Brakes & Gas

iMom

2011-10-10T16:02:00.001-07:00

In April I had a baby. In May another less important, though still life altering, event took place; I got an iphone. My mom generously gifted me my new bff for my birthday. I’ll be honest, I was suspect. I am not exactly technologically savvy and I have long looked askance at those people whose phones seem to be physically attached to their person. I was quite comfortable with my old-fashioned Nokia flip phone. It was sturdy enough to withstand the daily abuse of a toddler and fairly clumsy 20-something. Plus it tucked nicely into my cleavage without disrupting the line of my cotton tee yet my vast chi-chi’s did not smother the volume while on speaker phone therefore negating the need for a head-set. Simple pleasures, people. However after much hemming and hawing, I broke down and joined the dark side.

Now, I am not sure how I ever got along without my trusty sidekick. I knew I would enjoy the convenience of plugging the address into the MapQuest app rather than frantically rifling through paper directions and almost always, still ending up lost. And I would be lying if I said I had never whipped out my fancy friend and did a quick Google search to prove Brakes wrong on some useless bit of trivia. But what I had not anticipated is how my iphone would actually increase my productivity, motivate and inspire me in several different ways, and allow me to be a better mother. (Too much?) Overall, thanks to my phone, I spend less time on the internet (I typically browse during nursing sessions and I go days without turning on my laptop), I am far more organized with my calendar, shopping lists, and meal plans, right at my finger tips, which saves time and allows for more tea-parties and tickle sessions. Also, for the first time in my life, I can run. I was always the girl at the back of the track offering “help” to the asthmatics during the mile runs in PE. But, I decided to give running one more shot after Olive was born just until I got cleared to get back into the pool. I was cleared to swim 3 months ago but I seem to have caught the running bug. With the help of my favorite apps to track pace, mileage, etc., and the podcasts or music I stream to keep me entertained, I am up to 5 miles three times a week. And lastly, I am finally doing a better job of documenting my sweet girls’ childhoods and it is so much easier to keep in touch with those that I love; I can capture a quick picture of something cute and text it to Movy (my mom) lickity split and Eloise loooooves the FaceTime feature (she thinks its magic). I just figured out how to download the photos from my phone to my computer and I’ve had a ball looking through all the fun we had this summer. (This activity inspired the gushing about my phone. The wine I am currently sipping may also be contributing to the waxing poetic about an appliance. Sorry.) Aren’t my girls cute? Also, what else am I missing? What are your fave apps? My number ones are Hulu, iMapmyRun, Pandora, yelp, igaragesale, and of course, Pinterest. What are yours?

An Olive Harvest (Eventually the food jokes will stop.) (Maybe.)

2011-10-04T02:22:00.000-07:00

If your eyes have not succumbed to exhaustion or you have not “un-friended” me after my crazy, detailed pregnancy synopsis, feel free to read on and learn about Olive’s actual birth. FYI, it probably takes longer to read this synopsis than it did to actually give birth. Consider yourself warned.

After leaving sweet Weezy back at the house with Auntie Diana, we got checked into the hospital and things were so nonchalant. I was having contractions every 4 minutes and they lasted for a little less than a minute but they did not hurt a ton yet. Mellissa checked me and I was a 6, so I had dilated another centimeter from the day before. They did all my intake paperwork, brought me a labor ball, gave me an IV for fluid, and sent me to walk the halls. The hospital is located right next to the school I work at and I laughed when I could see my students playing on the playground from the fourth floor window. Brakes, who fancies himself something of a mathematician, calculated that if we walked up and down the hall 7 times, it was a mile. So we would power walk a mile, then go back and get monitored for a half hour, then we would power walk another mile, then go back. We did this four times and the contractions were not really picking up. After 3 hours of walking and chatting and flirting (we joked that it felt like a date because this was the longest stretch of uninterrupted time we had enjoyed alone together in months) without a significant increase in my contractions, Mellissa recommended we go for the nudge. As much as I was enjoying being wooed by my husband in my butt-less lingerie (ie: hospital gown), I decided I would not mind speeding this process up a bit so they added a little baggie of the pit to my IV. Since before I was ever pregnant I was scared to death of Pitocin. I had heard that Pitocin contractions caused the most unbelievable pain a woman can experience. As I had already experienced unimaginable pain during Eloise’s labor without Pitocin, I was not exactly thrilled about voluntarily signing up for worse pain at this stage in the game, but Mellissa was the boss and I had to trust what she said. After a minor freak out where Brakes sweetly kissed me and calmed me down I faced the demon without fear (well, maybe a little fear).

I got to say people, for me? Pitocin ain’t no thang. Whatev. My bods stronger than the P-devil. Mmmhmm. Other than making me speak in a strange vernacular and do poor Chris Rock impersonations, Pitocin had little effect. Even when they kept bumping it up (all the way to a level 6), my contractions only got slightly closer together (3 minutes) and just a bit more intense (I had to briefly pause the stand-up routine at the height of each contraction), but it really was not a big deal. It was so not a big deal that I became extremely smug and self-satisfied. We had been at the hospital for 4 hours already and I was still cracking jokes and I had barely broken a sweat. Brakes began to fret. He was like, “I don’t know Bug. You don’t really seem like you’re in labor. By know we had already had Eloise. Maybe you just think you’re in labor.” I got all pissy and righteous, “You don’t know my pain! Maybe this is agonizing and I am just being brave!” But then the nurse checked me again and I had only dilated 1/2 a centimeter more. That sort of took the wind out of my sails and I waited to hear what the boss wanted to do next.

The boss decided to break my water. She thought once my bags had ruptured I would take off like a rocket the same way I had with Eloise. She gave me two choices: she could break my water then give me the epidural, or I could get the epi, then she could break my water. After asking her one more time if the epi was really medically necessary, I agreed to the epi then rupture because I knew it would hurt a lot worse once my water cushion was gone and I figured why not avoid that pain. I may be brave (very) but I’m not stupid.

About five minutes after we called the anesthesiologist, I had my first extremely painful contraction. “Ah,” I thought to myself, as my breath left my body and panicked tears flooded my eyes, “this is the pain I remember.” This is what Eloise’s whole labor had felt like. Hot knifes stabbing me everywhere and there was no escape from the pain. And they were coming faster. Every minute on the minute. Hello transition labor, my old frenemy. So good to meet you again. Please allow me to introduce you to my new BFF, Dr. Epidural. He is going to annihilate your abusive ways! A handful of contractions in, I had the sweet relief of the epi. Just before I went mostly numb (I had a light epi, so I could still feel almost everything, it just took away most of the pain) I felt little Olive slide into position and that unmistakable urge to push came over me. However I was sort of enjoying the novelty of not being able to feel my legs, and Brakes was looking a bit piqued. The poor guy had not eaten since breakfast and it was past six already, so I sent him downstairs to chow down a quick dinner and kept my secret urge to push to myself. After calling everyone I know and telling them how highly I recommend an epidural, I drifted into a light slumber with Linda Ronstadt's sweet voice singing me to sleep. (What?! Linda relaxes me. Don’t judge.) The smell of cooked onions and green peppers jerked me awake rather unpleasantly . Brakes had made the poor choice of Philly Cheesesteak for dinner with garlic fries. Gag. And double gag.

Two teeth brushes and mouth wash gargles later plus some gum for good measure, Mellissa dropped by. She said she was going to break my water but she wanted to check me first. I knew before she even said anything that I was ready to go. She went to tell the nurses to start setting up the room and I suddenly remembered what I had read about magic babies being born in the caul. The caul is the membrane that holds the sack of water in around the baby. Occasionally a women will give birth without the water breaking so the baby is born still ensconced in it’s bag of waters; the caul. These babies are supposed to have magical properties and since I am: A. A bit of a hippy (have I mentioned I am a hippy?) and B. All about magic babies (as long as they are not like Harry Potter. I do not care for Harry.) I began to campaign heavily for a magic caul baby. Soon I had the nurse and Brakes on my side and we ganged up against Mellissa to try and let me have a magic caul baby. She consented and we got to pushing.

I tooted. My very first practice push, for probably the first time in the 10 years we’ve been together I tooted in front of Brakes (PS: Brakes assures me that this is not the case, but it is my story so I am telling it my way. I don’t toot. It destroys the mystery. So there.) and it reminded me of some ground rules we needed to review for this stage of labor. I’ve heard nasty rumors that sometimes women defecate during labor. I am appalled at the idea of this happening. And after a minor misunderstanding during Eloise’s birth (I accidently mistook her head for something sticking out of my rectum) I am especially sensitive about the poop issue. I felt it was prudent to establish a protocol on the off chance that the unmentionable occurs. The protocol was, we were all to ignore it. No one was to refer to it, make comments about it, or even sniff questioningly as I pushed. If I thought that there was even the slightest chance that I would poop in front of people (not including my 2 year old who casually inserts herself into my pooping sessions daily, “You got poop, Mama? Oooh! Nice poop!”), I would be rendered unable to push and that baby would be stuck inside me forever. So it was vitally important that everyone follow the protocol. And follow it they did! Every time a noise emerged from the south end of the bed Mellissa would joke about the frog in her pocket which made me laugh and consequently the frog croaked again. She also covered up my rectum with a sheet therefore eliminating any chance of confusion as to what hole my daughter would emerge from as I gazed in the mirror.

I was even further in Mellissa’s debt when on my second push, my water broke with a hose like stream directed squarely in Mellissa’s face. Mellissa was completely unable to block the spray as her hands were firmly planted on the sheet hiding my anus from view. Bless her heart. We all laughed while she wiped amniotic fluid from her eyes (I know. I can’t get over it either.) And Mellissa hollered for me to stop laughing because I was going to laugh this baby right out.

I looked up at Brakes, who smiled back at me and squeezed the thigh he was holding reassuringly. I noticed the sexy crinkles around his eyes and I was suddenly overwhelmed by how much I love him and how grateful I was to be in this position; pushing out another amazing baby girl, not blind with pain and reduced to an animal state, laughing as I brought new life into the world with my best friend by my side. I gave another mighty push and I heard Brakes whisper, “Not with you face, Bug,” when he saw my face turning red. With Eloise, I did not push correctly and I broke every capillary in my face, neck, chest, and eyes. I looked like a swollen monster for weeks. This time we agreed that he would keep an eye on that for me and when he noticed me turning colors he would direct me to change course. I took a deep breath and pushed again. I watched as a beautiful blond circle emerged from my body. Mellissa did some gentle manipulations then said, “Gas, bring your hands down and deliver your baby.” I was surprised as this was not something we had talked about but I did; I tucked my hands under her slimy shoulders and I pulled her softly all the way out of me. I slid her up my body and onto my chest where she quickly and fervently latched onto my breast. It was truly the most beautiful moment of my life. She was incredible. So gloriously healthy looking and full of vitality! She was bright red and she had soft blond wispy hair with the same kink in it that Weezy’s had when it was wet. She already had rolls on her belly and she was almost 8 pounds (7 pounds, 15 ounces). She had a hearty cry and a sweet demeanor and she wholly and completely captured our hearts. She also smelled like hot-buttered popcorn. She still does. I love her special scent.

I don’t know if it is because Olive is just that remarkable or if it is because her big sister is so amazing that her dad and I knew what we had to look forward to, or maybe it was because her birth was so calm and contained, but everything about Olive’s birth, recovery, and infancy has been easier. I was up and walking 2 hours after she was born. She was a breastfeeding star and my milk had started to come in the following morning. From the night we brought her home from the hospital she has slept from midnight to five am with only a handful of exceptions (not that I don’t feel royally screwed when she does have a bad night. I do.) She is a sweet and happy baby with just enough spice to make her interesting. She may not have been born in the caul but she is my magic baby all the same. She is my gift, she completed our family, and I know that she is destined for great things.

Her pregnancy might have been something of a trial but it is more than balanced by the sweetness and joy that she brings to our life today. It is my privilege to be her mother.

Olive Ripens (Very Long Pregnancy Synopsis)

2011-10-01T14:37:00.001-07:00

So as to uphold my side of the bargain, I will be publishing some posts detailing Olive’s pregnancy and birth for posterity’s sake. These posts will be pretty dense, as I wanted to chronicle in detail the events leading up to my sweet Olive’s arrival. They are not as entertaining as Eloise’s semi-famous birth story, but I hope that someday O will read them lovingly and know how precious she is to me. If you are not interested in the minutia of pregnancy and childbirth, or you don’t really want to indulge what Brakes calls my, “diabolical need to overshare”, drop back in another day for cute pictures of my girls, renovation tales, and probably a couple of poop references! If you are nosy, have at it! The following is more than you ever wanted to know about the inner-workings of my bodacious bod:

I was shocked when we got pregnant the first cycle we tried. It took us much longer and we had a loss when we were trying to conceive Eloise. In fact, with Olive, I semi-tricked Brakes into trying a month earlier than originally planned because I was SO sure we would not get pregnant right away. The crazy in my head had convinced me we were obligated to go through some predetermined number of bust cycles, before we could be blessed with a baby (I obviously did not pay enough attention in health class). I wanted to get the show on the road, so I whined and seduced Brakes (ooh-la-la, a potent combination) until he agreed to try in early August 2010. Eight days later, (7 dpo) I had a positive hpt in my hand and a BETA (blood pregnancy test) of 10. For those of you not in the know with the pregnancy lingo, a 10 means you are just a little bit pregnant. In fact, my OBGYN did not even consider me pregnant with a level that low. He went on and on about how we would not know if this was a viable pregnancy for another couple of weeks.

This picture was taken at Diana’s wedding, right after finding out I was pregnant:

Within a couple of weeks, even without repeat blood tests, I knew that this was a viable pregnancy. How did I know? Vomit. A lot of it. All the time. The morning sickness I experienced with Eloise, which I had thought was so cute and novel, was like a paper cut compared to the general state of malaise I found myself in for the first 17.5 weeks of Olive’s existence. Try chasing an 18 month-old (who BTW, was still breast-feeding at the time. I used to be such a hippy.) when you were living off of water and air. Better yet, try changing an 18 month-old’s diaper. I still gag just thinking about it.

About the time my morning sickness cleared up we had our big ultrasound. I had opted out of all the earlier prenatal screening, believing that if anything really serious was going on, it would show up at the 20 week scan. This was a decision I would come to regret. Brakes, Eloise, and I were so tickled to see our happy and healthy baby wiggling on the screen. We loved finding out Weezy had a baby sister on the way, and we totally marveled at her obvious brains and beauty. Then the radiology tech got suspiciously quiet and she started taking many, many measurements of Olive’s little belly. Soon the radiologist joined us. She gently explained that Olive’s belly was measuring way ahead of where it should be which could mean several things. It may be that she is (like her Mama) an emotional eater and she guzzled amniotic fluid in nervous anticipation of her big photo shoot. Or she could have some rare-genetic syndrome, a bowel obstruction/mutation, or a myriad of other problems. A potentially sick baby, combined with my intimate knowledge of the world of special needs as an early childhood special education teacher (I work with kids with rare genetic syndromes every day), pregnancy hormones, and the stress of pulling together Thanksgiving dinner for my family plus 5 houseguests all amidst a major renovation on the house, proved to be too much. I was pretty much a mess for the rest of November. Oh and, almost as an afterthought, my doc called that night and informed me that they’d forgotten to mention I had partial placenta previa and I was on strict pelvic rest. So much for sex being a stress reliever.

You cannot begin to imagine my relief when, after 3 inconclusive follow up ultrasounds, Olive’s belly was finally measuring within the typical parameters. We still do not know if she is just a drama queen and drank up before each appointment or if for some reason, her belly was growing faster than the rest of her, but by December 22, the day we were set to fly to Phoenix for Christmas, we were in the clear. Olive was growing right on track and kick, kick, kicking away. I enjoyed a calm 2 weeks of pregnancy where I was not vomiting or a crying mess.

The first week in January I was on my way to a student’s house when I felt a familiar tug tracing across my lower belly. I loosened the seat belt. 8 minutes later it happened again. And again about 7 minutes after that. I soon realized that they were contractions. They kept on coming almost daily for the next month. I was not especially worried about them because they always seemed to stop within a few hours and they were not very painful. However I could feel myself slowing down physically. I don’t know if it was because this was my second pregnancy, or if my job was so physically demanding (I was on the floor, bending at the waist, doing therapy with babies and toddlers all day long), but by 30 weeks I felt huge and so drained and sore by the end of each day. My body was telling me I was doing too much but as we all know, listening is not my strong suit. I went for a regular check-up, mentioned the contractions and so my midwife checked me. I was dilated to a 2 and my cervix was funneling or thinning already. She immediately pulled me out of work and put me on modified bed rest for the next 7 weeks.

Was it difficult to manage an active toddler when I was not supposed to be on my feet for more than 15 minutes every 3 hours? Yes. A freckle. But it actually was not as bad as I thought it was going to be. When I heard bed rest, my heart sank. Obviously, I would do whatever it took to keep Olive safe inside me until she was fully cooked, but bed rest meant no big birthday party for Eloise, no mommy and me adventures before our two-some became a three-some, and most tragic of all: bed rest meant I had to miss my baby brother’s wedding in Arizona. Patrick married the most amazing woman, Auntie Jessica, and it nearly broke my heart to miss out on the grand event.

Not to say that there weren’t some positives to bed rest. As soon as I got off my feet, my aching cervix went away. I actually felt pretty comfortable right up until the end. And since I was sure I would do nothing but sit home and stuff my face all day, I was extremely careful about what I ate and I ended up gaining a lot less weight than I did with Eloise. Also, my sweet girl had to get used to Mommy not being 100% well in advance of her baby sister’s arrival, so that when Olive actually did arrive, Weezy was already used to being more independent, which has really eased the transition for her. Finally, bed rest forced Brakes and I to get our act together organizationally and communicatively. Since he had to take on so much added responsibility (which he did with focus and good humor. Love that man.) while I was laid up (or down as it were), it was actually a relief when I was done being pregnant and could be an equal partner again. Surviving bed rest made the awful newborn stage we had been dreading seem like a non-event compared to what we had just been through.

I was finally taken off bed rest at 37 weeks and after feeling like a ticking time-bomb for the last 7 weeks, I was bound and determined to squeeze as much fun as I could into however long I had until Olive made her debut. Weezy and I finally went on some adventures! We zooed, shopped, and playdated galore! It was really a good time. I cleaned and organized (and by cleaned, I mean I paid my new favorite person, Marcia, to clean) but I definitely nested. I finally tackled the basement which is now organized within an inch of its life. I managed to identify the few areas in my house which were label free and I quickly rectified that situation. I also got to put together a beautiful nursery for my new daughter full of vintage books and hand-sewn crafts. Since I knew it was my last nursery, I poured a lot of love into it’s four walls. And I waited. After being on red-alert for labor since 30 weeks, I was shocked when I passed 38 weeks without any action. When 39 weeks rolled around, I had to laugh! Olive obviously had a sense of humor. When 40 weeks came and went I was completely flummoxed. Easter Sunday was her due date and Daddy spent the night rubbing my belly feeling her kicks and watching a little foot sized blob course across my stomach. She was SO strong in there! I still have an achy spot in my ribs where she liked to nestle.

