Contemplating mortality. Travels. And other things.

Well, friends, it's been a long wired-less week. TM and I were in Savannah with my family for a couple of reasons: 1) I wanted to spend some time with my grandmother, who is grieving the loss (in June) of my grandfather (Here she is, snapping peas with TM):



and 2) my brothers and I were 50% responsible for packing up (and dividing) my other grandmother's home (she died in July).

Let it be stated that packing up a house that has been collecting dust for over three years whilst keeping track of a 2-year-old will always end in the onset of something very Plague-like (for which one would need to recover, alone, at Canyon Ranch or some other faraway destination for the very tired). My Grandmother was bedridden for some time before her death, but she was never a meticulous housekeeper. We threw away bills from the 1980s--- fashion magazines from earlier than that. There were pennies and bags and shoes and purses and Halloween decorations. Things that meant something to her at one point but were of no particular interest to us.

My grandmother had a lot of beautiful porcelain and silver that we will keep in our families for future generations. Her aunts, two of whom never married, left all of their earthly possessions to her. We picked out the things we treasured most and, afterwards, invited her in-home caretakers over to collect items they'd want to keep for themselves (or their families). I contacted an auction house to pick up the furniture and other collectables that weren't claimed. In the end, it looked like her house had been ransacked.

It was a busy time. I'm certain there are things we left in her house that we would like to have taken. Under the circumstances, I had no choice but to leave things behind. In additional to porcelain and silver pieces, I was able collect favorite pictures of my dad and a few of the paintings my grandmother did of us. All of her jewelry was stolen over those years she had so many strangers coming in and out of her home.

Death was a theme of the week, though not in a burdensome way. It was just that more now than ever, I sense that things can't always be like this. It's like I've been frozen in time, young and ready to conquer the world, and all of a sudden things are picking up speed. I lost two grandparents this summer, and every minute in my dead grandmother's house served as a reminder that my dad is dead, too. Part of what has been so difficult for me is the idea that life goes on, you know? That people pick up and continue to go about their days, dividing "assets" and making final decisions, eating breakfast and brushing their teeth. Like putting pieces of her furniture in a storage unit so that it can sit until Thanksgiving, when I drive it back to St. Louis and find a place for it in my home, isn't utterly depressing?

My other grandparents' home is like my home, too. That place is a sanctuary. They've been there since before I was born. With the exception of a few updates, that house has remained the same. A consistent presence for me, a place where I have always gone for most major holidays. We've celebrated and mourned there. I have a bed and I know that when I open the drawer in the bedside table, there's an obituary for my grandfather's best friend who died over 15 years ago. My grandmother is doing really well, despite the fact that she's just now, at 82, learning how to handle their finances. We sat on the floor of her bedroom and went through file after file of bills and financial statements---just trying to make sense of it all. She was totally overwhelmed. She can't talk about my grandfather without crying. I can't even imagine what it would feel like to lose B after 61 years of marriage. We agreed that TM is a major mood enhancer---and she totally supports my plan to bottle the scent of TM's sweaty head. She loves my girl.

We had some good times. We spent one evening out at dinner---MeMe, Gambi, TM, and me. When TM was finished with her meal, i.e. after one bite of chicken and one macaroni, MeMe helped her climb this lookout:



We also went swimming with Cami and Brian, TM's most favorite cousins:



And as always, I have a lovely report of my flight experience. This one with Northwest Airlines. A dialogue report seems most appropriate here:

Background details: Flights booked at FULL PRICE for me and TM in early July on Orbitz. With seat assignments.

Me: (Arriving at Savannah airport. Check-in for flight. See that I have to get seats at gate for layover flight from Memphis to STL. Curious.)

Me: (Arriving in Memphis after being trampled upon and kicked by TM. Still cool, but less so. Approaching gate attendant for seat assignments). Hi there, I need seat assignments for my daughter and me for our flight back to St. Louis.

Him: Do you have your tickets?

Me: Yes. Here you go.

Him: Yeah, well, this flight is overbooked. I'm going to have to ask for volunteers. If you have a seat, you can listen for my announcements and watch the standby list. But there are a few people before you, so...you will probably need to catch the next flight, which leaves here at 6:30 PM.

Me: I'm sorry, WHAT? I'm flying to St. Louis on THIS flight.

Him: Yes, if you make it through standby.

Me: Here's the deal, SIR. I'm getting on this flight. Your airline's policy of overbooking for profit has nothing to do with me. I have a baby with me and it is WELL beyond her naptime. I'm NOT catching the next flight. You're going to get me on this one. Okay?

Him: I didn't overbook this flight, ma'am.

Me: (Silent. Stare).

Him: Well, sit down and let me take a look at the list.

Me: (Seething.)

Ten minutes pass.

Him: Ma'am, here you go. Looks like you get to get on this flight after all.

Me: (Huh? Well, YES.) Thank you.

Moral: Don't mess with me when I am flying with my daughter. Just don't.

Toddler Monster Is Two Today

When I was young(er), I knew I wanted to be a mom. I knew I wanted the experience of loving and caring for a child, watching them grow. I could never have guessed what parenting is all about. I was naive and totally clueless. Because the magnitude of the experience, how it takes over, is all-consuming. You are the single most compelling thing that has ever happened to me.



You came screaming into this world, on this day, two years ago. The nurses were all, “You sure do have a spirited one on your hands.” I get it, so don't you worry. You weren’t ready to be born. I’m convinced of it. The doctor was wrong when she estimated when you were conceived. She just was. When she said I was 41 weeks pregnant, she was wrong. I think you could have stayed in for another week, easy. And if we’d left you in there to make your own choice about coming out? If they hadn’t induced and used those giant salad tongs? Maybe you wouldn’t have spent the first two years of your life with your finger in my bellybutton or otherwise tucked into some crevice you’ve discovered elsewhere on my body.

