Eyes Like a Shite House Rat

Most anticipated update ever, aka, longest ever wait for a blog post

2008-09-29T14:17:00.003-04:00

So, I'm fine. I mean really fine. I wasn't but I am now.

To summarize,

LEEP procedure.... most horrendous experience of my life*
Recovery.... ridiculously smooth
Lab results.... indicated healthy cells behind the dysplasia
Follow up.... clean bill of healthy
Six month follow up.... normal pap

*Apparently there's a little known, little understood condition called Local Anesthesia Resistance. Yeah, that's right. The anesthesia administered to my cervix before the procedure didn't take. When did we figure this out, you ask? Oh, I think it dawned on Dr. Feeney that something was amiss when I leapt four to six feet in the air when he sliced in to my cervix with his little electrified wire. Mmm hmm. You read that right. So, naturally, he stopped immediately and proceded to pump me full of about three times the normal amount of Lidocaine necessary for this kind of procedure. He waited for ten or fifteen minutes to let the Lidocaine do its thing then, back to business. I think I only flew about three feet the second time as I was a bit on the tired side by this point.

After a couple more attempts, some smelling salts, a thirty minute time out during which the sweating and shaking eventually subsided, he finally finished the procedure with scissors. Dr. Feeney informed me that he'd "never seen anything like it" and if I ever had to have another LEEP procedure it would be done at the hospital, under general anesthesia. The end result was a walnut-sized chunk of my cervix in a plastic receptical. Of course I asked to see it.

To my sheer amazement, I felt completely normal about forty minutes later. I was astounded. I returned for a checkup less than two weeks later at which time Dr. Feeney informed me that my cervix had completely regenerated. Who knew that little mystery button is really a starfish leg?

So six months later, here I sit, free of naughty-cells.

Sock it to me.

2008-03-07T08:20:00.005-05:00

So today's the big day.... vaginal excavation to be completed before lunch.

In preparation for the big day, I struggled to pick out the perfect socks for my L.E.E.P. procedure. Apparently there's a whole sub-culture out there that has a different idea about socks than I. That is to say, there's a world of sock fetish, believe it or not. I'm well aware that some individuals find the feet a touch more, umm, sexual than the average bear so I guess it only makes sense to eventually expand one's preoccupation to what covers the object of desire. Knee-highs, thigh-highs, ruffled top, bows, fishnet, angora, cable knit, argyle, animal print, sheer, super loose (I'm not kidding.... some people actually find socks that fall down a turn on.... completely bazaar. Socks that fall down make me want to lay down in the road.), super short, toe socks, the list goes on.

Anyway, after much deliberation, I've decided to go with a little team spirit. Dr. Feeney, after all, is my MVP. Go Colts.

2008-03-06T19:47:00.015-05:00

After a wonderful, though chaotic, week in Colorado with my oldest and dearest friend, Julie, I can't seem to muster up the words to recapitulate the trip..... so I'll use photos. I'll omit photos of Maeve's profuse vomiting but there is simply no way to avoid the snot. You'll see what I mean. And for a profoundly more poignant summary of our experience, I urge you to visit Julie's blog where the Paul Simon homage explains it all.... Love you, Goose.

The obligatory establishing shot... real dump, isn't it?

Maeve

Maeve and Gabriel

Maeve and Lil, kissing

Maeve 'riding' Gabriel's bike

The Three Stooges eating dinner

Maeve plowing the fields...

This is how she 'smiles'!

Gabriel taking flight

Maeve loves Julie's hat... she wore it to the store.

My mom and Julie....

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood....

2008-02-21T13:46:00.004-05:00

Maeve and I were cuddling in her bed this morning, nursing and listening to NPR. The broadcaster was discussing how this year marks the 40th anniversary of the PBS classic, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, one of Maeve's favorites. The piece included an audio clip of Fred Rogers from the show. At the sound of his melodic voice, Maeve sat straight up in bed and said, "What? What?!?! Is that Mr. Rogers on the radio?!?! I think it is! Mommy! I need to watch Mr. Rogers right now!!" I laughed so hard she asked me if I was okay.

She proceeded to have two bowls of oatmeal while watching Mr. Rogers and Mr. McFeally playing miniature golf.

And to those of you sweet folks who have sent me personal emails and called regarding the current status of my girl-parts, thank you so much. So far, I'm still in one piece. My L.E.E.P. procedure is scheduled Friday March 7th so if anyone spots any fabulous socks between now and then, let me know.

Bad Customer Cervix

2008-01-31T19:27:00.000-05:00

A couple of months ago, I headed to the OB/GYN for the dreaded annual exam. It's the same old shit every year, isn't it, ladies? I really like my doctor, though, so I always wear fun socks for my exams. After all, all he gets to see is my vagina and my socks so I figure I have to do my part to spice it up a bit. This year, as it was around Christmas, I wore blue and white striped socks with ice-skating reindeer. Nice, huh? He thanked me. He's a nice man. Anyway, all goes according to plan on the day of the exam. A week or so later I came home to a message on the machine from Dr. Feeney. "Nothing serious, just give me a call tomorrow around eleven." Nice. Love the suspense. So, the next day I called and he explained that my pap came back showing a type II abnormality. Apparently pap smears are graded type I through type V, type I being normal, type V being the 'Big C'. According to that scale, type II is no big deal, really. Dr. Feeney prescribed a medication designed to eradicate a very common cause of abnormal paps and asked me to come in for a follow-up pap in a couple of weeks.

If left untreated, 65% of abnormal paps in the type II or III range return to normal on their own. Thanks to the 35% party poopers, no gynecologist on earth will let an abnormality go, of course.

So I went back in for my second pap. This time I wore bright pink socks with neon green and silver sparkly Christmas trees. Again, Feeney gave me a perfect ten for presentation. This time he found a vascular spot on my cervix which he cauterized (much less dramatic than it sounds) and explained that the vascular tissue could certainly have caused an abnormal reading while being a totally benign issue. I left his office feeling pretty good. A few days later, I called for the results. Not good. The pap was still abnormal, still type II.

