When daddy's away the mice will play

I used to be petrified when my husband told me he was going out of town. How will I ever survive the kids at night all alone??  Now I rejoice - I don't have to cook dinner! Yippppeeee! It is nearly impossible to do so with two whiners grabbing at my legs, reaching for the stove knobs and putting everything in their mouths that I've hastily dropped on the floor in the name of  rushed food prep. I've explained this to him and he's totally cool with my not cooking. But when he's in town I feel a decidedly wifely obligation to  provide him with something relatively home cooked after a long, grueling day out in the jungle.

All this to say: the boys and I are free to do whatever we damn well please tonight and tomorrow night and the next night. They don't eat a proper "meal" anyway,  but rather snack, smoosh, throw and play with their food, so why not take them out and mess up someone else's floor and give myself a well-deserved break from swabbing down the deck for 20 minutes after dinnertime.

I'll probably let them do a couple of other "illegal" things too, like run around screaming in the morning when chronic-night-owl, non-morning-person daddy is usually trying to sleep. Oh and shhhhhhh, don't say a word... I'll let them jump on the couch, eat sand at the beach, pull the toilet paper roll, and take out and clank every single pot and pan. Why fight the machine? I've got much more pressing issues to tackle like keeping them from killing each other and sticking forks into outlets. Not to mention the endless snot-wiping, nail-trimming, nappy-hair-comb-outs and diaper-duties.

So we're cool with you outta town travelin' daddy. We can't wait 'til you're home safe and sound with us again, eating Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream and reading bedtime books. Until then, mommy's off dinner duty :)

01.20.09 ~ Monumental Inauguration Day

I cried this morning watching officers salute Barack Obama walking through the hallway to the Inaugural podium. This is an enormously meaningful event for me because my sons will grow up in a new era, never having to know the prejudice or discrimination they may have experienced had they been born in my birth year of 1968. Like Barack Obama, my sons have a white mother and a black father. Today they are inaugurated into a brand new United States where they can call themselves americans not african americans. 

For a formerly self-admitted political ignorant, it is huge that I not only watched all the debates, but actually fought tooth and nail through baby defiance to do so. Noah was a newborn and his witching hour landed splat during the pinnacle of every debate, so I  had to bounce him outside the living room door on our porch, straining to  hear anything the candidates said over his screams. But I got to watch come hell or high water. Noah was a bit older and more well adjusted to the planet by the time the McCain debates came along, so it was much easier to make out the speaking points. Not that it really mattered to me all that much. Admittedly due to my political ignorance on the issues, I was much more aware of each candidate's facial expressions and body language than the content of their dialogue. So by performing my well-practiced multi-tasking skills I could intermittently glimpse the debate and distract two boys just fine.  By the time election night came, both boys were peacefully asleep, so Charles and I got the pleasure of snuggling up on the floor in front of the TV when Obama's victory was announced. 

Today the boys and I snuck out of the apartment early to our complex' fitness center while daddy was sleeping and watched the initial live coverage of motorcades parading and people flooding the National Mall. When we came home to wake up daddy for the main event, he was already dancing around the living room in his underwear with a sparkle in his eye I will never forget. Nothing, and I mean nothing gets that man out of bed early. But Barack Obama's Inauguration did! We actually got to watch the whole thing together as a family. Gabriel made it all the way until about 7 minutes into Obama's speech, at which point he chose Miss Spider's Bug a Boo Day DVD over the coverage. Noah made it a couple more minutes before he went down for his first easy-to-put-down, long-lasting nap in an exhausting week of illness and shitty, wakeful sleep. Guess he needed a little zzzzzz time to process the magnitude of today's events. :)) 

another disgusting poo blog

On a non-offensive-to-the-senses note before I descend into the disgusting part... these are the boyz in the crib. Aren't they cute? We had a way too early morning call today which gave  me the chance to read and reread just about every single book we own, organize and reorganize our bounty of new giraffe-sized and zebra-sized diapers from Costco, as well as field two really big poos from the boys, and surprisingly, two from me. Which brings me to the disgusting part...

