Spring

A long time ago, I used to think that summer was my favorite season.  Now, I think I enjoy spring much more than summer.  Spring has new life blossoming around you with tulips and crocuses and buds all over the trees.  The weather is soothing like the calm after a big storm.  It say wake up — here I am.  The gray, cold, and snow of winter are behind us and now look the mud is like a spa treatment signaling that outside play and vacations are on the way.  Just yesterday the duffer and I were exploring the woods in front of my house and he tried to pick up the largest stick on the path.  He pulled and pulled for about a minute which is probably like an hour in adult time.  Upon realizing it was too big, he found a smaller stick to play with for the rest of the walk.  The whole walk maybe took twenty minutes, but it was lovely to not know exactly how long we were outside because it was warm enough to frolic with the dogs and soak up the sun.  Officially, spring will not be here for a bit and more than likely we will still get one more doozy of a storm, but I am enjoying feeling like my battery is recharged and ready to move forward with all that is to come.

My Day

I am sure later I will come up with a better title, but this post is to tell you that I am pretty sure that none of you did what I did today.  See, two weeks ago my mother told me that while my husband was away at his conference I should do some things around the house because that would make him happy.  Today, I took my little duffer to daycare, turned around drove home, and decided that I would mow the lawn.  My husband is not a fan of mowing the lawn because since it rains every day he needs to do it at least once a week.  In addition, it takes at least two hours to do right.  I decided that I would indeed mow the lawn for my husband (front yard and back yard) so that when he came home tomorrow after his final day of class (and evening of BBQ, Bocce, and Bonding) he would not need to worry about it.  He could do more fun things like chainsaw or work on his car.  What I forgot about is my complete and total fear of falling off the tractor, well not so much falling off the tractor, but having the tractor tip and roll on top of me.  Of course, the likelihood of that happening — slim — but you can’t tell your irrational fears those things.  I start out doing fine.  I made it once around the yard and then started down the small incline by the road just like my husband showed me.  Only problem, I forgot that to the left of the rock it gets a little muddy because of all the rain and being at the bottom of an hill.  I managed to get the tractor stuck.  Of course, I am stubborn as all get out and not about to call in someone to help me get it moving so I tried once more and came inches away from saving the day only to have the tire get bogged down again.  At this point I claimed defeat then texted and called my husband to admit what I had done.  After laughing and telling me that tractors get stuck, he suggested what he might do if he was there.  The picture gives you an idea.  After driving the truck across the lawn in 4-wheel drive, I attached the chain that was in the back to the pull in the front of the truck and found a small area I could attach the chain on the tractor.  With music blaring (very important when attempting difficult things), I backed the truck up enough to pull the tractor a good ten feet from the mud.  Once safe from the watery and muddy abyss, I put the tractor back in the garage and decided that finishing up the laundry, dishes, and maybe vacuuming the rug will be enough.  Of course, once Carl is back I plan to get out there and finish the lawn once the yard dries out.  After all, I’m as stubborn as all get out.

Running Down a Dream

Well, it’s official.  On Thursday, I registered for the Leaf Peeper’s Half Marathon that takes place less than five minutes from my house.  Race Day is October 4th, which means after a long hiatus from running (pregnancy, childbirth, and those pesky post-baby months) I am primed to start back running.  Although I have run several times since my son can now sit in the jogger, I haven’t really incorporated it back into my life on a full-time basis.  So, I did what I always do — sign up for something that forces me to bring it back.  Now, my friend and I have many other names for this race that aren’t appropriate to share in public, but truth be told it is a killer.  First off, it is an out and back.  Out and back races are just horrible.  You never truly know how much farther you have to go and then you have to go back and do it all again.  Next, if you aren’t fast then it is a lonely race.  After a certain point, you don’t see any other racers except for those around you — well, if there are any around you.  The rush of racers that pass you at one point disappear never to be seen again except lingering around the Gatorade and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream tables.  Now, I am not a slouch when it comes to running — once I ran a mile in less than nine minutes  (okay, 8 minutes and 54 seconds, but still it was less than nine), but consistently I run ten minute miles which aren’t bad I think except when watching races like the Boston Marathon or see my students’ scores for the cross country race they did in less than twenty minutes, but still I am holding my own.  In order to guarantee that I don’t have a lonely race again I need to kick up my training to go just a little faster than usual.  My husband has given me a Nike Sensor so I can measure my rate and mileage and all, but I am almost nervous to see it in action.  I am a fan of the guesstimation of things (it took me about thirty minutes to run three miles) with actual data I might find that I am slower than I thought.  Next, I am nervous about injury.  You can’t go tweaking your back when you need to carry a 24 pound baby around.  Plus, my joints are still a little loose because of breastfeeding so I have to be extra careful and actually stretch after tightening my muscles with running.  In addition, I need to make sure I eat well and more than I think because I am burning calories both with nursing and running.  So many things to remember.  I remember when I could just walk out the door run around the block and come back to have a dinner of pizza.  Those days are gone.  My training starts a week from Sunday which as luck (or fate or something) would have it is my 33rd birthday.  I wonder if it is like New Year’s — whatever you do on that day you do for the rest of the year.  I hope so because I’d like to say that my 33rd year of life was spent fit and happy!