You are a joy. Your trust in us knows no bounds. I have been lucky enough to be with you almost every day of your life. I know everything about you---from before your first day. And I love you so, so much. In your words? How big is my love? Soooooooooo big. You're funny and curious---and you always like to be the one in charge. Your personality grows bigger and bigger every day. When you sang The Itsy Bitsy Spider in the car today, I almost exploded with pride.

Issy biss spider
down RAIN
Wash ouuuuttttt

Your dad and I took our sweet time adjusting to life with an infant---have I told you he suffered some sort of stress-induced hearing loss? And that I developed a semi-phobia of the nighttime? There were many days when I nursed you for over 14 hours. Forget nipple pain---I would have endured far worse for some peace of mind and a good night's sleep. When you were tiny and noodly, you were all screams. Here’s the thing, though: At about 6 months, you started sitting up and (almost) as soon as you recognized the slightest ability to function independently, you started smiling. And you haven’t stopped since.



Already we have done so much. You are the world's best traveler, for sure, although I can say with complete certainty that I have never had as much anxiety as I do when we're on our way to the airport. And you know that's saying a lot. The hypervigilance? The anger when I am asked to move seats because someone somewhere (who definitely flies first class, if not charter) has decided that a flotation device for a toddler is something that would work? Or when United Airlines tried to tell me I had to wait all day with you in the Atlanta airport? Three times I scoff. But those things have nothing to do with your fabulosity, okay? Because each and every time we fly, you are the most fun person on the plane. Period. And if anyone else wants to hold you and see how fun you are, that'll work!

Last night, I read you a book about a boy and his "best friend." You said best friend, and I asked you who your best friend was. Because I was there (or because you really mean it), you said "MOMMY!" And you were so excited about it that you stood up, soaking wet and naked, demanding a hug. And I pulled you into a tight squeeze because otherwise I may have burst into tears at your utter lack of modesty and shame. You are this whole, beautiful person in this tiny, precious body.

My favorite time with you is just before and after you sleep, when I'm holding you and you're all warm and squishy. You snuggle and we just fit together. Sometimes I stand in the middle of the room, holding you (or, in your words, "I hold you, mama."), and you rub my back and quietly sing. There will come a time when I can't hold you like that anymore (or that's what they say, at least, but I bet we do this for a while). And I guess that will mark a definite transition to a new stage of greater independence for you (cue violins). And more anxiety for me?

For so many reasons, I wish you could stay little forever. At the same time, I am so excited to see you grow and change. Every day brings something new. Yesterday? You put on your own shorts (and actually your shirt, too, on your legs. You have little buddies now and you say hi (and wave) to strangers that pass us on the sidewalk. I love you, love you, love you.



Happy Birthday, sweetie!

Almost Impossible.

Last week was crazy. Lindsay was in town for two nights before her move to Germany. We spent Wednesday night listening to music at the MOBOT and Thursday (the day I left for San Francisco), TM got sick and clung to me all morning---while I packed---with her death grip. On the way to the airport, I stopped at DSW to buy the only shoes in 7 shoe stores that were even remotely attractive and comfortable enough to wear two days in a row to BlogHer (and they were really not cute at all).

My flight got into Oakland at 11 PM on Thursday night and I caught a $60 cab over to SF. I was asleep by 12:30 AM (after Claire showed me how organized and color-coordinated her closet is) and awake by 6 AM. I didn't get my Moo cards in time (damn MOO!), so I had to squeeze in a frenetic trip to Kinko's before the BlogHer day started. I made my cards square so that they would stick out. Literally.

Here's the thing: I typically handle myself very well in these kinds of situations. I'm not shy and I understand the importance of marketing my blog and hobnobbing with other bloggers whose blogs I read on a regular basis. But, really, I don't love the feeling of aloneness and desperation that comes with feeling like you have to attach yourself to someone quickly before others think you don't know anyone and then no one wants to talk to you at all. Who does? Anyway, there's always a little bit of that in this type of situation. Luckily, I ran into a bunch of BlogHer ladies right away. And Caroline, who walked in with me---there were lots of squeals and OMIGODS!, so that kickstarted the weekend.

I attended some really interesting sessions, my favorite of which was the second day photography session.
The mommyblogging sessions were interesting, too, though more so for the observation potential than the substance. I was oh-so-excited to see some of these ladies in person! I attended a party on Friday afternoon where I had one glass of champagne (Thoughts at the time? This is going to be ugly.)--- that BlogHer night ended in Steph and me asking a woman at the hotel bar, "What are you drinking? That looks good! How much IS it?" Her response? "I think the rule is if you have to ask, you can't afford it." She was not a BlogHer. Then we got lost in the hotel on the way back up to Jen's room---Steph was convinced we were going to 589. The hotel was huge and there were all sorts of towers and elevators. Somewhere along the way, we realized we needed to be on the 8^th floor. Good material for the rest of the night.

The time that I wasn't at BlogHer was spent with Claire and John.

We had so much fun, too. John's a real trouper to have put up with us for three nights. Claire and I share a very long, rich history of sisterly friendship, i.e. we almost swung fists at each other on Friday night over attending the high school reunion and whether or not all people masturbate (I don't think everyone does).

John helped mediate. It was over the next morning, though, because we are older now and much more tired decided it was much more fun to lie together on the couch and tell each other stories about how funny we are.

On Saturday, Dooce spoke. I saw her walk in with her husband, Jon. She wore purple hose and a black and white dress---she's really tall and much prettier in person. I was very surprised to hear she has a southern accent---it somehow didn't fit my image of her. Regardless, she did a wonderful job of making the conversation relevant to her audience and even of responding to a strange interruption by a woman who had previously referred to her as a mythical creature (silence).

