Strip malls rule

Wanna hear about the highlight of a busy mom's day? I've been cleaning, organizing, running various errands all in preparation for this baby's birth. Since we're having a homebirth there is a bit more involved than simply packing a bag for the hospital. Part of the preparation involves acquiring all the necessary items for a waterbirth. You might think "You've got a tub. What more do you need?" Oh much much more my naive friend. I tried the tub when I was in labor with Sam and me and my enormous, un-immersible belly did not last 5 minutes in that hard, fiberglass bucket. So this time we're going the route of the oversized kiddie pool. Most of the items for this birth one can find at that magical place Target, but there were two items on my list that I still needed: a pool thermometer and a fish net. The pool thermometer is used to make sure the pool water stays a comfortable, yet safe temperature for mom and baby. The fish net is used to... well, to fish stuff out of the pool in case any of this stuff, which shall remain nameless, should somehow enter the pool. And by "somehow enter" I mean in a manner that I refuse to discuss in this blog.

So I had just dropped David off at the car dealership to pick up our other car after an oil change and I was running about 10 minutes early to pick up Sam from his school just a few miles away. En route I saw a shopping center and thought I'd kill some time checking to see if there were any stores there that might have some stuff I needed for the birth. What I found brought tears of joy to my eyes. It was like some form of divine intervention had brought me to this place with only the smallest amount of time to spare. For what I saw was a pet store right next door to a pool supply store. Now if you don't know me then you don't know what an efficiency junkie I am. Finding these two unrelated stores right next to each other in a block of time I was afraid was going to go to waste was euphoric. And... AND I found a parking spot right out front that had a time limit of 10 minutes.... 10 MINUTES! I accepted the challenge, completed my mission and had to call David immediately after to share my immense joy.

Indecent composure

The other day in the car we had a children's cd playing for Sam. Jackson, who is very familiar with the cd, was singing along with one of the choruses that repeated the line "I was running down the hill." But Jackson has taken after his father in a way that has made David very proud. David has a passion for changing or embellishing the lyrics of even the most innocent song and causing it to become quite inappropriate. So on this particular day, Mother's Day, we hear Jackson's voice from the back of the van singing sweetly along with the children's singer, "I was running down the hill..." and then he improvised in such a way that proves I was only the vessel for David's progeny "...with no pants on."

Deeply dessert

The other night I was indulging in one of my guilty pregnancy pleasures, vanilla ice cream atop half of a mini chocolate bundt cake from Trader Joe's, when I realized that I had been going about eating it in the wrong manner. The enjoyment of each bite relies on the perfect balance of ice cream to cake. This is quite easily achieved until the end of the dessert is reached; you may be left with too much or too little of one of the tasty components which makes the ending to such an otherwise decadent experience quite anti-climactic. So to prevent this tragic ending I had been carefully planning out each bite to achieve the desired final ratio. Sometimes this meant that I might have to construct a few subpar spoonfuls in order to ensure that my last bite was perfect. The problem was that I stopped enjoying all the bites leading up to the grand finale and sacrificed so much enjoyment for one final moment. Not a great way to eat cake and ice cream. Now you might think that there's some great life lesson to be learned here, and maybe there is. But what I'm taking away from this is to quit planning 'cause there's always more cake and ice cream in the kitchen if I need to balance the ratio in the end.

Zim must have had a twisted sense of humor

My parents have been here this weekend helping me out with the boys while David is having one last pre-baby hurrah at the Coachella music festival. In the bathroom they're using are all sorts of interesting toiletries that they have brought with them spread out on the counter. One of these items looked particularly interesting and I asked my mom what it was.

"Oh, that's my crack cream."

Excuse me?

Sure enough the little bottle was called "Zim's Crack Cream." Dry skin can result in small cracks on hands and feet, right? And surely these were the cracks this cream was meant for. But c'mon....

"I never leave home without my crack cream."

"That Zim really knows how to fill my crack."

"My crack cream is the only thing that brings me relief."

And for some reason this cream comes in a small spray bottle, maybe for those people who have a really hard to reach crack.

My hands are happily full, thank you.

