One small dream fulfilled

In the midst of all the crappy stuff that's happened this past week, I got to do something with Ainslie that I've always visualized doing with my children--we baked! It helps (in this particular instance) that she is very much into "Help Me" (which in her mind is turned around--she is saying, "Me Help.") right now and wants to do whatever I'm doing. She stood nicely on a kitchen chair and ate a snack in between helping me stir. We sampled our frosting along the way to see when we had used enough powdered sugar.

As much as it always irks me a bit to see myself slowly turning into my mother, I have such great memories of doing the exact same thing as a child. Sitting on the yellow folding stool, cutting out cookies, then slowly transitioning from being the helper to being the supervised baker.

It's not that I'm a fabulous chef (the cake was from a mix, but we made our own frosting AND pudding to use the yolks--again, just like Mom!), but there is something comforting to the soul about repeating traditions with your children. Sure, my car may be near death's door and we had a purely HORRIBLE weekend to recoup from, but for that 30 minutes or so, my little girl and I made dessert and it was sweet.

Lord Help Us, We're Getting Dumber

Forget about all those reports that say American schoolchildren know less than their foreign counterparts—you don’t need a report to see that people in this country are losing brain power by the second. This is probably going to be an Everybody Should Be More Like Me entry, so if you read on, at least you were warned.

First of all-- television. It would be hypocritical of me to say that we shouldn’t watch tv, because I personally love the dang thing, but really, over the past few years, 8 out of 10 new shows is a reality show. How creative is that? Fear Factor? Come on! For the few moments I’ve ever spent watching that, I could feel myself becoming dumber. Trading Spouses? You have GOT to be kidding. Do we really need to watch more people make fools of themselves trying to find love on a glorified game show? Meanwhile, Arrested Development, one of the funniest shows ever written, is apparently over the heads of many Americans. The scripts are tight and full of double and even triple entendre, and nobody watches. Why? Is Fear Factor Blind Date Edition on at the same time? Arrested Development runs away with an Emmy and can’t stay on the air, but Fox’s new, post-Arrested lineup includes both Skating and Dancing with minor celebrities.

Then there is public school, or rather, the people who pay taxes to support them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of a public education system. I would like to use one, but because I love my child, I can’t send her to a Chicago Public School. If we lived somewhere where the children actually learned, and didn’t have to wear bulletproof vests, I’d send her to a public school without a problem. What kills me, is that in cities that support public schools, there are people complaining that they shouldn’t have to pay taxes toward schools because they don’t have children using them. SO YOU WANT TO CREATE MORE STUPID THUGS????? Do you want these uneducated people to grow up to live on welfare and have the house next door to you converted to Section 8 housing? Does this somehow SAVE you money?

Hmmm. Well, we’ve backed ourselves into a bit of a corner with the whole Iraq deal. Gas prices are up to stay (a situation the rest of the world has been enjoying for a decade.) So, wait, by Jove, we’ve got it! Don’t worry about being more fuel-effiecient, let’s just drill in Alaska, in one of the last pristine places on earth! The best part is, it’s already ours!

I s’pose this close to New Year’s, I should still be feeling more optimistic, huh?

Potty chair 0, Alphabet 2

All the way home from K-Mart, we talked about the Potty Chair and how we were going to use it. We talked about the Dora underpants we would consider buying next time we went to the store, we even called Grammie from the car to tell her about Boppy Chair. When it comes to toilet training, Ainslie seems to be more about theory than action. We’ll keep trying. She likes to sit on it, on the floor (we got the 3-in-1 thing), fully clothed. Maybe in a few days we’ll work up to sitting on it with her pants off.

Meanwhile, this past week I resolved to teach her 2 letters and their sounds each week. She has completely mastered A and B! Yay! Ask her what A is for and she will tell you it is for Neenee and bapple! B is for Baby, bubbles and bath! She will pick them out of her Letter Factory magnets (best toy ever) and…ok, this was a TOTAL fluke, but she asked me to draw a B on her magnadoodle, so I did, distractedly, and upside down, then I told her to draw one (I was folding laundry and not really totally engaged) LOOK AT THIS:

Mine is the big one (remember I was doing it upside down, my penmanship is somewhat better usually ;-) ) but HOLY COW—she drew the one inside it! Of course I kept asking her to draw more Bs and of course this was a fluke, but I am still so amazed.

