Say cheeeese...

The baby girl had her first "professional" picture taken today!

And yes, I am still using Chuck E Cheese for all of our formal photographs.

She was smiling and laughing the entire time we were there. So take that *insert name here* portrait studio chain! No waiting, no uncomfortable posing, no fake smiling, no 150 portraits package that ends up in a drawer, and no tantrums. Never at Chuck's!

Too much pressure

My poor blog. My poor, neglected and lonely blog. This is the third one I have begun and abandoned and I have been trying to understand why that is so. I could use the excuse of no time to write but that would be a lie. Yes, I am busy like all moms are, but I seem to have enough time to manage my virtual farm on Facebook and update the masses with my status many times a week. Have I lost my passion for writing? Not likely. I have been writing creatively since I was a child. My mother loves to tell the story of how she discovered my hidden diary and in true mom fashion read it. I had written a story about ten diary pages long, about a road trip I took to go and discover myself in New York. It was an exciting and romantic story of a group of friends and their cross country adventures along the way, including details of my relationship with my boyfriend. Did I mention I was eight when I wrote this story? Needless to say my mom was less enthused about my talent as a writer and more worried that I had written such an adult tale.
I also remember writing and illustrating a children's story about an outer space alien named Fuzzy. Or maybe it was Fuzzo. Either way nothing ever became of that and a few years later my mom saw a similar toy being sold in the stores, which pretty much sums up a lot of my life. I spent countless hours in my room writing really bad rhymes that eventually turned into some decent poetry. When I was fifteen, I even added "write a book before I turn 40" to my list of lifetime goals as motivation for me to keep writing. I have always loved putting my thoughts onto paper and somewhere in my last year of high school, I met a teacher who also enjoyed what I had to say. It was my advanced placement English teacher, Mr Pedersen, who wrote on paper after paper that he really enjoyed my writing and his only complaint was that I was not in class enough for him to read more. I felt validated and I wondered if I could get further validation by publishing my words.
This is when the pursuit of my first approval letter began. There was no Internet at the time so I began researching writing magazines and do it yourself publishing books. They all said something different; write a chapter and then send that in, or don't send a chapter in but instead describe your idea for your book in 250 words or less, or even don't send anything at all and just explain the genre you would like to write in and what your background is in that genre. Some said take a writing course, some said get a degree, some said enter contests, and all of them said expect rejection.
And I believe this is where I got off the publishing your first novel train. I am not and never have been a big fan of rejection and from what I was reading I should expect to be rejected many, many, many times before anyone would even consider me as a serious author. Over the years I have had many people tell me that they enjoy my writing and I appreciate the applause. Many have also suggested that I write that book. But I think the pressure of producing and the fear of being told my writing sucked, kept me from allowing my passion to turn into something larger. What if all those people were wrong and I really had no ability? What if no one enjoyed what I wrote? I believe it is these same fears that have kept me from being an active blogger. By focusing on becoming a published writer I sucked out all the joy I got from writing in the first place. And by focusing on what everyone else thinks I have come to dislike the practice of blogging. But that was then.
Like I wrote in my introduction, I write to unclutter my mind. Writing has allowed me to process my past and subsequently move on to my present. It has given me an outlet for feelings too big or scary to speak out loud and it has given me a written record of how far I have come in life. I have written for my husband who loves everything I write and I have written for my family. Most everything else I have written was to make myself laugh or cry or think. I will always write and I will always love it whether anyone ever reads a single word of it again. And rather than end like Captain Ahab, I am waving goodbye and Godspeed to my white whale. Life is too short to be creating my own obstacles.

Busy, busy!

