Day five (or, the Fates are Fucking with me.)

Really, day five was just a continuation of day four, as Zia was awake all night. I guess we had to pay for that pizza shortcut somehow. Waking every twenty minutes to her agonized screams is its own special kind of torture that properly prepared me for today;)

But, to truly prepare for the day, a shower was an absolute MUST. Out of other options, i dragged the baby into the shower with me. While she didn't play happily on the bathtub floor quite the way I envisioned, I'm able to curl twenty pounds in one arm while scrubbing things in the other pretty well by this point in my parenting career and thus, emerged clean(ish). This felt sadly triumphant.

I was less triumphant about procuring groceries post breakfast and we landed in the attic instead. Where Zia managed to punch out a window with her foot as P and I looked on in shock, glass banging down the steep slant of the roof. This gave her a story to tell ALL day. Fortunately, that was all it gave her. Obviously, it was nap time.

I researched window repair and fixed food. P was forgiving. Then the toilet stopped working.

Z, not quite done with me, woke seeming seconds after falling asleep and I, imagining eight solo hours straight in the attic until bedtime, felt a heightened level of desperation. I begged a hike. The children, bless them, agreed.

Bundled and woolened we drove into the west hills mist for a splendid hike. An adventure outdoors will fix most any day for me. P was lively and loving the mist. Z, well, there were quite a few traumas... but also happiness.

Revived, I reckoned I'd make the meatball soup upon our return after all, rather than the lame dinner I'd started planning when the toilet tanked. Zia, thankfully, busied herself at my feet and I shoved stuff in a pot. The meatballs mixed, I went to dump them in when I noticed a crunch at my toes...

Z had found a rice cake (or three) and waged war. For anyone who has wasted their mouth on such an item but not shredded it to bits by hand, let me tell you that it not only tastes like styrofoam, it sticks to everything the same as well. My sigh of annoyance was mimicked by a sad sound from my cooktop. Which then shut down. And would not turn back on.

The silver lining to buying an aging, illegal triplex ignited hope within me and i lugged the cauldron upstairs, feeling the Fates full belly cackles following me. I glared at the broken window while I waited for the little stove upstairs to heat. At least we have this backup stove. That promptly started smoking. Yes.

P and I are reading the Percy Jackson book during Z's naps (per his friend's instruction) and thus all things Greek are hot topics here. Therefore, it didn't seem completely inappropriate that I suddenly felt like a picked on pawn in a bored god's game.

I muttered about fecking Fates as I picked rice cake off of my socks and ran up and down the stairs cooking. Zia decided spreading the six loads of laundry I'd heroically washed in the last two days in front of the stairwell door was the perfect response to this situation. By this point, I had to laugh.

Because I don't like to cry in front of the children ;). And then I realized, I'm stronger, better, when Superman is gone. It's all on me. I can't get cranky and know he'll make up for it. I can't lean towards drama, knowing he'll balance it out. I'm all the kindness, all the reassurance for the kids. It's all me, all day long. Usually, those last three hours of the day I get to relax my standards a titch, banking on our average. And today it hit me, he may be gone from 5 AM TO 6 PM every day, but those few hours he is home are Huge. It's not just the recycling (which I Did take out;). It's the mindset. I have an escape hatch, a backup parachute, always there in my mind. The fact that he comes through that door for dinner each night makes the whole day feel different.

I love being married. To him.

So, the Little Man labeled the soup sublime and the meatballs magnificent (seriously, he said that;). I boarded up the broken window, plunged the toilet, finished the laundry and played trains, books and blocks until bedtime. And as we had our evening snack, it hit me that turning shit off always seems to fix computer stuff (hey, its not my strong-suit;). So I flip a breaker and count to thirty.

Fuck those fates, the stove works again.

But I still can't wait to hug my man and average out again:)

Flying solo

Superman's amazing grandfather died this week. And while all of us flying home to celebrate this man's awesomeness wasn't in the cards, I'm thankful that E could travel home to be with his family and reminisce.

Being Superman, he has dutifully called each day (sooooo not a natural thing for him) to do FaceTime with the kids. Obviously, between P telling him stories and Z, not to be topped by her brother, jabbering loudly (with her face positively Planted on the ipad screen), well, I can't get a word in edgewise ;). So I thought a pity strewn (as he is quite worried about my sanity surviving his week away, what with Z being Z and, well, P being P;) update would make him miss us less....

