girlfiend

1. Isaac the cat is in kidney failure and I’m heartbroken. I don’t know that there’s anything I could have done but I feel like I have failed him and wish that I’d spent more time loving him  the past few years. He’s always been my favorite cat and every time Boyfiend spent a night away I’d spend the night cuddling with my Isaac. My sweet, fat Isaac. A few weeks ago a neighbor commented about how much her boyfriend loved Isaac and I said they should keep him. At the time I was only partially joking. Having three cats is burdensome. But I wish I hadn’t said it. I wish I could take it back. He’s so sick, so uncomfortable. He’s hardly eating and he’s not moving around too well. He’s not himself and he’s not going to get better. I am so, so sad.

2. Right before getting into the tub the Fiendling ran over to the potty and peed all over it. For the first time he tried without prompting. This could be the start of something good.

3. We didn’t watch the debate. Instead I folded laundry and we watched Dexter on Netflix

4. Tomorrow is the big bike race. We’re spending the weekend at the shore. I feel guilty for leaving Isaac.

This has been going around and until I get it together to write the four month update for the baby this will have to suffice.
1. Cloth or disposable? Cloth. After using the hospital freebies it’s been all cloth all the time.

2. Breast or bottle? I like the breast milk from the source but will occasionally enjoy some in a bottle.

3. Eczema or reflux? Neither.

4. Jumparoo or play mat? Mom sticks me on the play mat a few times a day. It’s all fun and games until I’m attacked by my big brother. The exersaucer is much safer, since he can’t jump on my head when I’m in there. There’s a jumparoo under my crib, but I don’t know when that will see the light of day.

5. Mommy or Daddy?  Mommy is quick to hand me off to daddy the minute he walks in the door. He’s a good time, but I like the boob lady better.

6. Sling, front carrier, or stroller? I spend most days shoved in one carrier or another. Mom has entirely too many. Lately I’ve been in the Tentoes Click and people keep calling me a girl because it’s flowery. I’d be annoyed but I can hardly stay awake in the thing.

7. Pacifier or thumb? Dad tries to shove the pacifier in my mouth sometimes but I’m not into it. Now that I’ve got control over them I like to shove my fingers in my mouth.

8. Bumbo seat or bouncy seat? I fear for my safety in both of them. The brother insists on occupying whichever one I’m seated in.

9. White noise or silence while sleeping? The sound of Septa buses and squealing tires lulls me to sleep at night.

10. Crib, Pack’n’Play, or parents’ bed?  I sleep in the pack n play at night and the crib for naps. I hear I’ve hit the weight limit on the pack n play so I may be sleeping in my own room at night too. It’s about time. My brother’s always coming in  the room and waking me up at 2 in the morning by kicking the pack n play when he climbs into mom and dad’s bed. Can’t the kid sleep through the night yet? I’m only four months old and I’m a better sleeper than he is.

I was in the middle of writing this when my brother-in-law called to ask if I could let out his dog. I went downstairs to see if I had the keys to his house. I found keys on the back of the door but they weren’t labeled. I called boyfiend to see if they were the right keys, went to the basement to empty the dehumidifier then came back upstairs to find the Fiendling on the couch with my laptop keys spread around him. Several were bent in half dimpled with teethmarks. G, h and w, which is the worst of the three, are disfigured. V is a goner. It’s totally destroyed and there’s a big empty spot in its place.

I was stunned. I stood staring for a minute then I said, “you broke it.” He agreed, and said, yes, I broke it. I took them all off. I asked him to leave the room. He did not; instead he went to the bookshelf and pulled down a stack of books. I took him upstairs and locked the door so I could locate the keys and reassemble the keyboard.

Today the Fiendling is two and a half years old. He is smart and funny and a huge pain in the ass sometimes. (see above.)

He’s very verbal and can clearly state his needs. This morning he pointed to his diaper and said, “I have a rash mommy, put cream on it.”

He’s also very physical. He loves to tackle people and tells you where and how he wants to tackle. “I am going to tackle you forwards on the couch.”

The love for trains shows no signs of fading but he’s been less interested in watching Thomas videos which is a bonus.

He just took my tortilla, removed the cheese and replaced it with his hot dog. I would like my lunch back but I’m so glad he’s eating I’ll let it slide.

He wants to do things all by himself. He puts the baby tub in the big tub (I know he’s too big for it, but our stopper is broken so we stick with it) turns on the water, squirts in the soap, takes off his shorts, diaper and gets his shirt over his head before he asks for help getting his arms out of the sleeves.

He’s beginning to like his brother and tries to make him smile and laugh. He still screams at him, jumps on him and tackles him, but it’s more about being two than it is about being vicious.