Size 4 Diapers

My son at month 4 has just transitioned into Size 4 diapers.  We decided he was ready for the bigger size when for days in a row he just blew through the 3′s.  In fact, this morning during his diaper change he felt the need to tell his dad, “Dude, get the bigger size.  I can’t be blowing through my diaper when I am trying to pick up chicks.”  So today, as the snow starts swirling, mom and son will attempt to exchange the two packages of Size 3′s that we bought at Toys R Us without a receipt.  Considering how friendly they were with my attempt to exchange the humidifier with a receipt, I think that we are going to have our work cut out for us.

I have a Masters Degree, really?

At least that is what I want to wear as a name tag when conversing with someone lately.  My friend asked me if anything exciting had happened since we last saw him (it has only been two days so really unless I won Powerball or my almost four month old walked what could really have happened).  My first thought to tell him was about the Poonami because it really was the most excitement I had that day.  Maybe most traumatic would have been the more appropriate adjective.  And since I find this story to be one that could be included in a book about moms and babies I will include it here.  On Wednesday morning, I went to yoga BY MYSELF.  It was even Ashtanga yoga (which for those of you who are not familiar with the different kinds this is the really active one that when I used to attend classes in Burlington in the summer I walked out looking like I had peed my pants all the way down to my feet because we just kept moving the entire time — not exactly the reflective type of yoga, but boy it makes you feel like you are exercising).  Of course, the class on Wednesday was like the kid version of Ashtanga, but I am still telling people I went to an Ashtanga class if they are asking because it makes me feel badass.  Anyway, after returning from class I was feeling quite centered and ready to take my little munchkin to Story Hour.  We were meeting his friend E and we were excited for the fifteen minute (when you are almost four months old Story Hour is really story fifteen minute) songs and stories.  My husband (the nice guy that he is) helped me put Duffer in the car with Swingsley his monkey and then came around to kiss me goodbye.  Before kissing me he said (and I quote), I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but when I clicked the little duffer in, well you know.  Quizzically, I looked at him unsure of exactly what you know is.  Again, maybe my genius four month old is talking and said I want steak or something inane like that.  Husband again, I think he pooed.  Naive me said, oh that I’ll just change him when I get down to the library.  Famous last words.  Upon arriving at the library I was running late.  Library doesn’t open doors until 10  Story Hour starts at 10, but it was like 10:05 so I was rushing to make sure to get a good seat on the carpet.  Luckily, my friend had saved us a spot because it was a full house (must have been because it was vacation).  I sit down.  I quietly say to my friend, Duffer pooed on the way down, but I think we can make it through Story Hour.  I unzip the down suit.  A strangely familiar smell begins to waft (the same one that has caused me to dry heave on occasion).  I still think oh, it just smells so bad because it is like a trapped fart.  Since he pooed inside a pretty airtight outfit, the smell is stuck.  I roll him over to start taking him out of suit when I realize I am not that lucky and no we cannot make it through Story Hour.  The woman to my left says to me as I realize I need a hazmat suit and a biohazard tent like on Fringe or Eleventh Hour, oh, we’ve all had one of those.  One of those?  There is a category for this.  I excuse myself to the rug by the exit and begin the process of decontaminating my son.  For all of those who have had a Poonami come your way or been around when one has happened, you know, there is no easy way to clean up this disaster.  Luckily, I carry plastic bags from a dispenser (the kind you have if you need to pick up dog poo — Thanks K!).  The entire outfit has to be put in one bag because except for the shoes and socks everything has been touched — this includes pants, a onesie, a shirt, and a fleece jacket.  I can’t take the diaper off to clean it off because I have to get all the poo that is all the way up to my son’s shoulders.  I can’t take the diaper off because knowing my luck my son will pee on the books on the shelf behind me and on me (by this point I already have poo all over my shirt and I am dry heaving in the corner while the nice library reads about monkeys and sings Criss Cross Applesauce).  I am cursing my husband who knows that our son is famous for his poo.  That lucky bastard is now at home watching Days of Thunder while I am having a pit stop of my own.  In only true miracle fashion, I am able to clean up my son and return for the last two songs of Story Hour where we talk about kittens and mittens and other such things.  I chose books as if nothing has happened including two about heavy equipment (diggers and dump trucks) plus the monkey story that started Story Hour since we didn’t really hear it.  I manage to wrap my son in my sweater and hurry him to the car since the down suit is out of commission.  We make it home in one piece and even manage to get poo out of all his clothes with the Charlie’s Soap we use for the cloth diapers (truth — on the label it says it gets out poo and it really does).  After all of this hullabaloo, I dress my son in another snowsuit and head to Staples for some therapeutic shopping.  Later on, I end up with my friend at a local restaurant telling him this story.  Then I remember, once I used to tell stories of books I read and educational philosophies I believed.  Am I really that far gone?

