What More Could I Ask?

Of Mice and Men

2010-05-03T10:41:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, I found mouse droppings all over our kitchen counter. I had made the fatal mistake of leaving some dirty dishes on the counter overnight because I was just so effing tired that I didn't feel like dealing with them (know what I mean?). I have done that before without any problem, but not this time. Some little rodent nimbly made it's way across the shiny granite, stopping to paw at some peanut butter stuck to a plate and leave his "calling cards" all over the place. Grossed out and irritated, I spent the better part of 2 hours (you heard me) sanitizing the kitchen and thoroughly washing everything that was on the counter. I even flushed out the coffee pot in case the furry little bastard felt the need for a caffeine fix.

After the kitchen was sparkling, I dug up some mouse traps that had moved with us six years ago. I had almost thrown them out in a fit of cockiness ("We'll never have a mouse problemhere."), but something buried deep in my subconscious mind made me keep them. Luckily. I am an animal lover, but I have my limitations. I don't mind mice if they are in a field or even scampering around my garage. I just don't want them in my house, and certainly not in my kitchen. Since baiting and killing animals is not really my thing, I asked my husband to take care it. I told him that I thought the mouse was getting in through a side door that leads from the outside directly into out kitchen. He put a small cracker topped with peanut butter (seeing as the mouse seemed to like peanut butter before) on the trap and left it sitting by the door, waiting for our unsuspecting and unwanted visitor to nibble. That was four days ago and the peanut butter cracker is still there.

I briefly thought to myself, "Maybe it was a rogue mouse working alone and just needed to cross through our kitchen on his way to bigger and better things." I mentioned this possibility to my neighbor who promptly laughed and shook his head. Guess not. But, we went two days without seeing any sign of a mouse. So, I began to hope. But, alas, yesterday I found a single turd balancing atop of my gorgeous cantaloupe that was ripening in my fruit basket. After whispering some expletives so my toddler wouldn't hear me, I wiped up the aforementioned poop and decided it was time to break out a second trap, this one to be strategically located directly on the counter near where the mouse seemed to like to hang out. I placed the trap on a paper towel and asked my husband to bait it for me again. I went to bed, hoping to be done with this mouse thing soon.

I woke up and checked the traps. Nothing. No sign of a mouse at all. I shrugged and told myself to be patient. As I was making my coffee, however, I took a closer look at the counter-top trap and laughed out loud. My brilliant husband had baited it with peanut butter AND chocolate! Clearly he assumed the mouse was a PMS-ing female. I was so amused by this that I almost forgot how annoyed I was that we even have a mouse situation in the first place. Almost.

So now we're on day 5 of mouse alert and nothing. I am beginning to wonder if the peanut butter combinations are not suiting the palate of our furry friend. Maybe it's time to try good old fashioned cheese.

Expanding my repertoire

2010-02-27T18:18:00.001-08:00

So, I intended this blog to be an homage to my lovely son, now just a few months shy of 2 years old. I enjoy writing about him and his experiences, partially because he's hilarious and I need to document that, but also because it helps me cope with the insanity that is my life. Plus, I am hoping that my wise and thoughtful remarks will be saved for posterity, so when he gets married I can dig up all this crap I've written about him and embarrass him at his rehearsal dinner.

But, recently I've been feeling like I need to expand my repertoire a bit and perhaps write some musings about my life in general. Of course, I am sure that Cole will often be the focal point of this blog, but it's hard to write a blog about one specific person. So, I am widening the scope. And, to begin, a vignette about my husband...

He is a wonderful guy, with many, many talents. Cooking, or anything to do with the kitchen, is not one of them, however. So, when I asked him to heat up some vegetable soup for our growing toddler, I figured how hard could that be? The soup is in a Pyrex bowl, ready to be microwaved and then eaten. Easy. However, he found the avocado-yogurt dip I made, also in one of the aforementioned Pyrex bowls, heated it up and offered it to Cole. Not surprisingly, Cole wasn't interested. The dip, if used as it was originally intended as a creamy, tangy accompaniment to raw veggies, is delicious. Heated in a microwave and spoon-fed to our child, under the guise of it being soup, well... kind of disgusting. So, when I came home and realized that he was attempting to feed Cole dip ("I thought it was pea soup") instead of soup, I was reminded just how specific I need to be when giving instructions that involve the kitchen, preparation of food, and/or eating food. Saying something like, "Please give Cole some of my homemade vegetable soup for dinner. It's in a Pyrex class bowl in the fridge" simply isn't enough. Rather, I should have said, "Please give Cole some of my homemade vegetable soup for dinner. It's the brothy-like substance that is located behind the head of broccoli on the middle shelf of our refrigerator. It has carrots and spinach and potatoes in it. You might have to move the head of broccoli in order to actually see said soup. And, oh, make sure you don't confuse it with the thick, sage green substance in the Pyrex bowl. That's avocado-yogurt dip, not soup." Well, now I know.

