I loved you first between the sheets...

The title is from a Regina Spektor song, "Samson." This song is mine and Tyrannosaur's. It soothes him, relaxes him, and has some lines that have meanings to us that are not remotely related to the meaning of the song.

But this line, oh, this line!

When my daughter was born, it was passionate adoration from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was my best friend, but even more, the moment she was born. She still is, in spite of being five and full of her own personality and individualism (and in spite of my having to scold her twenty times a day for not listening).

My son, however,well... I loved him before he was born, obviously. I wanted him and was anxious to hold him, see him, kiss him. But, really, I fell in love, the passionate, can't-breathe-without-you kind of love during those night nursings in his early days. Those times, it was just the two of us, and sometimes a cat, were the moments when I learned his face, his smell, the way his fat little cheeks tasted to kiss and snuggle.

And now, when he wakes at night, crying like he's moments away from starving to death, I love to pull him close and smell his warm little head, feel the tickle of his eyelashes on my face, taste his tears when I kiss him. I love the bliss in his relaxation as the milk hits his stomach. I love the way his hand knots in my pajamas or the sheets, trying to pull me closer when there is no closer. I love the way he sighs when he's done, and how he rolls over, making certain to keep at least one leg against me. Night nursings are my favorite, and I'm sad to see them tapering off (granted, the extra sleep is nice, though).

Nights, cuddled together in bed, keep building the closeness between us. The dinosaur and I understand each other. We're still one person, and, I hope, as he grows older and becomes his own mighty person, that our oneness will remain under his skin, in his heart - and mine.

Holy Carp, the Sacred Fish!

So wow! This has (obviously) been a rough week. Last week was surreal. This week, the shock is wearing off, the adjuster has been by and made his estimate, the loonies are knocking on the door, trying to con us into giving them money they don't deserve to do a job they won't complete, etc, etc.

The kids went back to school today. It was kinda cool to have them for a little extra time, but oh. my. word! My house is a pit after chasing them for a week! The baby cut his first tooth this week: Tyrannosaurus is living up to his Dino reputation. Poor guy hurts. He's tired. He's cranky. And the entire county knows about it...

And then, tonight I signed on, just to catch up before I get supper (leftover Chinese carryout, to be specific. Aren't I just the healthy one...). I clicked through my usual blogs and discover, much to my shock, delight and unending bliss, I won!

If you do not read this blog, The Black Breastfeeding Blog, get over there and read it. She is an excellent writer who brings up topics that all supporters of breastfeeding, children, and, indeed, women and their rights in this country and around the world, should know about and discuss. Go! Read! And not just because I won a wrap I've wanted for YEARS! :)

Ice

My yard, August 2007. Notice my gorgeous crepe myrtle.

My yard, yesterday afternoon. Notice my flat crepe myrtle.
The end of my driveway, September 2007. I love my Rose of Sharon bushes. They're COVERED in flowers every spring and summer.

The same view, yesterday evening. I can't find my Rose of Sharon bushes. One of them was gone yesterday morning. The other, if you look carefully, you can see is still partially standing.

My barn, October 2007. Unfortunately I don't have a good picture across my back yard. I call the lowest terrace of my back yard the Fairie Glen. There is a ring of immensly tall (especially for Oklahoma) trees surrounding the most beautiful, peaceful carpet of moss and clover. It's shaded and quiet, full of birdsong and the darting shadows of leaves.

Looking across my back yard to the barn yesterday, early evening. These trees are the guardians of the Fairie Glen. I cried when this picture was taken; I should have saved my tears for the view this morning...

The roof took a pounding - note the limbs over the front door.

Yesterday evening.
The carport took a huge beating. The beams were bowing from the weight of the branches and ice. There was a giant dent where the big tree (that squashed my Rose of Sharons) came down just out of the frame to the left. Notice the tree to the right of the car port. The branch in front is the Sword of Damocles. It drooped lower and lower, right over the line that carries power into the house. It never came all the way down, but it did try to pull out the cable.
The tree by the barn:
The power finally went for a short while, so here's a quick picture of a moment's peace.

And then we woke up this morning. .



