“How old’s your brat?”

I had my first mammogram on Friday. Let me just say it is not as painful as some would lead you to believe. At least I didn’t think so. Let me also say that is was routine, so nothing scary. A “baseline” as my doc put it. I don’t expect to get any bad/questionable results. (Fingers crossed.) My doc just figured that even though I don’t fall into a category of high-risk and even though I am not actually 40 yet, it’s silly to put off such an important milestone in a woman’s life. (In other words, I am creeping much closer to the big 4-0 than I really care to acknowledge. Gulp.)

The tech who did my test was very sweet. My age and EXTREMELY chatty. Right off the bat she struck up a conversation about how these tests get such a bad rap, and how women should be able to handle this discomfort if we can handle childbirth. I had to agree with that. She shared that she was recently married and asked if I had any children. I said yes, one.

Right about this time she had finished setting me up for the first “photo” and she walked around to the other side of the glass wall and pushed a button to start the machine. It was loud, but she continued to talk to me anyway. She asked, “How old’s your brat?”

Oddly, I didn’t even bat and eye at the use of the word “brat”. She seemed like kind of a fun-loving chic so I just assumed she had sort of a silly sense of humor. I had to speak very loudly to answer, “Oh, she just turned two this September.” I felt kind of bad trying to answer as the machine was doing it’s work. It seemed like maybe I should be holding very still.

She came back over to me and started to “pose” me for photo #2. All the while we are still chatting away about marriage and when/if she planned to have kids. Again, she walks behind the glass and turns on the machine. Again, she asks me, “How old’s your brat?”

Hm. That machine was pretty loud. Maybe she didn’t catch my answer the first time. I start to say again that she just turned two, but I barely got two words out. She says, “No, hun. Hold your breath.“

Oooohhhhhhhh. Hold your breath! Yeah, that makes a lot more sense.

Funny though, even after I realized what she was actually saying to me from behind that wall, it STILL sounded exactly like, “How old’s your brat?” every time she said it. It’s not surprising she had to come back and take the first picture again. You know, since I was breathing AND yelling about my “brat”.

If it seems impossible that I would get that phrase from “hold your breath” I don’t know what to tell you. She had an American accent, but a really odd way of saying “hold” and “breath”. I tried to recreate it when I told the story out loud to Ted that evening. I could not mimic it. You’ll just have to trust me!

The Guy Outside

KC was quite taken with one particular Halloween decoration this year. We have a “guy”, a torso really, who we purchased a couple of years ago before we had a child. He’s meant to stick out of the ground like an un-dead thing trying to escape the grave. He looks a little like Freddy Krueger minus the hat, knives and striped sweater.

When I first started pulling the decorations out I paused for a moment wondering if he was a bit much for a two year old. She was standing right next to me so I just pulled him out and smiled really big and said “Look! Isn’t he silly?!” At first she seemed a tad unsure, but she got over it pretty quickly.

Ted put “Uncle Freddy” outside the following day while he was home with KC. The next day while I was home with her again as she continued to recover from a bad cold, she starting talking about a “Guy outside, Mommy. Guy outside.” It didn’t click at first so I said, “Did you see someone walking by out there? Are they walking a doggy?” Then she informed me, “Outside, in the rocks!” I understood right away. She was talking about our Halloween guy.

Every day she tells us about him. “Guy outside! “Go see him.” Every day we go outside to check on him. Apparently when Ted first put him out, KC was there and he assured her, “He won’t hurt you.” So each time she informed me of the “guy outside”, she was careful to add, “It’s ok, Mommy. He won’t hurt you.”

She absolutely blows me away sometimes. This kid is kind of a bad ass. I am pretty sure this guy would have scared the bejeezus out of me when I was little. I distinctly recall seeing a photo of Freddy Krueger in one of the local circulars that came in the mail. It was a very clear photo of his disfigured face in an ad for the video store where Nightmare on Elm Street was a new release. It bothered me so much I had to throw it away. I was probably in middle school at the time. (Can you say, “Wussy”?)

Here’s a shot of KC and her friend “Uncle Freddy” who will probably chill with us for a few more days before he goes back in the attic until next Halloween:

Here are a few more shots including one of the little skeleton “ghosties” Ted hung from the trees…

and here is KC in her fairy costume…

I went totally cheap this year and used the tutu and wings she got for her Birthday plus a 2nd hand crown.  Hey, it works. Plus, just as I suspected, she lasted about an hour or so visiting Grandma, Grandad and her cousins before she insisted on removing the whole get up. We had some fun and then we rushed back to our house to greet all our trick-or-treaters. I am sort of ashamed to say we didn’t bring KC around to trick-or-treat with our neighbors. I don’t think she minded though. She gave out big handfuls of candy to each child who came to our door.

