Shit. I mean, poop.

What's worse? Not getting a full night's sleep, or having your baby crap all day long the next day? I can't decide, but losing sleep is starting to sound like the lesser evil of the two. Maybe not getting a full night's sleep is worse for some or most, if you use disposable diapers. But I love our fine planet and do what I can where I can to try and take better care of her, so I have always opted to use cloth diapers for my babies.

This choice also means that I get to clean and wash crappy diapers. I do not mind this. It's quite the norm and worth the money we've saved over the past 3 years and the peace of mind I get from knowing that we're contributing less to our world's disgusting landfill epidemic.

I am honestly more grossed out by garbage diapers than cloth- because I promise you, garbage diapers smell worse and make the crap even grosser to look at. I've used disposables on occasion for whatever reason, and let me just say that I can see why baby poop gets a bad rap. No offense disposable diaper users- that's just my opinion.

I hate hearing people give me shit for using cloth diapers when they have never in fact tried using them before- whereas I have used both disposable and cloth and feel like I have a more balanced opinion. Whatever. It's not a contest. But I still win.

There is no out of sight, out of mind with a cloth diaper. You get first hand accounts of what's going on with your baby's digestive system this way. This is great for being on spot in tuned with how they are feeling because you spend a lot more time with what's in it than if you were to quickly roll up a baby poop disposable burrito and toss it into a Diaper Genie.

Kind of like a crime scene analysis- you see more than you maybe want to see, you get your hands dirty and you have to do a little investigating to get an idea of what is happening.

Anyways, I have a point to all of this shit talking I promise. I'm running out of strategies to try to get Baby Mochi to sleep through the night and I'm about to give up. I'm reluctant to give my babies formula, but on occasion I do. Now, there is nothing wrong with formula- to each mom their own- but I personally only nurse my babies. There is a limit to how much "food" babies can get from you though- since this food does not come from a can or a tin or whatever- and pumping is often more inconvenient and time consuming than what my patience will allow.

Over the past two nights I resorted to having Taylor give her a bottle of formula during Mochi's "dream feed" around 10 p.m. instead of nursing her, hoping that she'll get a little extra calories that she may not be getting from me, perhaps making her fuller longer, maybe allowing her to sleep longer without waking up, therefore allowing me some uninterrupted sleep.

Nope.

She still wakes up. Except now she wakes up sopping wet from the extra fluids and- Ta da! Having crapped herself. So not only am I getting up still, I'm now changing crappy diapers when I'm half asleep. This is not fun. NOT fun- for either of us. I know she isn't enjoying these tummy issues any more than I am.

After about 2 months, my babies don't crap in the night. We like it that way.

Then, the entire next day, she has been pooping all day long. She normally has one decent load a day, but now she has turned into a radioactive crap factory. Her little body likes the formula. She's getting diaper rash on top of it all too.

My poor little sweet sugary cupcake Dream Boat baby has no business being a stinky poopy mess. I feel bad for putting her through this all this shit.

No more formula. I don't want to play chemistry set and experiment with different kinds to see if any work when I have what I know works for her right here (two thumbs pointing in to this gal). This statement is also a p.s. I'm in kind of a crappy mood and in no mood for suggestions!

I give up. I surrender to my baby. I'm at your mercy Baby Mochi! Summon me as you will.

Ok, I'm done talking about shit. I'm sure once Baby Mochi wakes up from her nap here shortly, I'll have plenty of shit to clean so I'll give it a rest for a bit.

But, in other news, I got Jude one of these Gyro Bowls yesterday and it is the shit. I'd get one. They're at Bed, Bath & Beyond. I don't normally review and promote products, but I also don't like cleaning up messes when I don't have to, so I encourage checking this one out. It's pretty great. I'm not shitting you.

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Tardy Bell

Mornings take forever and a day to get started- this is something I'm quickly finding out with two little bodies to get ready so early in the morning. Before, when it was just Jude and I, and we didn't have any place to be at any set time, time was never an issue. Now I'm always rushing around and running out of time- and this cold weather isn't helping much.

At least during the heat, it was as easy as throwing a simple t-shirt, shorts and flip flops on the Tiny Tornado and stuff a barefoot Baby Mochi into her car seat in just a little onesie or t-shirt and underpants- but now with all of this cooler weather, we run about an extra 20 minutes behind. 

Getting Tiny Tornado dressed has become a constant negotiation. As if just getting him into regular clothing, like pants and a shirt, isn't a battle of the wills much of the time anyways- adding all of these extra layers and accessories like sweatshirts and coats and hats have just made it even more challenging. Then baby girls wear all sorts of extra stuff- like tights and socks over the tights and boots over the socks, then a jacket and a little hat....

Tack on another 30 minutes to our already crunched mornings. I guess it would be easier if I didn't take the time to make sure that their little outfits and stuff were coordinated and looked cute, and were weather appropriate, but I just don't have it in me to not care about that kind of stuff. It's a mom thing. It must be so easy to be a dad and float around oblivious to this kind of detail.

No wonder they can never understand what the big deal is.

Today I was actually doing really well with time. I was determined to get Jude to school on time and looked like it was going to happen. 

Got up at 6 with Mochi, who kind of slept through the night thanks to our new strategy to get her to sleep longer, and was ready to start the day.

I managed to convince Jude that wearing the new coat that Mimi got him for our trip to Taos to school was a great idea. Even convinced him to wear his new boots and little gloves since it's freezing outside this morning. He wore them all around the house, ate his breakfast in them and chattered away about how he was going to show "the kids" (as he calls the kids at school) his "warm red hands and cool new coat" (he said).