I woke up at 4:45 AM on Sunday after a terrible night's sleep (I was terrified I would miss my flight) to catch a 7:05 AM flight out of Oakland. I am oh so tired, but doing better today after having slept fitfully last night. What an experience! Next year?

BlogHer, Day Two

Okay, so I'm pretty tired. A few of my bloggy buddies have hotel rooms here at the Westin. That means Heavenly beds. And that means I can't go into their room because I'd be sucked into the sleepytime vortex, 8 pillows and all, and never come out. Until tomorrow morning at 5 AM, when I have to get up to make my flight home.

This has been a very cool experience. Today I attended my favorite session thus far. A photography tutorial, let by Me Ra Koh. She is super-talented and inspiring. She and her husband travel together. Love that. But she has all of this energy and her photographs are unbelievable. I could have spent the entire day in there.

You'll likely appreciate this scenario:

Yesterday afternoon I was walking down a hallway with all of my huge bags (which has been a large part of BlogHer, by the way) when I came upon a big blue mascot-like character (in my memory, at least 7 feet tall). As I was approaching him, it occurred to me that I didn't know what it was underneath, man or woman. So, I was all freaked out about being like, "Excuse me, big blue mascot, but can I get by you?" I didn't want to start up a conversation---I knew where that would go (not as much it's been great meeting all of the ladies at BlogHer as and what's your name, little girl?). So when it came time for me to speak up, I said, "Excuse me." Like that would've worked with a mascot? It started flailing its arms about and doing little jumps, gearing up for a staining session. I found a tiny hole underneath its wing and scuttled away, tragedy narrowly averted. Who wants to talk to mascots?

I'm waiting for the closing session with Dooce. More soon…

Boompa has died.

When my brother and I were born---we're twins---my parents lived in the same town as my grandparents. My grandmother used to take one of us for weekends when the other one was sick (or when, as she recalls, she was in need of a baby fix). She tells me I would curl up and sleep on her chest. I used to laugh about a painful story my grandmother tells of a night when we were about 2 years old, when she had shushed us to sleep and the light had been switched off, and my brother, always the quiet one, said, "Aswey, I'm sick of Gambi." And I said, "I know, but just go to sleep." Now that TM is all up in my picture, I totally get what she means.

Our entire family tree, all the branches, gathered together in 1995 for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. We rented a cottage on Sea Island for a week and had a celebratory dinner at the Cloister. There was a pool in the back of our house and I remember sitting alone out there one night with my grandfather, listening to him tell romantic stories of how our family came to be. At some point, I was so moved by the history of it all, however sentimental (and my family members, alive and well and delighting in one another's company) that I mentioned something about how amazing it was, how much they loved one another. And how their love had endured, through all these years. He just sort of stared toward the window with these big giant tears welling up in his eyes that he hoped I wouldn't see.

But at fifteen I didn't know, at least to the extent that I know now, the other parts of their story. Like the time when they were living at the top of a steep driveway in Atlanta, when my grandmother forgot to put on the emergency break in the car and it rolled down the hill, narrowly missing her two sons, my uncles. My mom, their youngest, tells me that she was in bed for three days, sick with anxiety and shame, fearing his reaction. Shortly after my parents were married, my grandmother had a nervous breakdown because of the stress---thought angels were landing in their backyard. My mom says it's the only time she can remember when he really reached out to her in an empathetic way that was loving and kind and that, even then, it ended rather abruptly. Last year, my daughter and I were visiting family friends in southern Florida who told me that they know of a frightening incident back in the 60s, when my grandparents hosted a dinner party, after which my grandmother called a friend to tell her that "Henry ran his finger over the dining room table and told me that it'd better be clean when he gets back. Could you please come over to help?"

So, what does it say about me that I feel such a strong pull back to where they are? There are times when my heart aches to just be there, everything just the same as it has always been. In their home, where they've been since before I was born. The home that has always stayed the same, always been there, through every single one of my transitions.

As they've gotten older, new fears have replaced old ones. "Change is happening. They are aging." I've asked myself, "Will TM know them? What will happen to that house? My room in that house? My memories?"

As the world progressed and changed, my grandfather stayed the same. And on my end, there was a sort of acceptance of his bullheadedness. And yet there was something else, too. Because as he got older and was not able to get around as much (and couldn't feasibly hear a conversation in a quiet room with the person sitting just across the table), I was preparing myself for a loss.

When I think about him now, I am reminded of so many things:

His generosity and pride. Especially in his family. His astute memory and insistence that we always save our money. How he called me "Missy." How much I wanted to make him happy. His BB gun. His boat, and going for "boat rides" with him. The dock. How he liked cane syrup and always peer pressured everyone else into eating that over maple (with little success). He loved old-fashioneds. His organization. His tomatoes. How meticulous and neat he was. How he used to save quarters in a little square bank for Al B and me that he would open with a key (and then count with us). How much of a sweet tooth he had. His boiled peanuts. His integrity. He loved his mother, whom I called Big Nana. A poem he has on a pillow that has been in the same chair since I was able to read it:

The old duck hunter,

In his blind,

Cold in front and wet behind,

It cost him nearly a hundred bucks,

To hide himself from the silly ducks.

His fingers, when they danced with excitement because he had just heard something that pleased him. How much he loved children and adored TM. How interested he was in knowing B. All of his surgeries---the knee replacements, his chronic pain, how he got a crippling staph infection at the hospital because of medical carelessness. He never complained. His good friends and secure sense of community because, unlike me and so many other people, he lived in the same place his entire life. His penny-pinching. How people really liked and respected him. His worry over my mom after my dad died. How much he helped my mom get her finances in order after my dad died.

But twenty years ago (maybe even ten, before I really cut through the shit), when I was too young to assume the awesome responsibility of talking back to him, his mannerisms were chalked up to assholedness, his German heritage. I think I even remember him rattling off a German phrase or two, with great pride, in my early years. His mother's maiden name was Dieter.