Today I was walking across Jackson's school to pick him up from the office after receiving a call that he wasn't feeling well and wanted to come home. I was carrying Sam on my hip next to my gargantuan belly, since you have to descend a flight of stairs to Jackson's school and I couldn't manage a stroller up and down those stairs. As I approached the office a woman came out and said, "Boy, you have your hands full." No kidding? What gave it away? Was it the way I precariously balanced my huge protrusion out front with the 30 lb flopping child on my hip who prefers to view the world sideways or upside down? Could you have maybe come up with something a little less obvious to comment on? How about commending me on my stellar balance?

I get this "hands full" comment from strangers so often and I can't figure out why they feel the need to make it. What's the point in stating the obvious? And despite the frequency with which I hear this I never have a clever comeback ready. I don't wish to say anything mean because I know these people aren't being rude; plus, I have lots of sarcastic replies handy I just choose not to use them. I just don't get why people feel the need to say anything at all. And they make the same comment whether I have one child or both with me. What's going to happen when this 3rd one pops out? Maybe then I'll start hearing something original or at least get some ghastly stares.

Photo fun

A few pictures for your viewing pleasure:

He's so much more fun after knocking back a few beers during our Friday night happy hour.

Wearily emerging from the jungle having escaped their captors...


... the small humans scale the wall back into suburbia.

Spring break in Arizona

So I promised an update and pictures from our Arizona trip a while ago. But Jackson got a stomach bug the last day of our trip, David got it as soon as we returned home, then our crazy busy week began and my ankles have been swollen since Tucson. Pregnancy isn't always pretty. I sit here now on the couch with my feet elevated and I plan on making good on my promise.

You can click on any of the photos for a larger view.


This was from our first stop in Yuma to see my grandparents. We've given up on all the complexly crafted special needs equipment and have opted for 2 boppy pillows to assist Sam with his sitting. This works great unless Sam happens to be sitting up in a chair and his big brother is asked to watch him for 2 seconds while you step away and Sam decides to play one of his favorite games where he throws himself forward and then pops back up again... only he didn't pop back up again. Unfortunately, this is the only Yuma picture I have since the few with my grandparents in them mysteriously disappeared from our camera.



Here's David and his mini-me at Saguaro National Park. I think they were looking for birds because really if you've seen one saguaro cactus you've seen them all.



These are the actors who played the Earp brothers and Doc Holliday in the gunfight at the OK Corral in Tombstone. Sam enjoyed himself at this show. The first loud shot was met with only a mildly annoyed grunt from Sam and then he tolerated the rest. But the best part was when one of the actors was trying to shush the audience's laughter after a mishap at his expense. Right after he said, "It wasn't that funny," Sam decided it would be a good time to give one of his very contrived everyone-else-was-laughing-so-I-want-to-join-in loud laughs to follow up... and we were sitting in the front row. Ah, life with Sam.



This is taken just outside the OK Corral.



Our future paleontologist digging for fossils at the Desert Museum in Tucson. This is a wonderful museum that is mainly outdoors and requires more than a day to fully explore all of its glory.



Our little drummer boy in his high-tech seating contraption at our hotel in Tucson. This time he's safely on the floor.



The view from the van as we drove into Sedona.



The view inside the van. Notice all the stuff crammed into the van behind Jackson? Notice how it doesn't even reach the window? We had a lot of crap back there including a jog stroller and a week's worth of food for Sam. I love my mini-van more and more each day.



After breezing through Sedona, stopping only for dinner, we ended up in Flagstaff. From here we took a day trip to Petrified Forest National Park. Here we sit in front of this desolate landscape which is part of the Painted Desert and it really made me wish we had spent more time in Sedona instead.



Most of the places we visited had some tie-in with dinosaurs, which pleased our little dino to no end.



And, finally, a family photo from our trip to the Grand Canyon. We're all laughing because of the way David has included himself in the photo he's taking. Sam's laughing because he finds the word "cheese" to be one of the funniest things ever spoken; this works out well for us during photo shoots.

Hello from Arizona

I haven't posted anything in awhile because we've been in Arizona since last weekend. Internet has been slow and sketchy at best and the few moments I have at the end of the day to post I'm too tired. But we've had many adventures and I will have plenty of pictures to post early next week once we return and settle back in.

