years to perfect. He's doing it less often now- maybe it had something to do with trying to focus on stuff.

We went to a reading by Don Miller last night at Powells, but arrived a few minutes late and couldn't see at all and only faintly hear. I did snake my way up to where he was visible (amazing what holding a baby will do for your ability to squeeze through a crowd) and he looks different than I had thought. I thought he'd look more... edgy. I don't know- it just seems that with notoriety and acclaim sometimes people attain a certain snotty air to them, but he hasn't. He looked friendly to me, and read well enough. His new book's about growing up dadless, and I had planned to skip it but now I'm intrigued. I had thought half our church would be there, and maybe they were, but there were lots of folks I'm pretty sure I've never seen. I love the scruffy comfiness of a Portland audience.

A chick walked past us last night following her toddler curly headed girl, who said Hi. Her mom apologized (?!) and said, pointing at Toby, "i miss those days". It just confirms that these are prime times for taking him with us everywhere. He's just starting to make those long yodeling sounds kids do for no reason, and for the most part he'll sit quietly on your lap if he's fed & dry.

I like the attitude that C had in her little-kid days: Look at it all as educating other people about life. If the kid cries, soothe it, but don't enter a hermitage for fear of inconveniencing.

The tough thing is that as a classical musician, you get used to this rigid silence from the listener. In our times, a concert is such a personal thing, between you and the performer. We listen in huge halls with so many others that the slightest noises are to be frowned upon to avoid cacophony. In order to maintain the (artificial?) intimate relationship between the music and the hearer, distractions are outlawed. I wonder what it would have been like to attend an actual chamber music concert in some grand home with Brahms making eyes at Clara Schubert. And Mozart- fuggetaboutit, there would have been extraneous performances of all sorts.

Franchise info coming soon...

I think some one would make a ton of money marketing classes on serious topics (philosophy, theology, history, art) that new parents can BRING their kids to. This morning proved to me that women (it was all ladies seeing as it's a "mom's community") can talk deep schtuff right on over their toddlers. And THEN, my brain cells wouldn't be abandoning ship and I wouldn't feel this urge to run out to Target or ANYwhere I can wheel the babe about in public with other people nearby.

I have realized I am actually quite comfy with the boy as he is just now. These toddlers- I wanted to say so many things to them. Watch out, Quieter, Don't push, Don't sit in Toby's carseat, Stop spitting, Don't put that up your nose. Oddly the moms were able to suppress their urges to say any of these things and continued the discussion unhindered. I, on the other hand, felt like I was watching a movie in another language while trying to read a technical manual and refinance my loans over the phone.

Maybe this is why they develop slowly. This way we have the time to adjust and build the specialized version of multi-tasking required to not go nuts.

Still, I think this would be a great venture. Lectures given by lecturers who don't mind a few screeches and the scent of graham cracker gently wafting from the audience would be wildly popular...with me, anyway.

Kid-friendly Smarts, Lenient Lecturers, Mama's No Dummy. There's got to be a name in there somewhere.

Homesickness

We have returned home. It's not really home yet, actually. It doesn't count until you have unpacked your books, painted the walls and can sit on the carpet without feeling unclean.

I don't know what it is I want. More contact with adult humans, more energy, more practice time. It has been a long time since I felt this kind of uncertainty about my own architecture.

Quicksand and molasses seemed to flow around me each time I went to do something today. The bookshelves were too heavy to move, the kid woke just as I neared my viola, the lawn mower needed both gas AND oil when I had only brought home the gas.

My son is glorious, my husband a joy, my dog a creampuff. I, however, am not exactly sure how I'd like myself to fit in all this yet. Tonight I was trying to explain to J and my jaw just felt tighter and tighter and before I knew it my lip was quivering and the waterworks leaking all about.

I wonder- when I've met the humans, gathered the energy and practiced up, will I feel satisfied?

Travelin' stories

It has been one of those trips you remember and talk about for years already. Seeing Tom was... impossible to describe. I found myself looking at him as an interesting medical dilemna, as The Disease, not my uncle anymore. And in a lot of ways, that's true now. But then he would respond sometimes in such a way that you recognized him.

We've been told now that his diagnosis is not just Alzheimers or might not be that at all, but is instead something called Lewy Body Type Dementia. Lewy Bodies are apparently lesions on the brain where lots of electrical signals get crossed, bunched up and jumbled. The victim has hallucinations, slower movements similar to early Parkinsons and dementia/deterioration like Alzheimers. Apparently diagnosis is rare and involves a lengthy process of elimination. Rico the night nurse seemed sort of jazzed that he was seeing a relatively rare situation.