When I was pregnant with my daughter I was enormously, almost grandiosely, sensitive. How DARE you challenge a woman with child! ROAR! And I have always had sort of a short fuse when it came to my grandfather, largely because I often got the sense that, in his eyes, women defer or submit or whatever it was that made housewives of the 1950s such pillheads. It boils down to a gender thing in my family. He was always getting on to me because I talk too loud or too fast and because I am, in general, disturbing the peace. We were fine when I could sense that he was being lovingly abrasive. Other times, like one morning over breakfast, he could be downright mean.

He got very upset with me because I was talking too loudly on the phone to my mom. He slammed his gigantic 80-year-old fist down onto the table and roared at me to stop disturbing his breakfast. Totally pissed (and sad, too), I got my big swollen belly up off the chair and huffed out in a quick getaway. I remember feeling like everything in the whole world was wrong because he had made it that way. Like if it weren't for his dictatorial nonsense, my mom wouldn't have struggled so desperately with all that stuff and I, in turn, would not be suffering through years of chest-tightening anxiety. Anyway, my grandmother was off to church that morning and I remember she came into the bathroom looking beautiful and so fragile in a green skirt suit, her dainty feet in hose but no shoes. She asked me to do her eye makeup for her, something I've always enjoyed, even if my hands shake like I am though I've never worn any myself. I had followed her back to her bathroom, through their bedroom that hasn't changed since the dawn of man, and sat with her while I gathered the necessary tools for the procedure. When I pulled her eye taut so that I could manage a straightish line across her lid, a single tear fell onto her cheek. And when she looked up at me, she was crying. "I'm sorry he said that to you. I'm so sorry. I just hope you'll come back. He doesn't mean it but that doesn't matter. Please come back."

Just like anyone else, he wasn't perfect. He had this huge temper that just sort of exploded. So we were all very aware of THAT. But he was a wonderful grandfather---so supportive of me in so many ways and totally involved in every major decision I've made. I am so glad he was alive and well for my wedding and for TM, too. This hasn't yet sunk in for me. My grandparents are a HUGE part of my life. He died a few days ago when his brain hemorrhaged while he was eating a bowl of icecream, and so yesterday we flew back to Savannah to attend his funeral.

A parade and lots of time to play.

Memorial Day started off right, with a local parade that was super-short and a funny dude that had a very sarcastic wit (peppered with profanity). I'm posting pictures here because its really important that you see the mini fire truck (which I, of course, love, as I love all miniature things) and the tiny little orange newt, which I found while I was weeding.

Somewhere between last night and now, I discovered a rash on my old, wrinkly man hands (really, y'all, I could bathe them in butter and they'd still look irritated). B's mom has it, too. Has, in fact, since last month. I hadn't noticed it until I sat under a reading lamp, but she told me her rash itched AND NOW MINE DOES, TOO. Damn. Does that ever happen to you? We're thinking we got the rash from wearing the same old gardening gloves. Sweet.

Here's a picture from a pond close by the house. The good thing about a lot of Maine is that pictures are just good. Period. Aesthetic beauty here. Which is, as I've discussed in previous posts or somewhere familiar, a big inspiration for me (and for others, I presume).

Lady and a horse. Carrying a flag. Happy Memorial Day, right? I think this one speaks for itself.

Here I am with the Schnitzel. I like this picture of me, OK? The high school band had just passed and I was thinking, "I wonder if they aren't jaded and are happy to be a part of this tiny parade. Or do they think this is stupid and that my waving is indicative of my age?"

B and Wynn, on the way to sand beach.

Here's one of the Eastern Newt. I was digging through leaves and saw a tiny little ball of orange gum that turned out to be this guy. I love him. He just sat quietly on my finger (no doubt petrified of all of us) until I gently placed him back onto the ground, where he moved slowly back into a balled position under leaves. Do newts get cold? I want to bring him in and spoon him.

Let's go fly a kite...

She liked the idea of the kite right away.


B taught her how to hold the kite with two hands.


The kite was so happy to be flying, it danced.


She was all about chasing the kite.


Trying to talk her into flying away from the kite.

LOST and Loving Life.

I am watching the last two weeks of Lost right now because 1) We got rid of our cable at home 3 weeks ago, 2) We're in Maine with cable, and 3) Tomorrow night is the season (and forever?) finale. Good LORD, this show is good. We started watching after our friends, the Dormans (whose opinions we definitely trust), said it rivaled Arrested Development. I was shocked---but people, it does. And for the record, there is something weird about Juliette (even if I totally believed her after seeing the show that highlighted her past). B thinks Juliette is the most attractive female, but it's clearly either Kate or the redheaded girl.

I got up at 5 AM this morning to get work done and, because this seems to be coming together as a list in my head, I'll tell you (in list form) why I was able to do that. (My words, pre-baby: "6 AM is the middle of my night").

1. There is light then. Good GOD. The sun is up.
   
2. Gabe's butt was on my head because I couldn't convince him to move.
   
3. The drive to Ellsworth is pretty. I mean really pretty. And when the sun is coming up and I'm looking out at the ocean, I'm pretty much OK. That's what I've decided.
   
4. Oh, and when you drive in the morning, there's a chance you will see a moose. And the way I feel about that is sort of how David Sedaris feels about never seeing baby squirrels, i.e., Where do they go?
   
5. I had to go before TM was up or she'd attach herself to my leg and never let go.
   
6. I slept strangely. It was hot, so my dreams were crazy and my sheets ended up in a wad, beside the bed. I covet sleep, but not sleep interspersed with bouts of agonizing wakefulness.
   
7. Oh, and I get to sit in my car in a parking lot to do my work (before the coffee shop opens, at 8), though they've been letting me in early 'cause they're lovely.
   