She also ate more candy than she has in her entire short life so far. A big lollipop, assorted sweet tart things, a gummy brain, part of a tootsie roll…and that’s just what I witnessed. She was (and I kid you not) HIGH AS A KITE. It was absolutely hilarious when it wasn’t annoying the hell out of me. (You try diapering a two year old on a candy high. Not. Fun.)

Here’s a shot of her running around our front porch at the peak of her “trip”:

“Hey, man. You got any good stuff? I need another fix. Sweet-tarts? Hershey’s? Charlston Chews? Seriously, dude. I’ll take anything.”

Halloween is pretty great and kids make it even better. I look forward to next year when the festivities will have even more meaning for her. Hope you had a spooky-great Halloween.

Addicted

KC is officially addicted to milk in the bottle. As you know, I’ve been feeling guilt lately about how much she needs her bottle and how much we JUST DON’T LIKE TO GIVE A DAMN. The situation has kind of reached it’s peak and even I have to admit it’s becoming an issue. Since the weekend, milk is all she wants. She is practically starting a new bottle before she even finishes the last. I’ve seen hard core cigarette addicts with more restraint. She came down with a cold last week and I can always tell something is coming on when her appetite takes a vacation. This is how food conversations went this weekend:

KC: “Milk. Milk! Milk! Milk!”
Me: In a cup?
KC: “No way, man! I need that bottle lady! Don’t toy with me!”
Me: How about a banana or some peanut butter and crackers?
KC: “Nooo! No. No. No. Miiilk!” (Falls to her knees in agony and “cries” some more.)
Me: Ugh. Fine. (Spine jumps out of my body to point and laugh, then jumps back in.)

We actually had a couple of nights early last week where we left every single bottle at Grandma’s house. We had to deny her the bottle at home. There was no choice. (I almost ran to the store for a new one. Almost.) She didn’t like it, but she survived for two nights. She even went to bed with a sippy cup of water instead of her usual bottle of water. I was a little amazed to be honest.

Then…Daddy caved on day 3 when she was feeling particularly sick and went back to Grandma’s house to get one. She sent him back home with EVERY SINGLE ONE SHE HAD. Even the newborn ones we don’t use anymore.

Touché, Grandma! You are a worthy opponent!

Due to the illness and the not eating very much, we’ve been just letting her have it since the weekend. She needs the fat and calories from something. But…the last day or two, I’ve been starting to feel a bit played. Surely the ever steady flow of high fat “cow juice” is having an effect on her appetite as well. It needs to be curbed and I am trying. I swear.

Now that she’s a lot better, I think it’s time to buckle down and try again. It’s time to just go for a few of days and refuse to give in to her whining. It’s time…for an intervention.

God, grant me the serenity…

Holiday Wreath Tutorial for the Anti-Martha

About a year ago I complained that I have a long to-do list when it comes to creative projects. I tend to buy materials for things and then never follow through. Paintings for KC’s room are the most unfortunate of my forgotten projects and my most recent is a step stool Ted built for her to use in the bathroom that I am supposed to paint with decorative cuteness. I want to finish it very soon because she really needs it to reach the sink. It’s been in the garage half primed and sanded for over a month now.

I do have one major success to report, however. Behold. A lovely autumn-themed wreath, just in time for Halloween and Thanksgiving. It only took me a year to finish.

Why, yes! Those ARE cattails!

It’s your lucky day because I am going to tell you exactly how to make one of these beauties for yourself.

Step 1: Go to Michael’s or whatever craft store is near you.

Step 2: Start looking at more beads you’ll never get around to using before steering yourself toward the holiday section for what you really came for. Find oddly expensive, twiggy-circly thing that you probably could make yourself if you tried hard enough.

Step 3: Wander aimlessly through the floral section of Michael’s completely aghast at how many varieties of fake foliage there are. Agonize over the cheaper foliage vs. the much nicer looking expensive crap accents that you know will make the difference in the end. Compromise by buying some cheap and some expensive accents. (You still need money for Christmas presents after all.)

