More crib notes - Part Two of The Crib Chronicles

The love affair continues...

Night #3:  Why the hell did I wait so long to do this?  Wtf?  Is this my baby?  She is "down for the count" in minutes with hardly a peep.  I think the earth shifted on it's axis.  What else can I conquer?  (besides the laundry--which btw, I DID CONQUER today beyotches!!)  Is there a powerball drawing I missed tonight?  I'm on fire!  Bring on Night #4.....

So the rest of Night #3 wasn't too bad. In fact, this whole process has been WAY easier than I thought it would be.  I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. What's the catch? Am I being punked?  The hardest part is the sleep interruptions and even they wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't for the freakin' Zyrtec I have to take that makes me feel like a zombie the whole next day (minus the face eating).

Night #4 went smoothly. This is almost not worth writing about. <yawn>

Night #5:  So far, not-so-good. Cried for about 15 minutes going down tonight. Seemed to forget what the drill was here. Or maybe she was getting bored and wanted to give me something to write about. Ugh! Not anticipating a good night.....


......aaaand not so bad.  She seems to be on a kind of schedule.  She wakes up around midnight, 2 am, 4 am and then after 6.  I can live with this for now.  At least I know what to expect.


Night #6:  Zonked before I even laid her down!  Shweeet!  All went well until the frackin' dog started barking her knob off!!  She heard the neighbor's dog fart and went into attack mode! Needless to say, The Geel woke up, but went back down without a hitch.  

Sleeping Beauty (and Alice, the baby)

I think it's safe to say this is under control, and I won't continue to put you to sleep with tales of putting The Geel to bed.  Unless anything noteworthy happens, this is the end of these crib notes.  

~that's what I thought....~
Sleeping with the enemy. - Part Three of The Crib ...
The Thrill Is Gone--Part Four of The Crib Chronicl...

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Crib notes - Part One of The Crib Chronicles

Last night (this would have been June 9th) was the first night that The Geel slept in her crib.  All night. (okay so I brought her into my bed at 5 in the morning--it still counts!) In a totally separate room.  By. Her. Self.

Now it started as most nap times have been going:  some crying, a little back-patting--but it didn't last too long.  She was out fairly quickly and I danced down the hallway.  I may or may not have done one of those little jumps and clicked my heels together.  (Okay, I didn't , but that's what I felt like.)

Now at nap times I had been bent over the crib patting her on the back or just keeping my hand on her back until she falls asleep and I can walk out hunched over like Quasimodo because I can't walk upright for another 20 minutes.  (My rationale was that I wouldn't start patting until she would be tired enough to close her eyes when I lay her down--I was still using the Supernanny-lay-the-kid-down-no-eye-contact-no-talking-no-back-patting technique.  Sometimes she went down right away, sometimes it took 26 tries.)

I knew that methodology was not going to cut it for bedtime.  I remember sleep-training Owen with some Sleep Crazy Lady Method.  Sit by the crib for three nights, sit halfway to the door for three nights, sit at the door, stand on your head by the door, sit just outside the door with your thumb in your ear....you get the idea.  There just happened to be a plastic tote (that has been filled with cold-weather clothes and not yet been put away) sitting by The Geel's crib.  This first night I just plopped my ass down on that tote and stared straight ahead--or I may have turned my back on her and caught up a few games of Words with Friends on my smartphone, either way, I was NOT engaging The Geel.

I just had this feeling that it would work,  Sounds weird, I know, but I just felt like she was gonna get it, she was gonna figure it out.  She kind half-heartedly tried to stand up, she definitely cried a little but even that was half-assed.  When I finally left the room I ran down to the garage to get a folding chair--that tote was not gonna survive a whole course of the Method.  During the night she woke up 4 times so I scooped her up, sat in my trusty folding chair, nursed her briefly and put her back down--without a peep.  That's the part I thought I would have all the trouble with--the "putting-her-BACK-in-the-crib" part.  Not a peep!  I walked out of the room and blissfully went back to sleep in my own bed.  By. My. Self.

Night #2:  She went down WAY easier which kinda scared me.  I was a little anxious about what the rest of the night would hold, but she only woke up three times last night and made it until 6:30 am!!  Then I brought her into my room to try and snuggle up and get a few more minutes of shut-eye myself, but she was up for the day.  This whole thing is going a lot smoother than I anticipated.  Maybe The Sarge will be "off the couch" by the end of the week.....

~to be continued~
More crib notes - Part Two of The Crib Chronicles
Sleeping with the enemy. - Part Three of The Crib ...
The Thrill Is Gone--Part Four of The Crib Chronicl...

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What's in a name?

I caught this post a few days ago from Daddy Knows Less and it occurs to me that I have no suitable moniker for my baby daddy.  I'm not sure how I may have referred to him in posts (certainly not my "baby daddy") but I feel like he should have some significant name.