What They Don’t Tell You…

is that being sick with a baby is like running a marathon backwards.  Even worse is if both parents are sick while baby is not sick.  I envision that all of the family being sick is even worse, but we didn’t encounter that this weekend.  Instead, we had two trips to the ER for their finest IVs and anti-nausea medicine and a mandatory rest period from work because neither of us could get there.  Today, I am out again because standing for any period of time proves tiring.  In fact, I am writing this during one of my only awake times so far today.  Luckily, we have a great baby who has his routine and doesn’t mind hanging out with his parents (sure, this will change when he is thirteen, but we got time).  I am resting up because my husband and baby are due back by the end of the day and I know I will need to be on.  We have over five baskets of laundry to fold and baby needs a bath tonight.  Dinner will be easy because both of us are eating — wait for it — soup again.  I haven’t had real food since Saturday.  Me, who loves chicken wings, almost had my husband get out of the car on Sunday after he went into our local supermarket to get supplies and came out smelling like a bar on Friday nights that gives out free wings with drinks.  Usually, I love that smell.  That day, forget it.  Maybe by tomorrow I will get to have a real meal, but again that could be a pipe dream.  One that I can’t wait to indulge in.

Our First Yoga Class and ABBA

Last week my son and I went for our first walk together.  With my heart rate elevated, I remembered how much I love exercising.  However, with temperatures in the teens and single digits, it is hard to get the little bugger out.  Rule of thumb is that you can’t take the baby out for long periods of time if the temperature is lower than twenty degrees.  This past week it hasn’t seemed to get past sixteen degrees.  In my quest to find something athletic for us to do, I found a post-natal yoga class at the local hospital.  My friend and I decided to try it out with our little duffers not knowing what to expect.  We had a lot of fun.  Mind you, the trip wasn’t without the usual fun-filled time that we have.  After arriving at class, my son was hungry.  I fed him quickly and then decided we should check on his diaper since he had some rumbling down below during feeding.  No poo, but we were all clean and ready for class.  Of course, I needed to pee due to the amount of water I drink in a given day so my friend watched him.  I came back to her reaching for a burp cloth because he had spit up.  I figured just a dribble.  Nope.  He not only ruined his entire outfit, but he spit up all over the front of my friend’s yoga pants.  Quickly, I got him into outfit #2 and down on his blanket for the start of class.  There were two other moms and babies besides my friend and me.  The instructor was awesome.  She did some great poses and gave adjustments for those of us who haven’t done yoga in about four months (me).  My son did great for the first ten minutes of class, but then the meltdown began.  Clearly, he doesn’t like the whole sitting still and being present with yourself.  He needs movement.  Luckily, so did all the other babies.  Halfway through class, the teacher switched over to some more dancing moves which really worked your legs.  After that segment, my son was asleep because — wait for it — all the moves she did were the same ones we do at home when he is having a meltdown only without the additional leg lunges.  She noticed how well he had done with the dancing and how calm he was.  At this point, I had to admit to the truth.  I told the class that not only does my son love moving around but he has discovered that he enjoys doing it to ABBA.  His favorite song is “Take a Chance on Me.”  We sing this a lot while changing diapers and when he has gas.  We discovered his love recently while watching “Mammia Mia.”  Although, both he and I are in agreement that Pierce Bronson should never ever sing.  I am thinking based on the instructor’s face that ABBA is not the most popular music for yoga classes.  All in all, he finished up the class with some minor fussing, which actually got me out of doing the hardcore ab work (that I actually need).  Despite his fussiness, we had fun and we are planning to head back next Saturday.  Of course, between now and then, I am going to need to get my son a little yoga outfit — maybe a onesie with Namaste on it.  If that doesn’t work out, I could always get him an outfit like Bjorn and Benny wore back in the day.