Step 4: Go home and look at all the twigs and folliage. Scratch your head as you realize you have no idea how you’ll put it together in anything resembling a quality wreath decoration. Contemplate this for a few days then just stick two pieces of the berry-thingies in either side of the wreath. This twiggy-circle format seems to be ideal for this method, however it’s important to note that this may not hold for more than one season.

Step 5: Give up for a while and leave it sitting on the counter. Get sick of moving the thing all the time and stash it away on a high shelf in the laundry room. Forget for a few weeks.

Step 6: Have an ephiphany and realize “This must be why God invented floral wire!” Go buy some at Michael’s.

Step 7: Take a break for a few more weeks. You’ve totally earned it. Meanwhile, be sure to forget where you put the floral wire.

Step 8: Endure teasing and smart-ass remarks from Husband about that wreath you will never make. Plot his untimely death.

Step 9: On almost the one year mark from when you originally bought the bain of your existence wreath supplies, realize this is a 2nd chance to get it done by Thanksgiving. Buy some fancy ribbon to help finish it up.

Step 10: Grab a drink.*

Step 11: Decide floral wire is for amateurs anyway and simply stuff the remaining foliage in the twiggy holder/wreath then wrap the fancy ribbon around the stems connecting them to the wreath in whatever direction seems appropriate to balance the shifting foliage.

Step 12: Tie a knot and slap one last decorative ribbon on the front to camouflage your ingenious support system.

Step 13: Use another piece of ribbon at the top in a loop to make the hanger and put that bad boy on the front door. Sit back and wait for the inevitable praise.

That’s it! Thirteen steps in honor of Halloween and the fact that I honestly believe crafts like this are the tool of the Devil. Yet, come the holiday season, I’m always compelled to try one or two of them with relative success. Happy Autumn!

*I recommend Blue Moon’s autumn brew, Harvest Moon. A delightful pumpkin ale. Don’t worry, it doesn’t actually taste like pumpkin.

Speaking of Clothes…

Check out the adorable shirt I just got for KC.

It was custom made by a friend of a friend. She has a business called Fussy Britches and her stuff is simply adorable. If you are interested, click to see her FaceBook page. The photo albums show some others she has done. A real website is in the works.

Do the clothes make the girl?

Because, if so, KC and I are in trouble. We are both having pants issues. I purchased a pair of jeans (ok two) recently that were clearly too baggy for me. Standing still in the fitting room and eyeballing myself in poses I never make in real life, I decided that the bagginess was worth the “rear view” if you get what I’m saying. (Hint: they made my butt look good. I think.) Reasoning that stretch denim always shrinks, I purchased them and promptly washed one pair in hot water the next day. I now have a pair of jeans that is still baggy, but is now also just a little shorter than I’d like. Great.

I seem to have this issue with pants a lot. Sometimes I find the perfect pair, but normally they are either too small or too big. Often the ill fit doesn’t become really apparent until I wear them for one day. I come home to find my mirror image has gone from “denim diva” to “wrinkly, mom-jean wearing dork”. I have given a lot of jeans to good will.

KC is in this place with me right now except that she’s powerless. I buy all her pants. I buy them without her. I eyeball what looks like a good fit only to find she will grow out of them inside a month, or they are much longer than she is. Most recently I bought two pairs of pants at Carter’s that have no waist. I didn’t notice it before, but they don’t taper in at the waist at all. They actually get a bit wider. She wore them to Grandma’s and just walked right out of them on the spot. My daughter is two and has not got the hourglass figure of girl just yet, but she still needs some kind of mechanism to keep the pants on. (Hello? Elastic?) I don’t think she would put up with suspenders at this point in life. She barely puts up with the pants.

Clothing is frustrating at this age. Since they walk and run you really have to make sure it fits and is comfortable. It’s of even more importance than my own clothing actually. I am only just starting to realize this fact. Babies are easy. They can be wrapped in pools of extra fabric with rolled sleeves or legs. They just lay there so who cares?

Next time around I’m just going to recycle old pillow cases. I’ll cut neck and arm holes. Wa-la!

At this very moment I am heading to Old Navy to check out their toddler clothing. They always seem to have functional stuff. Fingers crossed I don’t waste any more money. The people at good will are going to love me otherwise. I don’t keep receipts for very long. (And by “long” I mean for more than 24 hours.) I am a compulsive thrower-outer. Ever see that new show Hoarders? I am the anti-hoarder.