40 weeks, 1 day: I went to my midwife appointment. Now as you know, I am kind of crunchy. I had Eloise w/o meds and it nearly ruined my pachina. And I was fully planning on doing it that way again but then I met Mellissa. Mellissa is my midwife and she is also the boss of me. She tucked me under her nurturing and slightly bossy wing during the whole placenta previa/scary ultrasound drama, and it was because of her vigilance and guidance I made it through the pregnancy as happy and unscathed as I did. As a result, I made her the boss. If she told me to jump off a bridge, I probably would. That is how much I trust her judgment. In the appointments leading up to Olive’s birth, Mellissa re-read my file from Eloise’s birth, as part of her preparation for Olive’s delivery. Once she saw what a traumatic experience that had been (fast labor with a lacerated cervix, a hemorrhage, and a hematoma) and how difficult the recovery was (I could not sit flat on my heinie for 10 months) she gently, but firmly kiboshed my med-free birth plan. She really wanted me to get induced to avoid a whole crowning-in-the-car scenario (this was actually quite a possibility. I was already dilated to a 5 by this point and I went from a 5 to a 10 in less than an hour with Eloise.) And she wanted me to have an epidural because she did not trust me not to push before I was ready, which is exactly what happened with Eloise hence the cervical laceration. I was pretty determined that Olive come on her own time, but Mellissa would not budge from her insistence on the epi. We compromised; Mellissa stripped my membranes and gave me a bit more time to try to go into labor on my own, and I agreed to not fight her on the epidural if she deemed it medically necessary.

I went home that afternoon and had a long talk with Brakes. And my mom. And my sister. And my dad. And my girlfriends. And the lady at the soft serve counter. They all agreed I was being silly about waiting to go into labor naturally. They painted horror stories of us slinging Eloise out the car window onto her baby sitter’s lawn in our rush to get to the hospital after my water (finally) broke. Or worse yet, they talked about what would happen if I just never went into labor at all. I could be pregnant for another 2 whole weeks. My sister sent me scary pictures of old placenta and I was finally convinced. I decided that if I did not go into labor by tomorrow at noon, we would head to the hospital and get “nudged”. Mellissa was kind enough not to call it an induction. She said, I would just get nudged in the right direction with a quick hit of Pitocin. It was almost like a little hair-of-the-dog to get you going the night after a big party. (Mellissa put it into words I could relate to.)

By 5 am the following morning, I was timing contractions. They were longer and more intense than any of the other ones before and I knew that Olive was on her way. I had a feeling I would not need the nudge and I was grateful that Olive did not make me decide her birthday. She was ready to come on her own. I got up early and checked me email, called my family (It was my sister’s birthday too!) and, just enjoyed the minutes before my world drastically changed. At 8 am I texted Brake’s sister and my BFF, Diana, to hop on the BART as she was going to watch Weezy until my mom arrived from Phoenix the next day. She was so excited and I am not sure how she managed it, but she was on our doorstep in 30 minutes having taken a bus, a train, and a cab ride to get there! We rushed around getting last minute stuff ready, taking pictures, and loving on Weezy. I was so sad to leave her at home and she was such a good, brave girl. I was excited to know that next time I saw her, she would be a big sister!

Ketchup (or Catch Up, you know I can’t resist a pun) and Other Garnishes

2011-09-10T22:58:00.000-07:00

Hi all! It has been awhile! When we last left off, Weezy was talking dirty in the shower, I was heavily laden with child, and Brakes was doing his best to survive in a house so full of estrogen. Now, there is even more estrogen (poor Brakes). On April 26th, we welcomed our little garnish, Miss Olive Beecroft!

In one of the many sleepless nights I have enjoyed since then, I developed a guilty conscience about the fact that I have everything, including Eloise’s first turd, documented and memorialized for all the world to see. Yet I have nary a sentence about the sweetest, most loving, adorable, and fantastic little garnish ever to be born! As a second daughter myself, I am extremely sensitive to issues such as these; they sometimes hit a bit close to home. For example, here is a picture of my baby book:

That’s right. There is no baby book. And when it was my turn to make an “All About Me” poster in 2nd grade, my mom tried to convince me that I was the brown haired/brown eyed child in the photos she pasted to the bedazzled poster board. I was tow-headed with green eyes, but why get mired down in such trivial details? Anyways, about 2 am yesterday morning, I struck a deal with Olive, if she would agree to go to mother-truckin sleep, then I would try to jot down some recollections of her pregnancy and babyhood for posterity’s sake. I had to throw in some moo-moos to sweeten the deal but she eventually capitulated and we all got some rest. So here I am. Please excuse any poor grammar, typos, and hormonal gushing about my kids; try to remember people, I am tired. Very tired. And Olive, when you read this 20 years from now (will people even read then? Information will probably be teleported to your brain using tronics (B&G speak for the remote control). You should probably also ignore the meandering off topic tendencies. Whatev.) call me up and thank me for putting up with your 2 am giggles every night. And also, don’t be a hoochie. That is my advice for you, 20 year old Olive.

First Family Photo

Private Parts

2011-02-02T13:49:00.001-08:00

Hi Friends,

So its been a pretty crazy few months. I don’t remember pregnancy being like this last time. Apparently I’ve aged a lot in the last two years because growing a human is way more exhausting than I remember; these days I have a difficult time summoning up the strength to complete my daily duties much less blog. Maybe when this mythical nesting kicks in I will dish on all the juicy details of our little O’s gestation, but for now suffice it to say that though it has been at times a dramatic pregnancy, we are very grateful to have a healthy baby girl growing steadily (and wiggling constantly) in my belly. And we are equally grateful to have another little girl, outside my belly, who gets sassier and more lovely each and every day! In fact, it was a another bathing adventure that inspired me to break my blog silence. Again. Strange, hunh?

So I recently read an article on how to help keep your children safe from sexual predators. One of the suggestions was to talk to them at bath time about private parts and who is allowed access to said parts. After careful consideration, I decided Weezy was ready for a conversation regarding this issue. Plus, she has recently become extremely interested in body parts, especially my gigantic belly and chi chis, (I know, I should not be surprised.) so I figured lets kill two birds with one stone: have a chat, protect her from perverts, get her to quit honking my nips. Win-win! Needless to say our conversation did not go as planned, and the occasional honk-honk may be the least of our problems.

I say: “Time to wash your heinie!”

Eloise responds: “Heinie!”

I continue: “You know, your heinie, and pachina, and chi-chis are private parts.”

Eloise interrupts: “Two chi-chis! One, two! (points to my chi-chis) Eh-weese chi-chi! One, two! (points to her chi-chis)”

I refuse to be distracted by her obviously gifted counting skills and re-route the conversation: “That’s right! You have two chi-chi’s and I have two chi-chis. But no one should touch your chi-chis or my chi-chis except for ourselves,” (oh crap! Brakes had accidently started the whole nipple honking thing when Weezy caught her daddy copping a feel! Note to self: tell Brakes to keep his damn paws off of me. Well that is kind of confusing; I don’t want her to think her dad is some sort of perv or that flirtation between husband and wife is shameful (I’d recently read an article about how to establish healthy first impressions of sex in your children… I obviously read too many articles. ) Better switch gears: “Except for Daddy. Daddy can sometimes touch Mommy’s chi-chis. “ (Crap again! How awkward is that? And what about Baby O?! Come April, I am going to have another little human positively manhandling the ladies 90% of my waking hours. Talk about mixed messages! Why did I ever start talking about chi-chis! Agh!) Enough about chi-chis. Lets talk about pachinas.

Eloise gives me a confused look.

I say: “Your pachina and heinie are private parts too. That means nobody can touch them except for Mommy, Daddy, and Nicole,” (her day-care teacher).

Eloise brightly responds: “Mommy, Daddy, Cole!”

I am relieved that this part of the discussion seems to be going well: “That’s right! Only Mommy, Daddy, and Nicole can touch your private parts.”

Eloise, after a thoughtful pause during which I am impressed because she really seems to understand what I am telling her, she says: “ Mommy, Daddy, Cole, and Bubba” (her best-friend at school).

I think: “Did I just hear that right?!” I try again: “No Weezy, only Mommy, Daddy, and Nicole can touch your private parts.”

Weezy petulantly sticks out her lower lips and replies in a stern voice: “And Bubba!”

“Not Bubba! Just Mommy Daddy, and Nicole!”

“Mommy, Daddy, Cole, and Bubba!” Then she stomps her foot.

I gaze at the slippery shower floor and my little daughter’s stubborn face and I decide to cut my losses. Maybe bath time is not a great opportunity to start a discussion about private parts. And should I be worried that my not-yet two year old daughter just informed me that she will give an all access pass to Bubba at preschool? Yikes! What is she going to be like at 16?!

No wonder I am tired.

Nightstand and Other Important Updates

2010-10-27T17:22:00.000-07:00

Our nightstand issues have been an ongoing saga on the blog. They first debuted in this post, where I detailed how I effectively demolished mine in my new-baby-sleep-deprived state. We referenced them again here, when I lamented how Eloise loves to “reorganize” my nightstand and spread our valuables all over the house. Which valuables you ask? Why these, of course; Brakes’ Best Bargain of the Year! We all know that those valuables are VERY important!

Understanding the value of our valuables, and tired of finding them hidden in often-embarrassing places, Brakes gave me the okay to go ahead and purchase some new nightstands.

After a quick debate about budget, I sped to the only store that could possibly meet my style objectives and Brakes’ financial parameters; Good Ole Salvation Army. My budget of $25 may have seemed a little ambitious even for SA, but I happened to go on 50% off furniture day so in no time at all I scooped up some ~~savagely~~ gently used, solid wood ~~kindling~~ antiques. Brakes’ was a very cool end table with rounded edges and deco accents. For me, I chose a vintage sewing table with wobbly legs, but oodles of charm. I was confident that with a little love these beauties would shine (and keep Eloise out of our crap)!

And they did!

I love the storage solutions they provide and how well they complement the other parts of our room. Plus, with the addition of some handy-dandy baby locks, they keep our valuables protected and out of sight…

Too out of sight as it turns out…

Shortly after we finished the nightstands, Brakes and I embarked on another DIY project. We call this one Take Two! II will hopefully debut at the end of April!

HMS Turd

2010-10-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

Last week I received a plea from my favorite Uncle Boo Boo to please start up B&G again. I pompously informed him (via my mom) that I lacked inspiration these days: “Nothing super funny or shocking happens to me anymore”, I claimed. “I have a toddler,” I lamented. I even used the old standby: “I’m tired.” I had a plethora of excuses. Three short days later Karma gave me a gigantic bitch slap and what do you know? Lady Inspiration sang her siren song.

Let me back track- in the six months since my last post (ouch!) quite a few things have happened to the B&G household; fantastic but time consuming things. Progress has been made on the ~~money-pit~~ dream home. I finally acquired/fashioned some decent nightstands. And our sweet Weezy has morphed into a chatty, darling, peeing-in-the-potty (and on the bathroom floor, but whatev), toddler before our very eyes! In all honesty, Brakes and I have had a blast watching our little monster blossom into an actual person and we’ve really soaked in every minute of surprise and development along the way. We’ve relished this time and lately, we’ve been feeling like we’ve hit our stride with this whole parenting thing.

Until it rained. This past weekend we learned it is much easier being exemplary parents when it is warm out and a park is just down the street. When things start to get hairy, we toss Weez into her Cozy Coupe and roll down the hill to the sweet mercy of swings, slides, and other parents (who are hopefully willing to share a bottle of wine or at least not judge us as we swig from ours). Our first rainy weekend with our newly (over)active girl there was still wine (lots of it) but it was more of the tantrum variety: “Oooooouuuttt! Want waaaaallllk! NOW!” (complete with a foot-stomp) and “NO! NO! Nonononononononooooooo!” Although I did catch Brakes gulping a suspicious purple liquid in the kitchen between frantic installments of “Rainy Day Activities” gleaned from my packed up preschool materials in the basement.

By Sunday late afternoon I had resorted to locking Weezy in her highchair with finger-paints and a Skype window open with terse directions to Uncle Patrick and Aunt Jessica in Arizona to give a holler if they saw Eloise start ingesting (too much) paint or painting the dog (again). This worked long enough for me to have a tinkle and cram a Fun Size Snickers down my throat. Getting drunk did not seem responsible (ehhm, Brakes!) but who would begrudge me a Halloween Candy Coma? We all cope in different ways. Don’t judge.

When Patrick and Jessica suddenly “lost their internet connection,” I knew Weezy and I had reached an impasse. I was going to have to get real creative, real quick or we would both be careening towards a meltdown of epic proportions. Just briefly I allowed myself to fondly remember simpler days when rainy Sundays were spent lounging in a warm bath with a good book. Just then my (weepy) eyes alighted on my paint covered daughter and inspiration struck!

Soon we were ensconced in bubbles with rubber duckies for her and a side of chick-lit for me. Things were going so well, I generously urged Brakes to plug into one of his fave podcasts and have a little alone time. Weezy splashed and played and I, between pages, soaked my cuticles and marveled at Eloise’s constant stream of dialogue: “I got ducky. Quack! Quack! Ducky? Doggie! Woof, woof, woof! Ducky. Doggy. Woof! I go poo poo. Woof!” I thought: “Adorable! What a sweetie. She loves duckies and doggies and wait! What was that?! Poop!” Shit. Just then I got a whiff. I shut my eyes and said a quick prayer that the unimaginable hadn’t happened but then I had to open my eyes and face the music, or rather the turd. Two turds to be exact. About 3.5 inches long and of a respectable girth. How my darling daughter somehow managed to squeeze these little shitps out without me noticing, I do not know. She has turned into a stealthy little shitter.

I scooped my little poopy-~~pants~~ up and shouted, yelled, screamed, and howled until Brakes heard me through his ear phones and came running. After he was done laughing and advising me to just bare-fist the offending turds, he grabbed our stinky daughter and brought me a plastic bag to scoop out the two stowaways that had ruined my nice, relaxing, rainy-day bath. When the toilet flushed, I had one of those out-of-body experiences. A mocking, eerie voice (or maybe it was Brakes?) whispered: “Gas ****** ******, this is yoooour life!”

By the time I was done scalding and scrubbing my entire body, Brakes had our sweet girl dressed in my favorite jungle animal fleece footie-pajamas and her sweet-smelling hair was combed to the side like a little banker. She greeted me with a smile and kiss, “Hi Momeee!” she squealed. With a giggle and another kiss, I heard that eerie voice again, but this time it did not sound so mocking. It was more of a gentle reminder to count my blessings. Even on a rainy, noisy, poop-in-the-bath-tub kind of day, I am still the luckiest “Momeee” in the entire world.

After we ~~finally~~ put Eloise to bed, I told Brakes, “I think I am going to start blogging again.”

He replied, “It was the poop that did it, wasn’t it?” I laughed. He was right. Who knew turds could be so inspiring?

Not up to Code!

2010-05-11T21:18:00.001-07:00

A couple of months ago your humble blogger was out back clipping blackberry bushes from our lower deck when one of the boards gave out and I fell to my demise 4 feet below. It was only four feet, but it could have been a lot further. So I had to ask myself how many people are going to have to fall through this deck before somebody does something about it? Four? Six? I don’t know really. You tell me. We’ll actually we only know about six people, so six is the max. Will our homeowners insurance cover this many people? I don’t know. I do know that minimum code requires that the casual stroller should not fall through the structure. It looked like a lot of work to fix though, so we covered the hole with a disposable table cloth and left it alone to heal on it’s own.

Note from Gas: Brakes thinks he's Holmes on Homes. (and he does look pretty cute in his overalls)

Fast forward 3 weeks. Gas casually recommends that we work on having a fun outdoor area for when the weather gets better. Cue: The deck. So I hired a guy to get some estimates on redwood lumber (me), consulted an exterior designer (Gas), called in a deck guy (my dad), hired a painter (me), and hired a team of carpenters (us, and we use that term very loosely BTW) and started work. Don’t worry we’re going to Make it Right! Keep smiling.

Now the truth is that guys really don’t know how anything works. But we can always pop open the hood and take a look. Unfortunately sometimes once we get going tinkering with something there is no undo button. Hence this mess:

In addition to the rotted boards near the end of the deck, the joists closest to the patio were very beat up. Particularly the one on the middle was almost completely gone from dry rot:

So after a couple of hours of making a mess and a discussion with our architect (my dad), we decided it would be best to just pull up all the decking boards are replace with new.

Gas thought a white banister with redwood decking would look good since the yard is naturally pretty dark. For the paint we used a paint gun with acrylic white paint. Oh, and BTW we have a ton of firewood if anybody wants some.

This is where it got really messy. We cut back the joists beyond the dry rot and replaced some of them with treated lumber then covered the structure with wood protectant. The little carpenter on the left also helped us with odds and ends.

After getting the framing done it was easy-peasy except for a little bad weather.

The rain coming early was a bummer and we had to stop work about 1/2 way through fastening the deck boards.

Here’s a picture of the finished product (wet):

We also got a yard adornment. It’s like a mix between a garden gnome and a Chia Pet, and it does some cool stuff!

Brakes’ Riddle

2010-05-03T02:22:00.000-07:00

After painting knobs all day (sounds diry- its not.) on Valentines day, as you can imagine, I was a wee bit irritated. I may have ~~pouted, whined, and sulked~~ communicated my disappointment in a completely mature and appropriate way. Like most of my ~~lectures~~ helpful suggestions, I assumed that Brakes would ~~blatantly ignore~~ most likely forget my message. So you can imagine my total surprise when I woke up the following day to this: (after he had been up for hours with the baby, letting me sleep in! I know! How could I ever complain about this man?! Just wait- it gets better!)

(I really should stop showing off my messy night stand!)

I looked across the room and saw this:

In this kitchen I spied these:

The dining room bore this:

The living room was not left out:

Neither was Weezy’s room, both bathrooms, the garage, even the ~~mother-in-law~~ catacombs where the dogs sleep! Every where I went there were sweet yellow flowers clipped from our front yard (pretty sure they’re weeds but I love them just the same!) and every time I spotted a new vase Brakes ~~and I would make out~~ and Weezy would give me tender little kisses! It was loving, romantic, meaningful, and it made me feel adored and appreciated! A+ Brakes! I am so glad you are my little over-achiever and I apologize for underestimating your listening skills!

My Sister

2010-04-26T02:22:00.000-07:00

Today my gorgeous big sister, Meghann, turns 30. She’s fit a lot of joy, love, experience, and accomplishment in her time on earth thus far (and she only had my help for the last 28 years!) I cannot wait to see what she does in the next 30!

Love you, Bun!

Goodbye Old Friend

2010-04-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

I’ve heard that writing can be a great way to express one’s feelings, so I thought it would be nice to share the history of a family member that Gas and I've really cherished over the last 7 years. Despite having lost a multitude of them over the years, I’ve determined that regardless of what people may tell you it’s always a traumatic experience.

The year was 2003. Gas and I had met only two years earlier and she had been wanting one for a long time. Her previous Jinksy was inherited by her brother. Needless to say, that didn’t work out so well for Jinksy. Having felt some grief over this himself, Gas’ dad started working behind the scenes to get his paws on a new one. Fortunately he had a client who was looking to pass their little darling on to one very special owner who could give her the care she needed. So after a short negotiation she was ours:

A 1991 Pontiac Grand Am LS.

Gas was thrilled. They went everywhere together. To the store, to my house, and even to Petco (to look at the puppies of course). She made the move from Arizona, to Utah, and even to California. She did misbehave on our drive back to Arizona, but you know what they say: You don’t always get the car you want, sometimes you get the car you need. For what other reason would we have spent 2 unscheduled days in Kanab (est. pop 5400) Utah? However, after a little adjustment she became our loyal friend again. Shipping her from Utah to California did make us all a bit nervous though.

A couple weeks ago on one fateful afternoon she was struck with a common illness for her breed and could not pass a smog test. We were faced with a decision. Do we keep spending money trying to keep her alive in what might be a helpless battle? Or do we “retire” her before things get worse?

The DMV conversation went about as expected:

Your humble blogger: “Is there anything that can be done?”

