Long, long ago I posted "Milkaholic." I worried...in the 11th hour (read: month) of Brooke's first year...that she was going to be a tough nut to crack in the ol' weaning department. Weelll, as usual, I was correct.
It's a curse.
Brooke, now 16 months and some odd days old, is becoming the creepy little milk-fiend I predicted. At this point, she follows me around chanting: "Ahh Mama, Mama, mook." She wakes up throughout the night and stands at her crib shouting pathetically: "Mook Mama Mook." She climbs into my lap and fumbles with my buttons, becomes momentarily distracted by my belly button (which is her anatomical fascination du jour), and then paws at my bra: "Mook.....peeeez."
Creepy, right? Yes, well, don't judge! I had tried to implement a one-mook-per-day policy: a tranquilizing maternal beverage before bedtime only. We went about a week before I cracked and did an emergency 3AM mook fix, which has now become the routine. Brooke is such an adorable little mookaholic that I struggle to steel my resolve to cut her off cold turkey. She still gets looped after nursing...
After her last nip of mook, she waved sweetly at my chest and crooned a boozy, "Bah Mook." Sigh.
Can Mama's little mookaholic say enabler?
Photos by Amanda Naylor, PThreePhoto.com
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Walls are Closing In...and Needless to Say, the Feng Shui is Just AWFUL
Now that I have started venting about my pent-up-ness, I just can't stem the flow. I am wondering why I wasn't able to share my experiences of boomeranging back into my parents house with my family in-tow, although sharing would probably have been one fantastic way to blow a little hole in the walls that are stifling my mo-jo...a hole into the vast, wide open internet wilderness....a world outside my "four walls."
I guess I am embarrassed to be home again. They say you never can go back home again, and I can say that that is not entirely true. We are living to tell about it--certainly surviving, if not completely thriving. I am just rather stifled. All of my earthly possessions that aren't in storage....and all of my familiar animals and people (they wouldn't let us keep the kids in storage)...are stuffed into the four walls of my childhood bedroom. And, for anyone out there who doesn't believe that clutter and room arrangement factor into one's happiness and productivity, I beg to differ: I am the pathetic living proof of a disastrous feng shui-busting experiment...merely a hollow shell of my formerly creative self ;-)
To add to my feelings of stagnation and isolation, I rarely have occasion leave the house, I have no work-work at the moment, Alyssa is back to school, Brooke is in that phase where she wants to read the same four board books all day long, and it's hurricane season, which this year equals rain every day...all day.
Surprisingly, I'm not at all depressed, though I'm sure my writing makes it sound that way. I'm just all hemmed in, bursting at the seams with ideas that I don't have room for right now. And, the thing is, it's not just the seasonal rain that's keeping us trapped indoors, or my very literal current cramped living conditions that are closing in and stifling me, it is my phase of life as the mother of a nappy, teething, tantrumy, not-so-fit-for-public, less-than-mobile toddler. And I say that with all of the love in the world for Brooke who is at an incredibly lovely, fun stage...and with the time-tested knowledge that she, like Alyssa, will too quickly grow up! It is a crazy phase of life for me, and one that I seemly fully understand while not being able to figure out.
Is anyone out there feeling this way? If you understood that sentence about fully-understanding-while-not-being-able-to-figure-out sentence, I will be ever-so pleased...very deep. How do you stay liberated when you stay home? How does the caged bird sing?
Whoa, that's heavy.
I guess I am embarrassed to be home again. They say you never can go back home again, and I can say that that is not entirely true. We are living to tell about it--certainly surviving, if not completely thriving. I am just rather stifled. All of my earthly possessions that aren't in storage....and all of my familiar animals and people (they wouldn't let us keep the kids in storage)...are stuffed into the four walls of my childhood bedroom. And, for anyone out there who doesn't believe that clutter and room arrangement factor into one's happiness and productivity, I beg to differ: I am the pathetic living proof of a disastrous feng shui-busting experiment...merely a hollow shell of my formerly creative self ;-)
To add to my feelings of stagnation and isolation, I rarely have occasion leave the house, I have no work-work at the moment, Alyssa is back to school, Brooke is in that phase where she wants to read the same four board books all day long, and it's hurricane season, which this year equals rain every day...all day.
Surprisingly, I'm not at all depressed, though I'm sure my writing makes it sound that way. I'm just all hemmed in, bursting at the seams with ideas that I don't have room for right now. And, the thing is, it's not just the seasonal rain that's keeping us trapped indoors, or my very literal current cramped living conditions that are closing in and stifling me, it is my phase of life as the mother of a nappy, teething, tantrumy, not-so-fit-for-public, less-than-mobile toddler. And I say that with all of the love in the world for Brooke who is at an incredibly lovely, fun stage...and with the time-tested knowledge that she, like Alyssa, will too quickly grow up! It is a crazy phase of life for me, and one that I seemly fully understand while not being able to figure out.
