My Mommy's Place: Mommy's Blog

You Know Where You Are? You’re In My Fish Tank, Baby. You’re Gonna Dieeeee!

Leslie — Sat, 17 May 2008 15:05:47 +0000

Fish tank is cloudy.
Another one bites the dust.
Will it ever end?

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A Bulleted Post: The Overwhelmed And Floopy Version

Leslie — Fri, 16 May 2008 17:52:59 +0000

I’m feeling all out of control, lately. Like there’s just too much I’m responsible for and I can’t quite get my arms around it all. So, while I’m exhausting myself trying to keep up, it appears that I’m doing everything half-assed. And I’m not a half-assed person at all. I’m a big ass person. So, it’s frustrating.

When I feel like this, me no put words together good. But I’ve got stuff to tell you and requests to make. So, it’s bullets. Let’s go!

I started a Daily Haiku feature for my blogdiggity space, here. Check it out, yo.

I’m still ~~begging~~ looking for This Is Motherhood submissions. Show me love, show me life. Baby, show me what it’s all about. You’re the only one that I ever needed. Show me love and what it’s all about. Alright. (See the italics? That’s me singing to you. Do you see how heartfelt my plea is? Singing!)

My husband has a mega-crush on Kellie Pickler. He is trying to deny it in spite of this incriminating evidence written in response to his friend’s admission that, “I’m secretly in love with Kellie Pickler so it really doesn’t matter what she says. That’s just me, though. I’m such a sucker for incredible looking blondes . . . dumb or not. I will say that my wife has roughly 4 million more brain cells than Pickler but . . . ”

And David writes:

“Pickler is something, isn’t she? The wife is watching me so I had better just leave it at that. LoL.”

Doesn’t that tell you he has thoughts about her that are impure in nature, so much so that he doesn’t want me to know them? If your answer is yes, do me a solid and go let him know. If your answer is no, then move along. Nothing to see here.

I agreed to make cookies for the reception following Julia’s piano recital this weekend. What kind should I make? I’m looking for a kick ass recipe that will make people want to crown me the Goddess of Cookie Making. Any suggestions?

It’s been a while since I did a video blog. Is it time for another one?

Opinion Polls & Market Research

Alright Cool Kids. That’s it for me. Over and out.

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Just One Of The Messes I Cleaned Up Today

Leslie — Fri, 16 May 2008 05:17:02 +0000

Light blue sidewalk chalk
all over the piano
Julia was here

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Because I Know You Like Pictures Of Weiners.

Leslie — Wed, 14 May 2008 02:19:18 +0000

Since our snug little budget has gotten a bit snugger with the rise of gas prices and, therefore, the price of everything else, our grocery budget has us surviving on dinners of pasta and fake meat. Like hot dogs.

One of my favorite dishes to make lately is pasta shells and mixed vegetables in an alfredo sauce. And I top it with hot dogs cut to resemble octopuses (or octopi. Either is acceptable, really.) as Julia finds them much more palatable that way.

I know. You’re thinking, “Hold up there, Flapjack. That ain’t no hot dog octopus.”

I realize the octopus pictured above has only four tentacles. But I see the food I cook as a work of art. Since this is merely a representation of an octopus, I allowed myself some artistic license. I believe the four tentacled hot dog octopus conveys the true essence of the octopus whereas that essence was lost in the detail of the technically more accurate eight tentacled hot dog octopus. Plus, I’m just not good at slicing them that thin.

So, hot dog, hot dog, hot diggety dog, I’m splittin the scene. And I’m full of beans, They Might Be Giants.

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A Little Insight Into Why We Just Might End Up Like The Duggars

Leslie — Tue, 13 May 2008 01:42:40 +0000

Dave went along to the grocery store with the girls and me today.

Amid my frantic mission to make it home before the baby needed to nurse again, I stopped in the cereal aisle, looked up from my shopping list and watched him strolling toward me. Lucy was wrapped snug against his chest in the Moby. He was patting her back with one hand and holding Julia’s with the other.

And I fell in love with him all over again.

The Most Beautiful Woman In The World

Leslie — Sun, 11 May 2008 12:29:13 +0000

When she clicks the link to my blog today and sees that photo up there, she’ll make a face and groan. Because she doesn’t like looking at herself. She’d much rather look at a photo of her grandchildren. The funny thing is, when I look at my girls, I can’t help but see her in them.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you.

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Down With The Sickness

Leslie — Sat, 10 May 2008 16:29:42 +0000

It all started with Julia catching a cold. I’m not sure how she caught it - kids catch colds, yo - but I’d been trying to convince her that it was because she picks her nose so much. Cure the cold, cure the nosepicking. Two birds, one stone. That’s what I was thinking. Anyhow, she got it first.

A few days later, Dave had it.

By Wednesday afternoon, I had it.

And by Thursday, my three week old baby had it and I officially became THE WORST MOTHER KNOWN TO MAN. Not only did I allow my newborn baby to get sick, I GAVE IT TO HER.

It really was inevitable. She spends 89.6% of her time within two feet of my face - the place with three germ spewing holes. The good news is, I also have these amazing breasts that produce extra-super-fantastic-miracle milk. So, we settled into bed for a nursing marathon, hoping that the power of the boob would prevail over the sickness.