DMV representative: “No. (long silence with a grip of typing going on in the background) And by the way can I put you on hold just for shits and giggles. ”

Your humble blogger’s internal monologue: “It wasn’t like she had attacked anyone! When you are walking down the street who do you fear more: A 1991 Grand Am or a Prius? Those things can kill people! A 1991 Grand Am couldn’t kill a person if it tried. I mean really it couldn’t. And even if it did you’d have plenty of time to get out of the way.”'

DMV representative returns.

Your humble blogger: “This whole experience has made me feel very isolated and alone as though no one cares.”

Not one to put up a fight though we excepted our condition and headed over to the yard to said our goodbyes. We did become a bit worried after spying the sign:

“Pick-n-Pull”! "Cash for Clunkers" (how crass)?! Can we please show some respect. And the way they just pile them up there by the thousand:

After some time we discovered it really is for the best though. And her legacy will live on since we used our bounty to make some much needed improvements outside to our deck (more on that later):

Goodbye old friend.

1991 Pontiac Grand Am (1991-2010)

Weezy Wednesday: Places to go…

2010-04-21T02:22:00.000-07:00

She is a very busy lady these days!

Its Not What it Seems!

2010-04-19T02:22:00.000-07:00

At Weezy’s birthday, when confronted with this:

I asked Nana Eileen to grab me the pack of wipes from my nightstand in the bedroom. She returned with this:

Innocent enough, right? Until she opened the box and all of this sprung forth:

For the record, this is not a dildo; it is temporal lobe thermometer:

And this is not various tubes of lube and sensual massage oil, it is various tubes of diaper rash cream. Hot, I know.

And these are condoms. I guess there is no baby-friendly excuse for these. In fact, I am pretty sure they are babies mortal enemies.

Why are these kept in the wipes container? Because of this:

Eloise has developed a fervent interest in re-organization and it is on her daily agenda to rearrange all of the items in and around my nightstand (she will literally drag things from other rooms and put them in my lotion box!) The wipes container is our way of baby-proofing our birth-control options!

To all you who snickered and sent us pointed looks at the party, we are flattered you would assume we’ve got such an adventurous sex life, but I hope this post clarifies any misconceptions.

Now I have to go “change a diaper” … and for the record that really means change a diaper.

PS: Just because its funny, I am going to share with you a little Brakes trivia. What's the largest volume of condoms Brakes has ever purchased at once? Any guesses?

Just under 1500. He bought them online. In bulk. Just after Weezy was born. Hmm. (Do you think he is ready for numero dos?) Here is part of his stash.

When they arrived in the mail, I opened the box, gave Brakes a smile and said, “My how ambitious of you!” Bless his frugal heart.

Now This is What I Call a Mother Truckin Tablescape!

2010-04-16T02:22:00.000-07:00

Some people are born to shop, eat chocolate, be wild, etc. (or so I read at a tee-shirt stand in Tijuana back in ‘’95… Okay, so I have never be to Tijuana. Certainly not in ‘’95, I was 12 at the time. I just thought it sounded tough and complemented my bad-ass title. Thoughts?) I was born to tablescape. As many of you may have guessed, I’ve dabbled in tablescape architecture a time or two before with an occasional cloth napkin. Perhaps even a pillar candle. On special occasions, I’ve even been known to jam a post-it into a pine cone and call it a place card. I realize now that those were just cheap imitations of the real art of tablescapery- Behold, my masterpiece:

I call it: Ladies who Lunch

This tablescape was inspired by my dear sister-in-law, Diana. Her best gals and I threw her a surprise ladies tea to celebrate her engagement. She is getting married in August to the love of her life! And I am so touched that she asked me to be her maid of honor! (I know I should officially by called matron of honor, but yikes! That sounds frightfully old and dour, so I think I will just stick to maid of honor, thank you very much!) I had so much planning her fancy tea party and leapin-lizards (I mean damn-it-all-to-hell! Bad-ass theme, you understand.) we are going to have fun at her Hen Party in May! I am planning on riding our fat hogs up and down the coast, hitting every biker bar between here and T-town (Tijuana, my second home) and stopping for some arson and vandalism along the way… AKA: we are partaking in a lovely wine festival followed by a day at the spa! Should be divine! Ta ta! I mean, perch and rotate, mother truckers!

Weezy Wednesdays: Paparazzi

2010-04-14T02:22:00.000-07:00

Good to know that if Eloise were ever to become a star, she will handle the paparazzi and manhandling of celebrity with aplomb!

And how cute is Weezy’s friend, S? She is a brand new big sister! Congratulations, S, R, and B! We cannot wait to meet baby I!

I Have A Famous Pachina

2010-04-12T02:22:00.000-07:00

I know, Dad, I promised to quit talking about my pachina on public forums, but I am sorry, I simply cannot resist. I love the attention; I am a middle child- you have only yourself to blame.

(http://community.thebump.com/cs/ks/blogs/birth_stories/archive/2009/11/25/mrs-wubbins.aspx)

I’ve been at it again- chatting about my nether regions to anyone who’ll listen. After scaring the crap out of a newly pregnant woman I met in line at Trader Joes (why does all my inappropriate social behavior happen at Trader Joes?) I made a resolution to get the pachina talk out of my system once and for all! I decided to rewrite my birth story and submit it to the bump. I figured, that if it got posted, I could go there and re-read it every time I got the itch to chat about ginas and hopefully that would meet my need and I could leave the poor pregnant public alone.

I submitted it right before we moved last November and I recently discovered it is going to be published in The Nest magazine! Apparently I am not the only one obsessed with my pachina, she is getting quite a fan-base. I am thinking about setting up a Facebook page and a Twitter account for her. She is currently interviewing publicists.

Dad, are you proud?

Spring Has Sprung and Weezy’s One!

2010-04-09T02:22:00.000-07:00

On thee first day of spring, our sweet Weezy was born so the theme for her first birthday seemed obvious! Bugs, gardens, flowers, and seeds! All things spring!

All decor items are from the dollar store. I bought plastic planters and toy gardening equipment for the food and I hot glued bugs and fake flowers to spring them up a bit. I also bought pinwheels and cloth insect finger puppets from IKEA and I scattered them around the room in vases and hidden on the shelves. The favors were plastic bug catchers with a net and tong, and on the inside was an insect finger puppet. For the adults we had a salad buffet with several different types of salad. A few included: “Seed Salad” (Bean salad) “Chicken and Leaves” (Chinese Chicken Salad from Costco). We also served various kid friendly options like slices of cheese cut into flower and butterfly shapes with a cookie cutter. Veggie “Sticks” chips and pretzel “Twigs”. I also found adorable build-a-bug fruit drops that were a hit with the older kids. I ordered cupcakes from Costco. They were huge but quite good! I did customize them a bit with gummy worms, cookie crumbs, and Mike&Ike candy in flower designs. I totally stole the caterpillar balloon bug idea from my friend, Michelle, who made one for her daughter’s caterpillar themed birthday the week before. I thought she was completely brilliant!

Lets talk wardrobe! Michelle generously offered to loan me Maddy’s perfect buggy dress (complete with a cardigan, no less!) but I forgot to reply with a grateful yes in time to make arrangements to pop over and grab it, so instead, the night before the party I whipped up this bedazzled onesie! Snail + Butterfly= Rhinstone-erific fun!

(Sorry, so dirty. Did not think to take pics before cake fest!)

Me and the Unc accidently displaying the caterpillar banner I had Eloise’s classmates help me make at her school party. Liquid watercolor on coffee-filters make beautiful party decor! Plus it was a fun activity to do with a group of toddlers!

For entertainment, I just put a bunch of Weezy’s toys in the living room and got a baby pool and some carnival balls at Target. I also threw some of my favorite IKEA bugs in the ball pit. The kids had a fun time finding them!

It was a really fun celebration befitting of the special little bug in our life! However, next year we may go to Chuckie Cheese (Kidding. Kind of. ) :)

Weezy Wednesday: Birthday Girl

2010-04-07T02:22:00.000-07:00

The obligatory smash cake!

Last Year’s Lessons

2010-04-05T13:25:00.000-07:00

On March 20th my little girl turned one years old! I’ve spent the weeks surrounding her big day pondering (when I wasn’t hot gluing plastic bugs onto planter boxes- more on that later) all that I have learned in the last year and comparing my old self to my new self- because make no mistake about it- in many ways I am an entirely different person.

Here is an abbreviated list of lessons learned in the last 12 months:

I think I finally get physics. 7 pounds, 2 ounces can emerge from a small crevices given enough velocity. (You knew I wouldn't miss the chance to talk about my pachina- also more on that later ;)
Sleep is the magic elixir that makes me smarter, kinder, prettier, and a whole hell of a lot happier.
Who knew Dads could be this sexy?
Your marriage will change when you bring another person into your family; it doesn't mean you’re weak or your marriage is weak, or that you are a bad wife, or you have a shitty husband. It just means that you, the collective you, husband and wife, are re-learning how to be together and adjusting to the added changes and responsibilities. It will take awhile to find your footing, but with patience, communication, motivation, and understanding, your marriage will become stronger than it ever was before. Also, a lot of sex certainly helps.
Though I still cannot be bound, sturdier undergarments are going to be necessary until my little shark is weaned.
Renting is under-rated. Just kidding. Just kidding on the just kidding.
Baby crap will take over your house. There is no getting around it, accept it and buy cute storage containment units. (Non-parents: don’t be alarmed. By baby crap, I mean gear- not actual poo. We do not store poo in attractive baskets and such. Most of the time anyways.)
You do not need 1/2 the baby crap you buy. Eloise’s favorite birthday present was the silver ribbon that came on her add-a-pearl necklace from Auntie Bun (so cute!), and she lives in zip-up footie jams and she ignores her fancy light-up walker, preferring to push a little foot-ottoman around the house. Baby gates and brown shirt are pretty much all she (we) requires!
Motherhood and selflessness do not need to go hand-in-hand. When a new baby enters your world, you have no choice but to put your own wants and desires on the back burner. But thankfully for me, I learned relatively quickly that to be the mom that Eloise deserved and to be the wife that Brakes deserved, I had to have the life that I deserved. In the last year, I remembered that I love to swim, sew, work, write, wear fancy make-up, have fancy hair, and take long and luxurious bubble baths. Giving up those things does not make me a better mother; taking the time, spending the money, doing whatever I have to do to feel human and find definition outside of my familial roles, is what makes me a better mother. Last year Gas defined herself almost exclusively by the roles she played for other people, this year Gas (apparently talks in the third person and) is so much more than what she does. As a result, I am a much, much stronger and more powerful woman than I ever thought I could be.
Hormones are like heroin. (I am guessing- no actual experience with heroin. Ick.) Do not underestimate their power.
Memories of the pain DO NOT fade, but your daughter’s dazzling blue eyes and the sound of her giggle certainly make you feel like it was worth it.
Brakes and I created a sweet, sassy, brave, fiery, smart, loving, gorgeous, funny, ballsy, baby girl. My love for her is fierce and voracious. I could never kiss her, hug her, squeeze, and smell her enough. She is joy incarnate and I would never, never have fathomed that I could be this lucky.

My Apologies

2010-04-03T19:48:00.001-07:00

Sorry for the long absence, folks! I would like to say I was traveling the world, discussing the various merits of drop-cloth decor (that’s right! I have gone so far beyond windows) and educating people about the many, many uses for this generation’s most underrated fabric. But alas, I wasn’t. My only excuse is that my sweet BABY turned one and I was pretty much obsessed with that the entire month of March. Poor Brakes got so sick of my daily, “Remember this time last year….” marathon. He finally drew the line when I took him and Weezy on a walk through the park with the specific intention of paying homage to the porta-potty I was standing next to when I had my first contraction. I may have wanted to take a picture. My nostalgia had reached new heights, people. I was out of control. Way out of control. Brakes had to set some boundaries.

So after a firm talking to (“Gas, there will be other birthdays…”) I am back; birthdays are so yesterday’s news (See, Brakes? I’m learning.), and we’ve got all sorts of fab stuff to discuss in the B&G household.

Weezy’s birthday breakdown (Last time, Brakes. I promise.)
House updates (You never said I couldn’t talk about drop cloths!)
Some life-changing new products to review! (Some may have been purchased for events that we will no longer mention. Cupcake stand. What?! Hunh?!Who said that?!)
Bachelorette Party madness in May (which happens to be my birthday month. What, Brakes?! You said nothing about my birthday! You just said I had to quit talking about Weezy’s birthday!).
Tablescapes (You know, table decor for a party. Like maybe for a birthday party. Oh, crap. I did it again.)

I am obviously working on letting go, readers. Have patience. While you wait for me to get my act together, feast your eyes on this sweetheart who I think (I can’t quite recollect), may have possibly, perhaps, celebrated an important event recently. Or maybe she has cake mashed all over her face on every plain ole regular Saturday night! And yes, her onsie is bedazzled.

An Unhealthy Obsession

2010-02-26T02:22:00.000-08:00

So you may be wondering why Brakes has taken over the majority of blogging responsibilities as of late- ~~he’s a control freak~~, ~~he needed a hobby~~, ~~he’s stealing my thunder~~, I have succumbed to an unhealthy obsession. Drop cloths. As in painter’s drop cloths. As in ~~oatmeal colored beauty with ebony flecks~~ big-ass, heavy ~~cheap~~ canvas fabric used to protect floors when painting. You can get them at Lowes for like 10 bucks a pop. I buy them in bulk, but I am pretty sure you can buy one at a time too. I wouldn’t know. Anyways.

The obsession began innocently enough. When we moved in I could not get Pago’s 30 year-old-likely-never-seen-the-inside-of-a-washer-drapes down fast enough. Literally, our realtor was ripping them away as Pago pealed (I’m guessing he knew about the skunks and wanted to make haste before we realized we’d been conned) out of the driveway after the final walk through. For awhile we made do with satin bed sheets stapled over all of the windows (why do we have 6 different satin sheet sets? Wouldn’t you like to know!) but after awhile our “whore-house chic” look grew a bit stale (gross) and I was ready for a change. Unfortunately this itch (to continue with the stale-whore-house theme) coincided with Brakes’ tabulations of the budget. After his ~~sketchy~~ number-crunching (pretty sure he secretly loved the satin sheets) he said there was no moula for new window treatments, or as I like to call them, curtain-scapes. Sadly I packed my Restoration Hardware and Anthropologie catalogues away in my “someday box” and tried to squelch the vision of custom panels dancing in my head.

It kept me up at night. I could not sleep from the glare of the alarm clock bouncing off the shiny polyester adorning my window. I grew desperate. After unsuccessfully trying to piece together a couple of nice wholesome cotton pillow cases in a faux- patchwork look and a failed goth-inspired moodboard (I may have been watching Vampire Diaries. Don’t judge.) which prominently featured a tin-foil valance, I grew desperate to solve this window covering conundrum! I promised ~~sexual favors~~ to clip coupons and forgo ~~wine~~ Puffs if it meant I could buy some proper curtains! In the end, Brakes and I reached a compromise: I could get new curtains but I would have to do it on a very slim-budget.

Off to TJMaxx, Ross, JoAnns, and Ikea I went. I scoured dozens of different fabrics and materials and I just could not find anything that made my heart skip… until I happened upon the drop-cloth aisle! My mental computer raced as it tried to remember some of the blog posts I’d read about drop-cloth DIY. I examined the color and realized it was just the rich cream that would perfectly complement the cool tones of our new paint job! I started slow and gently put two drop-cloths in our basket. Brakes congratulated me on my ingenuity and self-control. If he’d only known…

Now every window in the house is dressed in a different varietal of my drop-cloth mania and I am busily trying to figure out how to hot-glue together a slip-cover for our padded headboard (satin sheets and a padded headboard! Do you feel uncomfortable yet?) When I resurface from the heady cloud of creation, I’ll try to post some pics! But until then………….. Hellooooo, Gorgeous!

She makes my heart sing!

Weezy Wednesday: Its Like Trying to Herd Cats

2010-02-24T02:22:00.000-08:00

In honor of the Olympics, Brakes and I spent a good part of last Sunday choreographing a short movie montage depicting the trials and errors of a marathon runner. We laughed, we cried, we deserve an Oscar. Or a gold medal. Either one.

Take 7:

Take 22 (we only wish we were exaggerating):

Victory!

Celebrity Lookalikes!

2010-02-22T21:30:00.001-08:00

The other day a soon-to-be father asked me what it is like to be a dad. I immediately knew how to answer. Remember the Mogwais? Those cute little fury creatures from the movie Gremlins.

Well, just like the movie we were blessed with our very own Gizmo 11 months ago. Isn’t she cute?

When we brought her home we knew the rules were simple: Don’t let her stay up past midnight and whatever you do DON’T GET HER WET!

But the other day she sprinted for the sink and next thing we knew….

She was in the kitchen. Gremlins can be extremely reckless and they are really messy eaters.

I summed up my conversation with my friend with this sage advice: You have two jobs as a parent:

Keep them out of trouble and prevent spawning at all costs.

Gremlins are a lot of work! Its a good thing it’s 11:45 PM and Gizmo is finally in bed!

Neighbors, Skunks, and Green Leafy Plants. What do they have in common?

2010-02-18T22:07:00.001-08:00

The morning after the floors were completed Gas and I were awoken by an odd smell emanating from the furnace vents. To be more precise it smelled similar to a big greasy breakfast. We were a bit puzzled at the time, but decided to let it marinate (to continue with the food theme. Gas is a fan of themes and I am a fan of Gas, so please excuse my “cheesy” theme. Get it? Cheese? Anyways.) with us for a bit and we opened the windows. The smell appeared to get better until we turned the heat back on in the evening and within minutes the house stunk again although it had morphed into an odor more “herby” in nature; Gas swore it smelled like skunky-weed.

Now the neighbors directly to our north are somewhat of a strange couple. They are older and retired. The wife is a very talkative and gregarious type, while the husband actively avoids eye-contact with us as he trudges to and from his house. I might be able to pick him out of a lineup, but only if it was a profile. Rather than decide he just isn’t the neighborly type, my imaginative wife theorizes that he must be terminally ill and he does not wish to make friends with her for fear that the loss will be too great when the time comes. She has mentioned that I should hint to them that she writes a hell of a eulogy. (I’m not sure that’s the choice of words I would use, honey.) In any case she felt that he may be numbing his pain with the occasional “joint” on the balcony relatively close to our crawlspace and attic intake vents. Case closed. Or so we thought…

I was not so convinced of this story, particularly because it seemed to be localized to the furnace and the crawlspace or catacombs as we like to refer to them. So we searched the furnace ducts and opened the front to the furnace but couldn’t find anything. I kept wondering if maybe the Weez had deviously planted a woodsprite in one of the furnace ducts and it was baking every time we turned on the heater. After suffering (not silently, Gas!) through this for a week or so we decided it was time to call in the experts. I don’t think Mel, our local furnace pro, had ever been greeted at the door so warmly. Gas verbally made-out with him at first site! Its a good think I am not the jealous type and Mel was a happily married Grandfather. After sniffing around a bit we headed to the catacombs and he immediately recognized the smell of a skunk. Apparently the little critter had sprayed near one of the catacomb vents and the smell got pulled into the intake. He recommended taking something that smells nice and attaching it to the furnace intake. So we wet a rag with some sweet pea oil, turned on the heater and within 5 minutes our entire house smelled like the Body Shop. I would highly recommend it.

So, in the end, what is the lesson in all of this? Don’t judge a book… err, house… err, grumpy neighbor… by it’s… err, his… cover… I mean smell. And also demeanor. Anyways.

Till next time, folks! I’ll just leave you with a picture of my sweet-peas in our sweet-pea smelling house.

Weezy Wednesdays: Brown Shirt Beckons

2010-02-17T02:22:00.000-08:00

She’ll do pretty much anything for Brown Shirt!