There are some things you should know about him so that you get the whole picture.  My husband is a former Marine and currently in the National Guard.  Between being in the military and having a touch of the OCD, he's kinda a neat freak.  Me, on the other hand, well, let's just say that opposites attract.  I like to organize things, but I'm not always necessarily very neat day in and day out.  No "Domestic Goddess" here.

http://moderngirlblitz.storenvy.com/products/278790-i-m-no-domestic-goddess-button

The joke around our house is that he will clean the toilet, and I'll fix it.  The joke-within-a-joke is that due to that OCD thing I mentioned, he won't really clean the toilet--that's my job, but truly it's the only job I have to do.  He vacuums, dusts (I DO NOT dust) and does all the yard work (which he truly does love).  The laundry is shared and the kids empty the dishwasher.  Whichever one of us cleans the kitchen after dinner (probably more me, but it usually depends on who cooked and what kind of mood The Geel is in after dinner) loads the dishwasher and washes anything that can't be loaded.

What else you should know....hhmmmm....man works his ASS off every day!  When he's not at his "day job" as a firefighter, he works some days for the Guard.  During mowing season he has his own lawncare business busting his ass in the sweltering summah heat, kicking grass and taking names!  (That was one of my ideas for the business name but he wanted something a little more, well, business-minded).  Anyway, my man is no slouch!

I think the most appropriate name I can come up with is The Sarge.  He made it to the rank of Sergeant while in the Marine Corps and he is now a Sergeant in the Army National Guard, and he frequently tries to run our house like a military post.  Good thing I'm around to flub that shit up!  

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What a difference a year makes.

I can't figure out why or how I have let Geel's first birthday slip past this blog unannounced.  She is, in fact, the reason I started this whole thing.  Well, really, if you boil it down the real reason would be me and The Man's lack of trying hard enough not to have Geel.  But let's not split hairs.

I would love to say that I haven't written anything before now because we were having some nice quiet family occasion.  The truth is we ran around like nutjobs driving four hours away to have a party with extended family since we moved so far from them.  So I really just did not make the time.  We did have a quiet after-dinner celebration on the night of Geel's birthday:  a mini ice cream cake with one candle and just the five of us, quickly followed by the notary lady who came to our house at 7 pm so we could sign our refi paperwork.  Woo Hoo!  I'm not sure if I was happier for that or for my baby girl turning one!  I mean, Sally the notary is helping me save $300 a month.  Geel is costing me WAY more.  You do the math.

Anyway, this year--as I often say to everyone, especially those about to have their first child--is the longest and fastest year of their life.  And mine, consequently.  And although this is the third time for me, it still holds true.  It is hard to believe she is one.  It is hard to believe she is walking, and talking (like a one-year-old) and learning so much every day.  I can literally see her brain getting bigger every time she discovers something new.

I think because she has Moo and Slim (and BabyFirst TV) to mimic every day, she seems so much smarter and advanced than they were.  She says actual words--not articulately, but she has a measurable vocabulary that she uses and adds to daily.  Dada. Mama. Juice. Cheese. Shoes. Bye-bye. Night-night. Ball. Apple.  That one I am particularly proud of.  A-ppuh.  Two non-repetitive syllables.  I love it.  She has turned me into the parent I never wanted to be--the look-what-my-incredibly-smart-baby-can-do parent.  I am annoying, and I don't care.  I talk about it all the time but not really because I think she's so much better than any other kid.  I mostly bring it up because I am incredulous.  I want to compare notes with other parents because I can't believe she can really do this shit!  I want to make sure I'm not going crazy.

But even with all of this brilliance happening I cannot escape the haunting thought that there are times when I wonder what I would be doing if she wasn't here.  My mom has said to me multiple times this past year, "I'll bet you just can't imagine your life without her now."  I think the first time she said it I kind of laughed it away and bit my tongue.  But the truth is that I can and sometimes I do.  Even now.  I would be lying if I said I didn't wonder some days, how much easier some things would be without her here.  More income.  Fewer expenses.  More time with Moo and Slim.  Less laundry. More sleep.

I mean, I have no illusions that my life is crazier or harder than anyone else's.  My kids are healthy (for the most part), my husband has a good job, but we have struggled since The Geel arrived, since I cut back significantly on working outside the home.  And I have since juggled re-entering the diaper zone, three part-time jobs (outside-the-home and concurrently) and our finances.  Even though I KNOW that all that is WAY easier than dealing with things I know other moms do--chronic and debilitating illnesses (their own and their children's), no job (serious financial turmoil), home-schooling (a breed of self-torture I will never inflict upon myself) and any other unexpected calamity life can throw at any one of us.