I thought in the back of my head that this was way too easy, but brushed it off figuring that I got lucky today and celebrated my little victory to myself. 

High five to ME! 

Unfortunately I made a couple of critical mistakes:

A.) I had tried these things on him before I'd actually gotten him dressed- so when I realized I had to take it all off to put on his clothes, he was thrown completely out of sorts and couldn't accept the fact that he couldn't just go to school as he was: in his coat and boots and gloves and underwear.

B.) After I managed to settle him down and peel these off of him and get his clothes on, I switched to Baby Mochi to get her dressed and allowed too much time to lapse between having the coat and hat and gloves on Jude, therefore his interest in them dissolved and he no longer wanted to wear them.

C.) Got Baby Mochi dressed in tights, long-sleeved onesie, socks, booties, coat and hat and went to stuff her like an olive into her car seat- forgetting that I had not checked her diaper since earlier in the morning until I smelled it. Gross. Undressed baby's layers and got to cleaning her up, only to discover as I finished redressing her that Jude had taken all of his clothes back off and had decided he didn't want to wear anything to school.

Oh, and that he wasn't going to school either. 

Collected clothing, which was scattered around the living room and wrestled him back into clothing. Attempted to nicely convince him to put on coat and boots, meeting arguing, whining and adamant protesting. Finally resorted to using my "Mean Mommy" voice, which worked, but made him cry and made me feel like shit.

Hugs. Gentle explanation. Feeling better now. Got him to get his arms into the coat- then he freaked out and didn't want to wear that coat. "No! Not this coat! 'Noboard coat! 'Noboard coat!"

("Noboard coat" = Snowboard coat)

Put on his "Noboard coat" and was met with him whining and wriggling out of it, "No! Not this coat! New coat! NEW coat!"

WTF?!

Once again, late, late late for school.

Ready for school.

Patiently waiting to get the show on the road, watching her brother wear me ragged. 

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Favorites

Anyone who owns a cat knows that people don't choose cats- cats choose people. They aren't like dogs. They don't crave and need everyone's approval and attention all the time. They have no interest in pleasing people and doing what is expected or desired of them. They don't care to be controlled or told what to do. They think for themselves rather than blindly jumping on command. Order them to do something or not do something and they'll sit and think about it for a bit before ultimately telling you to stick it up your ass (in so many words).

That's what many people who don't appreciate cats independent spirits dislike the most about them. That's exactly what I appreciate the most about them. I admire and appreciate and respect that kind of independent spirit.

When and if they decide they like you, you are a special chosen one and must adhere to their affection or face being subjected to them forcing themselves on you when you want it the least. When and if they decide you are their favorite, you become the lucky recipient of a unique kind of love and affection unmatched by any other living creature. I feel sorry for people who have never allowed themselves to surrender to the attentions of a feline.

I adopted my cat Niles as a kitten when I was 21 years old. I was living by myself, working full time and just enjoying being young, single, independent and free. He was a great roommate, until he got me evicted from my townhouse by wrestling with the living room window blinds like a psycho and getting me busted for having him since technically I had smuggled him in under a "no pets" clause on my lease.

He was worth the embarrassment of getting served eviction papers while I was at work though. I love my big sexy guy and he loves me. Not too shortly afterwards, I hooked up with my now husband Taylor. They didn't exactly hit it off right away- out of sheer jealousy, Niles used to destroy Taylor's shoes by tearing them apart with his razor kitten teeth and back bunny claws when he'd stay at our new apartment- but over time, they learned to co-exist, and even become buddies, after I moved us into Taylor's condo not more than 3 months after we started dating.

Over time he has had to adjust to a revolving door of both permanent and temporary changes such as: a roommate of ours who was allergic to cats, another cat turned ally/best friend/girlfriend D'Arcy, another roommate with a male cat of his own, a gigantic puppy turned dog sibling, 5 moves into new houses, and two new human babies to compete with for attention. I have a dog and another cat- whom I love very much- but I can't lie. Niles is and always will be my favorite- and I, his.

Lately, though, he has taken a liking to Baby Mochi- and this couldn't please me more. Niles doesn't really like anybody besides me, and sometimes Taylor if he's in the mood. Middle-aged male house cats are a lot like middle-aged men: he's stuck in his ways and stubborn as hell.

He spent the past almost 3 years doing everything in his power to avoid Jude, despite my hopes to have my number one guy (sorry Taylor! LOL!) snuggle up to my little boy- he avoids him like the plague, goings so far as to literally hide until Jude goes down for bed- then POOF! Magically resurfaces moments after Jude's bedroom door closes.

Little boys are rough. They pull tails. They scream in cat's faces and want to chase them around. This isn't really Niles' style. I'm guessing that since Jude is also another male to compete with for my attention, he feels some sort of resentment towards him. I don't blame him really. It's got to be rough for pets to accept being knocked down a few notches on the family totem pole. That may sound mean- but it's just what happens. It doesn't make you love your beloved pets any less.

Anyways- Niles is all about Mochi. He follows us around the house, sits next to us when she nurses, camps out on the blanket on the floor with us during picnic playtime, hangs out making figure 8s around my ankles when I'm standing holding her. He lets her grab his face and pull his fur and whiskers and yank on his tail- purring away and coming back for more. It baffles me.

I don't even know him anymore when he acts like this with her, but I sure do like this new guy. I wouldn't mind one bit if he made her his new favorite. Really. I think she is everyone's new favorite in our house anyways.

Grouchy middle-aged male house cat has gotten in touch with his softer side.