The memory really is spectacular. We’ve established that he can actually remember events that happened a year ago, events that he must remember since there are no pictures of them. He also still remembers the givers of gifts.

He loves to jump. Up and down and off of things. He also requests, “Jump with me, mama.”

This is where I left off before the keyboard debacle. I am still annoyed and can’t think of any nice things to report at the moment.

We packed up the kids into assorted carriers and walked down to the soapbox derby in a light rain. The crowds were thick, and aside from the enormous TV set up at the top of the hill we couldn’t see much. By the time we stopped at the side of the market at the corner the rains had begun in earnest. The building provided some shelter so we weren’t too affected by the crazy wind. The Fiendling was content on his dad’s back, clutching his newest yellow train Molly (who sadly does not fit on the track and will have to be returned. Seriously, can’t the Thomas people tell you on the packaging that a train that looks like it’s the exact same size as the others is non-compatible?) and his baby brother was snuggled up in the front carrier on me. The boys’ cousin was less content on her father’s back, struggling to escape the confines of the Mei Tai. Despite the rules about alcohol, it was an open container event. We were no exception, enjoying beers in the rain in the early afternoon.

The people behind us were annoyed that we set up right in front of them since we partially obstructed their view. I would have felt badly about it had the guy not been such a dick, but I tried to accommodate them by raising and lowering my umbrella to their specifications. We were able to see the stage at the top of the giant ramp where the soapbox teams performed their skits before each run, but we got there shortly after a nasty crash and saw the ambulance going down the hill to collect the injured racer.

Our city’s fair mayor braved the torrents to race down the hill and a car soon after crashed, almost in slow motion. Several of the soapboxes fell apart on the way down, wheels bending and falling off, causing drivers to roll and the crowds to cheer. I would have liked to stay for a while longer, but after an hour we were all soaked through and the kids needed some food. We slogged home, passed out towels to our friends, and ordered hoagies for lunch.

I wanted to go back down to the race and one of our friends volunteered to stay behind with the kids so they wouldn’t have to get wet again. Only a few teams remained and the crowds had thinned considerably. We walked down the hill this time, through the drunken crowd that remained. About a quarter of the way down, a few houses away from a guy I know who used to own a skate shop in Ardmore, I witnessed something depressing and pathetic.

The houses on the hill are elevated with a dozen or more steps up to the porches. On the grass next to the top of one home’s stairs, a woman in her mid to late thirties (perhaps she was younger and just looked older) crouched with her arms around her little girl who was three or four years old. The woman was holding a can of lager in one hand and begging, yes begging, a stranger on the sidewalk below for a beer. The stranger, a guy who was also walking with a child, was pulling a cooler behind him.  The woman pleaded for one. “Please,”she said, “please, I’m begging you, I just need a beer. Just one. Please, I need one.”

The guy looked horrified and just kept shaking his head no. I think he wanted to ignore her completely but he was too horrified not to stare. The guy’s kid seemed upset by it too, and looked to his dad, waiting as the woman continued to beg. I’m not sure who moved on first- the guy with the cooler or us, but once we’d moved on I couldn’t get the image of the little girl out of my head. The little girl, who leaned against her mom’s legs in the rain while her mother, can in hand, begged a stranger on the street for just one beer. What will become of her?

Because sailing, fishing, fixing things, woodwork and drinking weren’t enough hobbies for him, my husband decided to take up golf. I did not approve of yet another hobby that would require a purchase, especially since  sets of left handed golf clubs for $50 or less are not widely available on craigslist, so to placate me, he decided to train to ride the Bike MS: City to Shore Ride raise money for the MS Society.

I’m not sure I approve of this hobby either, especially since it requires hours of training and even more money than a set of left-handed golf clubs. But since it’s for a good cause I’m going to link to his training blog anyway since he still needs another $55 in donations. So if you have a few bucks to spare check out his blog which links to his fundraising site. All money raised goes directly to the charity and it’s tax deductible.

After the baby was born the Fiendling was really into Toby, a brown tram engine from Thomas the Tank Engine’s Island of Sodor who was almost retired because he was old and out of date. Toby’s coach, a toy we didn’t have, is named Henrietta.  The Fiendling started seeing Henrietta everywhere. Random trains at home were referred to as Henrietta and trains on TV were called Henrietta. One day at the mall the Fiendling saw a kiosk from a distance. He yelled, “It’s Henrietta!” (He didn’t even seem disappointed to learn she was just peddling cell phone accessories- Bling Bling for your Ring Ring.)

Just a week or so after his birth, a friend gave us a gift card for the baby along with a toy train for the Fiendling. The train was a Thomas train, a fancy one that had a little Percy slide show built in. Even though the gifted toy train looked nothing like Toby’s coach and the movie featured Percy, the Fiendling promptly named the train Henrietta.

