The Morning After

You know when you leave a party.. you get into the car.. and you can't wait to ask your husband, "Did she REALLY say that?" That was certainly the case for me last night. However, the question wasn't did she really say that.. the question was more like, "Did I really say that?" Ugghh. We received a gift.. a very personal sweet gift that someone spent a lot of time on. Everyone at the party got one. It was our 'party favor' so to speak. This sweet person went to a lot of trouble to make these wonderful ornaments with a picture of each couple on it. It was such a great idea. Very creative, very thoughtful. However, the picture that Craig and I sent to her wasn't exactly ideal for the amount of space on the ornament. You see, these hand crafted ornaments were a surprise to us. We were only told to send a picture of the two of us. Something extremely difficult to do since we have none. The only recent picture we have of just us was taken as I was being wheeled into the operating room for Presley's birth. Considering we were both in surgical gear and I was the size of a barn, that's not exactly the picture we wanted to send. The picture we ended up finding was from three years ago at Christmas. It was a close up of me and Craig. Apparently, it was so close that our heads were too big so they asked us to send another picture. Aside from using our wedding picture from seven years ago, we have none. So this sweet little crafty mama used what she had. She had nothing else to go on. She had lemons so she was attempting to make lemonade. Her husband later told us she spent days on it. Cutting, pasting.. trying to get it perfect. The problem was, because of the photo we sent, perfection was not attainable. So, God love her, she cut my head out.. and glued it next to a much smaller photo of Craig. My head looked quite large next to his.. nearly 3D. When we received the gift, instead of opening it and being gracious.. we opened it and died of laughter. We made several little jokes about it.. she has a marvelous sense of humor and laughed as well.. and then came the big whammy. I actually said to her, laughing, trying to be funny, trying to be a comic, thinking I was the funniest person in room, "Did you make this and actually think, 'Wow, they will really love it!'" Ok, what?!?! Who is that rude?!?! Who would ever have the nerve to make such a comment. I mean seriously! For the love of Peter, Paul and Mary - who says that?! I would love to blame it on the alcohol. But I just had one glass of wine. I did however drink an entire pitcher of Crystal Light. Maybe the aspartame made me say it. Maybe aspartame has some 'stupid comment' side effect when consumed in large quantities. Maybe I'll write to the makers of aspartame asking them to put a warning on the product so others can avoid such tragedies. Later when my husband and I got into the car, I asked the big question. I was somehow hoping maybe I didn't in fact say it. That it was just a bad dream. Unfortunately he informed me, I indeed opened my big mouth and inserted my foot. It was a long car ride home. An hour and a half actually. This morning when I woke up I felt terrible. I wish it was that terrible hang over feeling because it would go away. Unfortunately it's that terrible, "I can't believe I really said that" feeling that only goes away over time. A long, long time. I'm debating whether to send flowers, a card, chocolate, wine, a new car. Next year, if we're invited, I will drink lots of alcohol. Then if I say something stupid maybe I won't remember it. The long car ride home won't be so painful. The next morning won't be so brutal. We have another Christmas party tonight. I know what I won't be drinking (Crystal Light is the devil) and saying.

The 'New' Bedroom Set

When I was about ten or eleven years old, my parents bought me a new bedroom set. It was very special to me. We went to several stores in Topeka to find some furniture.. but they didn't have anything I liked. I wanted white wicker.. and nothing else. So, one evening after my parents got home from work, we drove all the way to Kansas City to look for one. It was a thrill because we rarely went to Kansas City.. I got to stay up late.. and I would soon be done with my hand-me-down furniture that looked like it could implode at any given moment. I was so excited once my white wicker furniture arrived. Everyone who came over 'got' to see it. I absolutely loved it. Twenty years later that same bedroom set now sits in Piper's room. Craig and I put it in there recently. When we were cleaning it up for her, it was funny to think back on all the little markings that are on it today. When I got my Laura Ashley bedding (a huge deal back in the 80's.. it was like wearing Izod when you were a kid) I proudly displayed the Laura Ashley stickers on the side of my dresser. Part of those stickers are still there (we are working on removing them.. they're not so cool today!). When I was in middle school I taped up pictures of my friends on the hutch above my desk.. when I took down the pictures, a little bit of paint peeled off with it. It's still there. On one of the shelves I used to have a tiny little black and white TV that only got one or two channels.. and only if the antenna was placed in just the right spot. The scratches from moving the TV around to get a decent signal are still there. It's funny to see Piper so excited about 'her new' bedroom set. She too takes everyone up to see it when they come over. I wonder what marks she'll make on it. The memories she'll have from it. Today I just laid in her (my) bed thinking about all those marks and what they represented. New memories that Piper and I will share together.

Oudated Running Tights

This morning on my trail run, I wore my favorite running tights. They're super comfy.. they've got lots of color and apparently they're really outdated. Upon arrival, my sister informed me they were bad. Really bad. Then during the run (we run with about eight people), one of the guys told me I was probably scaring off all the wildlife because my pants were so loud. Keep in mind, this guy isn't exactly Mr. Trendsetter. He was wearing a neon yellow vest. So the fact that a guy who is not the snappiest dresser noticed that I was wearing outdated pants concerns me. They must in fact be... outdated. I did buy them at the Nike outlet store in Colorado in 1998. I remember it vividly. It just doesn't feel that long ago. I also had on my 'Sigma Chi winter formal' windbreaker that is from 1998 as well. It proudly displays the date so that everyone knows it's old. I'm old. I love that jacket. Just as much as I love those pants. They just go together. This afternoon I was going through old clothes.. making piles to donate, etc. I had to call my sister to see if a pair of cargo pants I have are still in style. Before she could answer, she informed me the first pair of pants that need to go are the running tights I wore this morning. Ugly and unflattering she said. "Get black," she told me. I wasn't sure whether to be mad at her for her brutal honesty or to thank her. I'm a bit infamous for my outdated workout pants. In college I had a pair of bright blue sweats that were so ugly and outdated I couldn't not wear them. They were too funny. Then someone stole them and it became even funnier. My friends and I would make special announcements at very serious meetings requesting my 80's sweats back. Which makes me laugh uncontrollably even today. They were pretty bad. So I'm still on the fence about whether to keep my pants or to donate them. I can wear them and joke about them.. just like the 80's sweats. Or I could just get a 'black' pair. Boring. Well, I do have a pair of bright purple running tights that I could probably wear instead. They're far from boring. Wait a minute though. I think I got them on the same shopping trip in 1998. Well, I guess there's nothing wrong with boring.

A Hard Hitting Journalist

In Journalism school they teach you a lot of things. Things like, if your mother tells you she loves you, check it out.. don't be afraid to ask the tough question, etc. You know, hard hitting stuff. What they don't teach you or prepare you for is exactly what's happened to me over the past two days. I'm doing some freelance writing for a new weekly newspaper here in town. I'm currently writing about a construction project gone bad. I'm getting close to my deadline and I need to talk to people now if not sooner. So, I absolutely had to make a phone call to the construction company late this afternoon.. I needed to get to the bottom of it. The only problem.. Presley was screaming because she was starving.. and Piper and Brooks were acting nuts-o because they refused to nap. So as I'm calling the project manager, I am warming up baby food for Presley. I clearly didn't want him to hear the microwave beeping so every time it would get close, I would run downstairs... wait for it to beep, then come back up to stir and reheat. Fortunately I had a microphone attached to the phone so I didn't have to write anything down (a huge infraction in the journalism world.. I'm sure feeding your child baby food during a tough interview would've also made the list but I don't think someone could've ever imagined that happening). Once the food was warmed up, I was feeding Presley sweet potatoes and green beans drilling this guy about why his project was so screwed up. I was thinking the entire time.. oh, if he only knew. When he was about to 'buckle' under intense questioning (ok, a bit dramatic.. but it was getting good).. Brooks comes running into the kitchen whining about something. Quickly, I handed him a bag of chips (something I NEVER DO), gave him the 'mean mommy' face to quiet down.. and shooed him out of the kitchen. If that wasn't bad enough, yesterday I had to call the Mayor to interview him for the same story.. never thinking he would actually take my call. I had Piper (she's four) watching Presley (she's seven months) while Brooks (he's two) was upstairs napping. About two minutes into the interview Brooks wakes up and starts screaming bloody murder while the Mayor is expressing extreme frustration with the project. I was thinking, ok.. what is going on up there.. his hand is getting cut off.. his head is stuck in the rails of his bed.. someone is climbing up a ladder to his room attempting to break-in and kidnap him.. meanwhile I'm on the phone interviewing the Mayor about a roundabout project. Thank you sweet baby Jesus for Piper. She goes upstairs.. takes care of the situation with Brooks (fortunately, nothing traumatic was happening to him and I still don't know why he was screaming).. helps him down the stairs.. and quietly goes back into the room with Presley to continue watching her. Amazing. Simply amazing. She wins babysitter of the year award at the ripe old age of four. Of all the times I imagined being a journalist in college, this was never part the dream. I never once aspired to be a no-nonsense reporter who feeds her baby homemade organic sweet potatoes and green beans during tough interviews. I have another interview tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. (random time, I realize.. but that's the only time it would work for him). I'm sure Presley will right there with me.. this time she'll have bananas and applesauce... and the kids might just have chips for breakfast.

Hush Little Baby

It's currently 2:04 a.m. If I were a smoker, I'd be lighting it up. If I were a drinker, I'd be pouring myself a tall one. However, I'm none of these things. I am a mom trying to let her seven month old cry it out. It's been going on for about twenty minutes now. Her screaming. I have no idea how long she will cry. We've never really let her cry that long before. The past few nights she's been up three times to nurse. Yes that's right. She's been up three times in the middle of the night to nurse. It's killing us. As my husband says, instead of going forwards, we're going backwards with her sleeping. So tonight's the night. We're done. It's for the sake of sanity. Survival really. We can no longer wake up three times in the middle of the night and expected to be bright, happy, cheery people the next day. It is physically impossible. Our pediatrician said cut her off. She's getting no nutritional value from it. I feel like yelling under the door, 'this is not our fault.. your doctor told us to do it... so please.. don't be mad at us.. don't hate us.. it's for your (our) own good... really (i think).' But I'm not sure that would do much good. She'd probably be like, 'whatever lady, just get in here.' I just don't know why this is so hard to do with Presley. With Brooks, it was no big deal. We were like, you're done waking up in the middle of the night.. and that was it. He cried a few nights for a little bit and then he was good to go. Snoozing all the way through. We didn't think twice. Apparently, we had tougher skin. It was tough love and that was fine. But with Presley, this is really hard. Maybe it's because she's our last.. maybe I've gone soft. Maybe it's because we live in a different house now and it seems like her screams are on an intercom system that carries through the entire house at full blast. I'm not really sure. I just keep picturing her sweet little face crying, crying, crying wondering why I've not come to rescue her. 'Mom, what's the deal. What in the world did I do? Why are you being so mean to me?' I'm just sure those things are going through her mind right now. Maybe I'll go drive around... grab an ice tea, maybe a magazine, some peanut M&M's. I could just sit in the garage and hang out. I know I couldn't hear her in there. There would be no risk of me caving.. flinging open the door to rush in and pick up my sweet baby. Oh wait, she's calming down. Maybe this is our big break. Nope, she's firing up again. Ok, now she's calm. I hear her little voice getting sleepy. I had to read my Bible earlier tonight to stay strong.. to prep for this. I need divine intervention in a big, bad way. Hummm, I think she might be asleep now. Nope, I just heard her again. But I think she's tapering. It's now been quiet for about three minutes. Oh Lord. Please, let this be it. Ok, we've made it a few more minutes. Not a peep. The knot in my stomach is slowly going away. I did it. She did it. It's 2:41.

Fit For a Queen

You know it's time to take your child out of the bassinet when their feet hang over the edge. That was the case for Miss Presley. My husband woke up the other morning and found her feet dangling off the side. At nearly seven months, she has officially outgrown the bassinet. Craig informed me that she outgrew it at four months... but who's counting. It's not like she sits up in the morning and goes, 'hey guys, what's for breakfast?' Frankly, I've just been a little afraid.. petrified actually.. to move her out of it because of the screaming. If we go backwards and she starts screaming again.. I'll die. Or go Crazy. Or both. But Craig made the switch. I walked upstairs and saw the bassinet in the hallway. A true sign that we were done. She was done. So she's temporarily sleeping in the pack and play. The funny thing is.. she seems to love it. She's taken her best naps since the switch. She can roll around.. lay on her belly.. snuggle up in a little ball. She's found freedom. In a pack and play. Our next step is trying to get her to sleep through the night. She still wakes up twice a night. It's killing us. We're mentally preparing ourselves to let her cry it out. But we're not there yet. At least I'm not. It's tough on a mom. Maybe she needs even more space to sleep. Maybe she needs an even bigger bed.. like our queen size. A bed fit for a queen.. and she certainly is that.. or at least a princess anyway.

We Like Mike

"Autism Speaks". What a fabulous slogan for the autism community. Well today in Kansas City, autism wasn't just speaking.. it was yelling.. 'find a cure, find treatment options, find the cause'. Nearly 10,000 people gathered this morning for a benefit walk at the Kansas Speedway to raise money and awareness for this disorder. We were there in support of our dear friend, Michael. He has autism. He is very high functioning. Upon meeting him, you'd probably never know anything was different about him. He is loving. Encouraging. He always puts others before him. He loves kids, they love him.. and he'll be the first to tell you. What I love most is that he's endearing. He sincerely cares about you. He's genuine. He also works hard at his job. Loves movies. Loves life. Before he reads a card, he always looks at the back to see how much it costs. He's fun to be around. He always kicks my rear when we run together. But he's never rubbed it in. Like so many others, this disorder has robbed him. His family. His friends. The Autism Speaks organization says that one in 150 people are diagnosed with this disorder. That's mind blowing. It's not fair. How would Michael's life be different if he wasn't 'the one'. What would he do. What would he be. Questions that have no doubt rattled through the minds of his family members millions of times by now. Michael had a very large group walking on his behalf today... raising over a thousand dollars in his honor. And that 'speaks' volumes for Michael.