We are Avatars!

2010-02-15T02:22:00.000-08:00

Hey guys Brakes here again.

A couple weeks ago due to beer pressure (I convinced her after she’d had a few) I got Gas to agree to see Avatar in 3-D. Now you’d have to be living under a pack-and-play to have not seen this movie, but this was not a given for us due to our sordid history with science fiction movies. The first and only one I’ve ever been able to drag Gas to see was the third Lord of the Rings movie to which we snuck into the theatre midway through on my birthday after I’d agreed to see a Hugh Grant chick-flick. What a deal! She was very uninterested until the epic battle scene where the dwarf demands the ranger toss him over the threshold so he can battle on the other side: “Toss me. I cannot make the jump!” She now exclaims this whenever she doesn't want to do something, be it washing dishes, or walking back to the car in the costco parking lot. It’s a line that never gets old. To her.

Although we do agree that Avatar was akin to Ferngully on steroids . We luckily have been able to avoid Post Avatar Depression (P.A.D. for short) although the other day I thought to myself how neat it would be if real life were in 3-D. We’ve been quoting the movie nonstop and we borrow phrases from the Na’vi language such as:

Na'vi: "I see you" Translation: I love you

Our house: I see you... literately. I see you ignoring the poopy diaper and waiting for me to notice.

Na'vi: "Unobtainium" Definition: A rare mineral valued at “20 million a kilo"

Our House: A synonym for sleep or something that is equally rare and absolutly just not going to happen. For example: "How much unobtainium did you get last night? Oh, not much. How about you?" "You want to unobtainium later?" "Not gonna happen, Brakes." It is a multifunctional word.

Na'vi: "Woodsprites" Definition: seeds of the "holy tree", appearing similar to airborne jellyfish.

Our House: A synonym for poop. Used in a sentence: "Weez made another woodsprite so soon?!... Honey, can you get this one?" "Sorry honey it’s unobtainium."

Our Avatar obsession also lead us to make an avatar of Weezy at this website: http://www.avatarizeyourself.com/. She can thank me later.

So without further ado we present our powerful little Na’vi warrior:

Weezy Wednesdays: Piggies and Kisses

2010-02-10T02:22:00.000-08:00

This video is pretty much just a gratuitous homage to my darling girl’s gorgeous pig-tails. Though it also showcases her new fancy kissing abilities!

Announcement!

2010-02-08T02:22:00.000-08:00

Brakes here again. I’m not sure how long you typically wait to tell this kind of thing? We waited about 3 months to announce our first born but this time around we are way too excited!

We always thought we’d plan this in advance, but sometimes life just happens. Gas and I got drunk one night and, well, you’ve heard this story before…

We started trying last week, but it was a bust, so Auntie Diana came to babysit the Weez on Saturday and, with the splendor of adult-only time, Gas and I decided to give it one more go-round. Not to get too graphic but it took several locations, frustration, and disappointment before we finally landed in the sweet-spot; Best Buy. We were about to give up but, at the last minute, we spied the perfect one! It looked so lonely all by itself. Apparently, another family had purchased it, but it wasn’t a good fit so they had to bring her back. Their loss was our gain; Gas and I were in love at first site! So we bought the little beauty and excitedly left, in a hurry to introduce her to the rest of the B&G household. On the way home, I couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of responsibility our new family member would be, but we were sure it was the right choice.

The next day I spend nearly 4 hours with her making sure she felt welcome and comfortable in her new home. I can’t lie, she did tinkle a bit at first, but I think we’ve housebroken her now.

Gas and I are pleased to announce the newest member of our family:

The LG LDF6920ST Dishwasher. Isn’t she pretty? And yes, she will be expected to do some chores around the house.

Rainy Maladies

2010-02-05T02:22:00.000-08:00

I woke up one day last week to a sound that leaves many a mom of newly mobile babies quaking in fear: thunder! Like much of the west coast, the Bay Area has been inundated with storms and showers for the last two weeks. We’ve had nary a day of sunshine and poor Weezy hasn’t been to the park in what seems like eons! For a kiddo who likes to get out and about (and a mom who likes her kiddo to get out and about) the hassle of a rainy day makes us more than a bit blue. It also makes us more than a bit bored.

In my pre-baby life I would relish a rainy day and use it as an excuse to stay in my jammies, sipping ~~spiked~~ tea, and ~~watching reality TV~~ reading a good book, all day long. But life with baby does not exactly lend itself to blissfully ~~buzzed~~ blasé afternoons, and besides it would be inappropriate to ignore the baby and ~~drink~~ read the day away, so I had to get creative. By 11:00 AM we had banged pots and pans together. Pulled at Tess’s ears. Emptied and reloaded Daddy’s sock drawer. Twice. Sang silly songs in the shower. And practiced crawling up and down the stairs. I was exhausted and ready for a nap but Eloise seemed to be invigorated by the inclement weather and she adamantly refused to sleep. By noon I was desperate enough to go digging around in the catacombs, combing through all of my old teaching materials, looking for an infant-appropriate diversion. When my eyes alighted on the gross-motor tunnel, I knew I had struck gold!

Eloise crawled, dragged, and peak-a-booed the afternoon away until finally her dad came home and mama got a ~~cocktail~~ break! Before I passed out (from exhaustion, people! What do you take me for!?) I managed to snap a few cute shots!

It is a good thing she is so freaking adorable because she sure is a handful!

Weezy Wednesdays: My Kids a Narcissist (Take II)

2010-02-03T02:22:00.000-08:00

(Lets try this again, shall we?)

Mirror, mirror on the wall? Whose the fairest of them all?

Apparently, Weezy feels that she is; she’s been making-out with her image every chance she gets!

I Love My Hardwood.

2010-02-01T02:00:00.000-08:00

Wow. There really isn’t a clean way of saying that is there? But it’s true. Hi everybody! Brakes here. While Gas is off steady chasin that paper, her majesty has allowed me to talk about our newest house update.

One thing we loved about our rental was the gorgeous, refinished hardwood floors. That wasn’t in the cards this time around, but we tried to see the bright side; now we’d inherited older, more experienced… even worldly… carpeted floors. They weren’t sexy and sleek like in our rental but we tried to appreciate them just the way they were. While Gas and I pined after our foxy hardwood of yore, Weez (much to Gas’s dismay) fostered a fast friendship with the wizened blue shag dressing the bedrooms.

We gave it our best shot but the carpets clearly weren’t the floors for of our dreams. It wasn’t them, it was us… We’d arrived at a different stage in our lives; we’d made (and then spent, on this God-Forsaken money pit) our million (***figure greatly exaggerated for dramatic sake***). We didn’t want to be tethered down by tired, worn carpeting… not when there are so many fruitful, young hardwood beauties out there just begging to be installed. So after a couple of months I drove down a discreet back alley to the den of inequity that all renovators know about but never discuss in polite company; I ventured to Lumber Liquidators.

I told myself that I just wanted to look. But when I took a gander at such a flagrant display of flooring flesh, I felt my resolve slipping. I knew this would be an expensive proposition and I suddenly felt guilty for hiding this trip from Gas. I was a bit nervous as I watched the salesman approach, not having done this before and all, but the host made me feel right at home. He assured me that all the hardwood is well taken care of and that people pay good money to spend time with them. So, when I was ready he gently lead me to the merchandise, enticingly lined up along the wall, and asked me to pick my pleasure. Do I go with something adventurous like a dark bamboo? Or a tantalizing blonde variety? Perhaps an exotic hickory? Hmmm….Then there was the question of size? Thin or thick? Was bigger really better? There was even a discount on the fake ones but they didn’t feel real to the touch, so I decided not to go that route. Besides, I knew Gas would never accept a fake. In the end I went with a solid wide-plank distressed oak. She wasn’t cheap and it only took maybe four minutes to make a commitment, but in the end, I knew she would be well worth the price. Now I just had to go home and tell Gas.

The days spent waiting for them to arrive seemed endless. After an appropriate 48 hours I broke down and called, but I only received a very coy voicemail. The next week, jilted, I called again. Another two weeks passed, but still no call. I was beginning to contemplate moving on (there are plenty of other flooring options in the sea!), but just as I started to browse various other hardwood ads, the call came at last! “Your hardwood will be delivered Tuesday,” they said. I immediately phoned our installers, and they assured us that while the transition(s) would be rough (no pun intended) that most couples quickly fall in love with their new floors. “Tell me something I don’t know! I’m already head-over-heels,” I sighed dreamily.

The installers weren’t kidding. There were definitely were some tough moments. Could I afford these floors? Would they mesh with our lifestyle? After all, if they can’t get along with my family then it won’t work…. Obviously Gas and the baby were my top priority. But with relief, I soon discovered that there was one compatibility issue that wasn’t a problem. Gas loved them too (I have the coolest wife ever!) and she embraced them as if they were her idea!

After the first day I thought to myself these floors have everything. We prepared a toast that night to welcome our new floors into our home. “May our relationship be modern enough to endure the times and old fashioned enough to last forever!” we sang as we carried ourselves over their threshold.

…We celebrated their arrival with a festive meal!

… And afterwards, we cozied up to them by the fireplace.

Then when the time was right… …….

The morning after (the installation) things were momentarily awkward… but then we introduced our floors to the Weez and her exuberant welcome broke any residual tension!

I know that, on these floors, we will all be one big happy family!

Gratuitous Cuteness

2010-01-30T00:39:00.001-08:00

I hate to brag (sort of) but my kid really is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Fish Face, Fairy Face, and Kissy Face

Weezy’s First Social Disease

2010-01-22T02:22:00.000-08:00

As new parents Brakes and I have enjoyed all of the “firsts” Miss Eloise has graced us with thus far; her first poo after she “dumped” her first BF Billi Rubin (that's a little gauche jaundice humor for you! And we took a picture. Is that weird?) immediately comes to mind.

However there are a couple of firsts I have been dreading, most especially her first fever. I’ve marveled at what a great job I’ve done keeping her healthy (despite ~~encouraging~~ allowing her to eat Puffs off the floor) for the last 9 months. In fact she had never even run a fever, until the Sunday after we moved.

For the last several days, during the craziness of moving, I had noticed that she felt a freckle warm. I kept pulling out the handy-dandy temporal lobe thermometer and zapping her forehead. It showed high 98 to 99 each time. But so did everybody else. (I was zapping people like crazy. Multiple data points, you know.) I decided she was a bit warm but not in fever territory yet. Well, by Sunday, her eyes looked funny and her mouth was so hot when she nursed that I decided it was time to pull out the big guns; we went rectal, people. Brakes held her cute little butt-cheeks apart (baby got back!) (Was that inappropriate? Sorry.) and I gently inserted the thermometer. She froze and looked horrified. I also looked horrified as I watched the numbers quickly climb to over 102 before the beep. My baby had a fever!

After 24 hours of Tylenol the fever was gone and we felt relief. That was not so bad; we had navigated her first illness with aplomb. In fact, Brakes and I were busy congratulating ourselves on our extraordinary parenting skills when I happened to glance down at Weezy’s thumb ~~cramming Puffs into her mouth as fast as it could~~ folded nicely in her lap. It was sporting an angry, red blister. I quickly gave her a closer look and saw that her face, mostly around her mouth and nostrils, also had a scabby, blistery rash. How had we missed the rash on her face, you ask? As I already explained, we were busy stroking each other’s egos and could not be bothered with close examination of our daughter’s, up until then, flawless complexion. Besides, it blended in with all of the Puff crumbs.

Within minutes I had scooped up my baby and was clutching her to my bosom while Brakes’ googled baby rashes. (Jenny McCarthy isn’t the only one who can study medicine at Google University.) Within minutes we had made a scientific diagnosis: Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease. It is one of those childhood illnesses that everybody gets eventually. It is spread through exchanging body fluids with an infected individual. (Not by eating Puffs off the floor, the doctor assured me.) It did not appear to be uncomfortable, affect her appetite, her sleep, or her mood. It basically just compromised her beauty for a few days. Within a week the blisters were all gone and she is back to her usual gorgeous self. So all in all, Weezy’s first social disease wasn’t that emotionally wrenching. We all appear to have recovered unscathed. Maybe Brakes and I aren’t such terrible parents after all?

(Note: My child is now fully recovered. You should not run kicking and screaming from us if you see us walking down the street. And we are available for play dates. Especially if there is wine. And puffs.)

My Blog is really Trailer-Park-Tastic These Days!

2010-01-20T14:18:00.000-08:00

Has anyone noticed my header is so 2009? Gross. I am like those people who keep their Christmas lights up all year round (you know who you are). Slap a couch on my porch and call me trashy.

I’ll try to klassify my page a bit next week; until then let me enjoy my Natty Ice and possum shooting in peace while WeezySue plays in the mud with her hub-cap collection.

Bye ya’ll,

GassySue and BraksieSue

PS: To those of you who do live in a trailer, have a couch on your porch, drink Natty Ice, shoot possums, and let your kids play with used automobile parts; I don’t judge. Please keep reading me.

Social Skills Lessons By Brakes

2010-01-18T02:22:00.000-08:00

My very clever nestie friend (I have not actually met her in real life but we’ve been sharing intimate, yet untraceable, details from our personal lives for 5 years, so I think that qualifies us as friends. Anyways.) SmartAssMom writes a fantastic blog about motherhood, life, and lately, entertaining and decor. Her recent sardonic take on tablescapes and children-welcome adult parties got me thinking about how differently Brakes and I navigate certain social situations.

I was raised in a home where entertaining guests was an art form and being a perfect hostess was ranked right up there next to godliness and personal hygiene in level of importance. Brakes is:

A) a Man and

B) A little Autistic (I am a professional; I can say these things).

He doesn’t always “get” social cues, nor does he always understand appropriate ways to send certain signals. (As many of you know, though I was, of course, initially attracted to Brakes I know that looks fade; what really cemented his intrigue was my clinical interest in his Aspergersy take on the world.)

Here are a few shining examples of Brakes’ social brilliance:

When Brakes and I were separated for a month, when I was visiting Arizona, we spoke every night on the phone. On an especially poignant night I was really missing my man, so I waxed poetic to him for a few minutes finishing up with, “I’m feeling very tender towards you…” I then waited an appropriate amount of time for him to return the sentiment. When he didn’t, I patiently explained that it was customary to reciprocate kind words when they are spoken. He paused for a minute, mulling this concept over in his mind, and said, “Right. I love you. I love you a reasonable amount… how was that?” Bless his heart.
A few months later, when he proposed, he kept up with this romantic ideal by saying, “Well Bug, we’ve known each other a long time. I love you. I guess the next step is getting married. What do you think?” If I hadn’t been distracted by the big, honking rock between his fingers, I may have asked for a do-over.
My absolutely fave social-trick Brakes taught me is how to get rid of party guests that overstay their welcome. He simply gets up from the table and begins clearing. This would work out really well if he didn’t have a wife that never wants the evening to end or if our friends were not used to his sometimes abrupt social transitions and didn’t pay them much mind. In fact, while Brakes is in the kitchen mopping up after my culinary adventures, we’ve had entire conversations centered around Brake’s less than stellar phone-skills. It works well for me.

In the spirit of celebrating Brake’s idiosyncrasies I am going to end this post much like he would (mid-conversation)-

“Alright. We’ll I gotta get going. Click.”

Plus he writes “I Love You” with pasta and puts it on the special plate.

I am a lucky woman!

Like Mother, Like Daughter (secret revealed)

2010-01-15T02:22:00.000-08:00

As Brakes alluded to in his debut post, I’ve been working on a major project; a real labor of love (No, I am not pregnant. Bite your tongue.) My mom turned 60 yesterday. As many of you know, she has lived a very unusual life thus far. My childhood was peppered with stories and lessons that she taught me, mostly gleaned from her vast worldly experience. After recovering from her heart transplant in 2005 (Please, be a donor!) my sister, Meghann, and I began to campaign for Mom to write her memoirs. She resisted our pleas, so we took matters into our own hands. Over the last six months we have spent hours and hours putting into writing our version of the tales she’s shared with us over the years. We self published our 200 page manuscript on blurb.com (highly recommend self-publishing! It is a total hoot to see your name in the byline without having to navigate the politics of a nasty publishing house, deal with picky editors, or really write very well at all. Brakes says Blurb brought out my inner-narcissist. I can’t imagine why he feels this way. Maybe because I would only answer to Authoress for a solid 48 hours and I informed him that future Nobel laureates don’t have to change poopie diapers?) And yesterday we presented it to her at long last. This has been one of the most challenging yet rewarding projects I’ve ever taken on but I loved the closeness it made me feel to my sister, family, and most especially, my amazing mom.

In honor of her birthday, I’ll share with you one of my favorite excerpts from A Complicated Woman:

K never knew how much she still needed her mother until she became a mother herself. From the moment she pushed sweet Eloise out (I won’t go into gory details but suffice it to say it was a med-free delivery and sweet Jesus it hurt!) (Gas Edit: Big surprise, one of my favorite chapters has to do with childbirth! Don’t think I can’t sense you rolling your eye’s, readers. I promise one of these days I’ll write a blog post that does not include reference to my pachina.) she was ill-equipped for all of the emotions that come part in parcel with motherhood. There was the love, the pain, the exhaustion, the obsession, the fears, the peace, the laughter, and the tears.

The tears did not stop for weeks after Eloise’s birth. K literally had salt burns coursing down her swollen cheeks in the hospital. She was completely unprepared for the job she’d been excitedly anticipating for her entire life. From the time K was a small girl, her greatest ambition was to be a mother so when she met H and they eventually made the decision to begin their own family, K confidently anticipated finally fulfilling the role she felt she had been in training for since the beginning of time. When Eloise was born and the strong postpartum hormones were inundating her body, K felt surprised at her reaction. She was, of course, madly in love with her baby girl and she was humbled by the privilege of getting to be Eloise’s mama, however instead of feeling finally complete, K felt quite lost. It was as if she was on the outside looking in on a woman who had just gotten everything she had ever wanted and K could not understand why she was not happier. Maybe it was the aching hienie from K’s third degree tear and subsequent internal hematoma. Maybe it was the exhaustion of an intense labor. Maybe it was just the natural reaction of someone who has gone through a trauma and was facing major life changes. No matter what it was, K did not feel like herself, and for someone who is typically self-assured, this was a very frightening sensation.

There are no words to describe the extreme relief K felt when she saw her mom walk excitedly through the hospital room door. As she proudly showed Shanlee her new granddaughter, who was fiercely suckling at K’s breast, she watched the emotions play out on her mother’s beautiful face. Shanlee’s expression showed wonder, amazement, pride, and love. K finally felt like she could exhale. She handed the baby over to “Movy” and began to relax for the first time in what seemed like days.

After a harrowing week in the hospital the new family was finally allowed to return home. Shanlee had been holding down the fort in their absence. The cupboard was full of oatmeal cookies (K needed a cookie every time she nursed to keep her supply up or so she claimed), the fridge was bursting with Guinness (also for K’s supply), and the dogs looked a freckle heftier from Movy’s generous ministrations of dog biscuits and rawhides. She followed the couple into the house snapping pictures of her darling grandbaby as they made their way up the porch steps.

As the new parents introduced their daughter to her doggy-sisters Shanlee busied herself unpacking the copious number of hospital bags. “The mini-DVD player and scented candles, K had brought as labor tools, had turned out to be completely unnecessary, after all,” Shanlee laughed to herself as she put away the old work-shirts of Tom’s K had worn while recuperating.