Shoot. I just don't have a lot to write about tonight---the day was great. We were over in Bar Harbor for lunch and a morning hike (TM: "Hike! Hike! I hike!") and back home this afternoon. B bought a kite and TM flew it by herself. She was very proud, and really, who wouldn't be? We've had a very relaxing 5 days---I cannot express to you how nice it is to have familial help. Just with things, you know?

Flotation devices for toddlers? Yeah right, airlines.

Weird---I am having one of those moments when a word doesn't look like a word. Do you ever say a word over and over again in your head until it sounds weird? That's how I feel right now about far. Anyway, we're in Maine, which is so far away, in fact, that it took me one cab, two planes (with a 2-hour layover in Philadelphia), a hotdog, a spilled milk, and an extra hour and a half to get here. B drove with G-thing (all 27 hours) and I flew with the Toddler Monster, because, apparently, moms get to do the hard work.

Do you know I got up at 4:30 AM today? Our cab came at 5:40. Our flight was at 7:20. We sat for an hour on the tarmac. Thank god for the man with the teacup Chihuahua puppy. Loved him. The Philadelphia airport has a Gap that almost suckered me into buying something, until I saw that all of their t-shirt tees had the same wrinkle from where the supergigantic assembly machine malfunctioned and folded them incorrectly. I hate that all of their stuff looks like s-t-u-f-f. You know? They had this cute white and green jacket that drew me in until I discovered its price---could it at least have been lined? I scoff!

On the way to Maine, TM got her own seat. KARMA, PEOPLE. This is the second time it's happened, and she's a lap baby. Oh, I don't think I would have made it otherwise. She spent the first flight lounging dramatically across my lap, demanding, "I nurse! I nurse!" I'm sure at least 3 people saw my boob. On flight #2, she was only interested in the seatbelt. Somewhere along the way, she learned how to unbuckle and buckle it by herself. And was very proud.

Today was a good travel day, if such a thing can be said about traveling with children. And I don't think it can. We were asked at some point to move over to the other side of the plane so that we would have an extra flotation device for TM in case of a crash. Ok, really, if I am going to move, we are going to have a conversation about how ridiculous it is that you think my 22-month-old could survive a plane crash and then hold onto a flotation device. Boo.

We had a long layover, which worked out well because our earlier flight had been delayed. My bags were heavy, so I would have been stormy had I had to run like crazy with TM in tow. She needed that time. People were very friendly and accommodating and all of our airports had family restrooms (gotta have those!). I'm exhausted now and will probably wake up tomorrow with The Plague, but we made it---and that's really all that matters.

If Only I'd Known...

First car trip, originally uploaded by theredheadedlefty.

This was on our trip home from the hospital. Both B and I were traumatized by the car trip home. Every little tiny Ford Escort was a honking 18-wheeler out to smush our precious cargo.

Look at her little leg---are you serious? They send these things home with people? Without certification? Could someone have, at the very least, let me know that she was going to cry for 6 months?

We leave on a plane for Maine on Friday. Yes! I've been going nuts rearranging this blog. I love it---but the time flies and here it is 11:41 PM, 4 minutes before I promised myself I would STOP.

Cheers.

Just. So. Tired.

Mama's tired, okay? I haven't yet figured out how to juggle like a pro and am currently fantasizing about a 36-hour nap. Exhaustion has become sort of a baseline for me. Here's the thing: I used to be a BIG sleeper. If I got nine hours a night, I'd be up for a nap after work before I hit the gym. I didn't have trouble sleeping when I was pregnant, and no one told me how difficult the postpartum sleep deprivation would be on my psyche (and attitude, relationships, attention, mood, and appetite). Why wasn't this one of those things people talked about at the baby showers? I appreciate truth.

After baby, I developed a legitimate phobia of nighttime that lasted for about 6 months. When the sun went down, I started getting all weird-like (It's almost her bedtime. She's screaming. I'll give her a bath, which she loathes. Then I'll nurse her for an hour and put her down, but lightly, because if she awakens, she'll freak. And then it will be at least 30 more minutes. She'll sleep for two hours, and then she'll wake me up. I'll nurse on only one side and hope that she goes back down. Then I'll creep down the hall and down the stairs and sit in the kitchen---in the middle of the night, with a snack---and pump the other breast. So that B will have milk on the days he's home with her. Then I'll go back to bed. And she'll be up in two more hours. When she cries, I feel like my heart has been jolted with a shot of adrenaline---for the record, I'm certain it's biological. This happens over and over until the sun comes up, for which I am eternally grateful.) Because I was nursing, and because she wouldn't take a bottle, and because when B got up I couldn't sleep anyway, and because I am nuts, I kept up the frequent night feedings until she was 13 months.

Public Service Announcement: Graduate school (and/or any professional expectations) and parenting a newborn well do not mix.

I'm a person who likes more information. I have all of the books and I ask all of the questions. During her first year, a mosquito bite equaled a visit to the pediatrician's office. I admit, it was over the top. But when you're in it, you can't do anything about it. And worst of all, I was finishing up my master's degree in social work (and learning a lot about attachment, early childhood mental health, and family therapy) and participating in a psychotherapeutic training program at the psychoanalytic institute, where they support the notion that daycare is the equivalent of parental neglect. THAT was no small thing. I will probably never get over the fact that we have to put her in daycare. And I know it is good for social development and, quite frankly, important to have some limits and, and: she puts her toys away and learns things very early, so there. But I also worry about food, TV, reading books, exercise, sleep, boo boos, diaper rashes, non-irritating lotion, other caretakers, play, music, and so on. Everything. It has taken over. And that makes me tired.