How did I do personal hygiene before baby wipes came into my life? The thought of not using them for my own post-poo wiping is really gross to me now that they pretty much take the place of a shower 1/2 of the time. How could I have ever thought a coupla swipes with regular ole' big people toilet paper actually did the job? I know the truth now, and the truth is that there is still just enough residual crap left behind after a pass or two of dry toilet paper to warrant not just one, but a few more swipes with baby wipes to get the job totally done. 

Alrighty then, is that disgusting enough for you? I may sound obsessed with poo between this post and the never poop alone one...because I am. How could I not be? Poo is my world with the diapering of an infant and toddler. Colors, consistencies, sizes, smells and guesses at its contents have become fodder for conversation between me and Gabriel as we deal with his, mine and little Noah's poops.

Which brings me to my idea for the first official event of the Mommy Olympics, should they ever be invented - Poopy Diaper Changing - the goal:  effectively removing all offensive poop debri with as few baby wipes as possible. Using only one wipe at a time the competitive mommy would have to get a smashed up poop entirely off the baby's ass without getting any shit on her hands, letting the baby touch the poo or dip its heels into it. Ideally we'd see expert mommies come out of the woodwork tackling this feat with less than 3 wipes, as I've found that is my absolute minimum for a really messy poo.

Sorry so icky, but don't say I didn't warn you. :)

Singing Lexapro's praises

I read a fascinating article after the Tsunami about many of the native animals who'd run up high in the mountains, far from the flood's devastation. They innately felt the storm coming and ran for higher ground. Amazing.

My children sensed my Postpartum Anxiety-fueled storms coming and unfortunately had no way to escape. Like the hard-to-identify,  low-grade eating/exercise disorder I suffered with for 17 years, my Postpartum Anxiety was tricky to name and treat. But make no  mistake, it was there. The severe insomnia, heart palpitations, obsessively racing mind (non-stop "monkey brain" as my doctor coined it), unfounded fears and intense anger became unbearable. Its onset was immediate after the birth of my first son, but gradual with my second. I scared my children, my husband and myself. I got worked up at the slightest challenge in the day, which is every moment when in the first months of raising two under two. (phrase coined by babybunching.com - so satisfyingly succint)

The truest truism of motherhood: "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy," (mamazine.com's tagline - so well put I could just cry.) I fought tooth and nail against going on SSRI's (dun dun dun dunnn..... antidepressants) the first time around, only to delay my sanity 'til 3 1/2 months into motherhood. It took even longer the second time because I was fine when Noah was first born - but crazy by the time he was 5/6 months.  When I finally sought help from my primary care doc to get me back on antidepressants, I realized I had to set aside my idiotic ego and do it for my sons, if not for me. It wasn't fair to subject them to the intensity and unpredictability of my rage and fatigue.

With my first bout of Postpartum Anxiety I took Paxil. It worked, but was really hard getting on and off, leaving me definite I'd never do that again. This time around my doc suggested Lexapro. It was super duper easy and gentle to start. I've been on for about 2 1/2 months now and all my symptoms are gone. The two most important benefits: I can sleep,  and I can cope much, much better with the daily challenges of the first year with my infant and toddler.

My boys need their mommy, and they really need her to be happy. And I am. I am enjoying them so much more. Gabriel my toddler took the brunt of my anger, never knowing what to expect when I'd come get him in the morning after literally one hour of sleep, or after nap time when I'd struggled with Noah for hours trying unsuccessfully to get him down. (at that point he wouldn't go down because I was so freaked out) Now Gabriel spontaneously tells me, "I'm happy," and "I'm having fun." My heart melts. I praise Lexapro. 

Postpartum Anxiety is to Postpartum Depression as an exercise disorder is to an eating disorder: it is not as well acknowledged, understood or diagnosed.  Many mothers think if they're not lying on the couch wanting to kill themselves or their child, then nothing is really wrong. However, as soon as I began opening my mouth about my anxiety, many mothers came forward relating their similar experiences. Please, if you or anyone you know or anyone they know suffers with postpartum anxiety, urge them to get treatment. It is rampant, it is real and it deserves immediate medical attention. It profoundly effects the health and environment of the entire family. 