By Friday, the sickness had come on full force and I was miserable. Lucy was congested. Julia was all better and completely bored with being stuck at home with sick people. Dave was making requests for me to get some of his jeans in the laundry and, well, let’s just put it in the form of an equation in which BP = Bored Preschooler, IH = Insensitive Husband, SM = Sick Mommy and CB = Congested Baby:

(BP + IH) (SM + CB) = BP In Washing Machine + IH Beaten With His Own Pants

I spent the next twelve hours doing everything I possibly could to make Lucy feel comfortable. In between feedings, I administered saline drops. I held her in the shower with some Shower Soothers. I ran the vaporizor. And I woke up this morning with a pulled muscle in my back from holding her in crazy positions that opened up her nasal passages and allowed her to sleep.

She seems to be feeling better. Her congestion has cleared up enough to allow her to sleep soundly next to me as I type to you. And the fact that I’m blogging right now rather than sleeping could mean that I am A) crazy or B) a genius who has figured out how to survive without sleep altogether!

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A Weighty Issue

Leslie — Wed, 07 May 2008 14:03:37 +0000

My maternity clothes have been packed away; I am back in my pre-pregnancy clothes.

**insert Happy Dance here**

As of last Friday, I’d lost 23 pounds. I’m back at my pre-pregnancy weight, which would be impresssive if I hadn’t already been 100 pounds overweight when I got pregnant.

My very rude and very elderly neighbor (I’m talking about the one who a) calls the “person who answers my phone” [meaning MY voice on my outgoing answering machine message] a bitch, b) told me that it looks as if Lucy was really meant to be a boy, but I’ve got to “have faith that God knew what he was doing when he made her a girl,” and c) stopped by shortly after Lucy was born to ask, “Is she a retard or anything?”) told me that now I can start losing weight.

I just looked at her and smiled politely, because if I don’t argue with her, she just might leave a little sooner. In my head, I was laughing because weight loss is the last thing on my mind. Okay, well not the last thing. Obviously it’s on my mind if I’m writing about it. But, losing weight? It seems ridiculous to worry about when getting the time for a shower is a luxury. I don’t even think about meals until I’m so hungry I could eat garbage. And the idea of exercise just makes me want to crawl in bed and take a nap.

There are only two reasons I am losing weight at this point: Lucy is sucking uber-calories out of me with the constant breastfeeding and Julia found my chocolate stash.

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Beware The Sleep Deprived Mom

Leslie — Tue, 06 May 2008 04:59:56 +0000

I’d been through it before, but somehow I had forgotten how overwhelming the lack of sleep is with a new baby.

I can remember sitting on the floor of Julia’s dimly lit nursery during the 3 a.m. hour, holding her in my arms, rocking my body and singing,

Julia, Julia where shall we go?
The world is a very big place we both know.
To see all its wonders, the wise people say,
would take us, together, a year and a day.

- a song we still, to this day, call “ours,” though I have no idea where I learned it. (I think that memory was erased by fatigue.) I can still see her face with wide eyes, locked on mine - something that you yearn for in those early weeks when they spend more time closed than open. I remember that thrilling sensation of tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine.

What I didn’t remember was the dizzying, bone-aching tiredness and that skull crushing blow that comes when you nod too far forward, then jolt awake and think, “What if I had dropped my baby?” after which you cry and beg for that tiny little miracle to just GO TO SLEEP ALREADY.

ALL of the memories came rushing back quickly in those first few days Lucy was here and I sat in that familiar position with my new baby girl. And I’ve felt a little silly that it took me by surprise all over again.

It’s this torturous level of sleep deprivation that steals my thoughts mid-sentence and forces me to run upstairs three or four times before I actually remember what I went up there for. And it’s what Dave is blaming for my recent waffling about whether or not I should continue with my website, specifically this blog. Oh, the very dramatic waffling that culminated in a family discussion on Friday night during which I cried and even pulled my own hair. Should I keep writing? Perhaps I should continue, but make it less personal, you know, to protect the children.

My family’s advice was to sleep on it.

I did.

Then, I woke up the next morning and read this post from Dooce. And I cried. I read it to Dave. And I cried. Then, I made my Mom read it. And she cried. I think you should read it, too.

Talk about the right post at the right time! The words resonated with me and, finally, something in my new baby fog-filled brain seemed clear: I’m not ready to give this up. How could I even consider it?

It’s amazing what lack of sleep will do to you.

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There Were Never Such Devoted Sisters

Leslie — Sun, 04 May 2008 15:07:11 +0000

Lucy’s foot in Julia’s hands

Julia calls her “my baby.” If Lucy makes a sound, she comes running from wherever she is calling, “My baby needs me!” She helps with the diaper changes and baths. She speaks to her softly and touches her so gently. Her face lights up when their eyes meet and she says, “She sees me!” I expected her to be jealous or feel threatened. If anything, the birth of her sister has made her more loving and confident. The role of big sister fits Julia perfectly. And all that worrying I did during my pregnancy is slowly being erased with each declaration of, “I love my baby sister. She’s the best baby in the world.”