I wouldn't describe myself as laidback anyway, at least about certain things. Other things are like nothing, but I won't go into them now. It's just that my hypervigilance has been kicked up beaucoup notches, and I feel like I live in an anxiety cloud. I focus on caring for the baby and everything else comes next. And sometimes time for next never comes. I can put it this way: I cannot, CANNOT, remember things, EVER. I will take a list to the grocery store and forget about it. I put peanut butter in the refrigerator and leave keys in the lock, outside the door. I tell people I'll call them back and I don't. I miss doctor appointments. And I can't do two things (or more) at once---especially if one of those things is having a conversation. Exhaustion. Does this happen to you?

Today I'm wondering if I have allergies (Seasonal? Never had them. Do they come later in life?) or if I am actually sick. Pretty sure my immune system is on the fritz. I know I need rest, some SLEEP or I'll die, so I'll be going to bed early this week, for sure. And I know that I won't be sick at all in Maine---because we have help and help is HUGE. Ever long for the time when people just lived around their people? B and I want our village. Where's our village?

Letter to United Airlines/Travelocity

Awaitin', originally uploaded by theredheadedlefty.

Yesterday morning I approached your ticket counter at approximately 8:00 AM to check into my flight, which was scheduled for 10:01 AM. I had my daughter, age 20 months, in a backpack on my back and I was carrying her Pack n’ Play, my/her suitcase, her car seat, my purse, my camera bag, and a laptop computer. I was tired and ready to get home and had come to terms with the miserable have in Chicago. One of your agents cooed at Dubs while she told me our flight had been canceled. Really, what was she thinking? When the panic set it, I asked her to please find us another flight to St. Louis---and fast. Couldn’t handle being in the airport for 8 hours.
She told me that she wouldn’t be able to help me because my ticket had “a Delta number.” Huh? But it was a United flight and she could see it in the computer. I’m not sure that made sense, but more importantly, I wasn’t thinking that I was buying it. In my experience, there is always something they can do. It is more about connecting with them on some basic human level---having them get your experience.

She said, “You’ll have to go over to Delta and see if they have something.”
Me: “Why? I have a United ticket.”
Agent: “No, it is Delta, because you booked through Travelocity and the first leg of the trip was on a Delta flight.”
Me: “Oh, OK, great. Thanks. Well, that just about clears it up then... If I had known it was that simple…
Agent: “The morning flight is booked, but you could probably get on the 2:45 PM flight if you get on standby.
(Tires screeching)
Me: (Eyes black as night, pupils little tornadoes). “Listen, that’s just not going to happen. I booked a morning flight and I am taking a morning flight out of here. I have a baby. On my back. And bags. And she naps. And I just can’t mess with that because the profit-driven airline industry can’t stick to the schedule because they don’t want to lose money. That has nothing to do with me. And I know this isn’t your doing, but PLEASE HELP ME.”
Agent: “You’ll have to go to Delta. But their flights are booked.”

I walked over to Delta, where I discovered, while standing in line, that one of Dubs’ shoes had fallen off. Her Tsukihoshi. When I felt her soft little socked foot kicking around in the backpack, it gave me the strength I needed to hold back the tears. MY BABY ONLY HAS ONE SHOE! WE CAN’T POSSIBLY STAY HERE ALL DAY! WHAT IF A SUITCASE ROLLS OVER HER BABY FEET? By the time I was up, I had already thought strategically about how I would handle the situation. I decided to go with a buddy, buddy, “Can you believe those people over at United sending me over here to deal with this problem? I know, crazy, right?”

Unfortunately, I am just one of 5,000 social security numbers with baggage the ticket agents see in a day. The woman assisting me appeared to have zero interest in me and, at one point, even yelled down to her friend to “Go git me sim Mentos!”

Bottom line---all flights were booked. This is about how the conversation with Delta went:

Agent: “Yeah, this is a Delta ticket number, but we don’t have flights available. I can confirm you for a 3:30 PM, ma’am.”
Me: It’s 8 AM. (oh no, oh no, oh no).
Agent: “Yes, I see that. So you can go standby and I will book you for 3:30 PM.”
Me: Absolutely not. I will NOT be flying at 3:30 PM. Nor will I be put on standby---I know what happens to people on standby on an overbooked flight. THEY GET BUMPED. And they get bumped again and again. I’m not doing that. I need to be on the morning flight or you can give me a travel voucher and I will rent a car and drive to St. Louis before I am trapped here all day with my baby.”
Agent: “St. Louis is 450 miles away, ma’am. If you take the afternoon flight, you’ll get there at the same time.”
Me: “Yes, I LIVE THERE. And it isn’t about arrival time. It is about being trapped in this place with a baby all day. I will drive there with my ticket voucher if you can’t get me on the morning flight. I cannot be in this loud airport ALL DAY with my baby and my bags. She needs to move now. She likes to run. There are too many people and I have too much stuff. We’ve done the waiting thing. It doesn’t work and it makes us both crazy. She can’t sleep. (I’m now crying). This is terrible. Oh, sweet lord, this is terrible.”
Agent: “You’ll need to get on standby or take a $60 travel voucher. The first leg of the trip was the most expensive. This leg is only $60.
Me: “How convenient. Right, so you’re telling me I can fly one-way from ATL to STL for $60.
Agent: “Actually, no, that’s just what the voucher is.”
Me: “Riiiiiiggggggght. Listen, I have to be on that morning plane. I am totally exhausted and on the verge here. Please, work it out. Please, I am begging. And crying. Please.

(I start recognizing that the strategic approach I had planned was not working---there were too many tears and I hadn’t been able to hold it together. And it isn’t really that I couldn’t have DONE it, it’s just that it is so TAXING and DIFFICULT and I felt so cheated).