Shell Shocked: Memories from My First Few Months of Motherhood

2010-02-01T11:56:00.000-08:00

Recently, some friends and I were reminiscing about the early days of motherhood. We were chuckling about how tired we were, about how big and swollen are boobs were, and how we felt overwhelmed, or as one of my friends aptly said "shell shocked." I hadn't really stopped to think about it before, but that term pretty much described how I felt. I loved the early days and of course I love my son, but looking back it all seems like such a blur. My only rationale: I was indeed shell shocked.

In my typical over-zealous, let's-try-to-do-everything-for-everyone attitude, I approached motherhood full on. I even left the hospital early because I just wanted to get on with it. When we arrived home, I remember feeling confident and prepared. My parents were visiting, and amongst other things, mom was cooking and shopping for us and dad was helping with the dog. They stayed for a month and it was amazing having the help. It wasn't until they left that I began to feel overwhelmed. Take breast feeding, for example. I vividly recall being totally perplexed as to how I was going to prepare and cook dinner, while trying to care for a child. In theory, it doesn't seem that hard to do, but reality is much different. I cannot tell you how many times I had to leave pots bubbling on the stove to breast feed a hungry infant. Or, how many times I would sit down to eat a meal with Cole snuggled up on my lap feeding, blissfully unaware that I was trying to breast feed while also trying to nourish myself. But, perhaps the most ridiculous breast feeding attempt was at a mom and baby yoga class where I was dutifully doing my Warrior 2 pose while Cole was actually latched on feeding. What the hell was I thinking?

I remember desperately wanting to feel connected to the outside world. So, I was constantly online. In hindsight, I think it was my way of staying afloat and not feeling drowned in the sea of motherhood. Thank god I hadn't yet joined Facebook, or I think I would have been updating my status every 5 minutes. Laura Brereton is breast feeding Cole now. Laura Brereton just changed a poopy diaper. Laura Brereton is SOOOO tired.

I also made lots of phone calls and invited everyone and their grandmother over to visit. I was so concerned that my before baby life was just going to evaporate, so I over compensated. I became exhausted, but I was still trying to ride the adrenaline wave of "HOLY SHIT, I HAVE A KID!"

It wasn't until recently that I realized how nuts my life was. Running around, working, cleaning, cooking, caring for Cole (no- this sentence is not meant to be an example of alliteration), walking the dog, showering (next to impossible), interacting with my husband (carefully chosen words), and desperately trying to express my creativity. How could any one, sane person do all this?

The answer is that they can't. But, that didn't stop me from trying. Hence, the shell shocked feeling. I can only hope that when it comes time for baby #2, I will have learned something. I don't have to make a fancy 3 course dinner. I don't have to have a clean house. I don't have to do yoga with a baby on my boob. Following the wise advice of the nurse in Cole's pediatrician's office, all I have to do is love my baby. That's all.

Thanks For the Nice Lunch, Mom, But I Think I'll Just Throw It on the Floor Instead

2010-01-11T12:00:00.000-08:00

Perhaps a nice grilled cheese sandwich with cheddar cheese on organic whole grain bread? Or, maybe a veggie burger, with zesty hummus to dip it in? Maybe you're more in the mood for a simple peanut butter and jelly- an American classic and one of my personal favorites, as well. Hey, I just remembered, a few days ago you gobbled up the tri-colored pasta with peas that I made for you. Maybe you'd like that? You sure seem eager enough to eat the thoughtful meals that I prepare for you. Okay, here's your fork. Why don't you try to put the food on the fork and put the fork in your mouth. Hey, good job! Isn't that delicious? Would you like some more?