This past Monday I returned for a colposcopy, a giant vagina microscope. Fun, right? So I arrived, with my darling husband in toe, on Monday morning for the Great Vagina Experiment wearing snow white socks featuring dozens of brightly colored conversation hearts touting Valentine's messages. Appropriate? Probably not. Anyway, during the colposcopy Dr. Feeney found some fluid filled cysts on my cervix which are normal and harmless but, again, can cause abnormal results. Upon further inspection, however, he found two areas of white epithelium. That's bad news. White epithelium is a symptom of cervical dysplasia, the precursor for cervical cancer. He biopsied both areas, naturally, and I left the office with the same instructions; call on Thursday around eleven.

So today is Thursday. One of the two areas that were biopsied returned no evidence of disease. The other area, however, showed moderate to severe dysplasia which basically denotes very naughty cells. As there is no traditional 'Time Out' for naughty cervical cells, these guys have to be removed. How, you ask? Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure, or LEEP, as it is known to its close friends. The cervix is numbed with local anesthetic then, using a wire loop and a low level of electricity, the tissue is excised from the effected area and is sent off for further testing. The idea is to eliminate all the naughty cells so the well-behaved cells to go back to playing quietly together.

Very exciting, no?? So, in defiance of my faulty vagina, tonight I made gorgeous, silky, rich mashed potatoes with butter, evaporated milk, a dump-truck's load of salt, and scallions along side bone-in pork chops, dredged in seasoned white flour, then bathed in an egg wash WITH yolk, then forcibly pressed into seasoned white breadcrumbs and fresh grated parm, then FRIED IN BUTTER AND OIL. Take that, dysplasia!

I'm not sure how a high fat dinner is really sticking it to a bad pap but I surely felt better after I ate it......

Our bathing beauty.....

2008-01-29T13:11:00.000-05:00

The Black and Blue Fury

2008-01-29T08:21:00.000-05:00

I've never really been in to neighbors. Now, don't get me wrong. If you need to borrow a cup of sugar, I'd be happy to provide a comparable measure of agave nectar accompanied by a short speech about how the body metabolizes natural sugar sources more efficiently than processed, white cane sugar. But the idea of having your neighbors just drop by all the time isn't my idea of fun. That said, our current neighbors are the first neighbors I've really liked since we played Euchre with the boys from Floyd's Knob that lived across the hall from us in college. We have a lot in common with Scott and Lynn and have really grown to think of them as good friends. They breed chocolate, yellow, and black labs and ended up here in Irvington after living downtown for many years thanks to the much larger lots. Everyday around lunchtime, I run across the lawns to give the animals a midday reprieve. When I began taking care of them, the population exceeded a dozen, but now I'm down to Tori, Allie, Dewer, Tango, London, Rose, and Lola, and not to be forgotten, Henry the cat.

At the end of December Scott and Lynn woke up at four in the morning to a strange popping noise. They suspected Henry was knocking Christmas ornaments off the dining room table so Lynn went to investigate. Nothing was amiss throughout the house and on her way back to bed Lynn saw a glowing orange light coming from their back deck. Someone had placed a box of empty aerosol paint cans in a cardboard box under their deck, directly beneath their propane grill, and lit the whole mess on fire. With only minimal damage and slightly frazzled nerves, the fire department and police concluded that this was likely a matter of bored kids who desperately needed to return to the structure of school after a long winter recess. Scott installed some motion sensor flood lights and we all went back to business as usual.

Yesterday, after Maeve went down for her nap, I grabbed the baby monitor and my keys and headed next door to throw the ball for my favorite four-legged neighbors. We went through our usual routine; let the girls out, fill the outdoor bowls, back inside to fill the indoor water bowls, give Henry his treat and a good ear scratching, then back outside to scoop poop before playtime. As I rounded the far end of the yard near the deck with poop-scooper in hand, the charred marks on the grill and the fence from the fire caught my attention. Wait a minute. The fence. The fence?!?! The fence wasn't burned in the fire! Wait, what?? What?!?!? There's a giant hole in the fence. I suddenly realized I could smell the fence! And to my chagrin, these burn marks were still warm to the touch. Crap. Crap. Oh yeah, I still have dog crap on the scoop. Empty the scoop. Get the girls inside. Give everyone treats. Try not to panic. Run home. Call Scott. Leave a message. Call the cops. Call the firemen. Call Scott again. Call his receptionist. The firemen are here. Run outside. Explain the situation. Try not to make a fool out of myself in front of the hottest fireman I've ever seen. My word, is he hot. He's like fireman-calendar-hot. Wow. Back to task at hand.

The fire chief remembered the last incident and decided that it was time to call the arson department. This time the fire was set right up against the house. (I'll be adding this to my list of reasons why we only buy brick houses.) I finally got Scott on the phone who, needless to say, came home immediately. The arson investigator arrived along with the police. The policemen proceeded to do a 'sweep' of the home, guns drawn, even though I'd already been in the house. Yikes! Anyway, all the uniformed gentlemen where incredibly nice and attentive and reassuring. But when they all dispersed, I offered Scott a couple of Xanax or martinis if he or Lynn needed them. I was happy to play pharmacist or bartender. Hey, I'm a good neighbor.

So, last night as I'm laying in bed with Maeve for her compulsory fifteen minutes of nursing before bedtime, I got to thinking about the whole, dare I say, arson issue. What if there would've been someone in the house when I arrived? What if they start to target our house? What if they try something more aggressive on Scott and Lynn's place? By the time the clock read 8:10, I'd fairly well wound myself up good and tight. A while later, as Zack and I were watching TV in the basement (a show about Supermax prisons, no less), we hear a ruckus. From our vantage point downstairs, we can't determine if it's coming from upstairs or outside. Zack leaped off the couch, blankets flying and booked upstairs, as I sat, motionless, under my blanket with Reese. Moments later a blur of black and blue fury comes tumbling down the basement stairs and proceeded to whir round the coffee table a few times before zooming back up the stairs.

It wasn't an arsonist attempting to burn down our house. Maggie, our deranged black cat, had managed to get her head stuck through the handle of a powder blue gift bag and was tearing recklessly through the place trying to free herself from what we can only assume she thought to be impending death.

Surprisingly, with no help from the pharmacy and only minor assistance from the liquor cabinet, everyone slept very, very well.