He loved Henrietta. He couldn’t quite figure out how to make the slide show feature work, but he loved the train and played with her nonstop. One day his cousin was over and they brought a few trains outside. Boyfiend’s boat trailer, sans boat, was parked in our driveway at the time and the two boys were running the trains along the rails of the trailer. The boys were both a little rammy, and I don’t know who did it, but one of them threw Henrietta to the ground. Her top fell off, revealing the film reel inside her.

I tried to see if the top would snap back on, but it wouldn’t and the little train car was rendered unsafe with the top broken. Too many small parts inside. I felt awful about it since he loved her so much, but I had to retire Henrietta, storing her out of sight until a time when Boyfiend could attempt to fix her.

He asked for her for a week or two after her injury, but then the memories seemed to fade. It’s been a good two months and I had forgotten about her completely. Tonight, while playing with his trains, the Fiendling turned to me and said, “Remember Henrietta mommy? Remember playing outside she was broken? She was broken on the boat. She fell down and was broken. Remember mommy? Remember Henrietta?”

I said, “Yes, I remember Henrietta. You were playing with her on Daddy’s boat trailer and she fell off and was broken. That’s why we don’t bring trains outside any more, ” making it a little lesson, but inside I felt teary, overly emotional thinking about my little boy, my not quite two-and-a-half-year-old who broke a toy he loved and still, months later, remembers her.

He went back to his trains; pushing them forwards and backwards, lining them up, and crashing them off of the intentionally broken bridge. The train table looks like an earthquake has struck. The trains are everywhere. One is currently dangling from a bridge by its wheels and the breakdown train, off the track and on its side, is in no condition to help. Adjacent to James, who is still on the track with his tender upside down behind him, is Toby, whose coach Henrietta is off to the garage for repairs.

I have been meaning to write about this for almost a week now. Last Friday we took a little day trip out to Lancaster, Pa. We planned on stopping for dinner then driving back home, but after an unexpected private tour of the Strasburg Railroad we were running late. Boyfiend had a coupon for a free meal at the Hershey Farm Inn so we decided to call and see if they had a room for the night. They did not, but the place across the street, the Dutch Treat, which incidentally is run by Indians, not the Pennsylvania Dutch, did and had a pool too.

So we get to the Hershey Inn, put our names in for a table and got a buzzer thing so we can walk around while we wait. The Fiendling is hungry, tired and cranky so I take him into the gift shop to play with toys. In the meantime, Boyfiend takes the baby with him and run out to get some wine for later. (There’s a story in here about my outrage that the personalized keychains in the gift shop had neither of my children’s fairly common and correctly spelled names, but offered Kaylee, Mackenzie, hottie, I (heart) Zachary and #1 Flirt, but it’s not really of importance so I’ll just leave it at that.)

After about 15-20 minutes the buzzer goes off. I have to pry a toy train out of the Fiendling’s hands which makes him very angry. We get to our table and I hold the struggling child on my lap while I wait for the waitress. Boyfiend and the baby show up soon after and the Fiendling promptly loses his shit. We order French fries for him in the hopes that they’ll chill him out some and Boyfiend takes him outside to calm him down so the rest of the restaurant isn’t subjected to his tantrum, while I hold the pacifier firmly in the baby’s mouth, trying desperately to keep him from crying.

A woman at the table adjacent to ours comments about how I should cherish these times since they grow up so fast. I smile and in my head I tell her to fuck off. I order my meal and tell the waitress Boyfiend has a coupon for the Smorgasboard and she brings the fries right as Boyfiend brings the Fiendling back in. I offer him a fry, which of course he does not want. I meant to offer Boyfiend one since a lot of the time the best way to get him to eat something is to offer it to someone else, but somehow I mess up and take a bite of it myself. This leads him to start wailing all over again and once again Boyfiend has to bring him outside.

A boy at the table behind me asks, “Why is he crying mommy?” The woman at the table adjacent to ours again says something about how I should cherish these moments and I smile through my gritted teeth as I pick up the pacifier that the baby just spit onto the dirty floor. I blow the dirt off the pacifier, look around to make sure no one’s watching, and stick it back in his mouth just as he starts to whimper.

My food arrives and I start to eat one handed. The woman at the other table tries to make conversation. She’s eating with her husband and two teenage boys. They look out of place because they are Jewish and based on the “bible-opoly” board game in the gift shop, we’re clearly not in Jew country. She tells me all about how quickly kids grow up and how beautiful my boys are. She offers to hold the baby for me so I can eat. I politely decline. She starts tells her waiter a joke about a panda. He does not laugh.