It’s A Miracle I Get Anything Done At All

Yesterday was my six week doctor’s appointment.  Four weeks ago when I made the appointment I thought having it at 9 a.m. would allow for us to get in and out and on with our day.  Four weeks ago I had my husband and sister helping me get around because I was still recovering from a c-section, not driving, and probably not worrying about things like showers.  Yesterday, we started out early.  At 6:30, we began the routine of feeding, showering, dressing, etc.  Hindsight is a slap in the face if you ask me.  My husband didn’t have class until 10 a.m.  If I had been smart, or had a memory that lasted longer than three seconds out, I might have asked him to help us get ready and on the road.  Instead, I ran around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.  Now, my husband also pointed out that had I been a J instead of a P (back to the whole Myer’s Briggs thing) I would have been out the doctor and on the road hours before I even needed to be there.  I snapped back that maybe if I had been a J I wouldn’t have dealt so well with the changes in plan/hurdles that happened as we attempted to leave the house.  Change #1 — my son became hungry at 8 a.m. when I was supposed to starting the car and warming it up, as well as packing the bags (yes, I suppose I could have packed these the night before, but what if something had changed and besides my entire life has been spent packing in the wee hours of the morning before leaving for anywhere and I have done fine — no wisecracks about now I have another person to worry about).  I needed to stop and feed so the car didn’t get started until 8:15 a.m., by that time I realized I did get myself dressed in nonelastic pants (okay, they are a couple sizes larger than my usual, but they are not elastic), pack the bags, and get the munchkin dressed in one of his many Randy snow outfits.  I did not, however, do my hair.  Hurdle #1 — taking off the jacket would take away precious time from being able to possibly walk out of the house at 8:30 a.m. so I decided I would put the little monkey in the vibrating chair that was thankfully still in the bathroom and throw product in my hair.  Well, throw is what I did.  The gel that I attempted to pump out of its container landed on the wall and all over my jacket — nowhere near my hair.  Irritated, partly because I finally was able to wear one of my skinner jackets, I wiped off the goo, left the jacket on, and put more gel to put in my hair.  Next, I held my now crying son while I brushed my teeth over the sink.  Only small amounts of spray landed on the kid and me.  All and all, we were finally able to walk out of the house at 8:40ish so that we were only fifteen or twenty minutes late for the appointment.  Thank goodness, people think the little man is so cute and say things like “Oh, we understand” when something like that happens.  We survived the rest of the day in one piece (managing to even get a bagel since we had forgotten to eat breakfast, a birthday present for a dinner we are attending tomorrow evening [we are bringing the whine since it is during my son's meltdown time -- we are either very brave or very stupid -- I'll let you know later], and go to two banks [okay one was a drive-through]).  Our afternoon was much quieter, as we spent time on the couch eating way too many sugar cookies and staring off into the distant waiting for the coffee drink my husband had promised to bring home.  Now, it is 7:40 the next morning and we have been up since 4ish (I no longer count the ten minutes here and there I doze off next to my son on the couch as actual sleep time) because we have been hungry, pooing, and just downright pissed at the world at times.  Truthfully, I think my son is just getting himself ready as my husband says we are leaving the house by 9 a.m. today to do errands before the snow arrives.  Meanwhile, I’m thinking closer to 10:30 — if at all.

Cheap and Easy

One of my favorite quotes that I see in kitchy locations, as well as my mom’s lanai, is the phrase “If we are what we eat then I’m cheap, fast, and easy.”  I felt like I was living that life last night only without the fast part.  The husband and I decided that we should try and join the real world again by having dinner at our local pub and brewery.  We had attempted to do this on Wednesday, but our little man had a hell of a time with gas and by the time he finally settled down the moment had past.  Lucky for us, Thursday seemed a relatively slow evening at the establishment, which was great for us because many a night the wait for a table can be anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half (although, well worth it!).  On the way down into town, we realized that for years we have been bar people.  We actually prefer to sit at a bar and eat our dinner.  We enjoy chatting with other folks and people watching, but, unfortunately, they don’t make bar stools for car seats (although, maybe this could be my invention).  As luck would have it, we were seated in less than ten minutes.  We felt like rock stars.  While waiting, I ordered my first beer since I found out I was pregnant.  Since I was craving a stout, I went for it.  Only to discover, the beer I wanted was the one with the highest alcohol content.  I was able to have about five sips of it before turning it over to my husband and going back to my mainstay of water and lemon.  Truly, on this occasion, I was a cheap and easy date.  In addition, since all my jeans that fit (maternity ones) were dirty I actually left the house wearing my fuzzy pants.  The good thing was I actually showered yesterday so I was clean.  The other good and bad thing was our son slept the entire dinner, but then didn’t sleep very much away from us last night.  Darn it, we had two good nights of him sleeping on and off for two hours at time.  However, I think part of it has to do with a minor cold he might be developing.  Overall, we are thrilled at our ability to leave the house and partake in the real world, but now we are both utterly exhausted.  Tonight will be pizza for dinner and us heading to bed as soon as our son does in hopes of catching a couple consecutive hours.  Wish us luck!