A new beginning

2008-01-25T12:06:00.000-05:00

After a considerable absence, I'm ready to begin blogging again. Contrary to what you may be thinking, it hasn't been a matter of having nothing to say. Hardly. Perhaps my disappearance from the Blogosphere can be attributed to the sheer lack of sleep I've been burdened with over the last couple of years which now, to our greatest delight, seems to be old news. Maeve has been sleeping nine or ten hours in her own bed as of late and I (almost) feel human again. Or perhaps I haven't written because I'm a lazy turd. Yeah, that's probably it. Regardless, here we go again......

Zack and I are each trying to drop a few pounds; I, a few more than him. Over the last couple of weeks I've been on a tireless quest to make the perfect unfried French fry. I have failed several times. Too crunchy, too soggy, too salty, too dry, too low-fatty. Today, I embarked on another attempt. My previous tries involved my fab new food processor Zack got me for Christmas, complete with french fry blade. The processor cranks out perfect, skinny little fries in seconds flat. Today, I decided to hand cut the fries, hoping that a bit more substance would alleviate some of the obstacles I'm trying to overcome. So with a compost bin brimming with potato peels, I gave it another go.
After trying a couple of different ways to season the fries, I decided to go with an egg white wash with good old Old Bay seasoning. Although I'm not a huge fan of pre-mixed spices, I do dig some Old Bay.

As best I can tell, the key to a good, unfried, french fry is constant babysitting and overall coddling throughout the process. After I put them in a 400 degree oven on a well-loved, lightly sprayed cookie sheet, I set one timer for 40 minutes and another for seven minutes. Then I went to blow dry my hair.... then stopped to change a poopy diaper and wash my hands..... back to drying..... timer goes off. Those little suckers were already starting to stick! I gently scraped them off the cookie sheet with a spatula and, for the first time on this journey, I didn't leave half the potato on the sheet pan. Closed the oven, set timer for seven minutes, back to the bathroom. After blow drying for a couple of minutes I had to stop to put on the television for Maeve who'd been happily playing with her Playmobil farm until this point. Back to drying... timer goes off.... and so it goes for the next 40 minutes, during which time I managed to get completely dressed and clean up the french fry prep mess I'd made.

I was fairly confident I'd cracked the secret code on these guys but I still had to put them to ultimate taste test.... the two year old critic, Maeve. Check out the footage.

That's right, I said "better than the ones I made last night." What can I say? I am simply not a quitter. I am determined and committed. If the fries were a failure at lunch today, you can bet your ass I would've tried again at dinner. I'm vigilant.

She seemed fairly pleased. Here's the before and after....

More pictures of the kid

2006-08-15T10:50:00.000-04:00

Eating dinner at the grown up table

Snacking while Mommy makes dinner

All clean and ready for bed

Maeve's first official Yesterdog! What a treat!

Lovin' it!

2006-08-11T15:07:00.000-04:00

Just some videos of the Mouse doing cute stuff!

Little Miss

2006-06-30T10:43:00.000-04:00

Some recents photos of our little one...

Skivies

2006-06-30T10:38:00.000-04:00

One never realizes just how ratty her undergarments are until she is getting dressed in the locker room at the YMCA and emphatically races to get her yoga pants on in order to cover up her faded, ratty, stretched-out, threadbare Hello Kitty drawers before some unsuspecting member rounds the corner and sees this disgraceful display.

I should really throw some stuff away....

2006-06-09T14:16:00.000-04:00

So yesterday I took Maeve to the zoo. It was an absolute mad house. The animals inside the enclosures were much better behaved than those running around the place! Anyway, after strolling around in the Indiana humidity for a couple of hours, Maeve and I were both completely withered and decided to go home. When we got back to the car, this is what we found:

This super hot, Ford Taurus was parked SO close to my van that I totally jammed my back right into her side-view mirror while strapping Maeve in the car seat. So, I left her a little advice....

Saran Wrap and Dog Shit

2006-04-21T19:45:00.000-04:00

I remember having a discussion with my mom once about saran wrap. I was covering something and she exclaimed that she thinks “cling film” (what we call it in the old country) is “bloody useless”. I explained that I agreed, except in the case of the actual brand name cling film, Saran Wrap. I was having great success with this product now that I’d stopped buying the generic grocery store brand. (For the record, I am a huge proponent of generic grocery products. I used to refuse to buy generic soup or cheese but I’m even on board with those items now.) Anyway, Mom watched as I swiftly and effortless covered a glass bowl of salad greens or whatever it was with the afore mentioned Saran Wrap and was truly amazed at how adamantly it stuck! Which brings me to this evening and my domestic dilemma… Does Saran Wrap loose its sticky over time? I’m pretty sure the box I used tonight is the same box I discussed with my mom many moons ago. I attempted to cover two glass bowls this evening; one large bowl containing salad, one little bowl containing leftover baked beans for Maeve. I was hopeless! I ended up using rubber bands to secure the film to the damn bowls! What’s that all about!!?? Does is expire!!??? Is Saran Wrap only sticky for a couple of months and then it turns to shit?! Oh, I hear what you’re all saying… “Why doesn’t she just use Tupperware!?!? It’s more cost effective and more environmentally sound. Tomorrow is Earth Day, for God’s sake, and she’s worried about the effectiveness of a product that is ultimately going to end up in a landfill!!!!” Well, let me tell you, you who pass judgment, why I decided to forgo the plastic storage container in exchange for the earth-not-so-friendly option…..