Sorry these are so dark. I didn't have the heart to try to take any pictures until this evening. I am in shock. I am thankful that, when it came down, the dog got out from under the car port (he was there to avoid the falling limbs in his yard). I am thankful that no one in my family was hurt or killed, as several people were. I am very, very thankful that we only went without power for a few hours. I am thankful that we all came through this safely. I am also, however, heartbroken by the damage to my home and to the trees that I love so much. The carport and roof can be repaired. The broken window in the back can be easily fixed. Those trees, though, took years to grow into the beauties they were, and they'll never lose the scars from this horrible storm. I wish I could wake up from this nightmare.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Merry Christmas, mother. You owe me.

Tonight I took the family for pictures. Yes, my mother asked for a single family picture from each of the little family units in her family. I could choke her for that, quite merrily, to be honest.

You see, my kids do NOT take pictures. DC doesn't smile in pictures, which is weird since the kid smiles all the time when a camera is not pointed at her. Van doesn't say cheese, he looks like he CUT the cheese. Tyrannosaurus is the easiest to get a decent picture, but it's always iffy, and sometimes he doesn't cooperate. Add to that the fact that I refuse to really smile, until such time as I can afford to get my teeth fixed and pretty, and pesimst hates having his picture taken (he's much more photogenic than he credits, but he's picky and stubborn).

It was not a good experience. The chick taking the pictures was massively click-happy. She wouldn't wait for anyone to get ready, and then she bitched about how bad the pictures were turning out. Then she bitched out my kids. Seriously. Talked to them so rudely, so hatefully. I stepped in front of her and gave her the "Oh, bitch, you did not just say that" look. And she kept going.

"Well, we couldn't get a good picture of you because none of you would smile or do what you were supposed to. If you'd all sat still and smiled before we could take more pictures, but we just have to have that bad one of you because you couldn't do what you were supposed to."

That would be when I blocked her from following my kids into the hall and said "I do NOT appreciate you speaking to my children that way. It is NOT your place to chastise them, scold them or tell them how to behave. I am on the verge of walking out of here right now and calling your superior."

She apologized, but she did not realize what she had done wrong. I bet she still does not have a clue.

I bought the pictures I wanted, mainly so I wouldn't have to go through all of that again. I think I will send an email to the corporate offices, however. NO ONE gets to scold MY children for their own short-comings.

The only people, aside from their parents, who get to say ONE WORD of correction to my children are those people who are helping me raise them, namely, my sisters, my best friend and, occasionally, their grandparents. Why? Because these are all (for the most part, with the occasional exception of the grandparents) people who love my children and will provide guidance, not a lecture in an annoying, patronizing voice. AND, these people who help with my children respect that I am their mother and correct them according to my rules.

Yes, it takes a village. Photo Lady, you are NOT part of my village; you're just an annoying stranger who really, really pissed me off.

At laaaaaaaaaaaaaaast...

November's come around...

I'm so glad Halloween is finally over (note: I wrote "I'm so glad Thanksgiving is finally over." Freudian slip, perhaps?) We trick-or-treated last night. It was horrible.

What has happened to Halloween in this country? I hear over and over and over and over again that it's "Satanic" or "occult." Now I'm perfectly willing to grant that many of the Hallowe'en traditions are, in fact, pagan in origin. Duh. So are many of the traditions of Easter and Christmas, and so are many of the silly things people do, say or think, without wondering what they mean. Do you ever throw salt over your shoulder if it's spilled? Do you say "Bless you" when someone sneezes? Ding ding ding!

But Hallowe'en, specifically, is actually Christian in origin. In their usual fashion, when the Christian (specifically Catholic) church moved into a new area, they tried to either challenge a "local" pagan holiday, or at least not get rid of someone's feast day. Not really a bad idea, really, since who wants to give up a day off work to convert? No, I'm not making any comments here about any religion, denomination or doctrine. I'm just saying it's good politics.

I LIKE Halloween! I MISS Halloween. The candy grab and traffic jam on the streets last night, with half the houses dark and the other half being mobbed until they ran out of candy was NOT Halloween. It was a nightmare. It was crowded and rude and loud and unpleasant. I was afraid that my tiny DC would get trampled in the crowd, or shoved off a curb in front of a car (granted, the cars didn't move much, until someone came out to direct traffic, but still...).

The only bright part of the evening was watching my little girl, who had never been trick-or-treating before (and may never get to go again) run, grinning, up driveways shouting in her tiny little voice "Trick-or Treat!" and run back, grinning even more, occassionally remembering to shout back over her shoulder "Thank you!" That, at least, was really Halloween.