Day 1
E leaves. The baby cries loudly as she watches him drive off with (to add insult to injury) her Aunt, Uncle and beloved cousin. I rock nap time, read to P, clean the kitchen while playing with him and make an amazing dinner that night. P spends the day stomping loudly on the floor, so happy to not worry about bothering his downstairs neighbors. While playing in the attic before bed, P says how much fun it is that papa is gone for a change (apparently my pre-bed demeanor (I'm typically doing dishes and laundry pre-bed) is different than Superman's.) Although I glance at the clock about 15 times waiting for bedtime to strike, I finally go to bed with a (relatively) clean house and happy children, patting myself on the back. Aaaaand, we have our new babysitter coming the next afternoon so I can get some cooking done. I SO have this covered.

Day 2
Day one felt a little long, so I plan an outing. It doesn't take, so we play kinda peacefully all morning upstairs. The babysitter cancels. She has chicken pox. That's ok... After Z's psychotically short nap, I herd the children to the car and make it to the zoo without incident or tears. Z even has shoes this time. The kids enjoy themselves and the fresh air revives me. Traffic flows all of the way home and the kids quietly munch their snacks that I'm so proud I packed. Dinner is delish and the dishes almost get done. The evening attic time drones for hours (how early did that sun set?!?! and who's wise idea was it to have kids that stay up until 10?!?!) and I almost don't get my teeth brushed before bed, but it all pulls together in the last few minutes with a fun bed dance party and the beauty of sleeping children. I can do this.

Day 3
Day two was way too long. I wake up with big plans only to find that Phoenix has risen early and broken the stairwell key off in the lock. He is sweating and mortified and attempting to rectify the situation with tweezers. I sigh more loudly than needed as the (apparently Starving) cat on the other side of the door shrieks. I disassemble the lock, feed the cat, make a huge breakfast. A quick trip to a locksmith and the key is discharged, copied and the children whisked home. When I replace the lock I feel unbeatable and think, Superman who? I make an even bigger lunch and feel like the ultimate provider. Then there is a long afternoon with play and errands. Dinner that night looks to never happen, as I'm struggling to get through the pile of dishes already glaring at me and Z is not having any of it. The Little Man saves the day with a babysitting proffer and the children eat something semi warm, but with a salad from the garden. As thanks for his great sacrifice, I toss together some honey custard to bake as we dance away the last long hours of another winter night in the attic. As the children eat their bedtime custard, I notice the compost is overflowing and the recycling seems to be multiplying as quickly as the dishes. Oh, superman....

Day 4
Well, day 3 dragged on for forever, so I wake up with big plans for a nice, long, morning hike. The children rebel and I'm still in my pajamas at 1, bouncing Z down for her nap and trying not to count how many days it has been since I showered, Once she (finally) falls asleep, I bail on the dreamy shower in lieu of food (ewww, but I do so like to eat....). After that, P needs me right until... That baby wakes up again. As they start to chase each other, screaming, I throw clothes at myself and scream the loudest that we are going on a scoot. The outdoors works it's magic and we are all content and smiles. I feel a renewed sense of accomplishment. I reward myself for all of the scratch cooking kale chip eating days this week with an organic frozen pizza and no mothereffing extra dishes. And P watches a movie before bed so I can try and wade through the mess now overtaking the attic while Z tries to make me nurse her baby doll. As we eat our leftover custard before bed I make a mental note to do something about that compost pile. And the laundry. Oh, and the recycling.

We'll see how day 5 goes, but I'm noticing a trend here, no?;)

Holidays 2012

I'm going to super-sum, as I'm falling too far behind (as just pointed out by my father, thanks, daddy.)

The holidays were supreme this year. LOVE. E, who has had little vacay time the last couple years due to moving and baby birthing, had a some half days to spare at the end of the year and I talked him into using them :). Having him around is sooo lovely. We get much less done, his "vacay mindset" infecting us all (me), so it amounted to a great staycation full of... not much but happiness.

We lit fires, had the fam up for hot cocoa and cookies, ate late lunches while Z zonked (and P positively glowed getting the two of us to himself.)

Xmas was really sweet, too. It felt, well, just More, having two kids. More exciting, more special, even though it was a chill and small Christmas. Don't know why, it just did. P had very low expectations and was pretty pleased when he saw more than the two packages he'd been planning for under the ficus tree. Not many more, but every one counts ;). Santa brought the kids a freaking bouncy house - crazy jolly man.