My husband, who you all know is a hero, was kind enough to take charge of all bath and bedtime responsibilities this evening leaving me the dishes and the twelve pack of Negro Modello he brought home. So my objective was to unload, then re-load the dishwasher, tidy up, and put away Maeve’s toys as quickly as humanly possible in order to relax and resume drinking said delicious Mexican beers. Picking Tupperware over saran wrapping the bowls would simply have added another step and left me with two additional dirty dishes to take care. It’s Friday night, people! Every second that stands between me and my Cerveza is precious! So I wrapped the bowls, hurled them in the fridge, washed our plates and silverware, tossed them randomly in the dishwasher, put a few things away, and just as I’m about to make a mad dash for the living room to throw Maeve’s toys in her toy box, something catches my eye out the kitchen window. There I see two ducks, one male, one female, wandering across our fenced in yard! Let me express that there is no water for miles. I mean, miles! Yet these two random mallards are strolling through my freshly cut grass, oblivious to the two dogs and cat inside our house who would gladly put each of them between two slices of bread and end them, feathers, bill and all. Well, I love ducks. Several years ago I went through a short phase where I felt an undeniable urge to learn everything I could about the common mallard duck. (It had a great deal to do with the fact that I was living in a ghetto apartment complex on a stagnant man-made lake where the ducks appeared to suffering from some kind of inbreeding but that’s another story.) I grabbed the camera and ran out into the yard to snap a photo of my new feathered friends. I got a decent shot then shooed them off. The last thing those ducks wanted was to nest in our yard. I remind you of the duck sandwiches I mentioned earlier. I went inside and headed to the bathroom where Zack was giving Maeve a bath to show him the picture. Moments after I entered our little bathroom Zack starts flamboyantly sniffing the air around me. I assume he just dropped a big farbo and is about to blame me for his gas. But, no. Little did I know, Mother Nature, like you, dear reader, was simply paying me back for choosing convenience over her earth. To thank me for my gratuitous use of non-biodegradable cling film, she had strategically planted those two ducks in my yard as a lesson in karma. When I slowly lifted my foot from the bathroom floor, much to my chagrin, I was greeted by a mammoth, stinking schmear of dog shit adhered to the underside of my green flip-flop. I had unknowingly trudged up the back steps, through the back hall, across the kitchen, across the carpeted hall, and into the bathroom all the while toting the good majority of a doggy steamer on my shoe.

Needless to say, I spent my precious R&R&B time (that’s rest&relaxation&beer time) mopping all the damn floors. Lesson learned.

Indiana weather

2006-04-16T13:08:00.000-04:00

So, Indiana weather is a tad volatile in the spring, particular in April. For the last three Fridays we’ve ended up herding the troops into the basement. This past Friday we experienced the worst hail I’ve ever seen. Thankfully we only experienced minimal damage to our cars and we’re all safe and sound.

Hail

2006-04-16T12:54:00.000-04:00

Widdle Waddler

2006-04-16T12:42:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Grandma and Grandpa Abbott for the T-shirt from the Denver Zoo!!

Widdle Waddler

2006-04-16T12:38:00.000-04:00

Sassy, Sadie-mouse

2006-04-13T14:21:00.000-04:00

So, my darling friend, Sarah, insisted that, after my lengthy absence, I must blog once more. I explained to her that all my great inspiration came from countless hours rocking Maeve in the dark, during our long nights. I don’t do that anymore (yea for co-sleeping!!), so now I’m useless to Blogdom. This answer did not suffice dearest Sarabelle. I said, “Fine. Pick a topic and I’ll write about it.” I was thinking she’d suggest something like… the thing I miss least about being a working woman, or my greatest cooking disaster, or a fond memory from college, or a funny poop story about Maeve, or even a funny poop story about Zack. But NO!! Sarah says, “How about you write about how to raise and discipline a wonderfully outgoing and stubborn child without breaking her spirit?” Sure! No problem! I’ll get right on that! I scrubbed the bathtub heartily trying to find my muse….

So I’ve been thinking about sweet, sassy Sadie and the road Sarah has ahead. I smile only because in my heart of hearts I know Maeve will be mustard, just like Sadie. These gorgeous, wide-eyed, brave and curious little girls are destined to grow into precocious and fearless young women. God help us.

As I said to Sarah on the phone when she brought up this profound and wondrous topic, I am confident that these dynamic and lively little spirits are resilient and unbreakable. So our challenge as mothers will be to corral them enough to keep them safe, yet give them the freedom to embrace their authentic selves*. Does it all come down to a girl’s self-esteem? Or is about her sense of security at home? Her relationship with Mom or Dad? Damn it, Sarah, I don’t know! What I do know is this: Sadie and Maeve are so loved that sometimes it makes us faint. When we watch them make decisions, like choosing watermelon over grapes, or peek-a-blocks over Mister Potato Head, our stomachs get fluttery. When then extend their little arms in hopes of being picked up, we find no greater feeling than being needed by our daughters. We tell them we love them and we mean it, earnestly. And when they refuse to take their medicine, wake up for the third time in as many hours, or empty the contents of the Tupperware drawer all over the kitchen for the zillionth time today, we will sigh, and still love them. This is what will save them from themselves.

*”authentic selves” courtesy of, and used without the consent, of His Lordship, Dr. Phil

Sadie-mouse

2006-04-13T14:18:00.000-04:00

Maeve

2006-04-13T14:17:00.000-04:00

Baby mine, don't you cry...

2006-01-28T20:56:00.000-05:00

So Zack is putting the baby to bed now. It’s so hard for me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I love that she needs me. Is that awful? I don’t know but it’s true, nonetheless. Now, don’t get me wrong; I love that Zack is actively involved in her routines and I feel a certain amount of freedom regarding being left out of the bedtime business, but still…. She’s only eight months old and I’m already grieving that someday she won’t be my little baby anymore… I love her so…

Good God… She’s bawling her eyes out. Do I intervene? Do I sit here like an asshole, typing away??? Oh, it makes my stomach hurt. I could turn of the monitor… or I could run upstairs and take her in my arms and kiss her face and nurse her and make Zack feel like a loser and ruin everything all the while making her a happy little clam. I don’t remember reading any of this in all the crappy parenting books…

She’s quiet now…. Another glass of wine?? I think so.

Baby Maeve

2006-01-14T19:04:00.000-05:00

Zack and Maeve "sledding"

2006-01-14T18:55:00.000-05:00

Snow baby

2006-01-14T18:54:00.000-05:00

M's snow suit

2006-01-14T18:53:00.000-05:00

Maeve's new sled

2006-01-14T18:52:00.001-05:00

Welcome to 2006

2006-01-14T18:52:00.000-05:00

Sorry I’ve been so delinquent lately with blogging. I truly respect those who blog daily…. Here are some shots of Maeve over Christmas vacation in Colorado.

Happy New Year!!!