Speaking of which, I also need some big plastic bins to store some of KC’s old clothes in. I feel like I should keep some of my favs in case we do have another girl someday. Surely I’ll be glad I did. However, the urge to purge them all, or at least most of them, is very strong. Very strong indeed. Maybe I’ll deflect this urge by organizing the all the paperwork piled in my office into file folders. Who am I kidding? I’d just toss most of it out. I can already hear Ted: “Hey, Jen. Have you seen the warranty info for the washing machine?”

Um. I have NO idea where that is. I think I saw you with it last. As a matter of fact, I’m sure of it.

Holding Pattern

A quick update on my weight loss/weight maintenance activity. I skipped out on blogging and reporting with the Sisterhood last week. However, I’m holding steady at 153 pounds. No change for two weeks. Ok, maybe I gained a pound and lost it again. It’s very probable that happened. Today, however, there is nothing I can add to my food bank donation. A shame, but I guess it’s better than gaining a lot. Especially considering I’m not exercising every day. This just seems to be the story of my fitness life lately.

2 days at the gym last week and 2 days so far this week. I am just so “on again, off again” it’s amazing. In my previous post from this morning, I blamed work for my lack of blog activity. Can I blame work for this too? No I can’t. I work out during my lunch break. It’s the only part of my day I can actually control and yet…I still find reasons to bail on it all the time.

I won’t lie, I’m bailing on the gym today. However, I vow to go again tomorrow and try my level best to round out the week with a Friday visit too. I hope my other “sisters” have been kicking (and losing) more butt than me!

A Girl Can Dream

So, I’ve been pretty absent from this blog lately. I apologize. I’ve been busy and a bit uninspired. No ability to dream up witty commentary to my life and KC’s escapades. It happens I suppose. I’m going to blame work.

Work, once you become a mother, takes on a whole new meaning, doesn’t it? SAHM (stay at home mom), WAHM (work at home mom), WOHM (work outside the home mom)…all these acronyms describing your working/mothering status are enough to make me want to put my head in a wood chipper. But, I won’t. Whether you work outside the home and put your kids in daycare, or you are blessed enough to stay at home while your partner brings the income (lucky bitch) it’s all work in the end. We work everywhere, all the time. Parenting does not stop at 5 on Friday. Personally, I feel like I have two jobs. The one I do at the office M-F, and the one I do at home which includes being a mom and the freelance design I am taking on with more and more gusto. Combine these three things and you’ve got a whole lot more than I can really handle sometimes. Even with an awesome partner who helps out, I still feel pulled in many directions.

My office job is cool. I’m a graphic designer and I love that I get to be creative, plus get money for it. The benefits like 401k and health care are obviously a huge plus. A less important perk is that it gets me out of my house and allows me to communicate with adults on a regular basis. Not that KC isn’t stimulating to my superior, grown-up intellect. She totally can be. However, the change of atmosphere at the office keeps me refreshed so the atmosphere at home is a welcome respite at the end of the day.

Here’s what weighs on my mind lately though. Despite the fact that I like my job and all that it affords me, and even though we are blessed with the best daycare in the universe (a.k.a. Grandma who used to be a preschool teacher – it just does not get better than that) I have worries about KC’s care moving forward. I am beginning to stress about how we will navigate the future of school schedules vs. office hours. Who’s going to pick KC up when preschool and then kindergarten end at hours much earlier than our workday? And what if we actually do have a second child? Ted’s mom is pretty amazing, but she’s got limits and I would not want to push it.

It boils down to the fact that I want more flexibility in my own schedule so I can pick up the slack with my daughter’s daily needs and also feel at ease with the decision to add a 2nd child to the crazy mix of our lives. I feel trapped by the need for a certain amount of money and the safety net of benefits through a larger company. There is no question that I cannot just stop working.

If my current employer were ok with flex time or telecommuting I’d be in business, but they don’t seem to dig it. This sucks, because as a graphic designer I could easily work from home and make enough hours for a full week. I might consider pushing them on this, or even looking for another job that does allow it. That could prove a lot more challenging than I think. The economy and job availability make a person just want to hunker down and pray you are not the next lay off.

You know what I really want to do? I really want to be the one who decides my schedule. I want to be my own boss. I want to be able to go for it. Just quit and start my own design business with no worry about how much I’ll be making in the beginning. I daydream all the time about whether this could happen. It’s exciting to think of it. It’s also scary as hell. I am kind of attached to my predictable income each month. Despite this, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to it and daring to imagine it might be possible down the line. In reality it means keeping the full-time job I’m in and ramping up the outside work until I’m at a secure level. Pretty. Damn. Difficult. Possible, but difficult.