I would post pictures of Tom with the Elmo toy his son sent for him to have, but at this point, that wouldn't really be a picture of Tom. So I'll find some of those pictures of him and dad when they were rowdy young things (Tom used to say 'Young airmen' in a funny voice when somebody was handsome). He also used to belch My mom and dad, to which his mother would say, "Yes, dear?" This is funnier when you know that they were a fairly fancy Catholic family.

The best part of the past few days (besides the hospitality of S & J) was taking Tom's wife out for Mexican food, beer and margaritas. Dad rewired a light for her while Mom and I got to talk about all sorts of things. I feel like I'm just getting to know her, and she would be a great friend to have even without any family ties. Admiration isn't a thick enough word- can you imagine the strength required to do this? To care for her son, her own health, her husband? She's a pillar.

This morning we woke up in Missoula, ready to see more doting relatives. Mom was so excited to see her family that she and dad both woke up at the butt crack of dawn. I was cranky at first but I'm working on my martyr attitude. Aren't I a joy?

Pics to travel by...

As much as I try to avoid living the stereotype, DANG does this child need a pile of materialism to make it through a day. More even than a gay man on Halloween in SoHo.

I can't help but pack thirty thousand pounds in fourteen cubic yards of stuff for him. Good thing mom 'n dad are bringing the Jeep.

I have to brag on the spawn for a sec. He made it through an entire movie (IN A THEATRE) tonight without any offensive noises, meltdowns or oozing floods. What a schmooshie chunk of a stud.

Here's a preview glance at the coloration nation. I feel so free, so punk; look upon my Edge and fear. (Am I letting my nerd show again? Dangit...)

On the Road Again

I drove a round-trip total of 90 miles today to walk around Wal-Mart in my impractical new heels and blue hair. There is no almighty Super Wal-Mart with all you need to survive every stage of your life within Portland's city limits. And yet, Portlanders love theirselves some huge Fred Meyers, Targets, and at least 4 enormous malls. Wal-Mart must just be too gauche.

On the spur of the moment, I'm heading to Montana and Washington to visit relations. Lots of 'em are old, and might otherwise kick it before meeting the newest, brightest star in the constellation. I am officially chopped liver now that there is a Toby.

That's part of the truth, anyway. Really, I'm up for a challenge, some spice, a bit of a change of scenery. I would consider a tour with a crappy orchestra if I thought it would get me a hall pass field trip vibe.

Part of our trip will be visiting my uncle Tommy's wife. He is in the end stage of early onset Alzheimers. That is one dirty dark alley of a disease, and I can't believe he is going through it. More than that, I can't believe his wife is going through it. She has MS. Their son is profoundly retarded and has physical problems. And then this?

Tom was my favorite uncle as a kid. He was fun, sweet, boisterous, quick to laugh and slightly baudy. He could belch the entire alphabet- this, in my clan, brought him a certain status. His hugs were some serious loveliness. In my teenage years I thought he was Cool- he drank a little more, swore more and had more mainstream "life-problems" than my parents.

Tom and his wife used to be a volatile couple, and you never knew what to expect when heading out into public with them. They would argue passionately, they would send food back for being the wrong temperature and send secret messages to the waitstaff through their tips. His wife once called me a "little asshole" when she thought a cousin and I had been too noisy. Then, sometime in the late nineties, everything about them seems to have changed.

They softened, smiled tolerantly at crappy restaurants, they mellowed.

Today Tommy is in a hospital bed drinking his meals. Do you understand? This absolutely makes my shortlist of questions on my own personal d-day. I get that there's a fallen world, that we're all doomed. But so much tough stuff in one little family?

Anyway, I know, I know- I'll reread some Yancy and The Problem of Pain, the book of Job. I'm not being completely dark. It's just sucking right now.

Flavorites

In the last weeks I have discovered some lovely things.

One, you can correct (say "correct" with the r rolled like the butler does in The Shining) haircolor that bleeds all over your hair and makes it green instead of supercool deepest blue. Dye, ho, Dye!

Secondly, the funnest place to shop on the internet is Etsy.com. Where else can you commission stuff from folks that high on the hip scale?

Third, punkymoms.com has a couple of good writers, groovy images and interesting links. Just don't buy the essay on autism & vaccinations.

Last and coolest, I can get Toby to smile even when he's crying. It's funny, actually. We laugh at him alot when he's crying- either at his faces or the sounds that come from his widdle soul.

This must be how it happens...

You know how those people always say that you have kids, then blink and they're 18? The past few weeks sort of showed me how that might happen. Except he's still such a total baby. Blink. Still not working...

I dyed my hair blue. I wanted two chunks of blue under the top layer and it's pretty cool that way. Except that, the hair around the blue seems to have picked up some of the dye and is now sort of a peacocky green. But mostly it's cool.