Sound parenting advice can be found on network television

Last weekend was an exercise in parental control. What I'm trying to say is that Jackson was such a little shit that it took all the restraint in the world not to beat the crap out of him. I'm really not sure what caused his undesirable behavior as it always seemed to follow a period of fun. We'd be having a good time as a family, it would approach the time to end the fun and then Jackson's head would start spinning around as he shot lasers out of his eyes and spewed words of hatred. I was very proud of how calmly David and I handled these outbursts; though, on more than one occasion I found myself saying, "I'm walking away now," which was more of an instruction to myself to step away from the child before anything ugly and illegal went down than it was information for Jackson. During one of his more lucid moments I asked Jackson why he behaved that way and he responded that he didn't want the fun to end. Six year old logic: have a good time with mom and dad and then when it's over yell violently at them so that maybe they'll want to keep having fun with you.

After a few days of this I began wondering what we were doing wrong as parents to have raised such a spiteful little child. There are plenty of books out there that give quality advice on such behavior issues; some of these books are even sitting collecting dust on my book shelf. I considered looking through one of these books. Instead I found myself on the couch last night in front of the television thinking, "what would Supernanny do?" I haven't ever actually watched a complete episode of Supernanny but I've heard she has some pretty sound advice. I realized I didn't need her advice after watching about 10 minutes of the family featured last night. The kids were somewhat out-of-control on a daily basis but the parents were complete morons when it came to handling the behaviors. This family would go out to a restaurant and their 5 year old would stand on a chair yelling "I want desssseeeeerrrt!" This was not an isolated event and the parents didn't seem to have any consequences for this type of thing. And rather than ordering in from restaurants to avoid the disgruntled looks from the other diners, they ate out on average 3 times per week! Why put yourself through that torture? Morons. Supernanny wisely suggested they bring along some activities to keep their 2 young boys occupied during dinner. After instigating this plan with successful results the parents bowed down at Supernanny's feet extolling her unprecedented genius. This was all it took for me to realize that our family doesn't have problems. At least David and I seem to have the basic parenting skills down. We just may have to accept that sometimes Jackson's body is switched out with that of a malevolent imp who bears a striking resemblance to our sweet 6 year old.

Never underestimate the power of a good foot rub

I was awake at 2am this morning. Not because of pregnancy heartburn, difficulty finding a comfortable sleeping position, or the tiny, nocturnal kick-boxer taking up temporary residence within my uterus. No, I can sleep through all that. But what I can't seem to sleep through is my 3 year old yelling with all his might for someone to come and get him from his crib. I also have a hard time sleeping through this same child kicking with great fury at a musical toy attached to the side of his crib. Since Sam has no intelligible words he simply increases his vocalizations until someone responds. And since his coordination could use a lot of fine tuning he completely side steps any attempt at precision when trying to activate a musical toy, instead choosing to whack aimlessly with arms or legs at any object until the desired effect is attained. So all of this was going on... at 2am... in Sam's crib... which is located right next to my bed.

By the time my alarm had gone off this morning (which it really had no need to since I had been awake since 2am... did I mention that?) I had devised a plan. I would get devil child up, feed him breakfast, deposit the older child at school, return home and fall into a deep sleep with the younger spawn who would surely be tired by that time. But he wasn't tired. He wasn't even grumpy. He was downright fucking cheery. By the time he was ready to nap it was time to go get the older one from school and I'd given up hope for recovering any sleep for myself.

This story could have ended in a very ugly way had it not been for the nice woman I paid to rub my feet tonight and paint my toes an uplifting sunny yellow. Thank you, Julie. And thank you Happy Nails.

Born again disabled

Recently a very wise friend and I were discussing Christianity and its views on particular life matters. I mentioned how I really had a hard time with some of the perspectives on disability that come from my Christian friends. I've been told by many of these well-meaning individuals that Sam is here for a reason and that by allowing Sam's disability God has meant for me to learn a valuable lesson. I'm not sure if each individual has their own tailor made lesson to learn but there appears to be a broader goal of learning to trust in God's glory. From my own limited reading on the matter it would seem that disability exists because a long, long time ago in a lush garden two foliage clad humans got hungry and ate something they weren't supposed to and now we all must endure suffering for their sin. So now we've got pain, hunger, etc. And we've got these people with disabilities. But basically it's all okay because we've also got this dude, God, who can make it all better. Now he may choose to make it better by healing the individual with the disability or he may not. The suffering may just have to be endured until death. But it's still okay because there remains a chance for salvation after death. You just have to trust this unseen entity or have.... what's that word.... faith. Let me break it down as I see it: two people I've never met fucked up, wreaking havoc for our world, causing God to "allow" my child to be born disabled so that I, and anyone else who cares to benefit from my child's suffering, may learn how to kiss God's ass while waiting for a miracle cure or maybe just die first. And you wonder why I'm not a Christian.