Sigh. Ted plays the lottery a lot. Maybe we’ll just win the next big jackpot and none of this stuff will matter anymore. Are you currently stressing about money, work and life in general?

Yeah. The "Poo Face" pretty much sums it up. Figured it was time to bring it back for a cameo appearance.

But, it was the shoes that really did it.

Last week KC went to the doctor for her 2 year check up. She got two shots and didn’t make a peep. I was so proud. It was a very interesting visit. For the first time ever, she sat with me (or at least near me) in the waiting room. Typically she wanders all around and refuses to stay in one spot. She tries to touch all the babies, grab their bottles, or take their teething toys. (Hello germs! Nice to meet you.) I was quite impressed with her calm behavior. Also impressed when after it was done she actually requested not just any old lollipop, but a “yellow lollipop”. Who knew she preferred yellow?

She’s turning a corner for sure. I’m more and more aware these days that she’s really not a baby anymore. We are at the beginning of a difficult stage where it will be possible to ask her to follow directions, to keep still, to be a bit more quiet and to “please not run away from Mommy and Daddy” every time she’s allowed out of the stroller. However, it will require work and consistency on our parts to ensure she gets all these rules down and learns to behave appropriately.

I wrote a while back about how much she loves her bottle. Silly me. I thought it was an issue waaay back then that she still sucked on one all day long. I think I assumed she’d be done with it by now. She’s not. And it’s totally our fault. Ted and I still give her a bottle anytime she wants one. The truth? I don’t really care that my 2 year old still loves the bottle. I really don’t. However, I know that it’s something kids her age are supposed to be giving up. According to a lot of people anyway.

The day I picked her up to bring her to the doc, I asked my MIL to fill a bottle with milk for me. No way was I going to brave a long wait without that comfort item. I’ve made that mistake before. She was more than happy to oblige, but she mentioned casually that she has gotten rid of all KC’s bottles and was no longer giving in to her demands during the day. I was a little surprised. I suddenly felt very guilty that I was not doing this at home. I wondered how much trouble KC gave her about the bottle given that she always got one in the morning and about 2 or 3 every evening when we arrived home.

At the doctor’s office, for the first time, I felt very conspicuous with my “tall” baby sucking on her bottle. I wondered if any other parents noticed and if they had let their kids have the bottle for that long. Of course a lot of them probably had. I know for a fact that a lot of parents are just like me. Very loving, appropriately strict on some counts, but decidedly lax on the things that they deem “no big deal”. Things that just make life a bit easier with a willful toddler. However, I suppose it’s time to try and leave the bottles behind. I could pick a weekend and just go for it. Grit my teeth and deal with the crying. Maybe it will be that easy. I kind of doubt it though. It’s as much a habit for me as it is for her.

Plus, she’s just so little to me. Still so little. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that she’s getting so big and so “capable” already. We are toying with potty training and starting to worry about pre-school. She’s no baby anymore. Babies drink bottles, but babies don’t speak in almost complete sentences. Babies don’t wear gigantic sneakers. Dear God. I had no idea what size her feet really were. The girl at Stride-Rite this weekend measured her at a size 7.5 shoe. Recommended she wear an 8. I’d been squeezing her into 6.5 often looking at those and thinking they seemed big. Talk about a “slap the forehead” moment. Obviously I needed something to clue me in to her “kid” status. Let me tell you, those shoes certainly did it. We might have the WNBA in our future.

****

Follow-up: I tried to do it this evening when she came home. I offered up milk in the frog cup with straw instead of the bottle. (Look at the cute froggy faaaace!!) I might as well have told her Hello Kitty died. It did NOT go over well. Not well at all. I might be in trouble. The funny part is that she’ll take water in a sippy cup no problem-o. But, BY GOD, that milk had better come with a synthetic nipple on top, bitches, or there will be hell to pay. HELL, I tell you.

Well excuse me, Miss Manners.

Last night we were sitting at the kitchen table after dinner when I suggested KC treat us to a tea party. She happily obliged with her sweet new tea set that makes an annoying adorable beeping sound every time she pours. (and pours, and pours…) She presented me with my serving, added a little spoonful of air for taste and then went about making a cup for Daddy too.

I put my tea up to my lips and gave it a big ‘ole sluuurrp for effect. Ted looks over at me very seriously and says, “It would be nice if you waited for everyone else.”

Well excuse me, Miss Manners. I didn’t mean to offend.

She bakes too. Must get that from her Dad.