I keep meaning to log on and write something down, but lately I have been in remodeling hell. Well, it isn't really hell, more like remodeling purgatory. I am beginning to enjoy the results but the work has been exhausting, and I never even touched a hammer. I guess I really had no idea what I was getting myself into when my husband and I agreed to begin working on our house this past December. Getting the windows and doors done was not too bad, except the guy could only come on the weekends when the breadwinner was working so that left me to struggle with a preschooler who hates loud noises and a baby who needed to nap, while the door guy was carving a massive hole in our living room to install new french doors. But we managed. Having no master bath for a month was a little harder, since we have the only shower in the house and I hate baths. I can never understand how people lie about in their own filth and actually enjoy it. And as a little FYI, whatever amount of time a contractor tells you something is going to take, go ahead and multiple that by four and that will give you a better estimate of the time frame for your project.
The kitchen has been the most difficult remodel to live through, especially with a baby who would really like to scoot herself into the barren and very dirty box which was once a kitchen. But at least because we decided to dive into it, we were lucky? unlucky? enough to discover a burst pipe behind the wall, and homeowners insurance subsequently paid for half of our remodel. Too bad it didn't pay for all but any money was really a big blessing to us since we had totally intended to pay for it all ourselves.
Yes, remodeling the kitchen while you are still living in your home, can be pretty tricky. Having all of your food, utensils, plates, microwave, coffeemaker, and refrigerator jammed into a small playroom and washing dishes in the bathroom sink is not for the faint of heart. It was a major challenge, one that I questioned at least twenty times a day while mixing up a baby bottle in the bathroom and trying to squeeze between the computer and the old kitchen table to locate a paper plate. I honestly did not care how many trees suffered for my kitchen to be redone. I was not going to be washing filthy food filled plates in the bathtub as the lady at the cabinet store explained to me that she herself had done when she had remodeled her kitchen.
But the suffering was worth it. I hated our old kitchen, mainly because it was old. But it also had these horrible soffits that made it seem even smaller than it was, and it lacked anything attractive in it save for my husband who spent a lot of time there washing dishes.
The kitchen is about 99% done. Just a few touch ups, a little bit of paint, and then we move everything back in and the little guy can have his beloved playroom back. Of course, while we were fixing up the bath and kitchen, I thought it would be a good idea to also tackle the living room and the bedrooms. That required many, many trips into town to buy new furniture, drapes, paint, carpeting, rugs, televisions, the list goes on, and we are still not done with the living room. And then we had to pick out all the materials to create our new spaces. Who knew I would need to look at so many squares of tile, slabs of granite, and every fixture under the sun. I think I can accurately inform customers of where most things are located inside not one but two separate Lowe's and Home Depot stores.
I have spent a little bit of time reflecting on this experience. Some of it has been fun and some of it has been insanely stressful. I am actually a bit surprised that I am writing this as a still married woman. I thought for sure the arguing over every detail would be the end of my marriage. And it is difficult to come to a decision when buying anything permanently affixed to your home, when you know that one wrong choice will either cost you a pretty penny to replace or will lead to many years of suffering the consequences of your bad taste. My husband and I questioned and requestioned and requestioned again just about every choice we made. We both finally realized that if we like it then who cares what anyone else thinks? And the poor kids! They really deserve a trip to Disneyland for enduring day long shopping trips at least once per week sometimes twice, since January.
I am very happy with the results of all the worker guys (the little man's name for the people who made my happiness possible) labor, but I don't think we are done yet. It is a frightening thought, but my sweet husband thinks we should turn the garage into a giant playroom for the kids so we can reclaim some room in this small house. I think it's a great idea, but I also want to add another bedroom on so that each kid can have their own space and I also have visions of the back porch being completely encased with large windows, and in the center a large rustic dining table for summer meals, and a door leading into a beautiful enclosed flower garden complete with benches and a large koi pond. Sounds relaxing doesn't it?
Then of course we still need to fix all the dry rot that surrounds the eaves of our home, blow insulation into the attic, strip the peeling paint and repaint the entire outside of the house. Oh and add new rain gutters. Now I know why some people choose to never own homes. Or why they forego the fixer uppers and pay extra to have a brand new home. I guess we could wait out the crazy real estate market and just buy a new bigger place in a few years, but then what would I do with all my time?

Who does this?

