Tag Archives: babies

No rhyme or reason

It’s the day before Thanksgiving here in the old United States. And under those circumstances, I don’t think I can be expected to put together a coherent post. I’m leaving work around 1pm and ‘working from the road’ thereafter. It’s the magic of the Blackberry-or should I say, the terror of the Blackberry. Heidi and Mike’s Alaskan selves will be arriving at the airport mid-afternoon, where my husband and I will converge with them. Saint Uncle Mike volunteered out of the blue to drive us from O’Hare to the Gary train station, where we pick up a car we’re borrowing from my in-laws. Then we will drive to Kentucky to my sister Erica and her husband Dave’s house, where I will demand pumpkin pie as soon as we walk in the door. Does this sound complicated? Well you haven’t even heard our original plan, which involved a taxi and a train to boot. It’s city living, and we love it–but that doesn’t mean we have to like it all the time.

I’m doing preemptive exercises in anti-crabbiness for the benefit of my co-travelers. These exercises involve eating 1 mini pumpkin muffin every 5 minutes, and at the half hour marks, alternating a piece of fudge and a lemon bar. Yes, it’s the time of year when all the vendors we use at my job send us goodies. “Thanks for your business! Seasons greetings! Here are two dozen cookies!” and so forth. Just two days ago we received a pail full of scrumptious treats, including oatmeal raisin cookies and chocolate caramel toffee bars. It sounds delightful, right? However, I’ve been concocting a plan in which I start threatening these vendors with bodily injury if they don’t stop sending sugary goods, because I just bought this new pair of corduroys, see, and they are exactly as snug as they need to be, and it just so happens that the fudge from our chemical suppliers and the cookies from our logistics companies and the brownie/blondie combo box from our label vendor are all converging in the general area of my derriere.

Yes, it’s a battle between corduroys and holidays. I’m not sure who will win and who will lose, but you’ll probably never know since realtime reporting will definitely not be provided.

A full Thanksgiving report will at some point issue forth onto this blog. But until that point, instead of writing a gorgeously appropriate and elaborate post teaching you how to make sure your dinner rolls have the perfect ‘poof’ to them, I leave you with an absolutely random list. It’s all I got.

1. When I was 16, my Mom and sisters and I went to Ibiza for a week. It’s basically a party island off the Eastern coast of Spain. There, I saw an elderly German couple wearing transparent clothes.

The night-life there is chock full of surprises. In fact, any beach in Spain will yield an amazing assortment of frightening visions, like a bright green thong on a dry, tan 65-year-old butt (Valencia, circa 1993). And yes, I’m sorry I just put that image in both your head and mine. We’ll suffer together.

2. Once, when I was young, my Dad and my sisters and I were in Barcelona at some kind of Christian conference. There were lots of Americans in attendance. We went to a McDonalds for lunch—and I have to point out that we never went to McDonald’s except on very special occasions. They sell beer in Spain at that fine establishment, and one of the prominent brands there is “Estrella Damm.” As we were perusing the menu and making our choices, we noticed that every single American at the conference–all probably Christians–has also chosen to come to McDonald’s for their afternoon meal. Dad said “So, what do you girls want to order?” Erica answered in a very loud voice–let me emphasize it was a very, very, loud voice–“I don’t want the Damm beer!”

3. I always salivate when I smell Lestoil, Noxzema, or Burts Bees. Or Vicks. Or gasoline. Any number of cleaning products, truth be told. I look forward to Fridays because that’s the day the guys at my job mop my office area with Pine Sol. My glands rejoice.

4. I never believed in Santa. Do you pity me?

5. Once, I studied abroad in Paris. My host family never served water at dinner–only wine. I began to find it quite normal that we would go through 2 bottles of red wine per night and feel no effects whatsoever. My error in judgment happened on a fateful night when, years later, I assumed I still had the tolerance of a Frenchman.

I did not.

6. The phrase “don’t get your panties in a bunch” is hideous and whoever uses it deserves to have a wedgy that they are in no position to pick out.

7. Once, back in my managing days, I fired a guy for falling asleep (twice) on his first day during the 2-hour training class. He must have been on something, because as I escorted him out amidst his cusses and threats, he bent over and attempted to light the office carpet on fire with his cigarette lighter.

I’m happy to say that not only was he unsuccessful, but the cops got there dang fast.

8. When explaining to my Mom where we had stopped for dinner on our way to Wisconsin to visit her and my dad, she said: “What? The pandex breasts??”

“No, Mom,” I said, “we went to Panda Express.” Say it fast 5 times and you’ll completely understand the confusion.

I’m not sure what a pandex breast is, but it sounds like a fakey to me.

9. My most cherished dream as a 10 and 11 year old was to ride a horse wearing a beautiful flowing dress. These dreams were fulfilled during the magical summer of 1993.

Please note the white gloves.

10. When I was 7 years old I wrote the following poem in my journal to express my sentiments towards my younger sister Erica: “Erica is stupid, Erica I hate, Erica is nothing but a little bit of bait.”

11. I used to sing in a church choir when I was in high school. One day I came to a performance early to help set up sound with my parents. I was wearing a fitted, knee-length skirt, and as I (of course) tripped down the stage steps and fell face-forward on the floor, it split it all the way up the back. Right in front of the guy that liked me at the time.

12. My brother-in-law Mike won a ‘cutest baby’ contest.

HAHAHA heeee heee hIHIHI Hoooooo!!!!! (wiping eyes)

Oh–and I am forbidden to call that contest by its other name. The name that starts with a ‘b-‘ and ends with a ‘-eauty.’ Strictly forbidden.

Please click here to view his adorable little face. Everything will become clear.