Oh, I see you've decided to express your emotions and independence by looking me squarely in the eyes, giving me a mischievous grin, and throwing the aforementioned delicacies right on the floor. You've been told time and time again that it's not ok to throw your food on the floor and that's it's rude to do so. You even know that your food gets taken away when you throw it on the floor. And, yet, the temptation to hear your veggie burger go SPLAT! on the hardwood and then be promptly eaten by the dog is just too much to resist. I've tried firmly saying "NO!". I've tried ignoring it. I've tried laughing a bit and saying with a sigh, "Oh, c'mon. You know we don't do that." Nothing works.

Toddlers seem to be pre-programed to go through a phase of throwing food on the floor. I have been reassured by more than one friend that this is only a phase and that he will grow out of it. I keep thinking that he's not going to grow at all if he continues to throw all his food on the floor instead of eating it. I suppose it must be fun, and I am more than sure that it is sheer entertainment for toddlers to see the look on their parent's face as the food takes it's plunge to the floor. For the parent, or I should say, for this parent, it is sheer frustration and confusion. Why would you want to throw perfectly good, tasty food on the floor? Why don't you want to eat? When you do eat, why do you only want carbs? Why do you love something one day and then refuse to eat it the next? I guess these are the mysteries of being a parent.

Trucks: A Love Story

2009-12-25T11:32:00.000-08:00

I am not all that surprised that my toddler son is extremely excited about all forms of transportation. He points to the sky and says "armane" when an airplane flies over head. He gets giddy when a cyclist zooms past the house on a "bie." He enjoys watching the "tray" that rumbles through our town taking all the commuters to Boston. But, without a doubt, trucks are his favorite. In the world of my son, they are the gods of transportation. Nothing incites more hysteria than when a large dump truck or gas truck drives past our house. He points and screams as loudly as possible, "TRUUHHHHH!" If there are several trucks in a row, he completely looses his mind. When Cole was first born, I was concerned about living on a busy street. We've been very careful to protect him from the Massholes that drive around here. But, I am ironically grateful to have all these cars flying past our house each day because they provide hours of entertainment and happiness to Cole. He loves watching them and pointing out each truck that goes by. He sometimes even does a little victory dance when a particularly cool truck happens to go past our house.

I've been curious why trucks, or transportation in general, are so interesting to small kids. My husband thinks it's because they are big, loud and have lots of things on them. Certainly a valid rationale, but I can't help but wonder if there is some deep, emotional thing buried in the psyche of a toddler that causes them to be incredibly excited about trucks. I mean, if I saw an adult acting the same way about a truck, I would think they were 1.) mentally retarded, 2.) insane, or 3.) just a little strange. But, when a toddler shows such enthusiasm for transportation, it's not only charming and endearing, but encouraged. And, even more interesting, is that his love of trucks has worn off on me. I find now that every time I see a truck, I not only point it out to my son, but I actually am excited about it! How did that happen? I don't really give a s@#* about trucks, but somehow they've become an important part of my life. Just another wonder of motherhood.

The Christmas Spirit

2009-12-11T17:45:00.000-08:00

So, I had these grand plans of having a wonderful Christmas prep day. You know, get the tree, put up the lights, decorate the house. Listen to Christmas music, light a holly berry scented candle, drink some hot chocolate. All of those things actually happened, which is a miracle in and of itself. But, of course, I was cranky because I haven't slept well. My husband was not as in to it as I'd like him to be (and why does this still surprise me?). I thought that my toddler son would enjoy strolling around the Christmas tree nursery, looking at all the pretty trees, wreaths and decorations. All he did was fuss and arch his back in an attempt to squirm out of his stroller. So, my husband took him back to the car, fed him a snack, and let him fall asleep in his car seat while I got the tree and picked out a few nice poinsettias. Not exactly the family outing I had in mind, but I have learned that being flexible and learning to adapt are the two best qualities to possess as a parent.

My husband, god love him, spent about an hour and half putting up the outside lights and I must admit that they do look great. He's an artist and by his very nature he is a perfectionist when it comes to something like hanging lights. With him in charge, the lights were not only distributed evenly, but carefully stylized and artfully hung.

My son and I stayed inside while my husband froze to death in his quest for perfect lights. I was surprised that Cole (aforementioned toddler) showed absolutely no interest in the Christmas tree. As if it was totally normal that we suddenly erected an 8 foot tree in the middle of our living room. All he did was look the tree up and down once, pointed to it and said "TREE!" Then he moved on. I am hoping that he will show the same indifference once we put on the lights and decorations. One can hope.