He's a Hop-Hop Tyrannosaurus...

And he's trying really darned hard to hop-hop-hop along! Yesterday, he grabbed the front of the chaise and just stood right up. Then he freaked out and sat down very quickly. Today, he used my shoulder to stand up and then waved one hand around until he bopped my nose and fell over. He MUST slow down this growing up thing! I really wanted a chance to enjoy my last baby before he became a big boy, but Tyrannus had other ideas. Please note the green, laughing stegosaurus in the floor that he is hunting. See, I TOLD you he was a Tyrannosaurus...

And this is what I've been doing. The website still isn't up, but the slings are already starting to sell. Woo and hoo!
And Tyrannosaurus is making lots of friends. Some of them have four feet and tails. I try to stop him from eating the tails.
And here he is, sleepy. With a Great Big Tyrannosaurus on his shirt in honor of National Dinosaur Month (October, that is).

The Joys of Nursing

Including an uncovered breast and that bizarre slurpy noise when latching happens in the WRONG PLACE.



Well, the wrong location on my body, anyway.



Today, Tyrannosaurus has been crabby. Not all day, just crabbier than his usual grin-and-laugh self. I put him in a bodysuit that read "Gigglesaurus," which might be the problem. All three of my kids like to prove me wrong. I think it's genetic.

So, while grocery shopping, I wasn't surprised when Tyranno-baby asked to nurse. Granted, I was a bit surprised at HOW he asked to nurse...

I was wearing my favorite Bravado nursing tank and shrug. Wonderful invention, that. Especially for nursing in the sling. Comfortable. The ties offer plenty of coverage. Well, this lovely tank leaves plenty of my rather generous cleavage out the top. Not enough to be indecent, mind you. But enough.

Enough, that is for the boy to try to latch on... to the top of my breast. It made weird slurpy noises. And then weird raspberry noises as he blew out in frustration. Well, it's where the milk comes from, Mama. Why won't it come out HERE?"

The entire aisle of people turned to see what the heck was going on (come on, wouldn't YOU turn around for a noise like a fart in reverse? Maybe it's just me...), and the hyena-like laugh of my amusement probably got a bit of the attention, too.

So I latched him on, hoping for quiet.

Well, he was quiet, but the merrily kicking legs sticking out under my arm might have suggested to a few people that the baby was not asleep. That, combined with the strange purring noises he makes when he's really glad to nurse...

And he fell asleep. So sweet, when a nursing baby falls asleep with that little milky face. So I draped the tie of the shrug over my breast and went with it...

We paid, we left. I got to the car to load the sleeping bundle into the car seat, lifted off the sling, buckled the buckles, and only THEN did I notice I hadn't lifted my tank flap.

*sigh*

My life would be easier if I became LESS distracted upon having children...

Count me in!

Veggie Way: Amber teething necklaces and a contest

I'm in this contest,well, because I've been really curious about these necklaces. This example is from a REALLY cool store called Little Sunflowers (I love, and MUST get these shoes). Tyrannosaurus is having a horrible time with his poor, drooly gums lately. Many thanks to Isil (and to Pixie at Half Pint Pixie, who first introduced me to Veggie Way) for the great information on the properties of amber!

Let's Make Daiquiris!

My family is so blended, it'd take a molecular physicist to sort us all out. Both of my parents are remarried. I'm remarried. I have three step-sisters I have met fewer than 4 times each (one I've only met once). I have another step-sister that I know fairly well, but we're not remotely sisterly (I was 18 and she was around 40 when our parents married). I have one stepbrother that I barely know, but like. His wife (second wife) is a hoot, and I like his step kids, although I barely know his daughter from his first marriage. I have step nieces and nephews, step-step nieces and nephews, step great nieces and nephews, a step kid... You get the idea: we're all mixed up.

So having three kids with two separate moms and three separate father figures doesn't really phase me. I get along quite well with my son's mom She and I both figure that we're much better off trying to raise our boy together than fighting, so it works out pretty well. My ex and I are on surprisingly good terms; we get along so much better when we're NOT married to each other. Shoot, we occasionally speak on the phone, just because, even. And now things get a bit weird. My ex is playing bass for my husband. It's odd, but it works musically, and they get along, so why not.

My mother, however, sees things a bit differently. She freaked out when she heard my ex was here last night to rehearse with the band (how else did she think they'd be able to play together? NOT rehearsing before taking the stage?). She asked "well, will that start to bother you? Can you stop them if it does?"