Agent: “I will just put you on standby and book you for 3:30.”
Me: “What are my chances of getting on the 11 AM flight?”
Agent: “Well, about 50/50.”
Me: “Really, how can you say that? And how many people are on standby?”
Agent: “There are quite a few.”
(Silence. Agent types like crazy for about 1.5 minutes. I don’t ask any questions but feel pretty good about it. She’s doing the work).
Agent: “Okay, so how many bags do you have?”
Me: “Thr---eeee—eeeee---eee. Boo hoo hoo. Please, don’t send me away like this! Find a way! I gotta get home.”
Agent: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do.”
Me: “Well, shit. (Sigh).
Agent: “Wait! Hold on.”
(Furious typing, things happening, Ms. Wynnie perking up).
Agent: “Someone just canceled! There’s a space on the 11 AM.”
(Translation: I just talked back and forth with HQ and told them we have a CASE on our hands and it would be in our best interests to get rid of it ASAP).
Me: “What? No way! Really? Really?
Agent: “Really. You’re on for 11 AM.”
Me: “Oh, thank you. Thank you. If I could, I’d come over there and hug you.”
Agent: “That’s OK.”
Me: “Super. Really. Thanks. This means a lot. Oh, how lovely. I can breathe! Tears are drying, things is looking up!”

So, I got my ticket and was feeling so good. I had time enough to get over to Lost and Found to report that a diamond-encrusted baby shoe had been lost and then time enough to retrace our steps through the airport to search for the shoe. I found it! Can you imagine? Some kind soul had placed it on top of a kiosk. I could’ve kissed it had I not just cleaned dog poo off of the bottom. Our flight was about 45 minutes late leaving, but when we got on, we got two seats all to ourselves because some wrestlers from Penn State had missed the flight (and while I was sorry they would have to fly standby, we’d never had two seats all to ourselves). At takeoff, the flight attendant even brought the Schnitzel a cookie. It was a pretty exciting time for us---in the beginning, it was really, really bad. But in the end? So, so good. My persistence paid off.

Delta, thank you. United? Scoff!

Competitive Streak

I have a competitive streak a mile wide, which is good because I married someone who likes to debate about who does a better job of washing the dishes. Anyway, this morning I got ready to go out for a run. It's cold here in DE, but I thought I would be OK in a long-sleeved t-shirt and my running pants. And earmuffs. I set out to do the three-mile loop, telling everyone here at the house to expect me back in under 30 minutes.

I was feeling pretty good, had just finished my Dunkin Donuts (bless your heart, East Coast) coffee. There's this nasty little hill early in the run at a turn---literally less than a half a mile in. Anyway, it hurt just a bit, so negative cognitions started sprouting up all over my head. "I should just walk up." "It's too cold to be wearing only a t-shirt." This continued for some time, despite the fact that I was picturing myself finishing a marathon or being a runner of the year in some fit moms club.

So, just as my thoughts are about to get the best of me, I come up on another right turn---where another woman, dressed in all black and listening to music, comes zipping up from my left---she was going straight. And something very primal, something I can't totally describe because I don't think I would be doing it justice, just kicked in. And I was able to not only keep going---but keep going faster. Not necessarily because I wanted to beat this person, not because I wanted to win, but because I did not want to be beaten and I did not want her to win. There's a difference.

And I'm a maniac.

Anyway, I ran like a machine all the way home.

If a tree falls in the forest...

If I pick out a candy bar in the grocery line and no one (but Wynn) is there to watch me buy it, did I really buy it? When I get in the car and eat the whole candy bar (giving Wynn a little morsel) and no one was there to say something about spoiling dinner or how weird it is that I buy candy bars in grocery store checkout lanes, did I really eat it? If I stuff the wrapper into the middle console and close the lid (because Granddad is getting in the front seat and how embarassing to have to explain that I had to have a candy bar), did I really hide it?

Was there ever a candy bar to begin with? I think not.

East Coast Chillin'

Here in DE with B's 'rents. B's dad's in DC and since I am jobless AND ALL, Wynn and I took advantage of the opportunity to vacation on the East Coast---grandparent-paid. So, I am reading good books and taking naps and going to bed early. And scraping raisins and animal cracker crumbs off my butt when I stand from my seat on the plane. And opening all four doors of the rental car to air out the "air freshener" stench that I thought went out of style in the 80s. And driving strangely and hoping it makes sense to people when they see my New York license plate.

Heading Home...

Tomorrow we go back to St. Louis after having been away for almost two weeks. Damn. I am really going to miss having all of these familial bodies around, you know? I have just never dreaded family holidays---give me all of the crazies, the people who talk too much and never listen, the boring guy who you get stuck talking to for too long---I will take 'em! Because it's a fair trade, having a few people who are not unpleasant but a bit odd and a few people who will make you hot dinners, vacuum your dog's fur (and there's a lot of it), advise you to take a nap if you look tired, and, most important of all, LOVE YOUR CHILD. And babysit for her.

This has been a particularly wonderful visit with B's family. So relaxing and just good to be here (even though we mourn the loss of their place in DC and all of the DC-related accoutrements). Christmas was great---we were over at his sister's house with her family---and Wynn actually got into opening gifts (often others' gifts). It's true what they say...babies do love the packaging.

B and I got to spend our first night away from Wynn on New Year's Eve. That was SUPPPPEEEERRRR. I thought it would be hard to deprogram baby talk and baby think in order to step into good, adult time, but it wasn't at all! It was simple. Bring on the champagne! I missed her, though, and got a stream of sloppy kisses when we got home the next morning. Which would be embarassing if I was the kind of person who didn't totally appreciate what it means to get such kisses from this girl. God, they are little slices of heaven.

We are thinking it will be snowing on the trip tomorrow, as I am cooped up in the backseat with a singing dog and a crying child. That should be a real blast. Last time we did this I remarked that it was astounding that I was still nice when we pulled into the 'Lou. I am thinking that I won't be nice tomorrow---given that the weather will hold us up and it's 2008 and I gotta job hunt this week. Poop.