So, I figure, at least when she does learn to potty, she can read to herself.

My Letter to Oprah

Hope we get on, girls!

Most adult women make new friends through shared interests and experiences. My special group of wonderful women friends is no exception. What is unusual is that we didn’t come together over a hobby or a job, we speak to each other just about every day, there are well over 100 of us, and most of us have never met face-to-face. We came to know and love each other out of grief, longing, and frustration, and now are able to laugh, cry, and celebrate with each other. Some of my best friends in the world are women I met online after miscarrying my first child.

It’s an unusual circumstance, but I’m so blessed and lucky to have found this group. Miscarriage and infertility are topics that still aren’t talked about much in our society. Although 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, people still don’t know how to speak of it. The sad thing is, for many women, it’s completely devastating. I needed someone to talk with, to cry with, to find hope with. Many of us have wonderful husbands, but I believe that an intrinsic part of being a woman is feeling that loss more acutely than even the most involved father can.

I found these friends online, and I can’t even distinguish in my heart and head anymore that these are “online friends.” We are simply friends, and we have held each others’ hands, wiped away tears, and brought each other to our knees with laughter. We have waited and hoped together cycle after fruitless cycle, and celebrated with great fanfare at the birth of each precious child. We provide sage advice and comfort when parenting or life in general, gets a little too tough.

These women have known as much about my reproductive organs as my doctor. They know all the names we were considering for our baby, they know my favorite colors and foods and who I voted for, even though I’ve never hugged many of them with my actual arms. We don’t always agree, and of course there are struggles to keep the peace from time to time, but we are well and truly bonded by experiences that will hold us together in our hearts forever. The Women Of PALP (Parenting After a Loss) are an extraordinary group of girlfriends.

Talking is Fun!

Me: (asking rhetorically) Oh, Ainslie, what shall I feed you for supper?

Ainslie: Deedadee-aahs! (Quesadillas!) Boop! (Soup!)


Me: Can you say, "The duck is stuck in a truck, oh yuck!"
Ainslie: Guck guck guck. Guck!

And my new favorite--I was going to the back door to let the dogs back in.

Me: (Singing in my best gangsta style) Who let the dogs out?
Ainslie: (sitting in her high chair eating a pbj, shoulders moving funkily in time) Ch...ch..ch...ch Mommy!

Me: (laughing hysterically) Yes--Mommy let the dogs out!

We continue our gangsta dance party. Ch...ch...ch

Gloria in Excelsis Deo, indeed!

Ainslie loves the song Angels We Have Heard on High for the same reason I’ve always liked that song—the Gloooooooooooooooorias are fun to sing. I’ll sing that part and she’ll say, “More!” and then sing with me. Listening to her sing her ahhahhhaahhhaahhh along with me, the full impact of the Latin words hits me.

For so many Christmases, I was sad. Mourning the loss of our first baby, who would have been due December 8, 2001, then mourning the fact that we were still not expecting a child. Hearing the story of Mary being approached by Gabriel, being told that she was blessed among women was excruciating. Why couldn’t I be blessed too? Even last Christmas, I had just been surprised by a pregnancy, only to be disappointed again.

This year, I am so very grateful. I have realized that I AM blessed among women, and among mothers. I have this precious, precocious little girl, and I have time to lavish on her in her toddlerhood before that prayed-for sibling comes along. Once again, I sat in church during Advent near tears. Ainslie stood beside me on the pew watching the kids’ choir sing their songs, then watching the handbell choir, and of course, narrating the goings-on of the congregation throughout the sermon. The closing hymn was Angels We Have Heard on High—her favorite! Since we had been singing it in the car a scant hour earlier, I figured she’d be thrilled. Instead, she hollered, “No! BaaaaaBaaaa.” Translated, she was stating her preference for Baa, Baa Black Sheep.

Glory To God in the Highest, Indeed!

This is a democracy?

President Clinton lied about his sex life and got impeached.

This guy lied about why we went to Iraq, he won't get us out of Iraq (but that's another rant), he's instructed people to be spied on in many aspects of daily life in the name of Patriotism (which, of course, is something we were trying to 'free' the Iraquis from), he had to be goaded by a member of his own party to enact an anti-torture act, he basically denies that Global Warming even happens; and Nothing? No retribution? Unbelievable.

