Friday, October 31, 2008

Snot Nosed Skeleton

Skeleton Baby


She's got a green aura about her.
Glow in the dark onesie!
I never knew skeletons liked green beans so much.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Friday, October 24, 2008

What No One Tells You

There are alot of things about being a mom that no one tells you. Sure, you hear about the lack of sleep, the rotten diapers that will make your eyes water, the inevitable time when your kid throws up in your bed. You also hear about all the wonderful things like the heart-squelching love. But I have discovered, in these past 6 months, that there are ALOT of things no one ever reveals.

For example, no one ever explains how you are supposed to go to the bathroom in a public place when you are laden with a non-walking child, a diaper bag, and a shopping cart cover and when the store prohibits carts being brought into the bathroom (as if you could even fit that gigantic cart through the tiny door frame and hairpin hallway turns!).

So you, being a woman with less than perfect bladder control since you have had a child, will decide it just has to be done, despite the obstacles. You will hang your bag and cart cover on the tiny, practically useless hook. Then you will undo your pants with one hand, holding your non-walking child with the other. Then you will do your business, all the while holding your non-walking (but conveniently squirmy) child in front of you. Then you'll stand up. Here's the hard part: How do you pull your pants back up with only one hand? And if you get that far, then you will really be stuck with the zipping and the buttoning. So you will make the executive decision to leave the stall with your pants undone, saunter over to the changing table where you can safely deposit your child, and then, sans baby, put yourself back together. And if anyone happens to be in the bathroom when you do this, you can comfort yourself by remembering that time when a roomful of strangers saw you naked from the waist down.

After putting yourself back together you will change your baby's diaper with no trouble, because you are quite adept in the changing diaper arena. But when you reach to throw the diaper away you will accidentally knock your cart cover into a puddle of something (surely just water) on the floor. So much for protecting the kid from germs. And finally, you will want to punch your own self in the face when you leave the bathroom, winded and breathing heavily, and see a sign that reads: Family Bathroom Located in the Pharmacy for Your Convenience.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Saturday, October 11, 2008

6 Months

Dear Norah

You are six months old. An entire half year has gone by since your birth. It seems that nearly every woman around me is pregnant and this makes me a little nostalgic for the days when you were a newborn, when you were tiny and wore preemie clothes and did nothing but sleep and eat. Sometimes I hold you like you are supposed to hold new babies-sideways in my arms-and say silly things like “Oh my little newborn! You are my littlest newborn! All you do is sleep and eat and you are smooshy and tiny!” and you, for whatever reason, think this is hilarious. You tolerate me for a few minutes, but then you begin doing your crunches, lifting your head and straining to sit up.

You aren’t my little newborn anymore. You are my big girl who can sit by herself, eat solid food, and has a gigantic personality. Oh, I just love you.

I would like you to take a moment to appreciate the technologically advanced era into which you were born. Back in my day, we didn’t have fancy phones that took video and pictures. We didn’t have online journals for people to spill their junk. In fact, we didn’t even have electricity! (Ok, that last one was a lie). But really, I have never seen a video of myself as a baby. However, I happen to have a few videos of you as a baby, and I would like to share one, so that one day when you are all big and grown up, you can look at this video and see what you were like when you were mostly bald, and toothless, and wore a diaper.

I like that video because it gives an accurate picture of what you are like. You are crazy. And loud. And hilarious. It took everything I had to keep from bursting out in laughter and ruining an otherwise glorious live shot of your vocal cords in action. And, your hair grows straight up from the top of your head.

Norah I just know that one of these days you are going to start crawling, and you aren’t going to give me any warning. You’ll just stick your legs underneath yourself, and start moving. Probably toward the cat because you lo-ooo-ve the cats. I am requesting now, that before you start crawling for the first time, you give me a little warning shriek of some kind, just a little something so that I know I need to prepare myself. When you do these big things, like rolling over for the first time, or sitting by yourself for the first time, and you don’t give me any warning, I get so excited that my heart starts to hurt and my voice turns all squeaky. So, prior to the crawling, let me know. You’re close, you stick your face in the carpet and put your butt in the air and you move forward a little bit, so I know it’s coming soon. (By the way, mobility with your face stuck in the carpet is not the way to go. You really don’t want to have carpet burns on your face when I take pictures of you crawling.)

We are also working on saying “Mama” because jiminy cricket, I am the one that changes all the sweet potato diapers, so I am the one who gets to be named first!

Recently, Norah, we have been spending a lot of time with Jasmine and Garrett and Isaiah, or collectively, the Browns. I need you to know what a good part of our lives they are, because when you are 15 years old and I am (…let me count here…) 37 years old and we are both still alive, it will be in large part because of Jasmine.