I am a bohemian-at-heart, earth-crunch-granola girl by nature, anti-establishment brat. But when it comes to illness affecting the quality of mine and my family's health... Lexapro, take me away!

Gabriel and the ladder of many rungs

Last week I got to experience an incredible demonstration of the innate human drive to triumph. Gabriel decided he wanted to try climbing up the hardest ladder on our apartment complex' play structure - one he'd only unsuccessfully tried in the past. This time he had a few more months worth of growth in him and was able to get to about the second rung before he got miserably irritated, whimpering, "Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!" I gently coached from my spot perched at the top, coaxing him to try again. The next time he got one rung higher before tears of anger and frustration rolled down his face and the desperate "Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!" whining started. I persuaded him to try again and this time he struggled and moaned and complained and probably farted too, out of sheer exertion... and he did it. 

When he stood up safely on board the structure, staring wide-eyed and speechless into my eyes, I could have died and gone to heaven - I was so honored to be there for him, witnessing and validating his achievement. But good thing I didn't because I would have missed the next best part as he excitedly did it over and over again, mastering his new skill. How totally cool. We're wired from the start to try and try again until we succeed. Such vital energy. Such life force. Such joi d'vie.

diaper bag drama

This is my diaper bag. It is a stylish bag and a noble bag. As you can plainly see, it is struggling to stay in one piece. Its days are long, but it rests well at night knowing it has succeeded in a job well done keeping my shit together.

There is no way in hell one diaper bag could ever, ever be big enough to deal with the load that must be carried by a mother of two boys in diapers. My diaper bag is huge and it still can't come close to gracefully fitting everything I need for a simple 2 hour outing. How could any bag possibly fit diapers, wipes, changing pads, changes of clothing, burp clothes, tissues, hats, Cheerios, applesauce, grapes, crackers, bibs, bottles, sippies, and spoons. Plus just a couple basic toiletries for mommy like a backup tampon and a Burt's Bees lip balm. Can't even think about fitting in my past-life favs like lavender facial mist, two shades of mac lipstick, nail file, business cards, cute glasses, iPod, day timer and a pen. Aside from not fitting physically, Gabriel would try drinking the mist and eating the lipstick, Noah would chew the nail file and rip the cards to shreds, Gabriel would throw and break both the glasses and iPod instantaneously, the day timer would be history and the pen would be all over both their faces. 

Every morning I beg the sides of my diaper bag to please expand big enough to shove in all the crap I need for a morning at the playground. It doesn't budge, already pissed off about the forthcoming beating it will take when Gabriel begins mercilessly grabbing at it's every pocket for hidden treasures (read: food) and Noah begins gnawing on it's buckle, sending drool rolling down it's strap. It ain't glamorous, the life of a diaper bag. But it is a life well spent. A life of duty and a life of honor -  toting my shit.  Thank you diaper bag. I love you. 

Noah's avocado facial

A million years ago when I was a massage therapist in LA, I worked at the high end Aqua Day Spa in Santa Monica where we had to do stupid and overpriced "treatments" like Cucumber & Milk Body Washes, Spirulina Mud Wraps, and Honey Scrubs. They were the most worthless and messy jokes-of-an-indulgence ever. I felt ridiculous pouring milk over someone lying on a sheet of plastic  covered in cucumber guts, creating a standing swamp around them. The whole food-based body treatments thing just seemed like a big scam, but they continue to be an expensive staple on exclusive spa menus.

Don't believe the hype! You need look no further than our humble kitchen to get in on the fiercest new innovator of food-based facials around: Noah Philippe and his Fantastic Avocado Facial for Younger Looking Skin. Simple: just smear avocado all over face. Then smear some more, and some more. And then rub eyes (due to sleepiness) to make sure you get the mandatory eyelid area. Then grab ears (due to teething) and get the hairline. Make sure to wipe nose (due to snot) for a nostril touch up and...voila! You're lookin' and feelin' a million bucks. :)