Don't get me wrong, I still loathe and despise the idiot, but now in addition to the anger, I feel so sad that our country is in his hands, and so nauseated to think that some people still defend his actions and refuse to admit he is anything less than perfect.

Finally, someone wrote a song with my name in it.

You know, there really aren't any songs talking about how cool or wonderful Carla is. There's Amanda, Sarah, Rhiannon, etc, but no Carla. Well, Ainslie has fixed that, sort of.

She is still on a big Veggie Tales kick. Dawn (or before) to dusk, it's Broccoli, broccoli, broccoli. She knows Bob and Larry and will now say them by name, but overall, it's Broccoli. She sings the theme song too:
Broccoli,
Broccoli,
Broccoli,
Broccoli.

To break things up a bit, I started substituting other words, like:
Ainslie Jane
Ainslie Jane
She's my girl,
Ainslie Jane

Ok, it doesn't rhyme, but after so many verses of Broccoli, you get desperate.
So, this morning, driving to Office Depot I get this:

Mommy girl,
Mommy girl,
Mommy girl,
Mommy girl!

Aw shucks, kiddo.

A new game for the Ellen DeGeneres show

OCD or Under 3?

Really, if I didn’t know it was normal behavior, I’d think it wasn’t normal behavior.

First, there is the ever-popular Move a Group of Objects From One Location to Another game, in which, as you may have surmised, the toddler transfers a group of refrigerator magnets, boxes of paper clips, baby blankets or Christmas tree ornaments from the refrigerator, office drawer, play area or Christmas tree to an undisclosed location, frequently the same wicker basket. There are some rules involved in this subtle game—
There must be no more than one object per hand at any time.
No adults may help or interfere.
If there is already something in the wicker basket, it will be unceremoniously dumped out as the game commences.
The game ends when the player decides it ends, or when she is offered a cookie, in another room.

Then there is the Baby Night-Night game, in which Baby (a doll, named Baby, of course) is put to bed, then put to bed again. And again. And again. Baby may sleep anywhere the Player chooses to lay her down, and apparently, can sleep through anything, even being plunked down on cold hard tile floors. Many (and I can’t emphasize this enough), MANY blankets are required for this game. Variations include Doggie Night-Night and Purple Bear Night-Night.

If these aren’t OCDesque enough, allow me to bring out the Big Gun; the Eye Obsession. We have this conversation AT LEAST 5 times a day, beginning first thing in the morning, during the diaper change, practically verbatim:

Ainslie: Mommy. Mommy.
Me: Yes, sweetie?
Ainslie: Eyes?
Me: Yes. Mommy has eyes.
Ainslie: Daddy eyes?
Me: Yes, sweetie, Daddy has eyes.
Ainslie: Lily eyes?
Me: Yes. Lily has eyes.
Ainslie: Mike eyes?
Me: Yes. Mike has eyes.
Ainslie: Melmeh eyes?
Me: yes, Elmo has nice big eyes.
Ainslie: Neenee (what she calls herself) eyes?
Me: Yes, Ainslie, you have pretty blue eyes. Everyone has eyes.
Ainslie: Goo Doggie (Blue) eyes?
Me: Yes, Blue Doggie has eyes.
Ainslie: Ilma (Wilma, the cat) eyes?
Me: Yes. What about ears? Does Lily have ears?
Ainslie: Lily ears. Da. (She speaks Russian. Da=Yes) Eyes? Eyes?
Yes, it’s funny, yes, it’s normal, but how much would it scar her if I screamed, “MOMMY CAN’T TALK ABOUT EYES ANY MORE TODAY?!
She knows all of her body parts, by the way.

So c’mon Ellen, bring me your best adult OCD’ers. Bring ‘em on.

Snow haiku

Oh, how I hate snow.
White then gray then brown slush-crap.
Piled up until March.

Thanks be to my friend Jena.

The 23rd Qualm

Bush is my shepherd; I dwell in want.

He maketh logs to be cut down in national forests.

He leadeth trucks into the still wilderness. He restoreth my fears.

He leadeth me in the paths of international disgrace for his ego's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of pollution and war, I will find no exit, for thou art in office.