I hope you are happy in 2008! Best wishes to you. Hope if you have any dreams that they come true.

In Delaware...

We arrived yesterday afternoon, after two travel days and a nice overnight stay in Someplace, Ohio. Driving isn't such an issue anymore, especially because the Wynners has lots of videos to keep her mind occupied (but also because we are contained and there are no hopes of running from room to room and pulling fragile glass vases off of shelves). On the way in we passed through the "greater Lancaster" area, where the Amish community was alive and bustling (despite the rain and dreary winter weather). Wynn and Gabe loved the horses and buggies and I managed to get a video of Gabe's reaction. And a lot of other pictures, too. I am going to post today.

We were here last year for Christmas, too, but it doesn't seem like it has been a year. I am not severely sleep-deprived this time around, though, so I am not mean, snarly, tired, sick, and depressed! Merry Christmas to all! No, really, we have turned so many corners and it is almost like this "house" and this "town" are completely NEW to us.

Thanksgiving.

We got back from Savannah last night---after having driven only 11.5 hours. Made really good time. Thanksgiving was a lot of fun. It was GREAT! to spend time with my family, and I always like to have extra hands arounnd to entertain the baby girl.

On our way to Savannah, we stopped by my mom's store in ATL. We left with some Christmas goodies for B's sister and niece and got to see the Schwaks. Who brought the wedding album (beautiful!). Traffic in ATL was horrendous, as usual---which made me think of the reason I left there in the first place (33% because I promised myself I would not spend that much of my life in traffic with road rage).

We got to settle in at Gambi and Boompa's before the others arrived. As always, Gambi was thrilled to see Wynn. "She's beautiful! We are so blessed. She doesn't just WALK anywhere. She's so smart." And she has decorated the house with pictures of her. Literally, they are everywhere. Which makes me feel good.

Our time was jam-packed with people-seeing. We went out to Jean's (she's pretty bedridden and is not able to make it to Thanksgiving festivities). My brothers and I were more than excited to pick up Krystal burgers on the way over---B tried them for the first time and got the warm spits (it's totally a nostalgia thing, but damn it they're good). I clouded him in onion breath and he contemplated divorce. Al B says Krystals stay with you for two days---they come out of your pores. Yum.

Turns out Wynn loves the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Especially the Rockettes (Boompa: "Me, too!"). I forget how much fun the parade is when you are a kid. The floats are RIDICULOUS. Adult view: Great way to advertise.

Every time I leave, I get into a funk about being so far away from them (they are only 11 hours away but living a completely different existence). And I am sad that there are so many things in my life that are so foreign to them (and vice versa). But I guess part of the joy in our togetherness is the freshness and distance, right? Too much time together and I might decide to move again. Ha.

Good times.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Okaaaayyyy. We arrived back in the 'Lou last evening after having spent (almost) two glorious months away. Our house was hot, to say the least. We were sweating the second we walked in the door. Ms. Wynnie took off immediately, discovering all sorts of new things for her parents to lock away. One of the first things she did was pick up Gabe's water bowl, drop it so that it spilled all over the kitchen floor, and then slip and fall and bump her little baby noggin. She wasn't pleased. There is no mail here, due in part to the unbelievably disorganized USPS system. Apparently, we have moved (although we don't know where because the slip from the post office indicates only that our family has moved from our address). The pile of newspapers (that we had stopped) come from all sorts of dates, from the middle of July to now. Huh?

I am starting the weaning process with Wynn. B has, as of last night, taken over the night duty---which is good, considering I was in some sort of black hole of sleep last night and awoke only after he had already tended to the crying baby (THAT NEVER HAPPENS). We have decided that for the sake of our sanity and because Wynn is putting holes in my nipples with her puppy teeth, she is ready to do whole milk exclusively (with the standard hot dog, macaroni and cheese, and Pirate's Booty). Oh, and Oreos at baby camp.

This morning has been surprisingly cool here, considering that the 'Lou has recorded record temperatures this week. Because our mental states are shaky when we return from vacation, we are thanking Gawd that we don't have to fight the unbearable summer swelter (yet anyway, but summer here extends through October). We have had a number of pleasurable conversations with neighbors who have "missed us" (i.e. they can't believe they haven't seen us out walking Gabe 18 times a day). I also saw a neighbor who is GREAT has a 3.5 yr old daughter---I forget how much I want us to be friends but my hectic schedule usually gets in the way and then it is 6 months later and that is that.

I have a million new pictures to post. The summer was amazing in so many ways. I realized about a week ago that I hadn't had one headache since we left St. Louis---the mental and physical stressors of hacking it here in the real world really take their tolls. So, I feel quite fortunate to be able to get away like we do---to see family and friends and natural beauty, and, in general, to regroup. We left B's mom in the midst of her chemotherapy and radiation treatments. I think our leaving had its pros and cons for his parents, seeing as how the little terror kept things lighthearted around the house but also got in the way of adequate afternoon rest time. I, for sure, will miss being there. I never forget how wonderful the crisp, clean Maine air is. And, on a different note, I really enjoyed getting to Savannah to see my family. All of them. It's so awesome to feel that I can move so far away and stay so close to them. I loved being there and having Wynn spend time with her great grandparents and second cousings (children of my cousins). And, for Pete's sake, Righton ordered her a cake from N'awlins for her first birfday. Life is good.

I am excited to report that I have been accepted into a 2-year psychodynamic psychotherapy program at the St. Louis Psychoanalytic Institute. I will graduating from my MSW program in December but will start the training program in September. It is sure to be another busy Fall. Never a dull moment here at our house. I think we are both looking forward to geeting back in the swing of things---sort of. Of course, if life were one long vacation, neither one of us would complain.

Smiles.

To All My Fans...

Ha. No, really. It's tough knowing that my three viewers (you know who you are) are spending their days