The Ultimate Parental Crime: A Confession

2009-12-05T09:44:00.000-08:00

I think deep down inside, every parent hopes that they don't do the same annoying things that their own parents did to them. I, for one, am at the top of this list. I have vowed never, ever to tell my kids to suck in their stomachs. I will hopefully never embarrass my kid when their first date comes over to pick them up. And, I vow here and now, with all of you as witnesses, never to insist that my kids answer the phone by saying, "Hello this is the Brereton residence, Laura speaking." Yes, that's how we used to have to answer the phone in my house. I hated it. It was long and awkward and it sounded like I was the receptionist at a law firm.

Ironically, however, I have caught myself doing and saying some things that were frighteningly close to things that my own parents did that annoyed me. More often than not, I catch myself in the nick of time before the words slip from my lips. Or, I stop just in time to avoid looking like a complete moron. But, a few days ago, I committed the ultimate parental crime: I licked my finger and used the saliva to wipe something off my kid's face. GASP! I'll give you a moment to recover...

It has been on my mind for days, keeping me up at nights and torturing my psyche as I try to convince myself that I am not turning into my parents. I remember vividly my mom licking her thumb and then wiping a bit of crumb from the corner of my mouth or a bit of dirt off my face. Who in the hell decided that someone else's saliva is more sanitary than food crumbs or a little dirt? Clearly, this childhood experience has left me scarred.

And, yet, I did it to my own child. My beautiful, funny, easy-going, all-around-great kid. I don't even remember the specifics or what was on his face. It all happened so fast. I just quickly licked my thumb and wiped his face. It was innocent enough, but the minute I did it, I regretted it. I was in shock, honestly. If my husband hadn't been there witnessing the horror, I think I would have just repressed the action somewhere deep in my subconscious mind.

My kid seemed completely unfazed by the entire experience (thank god!). I, on the other hand, am so annoyed that I did it. My mind is still reeling, trying to figure out what in the world would make me do it. I guess it was kind of a knee jerk reaction. But, if anything good can come from this experience, it is that at least I am aware that I did it and hopefully won't do it again. That's all I can hope for.

Oh, it looks like you have a little something on your face. Here, let me get it...

To sleep or not to sleep? That is the question. Part II

2009-11-27T18:55:00.000-08:00

The saga continues...

Well, the waking up in the middle of night routine has been going on now for about 2 months. Was it the cold? Was it teething? Who knows. Probably a combination of a lot of things. We are currently visiting family in Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving and low and behold Cole has decided to freak out every time we place him into his crib to sleep. We've tried to keep the bedtime routine the same as when we're at home: brush teeth, read book, sings songs, snuggle, snooze, in that order. Usually it works quite well. But, the past 2 nights he's been falling asleep in my arms only to wake up dramatically when I place him into his crib. So, yesterday, I gave in. I never thought I'd have to use the Ferber technique, but I just couldn't take it anymore. So, I put him down for his nap and just let him cry. I kissed him and told him I loved him and left the room. He cried- quite intensely- for about 20 minutes and then fell asleep. We did the same thing at bedtime. I put him to bed, kissed him and told him I loved him. Then, I had to let him cry. Nothing, I repeat nothing, sucks more than to hear your child cry. But, after about 20 minutes he fell asleep. He even slept through the night (gasp!). So, I was beginning to have hope that even though it's very difficult to let your child cry, it seemed to work. Today, nap and bedtime went smoothly. He fell asleep after our usual routine and he stayed asleep after I gently placed him in his crib. The real test will be if he stays asleep tonight. If so, I think we may be beyond the waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night crap that I've been dealing with for 2 months. Keep your fingers crossed.

To sleep or not to sleep? That is the question.