*blink*

*blink*

*blink*

Okay, Mom. Whatever. Because it's going to get stranger than the first time around. Because my husband and the guy who was my best friend in high school being around one another is going to be so sucky. And because I have to see my daughter's father, the guy who I see every Sunday when he picks up our daughter, and Monday morning, when he drops her off on his way to school, and every Monday evening when he picks her up again, and every TUESDAY MORNING when he drops her off before heading off to school again! Oh, no! I might have to see him on Saturdays, too...

So, my mom's strange, my life is strange, and my family is mixed with a blender. Let's make daiquiris!

Sometimes I find myself

Bored and with a pair of scissors. And then the electric clipper. This is that story. In pictures.

Idiocracy

Has anyone seen that little gem directed by Mike Judge? It's hilarious, tacky, and so, so frighteningly true.

Last night I couldn't sleep. At all. I got about 30 minutes. You see, a friend, someone I care a lot about, told me she stopped nursing last week. Her baby is less than a month old. Her two older children have horrible, horrible food allergies. Her baby is being tested for possible breathing problems or a seizure disorder. She KNOWS that formula can aggravate all of those problems. So why did she stop?

I'm not sure. I think she had sore nipples from a bad latch (the baby got a pacifier). Possibly it was normal nipple adjustment. "Formula was easier." The usual. "Well, I tried," she told me. I nearly cried. Ya know what? Nursing is hard work to learn. It's hard to keep going. But it's so damned much easier in the long run! Nothing to wash. Nothing to prepare. No time wasted with a screaming-hungry baby. And then there's this.

Why do I care so much? Why am I personally offended by the "organic section" in the baby store ad that came in the mail today that contains "organic" disposable diapers and "organic" chocolate milk for toddlers? Why do I find their "environmentally friendly" glass bottles a joke? Why am I so pissed off that my friend said she's using "that new formula that's so much closer to breastmilk. It has the immune stuff and all."

Hey, what comes out of a cow's udder and my udder is not really similar at all, especially when it's been processed that much. And my milk is alive. It's full of LIVING antibodies. It has proteins that have been broken down in a natural way to keep from irritating sweet baby bellies. It's customized for my own little Tyrannosaurus. You can't get that in a can!

I'm so tired of feeling so broken down, fighting against a cultural norm that's just plain WRONG. And yet, I'm considered the weird one because I nursed my daughter to age two (and was surprised that she weaned "so early"). I'm insane and a risk-taker because my second baby was born at home, in the bed in which he was created and in which he sleeps now (which would be where he's napping at this very moment).

I have done my research, fought to find where "what's best" fits with "what works for me." I battled to breastfeed the first time around when people kept telling me "if it's so hard, just give a bottle." I learned to cosleep in order to get sleep and found out that it has so many other benefits. I sling, not only for the convenience, but also for the help with language and interaction with the baby. I cloth diaper, not just because it's better for the environment, but also because it's better for tiny dino bums. I don't give vaccinations, because I just can't convince myself the benefit outweighs the risk. I fought not to circumcise my son because I believe babies come just right and that I have no right to alter his body without his permission (thankfully, I won that fight). And yet I'm the one that's strange!

I'm just tired of being "wrong" in a world that doesn't know it's a mile off base and heading quickly in the wrong direction.

Pea Green Soup

My house is like that fourth grade joke where the questions "What did you eat for breakfast?" "What did you eat for lunch?" "What did you eat for supper?" and "What did you do all night?" are asked and the answer is "Pea green soup" for all of them.

Everything is green. The people who lived here before pesimst bought it painted EVERYTHING a horrible shade of split-pea soup green: walls, ceilings, woodwork, doors, built-in bookcases, wainscoting. Everything. And they did it all with a roller. So I have textured, green, painted doors, floorboards, etc. The only rooms not green are the kitchen (off-white with off-white cabinets, also painted with a roller) and the bathrooms (one is a sickly pale blue with rollered off-white cabinets, pink toilet, pink tub, pink sink and white-with-gold-speckles counter and tile and the other is rusty orange with white wainscoting and white sink and toilet). I've wanted to paint it since the first time I was here, let alone since I moved in.