13. I have a beautiful Mom. Beautiful now, and beautiful then–and this is ‘then.’

Check out those mad earrings. I would totally wear them in a second.

14. A typical conversation:

My husband: “You’re beautiful.”

Me: “Crondootiful.”

My husband: “Do you want to watch a documentary?”

Me: “Clarkokardiac.”

My husband: “Um, I don’t know what that means.”

Me: “I think I’m going to go make some popcorn. But this time it’s going to be a small bowl.”

*my husband shakes his head–like I’m even capable of making a small bowl, which by the way I’m not*

*I spank my husband*

My husband: “Hey, now!”

And that pretty much sums up our relationship.

Cheerio friends! See you all tomorrow for a holiday-esque recipe.

10 fears about mothering and pregnancy

While leafing through the family photo albums my Mom so generously left at my house for an undetermined amount of time, I was able to put 10 fears to rest that have been lurking in the back of my mind regarding mothering and pregnancy. I thought I’d share them with you today, so that you can see how I’ve managed to overcome them one by one.

1. I’m too young to have that kind of responsibility

Well, my dad was practically a minor. Just look at him:

OK, he was actually 28 or 29, but seriously folks–does he look a day over 16?

2. My house will become overrun with child paraphenalia

Not necessary! I slept in a cardboard box.

I was bathed in a trash can.

I guess I don’t need a ton of stuff for my future babies–I mean, they don’t even know the difference between their fingers and their toes, much less between a fancy bathing apparatus and a brown trash can. My parents kept their house very free from self-multiplying plastic objects, and I find that inspiring and relieving. Phew!

3. My schedule will be chained to the sleep schedule of my child

My parents simply put us to bed wherever we happened to be. Like at a concert. Hey, they were musicians, and we had to adapt.

There’s my Dad running the mixing board. I think this was in Japan, and I’m looking a little spaced out. Apparently they kept a blanket by the mixing board, and when it was my bedtime simply put me down on the blanket where I peacefully entered dreamland. Children are more adaptable than I would have imagined–and they can adapt to me as much as I can adapt to them.

4. My house will become an uncontrollable mess

Well, if I follow my Mom’s philosophy I will simply put my children to work. I mean, all day long I worked the family’s farm . . .

. . . and then I got home, tied my tresses up in a bandanna, and got ready to give the house a good shake down. My Mom didn’t take any excuses–here she is saying “Alright Jenna, don’t come back until all the curtains are laundered and pressed!”

She didn’t even care that I had just laundered and pressed them, like, two days ago!

While the house was my responsibility, the birth of my sister Erica fulfilled the vacancy for groundskeeper and chauffeur.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Dad–just take the dang picture and let me finish washing the car.”

I’m so glad to know that I too can simply train my children to do all my work for me, while I sit on the couch issuing orders, drinking coffee and nibbling on scones.

5. I will become frumpy and hideous

This picture of my Mom was taken when I was almost 2 years old.

Yes, my Mom is a classy broad. Here she is again with her two sisters (she’s on the left), around the same time:

That classy lady second from the left is my grandmother:

I have inherited genes that indicate frumpyness may not be in the cards for me. Or if it is, my extended family will whip me into shape so as not to disgrace their name. I have historical evidence for this claim: Aunt Jessie was put on frump alert many years ago, and was immediately forced to the nearest beauty salon to fix the issue.

She tried to resist, but she was no match for her determined mother, the one wielding the cane. It’s nice to know that I have the kind of family who stamps out frumpery and beautifies you even against your own will.

6. If I have daughters, they will steal my shoes and clothes at the earliest opportunity

 

OK, well, that may happen. But nobody seems particularly upset about the arrangement, as I see it.

 

7. It’s so hard to travel with children that we will never go anywhere

Well, here are my parents in San Francisco . . .

. . . and in New York City . . .

. . . and my Mom in Japan, with me in the stroller and Erica on the way.

These are just a few pictures of the many I could have included showing them in places like Florida and Niagara Falls, with small children in tow. Being in a band, travel was part of their life menu. And if they could do it, dang it, so can I!

8. My children will yell and scream

Well, my childhood pictures prove that it’s possible to have a 100% fuss-free kid. I am always smiling, always cheerful, with a surprising maturity for my young years. My good attitude from birth forward created a very peaceful home environment.

Yes, I was a perfect child and I expect no less from my future children. Calm, wise beyond their years, and zero whining.

Hey wait! How did that picture sneak in there!

Someone’s gonna get fired over that slip-up.

9. Once you have them, they’re with you all the time

If I choose to follow my parents’ example, I can simple pack my child up (with packing peanuts for safety–don’t worry) and ship them off to the nearest baby store, Attn: Returns Department.

As long as you print off your certified baby return label, it should be easy as pie. Then, when you feel like having that baby again, you simply go to the pick-up counter and retrieve him or her. Couldn’t be more simple.

10. Baby stress will cause untold marital tension

My Dad once said that having kids has provided them with the funniest moments in their life. They have never laughed together more than over one of us and our ridiculousness. Instead of driving them apart, raising us three girls has brought them closer.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for doing such a great job and providing a solid photographic record that I can return to for inspiration, encouragement, and ideas.

                                                               *************

Now it’s time to talk about the one fear I haven’t been able to shake or disprove. It’s something I’m really having a hard time even thinking about. It may be the source of regret, frustration, and physical discomforts untold:

The fear of not being able to sleep on my stomach.

I mean, I’ve been doing it practically since I was born.

And I don’t think there’s any way of getting around it . . . unless I buy a special mattress with a hole in it. I just have to decide if this final concern is a ‘make it or break it’ moment in our child-bearing plans. Wish me luck as I try to make a wise choice.