Over the next week, as K struggled with taking care of the baby, H struggled with care of K- This new K; a K who cried all the time and seemed to be walking around in a fog. And Shanlee struggled with taking care of everything else. She gave the baby her first bath, she made breakfast in bed for the new parents, and she acted as a cook, cleaner, and lactation consultant. Shanlee worked tirelessly being her kids’ biggest cheerleader, a shoulder to cry on, and a soft place to land. When H had to go back to work, she generously acquiesced to his plea to stay for a bit longer until K was back on her feet. A couple of weeks later, when Shanlee noticed the animation beginning to return to her daughter’s face, she knew that it was time to go. It was a fine line between helping and enabling and Shanlee knew that her K needed to fly solo in order to get her confidence back.

K and Eloise both sobbed in the car on the way home from the airport but Shanlee was available by phone a few hours later. And Shanlee has stayed available. She has answered every phone call, email, and Skype with patience and love. She has guided K through Eloise’s first fevers, teeth, and giggles. She has listened and agreed, as K waxed poetic about her darling daughter’s many gifts and talents. And when she saw K again, when Eloise was almost seven weeks old and K was still acting a little cloudy, she sat K down and told her to buck up; she no longer had just had a baby and at a certain point K needed to pick herself up by her bootstraps and snap out of her fog. K heard the wise words of her mother, and she started to move through her exhaustion and rediscover the joys in her life. From the moment of her birth, K had delighted in every particle of Eloise, but she viewed the rest of her life with an air of lethargy. A week later H took K into the city and got her a makeover as a birthday gift and soon the sparkle returned to his wife’s face. She was laughing again and crying less. She was hungry and not just for oatmeal cookies and baby smooches, but for fun and experiences beyond the four walls of the nursery. Shanlee had spurred K to action and as a result, given H his wife back.

10 months later K still calls Shanlee several times a day to consult with her on sleep schedules, solid foods, and Halloween costumes. But now Shanlee has the comfort of knowing that her daughter, K, can look after her granddaughter, Eloise, with all of the competence and joy that Shanlee took and takes in looking after K still today. K is finally relishing the role for which she was born to play; she is the type of mother that her mother raised her to be.

Thank you Mom, and happy, happy birthday!

Puff Parenting

2010-01-13T02:22:00.000-08:00

So we were all hanging around chatting at my Grandma’s wake, a traditional Irish shindig complete with whiskey, music, and laughter, when my cousin Steven, whom has an adorable daughter (LJ) 5 days older than Eloise, walked in a stared in horror at what I was about to do.

I had already noticed Sara, Steven’s gorgeous wife and one of my favorite cousin-in-laws, politely averted gaze, as she had been watching me “parent” Eloise all afternoon. However Steven was raised in the same opinionated family I was and it did not even occur to him to refrain from commenting on what may be an unusual behavior management strategy I was employing to distract Weezy from both my chi-chis and my liberally-laced traditional coffee; I was spreading out a line of Puffs a-la-Hansel-and-Gretel style, so that Weezy would crawl along and eat them. Off the floor.

So, not only was I bribing my child with food so that she would leave me alone (to drink), but I was also letting her eat off the floor in what is arguably the worst flu-season since the times of the plague. (Hmmm, when you put it that way, I can see where S&S may have been less than impressed.)

But try to look at things from my perspective, we had just finished ripping off the paneling in the bedroom when we got the call about my Grandma’s passing. We left nails, dust, and wood shards all about and high-tailed it down to LA for her services. I had a cranky, tired, bedraggled husband (I wish Brakes liked Puffs!) and my baby wasn’t any great-shakes either. We slept in a tiny, creeky turn-of-the-century bed and Weezy slept in the closet (I realize S&S would never let their baby sleep in a closet.) because we learned the hard-way that if Weezy can see me, smell me, or hear me at night; she wants, nee needs, to nurse. I am surprised I had any boob left at the end of our first night. I skipped 1/2 my public Hail Marys at the Rosary and Weezy burped twice at the funeral. Loudly; like the priest paused and excused her loud. (S&S’s perfect girl sat primly on her mother’s lap and I swear she rolled her eye’s at Weezy’s antics.) In summation; I’d had it! I needed a break and if scattering Puffs on the floor while Weezy dove for them like a trained sea lion got me one! So be it. Don’t judge-- you would have done the same things.

It did make for some cute pictures though.

We are such LOWESER’s

2010-01-12T11:50:00.001-08:00

Hello out therrrrrrreeeee! Can anybody hear me? Hi everybody. Brakes here! Sorry for the very long brake. (I was referring to the long hiatus, not my privates. That would be inappropriate. Despite what Gas has lead you to believe, I do have some social graces. Anyways.) Gas has been hard at work on a super secret project the likes of which I hope we can divulge soon. This project has taken virtually all of her free time and, in the interest of sparing her sanity in the evenings, it has meant a lot of soiled diapers coming my way. Let’s just say that I’m up a couple on her at this point. (Gas Edit: Not likely.) If this project could grow legs it would walk the trail to Mordor (I know all you Mommy Blog readers are closeted Tolkien geeks too!). (Gas Edit: I thought I asked you not to reference LOTR on my our blog?) But enough of that. I was sent to talk about our other child.

As many of you know Gas and I bought a house not too long ago. It’s what Gas refers to as a “mid century modern rancher” which IMO is a cute way of saying sixties tract home with no curb appeal. The upside is that it is on a large lot and has plenty of room. This is good because we are never moving. again. ever. or ever. never.

When we bought the house it was obvious that it needed some upgrades. It was listed as a “maintenance free house”. I can only assume that this was because there hadn’t been any maintenance performed on it in over 25 years. Thankfully, Gas was very organized and came up with a tiered and color-coded (leave it to her to add decor to a flow-chart) system with the most important things in green (tier 1) to least important in red (tier 3) and slowly we’ve been chipping away.

We started with the necessary stuff like a fence for the dogs, and fixing leaky plumbing. Then we moved on to some more difficult stuff like tiling. Now neither of us have been around home improvement much. Gas did a little maintenance growing up (Gas Edit: Does this make me sound like a custodian? I wasn’t. Not that there is anything wrong with custodians, or sanitation engineers, or whatever. Anyways. Continue:) and I had some woodworking and electrical experience in college, but for the heavy lifting we’ve had to call in some experts. For the tiling we were fortunate enough to call in my dad for his expertise (and some tools).

Here’s a couple pictures so far:

This one was taken on closing day. The gentleman on the left is the former owner, Kago. Notice how we are smiling and he is not. I’m pretty sure if this was taken today the roles would be reversed. Look at Gas and I beaming. So young. So naive.

Day 1 of the renovation. Weez got right to work directing.

Here is my dad and I tiling the floor in the entryway. Please note the gigantic hole in the floor from which my head is protruding.

This was definitely one of those what-the-hell-were-we-thinking moments. We made this hole in front of the garage entrance a couple days before our guests arrived for Christmas. The hole leads to the dark, cavernous crawlspace below. The idea was tossed around that we could leave it there with some water and rations beneath. When tensions got high we could just ask the offending guest to please check on the laundry in the garage…

Gas’s mom refers to the crawlspace as the catacombs. I like to call it our “mother-in-law” unit.

Here’s the kitchen floor before and after:

Last weekend my little sister started calling us LOWES-er’s because we’ve been know to frequent our favorite hardware store up to three times in a day. Though, sometimes we like to mix it up a bit and go to Orchard Supply Hardware (OSH). Why? Because we’re OSHsome! That's all for now, folks! I am off to tackle some more tier 1’s!

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T11:51:00.001-08:00

When Brakes saw this picture he said, “Looks like a certain little girl is pretty excited about Santa! The Weez looks slightly amused too.”

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Life of Crime

2009-12-21T02:22:00.000-08:00

I think the pressures of homeownership are beginning to get to Brakes. He’s been acting out. It started with a lower tolerance to noise. He would snap at the dogs more easily and startle if the doorbell rang (before it broke- but that is whole other story). He sometimes cringes when I talk. Hmmm. Anyways, these issues really culminated last week at Old Navy. (Remember my big spree? I got $20 in Old Navy bonus bucks! Holla- whaaat?!) Never one to let a coupon expire, I hauled Brakes and Baby out to battle the pre-Christmas crowds. I also had to exchange a pair of pants that were apparently too edgy for Brakes ( you knew Old Navy is the new Hot Topic, right?). I chose a pair of shoes (adorable bronze flats with a fab ruffle along the toe), that were exactly $20 with tax. (I am so good.)

Shoes in hand, we joined the line. It was a long one, and I settled in for the wait. Brakes and Babe do not have the shopping stamina I enjoy so within minutes, Weezy was grabbing socks off the rack and cramming them into her mouth. Brakes was perseverating on the lights in the ceiling. When the muscle in his jaw began to clench and unclench, I suggested he take the baby and meet me at Home-Depot (or as we affectionately call it: our vacation home, as all our free-time and the equivalent of a second mortgage are spent there each weekend). He grabbed Weezy’s stroller and hightailed it out of ON. When I got to the front I had Brakes’ edgy pants to return but no shoes. “Where’d my shoes go? I had them right here.” Then my mind flashed to them hanging from the back of the stroller. The stroller Brakes was happily wheeling around the Depot by now.

I said, without thinking, “My husband took them…”

Realizing how that sounded and picturing security torturing me until I ratted him out, I lamely finished up, “… and put them back on the rack. He is always doing that. Ha. Ha-ha. What a wacky guy. Ha. Ha-ha. He sure does some crazy things. Yes-sir-e-bobby. Wacky. Waaa-cky! W-to-the-A-to-the-c-k-y! Whoo! Wacky! Anyways.” Just. Stop. Talking. My mind yelled. I bit my tongue, signed the return receipt, and booked it out the door, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I passed through the metal detector and obscuring my face with my purse as I passed by the video camera. I added a limp too, so as to further disguise my identity.

In a panic, I combed every aisle of Home Depot until I spotted Brakes. Still attached to my innocent baby’s stroller was the evidence of his crime. It was true. Brakes had shop-lifted a pair of shoes. I slowly approached the criminal and warned him not to do anything rash. He pretended shock at his deed and tried to use reverse psychology to distract from his error. After gazing at our sweet girl, happily munching on a paint-brush (which we paid for, I’ll have you know), we knew what we had to do; we had to return the shoes. I suggested Brakes launch them through the front door than dive into the get-away car but he insisted on doing it the old fashioned way. He marched us up to the counter, intent on explaining the situation. Before the words were out of his mouth, the cashier said, “You must be the husband that stole the shoes.” I started to babble incoherently again, but Brakes shot me a look. He gave the cashier a charming smile (Sigh.) and said, “That's me; but I’ve seen the light, and I would like to pay for the shoes now.” The 16 year-old employee just about swooned and happily ran our card. (I wonder if I earn bonus bucks on the bonus bucks?)

As we drove away, a contemplative Brakes confessed, “I have tasted a life of crime and it was bitter. Just bitter.” Something tells me I’ll get the old Brakes back soon.

Brake’s Big Secret

2009-12-18T02:22:00.000-08:00

The following is a transcript of a conversation Brakes and I had over the weekend: (what? Its not like you don’t keep a log of every interaction between you and your spouse. Anyways.)

Brakes: Umm, Bug (Usage of charming nick-name. I grow suspicious.) In the interest of full-disclosure, I should probably tell you something.

Gas: (Crap! He got fired! He cheated on me! He ate my left-over 1/2 a burrito!!!) What? (Stay calm- there will be other burritos.)

Brakes: You know last week when I was throwing up and had a sore throat?

Gas: (Oh God! Its cancer! I am going to be a single mother! How am I going to make the mortgage! Shit! I am going to have to date again. I had better loose weight.) Yes?

Brakes: Well, when I said I was going to the hardware store, I really went to the doctor.

Gas: (YOU LIED TO ME! YOU ARE A LIAR! OH GOD! WHO ARE YOU!) Uh hunh. And?

Brakes: They gave me a test. It wasn’t just a cold and food poisoning. I totally had swine flu- But I am fine now.

Gas: (What? Swine flu? But people die from swine flu? Brakes looks pretty healthy to me.) Really? No you didn’t! How do I know you’re not lying? (Once a liar…)

Brakes: No seriously, I did.

Gas: (Still suspect.) Well, why didn’t you tell me?

Brakes: I didn’t want you to worry.

Gas: (Likely story!) Why didn’t you really tell me?

Brakes: (Looks abashed.) Umm… if you knew I had it, then you would talk yourself into getting it and then who would watch the Weez?

Gas: (Grudgingly decides that is probably true.) Okay, but never lie to me again, or keep secrets like that from me. Capice? (Okay, I did not really say capice.)

Brakes: (Looking relieved.) Yeah. XOXO. (He did not really say XOXO, but he did give me a hug and cop a little feel.)

Lessons Learned:

1. My husband thinks I am a big enough hypochondriac that I can talk myself into swine flu.

2. My husband is probably right.

3. Swine flu is not always the demon I have been staying up nights worrying about. Thank God.

4. I may have a tendency towards jumping to conclusions, imagining wild scenarios, and experiencing irrational thoughts. You should be wary.

5. Brakes is a terrible secret-keeper.

Stress

2009-12-16T02:22:00.000-08:00

Hello Cortisol,

My old friend! Once I tricked my hubby into quitting my job you and me had to part ways for a spell. The baby weight melted off my hips and belly (those who said I was “all baby” when I was pregnant are liars. Bless your hearts.) thanks to my daughter’s healthy appetite, Jillian Michaels, and coordinated running ensembles (stroller matches the baby, matches the shoes! Genius! The only reason I was motivated to take up running.) I had all the time in the world to gaze lovingly at my sweetie, embark on an ambitious personal hygiene and maintenance routine, and enjoy the occasional mood-boosting lunch with the girls. My biggest concern was which play-group to frequent this week and whether or not I was adequately stimulating my husband intellectually now that I was out of the “real world” (obviously that last concern is a joke).

But then Weezy gained mobility and I realized that I am not really the play-group type. So I decided to go back to work. It started slow; an edible art class here, a life-skills coaching client there, but soon opportunities began to fall into my lap. Good opportunities. Opportunities that I would have killed for a year ago. So after much discussion and soul-searching, Brakes and I decided to put Weezy in daycare part time so that I could pursue some more professional interests. Honestly, it was totally the best choice to make. After the initial first day of leaving Weezy at the sitters (who is amazing BTW) and seeing how well she did, as well as getting a little bit of personal satisfaction beyond wearing matching hair-styles with my daughter, I know that we made the right decision.

Unfortunately that decision came at sort of an already stressful time. In the last six weeks I have, researched, found, and put Eloise in daycare. Started two new jobs. Bought a house, moved, and began major renovations. Battled family illness and death. And finally, made preparations for a giant triple family Christmas celebration. Most of the stuff going on has been good stuff, but even good stuff can cause stress.

Which leads me back to you, Cortisol. I feel you inhabiting the stomach fat I had worked ~~moderately~~ so very hard to loose during my low-stress months. I know you are settling in for a long stay. I just wanted to give you fair-warning; don’t get too comfy in those abs of mine. Come New Years, you are banished! Do you hear me? BANISHED!!! Once the holidays are over, hard-wood floors are in, and the routine in the new house is cemented, you and I are going to seriously part ways. I’ll do my best to hold you at bay with a modicum of self-control and ~~bargain shopping~~ exercise until then, but lets be real; I love me some pie. And eggnog. And peanut brittle. Did I already say pie?

So consider yourself warned.

Your frenemie,

Gas

PS: Am I the only one who starts worrying about New Years resolutions at the beginning of December?

PPS: Do you like how my biggest concern about my current stress level is the evil cortisol. I seriously have a phobia. I picture little cortisol guys taking up residence in my chub, kind of like in the

Mucinex commercials. It grosses me out. When I start to feel pressure in my chest (maybe I should have that looked at?) I take deep breaths and think to myself: “Now calm down, Gas. We don’t want any cortisol lodging in your belly do we?” I think I might be a freak.

Excuses, Excuses…

2009-12-14T12:37:00.001-08:00

Sorry for the long absence, folks. I have a variety of excuses. Please read the following and pick your favorite (feel free to refrain from choosing until you’ve digested all of the follow-up posts with more details on the various excuses. Coming soon.)

We are hip-deep in wall-paper peelings, paint splatter, and wood paneling. The computer got buried among the wreckage.
Weezy caught her first social disease.
Brakes has resorted to a life of crime.
Gas has discovered she does not really care for manual labor after-all. Hmm. That’s a pity.
Gas decided to go back to work half-time (because I wasn’t busy enough? I crave stress and think cortisol adds an attractive layer of chub to my belly? I am insane. PS: Did I mention I am hosting three families at Christmas.
Brakes kept a major secret from Gas. (He won’t be doing that again.)

And on a serious note:

A week ago Thursday our blog lost its favorite reader. My Grandma joined my Grandpa in that great big dance floor in the sky. She passed away peacefully, in her sleep, in her own home, with her dignity intact. She was about to turn 86 and she was still as sharp as a tack and enjoyed a full and active lifestyle. My grandma was one of the smartest, classiest, and most loved ladies I’ve ever known. She had a great sense of humor and loads of style and panache. She epitomized what was great about her generation and she will be so missed by everyone who knew her. I am grateful for the memories, legacy, and education she gave to me and I hope that I can grow up to be half the woman she was.

Here is a recent picture taken of my beautiful Grandmother meeting Weezy, her 16th great-grandchild.

Weezy Wednesday; A Hairy Renovation

2009-12-02T22:26:00.000-08:00

As you know, we are all about reno in the B&G household and Weezy got caught up in the spirit too! Everybody loves a good makeover!

PS: Did anyone else watch “A Makeover Story” on TLC like 8 years ago? I think it was the first of the makeover shows… it was so pure too; no surgery, no zoom whiting, no hellish turns in a three-way-mirror. Hmmm. Anyways.

Commemorative One Week Anniversary Edition of B&G News

2009-12-01T21:26:00.001-08:00

Today is the one week anniversary of home ownership! We loved celebrating our first Thanksgiving in our own house… and I’ll have you know, we did not sit on boxes as we gorged on turkey and pie. The house was almost completely unpacked by Thursday evening. Given that the moving truck did not even start loading until 3:15 PM on Wednesday, that is pretty impressive. Want to know my secret weapon? Child labor. Our little sisters, Sabrina and Chelsea, had boundless energy! I pretty much threw objects out of boxes and barked its destined location and the girls rushed to put it away. All it cost me was a few tootsie rolls and a pack of gum! Nice!

Our family drove up to the Bay Area to help us move (the sisters), watch the baby (the grandma), and school us in the joys of homeownership (the grandpa). Chris, Brakes’ dad, crossed so many of our to-do’s off the list and he brought us a whole van-full of tools and knowledge to get us started in our quest to DIY-dom. Plus, he is coming back next weekend to tile the kitchen! LOVE THAT MAN!

It has not been all glory though… there have been some casualties on our home front. The paneling and wallpaper in the bedrooms and dining room suffered a crushing loss last Tuesday, when it was yanked from its locale with wild abandon and shoved into the dumpster down the street.

My previously manicured nails are now mangled shreds of their former glorious selves and the skin on Brakes’ arms and hands is striped with angry, red scratches; the result of his epic battle with the black-berry bushes out back.

Lastly, I am sorry to report: the fancy-pants toilet seat went missing after the home inspection. Alas I will never uncover the mystery that lurked beneath that potty’s still waters, nor what strange and unusual purpose the plethora of buttons served. A monumental disappointment, but I must carry on.

PS: Because no post is complete without a picture of the Weez; here is ole’moneybags (Weez not me) signing the closing papers on her new house.

(***disclaimer*** This is not a posed shot. We do not stoop to manufactured adorableness. Yet.)

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-26T02:22:00.000-08:00

Hugs, kisses, and Thanksgiving wishes!

B, G, & Lil E

Closing Day!