Tonight, I began the task of creating beauty around me. I got fed up with feeling mopey and wishing I could make it better, got in the car, drove to the store and bought paint. I have one wall nearly finished (just to get the look of it), and I am THRILLED! The top two-thirds of the wall are a pale, creamy blue. It's clean and bright and surprisingly warm, for blue. The wainscot is being repainted a rich, chocolaty brown gloss. For the ceiling, I found an ivory the color of old piano keys to create the illusion of a bit of sun in the room; it doesn't actually have any windows in there.

In spite of being tired from a long day and a late night, I feel energized. I have come to the conclusion that I have to be surrounded by Beauty. Without pretty to look at, I don't feel pretty inside. By that, I mean that I get depressed, whiny, mean-spirited. It's not that I want expensive "things;" I just want the things I have to be as nice as they can be, as cared-for as they can be, and as pleasant to live with as possible.

I think I'm finally fighting my way out of the funk I've been in, thanks to post-baby hormones and general BLAH.

And, hopefully, soon I won't have to look at any more pea soup green!

I should be cleaning the bathroom...

But it's more fun to play on the computer!

pesimst is out in the studio today. I think he's recording, because I can't hear anything. He runs it through the headphones, which keeps things in the house peaceful. I'm very proud of him for getting back to working on his music. I want him to be successful enough to quit his day job, which he hates. I think that place is killing him rather more quickly than I first would have imagined.

The Tiny Tyrant has been colicky, poor little guy. His tummy has been hurting, and so there has been much screaming and biting of nipples. I wish I could convince him that he's supposed to eat FROM the nipple, not just EAT THE nipple. Although the growl he gives when he's biting is adorable. Maybe I can get him to growl while biting a teething toy, instead.

It's been hard to get Van off to school the last couple of days. When it's just the two of us up in the morning, or the two of us and T-Rex, too, I never have a problem. He gets up, puts on clothes, waters his dog, and eats his breakfast while I get his lunch ready and packed to go. Then, when the bus heads for the end of our street (we're on a deadend, so it has to turn around and come back by us), he puts his shoes on and trots out the door. With his dad here, he dawdles. His feet drag. He's not sure what order things are to be done. He can't find his socks or his shoes or his bag. I'm not sure what the difference is, but it's a pain in the duff!

DC, on the other hand, is much easier to move when pesimst is here. Or maybe it's just easier for me, with another pair of arms to hold the baby. Either way, she gets there early when he's home. I'm usually the last car in line for drop-off!

Well, I think things have gone sideways in the music business; I hear swearing from the studio. I'll go see if I can help, and, if I can't, you'll probably be able to look for my freshly dug grave in the backyard. I off to beard the lion in his den...

This Fits in With Family Conversations:

Thanks to Half Pint Pixie, came across this interesting bit. Great idea. pesimst and I have been talking a lot about how to reduce our environmental footprint in recent weeks, so this seems like a game way to challenge ourselves, if nothing else.

I'm a little late to the playing field, but let's see what happens:

Day 1: Stop Drinking Bottled Water

This isn't much of a problem for me: I don't drink water. No, I'm kidding! Really I just don't drink bottled water at home, since I have a perfectly good well that tastes lovely when cold. Now I need to challenge myself to never buy a bottle of water outside of the house, either. Ozarka selling to Nestle cut off about half of my away-from-home, bottled-water consumption, anyway (it was the only one I liked). I will buy a sturdy, reusable sports bottle the next time I'm at the store and fill it myself.

Day 2: Air-dry the Laundry

Oh. My. This is a challenge for me. Granted, I do keep asking for a line out-of-doors to dry Tyrannosaurus's diapers and the other white things. I figure the Oklahoma sun has to be good for SOMETHING! And none of pesimst's clothes go in the dryer, and half of mine don't. So, baby steps. I'll stop drying the rest of mine, and work up from there. Ask me where I am in two weeks...

Day 3: No More Plastic Bags

And now we've run into a hitch. I use those bags for scooping the cat box and for cleaning up dog poo. But can I cut back on how many come into the house? Surely so! Lemme think about this today and see what I can come up with. How many bags do I need for my grocery shopping, since I try to just go once a week to conserve gas?

And the baby dinosaur is awake, so I'm out of here!

I've been tagged... like a graffiti covered wall...

by halfpintpixie

8 Random Things About Me

1. After being divorced from DC's father, I vowed never to marry again.

2. On 21 Mar, I broke that vow and vowed to love, honor and cherish pesimst; I'm so glad I did :)

3. My kids are Van, aged 8, in the second grade, Demon Child (so called because of her name, not her personality... most of the time), 5, who is in kindergarten, and Tyrannosaurus, who is 3 1/2 months old and gigantic.

