wake up naked

Dear one-year-old girl,

2008-09-05T15:37:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I feel your smile from another room.

When the sin is soaked in good

2008-08-31T22:29:00.006-05:00

19 semester hours of classes between us started last week. 19 semester hours in addition to Vada's full time job, my duties as launderer, housekeeper, chauffer, shopper, and part-time cook, and parenting our 3 kids. 19 semester hours of foreign language, art history, geology, another history, and two writing intensive courses. Yet, here we are, behaving like it is still the summer lounging at our local organic coffee house discussing politics and hanging the monkey by her toes. pics from iphone

From the curve of my back

2008-08-10T23:39:00.006-05:00

It is hot. I can feel sweat running its fingers along my collarbone and choking my throat from within. I need a jarritos, some musica mexicana, and our fan.

The regression of uh-oh

2008-08-07T09:41:00.005-05:00

There has been concern on my part that our baby has regressed her speech. Whereas in the past she would say 'uh-oh' when she purposefully dropped something, we now hear 'o.' Yesterday, Vada put it all together for me. You see, I physically wince when I see this photo. Where at one time I would have looked at it and seen our baby sweetly lost in thought while drinking from her big girl sippy cup, I now know what follows... a burst of laughing energy which includes her throwing that full, heavy sippy cup down on my foot and me screaming "OW!!!!" Every Single Time. Everything is 'o' now. She learned it from me.

Tropical storm preparedness

2008-08-05T11:16:00.006-05:00

Our house is still today. We are the only ones home and we are silently learning about wind and rain. The only thing I would rather do at this moment than stare out the window with her is have my wife home to stare with us.

Glowing

2008-08-04T23:52:00.005-05:00

Today my wife turned 33. There were lots of festivities, great food, and 33 reasons she is special hanging from our ceiling.

Vada, you are very loved. Happy birthday.

Another windblown morning

2008-07-30T13:40:00.005-05:00

Making the bed might be one of our favorite events of the day.

Rebellion, meet Kahlo

2008-07-18T14:50:00.005-05:00

...you have much in common. though i sometimes forget, i wouldn't want it any other way.

The last month in summary

2008-07-15T11:28:00.005-05:00

The two older kids left. My wife’s mom had surgery. I started therapy. The one-year anniversary of my dad’s death came and went. I spent a day in the ocean. I chopped off my hair. I hated my hair. Our baby learned to stand. I bought new shoes. I loved my hair. My wife and I had a day and night out with no baby and went to Pride. We dragged along her best friend who left with two pairs of panties that she did not have upon arrival. We tried to bring along another friend but she decided that we were lame. I felt old – and liked it. Another woman flirted with my wife in front of me. I ate ten cupcakes in two days. I hated my hair. We went to a few art shows. My wife used “LOL” in a text message to me – I watched her closely for any other signs that alien pods had infiltrated her body. The two older kids returned. My mom’s heart stopped but started again. My wife's heart hurt and I took her to the emergency room and she was hospitalized. Life was horrible. Then my wife came home. She is not allowed to ever go back. Our baby dances. Our baby dances to chewing sounds. Our baby dances to chewing sounds at a picnic while waving around her cracker. An abnormally large squirrel almost pounced on our baby during a picnic. We became addicted to the Green channel. We started a compost. We bought a reel mower. We bought solar outdoor lights. We are switching from g-diapers to all-cloth diapers. We got rid of all plastic toys. We kept our television sets. I spent another day in the ocean with our two older kids. I beat my wife during our dance-dance-revolution family dance-off. She is in denial. Our baby learned to climb onto the sofas from the floor. I am blogging again but am now on sofa-watch.

Things that are not fun

2008-06-17T01:11:00.009-05:00

I don't understand why people choose to cough, have a fever, blow their nose until the skin around it cracks, and skip work just to complain for a week that they are dying, they can't breathe and even their bones hurt. I don't understand why this joy must be shared simultaneously with the baby, who opted to take things further with a double ear-infection. What is fun about these things? Nothing. And you know what else is not fun about these things? Giving it to me. Now that you feel better. And are back at work. Yep. Those things. [I'm glad you feel better, love]

What makes a splitting feverish head that feels too heavy to hold up still spin? A baby that is determined to walk. Everywhere. Yet quite cannot. Help.

Critical reader

2008-06-07T23:18:00.003-05:00

Waiting

2008-06-07T00:16:00.004-05:00

Her big brother left today for a full month. I don't know what she is going to do... I don't know what he is going to do, either.