BFF

Lounging around teasing the baby with his tail- they're favorite game.

Letting her lay on him. Who is this guy? 

Even Niles isn't tough enough to resist this baby.

I. Love. Him.

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Diddly Squat

Happy 6 Months to my Dream Boat Baby! I am simply addicted to this here baby. That's really all I can say about her at this moment. 

My baby is 6 months old today and I'm just blown away at how time has flown by since I gave birth to her. I have a habit of looking at time in chunks to further solidify how in awe I am of it. Like, today she is officially 6 months old, and in 6 more months, she will be a year old. The 6 months that have passed since she was born have gone lightning fast, so I know that the next 6 will just kick dust up in my face as well. Then I get all freaked out for a minute, allow myself to be baffled/anxious/happy/mystified/bewildered/content and then move on with my life.

It's just too short to spend too much time freaking out about anything- even if the freak out is a combination of all kinds of good and exciting feelings. There is always plenty more to freak out about in momentary little spurts as the days pass, so why waste the energy on any one thing for too long?

Continuing on with the thankful theme of November, which I've kind of strayed from over my past few posts. Today I am thankful for my able body. I chose this to be thankful for this afternoon while giving Baby Mochi a bath in her baby tub in the big tub in the kid's bathroom- since she has graduated from being an all but immobile potato in the baby tub on the kitchen counter to sitting up quite nicely on her own in the big kid tub. I can't bathe her in the evenings right now because big brother has laid claim to the baby tub and will only take his baths in it, squeezing his oversized kid body into the little thing and folding his Bambi legs up cross-legged, sitting in it like a boat.

When he sees the baby in it, he gets super territorial, so I'll let this slide for awhile. Wrestling with him while he's wet during one of his own freak outs to get him out of the tub makes for a nice little work out, but I'd rather just avoid the hassle than try to make any kind of point.

There's no rationalizing with a toddler amidst a sibling rivalry.

Since having 2 babies the "old fashioned" way, my hips have opened up all crazy-like. That coupled with the benefits of the hot yoga I practice, I'm finding I can move in ways that surprise me all the time. All of the bending and twisting and stretching and picking up of things and little people requires a whole lot of strength and flexibility. It's a work out in itself just being a mom.

I realized this today while squatting in front of the tub and leaning into it to wash Baby Mochi up and play with her. Holy crap- if that isn't a position that would be killer if I didn't do yoga. I don't think I could do it.

Baby in tub washing position is a position that is pretty much exactly like this position in yoga, except leaning over a bathtub with a wet baby that is as slippery as a seal in your hands:

Believe it or not, this actually feels sooooooooo good. Oh, and I don't know this girl. Just in case you were wondering. I stole her off of the Internet because she is in much better shape than I am. 

So today I am thankful for an able body that is able to do little things like this. A more able body makes for a more able mother, so I am thankful for anything in my life that can help me be a better mommy! 

Fabulous

Over the years, I have collected a really fantastic stockpile of fun "junk jewelry" and accessories. I don't consider the jewelry and accessories actual "junk," since they were things I once wore, but you know the kind of stuff I'm talking about. Jewelry and accessories that I loved and wore and rocked for a period of time, then replaced with newer and fresher and more up to date stuff to wear instead when the old ones got tired.

Even though I stop wearing them, I have a hard time getting rid of those kinds of things. Every little piece, even the stuff I didn't really wear that much but wound up keeping ahold of for sentimental reasons, is a tiny scrap of my history, as my style and taste and life have evolved over the years. Hemp necklaces? Definitely high school. Fashionable watches and beat up sunglasses? My years working at Sunglass Hut. It's a like a time capsule, that box.

I wouldn't call myself any kind of hoarder- because I rummage through our closets and our house several times a year, digging up clothes and crap we don't use or need anymore to give to Goodwill or sell at consignment- but I am very much a nostalgia whore.

I've been putting aside old jewelry and things like that for if/and/or when I ever had a little girl. It just seems like such a fun idea to have a dress up box- I know I used to like to try on my mom's stuff.

My collection is pretty eccentric. Old Mardi Gras beads, tons of fun bracelets, out of style but cute watches with dead batteries, once-upon-a-trend necklaces- in all shapes, sizes and colors. I've always been really big on accessories, more so than clothing itself, so I've got a pretty healthy collection of pieces for Baby Mochi to enjoy someday when she gets big enough.

Jude has gotten into the habit of getting into my closet and digging around and dragging random stuff out to mess with. Over the weekend, he got his little mits on my "grown up" jewelry box, with my expensive nice jewelry in it- which led to me having to scour the floors for my valuables- what little of it I have. I found it all, thank goodness, but the situation was a whole lot of not fun.

He seemed really interested in playing with my regular jewelry box- full of current stuff that I wear. The stuff that falls in between junk and valuable. I think he was just bored. We have to get creative on the weekends now, when he's here all day and not in school. I'd almost forgotten how time consuming it is to entertain a toddler for an entire span of a day. You start looking for anything safe (and sometimes maybe a tad questionably safe???? Just kidding! kind of...) in the house to occupy them long enough for you to eat or get ready for the day without them wandering around tearing your house apart and getting into things they're not supposed to.

Rather than risk him losing anything I currently enjoy wearing, I remembered my "junk jewelry" box and gave it to him to dig around in instead. I told him it was secret treasure and that he was a pirate and this was his loot. Big hit. BIG hit. He had a blast putting it on, running to check himself out in the mirror, then running back to take it all off and put on more and go back to looking at himself.