4. Van came with pesimst, DC came with me, and Tyrannosaurus came at home.

5. I forget that homebirthing, toddler-nursing, whole-food-eating, positive-disciplining, not-vaccinating, cosleeping, and a whole host of my other decisions are not considered "normal," because I am surrounded by people who do the same things.

6. I used to be vegetarian, but that changed when I moved in with pesimst. his family runs a cattle farm where the animals are treated right and raised organically. I have a lot less problem eating meat from cows I've met, for some reason. Not to mention, I KNOW what's in those cows (grass that has never been treated, vaccinations only for local, currently-active diseases and hay from the same pastures in the winter).

7. In my non-mommy life, I'm a writer, but I can't write while pregnant, and new babies don't leave a lot of time or energy for writing. Give me a few more months, and I'll get back to work.

8. My dream, since I was 7 years old, has been to circumnavigate the globe in a sailboat. Originally, it was just because I liked the word "circumnavigate." Now I just want the chance to show my kids what a small, big world it is.

If you read this and haven't done it, consider yourself tagged. Link me in comments, please.

A Ranting Post No One But Me Will Understand

I'm disgruntled tonight. Mopey. Pouting. Gloomy. Irritable. Grumpy. Bitchy.

For once, I want something that I want. Anything, really. Just one thing that I want. I don't want to wait. I don't want to delay gratification. I don't want to accept a half-assed measure. I want something new and shiny and "just right" and I want it right now.

I'm a large ball of stifled creativity at the moment, which always makes me prickly. I can't get the words in my head to come out on paper (or into the computer, as the case may be). I can't get the foggy, nebulous pictures in my head to become concrete images. Of course, it would help if I had paints and canvas on which to create those pictures...

Basically, I want things. There are several things that I've put off, waited on, been patient about. And tonight I'm tired of being patient. Maybe I just need more sleep. I'm sure that tomorrow I can be patient and pleasant and enjoy doing the things I HAVE to do, instead of hating them enough to mope and do nothing while thinking of the things I want to do.

Oh yeah, and it would help if I could just have that one thing I really want.

My Own Little Hoover

Vaccuum, that is.

Tyranosaurus will latch onto anything. At least, he tries. Pillows, sheets, blankets, his siblings' arms, his father's neck, my shoulder, the dog... ANYTHING. I swear he'd try to nurse from the house if I ever left him too close to a wall. His suck needs are high, but at least he's finally found his thumb.

This is a whole different world for me from DC. She had such a rough start to nursing, and it never got all that much better. For two years, her latch was always just a bit...off. The first several weeks were a constant hell, thanks to one bottle she was given in the hospital. That and, after one bottle and a refusal to suck on the breast, I was given the HORRIBLE advice to try a binkie to encourage her to suck. Yeah, I don't know about you, but my nipples just are NOT shaped like that...

The Tiny Tyrant, though, is a very enthusiastic nurser. Sometimes it's not all that comfortable when he's trying to pull my entire body inside out through my breast, but I can handle that. What's a little "ouch" compared to the lack of tears from not being able to get a baby to eat? I'd rather have one suck "too well" than not at all.

And I do so love the way his eyes attach to my face and sparkle while he eats. I will do anything to get that big milky grin when he's mostly full and just tucking in a few more swallows. I do wish he'd figure out that breasts are for nursing, though, and leave my collarbone alone.

*Names Changed to Protect the Guilty

Yesterday morning, DC did not want to finish her cereal. She came out of the kitchen stating "I'm full, but I'm not done." I sent her back in to "wait and see if more room opened up" to finish her breakfast. Several minutes passed, and I went to see if she had finished it.

"No, Mommy," she said solemnly. "There's a fly in my cereal."

Now, I can't prove anything, but, as nearly as I could tell:

She had gone to the window sill, picked up a dead fly, and PERCHED IT ON HER CEREAL.

I'm not sure what that says about her. I'm REALLY not certain what it says about me that I had to bite down the urge to pat her on the head and say "Clever girl!"

