E is for Envy

Today on my lunch break I ran to one of my favorite stores on the planet- Barnes & Noble.
I had to pick up a birthday gift . . . I knew what I wanted and was to the counter in less than a minute.

In front of me was a mom with a big stack of books in her arms, with three kids whose names all started with H.
Hannah, Hunter, and Hayden (girl). The employee was taking for-ev-er to help check people out. Hello, backup? The kids were whining about whose book cost more, how long it was taking, when could they eat, can I puh-LEASE get this bookmark? and so on. "As soon as we're done here we're going to buy Hayden new Crocs, OK guys? We've got a lot to do today. Hunter, go find your sister! Say excuse me. HUNTER! Stay here. Stand still."

Behind me, two very calm little dark-haired boys stood patiently with their Dad, dressed in Texas Longhorn gear. I saw a "summer reading checklist" in his hands. He bent down to be at the boys' level. "Thank you guys for being such good boys. After this, we're going home to have lunch, then we'll head to the splash pad, OK?"

Both scenes made me insanely jealous. Today was a Monday those sets of kids got to stay home with their parents and do fun things like buy Crocs and cross books of the summer reading list and go to the water park. I just told the Dad a few days ago I wish I was a teacher, so I could have my summers off to spend with the lil' dude.

When my brother and I were young, my mom stayed home with us. I remember colossal trips to the library (once a bookworm, always a bookworm), making homemade popsicles with Kool-Aid and Jello, and watching reruns in the cool basement. I loved basketball summer camp, weekends spent camping, afternoons at the lake. We used to pick strawberries at the local berry farm and ride bike to the camp canteen down the road. We did something everyday, even if it was finding tree frogs or using sidewalk chalk (wow, my dad hated sidewalk chalk) or hanging the clothes out to dry. We harbored turtles in our plastic swimming pool, hit rocks with old tennis rackets, and begged for TV dinners. 12 weeks of summer . . .

The lil' dude is turning into the most fun creature ever. It's loads of fun to introduce her to new things. Yesterday she swam in a pool for the first time! She went under three times! She shared Mama's purple Freezie! The weekends just go too quickly. I want to stay home this summer with my baby. I want to experience a break from the professional word and endless drama and change and expectation. I want everything to be simpler. Reading on the deck in the shade, slow walks with the dog to the park. Eating snow peas right out of the pod in the garden. I want more; I want less.

A mama-friend of mine recently traded in her 10-hour days and endless "after hours" work to switch gears to working half that time in a different position. Her reason? Her family. Her little boy is 2. He asks when Mommy come home? She said she'd like to give her H a break from grocery shopping and laundry and food preparing. I am so proud of her for making such a difficult decision and envious of her choice. Now, her little boy can say, "Mommy go to the park!"

It's already the 4th of July week. Summer isn't gonna last forever. But my envy is.

Desperately Seeking Spawn (Sitter)

Last night was my debut back onto the sand volleyball team at the local bar. I've played for 5 or 6 summers now, and would miss it terribly if I couldn't play. I even played last year, sans beer, up until the 7month mark. I'm not sure which was more difficult, the glasses of 7-Up or giant protruding belly to contend with each Thursday night.

Last night someone said, "hey, have you had your baby?"
W. T. F.

Anyhow, the Dad had dude plans last night, so I asked an "auntie" to come over to hang with the lil' dude while I played. I talked to her late in the day yesterday, and when she called, I thought she was a transvestite truck driver calling in between hits of rancid weed and gulps of ammonia. "What's wrong with your voice?" Auntie, "I am sick. I have actually coughed up blood . . . "

So, I asked the sweet neighbors next door last minute if they would watch the babe for an hour while I went to the bar wearing my beer t-shirt. (And, yes, my team is sponsored by Bud Light. Love it.) They more than happily obliged and she was sitting contently outside in the grass watching their teenaged girls swim in the pool when I got back. Neighbor mom said, "The lil' dude is the SA-WEEE-TEST baby we've ever met. We simply adore her." They went on to say how much the lil' dude loved E., their youngest daughter and how much she would love to babysit her.

And this is an option the Dad and I have always considered and hoped to utilize. We want our time alone when we need it and have nothing against teenaged babysitters. Except, I once was one.



I know they rummage through your things.
I know they watch too much MTV.
I know they will eat all the good food and hide the wrappers in their jean pockets.
I know they will not put your kids to bed how or when you want them to.
I know they will charge you a lot. A lot more than YOU got paid in the day.
I know your baby will come to really, really love them, maybe more than they do you, even.