I have often been told (and occasionally thought) that The Geel must be here "for a reason."  Not that I could figure out what THAT was.  I think I have been waiting this past year to be hit over the head by something that laid it all out for me, that showed me "the reason" with bells and whistles, lights flashing and choirs of angels singing.  More often, too often I am thinking that she is the reason for so much else:  why we don't go out to eat anymore, why we couldn't take Moo and Slim back to Disney (as we had planned), why I should cancel my data plan and the cable we shouldn't be paying for, why we should be living with so much less and maybe be grateful for what we already have.

Fact is, The Geel did not ask to be brought into our lives.  She was not inflicted upon us and though she may have been unintended, she was no accident.  In all of her tiny brilliance, with all that she is learning every day, she is teaching us something far greater--that we have room for one more, we have love for one more, we have more to learn ourselves and with her, our family has more.

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Happy Mother's Day to ME!

Nothing profound going on here--just another day in paradise, but with some perks.....

Breakfast in bed!  

some of my gifts

pink piggy nails  :)

I had hoped that at some point I would have time today to write something profound on this of all days, but I am happy just to know that my kids love me so much.  They are actually the ones who created this tradition of bringing me breakfast in bed and I so look forward to it every year.  This year, of course, my little co-sleeper got to partake with me, but Moo and Slim accounted for that with some yogurt and a baby spoon for sharing.

I was given some wonderful cards, gifts and "coupons" for chores, and Moo set up a Spa for me in her room.  I was treated to a spine walk, a neck massage and foot soak (icy cold, but it certainly woke me up!  made me think that I need to take this girl to a pedi of her own so that she can learn a few things before next year....) and painted toenails.  She even had some scented lotion and music playing.  This kid is good!  (Although I wonder if it had anything to do with her later request for a guinea pig, which ended in tears)

So as I wrote this I have to confess that the bliss had ended.  I was interrupted by people at the door fundraising (on Mother's Day!?!?), a fight with Slim over his donation to aforementioned fundraisers, a waking baby (although she was asleep in her crib--small victories!!), and spilled coffee (left within reach of aforementioned baby--totally my fault).  And so I leave you with this:  


Pick your battles and count your blessings!  Happy Mother's Day!
♥ ♥ ♥

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Welcome to my crib...

The crib.  A seemingly normal household furniture item for those with babies.  Not in our house.  I co-sleep with my babies.  Please spare me your eye rolling, cringing expressions.  I am NOT--by any, ANY stretch--some crunchy granola, neo-hippy organic, berkenstock-wearing Earth mother.  Not by a LOOOOONGSHOT.  I'm just lazy--too lazy to formula feed and lug a bunch of crap around everywhere and too lazy to get up out of my warm cozy bed in the middle of the night to tend to a crying baby.  They move out when they're ready to make it through the night without me.  Or more specifically, without the boob.

I have a love/hate relationship with our crib.  We have had it for ten years now and it has gotten far less use than it probably should have in a house with three kids.  When Moo was a baby (and co-sleeping) I McGuyvered the crib to the bed by removing one side, raising it up on bricks to meet our pillow top mattress height, wedging pillows on the far side of the crib mattress so as not to lose the baby down "the crack," and strategically zip-tying it to the bed frame.  I loved the crib then.  Moo would fall asleep and I could shift her into the crib and she slept well in her own space there.  Of course, she was (and still is) my best sleeper.  Eventually she moved to a big-girl bed and we packed the crib away.  Enter Slim.

Slim is not a great sleeper and hasn't been since he was a newborn.  I McGuyvered the crib once more, but he would never sleep on his own in it.  I could never scooch him that far away from me and into his own space without him waking up in  minutes.  He slept best glued to my side all night.  After many months I gave up on the crib-as-sidecar setup and put the fourth side back on and tried to "sleep train" Slim.  This actually seemed to work for about a week until one night he screamed for 90 minutes straight.  Screamed.  We ended training and opted for peace and quiet.  And sleep.  Needless to say the love affair had ended.  I packed the crib away the next day.

And now we have The Geel.  Just turned eleven months and it's taken me until just two weeks ago to rearrange Moo's room to make room for the crib.  We don't have the space in our master bedroom for another round of McGuyvering so that was out of the question from the start.  I was so determined a year ago that this would be different.  She would be in her crib right away!  The Geel had other plans.  

She is by far my worst sleeper.  She would not sleep on her own at all and not for lack of trying.  I swaddled tightly, tried the Sleep Sheep, classical music.  Nothing worked.  She slept great--on me or daddy.  I slept many months with pillows propped under each arm so she didn't roll off of me in the middle of the night.  Daddy filled in for naps occasionally, but even those were not great.  She slept 20-30 minutes AT MOST.  This got a little better (30-40 minutes) around 5 or 6 months, but nothing to brag about.  

