Voting

We voted together tonight. It was surprisingly sexy!

If I didn't have some nasty laryngitis, I'd jump my husband. But he's working for the opera, and that just doesn't go with laryngitis. So separate bedrooms it is.

And with no voice, phone sex is out as well. Texting, perhaps?

On naming your baby

Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to trash all your favorite names. Or your kids' names.

But I do have a rather unique view on what people are thinking of when they name their kids. I don't often ask "why," because it really comes down to two factors: I like it, or Family.

I never tell people what I think of their baby name. My answer is constant: I love it, that's a great name. Because who really gives a shit what their nurse thinks of their baby name?

(Jess, I REALLY meant it for your baby girl's name)

But a common theme is the common-ness of your baby name. Honestly, it's really not that big a deal to have the same name as five other kids in your class. Jenny/Jennifer was the most popular name in 1978. I survived. So if you love Emma/Aiden, then go for it. And giving it a crazy spelling to make your kid stand out? That's just sad. On behave of all kidnergarden teachers everywhere, please reconsider.

But I caught this article after nursing Patrick this morning. It hit on lots of the trends that we notice in the maternity floor. And in case anybody is interested, I do offer free confidental baby-naming consultations. I won't tell you if I like it, but I will tell you if I see a lot of it. For example, if you like the name Neveah (heaven spelled backwards), I won't tell you that I hate it. I'll just tell you that was very popular with all the teenages moms back in 2003.

When bribing works

I gave my child a tootsie pop in order to listen to a bit of Kevin's opera rehearsal this evening.

It was very effective.

A love letter

My stepmom turned 50 years old today.

OK, technically she's not my stepmom, and hasn't been for a number of years. But saying "My dad's second ex-wife" just doesn't have the same ring. She is also occasionally known as TWSM (The Wicked Stepmother), and we sure got a good laugh when the movie "My Stepmother is an Alien" came out.

Cindy married my dad when I was about 10 years old. I idolized her for quite a while, then I just loved her. Even though after she married my dad, he quit buying us twinkies. He also stopped buying powdered milk, so I guess it all balances out.

She brought my two other brothers into my life. Soon the baby joined the bunch, beginning a long life of being spoiled totally rotten and getting all the Christmas presents. Five kids. I was the only girl. I always had to babysit, but I never did yardwork.

Cindy and these brothers are the best presents of my childhood. But this letter is to Cindy, and not my baby brothers (who are mostly grownup. Mostly).

She was so very good to my brother, David, and me. I never felt anything less than special and loved with her. She paid me to brush her hair. $0.50 for 30 minutes. Later she gave me her old clothes and makeup. She (mostly) pretended not to find my completely inappropriate romance novels. She was a fantastic stepmom. Supportive without stepping into the parent role. All of us kids were blended into one giant family, and I give her all the credit for making that happen.

It can't have been easy, being married to an alcoholic. We were protected more than I'll ever truly know by her, from the horrible realities of addiction. I think she still protects us, for which I am grateful.

So why is this so outstanding? I had a good stepfamily...many do.

They got a divorce. I was 19 years old, confused and stuck in the middle. My dad was losing the battle with his demons, and fought against my relationship with Cindy. For one long year, I pushed her away. It wasn't loyal to still love her, I was told.

What did she do? She waited for me.

Blessings be, I figured it out on my own. I decided that I loved her and wanted her in my life. And there has never been any word of guilt or blame, only welcoming arms and heart. She forgave me and took me back, her other great gift to me.

Cindy is the mom of my heart, a source of tremendous strength and support, comfort and love. She is a beautiful grandmother (or Mimi Cindy) to my son, and plays with him in a natural, easy way that is perfect to watch. She and my own mom are good friends, which is truly the coolest thing EVER. They watch The Bachelor together, and my mom joins Cindy's family events. It's a riot.

So happy birthday, to my very own wicked stepmother. You are so very loved, and I consider myself blessed to be one of your daughters. Thank you for everything.

Quick note on location in Vancouver.

We survived the drive down, thanks to a long nap. Yes, I gave my child Benadryl. It was very effective. 