I love how children are so innocent and unselfconscious at his age. They may be inherently drawn to certain kinds of toys (like boys to cars or girls to dolls), but for the most part, they don't see gender specific fun- they just see fun. So a box full of shiny, colorful, random jingly, jangly, dangly things is not just for girls- it's for any little person who has a fun imagination.

I wouldn't tell my little girl not to play with a Hot Wheel or a toy hammer, so why would I not let my little boy check out some jewelry? That'd be stupid. You bet I let him try it on. Bangle braclets up both arms, stacks of necklaces around his neck, and even a headband with Amber stones on it from my gypsy hippie days. Can I just say we had a fabulous time with an editorial photo shoot yesterday?

O.M.G.

His dad didn't think the pictures were as funny as I do- although I could tell he was amused, he didn't want to show it too much. What is it with guys and their macho bullshit? Jude is not even 3 years old yet! Lighten up man! What fun is it having kids if you can't take funny pictures to embarrass them with later down the road?

I'm going to make some future girlfriend of Jude's very happy one day with these fabulous photos of him looking so fabulous in his fabulous jewelry:

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Friends

It's Saturday night and I'm stoked to be hanging out with my Friends. Not my actual real-life friends though- I'm talking about Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Joey and Phoebe. I discovered about a week ago that Nick at Night plays Friends reruns every night at 10... for like 2 hours. I'm hooked. There's this whole chunk of Friends lore that I missed back in the 90s because I was out every night doing God knows what and smoking everything but my socks. Man, I was missing out. Friends is funny stuff!

It's also starting to interfere a bit with how early I should really be going to sleep, but it's ok. I don't follow Primetime sitcoms, but boy oh boy if some syndicated classics before bed late night isn't a nice little nightcap before hitting the hay.

Most TV- about 99% of what's on- is crap to me. I usually resort to watching movies or re-watching old episodes of the Sopranos, Sex and the City (the HBO versions, not the diluted, rated PG versions on TBS or E! that cut out all of which that made the show so funny) and whatever gratuitously sexual and violent HBO show du jour I'm sucked into, when and if I turn the TV on.

My TV stays off all during the day and doesn't come on until 6 to watch the news. In the past, I tried checking out some daytime television... and I just don't see how anyone can stomach the trash that is on TV before 6 p.m. Corporate news- BARF. Soaps and reality shows- BLEUGH. I am so sick of hearing about the Kardashian people that I could take our collective culture by the shoulders and give it a good hard shaking. I could give a shit about Kim Kardashian and I feel like I lose a few brain cells anytime I even say the word KARDASHIAN.

Kardashian. Whoops. There goes an entire semester of college right there.

You grow up hearing about stay at-home moms who watch soaps and Kathy Lee. I just don't get the appeal there.

I tried The View once, but the sound of a bunch of women sitting around a table talking over each other and arguing their opinions that early in the day gives me a feeling that rivals brain freeze and getting my finger slammed in a door. I wish I could get paid to sit around and flap my jaw about opinions that no one cares about on topics that most people could care about even less.

I mean, I guess that's ultimately what blogging is- but I don't get paid for it. And you can't hear my voice when I get really heated so you don't have to actually listen to me. You don't want to, and I don't blame you.

I'm thinking that the conclusion is that everything on TV is annoying before lunchtime, which is usually about the time of day when I finally start operating like a normal, functioning human being. I'm on the decaf- remember?

So by the time I flop my tired bag of weary bones into bed at the end of my day, usually around 10, I'm beat and ready to lay around and be worthlessly horizontal.

I get a little excited to watch reruns of Friends now- which is probably lame, but I don't care because this is the kind of thing that you start looking forward to after you've spent the evening feeding, cleaning and wrangling small people- meaning your children, not dwarves or elves or midgets, although I'd imagine they'd probably run you pretty ragged too since they can't reach things on shelves or elevated surfaces.

So it's utopia- that moment that I put on my glasses, heave a big sigh, settle into my pillows, get comfortable with my cat, check the double baby monitor action I have running on my night stand, take a sip of water and click on the TV and hang out with my Friends.

Then Taylor comes in, tries to act like Friends isn't funny to him, but winds up snickering along next to me in bed. Anyone who says that Friends isn't funny or clever is lying. They just don't want to admit that they like it.

I'm a little disturbed by the fact that Friends is on Nick at Night. When I was a kid, Nick at Night was for reruns of things like Bewitched, My Three Sons and Lancelot Link Secret Chimp. Does anyone remember those shows? Well, they were from the late 60s. They were oldies. Nick at Night was the oldies TV station.

Now Friends is an oldie. Does that make me an oldie? I'm thinking more now that that makes the cast of Friends oldies, which is reassuring, because they are about 10 years older than me so I've got some good years left before I get to that point.

I've realized that the Friends were all in their mid to late 20s and early early 30s when the show was on. I never thought about their ages when the show aired- and it kind of baffles me to think that they were the age I am now back then. They always seemed ageless to me, but now that I'm that age, I'm jarred by the idea of what that time lapse represents in my own life. Yikes.

Four thoughts on Friends before I abandon my blog to run off and catch up on my reruns downstairs:

A.) Jennifer Aniston was a whole lot cuter with her "deviated septum" nose back when she was on Friends.
B.) I can see why she wound up being the biggest star out of the show. She is hilarious as Rachel.
C.) I love Monica and Ross
D.) Joey, Chandler and Phoebe are annoying, but the show wouldn't function without them.

I don't have pictures to share today. It's been a pretty low key Saturday. Sometimes there's just no point in snapping pictures of your every day details, or posting photos of the kids and family just to post them.

Thank Heaven...

... for little girls.