I'm also thinking of getting a tattoo. I am not kidding. Geeky classical musician by day, geeky classical musician with freaky blue-green hair and a tat by night. I got stretch marks, see. A little map of somewhere european with lots of twisty streets has appeared around my navel. It reminds me of these patterns in an old fallen tree we took pictures of on Mount Hood. I am not the kind of girl who bares her navel anyway, making it an eyes-only sort of region. So if I chicken out you will never know, ha-ha, unless you are the 87% of my readership known as "J".

Let's see...

In other news, Tobias has continued to grow. He weighs 15 pounds now- at least, he did 3 days ago. By now it's likely up around 50. Despite this he often requires me to carry him in my arms through miles of Target aisles. He disdains the car seat because he runs the risk of getting Bored there. Apparently, the view is radically different than laying directly in front of me like a prince surrounded by toys and a crazy lady repeating "Doot doot. DOOOt doot doot! Dooooo de doo." while smily wildly and trying to offer the pacifier in a manner deemed acceptable.

We have a similar scenario in the car. All is happy coos or contented snoring while the vehicle is in motion. But God forbid we encounter a red light, an old lady walkering across the street or any other reason to stop for even the briefest of moments. He has this internal sensor hooked up to his Holy Crap alarm, and danged if it doesn't go off daily. J and I both are experts at that most annoying of driving habits where we seem to stop about 15 feet before it's even remotely necessary, then slooowwwly creep forward. The more the car vibrates, the better. Thank goodness it's a stick and has a tranny issue.

As I typed, his royal heiny was cooing and squeeling delightfully ("AhhEEEeeyah...HaiiIIIiii"...and so on.) on his specially designed Gymini baby mat. Operative word: was. I knew we were headed downhill when he started that tried 'n true cry warm-up, " a-HUH!...a-HUH!" with an award winning scowl complete with down-turned drooly mouth.

Now, sadly, I tire of one-handed breastfeeder typing so we'll have to chat more later. Ta-ta. (get it?)

Today: AKA The Very Last Time

..we will ever move without paying whatever it takes to whoever will do it for us.

Let's assemble a fruit basket.

I know a woman named Pear
and another named Apricot.
Gwyneth has introduced us all to her daughter, Apple.


Got any more?

Leader of the Free (flowing) World

A geyser, a rainbird, a showerhead.

Why do you do this, trigger the sprinkler system and then leave the building?

All the world will be saturated, wet, milky scented.

They will look upon my chest and tremble.

Your fingers flexing with restrained benevolence, you smile while your dinner flows around the spout down your several chins flooding the earth and its inhabitants.

You'd think, Tobias, that since you're so danged good at growing it would follow that you'd be proficient at eating as well.

(PS- I promise to stop posting exclusively about momliness soon.)

Now we are six (weeks).

Tomorrow marks the completion of Tobias' sixth week on the outside. I remember looking ahead to this milestone like I was in base camp and it was a staging area for the summit. The summit being all sorts of things:

*sleeping in lengths both generous and nocturnal, lengths allowing me to feel the need to brush my teeth less than 8 times a day, lengths which prompt the phrase "went to bed at...". Hmmm, this is a work in progress, but he's generally throwing me a bone with one long sleep per day and he hasn't slipped backward from the 3 hour minimums lately, so of course I love him more. Sleep = Loved Baby, see.

*personality, interaction. We have a drummer friend from church who said the first few months are designed to help us understand God. You know, pursuing us even though we don't respond with love at first, our needing everything from him, rejecting him blindly when things get tough, crying out in all directions, not knowing what exactly would fix us. Tobias is waking up to himself every day. And you know, it does make it easier to perform these mom-tasks. He now laughs/smiles not only at us but at inanimate objects. He has been testing out his voice- yesterday he made that trilling Rrrrr sound people use as a pick-up in B movies. Men sure start young these days...

*I figured by six weeks I might know what kind of mom I'd be. Hahahaha. Wasn't I cute, silly enormous pregnant Miriam. I still don't really know- maybe by the time he's 18? Maybe by the time he has kids?

*I also assumed by six weeks I'd know whether PPD would be on my horizon, in light of past bouts of mild depression. So far I'm only my average amount of mentally ill.


Mostly at this point I am trying not to be a nervous, tense mom. Tobias is hands-down the most fabulous thing I've ever seen, and every day I have to remind myself to just enjoy him. Drink it all in. It makes crying, squirming, waking-up-early moments so much easier. It makes me feel I'm approaching ready to do the next six weeks- THREE MONTH OLD GENIUS, here we come.