Posts from — November 2011

Dealing with the issues like a boss

If you follow me on Twitter, you might have seen this post before Thanksgiving:

I won’t go into the details, but I do want to say that I am not usually one to write emails to teachers about issues, (so as not to be one of those parents … except in doing so I am one of those parents, just a pansy one) but an incident happened that made me really sad for Noah, and kind of ruined his morning, and hoo boy nothing will raise my hackles quite like someone ruining my kid’s morning. Ok, in fairness, she did not directly ruin his morning, but something she did (or did not do) directly led to the ruining of his morning. Anyway, vague-y vagueness aside, we are having a conference with her today, because that is what grown ups do after writing sternly worded emails. And talking to approximately 432 people about it behind her back.

I will be all mature and responsible in the meeting though, swear! And then talk to 432 people about it later.

Move that body

I am concerned about my lack of prenatal fitness. However, I am more concerned about my sleep—specifically, getting as much of it as I can—and so I can’t seem to either rouse myself early in the morning for namasting or get my buttocks off the couch in the evening in order to do, well, anything. So, slothfulness it is! However, I am considering printing out the picture taken of my face two hours after Rosie was born and taping it all over the house as mortification motivation. Which will either work like a charm on my exercise incentive or give my children nightmares. Ooh! Choices!

Hot off the presses

Here’s another one of those blog-type posts for my job. SPOILER: It’s about pregnancy. AND I made up whole new words for this one! You haven’t even read them before! I know, I’m kind of amazed myself. (P.S. Whenever I think I can’t possibly love Noah any more than I do, I take some picture of him like the last one in that post and then gaaaaaaaah lovesplosion.)

Ray of Norris

Right before Thanksgiving I took Rosie to the dentist and I had no idea what to expect. On one hand, Rosie is like a mini-Chuck Norris. On the other, she is a charming ball of sunshine who giggles in the face of uncertainty with a twinkle in her eye. Which would it be? No one knew.

It ended up being kind of an 80/20 sunshine/Chuck split. During all the whirring, suctioning, flossing, invasive parts of the exam, she laid back all cool, like AIN’T NO THING, STRING BEAN.

Zebra sunglasses, FTW

Then the kindly old (and I mean old) dentist comes in with his tiny, harmless mirror just to have a look-see at “those shiny princess teeth!” (Seriously all people everywhere. What is with the princess everything? Can the teeth not just be shiny? MUST THEY ALSO BE ROYAL? I ask you.) and Rosie was all oh haaaaaaaaaiiillllllll no. There was much bucking and thrashing until I finally had to half-sit on her and hold her hands down, just so the dentist could put a mirror in her mouth. A mirror. You know, the smooth, metal and glass kind. With no scary parts. Or noise. Oh well. At least she got a princess tattoo when it was all over.

Black and white and read all over

How rad are these nails?

My sister-in-law saw the idea before Thanksgiving, so we both tried it out. I’m totally digging them, but think I’m going to paint them with off-white polish next time, for a more authentic newspapery look. Because I’m a purist like that. We tried hard to choose the safe sections of the paper that didn’t have weird words in them, but it proved harder than I thought with only a small section of the paper available and freaky stories like this taking over the headlines.

As if I needed another reason to shop at secondhand stores

I was dropping off a load of things at the local kids’ consignment store the other day and while perusing the racks, found this:

A little girls’ London Fog navy pea coat? On Rosie? Uh, yes please and thank you very much. Rosie loves it, too, much to my relief (once she turns her back to a garment, it is DEAD TO HER) despite the look she has on her face in this picture:

That’s just a little bit of Chuck coming out there, is all. She was back to sunshine one second later, dazzling me into giving her a piece of candy or some other such thing. But geez, what could I do? She was in a pea coat, you guys. That I got for a bargain. I was a goner the second she slipped her first arm in the sleeve.

I am almost 100 percent sure I have titled a post with this music reference before, but when I think about the schmillion and seven things I have to do this week and the next and the next before Christmas break, I start to get a little short of breath and twitchy, so repeat title it is! And also maybe a Valium.

Seriously, I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to make it to December 25 with all my faculties intact. The holiday season is like a love/hate thing with me. Yes, yes, twinkly lights and breathless children and carols and hot chocolate and magical magic, but also 35 performances/festivals/parties to attend and 27 teachers-aides-school directors to buy/make gifts for and a job schedule crammed full of work that must be completed before our (fantastic, fabulous, I am totally not complaining about it) two week break mean a ridiculous lack of down time for the next three weeks, until the fourteen days of kick-ass, lazy, pajamas ’til 3, greasy hair, hang-fest to ring in the new year.

To be honest, my anxiety over the coming breakneck race to the finish seeped into the last day or two of my Thanksgiving break, making it hard to feel like I could relax fully, and I hate that. And it only makes me think about how next year it will be like this all over again, except I will have a (totally adorable and rad) 7-month old thrown in the mix as well. That’s when I feel like everything is bonkers and that I just want to move to Fiji, despite the fact that I can’t point to it on a map. Or maybe because of that.

So, yesterday, when I should have been doing a long list of things that would have started my work week off in a much smoother fashion, instead I did not change out of my pajamas, and neither did the kids. Well, that’s not true, Rosie can’t make it through a day without changing her outfit at least three times, so she spent most of the morning in pajamas before choosing a golden party dress to loaf around in.

And we just hung out. Chilled. Chillaxed, you might say. I made chocolate chip cookies (break and bake, natch.), we watched videos, we watched football, we didn’t go outside, we puttered, we napped.

Well, Noah did add to my needs-doing list, but since it made me laugh out loud, I did not mind so much. Plus, I hear they’re having a sale on babies.

And now that the week has begun and the bonkers ball has been pushed down the insanity incline, I am really glad to have yesterday in my rearview mirror. Because just between you and me, I’ve already started the pregnancy waddle at 16 weeks, and I’m going to need all the reserves I can get just to heft myself to the finish line. Writing here will help, I think. So even though it’s another thing to add to an already tight schedule, I’m feeling like Yestertiming it up. Let’s conjure a rally cry and give it our best, eh, team?

BREAK!

The kids and I loaded up and headed down to Florida, sans L (he’s flying down tomorrow) for Thanksgiving with extended family.

I have to say, this was the most enjoyable trip I’ve ever had with the two of them. They’re just the right age for singing songs in the car to pass the time, pointing out weird things on the road and stopping at a playground or two for a little snack and a leg stretch.

We stopped too many times and had too much junk food. Sure, it took us two and a half extra hours to get there, but no big. They were terrific travel companions.

Now we’re here, and enjoying the people and the sights.

So much to be thankful for this year.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

First official baby purchase. (Remember these?)

Rules for Entering.
(The sign reads: “If your name is in here you can come in.” And the envelope says “Names. Or if I just let you in.”)

And for you shorties out there, he’s also included a helpful guide to finding the Rules for Entering.

This is happening. (Cloth diapering, that is. I ain’t skeered. Much.)

Art for my girls’ room. (Girls! Plural possessive!) I love it so much that I don’t care that it is grammatically incorrect. Which is a big deal coming from someone who edits grammar for a living. Word, my girls. Word.

Photo from the roll of film my sister just found and developed from the race. Rosie = happiness.