We were concerned how our son would handle the dynamic change of adding a baby to our family. He had always been the baby. The night his baby sister was born, he saw her and bawled. Bawled. He has a baby sister. We are pretty sure that in his little boy brain he didn't grasp the reality that there would be this tiny new human in our lives that we got to bring home and keep. He is her favorite playmate, her second voice, her narrator. Their faces illuminate at the site of the other. He announces to her and us all of the things he is going to teach her to do - count, multiply, throw a baseball, drive. They have already mastered spitting, ba-ba-ba'ing and high-fives. He tells her all of the things he is going to buy her when he becomes a professional football player. We assure him that what she'll need more than anything is some of his time and lots of his love. Before he was picked-up today, he was noticeably sad. I asked him about this and he said he was sad because of all of the changes in her he would miss over the next month.

I now know that by having her, we helped make him a better person.

Mostly a picture

2008-06-05T23:49:00.008-05:00

Eats newsprint and magazines. Enough said.

Introducing our new MacBook Pro

2008-06-04T22:51:00.010-05:00

We might be a little bitter.

As a side note, there is now yet another twelve year old girl that cannot pass a mirror without smiling into it. It feels good to see her happy.

A moving story

2008-06-03T13:04:00.007-05:00

A baby shared our bedroom. A crib was in a corner. A baby could be wakened accidentally by the creaking wood floors when getting out of bed at night to pee. We slept with our legs crossed. A baby could be wakened easily by the sound of my wife talking in her sleep. We slept with sharp eyes directed at my wife each time she dared to utter sleeping sounds. A baby could waken herself out of spite to make our lives harder. We walked into walls out of lack of sleep. Then one day, we moved the crib to another bedroom in our house and everything was right in the world.

And now this.

Fallen face

2008-06-02T14:30:00.004-05:00

Today was the first day of basketball camp. There was trouble going to sleep last night. There was nervous anticipation of whether he would prove himself the next pro player to a high school gym of boys ranging in age from 8 to 13. There was a dream of actually learning to slam dunk by the end of the week. There was a call less than thirty minutes before camp started this morning to inform that there would be no camp. Period. A face fell.

Many hugs and held back tears later, we trekked to the local batting cages for mommy band-aid time. There is a new participant in indoor baseball camp tomorrow. There will be trouble going to sleep tonight.

Faceless

2008-05-27T12:27:00.007-05:00

I noticed that I don't contribute stories or pictures of our two older children. I find myself protecting them even in ways they do not need to be protected, mostly because of their private other-family lives.

Our oldest daughter (pictured on the left) will be 13 this summer - a teenager! Vada keeps asking me if I feel old being the mother of an impending teenager. I feel old for many other reasons - the fact that I will be the mother of a teenager isn't one. Our daughter never invites friends over - but she has plenty. Just ask her why she lost cell phone privileges both at our house AND at her dad's house! Vada and I asked her if she would like to plan something with her friends this summer to celebrate this big birthday event - she said no, that she would rather go out to eat at her favorite restaurant and invite some of our adult friends and immediate family. She vehemently denies it, but I think it is because she lives in a two-mom household. She had a friend at school last year who was the daughter of an out-lesbian in our local city government. When I mentioned to our daughter that her friend also has two-moms, like her, she was shocked and said that the girl never told her. That girl is at a private school this year. Suspecting this might be the reason, I mentioned to her that there is a local gay and lesbian parenting group in our city that holds events throughout the year including beach trips, picnics and bowling. I told her that we had joined the group and would become active participants this summer. I suggested that perhaps she would meet some friends that also live with same-sex parents that she liked and felt comfortable around. Her face lit up. Here's hoping there are other pre-teens and early teens in that group!

Our son (pictured on the right) recently turned ten and very proudly hugs his two moms at school and his school teacher even requested a photo of his baby sister for her classroom wall that his other mother delivered within the first weeks of school. He is oblivious that someone may not be his friend because of his family dynamic. When he grows up he plans to be a professional basketball player. If you ask about back-up plans, he will settle for being a professional football or baseball player or working at Best Buy because they can play video games during their breaks.

As fast as she can

2008-05-25T21:52:00.003-05:00

Finding autonomy, she is moving and touching faster than light. I blink and she is across the room.

