Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Ooouuuuuuuuuuuuut!

*Sigh* So this is a good illustration of why Daddy doesn't need to stay out until 2am. Because the next day, when he makes a hungover stop at Starbucks, I get stuck in the car with sweetie pie turned spawn of Sadaam. Of course it didn't help that I was laughing and taking her picture....tee hee. Next time Mom is going out until 2am....and she might not come back.

Monday, April 24, 2006

The School of Toddler

Lesson #1: Cereal
Cereal is really good. Cereal is even better when you perform the following ritual before consuming: 1. Dump cereal out of bowl or cup. Wait for Mom to notice. Grab for it maniacally like candy out of a pinata. Run away laughing. 2. Hide and watch Mom clean it up. Right as she's about to put the last kernel in the bowl, swoop in and kick the cup. Laugh and run away. 3. Go play in your room because that's where you were about to be jailed anyway.
FYI- Cereal is excellent when coated with a fine film of carpet fuzz and slobber.

Tune in next week for Lesson #2 " When Dad has too many 'Sodas'..."

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Yay Me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is just a mini blog note because I'm soooooooo happy! I found out yesterday I got my DREAM job at Seattle Children's Hospital. Goodbye Helena...Helllloooooo Seattle my first true love.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Cinderella in a Suit

Growing up, I had this inches-thick volume of fairytales that I would pour over at bedtime. Cinderella, Rapunzel, The Princess and The Pea, and dozens of other delicate maidens danced in my dreams to strains of "Someday my prince will come." My sister and I spent countless hours garbing ourselves in my mom's old dresses and sensible pumps, transforming them into ball gowns and ruby slippers. Chiseled princes rescued us from all manner of predicaments, and we rode happily into the sunset. * Insert screeching sound* Get real, right?!

My Prince has come... in a 68 dodge dart with rust on the fender. My ball gown turned into jeans and a fleece with snot on the sleeve. And my ruby slippers, well, those are still fabulous. What happened to my fairytale? Where is my Pretty Woman leaning on a fire escape moment? When will someone write our story in a Notebook?! Why do I care?

As twenty-something women of this millenium, we are supposed to subscribe to a new set of beliefs. Not only are we supposed to be the smart, independent, anti- Cinderella, but we are supposed to be demure, sweet, mothers and wives. We're supposed to do, have, and be all....with a smile. Well, the lady doth protest! Of course I would like to be a fabulous cook, a perfect mother, an amazing nurse, the best girlfriend, a great friend, a good daughter, etc.... But when would I go to the bathroom? Where in this plan can I read People magazine and eat chocolate cake out of the box (oh by the way, you have to look perfect too)?

Where did all these pressures come from and how do we rise above? I don't have the answers, but I do know that awareness of the problem can start the process.
My best friend K, whose is single, beautiful, and fabulous, sometimes talks about how her life is missing something. She thought that by 26 her life would have more, be "better". Reading between the lines, I guess that means chiseled prince, two kids and a dog. I remember thinking the same thing when I was single, dreaming about Mr. Right while Mr. Last Night drooled on my Pottery Barn pillowcase. Well, Mr. Right turned out to have a few chinks in his armor.
We always think that the other side has it better. I envision K in sparkly party clothes sipping cool, silvery martinis....she imagines me singing idyllic lullabyes with Sydney cuddled close. What neither of us sees is that K's heel is broken and Syd has boogers in her nose.

Life happens, and rarely as we imagine it will. Life is not to blame, it is our unfulfilled expectations that are to blame. If we give ourselves permission to cook Hamburger Helper instead of Chicken Cordon Bleu, use Elmo as a babysitter, screen our phone calls, read internet gossip at work, or spend $200 on "so-not-sensible" shoes....we live our life as we choose to live it, instead of how society would live it for us.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Sleep, sweet sleep.

My Mom told me, when I was born, that if someone had offered her a brand new Mercedes or a full night of sleep, she would have taken the sleep. A mom with children of any age can relate to this, don't you think? If it's not newborn wakefulness, it's teething, colds, hunger, growth spurts, or just a mad hankering to watch Teletubbies at 2:13am. Then when that passes, I'm sure it's "Mom, I wet the bed...I need a cookie, a drink of water, why do you and Dad get to stay up?" Pretty soon, you think you're in the clear and you find yourself anxiously waiting for your high school aged child to arrive safely at home after a party or dance. I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel....and I'm so tired!!!

Sometimes I just lose it. I have been fairly able to sacrifice just about anything for my precious Sydney. I have even left the house without makeup a time or two. But I miss my sleep. I fantasize about what it would be like to sleep until 10 am, or wake up when I want to. I've had visions of fluffy white beds surrounded by billowing scarves, gently blowing in a soft beachy breeze. And horror of all horrors, I've caught myself getting excited about all the sleeping in I'll get to do when Derek and I go on a honeymoon. It's getting out of hand.

Of course, I'm exaggerating. There have been more and more uninterrupted nights of bliss. But it's that tiny fear niggling in the back of my mind each night, mocking me, saying "Don't get too comfortable!" That is what I can't wait to be free from!

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Lessons From Baby Maddy

Let today be know as "The Day That Sealed The Deal." I am not ready to have another child. Not that there was any doubt in my mind.

When my friend Kelsey asked me to watch Baby Maddy, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I'm a smart girl. Organized, prepared for a variety of situations, skilled at making lemonade from lemons. Or so I thought. Enter Maddy.

Last night I lay in bed wondering what today would bring. I let my mind wander, envisioning a sweetly calm day. Baby Maddy would arrive, Sydney would get excited and pat her lovingly on the head. We would spend the next couple hours entertaining Maddy in the living room, making faces, smiling, cooing....all those baby-friendly gestures. Then, as we bade Maddy farewell, Sydney would pucker her rosy pink lips and kiss Maddy a delicate goodbye. It was all so soft and pink in my head, and I convienently ingnored those pesky dark thoughts tugging at my concious saying, " What if Sydney pokes her in the eye, or feeds her a raisin?" No, that would not happen.
So as you clairvoyant, realistic people probably can predict, I was sooooooooo not ready to be acquainted with the mini-muffin smashing, coffee table climbing, pacifier stealing imp that my beloved Sydney became. How did I not see this coming?
As soon as I scooped Maddy out of her baby carrier Sydney was on the move. Having taken stock of the situation, noting the convienent fact that my arms were full and therefore useless, she scaled the TV table and dropped swiftly down into the "Land of cords and choking hazards." This was going to be interesting. Next on the agenda: Operation Pacifier Extraction. Sydney spent a good half hour trying to (in her "sneaky" 18 month old way) make Maddy's pacifier her own. The operation was thwarted when Baby Maddy had a poo explosion, startling Sydney, who watched with great awe as a changed Maddy's teeny weeny diaper. The day wasn't a total bust. Sydney was very interested in giving Maddy copious amounts of kisses, usually follwed by a curious finger up the nose, but kisses nonetheless.
Eventually my sister showed up and packed Syd off to the grocery store with the promise of Gummy Lifesavers to be had. I plopped myself into a chair and surfed channels, half watching, half remembering why I'm glad that I just have Sydney. My devilish, darling, bundle of crumbs and goo. She's the best.
Besides, babies are boring.