(Sidestory there: we ordered it in Kansas, after wistfully thinking how great a trampoline would be to get the kids' energy out. Alas, our yard size and climate say no to a tramp. But a bouncy house... Anyhoo, deep sleep deprivation had hit a couple weeks later when we hit home. Opening the packages Seth and Alicia had accepted for us I came across a weird bright orange blower. Wha? P watched me wonder, watched me call Superman over to wonder, watched as we pulled up the blower to discover brightly sewn panels below, watched a I smacked my head, putting it all together. In other words, he watched as I opened his UPS delivered Santa gift. Interestingly enough? Hardly any chatter about it Xmas morning. A simple, that's from Santa sufficed. Either he's so onto us he's over it or he just wanted to believe this year ;)

Whatever the story, the bouncy house was declared the Best Christmas gift of all time :). And, since Z's needs are few with all of the Little Man's hand me downs floating about, it was nice she had something to get all happy about, too. We had a big family breakfast and then Alicia and fam brought dinner up that evening. I absolutely, positively LOVE having family here. Right here. Love.

Such a simplified tale, leaving out all of the special details and cute kid quotes. Sigh. I'll get caught up and keep up... Promise, daddy :)

My father, the baby whisperer...

Phoenix is off learning how to snowboard!!!!  He was so excited last night he couldn't even sleep :)  Superman and Seth ran to the mountain at dawn with a car full of excitement ;)  I think they're hoping P will be proficient for Uncle Ian and Kendra's upcoming visit...  I cannot Wait to hear how it goes...

If Z stays zonked, I can start my catchup here...

My father.  Super sweet guy.  Giving, loving, fun-loving.  Not so smooth with the babies.  And then there was Z.

I think he held her, like, twice, when we were home last year.  I mean, he smiled at her and cooed at her and stuff, but, well, he's better with KIDS.  The kind that talk and make sense and don't seem so breakable.  Z, she didn't know this and, apparently, had different ideas this visit.

You know when you meet someone and it just clicks?  There's no awkward getting to know you stage, no idle chit-chat.  You just swing into friendship smoothly and it feels like breathing.  I love it when my life bumps me into an insta-chum.  It was amazing watching it happen for Z.  She went to my father like a fish to water.  And, just like that, my father became the baby whisperer :)

When Z was at her orneriest (like, how she insists upon drinking the bath water after I mentioned it could be dirty (poopy butt and all...)  (Ewwww)  But she's at that age where the mere whiff of a "no" translates to "do over and over and over and smile impishly while repeating yet again.  And, if thwarted, wail like there is No Tomorrow."  

Well, when the going got tough like this, Z got going to my father.  

And each morning she would clamber onto his lap while he tried to eat his breakfast.  There she would proceed to eat her frozen blueberries and wipe them on his nightshirt.  She would cry when he disappeared to dress for work and give him huge hugs as he left for the day. (And then whine, again, that her bosom bud was gone.)

One particularly lucky day, she got to visit him at the office :)

And while she would occasionally direct him around the house to lift her atop tall stuff, she was just generally more content, happily chilling on his lap in the library for long (to me) periods of time.  She never chills on any of our laps for long periods.  (Just sayin.)  They would chomp ice and she would chat at his face and then kiss him.  My mother and I would just shake our heads.  (And then go make dinner in peace.  It was kinda nice ;)
 

Phoenix was that slow-to-warm kinda baby.  He wanted me and me and only me.  Z is much more sharing.  But the scale leaned waaaaay heavily towards my father, a new thing for SuperGrams.  And my sweet daddy made sure he pointed out to my mother every single hug and kiss he received.  Ha ;)

Zia: Her 13th and 14th month

Sorry, Daddy :)  Been hacking at this for the last two weeks!  Adding pics now and putting it out there... :)

(FYI, this is the face you make after you faceplant into horse shit ;)

I best get this finished before I'm doing (or skipping;) her 15th month... lol.   Paragraph by sentence by bit this one.   Kansas updates, still to come... promise...

Z is.... full on toddlerhood.  Full. On. Toddlerhood.  She can pitch a fit and fling to the floor and laugh up a storm and play a game with the best of 'em.  I can't believe my "baby" is so long gone.