Christmas in Colorado

2006-01-14T18:46:00.000-05:00

2006-01-14T18:44:00.000-05:00

Baby genius

2006-01-14T18:42:00.000-05:00

Mommy and baby opening presents

2006-01-14T18:40:00.000-05:00

Playin' Grandpa's guitar

2006-01-14T18:38:00.001-05:00

First time on the slide

2006-01-14T18:38:00.000-05:00

Maeve first time in a swing!

2006-01-14T18:35:00.000-05:00

Singing to Maeve on Christmas Eve

2006-01-14T18:31:00.000-05:00

A shit sandwich

2006-01-14T18:26:00.000-05:00

Neither Zack nor I, particularly me, is what one would call a religious person. That said, there’s got to be something to this Karma thing. Let me explain. Zack and I are shit-talkers, of the highest order. We talk shit together, we talk shit apart. Recently, perhaps even on the same day, we were both bragging to other parents about how Maeve is almost eight months old and she’s never had so much as the sniffles! Ha! All those poor schleps with their wan and sickly kids. Day care; that’s the real villain. We know it and we talk shit about it. Well, the day Maeve turned eight months, she so poetically got her first cold. We deserve it. We know. Lesson learned… If you talk enough shit, you’re gonna end up eatin’ a shit sandwich.

American Parenting

2005-12-21T09:39:00.000-05:00

As a follow up to my post yesterday, here is a link to a very interesting piece on American parenting...

Maeve's new bear

2005-12-20T09:15:00.000-05:00

Molly's Christmas scarf... which she moments later destroyed.

2005-12-20T09:14:00.000-05:00

Opening presents with Grandma and Grandpa M.

2005-12-20T09:13:00.000-05:00

Maeve and Molly

2005-12-20T09:10:00.000-05:00

Maeve's Christmas dress

2005-12-20T09:09:00.000-05:00

This year's Christmas card picture

2005-12-20T09:08:00.001-05:00

Before Molly ate the antlers

2005-12-20T09:08:00.000-05:00

Everything I needed to know, I most certainly didn't learn in Kindergarten.

2005-12-20T09:05:00.000-05:00

I’m convinced that the predominant reason that people have a second child is to prove to themselves that they know how to deal with a baby. Even though Zack and I are dead set on only having Maeve, I find myself constantly in an internal dialogue about what I would do differently the next time.

I would have swaddled less… Maeve is seven months old and can’t sleep for more than an hour if she isn’t bound up in the Kiddopotamus SwaddleMe Wrap, aka, the baby straightjacket.

We would have stayed away from the swing as a sleep device… Maeve will only sleep in my arms, the car, or that damn swing. She’s so heavy now that we burn through eight D batteries a week.

I would have offered a pacifier much, much earlier… Maeve won’t take one at all but needs the breast or my finger off and on all night, making sleep a bit of a joke.

I think I would have introduced co-sleeping earlier… Maeve isn’t interested in sleeping in our bed. I would love to have that option as a last resort.

I would have gotten Zack more involved in the nighttime and naptime routine… Maeve falls apart if I’m not there.

That said, there are many things I would repeat with this imaginary second baby. In particular, I’m very proud of the fact that we don’t let Maeve cry it out. I know many will say that her sleep problems are attributed to the fact that I go to her every time she cries in the night. That may be true, in fact, I’m sure it is! But lets examine what’s at stake here. Why does Maeve cry? Because it’s her only method of communication and simply because she needs something. She’s too cold, too hot, uncomfortable, hungry, wet, frightened, or just plain lonely. And don’t tell me that she’s manipulating me. She can’t even make the connection between pain and whacking herself in the face with a block and you’re going to tell me she’s working some calculated scheme to get me out of bed at night? Come on, people. Anyway, by letting her cry it out I’m not teaching her how to make herself warmer or cooler or more comfortable. She won’t learn to straighten her blankets or change her diaper. No matter how long I let her sob alone she will never just get up and get herself a snack. And although, if left long enough, she would likely get too tired and too frustrated to continue feeling frightened or alone, what am I really teaching her by letting her cry it out? That I’m not coming. That’s it. I’m teaching her that although I know she’s crying in an attempt to ask for someone’s help, no one is coming. I don’t see that to be a valuable lesson.

The whole principle behind attachment parenting is that it fosters a very confident child. If she knows you’re always there we she needs you, she is more confident and therefore more comfortable venturing out alone when she is older. This makes true, intuitive sense to me. I will admit that at 9:45, 11:10, 12:40, 1:22, and 4:30 this morning my theory felt a bit shaky but I really feel like I’m doing the right thing.

On a lighter, messier note, Maeve has entered the fabulously colorful world of finger foods. Enjoy…

Pretty proud of herself....

2005-12-20T08:15:00.000-05:00

2005-12-20T08:14:00.000-05:00

Dessert Island Discs

2005-12-08T22:52:00.000-05:00

If I ever record an album of covers, it will contain the following tracks:

Across the Universe – The Beatles
Nietzche’s Eyes – Paula Cole
And So Is Love – Kate Bush
The Other Side – David Gray
Easy – Lionel Richie
So Unsexy – Alanis Morissette
Putting the Damage On – Tori Amos
Blue – Joni Mitchell
Rabbit In Your Headlights – U.N.K.L.E.
Let Go – Frou Frou
Do What You Have to Do – Sarah McLachlan
One Flight Down – Norah Jones
Talk Show Host – Radiohead
Wild Horses – Rolling Stones
Time – Tom Waits
Feelin’ Alright – Joe Cocker

If I was auditioning for American Idol I’d sing I Drove All Night by Celine Dion. I’m serious… I would!

YEAH, SNOW!!!

2005-12-08T15:50:00.000-05:00

It’s finally snowing!!! I’m so excited.

My husband is from Grand Rapids, Michigan. That’s less than five hours north of here. He and his parents like to pretend that Indiana is some sort of desert, snowless, wasteland. So, not only do I love when it snows here just because I love when it snows here, I love when it snows here because Zack and his parents claim it never snows here… unlike the frozen tundra that is Michigan’s west coast!

Ha! Take that, Militos!

It’s snowing, it’s snowing!

Woo hoo!!