I love having a little boy. I've always been more of a guy's girl than a girl's girl, so Jude and I have tons of rough and tumble, cars and ninja fun. But I have to admit- I am very very thankful to have had a little girl.

When we found out at our sonogram so long ago, that we were having a boy when I was pregnant with Jude- Taylor got a little teary-eyed. Ok, I'll say it. The man cried. Not like a baby, but there was definitely some man weeping going on. It was super cute how moved he was. I was of course stoked and emotional myself- but not like my husband.

All men want to have a son. It's just the way that it is.

The day that we found out we were having a girl at our sonogram last December, I finally got what the big deal was... I felt whatever it was that Taylor felt when we found out Jude was Jude.

I think about this every time I get all excited to make Baby Mochi a new headband, or browse through her closet and accessories, searching for something to doll her up in, or hugging her close to me while she sits in my lap while we watch Taylor and Jude play all crazy-like in the living room.

I was over the moon to find out I was having a little girl. Finally- another female in the house to relate to- someone on my team (besides D'Arcy the cat and Gretchen the dog of course)! Especially now that my baby boy is getting bigger and older and growing more and more into a little guy, wanting to do "guy stuff" and have "guy time" with Taylor, as we call it.

He's every day more and more the little dude, not just my baby (although I remind him daily, "Who's my baby doll?" and he replies, "Pookie is. Gabriel Jude Hines.")

That's right- and don't you forget it! We even have a song. It goes,

Me: "Myyyyy Pookie. And nobody else's Pookie...only Mommy's Pookie- and sometimes Daddy's Pookie- but mostly Mommy's Pookie!"

I sing this to him and hug him close and rock him around while he rests his head on my shoulder and pats his little hand on my back, as if already acknowledging in a teenage eye-rolling way that his mother is a total nerd.

But he loves that song. It's a pretty big hit. I know he likes it because when he's feeling especially defiant with his dad, he'll stamp his foot and declare, "No- I Mommy's Pookie! Not Daddy's!"

Now in turn, Taylor sings the song to Vivienne (better known as Baby Mochi) while he's holding her, and I don't mind. He needs an ally in this situation. His song goes,

Taylor: "Myyyyy Mochi. And nobody else's Mochi... only Daddy's Mochi- and sometimes Mommy's Mochi- but mostly Daddy's Mochi!"

Yeah, so we're big dorks around here- and that's ok- because you know you do it to your kids (and if no kids, definitely your pets!) too.

Today Mochi and I had self-portrait mommy and daughter photos outside while we got some sun in this beautiful fall weather- and I enjoyed the both of us finally getting to break out our girlie knit hats and boots and sweaters. I took these pictures the old "Myspace way" because no one ever takes my picture with her.

When it comes to pictures- people always want photos of themselves holding your baby, or with each other holding your baby, but rarely photos of your baby with his/her mommy.

Mothers deserve to be photographed holding their babies every once and awhile. Hell, we only sacrifice our bodies and energy creating the baby, carrying the baby and raising the baby- why wouldn't we want to be photographed with them?

We want to be in pictures with them too so we don't only have to resort to wearing our arms out doing the following just to be documented with them:

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Zzzzzzzs Please.

Baby Mochi is really into me these days. I can hear her in her crib right now thinking about freaking out because she can't see me- just like she did all night long last night. Again. Yaaayyyyyyy...

Will someone please explain to her that I am not that cool and that she really doesn't want to hang out with me as much as she thinks she does? I know I should enjoy this clinginess now before she gets to the age when even being seen in the car with me gets too embarrassing for her. I know that I need to soak this all up. I joke now- I really do love nothing more than hanging out with my baby.

It's all good stuff.

But I'm exhausted and I think we would both benefit from a full night's sleep or two... or a full night's sleep every night for forever. It would make me feel less crazy during the daytime and less like clocking my husband in the kisser in the middle of the night. I know I'm not the only mother in the world who has seriously considered packing up with the babies and leaving her husband in the wee hours of the morning while he snores peacefully like a bear in their bed.

That's how pissed off I get anyways. Sleep deprivation can make you very irrationally rational.

Baby Mochi really needs to take a lesson on sleeping through the night from her brother. Jude was sleeping through the night by 2 months old- and although he's always been difficult to put down, once he is down you could have a party in his room and he wouldn't budge. It would take an earthquake to wake him up- and even then, after this past weekend's earthquake phenomenon, I'm thinking it would take something more like the Big One or a Super Volcano. I take pictures of him all the time while he sleeps at night- flash bright in his face and all. This is to make up for all of the nights that I didn't go into his nursery when he was a baby to watch him sleep, because I was always too afraid to wake him back up again after I finally got him down. Little did I know, the kid is comatose when he's out and I could have gone and marveled at him all I wanted. Mark that up to another mommy coulda, woulda, shoulda.

Now with Mochi, we hang out all night long. She can't get enough of me in her room. She wakes up looking for me and my presence alone is enough for her to stop crying most of the time. I can see her smiling up at me from in her crib in the dark when I drag myself into her nursery and look over the railing.

How do you say no to that?

You don't say no to that. That's how.

I cling to the promise that she will someday sleep through the night. I go to bed every night on pins and needles wishing on a star that "This is the night! This is the night she will do it!"

So today I am thankful for sleep- what little I get of it anymore. I am thankful for my memories of good sleep and the promise of good sleep to come. I am thankful that my baby at least goes down to sleep like a dream and for the fact that my little boy is such a good sleeper.

Not so thankful for my husband's sleeping habits and the "survival mode" sleep he goes into when our baby cries.