So this wise friend says to me, "Has anyone ever proposed to you the idea that maybe Sam, himself, chose this path for his life's experience?" Well, no. This seems to presuppose the idea that Sam was sentient prior to conception. And it suggests that Sam is not here merely for my own selfish gain or to stroke the ego of some supreme being. This hints of Eastern religion. And I like it. "So this resonates with you?" my friend asked. I guess if I couldn't just accept Mindy and David's philosophy appropriately called "Shit Happens" and I needed a reason to explain Sam's disability then, yes; the idea that maybe there was something Sam needed to get out of this earthly experience and chose his disabled body accordingly, resonates with me. How can it not when Sam fought so hard in his first year of life just to be here? It is not by the glory of God that he is still with us despite his challenges. Give the kid some credit. Sam is here because he's fought hard for this life. And is there a lesson in this? Maybe. While Sam is here pursuing his own experience we may be able to open ourselves up enough to glean something of our own from knowing Sam. Maybe this child, with his spirit unfettered by the ego defenses most of us carry around, allows us much closer contact with the essence of who he is and a clearer reflection of who we are. Maybe it's in this way that Sam truly is a blessing. This comes not from what he has brought to teach us, but rather from how we may choose to enhance our own experience with lessons learned from such an open soul.

Jackson's wheels

Jackson learned to ride a 2-wheel bike today. I never thought I'd see the day. We've been working toward this goal for a long time and it's not been easy. Jackson has been very resistant to the idea, coming up with every excuse and complaint he could think of. At one point he whined that the seat of his bike was too high and he couldn't reach the ground. I lowered the seat and he began complaining that now his knees went too high when he peddled. I eventually stopped listening to his complaints and started striking bargains. Today I told him we could go to the park as long as he rode his bike there by sitting on the seat and walking his feet on both sides along the ground. I thought this would be as far as we got today but Jackson gained so much confidence just from his ability to balance with his legs dangling at the sides that he decided to try placing his feet on the pedals once he was coasting. The first time he tried it he took off. I know that riding a bike is a relatively simple skill that we take for granted but to see my little boy accomplish this feat for the first time was the most spectacular and breathtaking event I've witnessed all year. And I didn't even have to resort to the beastly trickery of letting go of the back of the bike seat when the child least expects it causing the child to suspect foul play, look back for reassurance and go crashing to the ground. If any parents reading this have ever done such a thing to their own children just remember that forgiveness first begins with you... dad.

My beloved minivan

I think I've resolved my love/hate struggle with my new minivan. I have a new appreciation for the big hunka metal and it's all thanks to the guy who rear-ended me this morning less than a mile from my house. The boys and I were on our way to school and I was stopped behind a school bus at a 4-way stop amidst children walking to school when the man in the car behind us decided it would be a good time to attend to some papers on his passenger seat. He didn't see the big yellow bus stopped or my shiny new van with the 3 red brake lights on. And apparently he wasn't concerned enough about all the small children around about to start their school day to keep his eyes on the road. He plowed right into the back of us. Fortunately none of us were hurt and he was very nice and apologetic about the entire incident. The damage to the van is minor; there's a dent in the tailgate and a hole in the bumper, all of which his insurance will pay to repair. But I started thinking about what a stupid mistake that guy made and how it doesn't matter how careful of a driver I am, I can still be involved in an accident. So I started feeling really good about our decision to buy one of the safest cars on the market. It may not win me any "cool mom on the block" votes but my new van is starting to give me the warm fuzzies when I think about how it protects my precious cargo.

Would he scold my wrong turn and tell me I was being naughty?