2009-11-14T11:17:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a wonderful little boy who would blissfully sleep 10-12 hours a night. His parents generally woke up feeling more or less rested and refreshed, and the little boy woke up giggling and excited for the day. Then, for some inexplicable reason, the little boy decided to wake up in the middle of night. He called out for his mommy and cried a little bit, so the mommy brought him in bed with her and daddy just to snuggle and try to get some sleep. Mommy thought that surely after a night or two of this, the little boy would go back to his regular sleeping habits. Then, the little boy started to get some teeth and he got a cold. It made it hard and uncomfortable for him to sleep. So, each night for a month, he has been waking up, just as his exhausted parents are about to turn out their lights to get some sleep. He calls out for mommy and cries a little bit. His parents have tried Motrin. They've tried homeopathic teething tablets. They've tried letting him get himself back to sleep (who are they kidding?). The only two nights in the past month that the little boy has slept through the night was when he took some Benadryl because he had an allergic reaction and broke out in a full body rash. Mommy, in her sleep deprived state, pondered briefly about slipping the little boy some Benadryl every night just to get him to sleep, even though the allergy was gone. Silly mommy. Alas, the end of this tale is unknown. Will the boy eventually return to his normal sleeping habits? Will mommy go insane from lack of sleep? We shall see...

Bust a Move

2009-10-27T19:28:00.000-07:00

Cole likes to break dance. Whenever Brandi, his babysitter, arrives he totally freaks out. He screams excitedly, spins around, and then falls to the floor doing some crazy break dance-like moves. He sits on his butt and spins. Then gets himself upright again, bends at the waist, puts his hands on the floor and bends his knees up and down. I keep waiting for him to do a windmill, but I don't know if he's ready for that yet. I swear I even saw him do the Moonwalk once. He can move, I've got to hand it to him. And he definitely did not get his dance moves from his dad, who thinks that swaying side to side is some form of dancing (sorry, honey). And, even though I have been known to shake my money maker from time to time, I do not claim to have passed on the groove gene to Cole. He's on his own with that one. It's refreshing to watch him move. He does it with so much joy, and absolutely no ego or self-consciousness. What more could I ask?

Color-coordinated meals

2009-10-11T10:22:00.000-07:00

I have noticed that for some reason I seem to color-coordinate Cole's meals. I don't think I do it intentionally (I am not that OCD); it just seems to happen. For example, the other day he had pasta with reddish/orangey sauce, orange cheese, orange crackers and, as a finale, an orange! And, the day before, the color of choice was apparently whitish/tan: a banana, mashed lentils and rice, and a cheese sandwich (tan bread, white cheese). What's wrong with me? I am getting paranoid. I have noticed it enough that I actually kind of stress out before preparing his meals to make sure that he has enough varying color on his plate. As if I don't have enough to worry about! He seems to enjoy foods, though, that don't have a lot of color. Cheese, bread, crackers, pasta, banana. I have tried green vegetables and he gums them for a moment and then spits them out. The only green vegetables he seems to enjoy are peas and spinach (not bad, I guess). Much of Cole's food ends up on the floor anyway, in his quest to feed the dog, who strategically sits under Cole's chair hoping to get whatever falls to the floor. I don't think he was too excited when Cole flung a sticky, mashed up wad of banana at him, though. One day I will surprise Cole and yell "FOOD FIGHT" in the middle of one of his color-coordinated meals and start flinging food at him. That would be a curious sight, would it not? A giggling toddler with food in his hair, food on his clothes and food on his face. What more could I ask?

'Tis the simple things...

2009-10-04T08:57:00.001-07:00

I have found that Cole particularly enjoys playing with simple things. Despite the fact that we have a room full of interesting, colorful and educational toys, he seems to gravitate towards the more subtle, less alluring diversions. For example, the other day I gave him a small gift box to play with. It was empty, it's white, it's made of cardboard. He entertained himself for a good portion of the day by taking the lid off and putting it back on again. Then, he'd push the box around on the floor. Then, run up to me with his arms outstretched, box clutched in hand excitedly saying "BAAAAA" (which I can only assume is "box"). Then, the box went for the requisite dunk in the dog bowl. This was repeated many times and seemed to satisfy his curiosity just fine.

Cole also gets tremendous enjoyment out of watching the traffic go by in front of our house. He perches himself on his little wooden chair, tactfully located in front of the window, and watches the cars and trucks go by. He nearly looses his mind when a truck goes by and I can't even tell you what happens when a bus rolls past the house. Hours and hours of entertainment.

Outside, Cole gravitates towards the small pebbles we have in our garden. He scoops them up with his shovel and puts them in his bucket. He checks to make sure they're all there, and then scoops more in. He chats to himself as he does this work and examines the pebbles, picking out ones that are interesting to him. Watching him play with simple things has made me appreciate the simple things more, too. Funny how a child can become the teacher to the parent. And, as usual, what more could I ask than to learn from my child?