Boyfiend comes back in with the Fiendling who notices that the younger boy has a shitload of toys in front of him including a number of Thomas trains. The woman, who I’m now convinced is crazy, makes her kid share them. Boyfiend is relieved that the Fiendling will be occupied and goes to get his food up at the Smorgasboard. The woman tells the waiter a joke about teenagers. He is a teenager and does not get it. She starts to explain it to him as he tries to tell her he has to go. The older son basically tells her to shut up so the waiter can get back to work. The waiter is relieved.

Boyfiend gets back and the woman tells us how they eat at this restaurant all the time. While the Fiendling plays with the teenager’s toys Boyfiend feeds him bits of French Fries. The woman talks about how she’s going back to work as a teacher part time. A lunch room teacher. She asks if we read bible stories to our children. I’m confused because I could have sworn that they were Jewish, but I have no interest in interacting with her so I keep my mouth shut. She keeps talking and talking and asking us questions that I don’t really respond to. She asks if we’re teaching our boys to follow the right path and if we’re teaching them how to be like Jesus. Boyfiend’s fielding the questions pretty well until she straight up asks if we believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior. Boyfiend says, “No actually, we’re Jewish.”

I’m so pleased that he’s taken one for the team and said “we’re” Jewish, instead of just saying that his wife is Jewish that it takes me a split second to register when the crazy woman blurts out, “You are? So are we! I never would have pegged you as Jewish, you don’t look Jewish.” I’m staring at her as she continues, “We’re Messianic Jews!”

She goes back to asking questions about if the Fiendling’s a good eater and offers to go up to the Smorgasboard to get him some cucumber because her kids loved cucumber. We learn that they lived in Overbrook Park before moving to Drexel Hill. At some point her husband and kids disappeared and she’s alone at her table still talking while the Fiendling plays with her teenage son’s toys.

We pay our bill, thank her for letting the Fiendling play, and head to the hotel. Boyfiend and the Fiendling go straight to the pool while I nurse the baby and leave Mix a message cursing him for being on vacation without a phone on the very night I need to tell him all about our meeting with the Messianic Jews.

We visited my mom at the shore for the first time this summer and things didn’t go too badly. Things actually went quite well- no fights, no failing to choke back my rage, no insanity. The Fiendling didn’t want to go to sleep so bedtime was a battle both nights we were there, but the baby is easy going and my mom didn’t make me crazy so everything worked out. I even fit into last summer’s bathing suit with only a small amount of muffin toppage. If this keeps up we may actually be able to enjoy the shore this summer.

Don’t worry though. I haven’t lost my mind entirely. I know that any more than two consecutive nights is asking for trouble. My mother is still crazy and I still cringe at most of what she says. Sadly I missed hearing this gem first hand. My mom told Boyfiend some story about her friend’s cooking. Her friend G, who I’ve known since I was born, loves to entertain but isn’t much of a cook. There’s always something strange about her recipes and things always taste better when others are helping out in the kitchen. My mom described eating some meatballs at G’s house to Boyfiend and said that they were really cocked up.

As he recounted this to me I needed some clarification. What exactly was the context of the phrase “cocked up?” Does cocked up mean that the meatballs were good or bad? What was cocked up about them? The answer is that the meatballs had cheese in the middle and that cocked up means that they were good. Boyfiend thoroughly grossed me out by explaining that perhaps the cheese oozed out of the middle, hence the word “cocked.” We giggled about it for a while. A long while.

A little later Boyfiend went into the kitchen and I asked him to get me some ice cream. With berries. And pretzels. I wasn’t sure if he heard the additional request so I followed him in. He turned around holding a large bowl of ice cream with strawberries, raspberries and pretzels and said, “Here, I really cocked it up for you. I cocked it up good.”

For the first time since the day I went into labor I stepped on a scale at my in-law’s house yesterday. Here are the stats.

Weight gained during pregnancy: 38 lbs
Weight lost since: 28 lbs
Pounds to go to pre-pregnancy weight: 10
Pounds to go to pre-pre-pregnancy weight: 18
Pounds to go to weight I’d be happy to settle for: 15

Not bad. Considering that I had 25 lbs to lose for months and months after the Fiendling was born and I actually wore a pair of pre-pregnancy size 2 pants with a waistband yesterday, I’m in pretty good shape. Now I just have to get back to the gym.

Still nameless (and nicknameless for the purposes of this site) my second baby boy was born last night, a full week ahead of his due date, at 10.30 pm after a long day of labor and 5 minutes of pushing. He is perfect. At birth he was 7 lbs 9 oz, and measured 20 inches long. He has dark eyes and a head of thick black hair. He looks nothing like his big brother but he’s every bit as handsome.

Now I’m going to eat lunch and take a nap while I still can.