2009-11-24T02:22:00.000-08:00

Brakes and I are closing on our lovgly (lovely/ugly) little rancher today! I would love to post a pic of the front, but it is sooo ugly that it wouldn’t be difficult to find if you searched the recently sold list in Northern California. Brakes is certain we have stalkers (I told him not to flatter himself) but I like to try to respect his wishes (occasionally). As soon as we disguise it with a coat of paint and perhaps some yard art (fall decor?) I’ll post our “after”. Until then feast your eyes on what I’ll be doing for probably the next 24 hours strait:

Removing paneling, ripping down wall-paper, and yanking down curtains!

(please note that these are pictures from the appraisal, with the seller’s stuff, though I would not cry if he left the fancy-pants potty lid.)

Is it strange that I am super excited to get my hands dirty (I know all you sage old renovators are rolling your eyes at my naivety and enthusiasm)?

Wish us luck!

PS: Can I please take a moment to thank my amazing husband who guided us down this path frugally and thoughtfully at every turn? Its true I may have wanted to punch his lights out a time or two, but my Bargain Man got us exactly the house we wanted at the price we wanted! I am so proud of (and in love with) you, B!

I’ve Created a Monster!

2009-11-20T09:45:00.001-08:00

Who notices something strange about this picture? Is it that obvious?

My daughter is apparently some kind of pervert. For months now she has been doing what we affectionately call her, “Shark Face.” She lunges aggressively towards my chi-chis, snapping her little jaws. Sometimes she couples this with a grunt, groan, or snarl for effect. (Did I mention she has 2.5 teeth now? I am a saint.)

Recently she has taken to just casually keeping her hand within reach of her favorite chi-chi, pretty much at all times, as depicted in the picture to your left. (Do you see the hidden shame in my eyes as I bravely try to laugh it off? What about her? Please note the devil-may-care expression punctuating her smirk. She looks so entitled.)

Now I have dealt with all of her manhandling and snarling pretty well. I’ve never flicked her cheek (not even with the biting incident of ‘’09), and I’ve casually redirected her meaty paws when they wander wayward at inappropriate times. But the other night at Trader Joe’s I may have reached my limit.

We were on our way to a birthday party for the Unc and Nana Eileen called and asked us to stop and get a little shaved parmesan (she’d made marinara from scratch and it was delish!). Only needing the one item, I didn't bother with a shopping cart or a baby carrier, I just propped Miss Weezy on my hip and we hauled fanny to the check out.

The cashier (male, barely post-adolescent, with accompanying patchy goatee, and an unfortunate predilection for blushing) had just asked for my ID (I may have also grabbed a bottle of wine, which I desperately hankered for a gulp of a few moments later) when Eloise reached across my chest, clasped the edge of my cotton v-neck and bra and used her weight to heft the material aside. Out popped my big boob, practically landing on the check-writing shelf. She lunged after it, mouth gaping, already making slurping noises in anticipation, and attempted to latch on. I froze in horror as the check-out boy stared with eyes like saucers, his face and neck turning a violent shade of purple. Once I regained my composure I jerked Eloise off, ignored her protests, blindly signed the credit-card slip, and practically ran out of the store.

What did I learn from this experience? Eloise does not respect social (or my personal) boundaries and on-demand-nursing is dangerously overrated.

Weezy Wednesday: Just Call her Marge!

2009-11-18T02:22:00.000-08:00

Does anybody else think my daughter's laugh sounds like that of a middle-aged cocktail waitress, way past her prime, who smokes three packs a day?

Twins.

2009-11-16T02:22:00.000-08:00

We’re totally best friends. We dress alike, wear matching pony-tails, and do everything together.

I may be in danger of becoming the mom in the Forever 21 dress, chaperoning my ~~besties~~ daughter’s high school dance. Somebody stop me when she is old enough to realize how uncool it is to dress like your mom.

The Thrill of the Hunt: Agave

2009-11-13T02:22:00.000-08:00

We did not even glance at the MLS for 3 months, until we saw Agave! This is/was a great house! It had an open floor plan, two levels, a private lot, and mountain views. It was nearly perfect. Scrape the ceilings, ditch the carpet, and fancy up the kitchen and bath, and it would have been the most perfect 2 and a 1, plus a bonus room, ever. We were enamored... as were many other people in the housing market teetering on decline. The listing agent was actually fairly astute and under priced the house by a few percent to create a false sense of affordability. We got all our materials together and I wrote a heart-wrenching letter explaining how our offer (of course, we were low-balling) was not a reflection of the emotional value of their home but truly a reflection of what we, a civil servant, teaching special-needs kids and a humble chemist, finding the cure for Cancer, could afford. Needless to say, they were not convinced, and the place went for $715,000. We never had a chance. I did not even cry- do you see how jaded I’d become? Bless Brake’s heart; he was really beginning to relish the game.

Thank you!

2009-11-11T10:11:00.000-08:00

Brakes and I sincerely thank all of the veterans out there who have helped to make the US a wonderful country in which to raise our little girl. This country may have its faults but there is still no other place we would rather be and we are grateful for the brave men and women who serve our nation!

We salute you!

(This picture is an oldie but goodie!)

The Thrill of the Hunt: Berida

2009-11-09T01:22:00.000-08:00

The summer of “07 our obsession with becoming homeowners hit critical mass. We had spent 2 years wasting time, building castles in the sky with homes that were out of our reach or always slipped through our fingers. We were beat-up, fed-up, and exhausted! After 3 back-to-back false alarms we decided that there was never going to be a perfect house or a perfect time and we just needed to suck it up and put in serious offers.

We went to a walk-a-thon in the community in which I taught. Through the misty haze I watched families circle the track at midnight, walking for a cure and I became moved. I saw myself there, five years from now with a toddler in a jogging stroller and an infant strapped to Brakes’ broad chest. Brakes loves this town; he sees big lots, a cozy community, and close proximity to water sports.

I had always resisted living there because I was a special education teacher for the local school district. Every time I stopped at Safeway on my way home from work I ran into someone from the community I knew. I think this quality could be a really great if I weren’t in special education. But special ed can get really emotional and be wrought with tension. When I go home, I need to be going to a place where I can decompress and sit on the patio with a glass of wine and bitch about what a rough day I had without worrying that my next-door neighbor is behind the fence taking notes on what I say so that she can share them at the next Lions Club meeting. Basically there is an old saying; you don’t “poo” where you eat, and if I lived where I worked, I know I would be asking for many awkward encounters and conflicts of interest.

That said, among the famous fog, and the yearning light in my sweet husband’s eyes, I had a change of heart. We immediately made an appointment with a realtor and put in an offer on a cramped 3 and a 2 with a so-so floor plan but on a gorgeous lot: water views in front, mountain views in back, a truly knock-your-socks-off locale. They were asking $695,000, we offered $650,000 as it had been on the market for a few months. The realtor was not hopeful and accused Brakes of “low-balling,” (which Brakes took as a compliment).

That night neither of us slept a wink. We both felt like we had signed our lives away. Brakes jostled me at about 4:30 am, needing to burn off some steam. My man is a deep sleeper, people. Normally, I could not pay him for action that early in the morning but he was super tense and we had houseguests so he couldn’t get up and work out. (Am I insulted that, in that instance, I was the equivalent to an elliptical machine? No, not really. I got mine. Anyways.)

When we received the owner’s counter offer later that afternoon we both blew a big sigh of relief; they countered at $693,500. Obviously there would be no meeting in the middle. We weren’t even disappointed. We both felt we had dodged another bullet. We agreed to not even glance at the housing market for at least 3 months. We needed to take a break, and quit letting this monster steal our time and monopolize our thoughts. The first weekend house hunting free was a little strange. We didn’t have a great deal to say to each other, but Brakes took me to Chucky Cheese to play ski-ball and drink watered-down beer (admittedly, he felt a little creepy going there without the cover of kids), and by Sunday morning we awoke refreshed and excited to go back to just being us without this giant elephant in our bed between our feet, next to the Monk and the Ru. Our bed is only a queen after all. Two adults, (though, I am very thin) two 50-pound dogs, and a giant elephant; it was a tight squeeze. And we did not even glance at the MLS for 3 months...

-----Update: I was recently chatting with a colleague who grew up on Berida. We determined that our house was sandwiched between her mother’s house and her uncle’s house so she has first-hand knowledge of the home. Apparently it was a genuine crack house the whole time she lived there, and when the crack heads finally OD’d it was bought by investors and flipped. The flippers did a shoddy job and it had a serious mold problem, which the investors handled by merely painting over. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right? Unless it is crack-chemicals and black mold taking up residence in your pores and lungs as you sleep at night! Yikes! Looks like we OFFICIALLY dodged another bullet here... do you see a theme developing?

The Thrill of the Hunt!

2009-11-06T01:22:00.000-08:00

Thank you for all of the congratulations on Monday! We are really excited! Since I have a feeling I will be blogging a lot about all of this house stuff in the next ~~10 years~~ few months. I thought it might be fun to escort you on a trip down memory lane and share with you how we arrived at this destination.

I alluded to the fact that we had been house hunting for an obnoxious amount of time, 4. 5 years to be exact. For the last 4 years we have spent at least 2 weekends every month, perusing open houses, annoying real estate agents, and getting our credit checked just for fun. I have spent more minutes on zillow and zip then I am proud to admit and I have discovered a hidden talent for making power-point models of floor plans complete with before and afters and our furniture penciled in.

NICE, I know.

Join me as we visit some old favorites from the house-hunting front. These are some of the houses we have seriously, and sometimes, stupidly considered over the years.

Rockhaven:

When we first moved to the bay area we had, oh all of $30,000 we had painstakingly saved when Brakes was in graduate school simply burning a hole in our pockets. We naively thought we would be able to “walk onto,” the Northern California housing market much like Kobe did the LA Lakers, strait out of high ~~grad~~ school. Being the Gas, I took my job seriously and was constantly scanning the MLS, making lists of potential properties I thought we could afford. I set our cap at around $800,000. Ha! We can’t afford $800,000 now and I am no longer an hourly employee and Brakes has earned 2 promotions since then. (This is why Brakes handles our finances.) It is strange though, how the more money we made and the more prices fell, the less we feel we can afford. I guess that is what they call growing up. Sigh.

Anyways, once Brakes brought me back to earth, I started targeting areas we could actually afford and I happened upon a quaint and adorable “village” full of charming Cape-cods. We called it an “emerging,” neighborhood that was “well on its way to gentrification.” There was a house on a darling-ly named street, Rockhaven, which had the most amazing ocean views! We toured this house twice, loving the tiny floor plan, and the large albeit steep lot. At $715,000, it was a little more than Brakes felt comfortable paying so we kept our eyes on it, waiting for its price to fall. It finally sold for $695,000 after 3 months on the market. Brakes was encouraged, he was sure prices were falling. I was heart-broken; sure we had lost our only chance at home-ownership in the bay area.

Three years later, I got lost on my way to a student’s house and ended up in the same “adorable” cape-cod neighborhood. This time my savvy eyes spotted the cars up on blocks in the front-yard and the couches on porches. And I certainly could not miss the freshly chalked outline on the street and the caution tape surrounding a house, where an apparent drive-by had taken place earlier in the week. I realized the neighborhood was still “emerging,” and at a very, very slow pace. As I drove away I reflected on what a silly girl I had been shedding tears over that house a few years ago; I felt like we had dodged a bullet... And, as it turns out, we may actually have.

Weezy Wednesday: Berries in Bed

2009-11-04T02:22:00.000-08:00

Weezy decided to celebrate the dropping of her crib (she is such a big girl) by blowing raspberries in bed! Other pastimes include; practicing standing and chewing on furniture.

Yee Gads! I’m an All-Star, Folks!

2009-11-03T00:08:00.000-08:00

Okay so confession on a confession time: This morning I received some surprising/embarrassing/secretly thrilling news… a comment I made over at one of my favorite funny blogs (Martinis or Diaper Genies) achieved All-Star status on the confessional Friday report. It involved ~~my favorite subject~~ childbirth and what I may or may not have mistaken for my sweet baby during the pushing stage. Anyways. As I’ve NEVER been an All-Star before (see this post for more elaboration) I thought I should take advantage of this title and prepare a short acceptance speech. So, without further ado:

Oh my gosh! I am so shocked and flattered! I never imagined I would achieve such a status! I really don’t know what to say! I guess I should start off by thanking my parents and my Catholic-school sex education; I apparently skipped the chapter detailing the various holes located in a lady's nether-regions. I would also like to thank my adoring husband, both for impregnating me, thereby providing me with the opportunity to push until my blood vessels burst while staring at my rear-end in a mirror, and also for strategically pointing out the correct anatomy during those intense moments of Eloise’s birth. I should also thank Mari Winsor; I have no doubt that the month I spent doing her 20-minute workout on a vaguely regular basis back in 2003 gave my abs the strength to propel my baby (and other various matter) out of my pachina as effectively as I did. Finally, I would like to thank my pachina; I am sorry I did not recognize you in your time of need, ole'girl! I promise it will not happen again… next time, there will be no mirror.

We Are Officially Off the Market!

2009-11-02T01:22:00.000-08:00

So Brakes and I have been casually seeing a variety of women (and a few men too!) ever since we moved here. We’ve met these people while out and about in the neighborhood, through friends of friends, and occasionally when we’ve wandered into someone's house. We’ve called, emailed, and spent afternoons with these people, sometimes with the same person over the course of several months, but we’ve never been able to take the plunge. None of the clever little minxes managed to hold our interest for long… until we met Isabella. Isabella totally defines what a realtor should be to us. (What!? Of course, I was talking about realtors; what else would I have been referring to?)

Several months ago, Isabella was showing Brake’s mom (a real-estate hobbyist) some properties on our side of the Bay Area. They saw a house that Mama B thought was “the deal of the century”! After 4.5 years of fruitless house searching and many rejected (albeit low-ball) offers, and with a new baby at home, I had NO interest in looking at any more houses. But, being the agreeable wife that you know I am, I let Brakes drag me to visit the hot property. That house didn’t work out but Isabella made a lasting impression. She is the ONLY agent, out of more than 100 agents we’ve spoken to over the last 4.5 years, who seemed to be honest about where the market was going (down). She did not try to feed us any lines and she encouraged us to offer what we were comfortable with, while other agents would have scoffed at our gall. She has been savy, honest, calm, and relentless. When we found our latest house interest she handled the negotiations with kid gloves and I am soooo excited to inform you that:

WE ARE IN ESCROW!

After touring probably 500 homes, writing offers on at least 12 properties, hundreds and hundreds of hours of talking, calculating, and talking some more, we are finally going to be home owners! Assuming everything goes as planned, we will be closing escrow right before Thanksgiving.

Brakes and I are so excited at this big step, and yes, we feel like we are a bit crazy to be taking on so many changes in one year (although Brakes is practically orgasmic about the write-off potential of a new baby and a new house in 2009)!

I got a great house, with lots of space, on a large lot, with a fabulous view, and Brakes (along with Isabella’s help) got us a wicked-good deal! Stay tuned for our adventures in homeownership and keep your fingers crossed that things keep going smoothly!

A Hoot of a Halloween

2009-10-31T22:27:00.001-07:00

On this spooky night Brakes and I happened upon a very rare breed of baby owl.

We think we’ll keep her!

Happy Halloween!

Old Navy Brings out My Competitive Side

2009-10-30T14:42:00.001-07:00

Warning: my inner-braggart is coming out. I am a fairly talented person. I swam competitively from ages 5-18, I was on the speech and debate team in high school, and in college I briefly dabbled in beirut (who didn’t?). In general, I have many gifts. However, these gifts have never amounted to much because I lack one very important characteristic; a competitive spirit. I was always too busy chatting with my opponents to really care about the outcome of the competitions. This character flaw has been a major source of frustration to various teachers and coaches over the years… not to mention Brakes, who would cheerfully shove a Grandma out of the way if she were blocking his path to the finish line.

Well, this morning Eloise and I happened upon the key to unlocking my competitive spirit; it all started with an innocent trip to the mailbox.

Several days ago, I received the newer version of this coupon. It came in a packet with other advertisements. Tucked away on the last page, I spied another deal. It said, “Whopping 50% off total purchase for the first 50 customers at participating stores!” I immediately called my closest store and confirmed their opening time and participation, then Eloise and I sat down and began to plot strategy. Would you think less of me if I confessed that I was tossing and turning all night with excitement?

This morning, despite Weezy’s double late night feedings, I got up when Brakes did. I splashed cold water on my face and dressed in comfortable clothes made for quick movement. I ate a high protein breakfast of peanut butter toast and Halloween candy (I needed the energy!) and waited for the Weez to wake up. Eloise takes after her mama and she typically likes to ease into the day. So you can imagine her disconcertion when she was whisked out of bed, popped into a clean dipe, had an orange bow jammed into her hair (being rushed is NOT an excuse to not accessorize with Fall decor!), and scooted into her car seat where I booked it to the nearest Old Navy.

After much debate, it was decided that a stroller would just slow us down, so away in the Ergo Weez went, down the escalator to join the other bargain hunters patiently waiting in line. I eyed my competition; mostly other moms with babies in strollers. “Fools!” I thought as I practiced my hip pivots with Weezy securely attached to my chest. “Try navigating tight corners with that boat!” I silently berated a mom with the double BOB.

After ~~a few hours~~ about 20 minutes, an ON employee came out and explained the rules. The first 50 people in the store would receive a complimentary tote and anything they could shove in the tote would be marked 50% off. Elbows started snaking out to the sides and one woman kept tripping people with her foot as we all inched forward trying to be one of the first 50 in.

Eloise and I were lucky #17! Over the next hour we raced, jostled, tucked, and rolled our way to the check-out counter. At one point Eloise wanted to abort our mission and go home but I simply latched her on in a side carry and put the sun shade up for privacy, and kept marching on. (I do realize I have no shame.)

In the end, for $311.22 I got almost $800 worth of merchandise (most of my purchases were already on sale) for the family. We got:

29 shirts, 11 pants, 2 jackets, 2 packets of socks, and a pair of shoes.

It was a valiant victory and now the family won’t need any clothes for almost a year (although, Brakes, I make no promises. There will be some incidentals that pop up, I’m sure). Now I am exhausted but content in my glory. If bargain-shopping were a sport, I would have a full-ride scholarship at an ivy league school. Who knew it was the thrill of the hunt that would finally wake up my competitive drive?

She’s a Carbaholic

2009-10-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

She did not dig avocado but she loves her some sweet-potatoes!

An Equation for Brakes

2009-10-22T02:22:00.000-07:00

67, 512 smiles ago,

22, 292 kisses ago,

10, 696 nugs ago,

5, 578 hienie love-pats ago,

1,462 days ago,

468 glasses of wine (and 52 dirty martinis) ago,

211 burritos ago,

115 Sean Connery impersonations ago,

55 Office episodes ago,

36 plane rides ago,

12 heated discussions ago,

6 hours of labor ago,

1 Weez ago,

0 regrets ago,

I married my best friend. Thank you for such amazing agos, my sweet man!

XOXO,

Gas

Grown-up

2009-10-19T00:16:00.001-07:00

(Blog Challenge #3: When did you know you were a grown-up?)

You would think I would have realized I was a grown-up in moments like these:

*Pushing Eloise out of my pachina. (Am I obsessed with child-birth? Maybe. I just can’t stop marveling.)

*Doing the Heimlich maneuver on one of my preschool students. (Little turkey had swallowed a penny. Thank God, I’d gotten CPR certified the week before. The Heimlich is different for little ones, people. Take a class if you don’t know how to do it.)

*Signing my name on the marriage license that legally committed Brakes to me forever. (Yikes!)