Those are the things we'll have to overcome I guess. I simply cannot ask an "auntie" to watch the lil' dude every time we need someone because she'll likely be one of the people I'll want to spend my free time with. We're having a giant party at the house next week in honor of the Dad's 30th and America's birthdays. I have already lined up an "auntie", prego-friend to take the lil' dude home with her at both their bedtimes of 8pm in exchange for her leaving the drunk H behind. I promise, babe, you're getting the better deal . . .

Names in a Hat

I have a few close friends who are about to be mama's thinking of names. Naturally, it has me thinking of names and offering these ladies my little nuggets of name goodness. It's so much fun. Like this week, I was telling prego-friend of a birth announcement I read of twins, a boy and a girl, and the announcement named their big sister. The three names are all names prego-friend and her H like and have tossed around, and they aren't super common names. Small world!

In high school, madly and blindly in love with The One (errr, The One Who Cheated and Broke My Heart) I decided my baby names would be Madison and Noah. Very vanilla, yes. I have journals I kept from those days, with blonde-haired kids' pictures cut out of Estee Lauder ads proclaiming, "my daughter Madison," and "my son Noah." I still am really fond of the name Noah.

A boy name the Dad liked pre-mama? Memphis, for a boy. Think Gone in 60 Seconds, with Angelina and Nic Cage. My mom about dropped dead when he casually mentioned that to her and clutched my arm, "tell me you won't name your child That?"

The Dad and I settled on our baby names, one for each gender, about an hour after we started dating. Well, maybe that was more me. Whatever, they were done deals before we got married. Interestingly enough, the name we chose for the lil' dude was a girl name I had liked since high school. A woman my mom worked with had a granddaughter by the name . . . I had never heard it before and thought it was so pretty and unique. It's an old-lady name, I guess. And this is where the interesting part comes in, I would soon enough learn the Dad's mom's maiden name was the same, just spelled differently. It was like that name was meant to be. We went with the MIL's spelling, plus a vowel. To say she was shocked and honored which catapulted me into eternal daughter-in-law awesomeness is an understatement. After the lil' dude was born and named, the rest of the Dad's extended family was all like, "Why didn't we think of that?"

The boy name we still have locked in the vault. It is a family name from my side, and it's still a secret. I hope to see my dad's face if we get to use it, since it's a name honoring him. I want to use that name badly, and it has me thinking, can a name be universal? Is this name destined to be used by next and probable last baby regardless of sex? I don't know, but some people do. I personally like the names Dru, Ryan, and Alix for girls.

The two mama-and-the-Dad chosen names aside, I feel like I can share the list of names I would use as my baby names. I don't own the names, will not use them (unless something goes terribly wrong and I give birth to a litter) and always think it's interesting to see what names people like, and why.

#2 boy name: Beckett
#2 girl name: Finley

I can see these names on a Christmas card together, I love them both so much. I don't know where Beckett popped into my head from, but I know a few years ago I was watching an NBA game with the Dad and a player from the Spurs named Michael Finley had an amazing game . . . and the announcers kept saying Finley over and over again. I loved it right then.

As I continue down my short list of girl names, I can see a trend here. I like names that end in-y or the -ee sound.
Ruby.
Linley.
Hadley. (just heard this one!)
Maybe I could envision myself yelling for the kids at dinnertime from the porch. The -y names carry well and can be stretched out. Try it once. Finleyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy . . .
Harper.
Willow.
And, Wren. I think that is such a beautiful name for a sweet little girl.

Boy names. Always come easier to me. Why?
When I was about 20 weeks pregnant, I dreamt of having twin boys, Ned and Gus. I don't know where those names came from, but I loved both of those instantly too. If I had to pick one, I'd choose Ned.
Leo.
Shaw.
Ellis.
Jameson.
Jace.
Emerson.
Asa. (pronounced, Aye-SAW) I met a guy at a work function by this name and he was h-o-t hot. But still, instant cool name.
Penn.
Henrik.
Tate.
Haven. I knew an old guy who lived by my grandparents' farm with this name.
Cash.

You're thinking, Cash? but not Memphis? It's just different, you see.
And, I secretly hope someone sees name on this list and chooses it for their little lima bean. I would savor the credit.

Wordless Wednesday: In Love with an Older Man

I Will Give You Something to Cry About

The lil' dude threw a tantrum last night. Very unlikely for her, yes. Very emotional. Very dramatic. Very shit, is that what she is going to be like?