I've pretty much forgotten what it's like to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time- but I still dream about it. Then right before I get to that good hard REM sleep, little Mochi beckons. Ohhhhh.... REM SLEEP.

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas is REM sleep.

Thanks,
Meika

Dear Baby Mochi,

Here are some photos of your brother sleeping. Take notes. Give it a try. You will like it I promise.
It's GLORIOUS.

Love,
Mommy

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Mimi Saves the Day!

My mom asked me today, "Any new gossip ona Facebook?" No, that's not a typo when I say "ona." I was trying to figure out how to transcribe the random Japanese accent that escapes her from time to time and that's the best way I can put it. I was going to say, "On-a-the Facebook," but that would make her sound more Italian- and this was definitely an oriental slight of tongue. Although she has been in the U.S. since the early 60s, moving here as a 13 year old village-brown-skinned-I-spent-all-of-my-life-thus-far-sleeping-on-a-bamboo-mat Okinawan girl, my mother's Japanese accent comes out every now and then.

A hard core Republican, retired military lady, my mom is now as American as apple pie- but every once and awhile, she'll say something and make just the right, slightest grammatical error that's enough to remind me that she once was fresh off the boat and didn't speak a word of English.

I don't think she even catches it when she does it- but I do. I always do. And on days like today when weeks of lack of sleep catches up to me and I'm feeling mildly retarded and irritable- this tiny little quirk of hers has the ability to crack a smile on my face when seemingly nothing can snap me out of my stupor.

I'm going to go ahead and do a little bandwagon hopping on and do a whole "Today I am Grateful For" blog post, since I've been seeing these a lot on status updates on Facebook. Thank you social networking for reminding me to vocalize what I am thankful for this month instead of just merely dreading/looking forward to the gigantic turkey and 1000 calorie packed sides feast that I will battle my wills against in a few weeks. Although it should always be the season to be grateful, 'tis the season to be especially grateful, right?

So today- as I am every day- I am especially grateful for my mother. Next to food, water, shelter and breathing, my mother is an essential part of my survival. I truly believe, as I would imagine that other women who have Asian mothers believe, Asian mothers are in a class all their own.

Watch the Joy Luck Club. It's no joke. Even the Asian mothers who are Americanized have it in them.

My mom comes up once a week to help me out with the house and babies- and the degree in which she volunteers her time and efforts can not be rivaled. I'm 100% confident in saying that my mom is the most selfless, helpful, service and duty-driven woman ON THE PLANET.

A 30 years of service retired military superintendent who grew up as the oldest of 8 children? Yeah- you don't get better help than that! Sometimes to a fault- because that also makes me under the "commander's wing," and Captain Bossy Pants forgets that I am an adult woman who is capable of running her own household- but still. The break she gives me every week is a thousand Christmas mornings wrapped up into the 48-hour period of time that she drives up from Norman to stay with us. I want to bottle her endless energy and drink it every morning in place of the bullshit decaf coffee I get instead.

How many women have to literally convince and physically pry their mothers off of her hands and knees to stop spot cleaning your kitchen floor with a paper towel? It gets a little ridiculous and makes me feel bad- like either:

A.) Is my house really that dirty? I don't think it is- but now I'm starting to develop a complex like my house is never clean enough when she's not here. She doesn't hesitate to point out what I should be cleaning better, more and more often- suggesting I do things in ways that are ultimately the way she does them, therefore making my ways less than adequate.

B.) I am uncomfortable feeling like some overprivileged princess brat who allows her mother to clean her floors with a paper towel. But her obsessive cleaning is not my idea and she's impossible to stop when she gets going on something. She's a machine. She'll ignore my persisting that I will do it later and continue to buzz around the house looking for things to pick up, clean and put away anyways.

"I can't stand seeing all of this dog and cat hair- and your hair all over the place!" she exclaims.

I've learned to accept her help because there is nothing I can do to stop her- although I do have to push and insist and all but beg that she chill out and just relax and hang out with me sometimes- which is the double edged sword here. It's her way of showing love and that she cares. Some mothers show their love through affirmations, gifts, quality time... my mom likes to clean my house, nit pick me to death and boss me around. It's just her way.

Every Sunday, before she comes, Taylor and I say, "Yay! Mimi saves the day!" Then I proceed to pick up and straighten up and try to "correct" the things she pointed out I should do better than the last time she was here- partially to please her, and partially to save myself from having to hear about it all over again once she walks in the door.

I have actually come up with a children's book called, "Yay! Mimi Saves the Day!" that I have yet to dive into creating physically. The thought and inspiration is there though. My mommy is my personal superheroine. SUPER MIMI!

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Girl's Night OUT

So much for blogging every day for national blog posting month. I don't think the weekends should count, particularly when I actually get a girl's night out on a Saturday. I get a blogging pass when I actually get a night out- and this is because it takes me an entire 2 days to pull my brain out of my ass and recover. I don't see how I used to party like I once did and still manage to wake up and make it to a full time job the next morning, then go out and do it all over again after work.

The hangovers I get now are rare- because I don't ever go out- and 10 billion times rougher- but they are hard-earned and I am grateful for them as I soldier through, because feeling like crap like that means I've gotten something out of my system that I don't want or need again for a healthy chunk of time, thus reminding me of how good it feels to not feel like crap.

Saturday night was a good night to go out because of the time change. I saw that extra hour gained as a tip in my favor on my much needed night "off."

I left the husband in charge of our babies after we put them down for bed, arming him with a couple of bottles in case the baby woke up.

I instructed him on what to do in the middle of the night should duty call, and his first response was, "Well, won't you be back by then to do it?" He was dead serious.