I had heard that it happens when you least expect it. They lurk in the dark corners of strip malls and fast food joints, just waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mother. You know what I am talking about, robomoms!!! These moms, who seem to have about enough human emotion to nurture a rock, are always on the hunt looking to compare their child to yours. I never really believed that they existed until this past week.
I was having a lovely day out shopping with my little family. The sun was shining, the kids were behaving, and I had somehow just convinced my husband that we needed to spend $400 on new curtains for the living room. I was feeling really good. Apparently that is when robomoms like to make their move!
A woman who I have never met, made her way into the store. She was pushing a cart with what appeared to be a sleeping baby. I was in the check out line, smiling from ear to ear as the clerk rang up my beautiful new curtains. My husband was looking a little pale as he watched the total continue to rise. I was talking to the little man about the Snuggie blanket he had noticed on sale and cooing at my baby.
The woman casually said, "Your baby is adorable," as she passed by.
"Thank you" I said.
I couldn't really say the same to her because her little package was covered almost completely with a blanket, despite the fact that it was fairly warm outside.
Her husband got in another line to make a return and she placed her cart and sleeping robobaby in between the two lines.
Then she asked how old my daughter was.
"Eight months," I said.
"Oh," she replied. "Mine is nine months."
Then she asked, "Is she saying any words?"
Um, does oooooo, gaaaa, ooo, baaaa, bleeeeeeh, count?
"No, she's not talking."
She's eight freaking months old, I thought to myself!
She just figured out that she can use her arms to turn herself over and that mommy really does not like it when she pulls the tabs loose on her diaper right after she's put them on. Do you really think she is going to be having conversations?
The woman beamed a proud smile at her sleeping infant and said, "My daughter says four words."
"Really?" I replied. She couldn't prove it. I had to take her at her word since her baby was in la-la land.
"Well. My son didn't say anything until he was almost eleven months so I'm sure she will be a late talker too, " I stuttered.
I wanted to tell her to not be so eager for the little thing to talk. I prayed for my son to speak every day until he turned two and then he started speaking in full sentences and now he never shuts up. He speaks so much he now knows that I often tune him out. After every monologue he asks me, "Now, what did I say?" I'm sure he learned this particular line from me.
"Does she have any teeth?" Robomom was talking at me again.
"No."
Now I was feeling more defensive.
"My son didn't get any teeth until he was ten months old and I believe that is hereditary so I am not expecting any for a while." So there.
"Robomom smiled at me this time, "My baby has six teeth already."
I wanted to roll my eyes and say, Wow! You better call up Harvard and get that girl enrolled!! They would be lucky to have her!
But I sheepishly said, "Oh."
Robomom, having satisfied her hunger for making other moms feel small, turned and pushed her cart over to where her husband stood in line.
I helped my very pale from just having paid the bill husband load up our purchases into the cart and we both sulked out to the car with the little man trailing behind.
This whole scene bothered me for hours and I really try not to let stuff like that get to me. I think it was the way she was so belligerent in her asking. She purposely asked me about my daughter first before she divulged anything about her own. I don't even know if she really had a daughter since I never saw it move. For all I know she was a loony with one of those Reborn dolls, out looking to harass sleep deprived mothers of real children.
I really don't care about time lines. I did with my son. He was late getting teeth, crawling, and talking. I wasted a lot of precious time worrying for nothing. He got four teeth between ten and eleven months, he crawled at ten months, walked at a year, and spoke with a huge vocabulary at two years. He might not have done everything at the same time as the other babies, but he did eventually do them. And I know the baby girl will too! In her own time.
Her lack of desire to crawl only means I can wait on baby proofing the house again, something I am not entirely looking forward to doing. And really, with all the talking going on between my son and me, she won't be able to get a word in for a long time to come.
And the next time I run into a Robomom I am going to beat her to the punch! "Yes, my daughter speaks," I will say. "In fact, she's reciting one of her poems on open mike night at Javawava this week. Come check it out."

And you are...?

I learned to swim when I was only a few years old. After my beginner class one day, I got out of the shallow end of the pool, walked directly to the deep end, climbed the ladder to the diving board, and did my best jump into the water. My parents stared in disbelief as I resurfaced from under the water and then proceeded to doggie paddle to the shallow end with a big smile on my face. In the years that followed, I would see that same look on their faces many times as I somersaulted on a balance beam, swung around the uneven parallel bars, and vaulted into a pile of foam. As a child, I was fearless.

Fast forward to last week. I casually mentioned to my son, who will be five in less than a month, that we would begin swim lessons this summer. Both his cousin and his grandparents have ponds. And the pond at his grandparents is large enough to use a boat for fishing in it. We spend many days there in the summer and I believe as he gets older he will be spending more time swimming at the pond with just his cousins. Not to mention that his dad and I just plain love to be in, on, or near water as often as possible. So the little guy needs to be able to be around water safely too.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the little man began to cry. Not one of those fake, I am tantrumming and I am here to make your life miserable kind of cries, but a wail really, complete with tears streaming down his face. After finally calming him down a good twenty minutes later, I was able to ascertain why he was crying. He is afraid of drowning. Or I should say, he believes the swim teacher is going to force his head under the water, which will then cause him to swallow massive amounts of it, and this in turn will make him drown. I explained that I would never take him to a place where they would allow that, because it would be much cheaper to do that myself, but the only way I could get him to stop crying was to promise that I would not make him take the lessons until he is ready.