Is anyone out there feeling this way? If you understood that sentence about fully-understanding-while-not-being-able-to-figure-out sentence, I will be ever-so pleased...very deep. How do you stay liberated when you stay home? How does the caged bird sing?
Whoa, that's heavy.
I Have No Excuse...Here's My Excuse
I guess I sort of feel like sharing my life (at least the funnier parts that I have license to edit creatively) on this blog is--with every post--sort of like going to one's highschool reunion.
It should be noted that I have not attended any of my highschool reunions to date.
What I mean to say is: by posting, I share the innermost workings of my family...and my miiiind (a la Franc the wedding coordinator in "Father of the Bride"). I hold a microscope up to all of our triumphs and foibles, and I say, look at what we are doing! Aren't we cute? Aren't we funny? Aren't we unique? The whole point of sharing these anecdotes was to entertain you with how special we are...how special our experiences are (albeit weird, pathetic, shocking, and bizarre).
It has been as impossible for me to edit our current living situation into something worth posting on Momglomerate as it might be, say, for a person who has gained 400 pounds, been to jail 5 to 7 times, is thrice divorced, and appeared on Jerry Springer (insert your own unimpressive resume items non grata here), to attend their highschool reunion with their head held high.
Sidenote: At the time of my five year reunion, I had quit college after attending three separate institutions, had a child out of wedlock, had been recently divorced, was living above my parents' garage, and was unsuccessfully trying to start a business, which would eventually fail....impressively. In such dire straits, there was no way for me to present my situation in a way that would engender anything but pity from my peers, who were doubtless recent recipients of shiny college diplomas...on their way to starting graduate school or traveling the globe or embarking on fabulously exciting professional careers or planning their proper (unpregnant) marriages that would last forever--or at least longer than mine had.
Back to the present...come on, try to keep up, why don't you? GOSH! Currently, I'm working at a tiny table that my legs do not fit under smashed in the midst of the chaos that reigns supreme in my parents' office: ergonomically correct it is not; efficient it is not. I access the internet through a little cord that is directly attached to the parental cable internet box thingy. It is like a mini-analogy of my life: tethered to my generous parents by an as-yet un-snipped umbilicus. I reckon that it must be akin to being re-virginized (which I have recently heard of) how I have seemingly re-entered the proverbial womb.
My independence--along with all of our stuff--is jam-packed into our storage unit, awaiting the glorious day--hark, October 18th--when we can move out of here and into our own space. (At the risk of sounding ungrateful....and I'm definitely not. Ungrateful, that is. Thanks parents!!) A space where someone doesn't say loudly things exactly like, "Someone used my pen! I found it on the magazine beside the computer, and it is supposed to be on the base of the computer monitor! And it's lid was OFF! You CANNOT use my pen. It was very expensive. Like hundreds of dollars. ARRRGGH!"
You try to find the inspiration to write a funny blog post in a room where a pen of that magnitude resides (on the base of the computer monitor).
I have no excuse for not posting regularly.
But if I did, that would be it. The pen...or more precisely, its owner. Sapping my creative energies.
It should be noted that I have not attended any of my highschool reunions to date.
What I mean to say is: by posting, I share the innermost workings of my family...and my miiiind (a la Franc the wedding coordinator in "Father of the Bride"). I hold a microscope up to all of our triumphs and foibles, and I say, look at what we are doing! Aren't we cute? Aren't we funny? Aren't we unique? The whole point of sharing these anecdotes was to entertain you with how special we are...how special our experiences are (albeit weird, pathetic, shocking, and bizarre).
It has been as impossible for me to edit our current living situation into something worth posting on Momglomerate as it might be, say, for a person who has gained 400 pounds, been to jail 5 to 7 times, is thrice divorced, and appeared on Jerry Springer (insert your own unimpressive resume items non grata here), to attend their highschool reunion with their head held high.
Sidenote: At the time of my five year reunion, I had quit college after attending three separate institutions, had a child out of wedlock, had been recently divorced, was living above my parents' garage, and was unsuccessfully trying to start a business, which would eventually fail....impressively. In such dire straits, there was no way for me to present my situation in a way that would engender anything but pity from my peers, who were doubtless recent recipients of shiny college diplomas...on their way to starting graduate school or traveling the globe or embarking on fabulously exciting professional careers or planning their proper (unpregnant) marriages that would last forever--or at least longer than mine had.