I won't get into the details of the tirade that was my answer to that absurdity- but I'll just say it was a whole lot of shoving down his throat exactly what it is that I do every other single night of the week and that he could handle burning the midnight oil for once and give our baby a damn bottle and let me get some sleep.

And wouldn't you know it? The one night that I can give him taste of the sleep deprived delirium that I wake up and get up to take care of every night while he saws logs in our bed- Mochi slept until almost 5:30 and Taylor wound up getting a pass and it kind of pisses me off.

Yes, I wish sleep-deprived delirium on my husband. Is it too much to ask that he get a taste- just a taste of middle of the night duty?

So, when I go out, I go all out. Kind of like when I break down and stray from my Paleo diet. If I'm going to eat dessert- I'm going to eat a half dozen cupcakes instead of just one. I spend my days orchestrating so much control over my little ecosystem in my home with my babies and husband and pets and household- trying my hardest to keep my tight ship afloat and running smoothly- that when the opportunity arises to go out and be the other version of myself- the version of the woman that I am aside from being a mom and a wife, as all mothers and wives have- I revel in it for as long as possible and allow myself to lose (a reasonable amount of) control and unwind and let go for a few hours.

Kind of like with yoga- but with alcohol, loud music, lots of talking and dancing and laughing and high heels.

My two amazing sister in-laws were in town this weekend and it is always epic fun when I actually get the two of them with me at the same time. One lives in California and the other in Dallas- so it's a treat and rarity to get them both in the same place. I never had sisters, so it's a lot of fun to have my "little sisters" in town to do girl stuff with me.

We met up with a group of friends of mine- more than half of whom also have babies and small children- all of whom also got passes to go out that night. Can I just say that I love these girls? They are friends that I made in adulthood- girls I met through my husband and his friends (most of whom have gone from their girlfriends to their wives and mothers of their children with me over the years) and I've gotten really attached to them. We have something very solid in common- and that's our husbands and our babies and years of shared vacations and holidays and football watching parties and get togethers, weddings (and bachelorette parties! woot woot!), births and dinners... GOOD stuff.

It takes a lot for me to get close to people anymore. I think you learn as you get older not to go around thinking you can trust and rely on just any "girlfriend" you make. These girls won me over 10 fold a long time ago.

People are making all of these FB posts about things they are thankful for this month.

Today, I am giving a shout out "thank you" to this kick ass group of ladies that I call "girlfriends!"

We had been planning Girl's Night Out since OU/TEXAS, after realizing that we never get to all get out together- without our husbands. The older I get the more I appreciate night's out with just the girls. It means so much more now that it ever did in my 20s. Especially when you can go out to a club and enjoy good dance music where you don't have to worry about getting hit on by guys who want to bump all up on you from behind while you are trying to dance with your girlfriends.

Thank you, universe, for safe havens like the COPA.

The energy was so good that night that it even made the ground shake. Literally! I felt my first earthquake ever that evening while we were at NOVA for dinner. It was THRILLING! I of course thought of my babies when it happened, but was comforted knowing that their dad was home to take care of things. I keep a locket with photos of my babies in it for nights that I get to go out- and when I make trips to the ladies room or have the chance to show someone who has never seen them before, their shining little faces are right there with me. I carry them everywhere!

Yay!

My beautiful little sisters!

I don't know who that girl is behind us, but apparently she really wanted to be in our photo.

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Fairy Tattoo

When I was 21 years old, I got all crazy on a trip to Colorado and got a relatively large tattoo of a fairy burned into the middle of my chest bone. The decision was not spontaneous- I had vowed to return home from that trip with new ink- but the design choice was very spontaneous. On a whim, I chose the design of a fairy pendant that my oldest and dearest friend in the whole world had given me- a necklace pendant which I adored and wore all the time- and, seeing as I was going on that particularly special trip with her, it seemed like a great idea to throw caution to the wind and permanently stamp myself with it.

You can do that when you are 21, unmarried and not giving a crap about the consequences of your actions.

Naturally, I didn't take into consideration for one minute the repercussions ("Repercussion? WTF is a repercussion?" my 21 year old self would have asked back then) of this tattoo that sparks curiosity, disbelief and good old fashion judgment by others every single day. It has taken years to adjust to explaining it ("Yes, it hurt.") and learning to brush off strangers and new acquaintances who try unsuccessfully to maintain eye contact with me without stealing looks at it during conversations.

It's pretty amazing the preconceived notions people can make about you based strictly on a tattoo they see on your body. When you have loud tattoos though, I've learned that you can't get too bent out of shape about people reacting to your loud tattoo- because aren't others' reactions part of what makes tattoos so fun? You have to admit- being provocative is part of the package you sign up for when you take the plunge, particularly if you are a female with a chest tattoo.

I'm starting to forget what I used to look like without the fairy tattoo, and over the years I've become less and less self-conscious about it and am unfazed when people check it out. It is permanent, it is a part of me. It has a life of its own.

My clean cut, conservative, inkless husband has declared that he shall forbid our children from marking up their bodies with tattoos. This is amusing to me because I can't quite figure out how that will work considering they have a mother who has a whole slew of them on her own body. Yet another challenge that we will have to overcome being parents with opposing ideals- the battle between liberal and conservative rears its ugly head again. Hopefully we will be able to cross party lines and come up with a compromise, because with 2 kids, there's a 50% chance that one of them will want a tattoo someday.

I try to explain to Taylor how his adamant "no tattoo" rule will only make them more enticing and desirable. As per usual, he is oblivious to the fact that I know everything and he is wrong.