Burn, baby, burn

2008-05-18T23:11:00.004-05:00

Reason 4,927,368 why I avoid the suburbs: Yesterday morning, the baby and I woke up early and decided to leave and pick-up my wife's favorite breakfast while she slept in. This entails venturing about ten minutes on the freeway away from our haven in the city - approximately nine minutes too far. We order breakfast, grab my wife's favorite coffee, and as the baby and I are walking through the parking lot back to our car, a woman yells out from a decent length behind, "maam! maam!" and is now slowly running across the pavement toward us while waving her arms wildly. One might think that I must have left something behind or that the little monkey lost a sock. I feel around trying to imagine what is missing when she catches up to us and says - and I quote - "Your baby is so cute. I wanted to give you this because I would HATE TO SEE YOUR BABY BURN IN HELL." Outstretched before me is a religious pamphlet. Who SAYS THAT to a stranger with a smile?

This is a true event and has not been altered in any manner for entertainment purposes. If the full name and address of said individual were known, it would also be given.

Happy anniversary, my love

2008-05-07T11:01:00.010-05:00

"tables turned again, you, my friend
you and i face each other time in and time out
i know it's sometimes hard, but knowing just that
we will get along until we are old and gray
and hubbled up
and doubled up
we'll sit and laugh of times were hard
and laugh of times, when we thought all it would end, it all was over
then again
and believe you my whole life
my friend
it will be you until the end with me
always..."

wedding day photo by our friend Bruce O'Neal
words by David J. Matthews, Listener Supported

Not a picture story

2008-05-02T09:11:00.006-05:00

It has been 11,953 days since my last public confession. I have breast implants. They were a valentine’s gift a decade ago. Seriously. A valentine’s gift. Unsolicited. And the plastic surgeon actually performed the surgery knowing it was something I never requested. The confession part is what a spineless obedient sham I was to not just say no.

I worry about everything, and by everything I mean if there is merely a slight remote possibility that something could occur that would make my life one eighth of a degree worse, I focus on it until said remote possibility passes, assuming it could ever pass, and then I focus on what other possibilities could occur that might incur that very same horrible result. It is tiring. After my implant surgery, I read that there is this very rare occurrence where the skin between the breasts can un-attach from the chest causing a tent effect between the breasts. I focused on this for days and was positive I felt some pulling in that very spot. I unwrapped my ace bandage and gauze just to stick a sock between my swollen new boobs in hopes counter pressure would prevent me from developing a uni-boob. I think I might be the only person on Earth who has ever done this. It was especially fun explaining to the plastic surgeon why there was a sock between my boobs under the bandages I was supposed to never remove when I went in for my post-surgical follow-up visit. I think he actually said, “Seriously?” and then muttered the aforementioned comment about me being the only person on Earth... But you know what? I have TWO boobs now. He cannot be certain I would have otherwise.

Ever since I quit my job to stay home with our baby, losing extra family income and my health insurance, I have been convinced one of my implants is going to rupture for no other reason than I would not be able to afford to fix it and would die. I will have to stuff that same sock into one side of my bra since toilet paper would be wasteful, I will develop gangrene and a high fever and delusions, and my wife will want nothing to do with me as she is very clearly a breast woman and has been all of her life. I might add that during the surgery I suffered some significant nerve damage to my right nipple. A decade later, if anything slightly brushes up against that nipple, I still have this tuning fork effect of nerve pain that vibrates deeper and deeper until there is this odd feeling that something very cold is dripping inside of me. This dripping feeling is fun paired with my fear that something will rupture and then drip inside of me.

So, this morning, our baby wakes up at 4 a.m. I am exhausted as this week I have final exams so I have been staying up later than usual. She is teething and cranky and having difficulty sleeping. She pushed through a tooth this week – making it number five – with the sixth tooth trying hard to make it through her unhappy gums. Frozen bananas are her favorite teether, but she will bite on anything that will make her mouth feel better. I pick her up and bring her to bed with us, snuggling her in close to me, and just as we are both drifting back to sleep, she chomps down on my boob – MY BOOB – the boob of the mommy who has never breastfed her as that is momma’s job – my nerve-damaged boob with her JAWS OF STEEL and her FIVE VERY SHARP TEETH. I don’t think I can fully communicate the severity of this ferocious attack - it wasn't a rough attempt to suckle milk, it was to MAIM. The annoying all-caps does make me feel better. Before I can remind myself that I should in fact breathe as oxygen is necessary to sustain life, our sweet little monkey flips over wrapping her delicate little fingers around my arm and goes straight to sleep. I, however, cannot move or even swallow. Is my boob even still there? And then I feel the drip, drip, drip… I reach over and palpate its size. Is it smaller? Do I feel an internal gush when I push on it? Drip, drip, drip... I feel for the other boob in the dark to have something to compare it with. Drip, drip, drip... This was an all-night internal loop complete with no more sleep.