I'm Getting Sentimental in My Old Age

2009-09-26T18:04:00.000-07:00

Lately, I find myself just watching Cole and thinking how is it possible to love someone so much? I obviously never thought that I wouldn't love him, but I didn't think it was possible to love someone so completely and so purely. It's been a very eye opening experience, and one that surprisingly has made me calmer (although my husband may disagree), more patient and more present in my own life. What more could I ask?

This time in his life must be one of rapid, radical change because in the last few weeks he's begun to say more and more words and he actually understands when I say things to him. Admittedly, I was a little nervous about this age (the toddler years) because it's an age that I know little about and therefore felt unprepared for. But, I have been pleasantly surprised with how much fun a toddler can be. Exhausting, no doubt, but equally as fun. Yes, I wish that he didn't want to lift the lid of the toilet seat up, and yes, I wish that he didn't want to constantly play with our dirty, smelly shoes. But, that aside, here is this curious, funny, smart little creature who, at just 16 months old, already has a greater mind than our former president!

I know, I know. I sound like one of those annoying, gushing mothers who thinks their child is perfect. Fortunately, I am not that far from reality. But, I am happy- and I dare say, proud- to have such a great kid. He makes me want to be a better person. And for that I am eternally grateful.

When I Grow Up, I Want to Be a...

2009-09-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

I hope to be the kind of parent who will support my child in whatever profession he chooses. I find myself day dreaming about what Cole might be. An architect (maybe he’ll build my dream house). A photographer (maybe his photos will be in National Geographic). A film maker (maybe he’ll shine at Cannes and Sundance). Garbage man (maybe he’ll...wait, what?). Yes, tis true, folks. It looks like Cole is headed for a life as a Waste Removal Specialist. His current favorite thing to do in our house is take the two small garbage cans that are in my studio (yes, I have two), put one inside the other, and push them around the house. When he tires of merely pushing them around, he attempts to reach in the cans and extract whatever catches his eye. A colorful piece of paper, a bit of string, a used tissue. GROSS! That’s when I typically intervene and take the cans away, placing them high up out of his reach. He cries and stomps away, no doubt thinking I am an evil woman (has he been watching The Family Guy?). He does not yet see that playing with the garbage is indeed gross. To him, it’s something different and interesting. I certainly don’t want to stifle his curiosity, but I do have to put my foot down at some point. I find that distraction is an extremely underrated parenting tool. I employ it all the time. And, so to make amends with my disgruntled toddler, I pick him up, playfully throw him in the air and tickle him under his armpits. That usually gets his mind off the garbage and sends him giggling and buckling over with laughter. I know that one day he may be a garbage man, or an architect or a film maker, but for now I am relishing the fact that he is a lovely and perfect little toddler. What more could I ask?

My Kid Rocks

2009-09-17T19:08:00.000-07:00

So, being a musician, I am happy to report that Cole seems to like music. We have instruments around the house that peak his curiosity. He strums my guitar, pounds the piano, frenetically shakes the shaker, clanks the plastic mini xylophone. He rocks out. When the stereo is on, he walks up to it, grabs with both hands the table on which it sits, bends his head down and starts to head bang. It is truly priceless. Of course, Raleigh- former head-banger, shredder, thrasher- is delighted that his offspring has inherited this ability. He usually combines the head banging with some wild knee-bending and hip-swinging. After a few seconds of this unique dance style, he looks up at me, grins, and starts to laugh. What more could I ask?

Cole- Speak

2009-09-12T18:55:00.000-07:00

One particularly fun aspect of having a toddler who is just barely learning to speak is hearing what sounds he's able to make. Cole has a few choice words in his young vocabulary. The first, and perhaps most endearing, is "dog" which he first pronounced as "doooooooo" and has now morphed to "daaaaw." Progress, don't you think? Of course, I must note that any animal that has fur, 4 legs and a tail is a dog in Cole's mind. So, when he sees pictures of cows or pigs or horses or ferrets or cats, he without fail loudly exclaims, "DAAAAW!" It really is cute.