From fairy chest tattoo to this:

I found this tiny pair of fairy wings in the baby department at Target the other day. Baby was not a fairy for Halloween. I bought them for her to wear strictly for my sheer joy and entertainment- as an accessory  for her to wear like one would treat a cute hat or pair of shoes. Sometimes she wears them around the house all day, sometimes I put them on for 5 minutes just to make me smile. 

Worth every penny.

This makes me super SUPER happy.

These little wings on my little baby make me appreciate my fairy tattoo in a new light. They make me wonder what my daughter will think of my fairy tattoo someday. I've never cared too much what anyone thought about it until I had a little girl- but suddenly, I'm a role model and influence on another female and I've got more to take into consideration- all on a level that I never prepared myself for.

I don't regret for one second my choice- although I've toyed with thinking about regretting it on and off over the years. When I see it in the mirror I am reminded of a younger version of myself who was brazen, bold and coming into her own in a life changing way. At the time, it gave me a weird sense of self confidence- like a super hero emblem in the middle of my chest. It was this newfound confidence that led me to go out of my way to meet my husband, whom I totally first hit on at a Halloween party 10 years ago this year.

The fairy very well might have made me do it.

When I see it, I am also reminded of that special trip I took with my best friend and I know the older I get, the more nostalgic that memory will be. When my kids ask me about the fairy tattoo someday, I've got stories to share with them that will give them a little insight on the person that their mother was before she was their mother.

I've always loved those kinds of stories from my own parents.

So the fairy isn't just a conversational piece or an ink mark on my body. 

It's a piece of my history, like a hieroglyphic.

I think it's important to carefully evaluate stuff like this- things that could be seen as regrets- and consider the positives before making any conclusions. 

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Hey That's Mine!

"You can't always get what you want- but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need."

All hail the Rolling Stones

Wouldn't it be nice if we all could still just reach out and take what we want from anyone that has something that entices us? And then, maybe it's not even physical possessions that are enticing, but rather just stuff that seems appealing because someone else has it and we don't- like jobs or lifestyles or relationships or happiness? Contentedness? Peace? Joy?

Sometimes I think we want things that other people have, not because we actually really want the thing, but because the other people seem so happy and satisfied from having possession of it that we want to feel whatever the hell it is that is making them so damn happy.

I had a friend once tell me that my happiness made her want to puke. Someone actually said that to me. And we were in our twenties. I get it now that she probably just desired something in my life that she was lacking, and didn't know how to express herself- but that doesn't make her asshole comment hurt my feelings any less.

Thus, it's very clear to me, that adults revert to acting like toddlers more than we think.

Watching a little child learn the woes and hardships of not always getting what they want and not always getting to just take what other people have has made me think a lot lately about how that tendency to feel that childish burning desire for what other people have never leaves us, even into adulthood. It doesn't go away- we just learn how to harness it better and put on a good face, like all of those other social graces we have to conform to- like not crying with reckless abandon when we are pissed off, or refraining from throwing temper tantrums when we don't get our way. I still do those things all the time... in my head. 

Extreme irrational desire is just another form of hunger... and man can it burn inside you. I see that hunger eating my little boy alive sometimes when he watches his baby sister happily going to town on a purple teething ring or concentrating really hard on reaching for the pink yarn hair of a stuffed unicorn lying next to her.

Suddenly that teething ring is worth its weight in gold and that unicorn, which has been side-stepped and overlooked for months without a second look, is the most interesting, sought after prized possession in the world.

Jude's new favorite catch phrase is, "Hey that's MINE!" which he had to have learned from school, and he doesn't discriminate with what he has decided is his.

While I'm nursing the baby: "Hey, that's MINE BOOBY!"

When our friend Brett reaches for his beer on the coffee table: "Hey that's MINE BEER!"

While I'm putting on baby sister's headband: "Hey that's MINE HEADBAND!"

It's never ending- especially now that she is sitting up. I think it's because she is slowly but surely starting to assert herself as a growing child who will someday rival him in mobility and ability- and he feels threatened by her progression. That "feeling threatened" scenario strongly mirrors how I have experienced and seen other adults behaving and reacting towards one another in grown up land over the years (myself included). 

Hmmmm....

I don't think we like to admit when we desire things that other people have, but I don't think anyone is immune to it. I wouldn't go so far as to call it jealousy- that is a whole other topic on its own- but maybe it could be jealousy's prettier sister. People want what other people have- no matter how satisfied we are with our own affairs and life and business. 

We can have all of the toy cars in the world, but still ache inside- for no real rational reason- for a pink and white stuffed unicorn. The unicorn is not our style, we know that it doesn't in any real way fit our interests and method of play, and we're not really sure what we would do with it if we had it. 

But boy- look how happy it is making our baby sister. 

I need that. 

Baby Mochi's first official sit up play session on the picnic quilt. Jude was wary of this and immediately shoved her over to lay flat on her back. Then laughed maniacally. 

Sat baby back up after a mild scolding and lesson on not pushing people for Jude- all of which he dismissed and all but ignored with a look of disregard that makes me leery of his teenage years. His attitude and personality is so much like mine sometimes that it scares me to death.

Not 10 seconds later he had taken her bow, the drum in front of her and the stuffed unicorn and all of the teething toys surrounding them, and set up camp on the opposite end of the quilt- with the baby sitting all by herself, staring at him with a teeny tiny furrow on her brow.

I got her stuff back and offered him some stuffed ponies, but he wouldn't shut up with the freaking out until he had negotiated at least taking back possession of her unicorn. 

GEEZ.

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