I won’t lie to you Norah, being a mama is hard work. The daily cycle of feeding, diapering, playing, napping and starting all over again can really make me feel very disconnected. Like I am all alone in this big world of parenting. That’s pretty silly, given that I have plenty of people here and at home in Roswell who are with me, who love me, and who will help me when I need it. Jasmine reminds me that I am not alone, and by her reminding me of that and by her willingness to help me when I need help, I remember that I can also call your G-Ma or your Gia or your Grammy if I need someone. She reminds me that it is good to stay connected with the people I love, like your Aunts Sara and Audrey and Amie or your Uncles Tristan and Ben. Having a good friend nearby to help keep me grounded and in reality is making me a better mama and I am so very grateful for that.

All my life I have wanted a friend with whom I could really share my life, and because Jasmine and I are in the same life stage, live close to one another, and share some uncanny likenesses, I feel like she and I can share our lives. And part of that involves helping one another raise our kids. She snuggles with you and makes you laugh (dude, you love Jasmine) and I like to give Isaiah the cucumbers from my plate.

Norah, I sincerely hope that when you are big, you will find a friend like Jasmine. She has become priceless to me.

Little girl, you are 16 pounds and 27 inches of pure love. You have started sucking your thumb and holding your ear just like I used to do, and I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. It amazes me, that even though you are only 6 months old, you and I have some similarities. I hope that I can be a woman that you will want to be like.

Monday, October 6, 2008

Status Quo

Facebook has this nifty feature where you can update your status. So your profile can say something like "Sadie is attempting to wrangle the escaped cats while wearing nothing but a filmy negligee" or "Sadie thinks that sweet potatoes are the greatest invention since sliced bread" or "Sadie would really love a Subway sandwich right about now". Recently I have had two status (statuses? statii?) that deserve some clarification.

Saturday- Sadie is cooking and facebooking. What is the world coming to?

I recently found out that I have high cholesterol. After hearing the news I first convinced myself that it was a fluke, that breastfeeding and pregnancy had caused a spike and clearly I was fine. Then I convinced myself that there had been a mistake, and like Jasmine said, I was getting the results for some 56 year old man's tests and he was would get a phone call saying his breastfeeding was going fine.

Sadly, no. I truly have high cholesterol, way too high for a woman my age and in my physical condition (you know, all athletic and muscular and in shape...) so I really do have to make some changes in my diet. THANKS ALOT GENETICS! You have given me sideways growing hair, dark undereye circles and fatty blood. Next time I see you, remind me to kick you in the shin. Gone are the days when I called Ramen noodles and Oreos a well-balanced meal. In the name of Not Having A Heart Attack in 10 Years, I am really trying to eat more veggies and fruits, more whole grains, less red meat, so on and so forth.

Don't let me make you think that I have to go on some kind of tasteless, cardboard diet. In fact, the foods I have been eating the past week are really delicious: Roasted sweet potatoes, baked chicken and wild rice, asparagus, whole grain bread, dark chocolate. I just have to cut back on steaks, burgers, fried foods, whole sticks of butter and heavy whipping cream. Sad, I know.

But the really ironic part of this whole fat blood thing, is this: Last week I was making this huge deal about how I don't like to cook, I hate to cook, the very thought of cooking makes my heart cringe. And you know what! I don't intend to change! I can be a good wife and mother without loving to cook. It is an outdated and sexist system that makes women think they are only worth their skill in the kitchen! And just for that I'm not going to cook anything that takes longer than three minutes to prepare! HAHAHA!

Funny thing is, heart healthy food does not come pre-packaged. So we find ourselves with Saturday's status, when I was standing in the kitchen with a spatula in one hand, typing on facebook with the other.

Monday- Sadie is going to punch the guy behind her if he calls his wife one more mushy name like "angel girl". PUKE.

I was having a homework emergency and needed to use a book that is on hold in the school library. So I trekked all the way to school only to find that the book wasn't actually there. Never one to waste a trip to the library, I sat down at one of the computers to try and wade my way through some statistics homework using the infinite wisdom of Wikipedia. I hate statistics, for the record. I enjoy my major, think psychology is awesome and good and particularly enjoy abnormal psych. But anything having to do with statistics? Death on stale toast. Which is why I intend to use my degree to stay at home and psychologically analyze my children.

So there I was, drowning in z scores and Spearman-Brown split half reliability scores and SEM when the guy behind me answers his cell phone. Annoying enough, since I lost everything I had just read about reliability coefficients in that first ring, but when he answered it with "Hey Angel Girl", I knew it was going to be a rough conversation to live through. He proceeded, talking to his wife in a high pitched love-y voice and called her Baby, SweetFace, and Angel Girl one more time before mercifully ending the conversation.

I contained my simultaneous nausea and rage since he had stopped talking, and was just about to decipher other wonky coefficient when his phone rang again. Again with the Angel Girl. And this disgusting name calling continued until I, in an effort to refrain from reaching behind me and jabbing my finger in his eye socket, updated my facebook status.

Never in my life have I been so sickened by another person's pet names. But it was pretty bad.

Saturday, October 4, 2008


Here's a question.

As a parent, is it inevitable that when you are making choices in how to raise your child you will automatically revert to the way you were raised?

I will wait to expand on that until I hear some feedback.