Just so you know, I am the same way about my teeth. They are all original, but I am always worried about one breaking or chipping now that I do not have dental insurance. I blame this book as I never worried about it before reading about a character named Giles. I found the book vile and unintelligent and I sold it to Half-Price Books as soon as I finished reading it - just to note this is not a book recommendation.

Sleep deprivation is the best

2008-04-24T13:40:00.004-05:00

[out-of-the-house working bio-mom/wife runs into the room]

wife: "You won't believe it! She just crawled across the rug for the FIRST time! She finally put it all together and is actually CRAWLING!"

[now jumping up and down and smiling largely]

stay-at home mom/me: "Oh yeah... she has been doing that this week."

Recreating this situation is not recommended. It lacks things such as happiness and fun.

Because it feels good

2008-04-22T21:19:00.009-05:00

I cannot imagine whose child this is. It cannot be mine. You see, I was forbidden to put my daughter’s hair into pigtails before she turns one year of age. Seriously forbidden – as in receiving a verbal warning from my wife that I better not even put them into pigtails when she isn’t home just for the sake of even one picture. Ever. I was even warned of this more than once. I will say that just this past weekend my wife was also telling me how much she misses my passion. My passion has been sucked dry with my nonexistent energy levels. On this blah lifeless passionless day, I may or may not have decided to visit the other side to steal some of that passion. In my defense, the two seemed to contradict.

A defrost symphony

2008-04-15T09:21:00.004-05:00

We consider ourselves lucky that our lil’ monkey loves being outdoors and have tinkered with the idea of performing ritualistic sacrifices to ensure this trend continues. It is the only place to thaw out as our very old house somehow thinks its destiny is meat storage. This arctic climate collaborates well with Vada’s swell of post-baby hormones. Not mine. This picture is for her, as taken INSIDE our house on a warm spring day. I love this fuzzy hat, but am glad ninety-degree summers are coming so we can pack it away for the next kiddo. Notice the smirk on our wee one’s face – that, love, she gets from me. pssst... it is NOT fur.

A circle of sorts

2008-04-13T18:53:00.008-05:00

Last year, our youngest child was 9 years old. Vada looked like this:

It was a quick transition between the thought, “let’s go sit outside our favorite coffee house” and sitting outside our favorite coffee house. We would grab the keys. Now, there are barrages of questions and preparation moves to merely entertain such an idea… Will the baby be difficult? Let me clarify – has she had a nap, in say… the last half hour? Okay, really, define "for a few minutes." Is the sling in the car? Is her bag stocked? Do we have a snack to bring? And some toys? This kid can perform gravity-defying maneuvers to reach for our coffee and chai, thus, distraction is required. And more importantly, has anything at all about her mood changed since we first dangled this idea between us? Dining out delves into a darker place involving the possible deafening of other patrons which I won’t discuss without an assurance that Monterey jack sauce and fresh guacamole are in my immediate future.

I adore our baby – it is pure joy to feel her smiles, watch how she learns and physically see the woman I love with all of me shining out of her, but many times I catch myself focusing on other sides, like how I will never again sleep in our bed alone with my sexy wife. But on Friday night, my mind and I were alone staring up at the stars from our front porch, and after questioning myself if I was talking in my head or using my outside voice, I focused on how many wonderful things have returned to us, my sanity excluded.

When Vada and I first fell in love, we would spend an entire weekend never leaving her house, shifting from her backyard where she painted and I shot photos or lay out in the sun to indoors where we ate amazing meals which she prepared, danced barefoot to old country songs on her wood living room floor, and talked the night away. Now we spend weekends outside as a family, I find myself dancing barefoot on our wood floors with our baby, and on weekends when our older kids are away and the baby is down for the night, we are again enjoying lingering nights gazing at each other across our dining table with great food, an occasional glass of wine, and talking the night away …all things that faded away somewhere in between.

Then there are the things that have never changed, like L-Word season which means new Sunday night episodes and dessert in bed, even with a baby between us. And there are new things, too. We are growing our own organic tomatillos and cilantro and squash and a few other things for the first time AND they are still alive and getting bigger. I will submit pictures soon for proof. We are buying our produce from a local organic co-op which we are also using to make our own baby food. Our quest for imaginative, non-toxic, modern wood toys has led to Vada migrating into her workshop and studio – also referred to as our garage - to create some of her own to add to our collection. And our new business! I am looking forward to using our creativity toward a shared venture.

Seven long months of no sleep, a whining baby and academic papers has left me very worn on the negative side, with a development of under-the-breath Tourette’s. With the return of the sun and days outdoors and more consistent sleep, I’m searching for the return of my more upbeat gentle side. If I get off track, dear reader, slap me.