What's new the last two months...  hmmm.  She's shot up tall, able to see out the front windows without her tippy-tippie-toes.  The better to make the window filthy with her (seemingly constantly blueberry covered) hand prints and fill the air with her screeches of "Papa!  Papa! Papa, bye bye?"  Or, "Tac!  Tac!!!"  (That's cat, for the uninitiated. (Of which there are about a zillion in our nabe.) For a while it was "kitty cat."  Then "Danda," now it's Danda or Tac.)

She's gotten taller and her hair has gotten longer.  In the front, at least ;)  Leaving her to rock a punker's do that leaves way too many people asking me where I get her hair done.  Ha!  Little do they know that it's the leftover food caking it sideways just right and a complete defiance of ponytails that gives her a seeming style. (I can trick her about once a month into a pony.  Then she notices her hair is no longer in her eyes and flings her tiny scrunchy to the floor with disgust.  Alas, and so it begins, so early...)

Since she knows exactly what she wants, it is nice that she is cluing us in more clearly these days.  Not that we don't still have epic fails and total misunderstandings (like the other night when P accidentally dumped her off of his lap onto the floor.  She was bemoaning the fall and pointing to her cheek and to Phoenix and I thought she was signing "brother" (we do a point to the cheek and hand wiggle for him).  She has the sort of personality that very much appreciates an apology.  She feeeeeels wronged, very deeply.  But, um, no, Clueless Mama, she was just pointing to the enormous red swollen spot on her cheek where she went splat ;)  But if she doesn't know the word or the sign for something, chances are she'll make one up (like she has for toothbrush and floss and upstairs...)  Our days are filled with constant babble.  Its obvious she is saying full sentence instructions.  Its less obvious what those full sentences instruct us to do ;)  But our faves (that we can actually understand) are, "Where'd it go?" and "I want that" and the best, "I DID that!" (when she's proud of accomplishing something.  Yes, it's hilarious.  When she figured out how to step up and down a sizable step, after practicing a million times, she turned around, slapped the step and simultaneously shouted "I DID THAT!" Sheer awesomeness incarnate.)   I can't remember what she was saying two months ago, but nowadays the typical signs are food, drink, music, bouncy house, Uncle Seth, baby (oooo that's the big one - she signs baby allll day, as she is completely obsessed with her baby cousin), Aunt Alicia, down, sleep,  snake, fish, wrap, NO (this head shake is a BIG one these days;). open and, did I mention FOOD?

Cuz she seems to have her mother's metabolism.  I can easily eat Superman and my brothers under the table.  And then be ready for seconds.  A trait that has proven annoying on every trip we've ever taken, since food doesn't fall from the sky every thirty minutes.  And no one else can understand how I can already be Star-ving.  E has nicely muttered "tape-worm" more than once.  I never realized how this could be irritating to others until.... Zia.  Since I am left in search of something to feed her constant void All. Day. Long.  At least I'll eat an entire plate of the same food.  Little Bits would like 4 bites of 50 different things for lunch.  And then a repeat soon thereafter.  But of different things, cuz she doesn't like to repeat in a day. Unless its blueberries.

Or nursing.  Which there is still a ton of.  I'm totally on board with the child led weaning, worked fab for P and the philosophy is sound.  But the night-nursing is wearing. me. down.  She's having a really rough time with her molars (I think it's a molar issue?!?!) and some food reaction rash that has us confused and her too miserable to sleep well.   By that, I mean waking at least 10, usually TWENTY TIMES a night...

Yes, this is seriously Pain-Ful.  Sleeping longer than an hour stretch would be a glorious thing at this point.  I know I would be nicer.  More patient.  Less Zombified.  But she seems too young to night wean...  and that doesn't seem to be the root of the problem.  With the recent addition of the rash to the streak of grumps and night-time screams, we're re-evaluating the last month's food additions.  Sigh.  I kinda thought we had it narrowed down, but we are still adding foods, so there is still fun yet to be discovered, apparently.

The golden lining had been her naps.  As long as I stuffed her with food and nursing right before zonking, she was sleeping two hours Straight.  But, alas, that has gone to shit too and I spend the nap running in to soothe her cranky, tired self back to lala land.  Oh, I know this too shall pass.  Second time mum and all that jazz.  But as a second time mum, it's sucking for the one I did the same for the first time round!  P sleeps through it all at night (awesome) but I know he'd like to finish a project, uninterrupted during naps.  I'm just still so surprised at how little sleep she seems to need.  She gets just under 12 hours sleep in 24 hours (naps and nighttime combined).  Which is... the same as her eight year old brother....