He has recently learned to say bird. It's more "burr" (as if he's chilly), but hey, it's close right? Any person he cares about is "mama" (yes, I am annoyed). Occasionally, he says "dada" when Raleigh is around, but he's usually "mama" too. He says "ma?" (with the lifted inflection at the end as if he's asking a question) for both milk and more. Can be confusing at times. We live on a busy street and perhaps the only benefit of that is that Cole immensely enjoys looking out our windows or sitting on the front stoop watching the traffic go by. He waves at everyone (he's the future mayor, apparently) which is heartbreakingly cute. He also points out the trucks ("ya-ya" in Cole speak). I once pointed to a white van passing by and said "truck" in the hopes he would imitate me. Raleigh chided me saying that he was trying to help Cole differentiate vans from trucks and would I please help his cause by saying van for vans and truck for trucks. Uh....ok.

At one point or other, Cole has also uttered flower (thanks to Aunt Susan!), thank you, book, and yes. All great words. Bottom line is that on a daily basis he seems to be learning new words or improving the pronunciation of the words he already knows. It's very, very cool to witness, I must say. Especially being a writer, songwriter, avid talker and all-around lover of words, I find it most interesting and enjoyable to take part in his verbal development. It's wonderful to have a child who loves making funny noises with his mouth and loves wildly exclaiming at the top of his voice "DAAAW" or "YA-YA". What more could I ask?

One Man Show

2009-09-08T19:46:00.000-07:00

Cole took his first steps on August 1st. A mere 5 weeks later, he's walking- dare I say, running- all over the place. He is so proud of himself. And, he knows he's good. He runs around the house, leaning a bit forward, arms slightly behind him, kind of as if he's about to launch off the end of a ski jump. He waddles, he spins, he falls down, he gets up again. All while hysterically laughing. It is pure bliss to witness.

Yesterday, while getting him ready for a bath, I let him run around his room buck naked. He was cracking himself up by running in front of the mirror, wildly flailing his arms, spinning around and then running away. Had I not ruined his fun by making him take a bath he would have done that all night. As our friend Brandi said, he's a one man show. He's more entertaining than t.v., cuter than most movie stars, and funnier than most stand up comics. What more could I ask?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

2009-09-03T08:09:00.000-07:00

Indulge me, if you will, with a trip down memory lane. As I mentioned in my first post, I had intended to start writing about Cole from day one. Needless to say, that didn't happen, but I did manage, in my sleep-deprived, overwhelmed state, to jot down a few ideas here and there. I thought I would formally share them with you.

(Originally written on May 28, 2009, with editing and additions done Sept. 3, 2009):

I am sitting here on the one year anniversary of when I went into labor. Despite having lost massive amounts of my brain power over the past year, I vividly remember that day. After downing my usual 3 antacid tablets before bed, I slept fitfully, interrupted a few times by the urgent need to pee. I woke up around 8:00 in the morning and felt, for the first time in my pregnancy, cramps. I thought it was unusual, but I still didn’t believe that I could be in labor. So I went about my day. I walked my dog. (A little pang here and there.) I decided to go to the plant nursery to get some flowers for my pots. (I gingerly waddled though the aisles admiring the colorful flowers and noting the increased pain in my belly.) I went out to lunch at Panera (ate soup and bread while occasionally wincing at the ever-increasing contractions.) I came home and planted the flowers in my pots. (By this time, I was fairly sure I was in labor.) So, what did I do? I went for another walk! Upon returning home, I noticed that my neighbor Dave was home. I waddled over to his front door and knocked. Now, Dave is a great friend and neighbor, but I don’t think he ever expected this. When he answered the door I very casually said something to the effect of , “Hey Dave. I just wanted to let you know that I think I am in labor and I am likely going to have a baby soon. So, could you water my plants in case we’re not home for a few days?” I think he thought I was nuts. No mind that I was about to push a kid out, I was concerned about the flowers I had just planted!