When my son was younger I did see some signs that he had begun to have many fears. When most kids were scared of monsters in their closets the kid was saying that Jesus could not protect him from bad guys at night because he was only a guy and that I could not either since I didn't have a gun like dad. When we went to Disneyland he rode the Pirates of the Caribbean twice. When we asked if he wanted to ride it again the next day he said no. Was he scared of the creepy pirates and skeletons? No, he said. Those were not real. Was he scared because it got so dark during part of the ride? Darkness just meant we could not see the sun, he said. No, he was scared of the big wave that tossed over you in the dark. Wave? We tried to explain that it was just the boat going a little further down into the ride. But there was no convincing him. He felt the water on his face so that meant that a wave was towering over him. I don't understand why at one time he enjoyed the Rockets, Dumbo and Soaring Over California but he no longer does. All he can say is that they go high and he no longer wants to ride them. In fact, his new favorite ride at Disneyland is the carousel. That's right. The little wooden horses that go round and round and that he refused to ride alone until he was four years old. That, and the train.

He also has fears about learning to ride a bike, hanging from the monkey bars, skiing and flying in an airplane, to name a few. I believe the little guy might even have a fear of the number thirteen since he always skips it when he counts. We assumed he also had a fear of sledding since last year we had to bribe him to go with us. But then this year he sledded down the hill at his grandparents house and insisted on going alone. We thought he had been cured of this fear but turns out it was just a momentary lapse of good judgement. When it snowed at our house recently I tried to get him to sled on my lap and he would have none of it. So, I sledded alone. Hey no one's going to ruin my fearless fun. He can pass up on all the scary experiences he wants to pass up but I won't sit them out just because he chooses to do so.

I am not too worried about these new fears he has developed. It hasn't stopped him from participating in any activities with his friends, yet. I hold the hope that he will outgrow at least some of the more irrational ones. In the meantime, if he wants to wear a life jacket to swim until he's 10 and he has no issues with it, then neither do I. Bike riding, flying in a plane, and Disneyland can wait until he's older too. We don't even have a paved driveway for him to learn to ride a bike on anyway. The one thing that does occasionally bum me out is that he is really afraid of roller coasters. He's only ever been on a kiddie coaster but he has no desire to ever ride a big coaster. And his dad and I love them. We have even talked about traveling to other states just so we can try out some of the roller coasters we have seen on those travel shows. But if you even mention the word roller coaster the look of fear in his eyes is enough to break your heart.

I love my kids and I knew that becoming a parent would mean many sacrifices. I have seen parents at amusement parks practically forcing their children to ride roller coasters with them. Their kids are often in tears begging the parents to let them sit the ride out. But these parents will not have it. They tell the child that everyone else wants to ride so they will too. I don't really understand the logic but who am I to judge them? I just know I will never be one of those parents. My son has his own brand of fun and if that doesn't include riding coasters than so be it. My husband and I have no issue taking turns riding alone while one of us waits with the kids. It is actually a bit more exhilarating riding that way. And people seem to look at you with admiration. Who could be so brazen as to ride this spine tingling 82 miles per hour thrill ride with a 90 degree drop all by themselves? Like I said, no one's going to ruin my fun.

Frequent Philanthropy Friday

I have decided to change my Friday theme. It will now be known as Frequent Philanthropy Fridays. I mean, who are we kidding here. I am a lazy person and writing is no exception. I cannot be expected to write every single Friday. Why do you think I gave myself until 40 to write a book? I set that deadline when I was 15! No really. I know I have two kids and my husband works weird hours and I feel like a single mom half the time, but none of that is an excuse for the dishes that don't get done, the washed clothes that don't get put away, and the dinners that do not get made. Unless you count cereal. I do slice the bananas! Anyway, the really real truth is that I am a sloth. Seriously. Ask my husband. I do pick up my clothes and make the bed and things like that. I'm not a slob. I am just a little more laid back than some. Most. Whatever. At least I admit it and admitting it is the first step to fixing it, right?
So I plan on occasionally, excuse me, frequently, telling you about a charity or organization that I give to, love, etc on Fridays. Frequent Philanthropy Fridays. But not this one. Happy Friday!

(FYI: Seeing as how I am almost 38, my new deadline for writing a book is 50. I just found out that my magnificent and extremely original idea for a book was recently done by someone else. Obviously, someone less lazy than me. Makes sense. And the reviews were exactly what I had expected, "this is such a new take on this", "he really made me understand what he has gone through", "so different from all the other books I have read on this subject, and that's a lot of books", blah, blah, blah!)