What is it? Round 1

More Posts Soon

theoretically, I'll be getting my nails done today. It might not happen until Tuesday. In the meantime, I'm having waaaaay too hard of a time trying to type, so no posts until it happens. Just typing this, my nails got stuck between keys five times. It's annoying. Have stories for you, though. So soon. Very soon.

Spoiler-free Potter Post (REALLY spoiler-free. I don't mention any plot at all)

Dear Jo,

Your last book was, as were all the rest of the Potter books, brilliant. You followed your own rules and tied up all the loose ends, even those I didn't know were loose. The story was marvelous, the writing good, and the satisfaction level was excellent

Thank you. You rock.

Sincerely,

A fan called Pixie

(in other words, I finished it. I laughed. I cried. I enjoyed every moment. Basically, it was a Harry Potter book)

And, no, I will NOT tell anyone what happened. At all. I don't support spoilers -- only the occasional guess-fest with my fellow fans. But I have the answers now, so don't speculate with me. I will not share secrets OR confirm or deny suspicions. Go read it for yourself!

ps

I've put up a webpage for baby pics and updates. If you'd like the link and password, please email me :)

If I don't answer... (and a bonus baby pic)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows should be here today. Or Monday. Mine isn't guaranteed in today, so I'm not going to hold my breath for fear of turning blue and passing out. But when it does arrive, I'm taking the book, the baby, a few toys and a big stack of fluffy-clean diapers and draping myself across the bed. Don't expect me to answer the phone. Don't expect meals from me. Don't expect me to care if someone is hurt, unless there's blood or a broken bone, of course; I can't entirely stop myself from being a mom, after all. Someone else will have to feed the pets. Someone else will probably even have to take the dog out (or clean up the puddles if they don't).

I'M reading Harry Potter.

When OoP came out, DC was about four months old. She played on the bed beside me, nursed, cuddled, napped, and stayed with me for most of the book. H-BP came out when she was a bit older, so I had to pause in my reading to fix food for her (and I needed strength for the Event I could see was going to come to pass). This time DC is on vacation with her dad. HB can handle getting himself a sandwich and some fruit. pesimst will be off tomorrow. And Tyranosaurus is just little enough to cuddle with all day long (I've found that reading outloud to him and playing peek-a-boo over the top of the cover can amuse him for HOURS).

So, if you try to find me, but I appear to have vanished, don't worry too much. I'll come back from the Wizarding World eventually. And I won't tell you a single thing that happens until you read the book for yourself!!!

Kitten Update

Just wanted to let everyone know that Foster has moved into a new home. He's one of those lucky few who found a family that will love him forever and ever and ever. I know he's safe and happy and will have his every need, and many wants, met instantly. Knowing that was the only way I could let him go.

And I know all of you who usually read this (all three or four of you, that is) know it already, but, in case there's a stranger who's popping in, SPAY AND NEUTER, PEOPLE. SPAY AND NEUTER.

I am eternally grateful for my beloved Miles (aka Piddles the Cat), Madame McFluff, The Kitchen Cat, Tiger, Gretchen, Anny, Creature of the Night, Kip the stupid howling Houdini, Dally, and many, many others who were at one time strays or born from strays, but NO ANIMAL should have to live like that. If every animal adopted this year and each year following were fixed, it would still be around 15 years before shelters started to have excess room. Kinda makes ya think, eh? No dog or cat should live without love (well, maybe the Kitchen Cat, but she's just a bitch).

Speaking of which, I hear KC and DC having an argument in the kitchen. I should probably get out there before the cat tries to eat the child or the other way around...

...As Time Goes By

Okay, so I'm a lazy. Not in actuality, but in blogging, I'm a lazy. A bad, bad, shameful lazy.

T-Sprout is getting to be a big, big boy. He's quickly living up to his Tyranosaurus nickname, as he weighed in at 12 lbs, 24 in before turning two months. He's a BIG sucker. I'm so proud of myself. My critical lack of sleep and a messy house are starting to pay off.

I swear all I do some days is nurse the baby, cook food for the big kids (all three, if you count the husbando), feed the pets and nurse the baby. Oh well, they're not little for too terribly long. Wait 'til he's two and I'll LONG for the days when he held still and nursed!

The pet population continues to grow around here. On the third, HB, pesimst, T-S and I went out to get in the car and run errands. There was a tiny "MEW!" A kitten! pesimst asked if it was a cat.

MEW!

No, dear. A KITTEN.

MEW!

I peered under the truck. He peered into the back of the truck. No kitten.