This here is a symbol of my demotion from hip mama to tragically dull matronly figure. Our new Honda Odyssey has stirred up more emotions in me than any car should ever be allowed. On the one hand it's a work of stunning genius with amazing detail paid to (almost) every need and convenience of today's family; on the other hand... well, it's a minivan. The love/hate struggle that I face with this car is just something I'm going to have to learn to embrace since it really is a damn fine automobile. The one complaint I have, other than the obvious negative image it denotes, is the unforgivable lack of automatic locking doors. Our CRV had them and I'm finding it very difficult to adjust to their absence. Just this morning I spent a good chunk of time stuck in the damn car because I couldn't figure out how to open the power sliding doors. This shouldn't be a hard task since Honda has provided me with 3 different ways of opening these doors. You've got the handle on the inside, the button on the key remote or the button inside the car next to the steering wheel. But none of these work if the doors are locked. Of course, this might seem obvious but I had assumed the doors were already unlocked because the Honda CRV, which was far less luxurious, had doors that automatically locked and unlocked when the car was turned on or off. You'd think that the Odyssey, which comes with a user's manual DVD for those of us who can't read I suppose, would include automatic locking doors. No such luck. But at least the heated seats were keeping my ass nice and warm as I struggled to find a way to open the side doors.

We had the option of purchasing the built-in navigation system with the van. Unfortunately you could only get the nav system if you also purchased the built-in DVD player and all this cost a small fortune. We could think of a lot of uses for the navigation but couldn't justify the DVD player. While David and I are all for unnecessary luxuries for ourselves we feel that relative deprivation makes for a healthy childhood for our kids. After all, what's a roadtrip without a game of license plate bingo or my favorite, pick a dirt spot on the side window then bob and weave your head to make it "fly" over trees or telephone wires. I'm not sure what that last one is called but I'm pretty sure my brother made it up during a particularly boring family road trip when we were kids. It's this kind of inventiveness that I don't want to deprive my children of by buying a DVD player for our car. At least that's what we'll tell them when they complain that they are the only kids on the whole block without a DVD player in the car.

Since the idea of a navigation system was already planted in our heads and, clearly the Odyssey was incomplete without one, we bought our own. I was actually a bit hesitant at first. After all, I have a cell phone and a husband who works in front of a computer all day. With one simple phone call to him he could pull up google maps and tell me exactly how to get to my destination. Now after using the new navigation for a few days I'm in love. The object of my affection even has a name: Emily. She speaks with a British accent and tells me exactly when and where to turn. I even find her mispronunciation of some of the Spanish street names around here endearing. If I decide to take my own detour she does not scold me; she simply recalculates the directions and does her bloody best to get me back on track. I need to check the manual to see if Emily has a male counterpart.

It's the small things that cause the most suffering... like M&Ms and unborn babies

I've been tired and grumpy lately. Turns out I don't much like having my body taken over by an incredibly small human that grows at a freakishly rapid rate. Don't get me wrong; I like that the end result of this host/parasite experience is a sweet (please let her be sweet) baby but I wish there was a way to make the whole process more enjoyable. There are women out there who claim to love being pregnant. I don't believe them for a second. They are either lying or heavily medicated. Part of my problem is that I can't have chocolate. There are a few foods that cause heartburn for me during pregnancy: cheese, spicy foods and chocolate. The cheese and spice I can eat in moderation and quell any burning with a glass of milk or a couple of Tums antacids. The chocolate is another story. If I so much as eat one M&M I'm ruined for the rest of the day. Nothing seems to get rid of chocolate induced heartburn. I can only take so many Tums; there are warning labels on those things, you know. The world can be a very cruel place.

Just don't misinterpret our intentions

David recently found this contraption on a website of totally absurd inventions. Now, of course, he wasn't searching out strap-on binkies for babies. What need would we have for such a "devious little device"? We already have one. I don't think the product actually made it into stores. We had to make ours ourselves. I guess it's a good thing we didn't follow our friends' advice and try to patent it. One of the flaws the website mentions is the baby's ability to reach up and take the straps off. Oh, but that won't happen if you get yourself a pair of these pediatric arm immobilizers. Just imagine how much happier that kid would look if he just had a pacifier strapped to his mouth.

Blog brilliance

Today's entry comes courtesy of Heather at dooce.com. I haven't the energy to write anything myself having experienced oxygen depriving fits of laughter while reading her latest story. Enjoy!

Vomit, vasectomies and Vicodin, oh my!