Did I mention that the majority of these naps took place ON me?  It made it impossible to DO anything.  I would have to wait until she was in a deep sleep--which, if she got there at all half the nap would be over by then.  Then I'd usually have to do some contortionist move to try and gently lay her down without waking her up.  I don't have any hard fast statistics about how successful I was at this, but suffice it to say that a 50% success rate would be generous.  If it did work I would hurriedly run around the house switching laundry (always!) or loading/unloading the dishwasher (in slow motion--don't want to make too much noise) or whatever else needed to be done at any given time. 

Now the crib is back.  First of all, Geel goes to daycare two days a week.  I know she naps there, although when I see nap from 11:00 am to 1:50 pm written on her little daily sheet, I wonder if they even know who my baby is.  The first two days of the "New World Order" were a little rough.  She didn't cry a whole lot (definitely no screaming--a great success by my measure) but she didn't sleep at all either--which left me with a zombie baby the rest of the afternoon.  

The third day she went to daycare.  I decided to grill the daycare women about technique and tried to get them to give up state secrets.  They told me they put her in her crib, cover her up, pop in the binky and she's off to la-la-land.  Sort of.  If she stands up and cries a little they lay her back down and pat her back.  Really?  I've seen that a million times on Supernanny.  I can handle that!

Day Four went rather smoothly.  She hardly cried at all and every time she stood up I just laid her back down (being super careful not to make eye contact or talk at all--Jo Frost would be proud!), covered her up, popped in the bink and after about 4 or 5 times she drifted of the sleep.  Day Five was even better!  Had to go back in ONCE and she was out in under four minutes!  Day Six got a little hairy.  I think I went in about 25 times.  Could be that she wasn't as tired as I thought or perhaps she was overtired.  Either way I was confident she would go down and she did eventually.  

So we still have a few bumps in the road.  It's just the beginning of this latest journey with the crib.  Obviously we don't want to rush things.  We wouldn't want to rush into anything too heavy--like putting her in there to sleep through the night.  For now, I'll take it slow, but I have to confess:  I think I'm falling in love again......

If you want to see how this story really ends, you might want to check out

Crib notes - Part One of The Crib Chronicles

More crib notes - Part Two of The Crib Chronicles 

Sleeping with the enemy. - Part Three of The Crib Chronicles and

The Thrill Is Gone--Part Four of The Crib Chronicles

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Author, Author!

I've always considered myself a writer.  In the evolution of my identity growing up, it is the one thing that has always been.  I definitely remember when I wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, a bio-medical engineer, an actor.  I wanted to be a Mom.  I wanted to be childless.  I wanted to be a wife.  I wanted to remain single.  One thing I never "wanted to be" was a writer--because I just was.

Now, I have at times specifically wanted to be a novelist, a playwright, and I briefly flirted with the idea of journalism.  I imagined that I would write wonderful short stories for magazines and be "Published."  These specific writing jobs never materialized, and there really is no job title for someone who furiously scribbles poetic rants on napkins.

My past as a writer is immortalized in many notebooks (for some reason I was always drawn to steno notebooks) scraps of paper and napkins, backs of receipts and the like.  My present?  Wrapped up in my brain.  I write constantly--in my head.  If I had time to sit and write all of the things I ramble on about to myself, I'd truly do nothing else--but it mostly gets swallowed up in the churning whirlpool of daily life with three kids, a dog and a couple part-time jobs and laundry (it really is it's own job all by itself.)

When blogging became de rigueur, I wanted no parts of it.  Writing was such a private thing in so many ways.  Partly because it was so raw and partly because it was so melodramatic I'd be mortified if anyone read some of the things I wrote.  I roll my own eyes reading some of that crap!

The other problem was that I couldn't imagine that anyone would want to read what I wrote and I just didn't feel like putting myself out there for that kind of rejection.  I think writers are like stand-up comedians in so many ways.  The best material is the crappy things in life, and we crave the attention of an audience so badly it overshadows the fact that we should probably be embarrassed like normal people.

So basically I'm doing this for the attention.  Well, not really, but kinda.  I always did like people to read what I wrote and I always appreciate feedback and constructive criticism.  I'll take Simon over Paula any day.  Tell me what sucks and maybe how you would fix it--don't get sloshed, read my shit and tell me my outfit looks good.

My biggest problem is that sometimes it takes me forever.  Who has time for this every day?  I don't like to read many blogs but I do enjoy a good "Punch" from Jen.  She's funny and it seems effortless.  (And she's courting minivan manufacturers.)  I want to be her.  Not in a Jennifer Jason Leigh Single White Female kind of way.  More like a "I-have-time-to-sit-down-with-my-thoughts-and-write-something-funny/entertaining/thought provoking-today" kind of way.

I keep promising myself that I will take more time, make more time, to sit down and do this more often.  (Which shouldn't be difficult considering that I average less than one post per month.)  So what, if anything, does this have to do with my super parenting?  Nothing really, except I will brag that both of my literate kids are excellent writers.  Or maybe I need to change the name of my blog.

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