But in all honesty, in each of those circumstances, I was faking. I am no more grown-up now then I was when I felt oh-so-grown-up as a hot-shot sixteen year-old tooling around in a beat-up convertible. In fact, I used to worry that my boss would one day realize he’d hired a child to shape young minds, or that it would suddenly dawn on Brakes that his wife spent an inordinate amount of time day-dreaming and playing house.

Now, I don’t worry so much; I quit my job (so no boss to concern myself with) and it occured to me that Brakes knew exactly whom he was getting when we wed. I am the girl who throws tantrums during long-car rides, thinks her birthday lasts the whole month, secretly still believes in Santa, and loves him with the intensity that only the un-jaded can manage. It is okay that Brake’s wife is still not a grown-up because he has been a grown-up since he was born. With my imagination and his sense of responsibility, Eloise should make out just fine!

(Oh, no! The above sounds awfully introspective; is that the wisdom of years talking? Nah! I’d better go though; it's way past my bedtime.)

Here I am with my favorite playmates:

Dishcloth Apron Tutorial

2009-10-16T02:22:00.000-07:00

Look at me all fancy with a tutorial! Ha! Okay, this does not really count as a tutorial because it is only two steps but I still thought it was cute so I decided to share:

I am teaching an edible art class for the Parks and Recreation department (Brakes keeps telling me to “Keep it in your pants, Knope.” He thinks he is very funny.) I am combining healthy recipes that are designed to get kids excited about food and expand their palates, with an art class that fosters creativity and works on fine motor skills. I love kids cooking activities because it encompasses so many skills: sequencing, following directions, self-help, etc. The list goes on and on. (I am kind of an early childhood education dork.) Oh well. Anyways, the first lesson is Picasso Pita Pizza. Allow me to present my lesson plan (were these required to teach the class? Certainly not. I already said I am a dork; I often make color coded power-point presentations for fun):

I was concerned that making Pita Pizzas could be over in a flash so I decided to beef up the class with a little art project. The kiddo’s are going to decorate aprons. Since I am not a zillionaire and aprons don’t grow on trees, I knew I would have to fashion these beauties made out of items from my fave place: The Dollar Store. I bought 10 gingham dishcloths, a set of white muslin napkins, and some grosgrain ribbon for $7. I sewed a hem over the top of the dishcloth and threaded some grosgrain ribbon through. Then I tacked a ribbon on either side of the “aprons” waist. Last I glued a square of napkin to the front of the apron to act as a nametag and to personalize the look. I am planning on the kids decorating the name patch while the Pita Pizzas are baking. In my experience kids love making things they can use! I cannot wait to see my little students toddling around wearing their matching aprons.

My dining room chairs are the most preschooler sized thing currently residing in my house, so I had to make do with Chair modeling the ensemble for me. Obviously I did not iron my finished product.

Yes, I did in fact crop out my messy kitchen. An expert seamstress/apron designer does not have time to clean. It is a little short on an adult but it should look pretty cute and provide good coverage on the little ones!

Next up: DIY Dish Towel Chair Covers… I kid.

Weezy Wednesday: Notice Anything Different?

2009-10-14T22:15:00.000-07:00

As you could probably tell by the lack of postings last week, Miss Weezy has been up to some new tricks which have certainly been keeping Brakes and I on our toes! In this video, she demonstrates a few of her new skills. Bonus points to those that that can spot them correctly!

Gas of Green Gables

2009-10-13T14:21:00.001-07:00

(Challenge #2; Watcha reading?)

One of the greatest legacies my parents passed down to me was a love of reading. From my earliest memories I can recall snuggling with my parents reading Good Night, Moon and The Sweet Pickles books. My parents didn’t just love to read with us kids; my dad always had a paperback in his back pocket and my mom has authored several children’s books. Reading was and is an important part of our family culture. This is tradition I really look forward to passing down to Eloise. (Who, by the way, was named after my favorite childhood story-book character ever, Eloise from the Plaza.)

Upon confirming that Eloise was a girl, my mind began to race with all the possibilities our life together held. I pictured tea-parties, and father-daughter dances. I imagined spa days and whispered secrets. I began compiling a list of things I wanted to share with my daughter; topping the list was L.M. Montgomery’s Anne books. After my Nonnie gave me the classic Anne of Green Gables for my birthday one year, I quickly read the rest of the series. These books provided so much, “scope for imagination,” and they truly helped me appreciate beauty; beauty in nature, people, and in the written word. I read these books almost every summer until I went to college and now, guess what? I am reading them again! As I rock my sweet baby to sleep every night I share with her the beautiful prose so artfully spun by my favorite author. The gentle cadence of the fanciful words accompany Eloise as she drifts off to sleep. I know she is too little to follow the story and her vocabulary comprehension is likely limited to “more moomoos?” and “There’s Daddy!” But I believe that some part of her subconscious is soaking up the essence of the words and that their special magic sweetens her dreams.

Can We Talk A Little FD?

2009-10-05T09:08:00.000-07:00

Around this time of year my loved one’s voicemails and inboxes are inundated with requests to discuss Fall Decor aka FD aka My Obsession. With the first whiff of Autumn and the first crackle of leaves, my body has a kinesthetic reaction. My heart starts racing, my pupils dilate, my mouth begins to water. I feel like I might throw up with the anticipation. I have self-control though (barely). I always wait until the weekend following the first official day of Fall to begin my ministrations. And that time, my friends, is NOW! This weekend begins it all! Candy corn laden apothecary jars! Warm rust silken throw pillows! A spray-painted pumpkin or two!

My bean jars! I almost forgot about my bean jars! They are the BEST part! Stay tuned for a viewing of this year’s finished creation. Until then, I will provide you with this teaser from last year’s festivities!

Don’t worry… we will not be redoing this idea again this year!

Maybe I am Not Completely Back Down to Earth Yet

2009-10-02T02:22:00.000-07:00

My lesson learned last Friday is beginning to wear off. So much so that I am going to risk coming off as uppity and show you another onesie creation. What do you think? Could this qualify as a cheerleader costume?

Weezy Wednesday: Avocado

2009-09-30T02:22:00.000-07:00

Here is the much anticipated Avocado Debacle Debut!

I’m With Him ehhm Them

2009-09-29T02:22:00.000-07:00

So I have a really controversial new boyfriend. Brakes is okay with it. He is crushing on my new BF a bit too. His name is Dr. Richard Ferber and I think I love him. A lot.

You see, Dr. Ferber managed to give me what no other man has managed to give me in the last 6 months; several consecutive nights sleep.

Many of you have heard me ~~lament~~ discuss Eloise’s inconsistent sleeping habits. Yes, I understood that lack of sleep is part and parcel with new babies; we knew that going into this rollercoaster. What we did not predict is what lack of sleep was going to turn me into. Brakes is a type-A personality who fine-tuned his working-through-exhaustion skills while getting his PhD (did you know I married a doctor?). The only time I practiced work-through-exhaustion skills was when I made it to class after a wild night partying freshman year of college. Lets just say, ~~I become insane~~ I don’t manage well with no sleep. So after an official six months of ~~feeling like death and complaining about it incessantly~~ bravely muddling through my exhaustion, Brakes and I had a heart to heart. Brakes took scientific data (I told you he was a doctor) and determined that Eloise sleeps less than an average adult which is about half as much as she should be sleeping. This, combined with a crazy wife, convinced Brakes that drastic measures needed to be taken.

I did some research. It turns out we had been informally following Dr. Sear’s methods for encouraging babies to sleep for several months. It obviously was not working so we had to change our strategy. For weeks my very wise mom had been urging me to let Eloise “cry it out”. Being stubborn and independent, I refused to listen. I did not feel comfortable allowing my child to cry herself to sleep. Shudder. I was admittedly indignant and self-righteous (and just generally an ass) in these conversations with Mom. However, when I happened upon this video at www.babycenter.com, I realized that CIO was something I just might have to succumb to… besides it was invented by a doctor, how bad could it be?

We had a plan. We would put Eloise to bed, awake in her crib and let her cry at 5, 10, then 15 minute intervals. When the interval was up, we would briefly go to her, rub her back, give her a kiss, then skedaddle out of her room.

The first night she made it through the first two intervals. By the 15 minute check point she was sound asleep and sweetly sucking her thumb. I wiped the tears from my face, sipped my hefty glass of wine, and Brakes and I congratulated ourselves on our stoic parenting abilities. Eloise slept all night. The next night we had a repeat performance however she was asleep by the 10 minute mark. For the last week Eloise has been taking 2-3 good naps per day (for the first time IN HER LIFE) and sleeping all night.

In fact, she is so much better at communicating what she wants, as well as putting herself to sleep. For example, I never realized that she wanted a third nap each day. Now she gets fussy and if I carry her back towards her bedroom she stops whining, if I turn and go into another room, she wails. If I do an about face and go back to her room, she is quiet until I place her in her bed where she rolls over, grabs her blankee and sighs contentedly.

It is like having a completely different baby and it leaves me with some actual time on my hands for ~~blogging and painting my toenails~~ cooking and cleaning. And that, my friends, is the reason I would cheerfully enter into a polyamorous (did you see that True Life?! Umm, yeah. I told you I had time on my hands) with Brakes and Dr. Ferber… or, as I like to call them, my Doctor-Double. Flame all you want but I have a baby that sleeps through the night… and just look how happy she is: **It should be noted that I do not advocate the Ferber method for everyone. Our child happened to respond to this method positively and did not cry/scream for four hours. The parents out there who have dealt with that, hats off to you! Brakes and I would for sure have broken.

My Blog World Has Been Rocked!

2009-09-28T02:22:00.000-07:00

Okay people, as my less-than-stellar camera skills hint at, I am not a technological genius (insert your best Ross impersonation here). In fact, I had to trade smooches with my high-school boyfriend so that he would make me an email account. I needed it to apply for college- I was that far behind the curve.

On the nest, my online community when I am not traipsing around in blog-land, (and can we just note, how random it is that I even have an online community? As stated above; I am NOT a web-savvy-gal) it was proposed that we have a weekly blogging challenge to keep things interesting and to get to share each other's fab blogs. Now that I know there will be people not related to me (or people that I stalk and then guilt into “following” me. Just kidding. Anyways.) looking at my stuff, I decided it was time to change things up a bit. Plus it is finally officially Fall and, as you know, I’ll use any excuse to have me a little Fall Decor (FD! SO EXCITED! OMIGOSH).

After exhaustive Google searches (Windows Live Writer is my new best friend) and a couple of practice efforts I managed to change my background, design a new (massive, I’m working on that) header, up-load it all, and change my format so my pics don’t publish all hinkily spaced. (How did I, a busy new mother, have time to rock my blog you ask? One word: Ferber. Don’t judge- we did what we had to do.) Hopefully now Brakes and Gas will be easier on your eyes (though I make no promises as far as the content). So without further ado:

Challenge #1: Why do you Blog?

I started a blog for several reasons:

I had a lot of nervous energy during my pregnancy.
I suspected that B&G spawn would be so precious, I knew it would be a disservice to the public to not broadcast her to mass audiences. I was obviously correct in this assumption.

I still blog today for several reasons:

I am a closeted ethnographer; I believe in the value of documenting lives.
I imagine that somewhere along the line, Weezy will look over funny (or completely harrowing) tales of her youth and really comprehend how much she is loved and wanted… and the wretched pain that is childbirth.
Making the decision to have a baby and then making the very difficult decision to take a break from the profession I love was a lot of changes for me to take on in one fell swoop. I think the blog gives me an outlet to express myself in an independent way. It helps me feel connected to the world beyond my little bubble and it gives me much-needed satisfaction outside my roles as a wife and mother. I think this is important.
Lastly, I blog because I require a lot of attention (and you may have noticed, I am quite verbose) and even poor Brakes needs a “break” sometimes. And blogging is more socially appropriate than having conversations with my imaginary friends in the bathroom.

Confirmation Received

2009-09-25T23:17:00.001-07:00

Apparently she swallowed a substantial amount of avocado after all. Its enough to make your eyes burn…

And yes, I do realize I just openly discussed poo in cyberspace. I am pretty sure that means I am officially a mommy or something. TGIF; Brakes will be home to change the next “residual solids” mess in my kid’s pants. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine. A big one. It is a good thing she is cute.

Are We Sure She is Mine?

2009-09-25T02:22:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here typing this as my newly minted-six-month-old-daughter nurses frantically on my cheech (singular for che-che). This morning Brakes and I got a gander to change things up a bit on poor Eloise. We decided that it is time to start solids. As she looks like me, talks like me, laughs like me, etc. I could only assume that she would eat like me as well. Ummm... not so much.
After extensive research we chose avocado as her first food. It has great nutritional value and it is easy to digest. Plus Brakes and I adore us some guacamole, so we figured it was a safe bet for Weezy's first food. So at 10:00 this morning I mashed up some avocado and shot some Mama Juice into it, while Brakes manned the blender and made us some celebratory 1/2 birthday margaritas (what is guac without a rita?). I am just kidding about the margaritas. Just kidding on the just kidding. Anyways.

We sat Weezy in her highchair, popped on my favorite vintage bib, and set the camera to flash. I rammed my green-slime laden index finger into her unsuspecting mouth. She froze, looked from me to Brakes, took a deep breath through her nose, and then gagged. After the huge gag she shuddered and her eyes accused us of awful deeds. I valiantly kept trying for another 10 minutes or so when her watery eyes, running nose, and panicked expression convinced me to stop.

Through this whole ordeal Brakes sat back and watched. At the end, as we were mopping up regurgitated avocado, Brakes told Eloise, "Maybe you take after me after all; your Mov never met a dish of food she didn't like."

I think he might be right. Brakes is a boob-man too.

Weezy Wednesday; An Oldie but Goodie

2009-09-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

Before I became a technological genius and was able to post video's on my blog, my mom, sister, and I took a video of Roscoe and Weezy (then 10 weeks) stuffed into the swing together at the park. I am not sure who got a bigger kick out of it; us or them?

I’ve Been Put in My Place

2009-09-21T02:22:00.000-07:00

So I was feeling mighty proud of my latest creation for Miss Eloise and I decided it was just the thing to wear to our baby sign language class last Friday. I’ll be honest; I may have had fantasies that the other mothers would writhe in jealousy and demand to know where I had happened upon such an elegant creation. At which point I would humbly, yet breezily, say: “Oh that old thing? That was just something I whipped up in my free time.”

As I sat on the floor with the other babies and moms, I patiently waited for the first exclamation. As I was waiting, I began to smell an odiferous scent. I sniffed. And sniffed again. I determined the smell was a soiled diaper. As my sweet Eloise had already pooped this morning (and what a poop it was!) I was quite confident that the offending stench did not come from my daughter’s adorably clad hienie. I jiggled Weezy on my knee and made small talk with the other moms.

A few minutes later, the stink still had not dissipated and I thought to myself, “Good Lord, these women really need to check their kid’s pants!” I jiggled Weezy some more. Just as class was about to start, I shifted positions, which required bolstering Eloise’s bottom with my right hand. As my palm curved around her tush I spied the telltale feel of wetness seeping through. I froze, looked down, and much to my horror, my fabulous onesie now sported two baby-poop yellow halos around the inner edges of each thigh. And now my hand had joined the fray. Nice.

As I dug around the bottom of my purse, finally uncovering a tacky-too-small-emergency-onesie mixed in among the gum wrappers and hand sanitizers, I knew that this was the universe knocking me off my high horse and putting me back in my modest place. I rejoined the sign language class, not as a triumphant baby-onesie-designer-genius, but as a simple mom with her robust daughter positively bursting out of a dingy and wrinkled body suit rescued from the depths of her very humble handbag. Nothing like poop on the hand to bring you back down to earth.

Eloise's Liesure Suit

2009-09-18T14:56:00.000-07:00

With cooler nights upon us, we are pulling out Weezy's warmer jammies. This is Brake's personal fave:

Friday Version of Weezy Wednesday; Hosted by Diana and Lo

2009-09-11T09:38:00.000-07:00

We have had a wild week with Weezy's cousin Roscoe and Granmov visiting us while Roscoe's mommy is at a wedding in New York, so we are a freckle late with Weezy Wednesday. To make up for our tardiness we present you with two beautiful guest hosts; Eloise's Aunties Diana and Lo. Without further ado here is Miss Weezy and her first sippy cup experience (best viewed with head tipped to the side... we are working on hiring a new videographer):

Craftastic!

2009-09-06T19:52:00.000-07:00

Obviously that nesting instinct is still going strong at the B&G household! I have been crafting up a storm... Just shows what a girl can do with a little alone time. I call the following the $5 challenge. Eloise and I went to the dollar store and spent $5 dollars. We wanted to see how many crafts we could make (and by we, I mean me, as she slept) for five buckaroonies.
Above is what we started with... can you guess what we made?

#2 and #3 were epoxied together to create a cute glass cake plate inspired by Karli's cake plate over at Rocky Bella. Weez baked the cake.

#4 was once was a place-mat but with some batting already on hand, it found a new life as a throw pillow! Brakes said I could not buy anymore throw pillows but he didn't say anything about place-mats! Hahahhaha! I had seen this idea a few places online, but I cannot remember where I saw it first (From now on I will save ideas I plan on using so that I can give proper credit); if I took this idea from you, please let me know!

Last but not least #1 and #5 made six adorable flowered headbands. These are our own design, though I know we are not the first people to think of them. We forgot to take a picture of them all spread out before we brought them over to our friend's house yesterday. They have triplet girls so they really appreciated the accessories! A few headbands attached to a book, stuffed animal, or bottle of wine (If I had triplets, I would need a lot of wine!) make a great hostess gift for a Mama with girl babies!

After so much crafting we have a happy mama, bedecked babies, a refreshed chair, and a delicious cake display! Not too shabby for Mama!

Weezy Wednesday with a Special Guest Appearence

2009-09-02T02:22:00.000-07:00

Weezy is very proud to present her adorable cousin, Turbo! He is showing off his new trick! We are very immpressed; he is not even a year old yet! Weezy can barely roll over, but we are trying really hard not to compare our kids.

Floor It!

2009-08-31T02:22:00.000-07:00

In typical Gas fashion I rekindled an old passion this weekend and I am pursuing it full speed ahead! After a ~~fight~~ heated discussion this week about alone time, I determined that since I threw a tantrum to get time sans baby, I had better use it in a creative, stimulating, and productive way. So, as I half-watched Real World Cancun, I also perused some new crafty blogs. After soaking up some mega online inspiration, I created a PowerPoint presentation full of inspiration pics, made an excel spreadsheet cataloguing my craft supplies, and alphabetized my shopping list. Finally, with Miss Weezy's babbling echoeing in the background reminding me that time is of the essence, I dug down and began crafting... or as I like to insist: pursuing my art.
I've been hot-gluing, spray-painting, and embellishing my fanny off. I will post some pics of my hard work soon but until then gaze at the declicious man who made it possible for me to pursue my art today. He is pretty dreamy. The Weez thinks so too.

She is My Daughter

2009-08-28T02:22:00.000-07:00

We went for Weezy's 4 month well-baby check-up today. Yes, (please don't harangue me) I realize that she is a month late. Punctuality has never been my strong suit and we were on vacation.

The appointment started with the usual rigmarole: height, weight, etc. (She is in the luscious 75% for both and perfectly proportioned.) Then the doctor listened to her heart (the murmur disappeared) and lungs (clear as a bell). She looked in her eyes, nose, and mouth (blue, adorable, and toothless). Then came the question/answer portion of the appointment:

Dr: "How's she sleeping?"
Gas: "Check out my eye-circles."

Dr: "How's she eating?"
Gas: (Pointed to the aforementioned luscious thighs.)