Thy tax cuts for the rich and thy media control, they discomfort me. Thou preparest an agenda of deception in the pretence of thy religion. Thou annointest my head with foreign oil. My health insurance runneth out.

Surely megalomania and false patriotism shall follow me all the days of thy term, And my jobless child shall dwell in my basement forever.

How Many Fingerfuls in a Teaspoon?

I thankfully found out this morning, that there are many, many fingerfuls (or is that fingersful?) of Vick's Vaporub in a teaspoon. You see, after catching Ainslie going back for what I hope was only the second fingerful of the stuff in the humidifier well, I ran downstairs, typed "toddler ingest Vicks" into Google and got scared to death. Did you know that even small amounts of ingested camphor can kill a person? So, I posted for help on PALP, then called the doctor and poison control. Apparently, this is a fairly common occurence in the winter time...although there will be no more Vapo with Ainslie's steamed air. So, "if she ate less than a teaspoon she should be fine."

Well, a teaspoon doesn't seem like much to me. I could easily fit a teaspoon of say, peanut butter, on my finger. So--I grabbed Ainslie and a measuring spoon, went back upstairs, grabbed the offending tub of Vick's and started swiping. Phew. After several swipes, I wasn't even close to filling the teaspoon. I wish my hair would turn back now, and I hope I can get those 10 years added back on to my life.

I turned my back for a second.

And don't even think about the suction-thingy.

As much as it sucks to have to constantly squeegee snot from a toddler's face, it must suck way more to not know how to blow your nose. Poor girl.

My inner Scrooge laughed at this

My local FOX news team wished me Happy Holidays.

I promise I'll move on now.

It doesn't get old

Every morning, my summons to get up,

"Mommmmmmmmy" "MOMmmmmmmmy!"

Even when it's way too early, the sweetest sound.

One-third of a year staying at home

My good friend, a mom of three little ones, said it best when she told me that the hours and days go by slowly, but the weeks and months go by fast. Here are a few things I've learned so far:

* Time flies. It can't have been 4 months already.

* We made the right decision. Ainslie is just blossoming. She doesn't speak in complete sentences yet and I'm the only one who understands half of what she says, but I honestly understand her about 98% of the time. She learns words and expressions so quickly. We go to play group and classes and she plays in the kids' room when I go to Mom's Chat at church or to work out--so she is getting to play with other kids, but still be with Mom most of the time.

*Milk stains are hard to get out of couches.

*Dogs are great for eating rejected food hurled from the high chair.

* My house isn't any cleaner, mainly because we are in it so much.

* I get a lot done during the day. I'd get even more done if I could step away from the computer.

*I worry about money, but I am blessed that I don't really have to worry about the Big things. We can pay our mortgage and utilities.

*I am learning to be even more grateful. I'm grateful when Ainslie is whining that she is intelligent enough to express her displeasure. I am grateful that she has lungs strong enough to scream so loud. I am grateful, so very grateful, that she has the arms, legs, and ability to climb on every piece of furniture. I am grateful, when we are watching Veggie Tales for the millionth time, that she can remember which dvd she likes best, and that she knows the characters and sings along. Mostly, I am grateful for her, and the chance to spend so much time with her at this time in her life.

*Kids really do repeat every single thing they hear.

*Dragging all the pots and pans out at 7am doesn't really make for a bad day.

*Elmo is freaking hilarious.

*TV is not a bad thing, especially when winters are long and cold. Didn't we all learn a thing or two from Sesame Street?

*Just because a woman stays at home, it doesn't mean she can do crafts.

*My daughter is her own very special, unique person.

and another thing, or, You can't have your Fruitcake and eat it too.

Why do these so-called Conservative Christians get to dictate that Thou Shalt Utter Merry Christmas and No Other Holiday Greeting and yet support a man who gives breaks to the big businesses who uphold the Happy Holidays and the We're Not Putting Christmas In Our Ad attitudes? Why does Target not say Christmas? MONEY, you fools, MONEY. You can either be self-righteous or you can support big business--to say you're doing both while voting for a candidate like the one in office is hypocritical.

Political Rant #1, inspired by the Holiday Season

Suzi, my dear Republican friend, know that none of this is directed at you.

