Cast Your Votes

So my sister emailed me yesterday after my last post and told me that my blog gave her "white ghost lines" when she read it. You know, that trick your eyes play after staring at something bright (or dark) for a while. She said it was hard to read.

So... is this template better? Or should I stick with the black?

Disillusionment

I just took Abigail on a walk. We were strolling along, enjoying the hint of autumn in the air. It's a cloudy day. Leaves are dotting the lawns all around the neighborhood. Lawnmowers are running, kids are walking home from school or playing in their front yards. Fall is lovely now... not the harbinger of doom it becomes in late November with the coming of winter.

We came upon two girls playing in their driveway. As I approached (when they were still out of earshot) I saw one girl swinging a jump rope above her head, making a circle. In my head I chanted, "Helicopter, helicopter, please come down. Helicopter, helicopter, touch the ground. Only if you're wearing the color..." I smiled to myself, glad to see the old games I played are still popular.

As we walked closer, I heard the girl chant, "Helicopter, helicopter, please come down. If you don't I'll shoot you down. Boom. Boom."

Sigh...

At least in the ORIGINAL version, kids had the presence of mind to form an actual RHYME.

I Am That Mom

I will never be as cool - or artistic - or chill - as I would like to be. I am realizing this.

Several factors are working against me.

Namely, the minivan. I should have known it when we bought it - I did know it when we bought it. Minivan=Nerdliness. I am so that mom driving around. When all I had was my Nissan, I used to sneer at slow minivans, lumbering away from stoplights, filling all the spaces in the parking lot at Danada. Now I am one of those. I can't park the dang thing, I can't back it up, and I certainly can't keep the thing going the speed limit. Now everyone passes me on the road. Last night I tried to go to a friend's house for dinner, and I accidentally drove the thing up onto the curb and parked partly on the grass. I didn't realize it until I got out to take Abigail out of the back seat, but I was too frustrated (lazy) to move it. I crossed my fingers and prayed no one would see me, but alas - a woman pulled right up behind me. She got out of her tiny little car, stood there and just watched me curiously, with a bit of knowing judgment in her eyes, as I wrestled the car seat out of the van and limped up to my friend's front door.

My entertainment choices are fighting me, too. Sci-fi is out to get me. I've been tricked into watching a lot more since David came around, and I find myself liking it. (It's like predestination - this inexorable call upon my life. I will be a sci-fi fan... I will...) However, sometimes I rebel. My husband is currently making me watch (sigh) Battlestar Gallactica. (My family probably has no idea the TV show even exists, and I am sure my friends are mocking me right now.) I never thought I'd watch it. Once upon a time, D and I were watching The Office, and Dwight made a comment about Battlestar. Until then, I had never heard of it - but Vid had. He finished Dwight's comment before Dwight did. (I was more than a little concerned that my husband and Dwight had anything at all in common.) However, Battlestar has been recommended to us by more than a few friends - all of whom I respect and trust. We are currently watching Season 2.5 (I think). Edward James Olmos (from Stand and Deliver) is cast as the Admiral. He's a good actor. But so far, I am not impressed. If I didn't think my friends were brilliant and wonderful, and if I didn't trust them as much as I do, I would have abandoned it a season ago. And I am aware of my nerdliness factor increasing.

Finally, biology is working against me. As in (let's be honest, folks), I have very little talent. Only a few things interest me artistically - writing and photography. (I used to sing, but then I married David. I'm more than happy to let that delusion of a hobby go.) Writing creatively doesn't happen as often as I'd like, and really, is rather a disappointment when I do attempt it. I don't honestly have much of an eye for photography - though I'm convinced I could learn, if I had some time - or motivation - or money for a class. And I'm just not one of those Audrey Hepburn types - you know - one of those people with natural style or presence.

I don't say this because I want you to join me in a pity party. Please don't. (And please, Ma, no comments!) Nor do I need encouraging comments from my 5 or 6 readers. Really, that's not what I'm going for. I'm just being honest. Hasn't any one of you ever realized you're not the kind of person you admire? I'm realizing who I am. I know hip, artistic, chill people. I am not one. I'm just a wanna-be. And I think I might be okay with that.

First Day Without Daddy

On Thursday evening Abigail rolled over (back-to-tummy) for the first time. Her accomplishment was met with cheers and applause all around. She was 11.5 weeks old.

This morning, David got up and went to work for the first time in 12 weeks. Yup. Today marks my first "real" day of being a stay-at-home-Mom.

I can't believe how quickly the time went. It's been such a blessing to have David at home, experiencing the first three months of Abigail's life with me. He's been such a help to me. As we've moved from two to one income and started the journey of parenting, we've seen God provide in good ways. We discovered we can happily spend 24 hours a day together (despite the initial weeks of new-parent stress), and we've praised God as he's provided extra income and help from friends to meet our needs. David has been busy with paying gigs, and has received a great deal of encouragement about his music and songwriting efforts.

It's 12:46 PM. I have a big long list of stuff I'd like to do this week (laundry, coffee with a friend, catching up on emails, studying for Bible Study at church, reorganizing some closets, running errands, cooking, etc.). That list in and of itself is sort of a wonder to me. This is my new stage in life: being "busy at home". I'm excited about it. I'm enamored with my little girl, and excited that this new stage means I get to focus on building relationships with people at my church, finding new ways to serve, and of course, caring for and teaching Abigail.

That said, I thought I might mention how today has gone in actuality. For starters, I am still in sweats - spit up covered sweats, to be exact. Abigail has wet through one outfit and is currently asleep in the second (also spit up covered).

(An aside: Remember how I said I liked my cloth diapers? I'm starting to second guess that. I've got the diapers cinched as tightly as they go, and they still leak, despite the fact that they leave little red marks on Abigail's legs. When I put in extra stuffing it seems to help, but then I worry I'm going to give the kid back problems because when she lays down, she's on an incline, with her little butt above her head. That can't be good for bone development. I pinched her leg in the snaps accidentally today and she screamed, which made me feel awful. And I can't even count how many times I've done laundry in the past few weeks. I don't know if it's worth the effort. Maybe I'm not as green as I thought I could be...)

To continue: There are dirty dishes in the kitchen, and a pile of unpaid bills sitting on our coffee table. I haven't written any of the emails I meant to, and the dirty laundry is still sitting in the corner, staring at me. I know I'm not cooking dinner - won't make it to the store today - so we're eating Mac & Cheese tonight. Food of the gods, that.

So David's going to come home and ask me what I did all day. And I'll say,"Fed her, changed her, cleaned her, fed her, changed her, cleaned her, cleaned me, fed her, changed her, made the bed." And he'll just sort of look at me a little dubiously. But that's okay.

Epiphany

There is a difference between tidying and cleaning.

Perhaps you already knew this. Probably I did too, and have just been deluding myself for most of my adult life. I always sort thought - nay - prided myself - that I was someone who liked cleaning, and who kept a clean house.

To my chagrin, I discovered today I do not keep a clean house. I have a tidy house. Tidy is fluffing pillows and picking up David's toys and tossing laundry in the machine. Doing dishes, and when I'm feeling really ambitious, passing a dust cloth over the most obviously dusty pieces of furniture. But see, that's where I was tricked. 30 second dusting jobs are NOT cleaning. Tidying I like. Cleaning I do not.

The grandmother is coming this weekend to see her baby. Today meant extensive dusting, mopping, sweeping, and scrubbing. (Who knew those spots on my kitchen floor could disappear? I thought we just had old linoleum.) The kitchen sink is actually white again. The dust bunnies have been removed from all corners. The rugs are vacuumed. (Again, I just thought they were old...) Heck, I even scooped dead June bugs from my windowsills. All for my mother. Nay, for the Grandmother. For Oma.

I'd like to believe my house was filthy because I have an 11-week old who is sucking up all my attention. (She can grab the butterfly on her play gym and suck her thumb. I am so proud!) But it's not true. I'm just... lazy. I like faking it. Sure, now the house looks great, and I am extremely pleased. Cleaning is delayed gratification. And tidying is all about immediate gratification. Sure, real cleaning = bigger payoff. But tidying is an easy high. And if I keep the lights low, no one knows the difference. Right?

PS Diaper Update

Some of you have asked what happened with the cloth diapers. Here's the skinny:

I like them. They are soft and cuddly, and Abigail doesn't seem to mind the extra fabric between her legs, or the ghetto-bootie they give her. (The diapers make her look like she's wearing a bustle beneath her onesie.) I have not encountered any blowouts, and she isn't getting diaper rash like she was with the disposables.

It was a little hard to find the right fit - I'm still experimenting - and consequently, there are occasionally leaks out the legs. (But I'll take a little tinkle down the leg over poop up the back any day.) I think I've got the legs finally cinched to the correct size. And at night, when she wears them longer, I stuff a microfiber rag (a car wash rag - bought at Target) in the diaper, under the normal insert. It works really well - it's super absorbent.

That's all I got, for now. It's time to go change the Poop-meister, anyway.

Hmmmm

So, David left for rehearsal about an hour ago. I puttered around: called my father, dusted a bit, opened up our webcam thinking I would load it onto the computer, put it down, dusted some more. All with a kid in one arm.

Finally realizing that my left arm was numb from carting Abi-girl around, I placed her under her play gym, figuring she could chat it up with her friend Mr. Cardinal while I checked my email.

She squealed with glee and began batting her toys around, gurgling and babbling loudly. Content, I plopped down on the couch and opened up the laptop. I grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV.

Silence.

I look up from the screen and see my 10 week old's eyes glued to a commercial for Glee. She's been watching TV silently for 10 minutes now.

Should I be worried?

My Rock Star Husband!

Check it out, check it out!

http://decemberadio.com/tour.php?id=80

I'm so proud!!!

On Jeans

In my opinion, jeans shopping is typically a horrible experience. I rank it right up there with bathing suit shopping. Really, they may be equally terrible - and incomparable - seeing as I usually buy jeans in the fall and bathing suits in the late spring. Different seasons, you know? Each terrible in their own way.

Anyway.

I've been wearing my Old Navy maternity jeans since a week after Abigail was born. (The first week it was all sweat pants, all the time. Whoo.) I really liked my maternity jeans throughout my pregnancy, but now that we're nearing the 10-week mark postpartum, I find myself rather tired of them. The panel has torn, leaving a huge hole in the back. I have to roll the panel down, which creates a funny tummy bulge under all my clothes. And they're really loose through the leg. Plus, I mean, come on. They're my pregnant pants. And I'm not pregnant anymore!

Yesterday I got on the scale and found out I only weigh 10 lbs more than my pre-pregnancy weight. Cheered, I was certain that was not enough to merit new jeans, surely. So I hauled my old jeans up from the basement (I had several pairs) and tried them on. But none of them - NOT ONE - could I get around my waist (or even close to my waist, actually).

Sigh.

So yesterday I decided to take the plunge. I fed Abigail, packed her into her car seat, and went jeans shopping. I only had enough time to hit one store, so I stopped by the Gap, banking on Labor Day sales. I was in luck - everything was 25% off.

Long story short - it was both a wonderful and terrible thing. I passed right by my old sizes, right past all the "Skinny" cuts, and started grabbing sizes off the "Curvy" rack. It didn't take very long. (I will spare you the details of what a shock it was to see how exactly my body has changed since childbirth.) I chose a pair 2 sizes larger than my previous size (who knew ten pounds merited a 2-size increase?), which felt rather terrible. But I do like the way they look, which is rather wonderful. I can almost pretend those 10 lbs don't exist.

Ah, vanity.

The Great Diaper Experiment

The Great Diaper Experiment starts today.

Before Abigail was born, I decided that I wanted to use cloth diapers. My reasons were twofold. One, I wanted to save money. Two, I thought it might be better than throwing away thousands of diapers over the next two years.

I talked to my sister-in-law, R, and decided to purchase some Fuzzibunz. I liked their name, and I thought they looked fairly easy to use.

But here's the thing. You can't start a newborn on cloth diapers. They're too small. Those little legs aren't chubby enough for the elastic. And who, pray tell, wants to do extra laundry in those first 6 weeks postpartum? Not I.

So we started off with disposable diapers. As we hit the two month/10 lb mark, I found myself saying at each diaper change, "I really ought to start using the cloth diapers." Only, I never did.
I never knew how dependent I was on disposable diapers. They're so great in so many ways. They start out small and puff up when they're full, so you know, without having to smell (a huge plus with my faulty nose) or stick a finger in a leg hole to check. Heck, the swanky disposable diapers even have a little yellow stripe down the front that turns green when the diaper is wet. Wow! What's not to love? I couldn't let them go.

Until today. I bit the bullet. I cinched and snapped a VERY large cloth diaper on my VERY skinny kid, and am awaiting the results. There are gaps and puckers, despite my attempt to make it as small as possible. I am expecting leaks. And mess. Not due to the diaper, perhaps, but to how skinny my kid is. I would really LIKE to be able to use the diapers. Who doesn't like saving money? And I have to admit, I really will feel better about myself as a human being if I am not creating so much waste. But if she's too skinny, disposables it will be.

And it sounds like Abigail is filling her diaper right now. So I guess I'll have my answer momentarily.