Dr: "Is she talking yet?"
Gas: (puzzled expression) I beg your pardon? She is only 5 months old.
Dr: (sighed patiently) "Yes, I realize that. (makes a note in her chart) I mean is she cooing, laughing, making noise?
Weezy: "Ghhhfs.. Brbrbrbrbr (motor boat noise) Brbrbrbrb... Mamamamama"
Gas: "Umm, yeah."
Weezy: Da!
Dr: I see! She really is a talker; she shouldn't be making consonant noises until 6 months. Wow, she is very advanced!"

Ha! Just Brakes' luck! The Weez inherited my verbosity. Poor guy is not going to be able to get a word in edgewise around here!

The Weez says: "Mada... Brbbrbrbr" Which I am pretty sure means, "Ciao!"

PS: We also had shots today. Baby took it like a trooper and Mom remained breezy and nonchalant the whole time. I am a little smug.

Weezy Wednesday's: The Things that Matter

2009-08-26T22:05:00.000-07:00

As this blog is, in part, an effort to document the important things in my daughter's life I am humbled and proud to present to you: Eloise's first pigtails! It is things like this I'm sure she will thank me for later...

Sleep Deprivation is Hard on my Furniture

2009-08-23T18:12:00.000-07:00

Last night marked my sixth night with little-to-no sleep. Sigh. Eloise is a party animal. She does her best talking, eating, dancing, thrashing, and fussing between the hours of 12:30 AM to 5:30 AM. Finally last night, I had HAD it and I determined that she needed a taste of her own medicine; I decided I would let her honestly cry (not just do her whining, fake-cry thing) for 10 minute before I rushed in to offer her my nurturing bosom. I came to this conclusion at 1:30 AM after an hour of rocking, singing, and cajoling her back to sleep. Twice. For the sixth night In. A. Row. Sigh, again.
At 1:45 AM I heard her first sniffles. After about 15 minutes of talking to herself, I heard the distinctive slurping of thumb sucking. A half hour later she started up again. She fussed for a bit then went back to sleep. Another 30 minutes passed and she woke again. Still she did not cry! Perhaps she is not the abhorrent sleeper I've accused her of being. Could it be I am merely an overbearing/over-protective/control freak mother? Who would have thought?
She woke up 3 times and put herself back to sleep each time. I am VERY proud of her, however it did not exactly help my sleep situation as I lay awake all night listening for her anyways. I assume if Weezy keeps this mature behavior up, my body will adjust again and I will be able to drift off before 5:30 in the morning. Until then, Brakes has taken to Gas-proofing our bedroom each night.

This is the result of me startling awake and rolling off the bed after I finally drifted to sleep in the early morning light. My bodacious post-baby bod demolished the night stand. If it were not a clip together number from Target, my self-esteem would be in ruins. Regardless, I think I will rev up the C25K program... just in case.

Jessica Simpson Watch Out!

2009-08-19T18:52:00.001-07:00

Eloise in her daisy dukes can give you a run for your money! Check out her Uggs; she is SOOO Hollywood!

Weezy Wednesday's Presents: Thumbelina!

2009-08-19T02:22:00.000-07:00

Our own little Thumbelina emerged from the flower that is our home (I never miss a chance to compliment my decorating sense) last week. After 5 nights without sleep, just when our darling girl sensed her parents were going to send her to Movy camp permanently, Eloise found her thumb! We've had 3 nights with sleep and I feel like a whole new woman. This morning Brakes and I heard cooing at 9:30 am and we peaked our head in to find Eloise with both thumbs in her mouth, laughing at her abilities; she thinks she is a down-right genius!

Here is Miss Thumelina Eloisa in action:

Eloise's Accessories

2009-08-17T14:22:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed a common thread in many pictures of Eloise; the girl LOVES to accessorize! Currently she is on a bonnet kick! Every morning she wakes up and demands a bonnet to match her outfit for the day. She especially thinks the pink prairie bonnet is, "A-OK!.

My Bodacious Post Baby Bod

2009-08-14T02:22:00.001-07:00

Wanna know what sound cheers up Gas in a matter of seconds? The free-wheeling zing of my zipper effortlessly zipping up in my fave pre-pregnancy summer shorts! Last weekend I was grumpy. Seriously grumpy. Us artistic types are given to frequent bouts of moodiness. As I am not that artistic, my grumpy spells don't last long and are generally not too serious, however last weekend I was in fact, really, very grumpy (and wordy. Obviously this tenet has yet to wear off). Not even a daytime date with my loving man could cajole me out of my malaise... until I tried on my fave summer shorts. In Northern California this Arizona girl does not often need shorts considering I start shivering when the temp falls below 80 degrees. However a couple of days each summer are much more comfortable when weathered in cotton shorts. These particular shorts I had bought last year, a week or two before I found out I was pregnant. At the time I was thrilled to find shorts that contained Jumbo (what my family lovingly calls my hienie. Is it weird that we make up nicknames for our body parts?) but I only got to enjoy them a "short" (hardee-har-har) amount of time, before pregnancy and cool temperatures made me retire these bad-boys to the back of the closet. When I was packing for vaycay a few weeks ago I tried on these shorts and I could barely get them zipped; Jumbo was not contained and a Muffin Top (shall we call her Muffy?) had joined him to complete the look. Needless to say, my shorts did not make the trip and I spent the majority of vaycay lounging around in muumuus (very forgiving, you know) and yoga pants.
Last weekend, because I was already grumpy, I decided to really pile on the heartache by trying on my favorite shorts. Imagine my ecstatic surprise and celebration when I heard that magic sound (please shut your eyes and relive it with me... ziiiiiiiiip. Like butta.) My gorge-shorts fit!!! I spent the rest of the weekend (and the better part of last week) walking around on cloud nine. Brakes thinks its hysterical that I cannot pass a mirror without slapping my ass and squealing, "I'm back, baby!" Though he does wish I would quit wearing my shorts to bed.
Up until now, I've followed the advice of my doctor, who sweetly patted my well-cushioned hip and told me to consider the weight I gain during pregnancy future food storage for my baby, and I've not actively dieted or tried to loose weight. I have not gotten on the scale or started any strict exercise plan. Breastfeeding supposedly burns around 700 calories a day so I figured I am already working out plus I get to eat dessert! I am jesting (mostly) but I have not really been focusing on my post-baby bod... until now! Now that I have concrete proof (my shorts) that my body will bounce back, I am more motivated than ever to speed this process up! Starting this week I am done with sweets- no more delicious chocolate covered blueberries and slow-churned creamy delights. I am all about green tea and fresh fruit when I need a little something sweet. Also the days of burritos the size of my baby are over; I will settle for a modest burrito bowl with no sour cream. I will not however give up wine (a girl has to draw a line somewhere). Or beer. It's good for my milk; why should Eloise suffer because Mommy is on a diet?
Also I am going to start exercising more than the occasional water aerobics class and walk to the local frozen yogurt shop. I went so far as to buy the 30-Day-Shred video, but after watching Brakes (who has annoyingly worked out 5 times a week since before I met him) struggle through it and then proclaim that Jillian Michaels is a "sadist," I'll save that one for later. Instead Eloise and I are doing the Couch to 5K running program. I am a swimmer by training but since I need something I can do with Eloise during the day, and while she loves to swim, her stroke is not quite up to par yet, so running is the program for us! We have all the equipment: new shoes, a brand new jogging stroller scored from Craigslist for less than half-price, these podcasts downloaded onto Brake's ipod, and knee socks for the Weez. We are ready to meet our destiny! Stay tuned for our updates and keep your eyes peeled; Weez and I may be pounding the pavement near you. I'll be the one in the hot shorts. :)

Late Edition of Weezy Wednesday

2009-08-12T20:29:00.000-07:00

So much stuff brewing over here in the Brakes and Gas household that I almost forgot Weezy Wednesday!
Now for your viewing pleasure: The Amazing Jumping Eloise!
(Best viewed with head tilted to the side and volume turned down to tone down my moronic voice... sorry I WILL get better at taking movies, I promise.)

(Also, be kind and make no comments about my kid's prominent bald stripe along the back of her head... She really is a Grewe!)

Hawley Lake

2009-08-10T02:22:00.000-07:00

Brakes, Eloise, Auntie Bun, Pavy, Movy, Roscoe, Uncle Brov, and Gas

(Thank you, Auntie Jessica for taking the pic!)

For several years my parents have been summering (doesn't that sound very fancy?) at Hawley Lake in Arizona with a group of people they've been friends with for 30+ years (my mother requested I not share exactly how many years for fear that it will date her). I spent my whole childhood in Arizona yet I never knew this amazing place existed.

It is located on an Apache Reservation and the Tribe rents cabins out for income. These cabins were originally built by rich Phoenicians looking for a way to beat the summer heat in the 40's and 50's. The Tribe gave them long-term leases for dirt-cheap so the rich families went ahead and built luxury getaways on their leased property. When the Tribe tried to raise the yearly up-keep fees by a few hundred dollars, the Phoenicians got uppity and refused to pay, thinking that the Tribe would back down. Not for the first time the Apaches were seriously underestimated and they refused to renew the leases when they came due. The Phoenicians had no choice but to abandon their cabins (some decided to burn them down rather than let the Tribe take them over). Today the cabins are in much the same shape they were in when they were built (think 50 year old stoves and antiquated plumbing) but lots and lots of charm in crazy beautiful surroundings.

We had a great time at Hawley Lake. Brakes learned to fly fish with the boys and Weezy and the girls palavered on the porch and went for nature walks. We ate amazing meals (Thanksgiving in July is my new favorite holiday!), had great conversation, and enjoyed lots of laughter. It was the perfect way to wrap up Weezy's first vacay!

Shotbuckets!

2009-08-07T08:22:00.000-07:00

Sh*tbucket! It was that time again! Time for my darling girl's tender flesh to be pierced and pillaged by the savage point of an angry needle! Ugh. I was 3 weeks late for her 3 month vaccinations so we went on Monday. I buttered her up with playgroup first and then when she least expected it, I brought her upstairs to the injection room. Doom-da-doom-doom. Am I the only one who feels like I am bringing my kid to slaughter when shot time comes around? The only thing that made my guilt ridden mind feel better was seeing that they had the Eloise book (of course, we did not read it. Germs, you know.) for which Weezy was named after on the book shelf in the waiting room. This is not a super common book so seeing it, I deemed a good omen and I did not wimp out and run kicking and screaming back to the car.

When the nurse called her name, we bravely moved forward. I lay the Weez down on the table and the nurse prepared the needles. My eyes got huge when I saw how long the silver beast was and I querulously asked, "How does it not hit bone?" The nurse looked at me, then looked at Weezy's luscious thighs, then looked at me again and said, "Are you kidding?" Then she ruthlessly stabbed my baby deep into the muscle. I clutched the Weez to my chest and very imperiously said, "Just what are you implying?" Before she answered, she stabbed the other thigh. Both thighs! Agh! Then she looked at me and smirked, "Your kid's got thunder thighs."

Whhhhheeeeellll! I never! I gathered my delicate Weezy up and huffed out of the office, so caught up in this caustic exchange, that I did not even realize until later that my little lady never even shed a tear! She is such a brave girl! Maybe, knowing this, I will not put off her 4 months shots until they are almost a month late. Mmmm. I probably will.
Here Eloise is sleeping off the copious amount of Baby Tylenol my guilty conscience has jammed down her throat:

Weezy Wednesday: Let the Festivities Begin!

2009-08-05T08:22:00.000-07:00

I knew I wanted to marry Brakes long before I met his extended family: he is gorgeous, smart, and he thinks I am the beez-neez so why wouldn't I want to marry him? But let me tell you, if I had been on the fence the first time I went to his family reunion, would have sealed the deal for me!

Brakes' family is fantastic! They are a huge, wild group of loving, gregarious folks and they throw an amazing days-long party every summer at this magical place called, "The River House," in southern Maryland. The River House really is a magical place; it is so relaxing, accepting, and fun. When I am there each summer, I feel like I can finally exhale and begin to settle into my true self. I laugh harder, sleep better, and even food tastes better at the River House. (MMmmm, crab.)

This year Brakes and I were really excited to introduce Eloise to her extended family and initiate her into world of Propinquity. Judging by the way she handled the inaugural weekend cannon blast (yes, that is right, the reunion begins with cannon fire)- Eloise will fit right in.

Let the festivities begin!

We're Back!

2009-08-02T17:35:00.000-07:00

Hi friends! We are back from our travels! We had a marvelous time but it is nice to be back in our cozy home! I'll fill you in on our adventures in Maryland at Brake's family reunion (lots of stories to tell there!) and our explorations of gorgeous Hawley Lake in Arizona when I have my pictures organized. I am pleased to report that Eloise got nary a bug bite and not even a light tan on her unmarred complexion... and we did not have to use bug spray or sunscreen. Also she appears to have learned how to take a nap which bodes well for my postings schedule. We are getting back into the swing of things and I have some exciting posts planned (I have plenty to say after such a long hiatus) so be sure to check back soon! Until then feast your eyes on this gorgeous girl:

Bon Voyage!

2009-07-08T09:20:00.000-07:00

Eloise and I are off on an extended vacay! We will be back at the end of July; check back then to hear (read) tales from our adventures! Wubbin!

Greetings and Salutations!

2009-07-05T13:01:00.001-07:00

Happy 4th of July! Love,

The Weez

Design Dilema Solved!

2009-07-01T19:02:00.001-07:00

At long last I've solved a design dilemma that has kept me up at night (or maybe that was the screaming baby).

Let me backtrack: a girlhood friend from AZ, Kelli, is a gifted seamstress and one of the most generous and thoughtful humans I know. Upon hearing the design scheme for Weezy's nursery she offered to make me a fabric diaper caddy which I gratefully accepted. A few weeks later an adorable, custom pocket holder in fabulous toile and red fabric, arrived in the mail!

I knew instantly it was too precious to hold diapers and wipes. I tried hanging it in Weezy's bathroom with fancy rolled guest towels (because Weezy gets a lot of fancy guests). But nobody could see it in there, so I tried hanging it on the back of her door holding her various coats and accessories (you know a woman such as the Weez has many, many accessories). But alas it wasn't viewed enough there either! Finally after several sleepless nights and several dozen nail holes in the wall (ssshhhh... don't tell the landlords), I found the perfect solution: I hung it on a hanger and put it over the folding door to her bathroom, and I filled it with...

Books! It makes the most perfect little book holder! I love that it holds all of our fave books and that they are facing front

on, which is more developmentally appropriate for the little Weez. It also balances out her tall clothes holder on the opposite wall and it gives her something interesting to look at when we sit in her chair and nurse. It completely changed the dynamic of the room and I am really tickled by the way it turned out. I also love that the lady who so lovingly crafted the piece is an avid reader and a budding novelist! Thank you again Kelli! It was just the finishing touch that Weezy's nursery needed and we will think of you whenever we read stories in Weezy's new and improved cozy little reading nook!

Weezy Wednesday

2009-07-01T18:55:00.000-07:00

I am all about videos now that I am a You Tube genius! I am going to try to post a video of the Weez every Wednesday for your viewing pleasure!

We got her first belly-laughs on camera this week!

YouTube? We Do!

2009-06-23T16:52:00.000-07:00

It helps to have friends in high places! Our friend Brian works for YouTube and he generously scored us the username "eloise"! I just loaded our first YouTube video. It is of the Weez swimming for the first time.

No babies or animals were injured in the filming of this video. XOXO!

To Nap or Not to Nap? That is the question?

2009-06-23T15:54:00.000-07:00

Miss Weezy and I have a difference of opinion when it comes to the age old question: To nap or not to nap? I think no-naps makes for a cranky butthole of a baby. Weezy thinks it furthers her artistic endeavors and pushes her spiritually. My 3-month old daughter is well on her way to writing angst-filled poetry- Translation: Without a nap Eloise turns into a Hamlet-inspired drama queen. She could easily put the Ole Bard to shame! Traveling to Phoenix this weekend, even with all of our fun and advenutre, really showed me what I need to work on with Weezy so that we can get the most out of all the fun stuff we have coming up this summer.

She is great on an airplane. My heart soared with pride when, upon exiting the plane, the man who had sat next to Brakes and I was startled to see that we had a baby with us. Eloise had not made a peep the whole flight! She loves to be held and does not mind being passed around to multiple people! Breastfeeding has become so second nature that we've even ditched the nipple gaurds which made public feedings such a hassle! In short: she is the perfect baby, except when it comes to napping. She does not like to nap (she is nosy like me and afraid she'll miss something.) and when she does sleep during the day it is often fitfully and she has to be on someone's lap or chest. Generally she gets overly-tired and super cranky. At home we deal with this by moving up her bedtime or popping her into the swing but while on vacay these options are not availiable. Without sleep our sweet-natured little girl gets super sad and irritable and she totally misses out on fun times... not to mention she stresses her parents out.

In early July we are going on a two week vacation. I have until then to whip her napping routine into shape. This is what she currently does:

Sleeps from 10:30 pm to 5:30 am
Sleeps from 6:00 am to 8:30 am
Sleeps from 10:15 am to 10:45 am
Might take a cat-nap or two in the afternoon (around 3:00 pm) but does not take a significant nap for the rest of the day. By 7:00pm, her tolerance gets really low and Brakes and I start anticipating the bedtime routine which we start between 8:15 and 9:00 pm.

Any suggestions?

The First Greatest Man I Know

2009-06-15T12:28:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago I referred to Brakes as the greatest man I know, which is true but not the whole truth. You see, long before Brakes, was my first love: Daddy. My Daddy was the first greatest man I know.

If it were not for Daddy giving me an example of what to look for in a man, I would not have recognized Brakes as the diamond in the rough that he was almost nine years ago. My dad (in conjunction with Mov) raised me and my siblings with love, joy, understanding, humor, limits, unconditional encouragement, and support. He walked the floor with me night after night when I was a colicky infant (I really appreciate this now). He coached my soccer team even after I informed everyone that you could get a bigger trophy with less running in tee-ball. He taught me to drive when no one else would get behind the wheel with me and he picked out all of my prom dresses. In fact, when I stepped on the hem of my blue taffeta ball gown the morning of prom, Daddy drove around all morning trying to find someone to hem it for me. When he couldn't find a seamstress, he spent 3 hours stitch-witchering it just in time for my date to pick me up at six.

Daddy watched me go from chubby baby to gap-toothed kindergartner. Under his roof, I went from awkward adolescent to hot-shot, fake-ID carrying freshman. Daddy introduced me to Janis Joplin and CCR and he smiled when I drove Mov crazy by wearing vintage clothing and sequins. He only raised his eyebrows when I went off dancing with the girls all nights of the week. And when I met Brakes, he supported my leap of faith and honored my choice to follow Brakes to Utah. When I was ready to throw in the towel and move home, Daddy was the one who set me strait and a little over a year later, he happily walked me down the aisle. Daddy has always been my biggest fan, my most-honest critic, and my best sounding board. Now, as I watch Brakes be a daddy, my only wish is that he and Eloise can have the same closeness I've been blessed to have with my daddy. And that someday, Eloise will call her daddy the greatest man she knows... other than her Grandpav, of course.

We Swing...

2009-06-07T18:40:00.000-07:00

Get your mind out of the gutter, you perverts! I am talking about my gorgeous, innocent baby-girl. This weekend we discovered Eloise's great passion in life, second only to moo moos (breast milk): SHE LOVES TO SWING!

She swings in our french-doors doorway, she swings in her papasan swing, and now, she swings at the park too! Feast your eyes on these pics. Notice my sister's adorable little boy Roscoe helping to support Weezy's substantial bod while swinging; what a stud!

Also, please join me in welcoming my newest nephew, Turbo, to the family. Diana and Chris adopted this handsome dude on Saturday. Here is the picture of the happy family: