My maternal grandmother's sister died. From cancer.
My husband's best friend's father died. From cancer.
One of the lawyers I work with gave notice, then left the building. Forever.
This has been a weird day to say the least.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Making time
When you're pregnant for the first time, people always tell you to enjoy them when they're little because it goes so fast. And you kindly nod. Because you really don't know what they're talking about, even if you're pretty sure they haven't figured out how to make time go faster.
Then it happens. You have this wonderful little baby in your arms. Busby was all red and sleepy and cuddly and small when he was born. Now he's almost 4. He says things like "This is serious, mom," and "you need to be nicer to people," and "I need to tell you something mommy." And I'm all like, WHOA!!! Who are you, and where is my little baby? He proudly tells me his full name, and tells me that McCloud is playing on the floor. Hmmm.
When you're pregnant with your second child, people tell you that you'll really have no time now, and that you're crazy for having your kids so close together, and to kiss clean laundry goodby. And you vow that you will make time for your husband, and you will still see your friends, and that in the name of all that is holy, you will wear clean clothes every day.
But then I had a 17 month old and a newborn. Egads! And my newborn was not nearly as small as her brother. Janet was a ferocious eater that had me thinking I may never be without a Boppy pillow around me again. But, of course, she's grown. And according to my father, she is a Mini Me. She's plump, blond, and opinionated. She throws fits and cries until she pukes. And when you put her pj's on her, she says "I'm the princess!" She loves to have ponytails and barretts in her hair. She carries a purse and almost always has a plush kitten with her. She's fiercly loyal to her brother, and will not hesitate to knock him down for the toy she wants.
When you're pregnant with your third child, people tell you that it's no longer man-to-man, it's time for a zone defense. And they question how you will pack three kids into that Jeep Grand Cherokee. Are you going to buy that minivan you've been coveting? They ask if you are going to build onto your house, so that none of the kids will have to share a room. And they question your ability to give this child as much attention as the first or second.
So, McCloud arrives. Small and red and squinty-eyed the day after her sister's 2nd birthday. She's calm. She observes. She lights up when someone smiles at her. She is zealously watched over by her brother and sister. She goes to bed at 7 p.m. and sleeps 12 hours.
So I don't get to shower every day. And I'm often wearing clothes that have been spit-up on, but deemed good enough to wear again before washing. And no, I don't get to give her as much attention at this stage of the game as I would like. But I do go in her room while she's sleeping. I touch her face and hold her hand and tell her all about her family. When she stays awake longer, I'll get to read to her more, and sing to her more, and get to hear her stories. But for now, watching her sleep is enough.
Then it happens. You have this wonderful little baby in your arms. Busby was all red and sleepy and cuddly and small when he was born. Now he's almost 4. He says things like "This is serious, mom," and "you need to be nicer to people," and "I need to tell you something mommy." And I'm all like, WHOA!!! Who are you, and where is my little baby? He proudly tells me his full name, and tells me that McCloud is playing on the floor. Hmmm.
When you're pregnant with your second child, people tell you that you'll really have no time now, and that you're crazy for having your kids so close together, and to kiss clean laundry goodby. And you vow that you will make time for your husband, and you will still see your friends, and that in the name of all that is holy, you will wear clean clothes every day.
But then I had a 17 month old and a newborn. Egads! And my newborn was not nearly as small as her brother. Janet was a ferocious eater that had me thinking I may never be without a Boppy pillow around me again. But, of course, she's grown. And according to my father, she is a Mini Me. She's plump, blond, and opinionated. She throws fits and cries until she pukes. And when you put her pj's on her, she says "I'm the princess!" She loves to have ponytails and barretts in her hair. She carries a purse and almost always has a plush kitten with her. She's fiercly loyal to her brother, and will not hesitate to knock him down for the toy she wants.
When you're pregnant with your third child, people tell you that it's no longer man-to-man, it's time for a zone defense. And they question how you will pack three kids into that Jeep Grand Cherokee. Are you going to buy that minivan you've been coveting? They ask if you are going to build onto your house, so that none of the kids will have to share a room. And they question your ability to give this child as much attention as the first or second.
So, McCloud arrives. Small and red and squinty-eyed the day after her sister's 2nd birthday. She's calm. She observes. She lights up when someone smiles at her. She is zealously watched over by her brother and sister. She goes to bed at 7 p.m. and sleeps 12 hours.
So I don't get to shower every day. And I'm often wearing clothes that have been spit-up on, but deemed good enough to wear again before washing. And no, I don't get to give her as much attention at this stage of the game as I would like. But I do go in her room while she's sleeping. I touch her face and hold her hand and tell her all about her family. When she stays awake longer, I'll get to read to her more, and sing to her more, and get to hear her stories. But for now, watching her sleep is enough.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Next she'll be driving
Go figure. I'm trying to find something that is not cereal for my family to eat for dinner. I put the baby on her back on the Baby Einstein mat...the one that plays the same annoying music over and over but the kids all seem to love it. But not tonight. She's crying. And I'm scrambling to find dinner. She's still crying. I go to soothe her and discover the problem.
She's on her stomach.
She rolled over, and I totally missed it.
She's on her stomach.
She rolled over, and I totally missed it.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Play ball
Busby has a piggy bank with decals of baseballs, footballs and basketballs. It plays "Take me out to the ballgame" when you put money in it.
Janet has a Precious Moments piggy bank that is smaller than Busby's bank. It doesn't sing at all.
This evening Busby said to me, "My mommy piggy has balls on it."
Call me juvenile, but that was funny.
Janet has a Precious Moments piggy bank that is smaller than Busby's bank. It doesn't sing at all.
This evening Busby said to me, "My mommy piggy has balls on it."
Call me juvenile, but that was funny.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
No Words
My husband's best friend's father was just diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic cancer. That has metastasized to his liver.
The only thing I can think of is, "I have no response to that."*
*I stole that line from a co-worker, who stole it from "Joe vs. The Volcano."
The only thing I can think of is, "I have no response to that."*
*I stole that line from a co-worker, who stole it from "Joe vs. The Volcano."
Revelations
In a matter of seconds, I threw caution to the wind and exposed myself.
My name and picture are now on this blog. Even though the picture also features the very beautiful McCloud, I'm still conflicted about posting pics of the kids.
My name and picture are now on this blog. Even though the picture also features the very beautiful McCloud, I'm still conflicted about posting pics of the kids.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)