Back to the present...come on, try to keep up, why don't you? GOSH! Currently, I'm working at a tiny table that my legs do not fit under smashed in the midst of the chaos that reigns supreme in my parents' office: ergonomically correct it is not; efficient it is not. I access the internet through a little cord that is directly attached to the parental cable internet box thingy. It is like a mini-analogy of my life: tethered to my generous parents by an as-yet un-snipped umbilicus. I reckon that it must be akin to being re-virginized (which I have recently heard of) how I have seemingly re-entered the proverbial womb.
My independence--along with all of our stuff--is jam-packed into our storage unit, awaiting the glorious day--hark, October 18th--when we can move out of here and into our own space. (At the risk of sounding ungrateful....and I'm definitely not. Ungrateful, that is. Thanks parents!!) A space where someone doesn't say loudly things exactly like, "Someone used my pen! I found it on the magazine beside the computer, and it is supposed to be on the base of the computer monitor! And it's lid was OFF! You CANNOT use my pen. It was very expensive. Like hundreds of dollars. ARRRGGH!"
You try to find the inspiration to write a funny blog post in a room where a pen of that magnitude resides (on the base of the computer monitor).
I have no excuse for not posting regularly.
But if I did, that would be it. The pen...or more precisely, its owner. Sapping my creative energies.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
I Just Posted, and the Immediate AdSense Ad Was About Depression Symptoms
How do they do that?
I typed something about rocking oneself in the fetal position in a darkened room and BAM! there is an ad about depression symptoms. Well done, Google!
I typed something about rocking oneself in the fetal position in a darkened room and BAM! there is an ad about depression symptoms. Well done, Google!
Where Does the Time Go?
It makes me laugh a little (not out loud, but very barely audibly on the inside) when I recall my last post: I was informing you that the packing and moving were completed and we were moving in with my parents, which I apparently thought would be:
a. funny
b. inspiring
c. time-freeing.
In reality, I spent about the first two weeks here teetering between migraine-inducing rage and the kind of hopelessness that makes you want to curl up into the fetal position in a dark room for hours upon hours. It is true, as it turns out, that you cannot go home again...ESPECIALLY not with your two kids and two dogs and one ADHD husband.
My stepdad, Mike, is ADHD, like Greg. He is very particular about his habits, schedule, and things, like Greg. He is very quick to anger, like Greg. Put the two of them in the same house, let alone the same kitchen, and you can only imagine the horrors. Or maybe you can't. It is still totally un-funny to me at the moment, as I'm still here living the nightmare until at least October 18th.
If I can think of some slightly entertaining...hopefully funny and lighthearted...way of exemplifying the insanity, I will. At this point, all I can muster up is a list of current points of contention:
-dogs using the garden as a bathroom
-dogs using the house as a bathroom
-my dogs eating a food with grains in it
-incorrect dosage of dog incontinence pills
-incorrect dosage of earache medication
-incorrect usage of anti-nausea pill for t-storm tranquilizer pill resulting in dog's destructive psychotic episode
-parking vehicles nose-in
-using the bathroom scale
-using the remote control
-using the other remote control
-using the salsa
-using the cast iron pots
-using soap on said pots
-feeding the diabetic cat dry food
-not mixing in the dogs' wet food
-softball on Monday
-softball on Wednesday
-patio cushions out in rain
-dishwasher loading
-amounts of laundry detergent
-timeliness of washing pots and pans
-Brooke and the steps
-dogs and the front yard
-dogs and hiking
-logging off of the computer
-dripping faucet
-cracking driveway
-fountain care schedule
-the Furminator
-how many beans one should eat in a day
-how much oil one should use to cook things
-timeliness of drying cast iron
-location of kitchen utensils
-sugar intake of children
Ad nauseum.
a. funny
b. inspiring
c. time-freeing.
In reality, I spent about the first two weeks here teetering between migraine-inducing rage and the kind of hopelessness that makes you want to curl up into the fetal position in a dark room for hours upon hours. It is true, as it turns out, that you cannot go home again...ESPECIALLY not with your two kids and two dogs and one ADHD husband.
My stepdad, Mike, is ADHD, like Greg. He is very particular about his habits, schedule, and things, like Greg. He is very quick to anger, like Greg. Put the two of them in the same house, let alone the same kitchen, and you can only imagine the horrors. Or maybe you can't. It is still totally un-funny to me at the moment, as I'm still here living the nightmare until at least October 18th.