I suppose I was just using the techniques I learned at our childbirth classes. The midwife running the class suggested that when we feel like labor is approaching that we do things to distract ourselves. Apparently, I took that advice seriously. Walking, planting flowers, out to lunch, more walking. It really helped. On his way home from work, Raleigh stopped at the Greek Corner and brought home some take out. I couldn’t finish my dinner. It seems that contractions trump an appetite. By around 8:00 that night, I was laying on our couch in considerable pain with Raleigh timing my contractions with his iPhone. I called the midwife on duty and she said that if I was able to have a conversation on the phone, then I probably wasn’t ready to come in yet. Even though the contractions were pretty regular and painful, I agreed with her and just decided to wait it out on our couch. But, about 2 hours later, I called her again, and this time she said, “You sound different this time. Why don’t you pack your bag and come on in.” Again, following the advice of the childbirth class educator, I had already packed my bags (including socks and one extra sock stuffed with tennis balls so Raleigh could massage my aching lower back). Within 15 minutes we were out the door heading to the hospital. We stopped at our friends Al and Kelly’s house to drop off Max on the way to the hospital. (I love that we actually ran an errand on our way to have a baby!) We pulled up to the hospital at around 11:00 pm. When I arrived at the hospital door, Raleigh dropped me off and went to park the car. I waddled (I love that word, especially when it’s not referring to a duck) into the main lobby. Despite being in full on labor, I somehow remembered that I needed to stop in at registration and check in. The lady at the desk looked positively stressed when I winced my way up to the counter. Realizing that I was about to pop, she fumbled for some piece of paper and had me scrawl my name on it while I was bent over with a contraction. For all I know I could have signed away the rights to my first born (due any moment now), but being a hospital I assumed it was standard protocol to sign in.

I rode the elevator up to the 5th floor, got off and followed the signs for “Labor and Delivery.” When I entered the ward, Tamara, the midwife I spoke to on the phone, greeted me and asked me a few questions. How far apart are the contractions? How long had I been in labor? Where was my husband? Yeah, what the hell? Where was Raleigh? Oh, yes, parking the car. I have no recollection of when he actually arrived on the 5th floor as well. Likely it was soon after my being brought to the delivery room. Much of what transpired next is a blur. It’s odd that labor, being such a physically intense experience, can actually also be an out-of -body experience. I remember pain, I remember feeling very fidgety, and I remember thinking, “All I want to do is get this kid out!” Well, Cole must have read my mind, because 4 hours later I was holding a lovely, little boy in my arms. It’s amazing how all that pain and anxiety absolutely vanishes the minute the child is born and placed in your arms. After a brief check up with the team of medical personnel in the room, Raleigh placed Cole in my arms. He had a little hand-knitted striped cap on and was wrapped in the hospital-issued white blanket with blue and pink stripes (appropriate for either a boy or girl!) I kissed him on the head and said, “Hi little buddy.” We snuggled a bit and sought comfort from each other after having undergone such a life-changing (literally) experience. A healthy, beautiful child. What more could I ask?

15 months

2009-08-29T19:07:00.000-07:00

Greetings. Cole is 15 months old today. I was thinking about him and wondered what it would be like to be so young. I watch him change so quickly. Each day he is able to say more words, do more things, walk faster. What if an adult could learn that quickly? We certainly would be very advanced.

Today Cole decided to put anything he could possibly find into the dog's water bowl. (A quick back-story about the dog and Cole: Cole loves the dog and wants nothing more than to play with him. The dog hates Cole and wants nothing more than for him to go away. ) So, while Max (the dog) watched in horror as Cole dipped his toes into his water bowl, Cole squealed with delight, splashing the water all over the floor. Does he think it's a miniature swimming pool? Then, Cole went into the living room, got one of his stuffed animal dog toys, brought it back into the kitchen, and had him swim in the dog bowl, as well. Nothing but fun over at our house today. As firmly as I tried to say "No" to Cole, I couldn't help but chuckle. My kid and his stuffed animal dog taking a swim in the real dog's water bowl. Laughter. What more could I ask?

Day Four Hundred Fifty Five

2009-08-27T20:25:00.000-07:00

Greetings and welcome to my blog about parenting, motherhood, children, and my loss of sanity. I had intended to start writing consistently when Cole was first born, but it's taken a while (455 days to be exact) to get going. But, finally, I am here, I am writing and glad to be sharing the adventures of Cole with you.

As it is late, I will keep this first blog short. Cole recently began walking and has made great strides (pun intended) in only a few weeks. Granted, he is still walking like a drunk hockey player, all bow legged and wobbly, but he can get around quite well. Nothing is cuter than when he wobbles towards me, arms outstretched, all 6 teeth poking out from his huge grin, and gives me hug. What more could I ask? To steal the tag line from a commercial for crappy beer, it doesn't get any better than this.