Chasing Sydney

The Pact

2006-11-24T02:47:00.000-08:00

Laura, Lindsay and I made a pact that we would simultaneously update our long forgotten blogs this week....Lindsay probably will, if she's not too busy Papier Mache-ing a Santa or something. Laura probably won't because Law School is very important....and we made our pact at the bar on Wednesday night. Laura was last seen inches away from revisiting an old "flame".

So anyways...this is my update. Bye.

Sydney Phone Home by Aunt Kiki

2006-07-12T13:04:00.000-07:00

The woman has done it! Done it I say! Elyse passed her nursing boards and she is now a registered nurse in the state of Washington!! Due to her busy schedule, I will be updating on Sydney, Elyse and the family has they swing and swift with life and bend and stretch to accommodate Elyse’s long commute to work.

As I can only boast, at the age of 22 months, Sydney’s vocabulary is stellar. The kid is a walking, talking baby dictionary. She will repeat anything you say (which means Kiki has to clean her mouth) and she is all about singing songs, from nursery rhymes to Tim McGraw. Books are huge in…her book, along with car rides, wagon rides and the double-trouble twin boys that live next door, Sonny and Tom.

Talking on the phone is the new big thing. Before, the phone was merely something distracting her mother from playing with her. Now, voices come out of it and more often than not, it’s Kiki on the other end. Sydney’s now old enough to answer me when I ask her what she’s doing, though it’s usually a one word answer, like “book” or “Caillou.” I can see that, in the not so distant future, she and I will be ringing up phone bills like her mother and I do.

Elyse and I have the same cell phone. They are often sitting next to each other on the coffee table when I visit. Sydney has discovered how to tell them apart. The pictures on the inside. Elyse’s phone opens to a picture of Sydney in a cute blue sweater. My phone opens to the picture posted above. They are both of her, but Sydney knows which is which. Smart gal. And as you can tell, Elyse and I are huge fans of the picture phone, which also records 15 seconds of video. Fabulous and dangerous at the same time, much like Sydney.

Cone Cup by Aunt Kiki

2006-06-22T16:01:00.000-07:00

Last Friday I ventured to the island to spend the weekend with Elyse and Sydney. In the weeks since I had last seen Sydney she had grown from calling me Kiki, to calling me by my full first name, Kendrah. (Yes, she's a genius). She was sporting a runny nose, a hellacious cough and the worst slept-deprived attitude EVER! On the second day, after a full night sleep and a long nap, Sydney was back to her old self- giggling, mischievous and clogging around in her best high heels (mind you, the heels were solely accompanied by an Elmo diaper).

Later that night, after dinner, Elyse offered Sydney a scoop of ice cream on a cone. Having never experienced such a thing- Sydney, in a bliss of ignorance, licked away at the fruity, white ice cream. I watched her slurp and drool until her tongue and lips could no longer reach the yummy at the bottom on the cone. She smashed the cone against her face a time or two in an effort to reach more of the sweet treat, but to no avail. I told her, "Take a bite, bite the cone." She looked at me perplexed. I was asking her to bite the bowl, the cup- she couldn't possibly do that! I took the cone from her and nibbled a small bite. "See, it's a cookie. Take a bite of the cookie." I handed the cone back to her and she stared at it for a minute, looking down into the pit of the crispy little cup. Hmmm.

She did take a bite. A small, petite, baby bite. She chewed, swallowed and then turned to me with a look of utter fascination. She couldn't believe it! A cookie and ice cream, all in one! Needless to say the cone disappeared in 3 shakes of a lambs tail, leaving only a mustache of ice cream behind. I wish you could have seen her face. I wish you could have witnessed that small moment of discovery. I felt so honored. I had offered up to her one of the most fabulous discoveries ever in childhood- the ice cream cone. I will never look at a wafer, waffle or sugar cone quite the same again.

Ummmm.....yeah, LOSER!!!!

2006-06-09T21:51:00.000-07:00

Ok...so all 3.25 of you that read my blog previously, have I'm sure, given up due to my serious lack of....anything. I'm a loser blogger. BUT...but....K found this site www.amalah.com that is the best thing I have ever read. It's funny and saracastic...it's my life in someone else's words!
I swear I haven't given up, once I pass my Nursing boards and become an actual RN, I can relax and get back to the real world. For now, I have to get back to studying. My livelyhood depends on my ability to how to make an emergency trach tube from duct tape and a juice box straw! I'm out!