Let's talk about perspective. I had a friend call me about 40 minutes before we were to leave to see a movie together and cancel because her almost 6-year old daughter had thrown up. And I'm thinking, "Uh huh... did it look like pea soup and cause her head to spin 360 degrees because I'm still not getting why you can't go to the movie." And this is where you all start thinking I'm a callous wench for having so little compassion. But it's all about the perspective. See, in this household the demonic possession scenario is not so far from actual experience. Sam is an adorable little 3-year old who, when plagued by any sort of illness, turns into Satan's spawn. So a little upchuck from a mild-mannered kindergartener seems almost reason to celebrate, you know.

Perspective. David had the big snip last week and spent the weekend recovering. I use the term recovering loosely because it wasn't too bad at all. A couple of days taking it easy with a bag of frozen peas between his legs and nothing more than some Advil and beer to take the edge off. He didn't even feel the need to fill the prescription for Vicodin; though we did consider filling it just to be a part of the cool crowd. It seems that everyone has some Vicodin lying around the house. And every so often when one of my mommy friends has a killer headache she'll ask our group of friends if it's safe to take a Vicodin while nursing. Forget nursing... is it safe to take while you're caring for young children? And what the hell are you doing with a prescription of Vicodin lying around anyway? But my point was that David didn't seem to suffer too much. This could have been due to the expertise of the urologist who performed the procedure; he's the same urologist that Sam sees on a regular basis and I picked based on his good looks skill. Okay, so I did pick him based on the fact that he's not entirely unpleasant to look at. This is a doctor that Sam has to see on a regular basis and I'll be damned if I was going to waste another moment with an ugly doc. It's a win-win situation for me and Sam, really; he gets the medical care he needs and I get to stare at the good looking doctor. But back to David's recovery. I'm beginning to wonder if he had an easy time of it because of his perspective. After going through some of the things that we've been through with Sam, swollen black and blue balls are just a minor annoyance.

Some very unrealistic expectations

Did anyone seriously think I'd be able to take it easy this past week? Seriously? Okay, I was able to cut out my thrice weekly exercising. And the militant teachers at Sam's school forbid me from lifting Sam in and out of the car and his wheelchair. I don't miss the physical exertion so much but have always looked forward to that moment when I greet him at school and he lifts his hands to my face while I unbuckle him from his chair; then I pick him up and he smiles and giggles and tells me about his day in his own Sam babble. Then I get my hug. You haven't lived until you get a hug from Sam. Even when he decides after a few minutes that your shoulder would provide some much needed relief for his aching teeth the hug is still more than worth it. So even though I saw the good intention in Sam's teacher alerting all the other teachers, the bus aides, the other parents, and the people who live in the trees that when they saw me drive up to the school they were to remind me to stay put and wait for someone to help with Sam and sound the alarms if I so much as laid a finger on my own child, I still resented the fact that I was missing my favorite hug moments. I suspect Sam was a bit resentful, too, by the way he yelled loudly at the teachers when they lifted him from his chair or carseat. But other than omitting those activities my life still remained fairly active this past week.

I still had high hopes when arriving at the midwife's this morning for my belly measurement. The baby had turned to a vertical position and as long as I held my stomach tight and didn't exhale too deeply I felt I could keep her that way until after the midwife had taken the measurement. Well it worked and I'm measuring right on target for my date. This probably means that my amniotic fluid level is fine which only makes sense since I've been hitting the water hard all week.

I'm glad that everything seems to be just fine because how can a mom to a 6-year old and a child with special needs really take it easy. Seriously.

Changing of the title

You may have noticed that I changed the title of my blog. The former title never really sat right with me and, well, it was quite boring. I decided just to use my old stand-by since it's been working for me for a long time; plus, it's in my blog's URL. The term originates from a poem I wrote as a freshman in college:

Ode to my Muse

emerging I again sense the abyss
Reality haunts Memories taunt
i begin my phantasmagoric jaunt
through a green sea
i paint purple paisleys
with each stroke of my naked arms

i sense a gentle presence
a yellow wave presses over me
as i’m submerged in this forgotten underworld
i inhale the heady water
reassured by your cautious touch
i press my hand into yours
and we penetrate the mysterious water
your words create movement in the water
each resulting current caresses my bare skin
transporting me deeper
and deeper
into our intoxicating world

two minds

green fades to gray
your hand slips from mine
i’ve left the amaranths behind
as I come up for air

I hope you enjoyed the brief poetic interlude. We shall return shortly to our regularly scheduled prosaic blabber.