Moving on, because that subject gets my goat these days...  Oh!  Z has decided that using the toilet is awesome.  Which is awesome.  Right before we left for Kansas she started allowing me to take her to the bathroom again.  Just occasionally.  And then one day, it just clicked.  She was cuing herself when she needed to go (or, if she missed getting to the toilet, when she was already going ;)  Granted, when she is out and about or has visitors, her focus is shot to shit and she's not dropping everything for a run to the loo, but if we take her, she'll (usually;) go.  When no one is around to distract her, she often goes to her potty herself and then tells me to dump it.  That said, there are still plenty of misses and some days, she just isn't into it.  Baby steps.

But it sometimes seems she understands a ridiculous amount of what is said.  She really hasn't wanted to poo on the toilet since she was a baby (er, since she was totally mobile, so about 5.5 months or so) (Of course, this is the one we would most prefer ;)  So the other day I just talked about pooping in the potty.  Then mentioned it again yesterday.  Today she did her business out of her pants.  I'm hoping this is a trend and not just a coincidence :)

When she isn't busy eating or pottying, she is taking her baby doll to the potty or cuing it to poop.  Seeing her cousin's diaper changed provided her with a whole new level of play with her baby doll ;)  (Previously, the baby doll's toes were smelled and patooeyed, she was fed imaginary food, she was rocked and she was flung to the floor in order to require comforting and more food and rocking.)  Now she is cued, stuck on the toilet and then inspected upside down for, ahem, remains.  I'm thinking I'll put together an EC bag (wipes, undies) for her baby doll and provide infinite play-fun.

Another thing that seems to have clicked (for now) is the car.  PHEW.  Was it the fun times in the mule?  Getting taller so she can see out better?  Clueing in that we go cool places when we hop in the car?  An end to the intense separation anxiety?  I don't know - don't really care ;)  I just love that there isn't choking, almost puking sobs if we need to pop in the car.  We actually made it to the Gorge last weekend with only a bit of fussing.  That's 45 minutes, aka, a lifetime, comparably speaking.

She is also typically very busy trying to sit on the cat.  I'm not sure what that is about, but she is rather determined.

She's also determined to do everything her brother does.  Or have everything her brother has.  This means her Clean Canteen sucks, his is awesome.  Her smoothie sucks, his is da bomb.  Most importantly, his toothbrush (which he will NOT share) is her holy grail.  Despite having access to all other toothbrushes in the house (her three included).   This also means whatever project P is working on is more fabulous than her blocks or baby or even the spare Legos he throws her way.  P vacillates between enjoying his upheld status and growling and hissing at her.   I quietly cry into my pillow at night that P gets so much less lately because so much less is possible while she is this age.  Fun times ;)

And Froggy lives to mess with yet another small child...

She, on the other hand, is toddler-vocal about any of these disappointments.  Much of it is not pure dismay (P's was typically pure dismay).  She does a lot of vocal "sharing."  The words aren't there yet, but she is already bitching us out and telling us how much it sucks that she can't stick things in the light socket or that she fell there and hit her head here.  Honestly, if P isn't talking at me urgently about something at the same time (about 50% of the time it seems;), it's fairly adorable to watch her wage her emotionally charged war.  The floor flops still stand as my favorite (is that bad?  She's still young enough that they are cute;)

Then, sometimes, she uses her voice as a weapon and the volume and shrillness is unbelievable.  I mean truly and actually physically painful (my ear's have actually RUNG once.)  I try to always get down to her and validate like I did P, but, sadly, sometimes there's not enough of me to go around and she gets a sad head pat or something else pathetic.  Loudness, in general, is hard on me, and when both of them get going at the same time (like, say, she grabs his stuff or pees on his stuff or even tries to open a box the "wrong" way...), my clarity is shit and it seems one of them always ends up getting the short end of the shitty deal.  Who's dismay to deal with first?  I can validate and verbalize with both... but not simultaneously!  I am constantly amazed at how much easier one was than two.  And in awe at 3, 4, or 5...

That said, I love having two.  LOVE.  The family feels complete in a way it never did before.  Round and cozy like a circle, with no loose ends.  A circle that can, occasionally, gain enough momentum to roll right over you ;)  And though there is constantly sibling something-or-other occurring, sometimes that something is chasing and laughter.  And always, always, it is at the very least learning and love.  Cuz Z has a quick smile and a hearty laugh and she brings a lightness to this family that is just balanced brilliance.