Patrick did really well all day. He walked tons at the frisbee golf course, was entertained by Grandpa at the pizza parlor, and slept pretty good last night. While he wanted to nurse at 5am, he snuggled/nursed/dozed in bed with me until 7am! 

He played with my mom while I drove back out to Beaverton to return some baby items to friends who will be needing them soon! Naturally I got lost on the way back. I'm starting to think one of those navigation thingies might not be so bad....

I've got lots of time off next week, as  I took some vacation time while Kevin plays with the opera folks. Anybody want to play?

Don't be jealous

I get to drive about four hours with my toddler today.

Alone.

And he woke up five times last night. He's teething up a storm, and gratefully swallowed Tylenol at 2am.

He does, however, insist on being nursed Every Time. This is why my breasts are still on museum status: look but don't touch.

I spent about $20 at various stores (Target, consignment, the dollar store) getting snacks and new toys to bribe him with.

Plus, I'm going to give him Benadryl.

Why does my son insist on waking up in the middle of the night? Sometimes several times?

AHHHHHH!

I really wish we could go on vacation right now. I love our little house, but I look around and see to-do lists all over the place. The time is possible. The money is not.

I had Patrick's Christmas pictures taken today! Whoo-hoo! Still not sure what to do about Christmas cards. I love sending (and receiving) them, but stamps aren't cheap. And don't you all hate sending cards to people who don't send them back? I love my cousins, but Sweet Carrie was the ONLY one who ever sent me a card back. Guess which cousin gets a Christmas card?

Kevin and I went shopping by ourselves on Monday. I still have irrational mommy guilt about taking Patrick to day care on my day off. But we are having some family pictures taken Saturday before I jet to Portland, and I needed a shirt. I am trying to hit that golden family trinity of cute, coordinated, but not to-matchy outfits for the three of us. I found a cute sweater on the Gap sale rack, and Kevin found a new pair of jeans. This always happens when we shop; Kevin ends up buying something too. I muttered this under my breath in the changing room.

"I can hear you," he said.

Not under my breath enough.

Pictures at long last

He might have my coloring, but he's really starting to look like his Daddy.


We got about 45 minutes of smiles at the pumpkin patch. Then he was cranky and wanted to be carried. And his new rainboots kept falling off. Then he lost it.

Aren't they cute? Our girls are SO GOOD with him.

Blessed are those who grieve...

Kevin called me at work today.

"I'm sorry to tell you this while you are at work..."

These conversations never end well.

And so started the beginning of such sad news, the death of my dearest friend's unborn baby.

I think of her, the sister of my heart, and my heart is breaking for her.

This occurs more often than anybody likes to think about, but it always pops into mind when people assume that my job is sunshine and frosting all the time.

Sometimes it's chromosomal. Sometimes it's a placenta or cord that just wasn't working right. Sometimes we just don't know.

This grief is horrible. Lonely. And the impossibility of avoiding pregnant bellies and newborn babies makes recovery a difficult journey.

My sweet friend, you are so very loved. You were such a good mom to that little baby, who knew nothing but your love for an entire short life.

5am

Patrick is waking up in the middle of the night again. But I've decided to just let it be. No major plans to "fix" it, and I get back to sleep easier if I just get up and deal. Plus, the poor kid is usually soaking wet. And no, not even disposables will do the trick. It's only once or twice, so I change him, nurse for a minute or two, and back to bed he goes without a fuss.

However, two weeks of early mornings combined with late night risings made for a tired mom. I got a slight sleep-in yesterday, but what really did the trick was the HUGE nap we both took yesterday. Awesome.

Patrick is starting to learn his colors. He can grab the red ball specifically. And he's able to do some simple puzzles (put the circle in the right spot) and that toy where you have different shaped blocks that go in the bucket? He can do that! Even the stars.

We've had a bit of construction on our street the past few days. Patrick was transfixed by all the trucks and tractors. Like, he stood still for 2o minutes, watching.

But I hear him complaining again. However, I know that he is dry and recently nursed. Therefor, I'm going to keep playing online, and he can talk to himself for a few more minutes...