View from the back porch

2005-12-08T15:42:00.000-05:00

View from the front window

2005-12-08T15:41:00.000-05:00

View from our front porch

2005-12-08T15:40:00.000-05:00

View from our front porch 2

2005-12-08T15:38:00.000-05:00

Our big pine

2005-12-08T15:35:00.000-05:00

An afterthought...

2005-12-02T10:25:00.000-05:00

Erin inspired me to post my Thanksgiving menu… thanks, E! The Abbotts and Militos know how to party…

Starter:
Champagne Pate with herb water crackers
Polish Roses
Good old cheese and crackers

Main course:
Sage rubbed roasted turkey
Pork, sage, and onion stuffing
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Stuffed golden acorn squash

Desert:
Baked pears with caramel sauce

Booze:
Mimosas
Dry Sherry
Red wine
White wine
More red wine
Warstiener
New Castle
Guinness
Terre Haute Velvet (a whole separate story!!)
Port
Single Malt Scotch
Irish coffee

Turkey Day.

2005-12-02T10:01:00.000-05:00

Zack brought home the most beautiful little Norfolk Island Pine for me yesterday. We’re not getting a big tree since we’ll be in Colorado for Christmas but we both love Christmas decorations so much he thought the little pine would be a great consolation. He was right; it’s adorable. It will be the centerpiece of my Christmas Mantle. It has to be otherwise the cat will eat the damn thing. I think Maeve and I may spend the afternoon dragging all the decorations up from the basement. So Happy Holidays, folks!

Thanksgiving was marvelous. (Photos to follow) My parents came in from CO and spent the week with us. Zack and I even went out on a date while Maeve went to the mall with Grandma and Grandpa! Oh, and no need to call social services regarding the baby and beer photos. It was all in good fun.

Happy Turkey Day!

2005-12-02T09:57:00.000-05:00

Wanna share, Dad?

2005-12-02T09:53:00.002-05:00

Gimme a sip!

2005-12-02T09:53:00.001-05:00

Mmmm.

2005-12-02T09:53:00.000-05:00

Table is set.

2005-12-02T09:46:00.000-05:00

I seem to have lost something...

2005-12-02T09:44:00.000-05:00

Zack whipping up some Polish Roses

2005-12-02T09:42:00.000-05:00

Let's eat!

2005-12-02T09:41:00.000-05:00

Maeve's first bite of turkey

2005-12-02T09:40:00.001-05:00

Giving it another try!

2005-12-02T09:40:00.000-05:00

Party!

2005-12-02T09:39:00.000-05:00

I lost my tights!

2005-12-02T09:36:00.000-05:00

Grandpa and Maeve

2005-12-02T09:35:00.000-05:00

Hey Grandma! I'm down here!

2005-12-02T09:32:00.000-05:00

To each, His own.

2005-11-19T07:29:00.000-05:00

My SAHM/WM post continues to draw attention. I received a comment from a woman that I think is noteworthy. Her comment read as follows:

hey there Corrina ... here's a thought: I have no opinion on what's more fulfilling, being a SAHM or a WM. Because I'm neither. I've chosen NOT to procreate because I want to spend my life doing other things. So why does EVERY mom and dad I know tell me that I'm not getting any younger, I better step on it, I better have children before its too late, and refuse to take me seriously when I tell them I love their kids, I just don't want any of my own? It's easy for you to say "hey if you want a career, don't have kids" ... but society places tremendous judgment on the child free. Just FYI.

I emailed a direct response to her but wanted to share it with the class. It read as follows:

You're so right. My parents have some friends who have chosen to remain childless and it took until they were damn near fifty for folks to get that they actually didn't want to have any children!! Both of these couples have very fulfilling and exciting lives, terrific careers, and incredibly solid marriages. I wish the very same for you! Zack and I only want to have one child and, similar to what's happening to you, no one believes us! We get an amazing amount of "Oh, you'll change your mind." and "Oh, Maeve's going to need a sibling!" I find it all very patronizing. I'm an only child and I'm confident I didn't suffer for it. I suppose the bottom line is that, for whatever pathological reason, people vehemently think that they know best; that their way is the only way. I never expected for this post be such a fart in the bath. Perhaps we'll all learn a little, tiny lesson in "To each, his own."

Thanks for your comment. Your blog is great. I'll definitely keep reading.

Warmest regards from the Midwest,
Corrina

Maeve and Mom at Jersey Junction

2005-11-16T13:22:00.000-05:00

Maeve and Mom

2005-11-16T13:21:00.000-05:00

Maeve's Cannoli Day outfit: Italian & Irish - Pasta & Potatoes

2005-11-16T10:06:00.000-05:00

Cannoli day begins...

2005-11-16T10:00:00.000-05:00

Tiny and the Dough

2005-11-16T09:58:00.000-05:00

Cannoli Boss, hard at work

2005-11-16T09:55:00.000-05:00

The adorable duo: Jayden and Reese

2005-11-16T09:54:00.000-05:00

Ridiculously cute Reese Shelton

2005-11-16T09:53:00.000-05:00

Sheltons and Militos

2005-11-16T09:51:00.000-05:00

Left Behind... I hope.

2005-11-16T09:46:00.000-05:00

WARNING:  I suspect I am  about to offend some folks.  I am celebrating my right as an American to speak freely.  You have been warned.

I was watching one of the national morning shows today while nursing Maeve before her nap.  I was introduced to Jerry Jenkins and Tim LaHaye, the authors of the Left Behind series of… stuff.  So here we have the Good Cop-Bad Cop version of evangelical Christians.  Tim LaHaye looks a bit like George Hamilton with strange colored, sprayed hair.  He is the “You’re all going to HELL!!!” Bad Cop while Jenkins is a mild mannered, young-Santa type who declares his understanding of those who will not agree with him.  He is the Good Cop; he appeals to the younger, more self-conscious Christian, while crazy Ol’ LaHaye is wrangling in the ultraconservative thumpers.  What a lovely balance.   I found the whole thing quite distressing.