Since when did so-called “conservative” Christians become the only Real Christians in this country? I’m not even talking about political parties here, because it’s gotten to the point where these people vote Republican not because they believe in smaller government and more personal accountability, but because they have a religious agenda, that, in my opinion, is NOT necessarily Christian.

Let’s look at last year’s fiasco of an election. Bush won, not because he is the superior choice, but because these people think he is a more moral person and a “better Christian” than Kerry. How the hell do you measure these qualities? Is there some sort of instrument I can get on e-bay? I’d love to be able to measure the morality of say, my babysitter, or my Starbucks barista. Bush supports capital punishment and prolonging a war that is getting nobody anywhere. Are these Christian values?

These people will respond that Democrats are Baby Killers. You know, I don’t know a single person who thinks abortion is a good thing. Do I think it is? No. I think it is wrong, I think it is deplorable. Do I think that I should get to make this decision for everyone? No, because much of the reason I feel it is wrong has to do with my faith, and as dear as my faith is to me, in this country, we are lucky to be able to have our government separated from our various religious institutions. NOTE: There are bigger issues at stake than abortion. Roe v Wade will never be overturned. Put your energies toward persuading young women to look at other options, in a non-violent manner, of course. Killing is killing, whether you’re talking about a fetus, a pregnant woman, or a doctor, or hell, even an inmate. I don’t believe that God favors one type of murder over another.

Jesus was a socialist. We should share what we have with each other. That is definitely a leftist view. Jesus would support social programs, and aid to help people help themselves; not forever, but when they are at their lowest. Jesus was tolerant. He WAS the outsider, the rebel, the social liberal. He didn’t lie. He didn’t make devious deals with middle eastern countries.

I am a Christian and a Liberal. In this holiday season (for it is a Holiday Season since there are several faiths celebrating holidays over the next few weeks), I know that Jesus is the reason for my season, and I celebrate that I have the freedom to celebrate Him in my heart, my home, and my neighborhood. I also celebrate the fact that if my neighbor or friend wants to put up a Star of David or, heaven forbid, a Bush sign, in his yard, he may do so without persecution.

He’s Got Elmo and Dora In His Hands

Ainslie loves to sing. I think she may be a musical prodigy, but that is another post. When we are driving in my car that (gasp) doesn’t have a cd player, we sing, either with the radio or a capella. I take requests from Ainslie. “Baaaaaa” means Baa, Baa, Black Sheep. She sings the Baas, the yessirs (if you know what you are listening for) and Girl! We sing that the third bag of wool is for the little girl who lives down the lane. This world is far too patriarchal already, lol. She asks for the theme songs to her shows. Usually I only know a couple lines, but that seems to suit my little director in the backseat.

Last week we were on a major Veggie Tales kick, and on her cd, there is a rousing rendition of He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. So, we’re driving, and she’s requesting Broccoli, which can mean one of several Veggie Tales Songs. I start in with the World, then he’s got Mommy and Daddy, then Ainslie and Xander, then Grammie and Grampie, then Mike and Lily, then, well, I’m kind of out of people. Lucky for me, Ainslie knows of many more people God is looking out for.

Ainslie: Melmeh! Baby! (she calls Zoe, Baby for some reason)
Me: (thinking, “no fair, you’re just looking at your shoes.”) He’s got Elmo and Zoe, in his Hands…

Ainslie: Caaca. Doda.
Me: He’s Got Caillou and Dora…

I then do a nice little finish to the song. Unfortunately, we weren’t done.

Ainslie: Blue Doggie!

It may be time to step away from the television.

I've become a Blogger

I've finally created a blog. I guess I'm just tired of sharing my rants with Craig (who shares the same views and thus is no fun to prove my points to) and Ainslie, who either agrees with everything I say, or answers in a resounding "uh-uh." In my quest to make everyone in the world More Like Me, I feel that I must share my views and random thoughts publicly, lest someone miss something.

Some days I may write about Ainslie (ok, a lot of days I will probably do this.) Some days I will write about Pretty Pink and Blue thoughts I have about mankind. Some days I will write, without restraint, about my political views and my loathing for Rush Limbaugh, the Bane of Missouri, He-Who-Is-A-Nobody-Yet-Thinks-He-Is-Intelligent. Who knows, I may even do some wine reviews. Being home without an adult to talk to most of the time has made blogging sound better and better...but I'm thrilled to be here.