Last week, I spent the first three days abandoning all most everything except drinking and going to work without drying my hair. Baby on vaca=mama and daddy on vaca. The other four days I spent picking up the lil' dude and playing the days away with our peeps. Sunday night I went to bed exactly 13 minutes after the lil' dude did, at 8:13pm. Whew! Tired chicas from all our days of play- and cutting teeth and whatnot.

So, last night, it was time to rectify the mess that our home had morphed into. I had one of those days at work where you know you'd rather stay there all night long instead of going home to the unpleasantness that is Homeowning. What I wanted to do was watch Y&R and eat gummi bears on the floor and play blocks with the baby.

Instead, I needed to go laundry, shovel out my bedroom floor, weed the garden, clean the master bathroom, do baby laundry, water the house plants, read my new Wonder Time, People, and Martha Stewart Living. I needed to make rice, grill whitefish for dinner. I needed to make Jell-o for gym breakfasts. I had to hang 3 wet baskets of clothes on the line. To quote the lil' dude's fairy godmother, I needed a wife.

I put that Super Content So Sweet and Eager to Play on Her Own baby on the floor with her fave toys and blanket. I started off with my list . . . and she screamed. And screamed, and screamed. I was watching her do this, turning red with fury and spurting out hot, wet tears. Holy shit. Can the neighbors hear that?

I went over and picked her up, and went out to water the deck flowers. Hard to do with a wiggly baby and 5 gallon watering can. I put her back in the house, gave her the trusty pluggie, and walked away. I wasn't even 2 feet away when she violently flung herself on her back and resumed wailing, the silent-for-3-seconds-while-the-lungs-refill-with-gusto. I went downstairs anyways . . . she was dry, was full, was not being eaten alive by a small woodland creature . . .

Then, I heard it. It sounded like she fell off a piece of furniture. And again, and one more time . . . and a 4th time. What the? I ran back up, and there she was, all 19 pounds of flailing tornadic spasm. She was lifting her legs and banging them on the floor, and she had her arms going with that rhythm too. She was losing her shit! Tan-trum.

You've seen the pictures in National Geographic where the mothers have their babies tied in a sling-apparatus to their hip, and at the same time have a bag of rice hefted over one shoulder and a pot of water on their head? They aren't doing this because they want their children to get in some good bonding and affection, no. No, they are doing this because it is the only way they get anything done for fear of the tantrum. Me? I don't have a sling . . .

Back At'Er

She's back!

8 days, 5 different places, at least 9 big car rides, three different bedrooms in which to sleep, one amazing "auntie" to cheer on and 13.1 miles of running in the sunshine, 109 faces to look at and swat with wet palms, big-gulp 8oz. bottles, first two teeth, 4 loads of laundry, one bottle of Tylenol, two handles on the sippy cup mastered, one excited puppy later . . .

The lil' dude is home where she belongs.

The Dad and I were thrilled when we rolled into the driveway last night and it was just us. We took the baby around the house to show her the pretty flowers and bird's nest that newly arrived this last week. She found her Exersaucer, the toys, her TV. Her highchair and bibs and best of all, her bed. She exclaimed "wheeee wheeee" as she rolled around in her crib. 8 nights of sleeping in the hard mesh Pack 'n' Play is enough for a lifetime!

This morning she was up before anyone else, quietly playing with her singing puppy in her sunny room. She babbled all the way to daycare this morning, so excited to see her littles. Welcome back, they'll say, we missed you!

Oh, how we did. While the Dad and I enjoyed each other last week, we sure missed her. It's amazing how large the impact one small creature can make. We're going to savor the days too, because in exactly two weeks, she's off to her grandparents for a week. Oh, Miss Popularity! Currently taking reservations for summer 2009 . . .

Letters from Summer Camp, Day 2

Good morning! Lil' Dude is doing fine. She went to her first baseball game last night. She wasn't too thrilled, but had fun log rolling across the blanket and entertaining everyone. She slept good again last night and went down for a nap at 9am and is still sleeping now at noon. I think she may be getting a tooth. I gave her some Tylenol this a.m. because she seemed just a little fussy. I can feel a little lump on her gum, so it should be coming through soon. We are going to go down and visit with great-Grandma S. and great-Grandpa R. when she wakes up from her nap. She is such an easy keeper. A different house and different routine doesn't seem to upset her too much. She sure likes A.! They are having a blast together. Enjoy your time alone with The Dad - see you Thursday!