MEW!

It was IN the truck. As in, under the hood. Behind the fan.

MEW!

I coaxed.

MEW!

He coaxed.

MEW!

Still no kitten. Fine. Be that way. We ran errands. We came home.

MEW!

Okay, we must remove the kitten before the truck can be started.

MEW!

Tuna? Tuna's always a good cat-extractor.

MEW!!!

Still no kitten. Although its tiny black and white face did appear for a moment.

MEW!

Long story not quite so long, I finally got a hand on its scruff, dragged it free, carried it swiftly to the bathroom sink and washed the HELL out of it. Poor baby was covered in ticks, fleas, seed ticks, burrs and filthy car gunk.

He is, by far, the tiniest excuse for a cat I've ever seen. That is to say, for his age, he's BITTY. He's around 8 or 9 weeks (about the same age as T-Sprout) and about the size of a 5 or 6 week old. Cute, CUTE baby. Sweet as can be, incredibly, after all I put him through, bathing him twice and digging horrible, nasty, biting things off him.

His only injuries appear to be a bang on the nose and a burn on his chin. They're both healing quickly, and he's getting plump from an abundance of good food. His name?

Foster. Foster Resque.

He MUST find a new home soon, or I'm afraid I won't be able to part with him. Madame McFluff wishes the fan had gotten him. FF wishes we'd forcibly kidnap kittens more often. Kitchen Cat doesn't give a rat's ass, provided he doesn't get in her chair, eat her food or, heaven forbid, get between her and the water bowl.

So that's the latest from my (wildly untidy, kind of overgrown, going-back-to-the-wild) garden. If you're ever in this neck of the woods, stop by and say howdy. And bring chocolate and booze. Lots and lots of chocolate and booze....

He really NEEDS a bath...

But I'm afraid. Very, very afraid.

T-Sprout lost his cord stump rather early. You see, he's shaped like his daddy with a long torso and a very low belly button, not to mention an itty-bitty waist. So his diapers, no matter what we did, rode up over his cord, finally removing it the not-so-nice way. Thankfully, there was no bleeding, and it's looking much nicer now (he has a cute little innie).

Well, since that was out of the way, I decided his first bath could be taken in the big tub with Mummy. So I filled the tub, crawled in and tucked the wee baby on my lap.

He loved it. He floated and relaxed and cuddled and relaxed... and relaxed too much and SHAT ALL OVER ME.

He's breastfed, so his poo is small in volume and barely scented. But he'd been trying to go for some time, I think, so there was rather a lot. *shiver* I opened the drain to let the water out, and T-Sprout gave his opinion in the form of the LONGEST fart I've ever heard. The bubbles went on and on and on and on (he is his father's child).

Note: Try not to laugh that hard when holding a wet baby in a bathtub. I thought I was going to drop him.

I finally got the tub rinsed out and the humans rinsed off, refilled the warm water and actually got to bathe the baby. All his "I was born a bit post date" dry skin came off, leaving only wonderfully baby-soft smoothness. He's nice to kiss :)

One thing is certain, his first bath story will be a lot of fun to rehash on Christmases and other family get-togethers to come... and prom night...

What's New

1. SUB and I divorced last year. A lot of people don't know why, and I don't really wish to go into all of it. There was a lot of hurt, a lot of anger, and a lot of bad times that don't need spreading around.

2. I am remarried. Things are a lot different this time around. pesimst and I are a good match, and I really, really love him. He also really loves me, which makes things just lovely :)

3. In addition to his son, Mr. van, who will be 8 in barely over a week, and my daughter, DC, who turned 5 in March, we have a baby boy, Tyranosauras (T-Sprout), who is two weeks old today. I never thought I'd be a family of 5. Shoot, I never thought I'd have another baby! Of course, I also never thought I'd marry again. Then again, I never believed there was someone like pesimst in the world, either.

4. KC, Madame McFluff, COtN and Houdini all still live with me. Sadly, Piddles the Cat was lost to old age and grief last fall. They have been joined by a once-tiny Siamese kitten, FF, who is getting to be a BIG cat now and a Great Dane I'll just call Huge.

5. T-Sprout is now yowling about the poo he just put in his pants, so this is all for now. Later I'll include his birth story (of which I am justifiably proud) and the tale of his first bath (which is kinda gross but really, really funny).

Take care and glad to see you all in the garden