If I can think of some slightly entertaining...hopefully funny and lighthearted...way of exemplifying the insanity, I will. At this point, all I can muster up is a list of current points of contention:
-dogs using the garden as a bathroom
-dogs using the house as a bathroom
-my dogs eating a food with grains in it
-incorrect dosage of dog incontinence pills
-incorrect dosage of earache medication
-incorrect usage of anti-nausea pill for t-storm tranquilizer pill resulting in dog's destructive psychotic episode
-parking vehicles nose-in
-using the bathroom scale
-using the remote control
-using the other remote control
-using the salsa
-using the cast iron pots
-using soap on said pots
-feeding the diabetic cat dry food
-not mixing in the dogs' wet food
-softball on Monday
-softball on Wednesday
-patio cushions out in rain
-dishwasher loading
-amounts of laundry detergent
-timeliness of washing pots and pans
-Brooke and the steps
-dogs and the front yard
-dogs and hiking
-logging off of the computer
-dripping faucet
-cracking driveway
-fountain care schedule
-the Furminator
-how many beans one should eat in a day
-how much oil one should use to cook things
-timeliness of drying cast iron
-location of kitchen utensils
-sugar intake of children
Ad nauseum.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
I Didn't Want to Tell You This... BOOMERANG!
You all listened patiently (I assume) to my musings about having a house for sale. I believe that I mentioned that, due to my psychotic, frenetic cleaning and staging behaviors (and perhaps among other minor factors as well), the house sold. Well, readers, settlement is nearly upon us. This is my last Saturday here, as settlement occurs next Friday morning.
Usually, the bummer of moving out of your home is buoyed by the excitement of moving into your next one. Desafortunamente (that's Spanish for unfortunately, and I much prefer its ring), this is not the case for us. The bummer of moving out of this house that we have loved...the one that Alyssa has gone to her first days of school from...the one that we brought baby Brooke home from the hospital to... *wow--my inner English major is freaking out at the prepositional mayhem of those last sentences!* is actually compounded by the fact that we will be moving into my old room at my parents.
We. As in me, Greg, Alyssa, Brooke, Ringo, and Hemi. As in, all six of us and all of our beds and clothing and stuff. We are all boomeranging back into my childhood bedroom. At my parents home. With my parents. Both of them. And all of their beds and furniture and clothes and stuff. And all of their cat and three dogs that don't like our dogs...and subsequently, gnaw on them and urinate all over the house in retaliation of their imposition.
So, four adults, two children, five dogs, and cat will be roomies. Cozy, right? Well, this arrangement seemed like a feasible idea--never an easy one, but a doable one--when it was supposed to last for a mere six weeks. Guess what? Our new home's completion date has been rescheduled from late August to OCTOBER!!! We are looking at three months, "best case scenario, with no weather delays," a la our realtor.
My poor, poor parents. Poor doggies-mine, who will be used as chew toys by their petulant doggie "aunties." Poor, poor, pitiful me!!
On the upside, this should make for excellent blog fodder, and I may even have time to post to my blog for the duration, as my friend will be back from her maternity leave to attend to the accounts that I have been doing in her absence :-)
I'm cleaning out the old room this evening... Since I left it twelve years ago, it has been used as:
-a garbage dump
-a playroom
-a craft room
-a knitting room
-a sewing room
-a nursery
-a spare bedroom
-a nursery again
-"Lila's" clothing boutique, per Alyssa
-an art studio
-a workout room
-a yoga dojo
-a reading room
-a man nest
-a decrepit furniture storage area
-collectible showroom
-photo shop
-framer's gallery
-pressed flower emporium
...dot, dot, dot.... (which so reminds me of the Bachelorette and smarmy Bentley).
Tune in to find out what I found up there...as the latest saga begins!
Usually, the bummer of moving out of your home is buoyed by the excitement of moving into your next one. Desafortunamente (that's Spanish for unfortunately, and I much prefer its ring), this is not the case for us. The bummer of moving out of this house that we have loved...the one that Alyssa has gone to her first days of school from...the one that we brought baby Brooke home from the hospital to... *wow--my inner English major is freaking out at the prepositional mayhem of those last sentences!* is actually compounded by the fact that we will be moving into my old room at my parents.
We. As in me, Greg, Alyssa, Brooke, Ringo, and Hemi. As in, all six of us and all of our beds and clothing and stuff. We are all boomeranging back into my childhood bedroom. At my parents home. With my parents. Both of them. And all of their beds and furniture and clothes and stuff. And all of their cat and three dogs that don't like our dogs...and subsequently, gnaw on them and urinate all over the house in retaliation of their imposition.
So, four adults, two children, five dogs, and cat will be roomies. Cozy, right? Well, this arrangement seemed like a feasible idea--never an easy one, but a doable one--when it was supposed to last for a mere six weeks. Guess what? Our new home's completion date has been rescheduled from late August to OCTOBER!!! We are looking at three months, "best case scenario, with no weather delays," a la our realtor.