Look, my problem isn’t the popularity of some fictional books based loosely on the Christian scripture.  My problem is that we live in a society where an overwhelming percentage of the population is so junked up and watered down that their faith is heavily wrapped up in novels about the apocalypse and Mel Gibson movies!!  It’s interpretation at best but closer to fiction, people!  Like Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings!  Good versus evil!  Superman, Star Wars!  Teenage Mutant freakin’ Ninja Turtles!!
So I looked at the Left Behind website.  I expected to see a prolific amount of marketing for the ‘Best Selling Series.’  Oh no.  What I saw was a website claiming the apocalypse and fate of all those who don’t find salvation.  They offer a compendium to the books to help the poor, ignorant reader.  Here’s a quote: In this reader-friendly resource, two respected theologians respond to recent attacks on Left Behind's interpretation of Bible prophecy, providing clear historical and biblical support for specific end-times events described in the novels. Gain a deeper appreciation of these phenomenal bestsellers—and a deeper understanding of earth's cataclysmic final days!
As I continued my creepy link hopping, I wandered onto a prayer board.  I read some of the most self-serving, egocentric rubbish I’ve ever seen.  “Help me loose weight.”  “Help me find a boyfriend.”  “Why doesn’t she like me anymore?”  Drivel.  And then I happened upon the Kids’ area of the Left Behind website.  In this section the authors claim to have the answers to the following questions:

What will happen when Jesus returns?

How will God take care of things on earth during the end times?

What will heaven be like?

Here’s another fabulous quote:  Children will find great encouragement in knowing about the promises of Jesus' return, the timeline for last–days events, their home in heaven, and all the great things God has waiting for them in the future.

Great encouragement?  How ‘bout hellacious nightmares!!  I expect I’ll have nightmares about Doctor LaHaye!

This past weekend we went to my in-laws’ for their annual family and friends get-together, Cannoli Day.    It’s a great family tradition.  Everyone gathers to make Grandma Rose’s cannoli, using her old boards and rollers, etc.  Tons of food, about a hundred people.  Lots of fun.  My father-in-law rises at five or six in the morning and begins preparing the cannoli dough.  As we’re chatting over coffee, he tells me to avoid the subject of Maeve’s Christening or baptism or whatever.  We’re not having either.  Why would we?  I’m an atheist and Zack is a very vague, shaky, non-practicing, former Catholic.    Tiny, my father-in-law, suggested that if anyone ask about it, I lie.  How very Christian.  I asked my mother-in-law if it was really important to her that we have Maeve baptized.  She said she wished I would just do it for the sake of appearances.  I told her that would be an affront to her religion and that I wanted no part of that.  I told her I was not prepared to make that kind of decision for Maeve.  If she wants to be baptized when she’s old enough to decide for herself, then I will support her thoroughly.  To my great disappointment, no one asked about it.  I was ready.  Perhaps that’s why no one asked.

Day to Night Barbie

2005-11-10T14:00:00.000-05:00

I read a blog yesterday written by two women called The Blog of Working Mother Guilt. One particular entry has filled my thoughts ever since.

The post read:

Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Do you ever get the feeling that stay-at-home moms look upon you with disdain?

I’ve been thinking at great length about this. How do I feel about working moms and how do I feel about being a stay-at-home-er?

The short answer is, I pretty much hate everybody but I’m willing to dig into this a bit further.

The truth is, contrary to what I commented on the nice women’s blog, that I do tend to judge working mothers harshly. Truth be told, I very much believe that staying home with her children is a woman’s most critical obligation and occupation. Truth be told, I very much believe that if one’s career is priority then one shouldn’t have any children. I feel the very same way about breastfeeding but that’s an entirely different argument.

It really pisses me off that a working mother would say that being at home would bore her to death. I keep a clean and tidy house; my family eats a home-cooked lunch and dinner everyday, including the baby who has never eaten anything out of a can, jar, bottle, or box; my pets are happy; my husband is happy; I am happy; my child lacks no attention or interaction, rarely cries, and is developmentally ahead of schedule. We have a nice social network that involves both married couples, single men and woman, families with children and those without. I read a great deal, both to myself and to Maeve. I usually only watch television in the evenings unless there’s something terribly interesting on Oprah or Phil. I don’t spend family time cleaning the house or doing the laundry. We spend quite a bit of time outdoors. We go to the zoo, museums, parks, and friends’ homes. And quite frankly, I can’t remember the last time I was bored. In fact, I would love to have time to be bored.

And it’s not like I gave up a job as a checkout girl to become a homemaker. I left a six figure income to do this. I was very good at my job and I got a great deal of satisfaction out of it. It’s not as if this staying at home thing was the easy way out of a miserable, dead end job. I was the bread winner until Maeve was born. We sold a house, we bought a used car, we downsized by fifty grand in this new house. I clip coupons. We don’t eat out. I buy Maeve’s clothes on ebay and at Once Upon a Child. We got rid of cable. I got a library card so I’d stop spending so much on books and Zack would stop spending so much on movies. We made a ton of sacrifices to make this happen.

So yes, I do look at working mothers’ with some disdain. But only because they say things like “Oh, I’d be bored to death” and “I’d feel so unfulfilled.” So my disdain is reactionary. But perhaps I should feel pity. I’m not filled with guilt. I’m not exhausted. I’m lucky… and broke, of course.

A little advice...

2005-11-08T18:04:00.000-05:00

Pregos:

The generic version of liquid Mylanta tastes better than the brand name.
No one’s pregnancy will be exactly like yours, especially your mother-in-law’s.
At around seven months along, let your husband move to the guestroom. If you do it right, this could be the best months of sleep you ever get in your life.
Lots of gross things will happen to you during your pregnancy. Be prepared for anything.
Stop reading those damn pregnancy books!
Go into your delivery with an open mind… Leave room for bending in your birth plan but do everything you can to avoid a c-section.
If your husband doesn’t rub your back and/or feet every night of your entire pregnancy divorce him at once and find someone who will.
If you don’t have a good relationship with your mom, fix it. You’ll need her. Bad.
The last few weeks of your pregnancy might suck. Don’t wish them away. As soon as your baby is born you’re going to wish you could shove her back in just long enough for you to eat a sandwich and take a crap.
If you want to start your labor, don’t drink castor oil or eat a whole pizza or whatever the old wives’ tales suggest. Do the following:

Sell your house
Buy a new house
Pack up your old house and move all your shit to your new house
Clean the carpets at your old house
Unpack your new house
Move your piano, then change your mind and move it back
Proceed with labor

New Mommies:

If you’re planning on breastfeeding, plan on bullying the lactation consultants at the hospital. Do whatever you can to dominate their time. Who cares about the other patients!!
Stay in the hospital as long as they’ll let you. It’s way better than your house.
Get a lumbar pillow for your glider or rocker. You’re gonna spend a lot of time in it.
Learn how to properly swaddle your baby.
Be cautious when buying generic diaper wipes. Remember the difference between real toilet paper and school toilet paper?
Babies cry… a LOT. Crying peaks around five to seven weeks. You can pretty much count on week six sucking ass.
Figure out how to tolerate your hair without drying it.
Just eat. What you had for dinner last night is not giving her gas. Well, maybe it is but everything will. Her tummy will work itself out in a few weeks regardless of what you eat. So just eat, damn it.
If you cry everyday for eight weeks, its post partum depression. Now wipe your face and call your doctor and get some Prozac. Go on. Everything will be fine.
Everyone told me that by six months motherhood would be incredibly. During the first three months, every day seemed like an eternity. I’d never make it. Those first three months were really hard. But now we’re at six months and it really is the best job I’ve ever had. I really like her.

Seven bucks well spent

2005-11-03T14:34:00.000-05:00

Although she only wore it for about an hour, Maeve’s Halloween costume was, in my opinion, a ridiculously fantastic success….

The world's cutest peapod

2005-11-03T14:32:00.000-05:00

Peapod

2005-11-03T14:31:00.001-05:00

Peapod

2005-11-03T14:31:00.000-05:00

Peapod

2005-11-03T14:28:00.000-05:00

This cant be right

2005-10-29T14:08:00.000-05:00

This can’t be right…

I just took the World’s Smallest Political Quiz. Apparently I’m a hardcore libertarian, leaning only very slightly to the right. This is me???? I can hear my dad laughing from here…

The teething gods

2005-10-28T12:08:00.000-05:00

Whoever invented Hyland’s Teething Tablets is my new deity. Mr. Hyland, perhaps? Mrs. Hyland? Who cares! They are wonderful! Dissolved them in a shot glass with a little apple juice; sucked them up the Motrin syringe; down they went; down Maeve went. She only woke up once last night. Thankfully she didn’t sleep all night because, after some additional thought, I would have felt slightly guilty about going back on my word with the whole ‘going to church’ thing. That certainly wasn’t going to happen. Anyway, here are some new pictures of the little darling…

At the dinner table

2005-10-28T12:06:00.000-05:00

Helping Mom with the laundry

2005-10-28T12:03:00.000-05:00

Another hat!

2005-10-28T12:02:00.000-05:00

Cute.

2005-10-28T12:00:00.000-05:00

What is it about kids in hats?!?

2005-10-28T11:58:00.000-05:00

Happiest place on earth...

2005-10-28T11:51:00.000-05:00

Whores

2005-10-26T15:13:00.000-05:00

I was just link-hopping while Maeve is napping. I just discovered this Yahoo!360 business and I was looking at people who have similar taste in films and books as myself. Well, click after click after click I end up on some whore’s page. I mean that; a whore. This woman had photo albums on her page which included pictures of her son’s first soccer game, her two little daughters, and some pictures of her in a school girl uniform with skirt pulled up around her neck. I’m not kidding. Her children appear to be in elementary school. Sick. Oh, and there were pictures of her at the Eminem concert with her children. People annoy me. I’d like to wipe her face with my foot.

And the atheist prayed to God...

2005-10-26T10:28:00.000-05:00

And the atheist prayed to God….

Dear God,
I know, I know. I don’t believe in you so why on earth (your green earth??) would I pray?! Hey, you’re the omnipotent, omniscient one. You don’t know? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because I haven’t slept for more than two hours in a row for almost three weeks. That’s why. Please, God, help my baby sleep!! I’ll make you a deal. If you get Maeve to sleep for more than four hours straight, I’ll be charitable and selfless for a month. Oh wait. I have a five month old kid. I’m already charitable and selfless all the time. Let’s try again. If you help Maeve sleep for four hours straight, I’ll read that Life Together book Ann gave me. Hell, if you get Maeve to sleep through the night, I’ll read the goddamn bible!!

Love,
Corrina

Mean Teeth = No Sleep

2005-10-25T13:27:00.000-05:00

Holy shit, teething sucks!  Maeve is currently waking more during the night now than when she was a newborn.  And it stinks.  I feel so terrible for her.  She truly likes her sleep and it is currently completely evading her… and subsequently sleep is also evading me.

I did manage to sleep enough last night/this morning to have one of my peculiar dreams.  I was working on some sort of chain gang, raking grass clippings off a rail line.  There were dozens of us, all women, pushing our rakes along the tracks with onlookers lined up on either side of the tracks as if at a parade.  The woman beside me, a young Asian woman with long, shiny hair uncovered a tiny red chili pepper under her pile of grass.  She reached down and picked it up, cracked it between her fingernails like the way one would rub dry spices to let out the flavor, and swallowed it.  She found another and did the same only this time she broke off a small piece of the pepper and tucked it down my shirt, into my bra.  I instinctively grabbed it with the cotton of my shirt being careful not to touch it with my bare skin and threw it down.  At that moment, the Asian woman dropped dead.  I then began to futilely explain to the people in charge that the peppers had killed her, that she had intentionally ingested them, knowing full well that they were poisonous.  I showed them the red traces on my arm where the pepper touched me as well as a white terry cloth smudged with the red and tried to explain that the pepper had to be consumed in certain quantities to cause death as I was fine.

I’m so disappointed that I didn’t write this down sooner.  I actually knew the name and spelling of the pepper when I woke up but now I’ve forgotten.  I have to replay my dreams completely when I awake in order to remember them.

On a funnier note, my kid loves paper, particularly magazines.  She cries when we take it away.  We discovered her obsession last week while visiting some friends.  She devoured their US Weekly.  She’s funny.  I tried wax paper thinking she would like it and it would withstand her slobber better.  Nope; she likes her tabloids.  See for yourself…