"It's not you, you're lovely!"

2006-05-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

My friend K and I LOVE Bridget Jones. When the movie came out, I think my Mom recommended that we rent it and we were big time hooked. (BTW, if you've read her blog you'll appreciate the fact that we tend to do nothing halfway.) We even went through a phase in which we only corresponded with each other using Bridget like language in our emails. Every message was peppered with words like "wanka" and "bloody hell", and the more we wrote the better we became at perfecting our written British accents.
A couple months ago K read through some of our old emails and sent them to me. I printed them off and shoved them into my school notebook as I hurried to class. Yesterday, as I was cleaning out my papers, I came across them again. What struck me was not the pure silliness of our obsession or the humor of our jokes, but what I saw when I read between the lines. Emerging from the deep cover of british fluff is the history of a friendship. "Wankas" become purveyors of heartache and frustration, a lonely night at home translates to certain spinsterhood, and all can be cured with vodka and Chaka Khan.
When my boyfriend broke up with me a few years ago, I cried for a day and then, well.....hell hath no fury like a Bridget scorned:
From K:
"Am appalled by blatant sacking by fickwit boyfriend. Suggest ex-boyfiend sick, not fabulous friend with great hair. Will perservere, will develop innner poise and authority and sense of self as a woman of substance, complte without boyfriend, as best way to find Mr. Right.
You will:
Experience life as a singleton, pulling out all stops.
Become extremely flirtatious and slutty.
Remind oneself of worth and beauty.

You will not:
Cry over fuckwit ex-boyfriend
Wish eveil on said fuckwit, instead feel sorry for him.
Eat entire contents of one's fridge.

Reply:
Will:
Become fun and fearless cosmo girl.
Be sickly sweet to aformentioned fuckwit.
Shamelessly flaunt newly acquired single status.

Will not:
Sit in room and cry.
Give fuckwit any reason to talk bad of me.
Listen to easy listening for the over-thirties, but will instead choose cheesy ballads of female power!

If you haven't read or seen Bridget Jones, then you won't think this is funny, and may not even get it. But underneath the accent, K and I found a way to celebrate each other's fabulousness. Turning a bad situation into a joke has always been our specialty no matter what!

Ooouuuuuuuuuuuuut!

2006-04-26T09:48:00.000-07:00

*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.

The School of Toddler

2006-04-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

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'..."

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

2006-04-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

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.

Cinderella in a Suit

2006-04-18T08:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Sleep, sweet sleep.

2006-04-10T10:16:00.000-07:00

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!

Lessons From Baby Maddy

2006-04-04T13:58:00.000-07:00

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.

The Gift of Youth

2006-03-30T10:20:00.000-08:00

Everyone has their AHA moments right? (Isn't that what Oprah says?) Well, I didn't expect mine to come while I was talking on the phone to my best friend, eating oreo smothered cake for breakfast. But there I was, shoving my face and complaining about how I can never find anything on the net about young, but not teen, Moms. Being 25, I'm caught in a Mommy limbo. I'm not old enough for the play groups that 30ish Moms put on to meet the FDA recommended quota of child-on-child interaction, but I'm hardly a teen Mom in need of brochures on planned parenthood and 10 Reasons Babies Can't Have Hot Dogs. Nope, society has deemed me capable by some ambiguous and invisible set of standards, and turned me loose with a Mommy seal of approval.

In the beginning, I read all the books about parenting. But always in the back of my mind I felt like these books weren't really written for me. There were no chapters titled, "College and Babies: How to do it all" or "Why it's ok to do things for yourself sometimes." Instead, these well meaning books have 100 page chapters devoted to babyproofing your home. I may be young and naive, but can't all that be boiled down to, "Watch your child. Teach them what they can and cannot touch. Don't eat bugs, don't drink toilet water, say no-no to bleach. Good luck." When did parenthood become "freakouthood"? I guess that's a whole other chapter.

My point in beginning this blog is simple. I am a young parent. With makeup that hides dark circles, a confident smile, and really great shoes, I have convinced society that I can have it all. In reality, I feel like a big kid telling a little kid what to do. How can I say no more jelly beans, when I had chocolate cake for breakfast? However, I am also a great parent. Our life is relaxed. We go to Starbucks and eat pumpkin loaf. We lay in the grass and watch grasshoppers. We dress up in skirts and ponytails. I remember what it was like to be a kid, and that is my special blessing.