My poor, poor parents. Poor doggies-mine, who will be used as chew toys by their petulant doggie "aunties." Poor, poor, pitiful me!!
On the upside, this should make for excellent blog fodder, and I may even have time to post to my blog for the duration, as my friend will be back from her maternity leave to attend to the accounts that I have been doing in her absence :-)
I'm cleaning out the old room this evening... Since I left it twelve years ago, it has been used as:
-a garbage dump
-a playroom
-a craft room
-a knitting room
-a sewing room
-a nursery
-a spare bedroom
-a nursery again
-"Lila's" clothing boutique, per Alyssa
-an art studio
-a workout room
-a yoga dojo
-a reading room
-a man nest
-a decrepit furniture storage area
-collectible showroom
-photo shop
-framer's gallery
-pressed flower emporium
...dot, dot, dot.... (which so reminds me of the Bachelorette and smarmy Bentley).
Tune in to find out what I found up there...as the latest saga begins!
Friday, July 8, 2011
Pony Camp--Super Yankee the Wonder Pony Saves Momglomerate!
Ever since summer vacation started Alyssa has been looking forward to attending Pony Camp. First, she was begging permission, then she was begging for the money, and then she was begging for new clothes, tack, and accessories "needed" for said adventure...
Well, permission granted, money saved and paid, equipment procured, cleaned, labeled, and packed--
People, this was no small feat! Pony camp, for those of you who are uninitiated, involves sending your child AND YOUR CHILD'S (whole!) PONY to a stable for the duration. So, not only did I have to pack up all of Alyssa's gear, we had to pack up all of Yankee the Wonder Pony's gear as well, and schlep it all to parts unknown.
Let me break it down for you.
Normal: Lunch, snacks, and drinks for child in cooler.
Us: Lunch, snacks, and drinks for child in cooler. Several 50 pound bales of hay, about 5 pounds of feed, two buckets, and a bulk bag of carrots in a wheelbarrow for pony.
Normal: A change of clothes and maybe a swimsuit for child in a backpack.
Us: Boots, jodphurs, half-chaps, tall socks, t-shirt, helmet, gloves, protective vest and a change of clothes in a backpack. Halter, leadrope, flymask, bridle, grassreins, grabstrap, saddle, girth, two pads, bump pad, and crop for pony.
Normal: A few books and toys for child in above mentioned backpack.
Us: A few books and toys for child in backpack. Brushes, flyspray, hoofoil, suntan lotion, diaper cream, and gear for pony.
Normal: Child and backpack ride in a passenger car to camp.
Us: Child rides in backseat of 3/4 ton pickup. Gear rides in the bed of pickup. Pony rides in a horse trailer to camp.
Let's just say this: normal didn't go to pony camp this week!
But...on the upside, Yankee the Wonder Pony has been babysitting Alyssa all week at said camp, so I actually got to write this mini-post :-) BLESS you Yankee the Wonder Pony!
Well, permission granted, money saved and paid, equipment procured, cleaned, labeled, and packed--
People, this was no small feat! Pony camp, for those of you who are uninitiated, involves sending your child AND YOUR CHILD'S (whole!) PONY to a stable for the duration. So, not only did I have to pack up all of Alyssa's gear, we had to pack up all of Yankee the Wonder Pony's gear as well, and schlep it all to parts unknown.
Let me break it down for you.
Normal: Lunch, snacks, and drinks for child in cooler.
Us: Lunch, snacks, and drinks for child in cooler. Several 50 pound bales of hay, about 5 pounds of feed, two buckets, and a bulk bag of carrots in a wheelbarrow for pony.
Normal: A change of clothes and maybe a swimsuit for child in a backpack.
Us: Boots, jodphurs, half-chaps, tall socks, t-shirt, helmet, gloves, protective vest and a change of clothes in a backpack. Halter, leadrope, flymask, bridle, grassreins, grabstrap, saddle, girth, two pads, bump pad, and crop for pony.
Normal: A few books and toys for child in above mentioned backpack.
Us: A few books and toys for child in backpack. Brushes, flyspray, hoofoil, suntan lotion, diaper cream, and gear for pony.
Normal: Child and backpack ride in a passenger car to camp.
Us: Child rides in backseat of 3/4 ton pickup. Gear rides in the bed of pickup. Pony rides in a horse trailer to camp.
Let's just say this: normal didn't go to pony camp this week!
But...on the upside, Yankee the Wonder Pony has been babysitting Alyssa all week at said camp, so I actually got to write this mini-post :-) BLESS you Yankee the Wonder Pony!
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