CityMama™

MY FIRST CONTEST

So I get offered a lot of free, wacky stuff in exchange for some blog-motion on CityMama. But today a company contacted me and offered up something that's actually useful. It's a DVD and it would probably be most appropriate for the 6mo+ plus set. I thought I'd give it away as the prize to a contest (my first!), 'cept I can't think of a damn thing to have a contest about. It should involve you guys, of course, and comments, and sharing something...I don't know...cute? funny? snarky? embarrassing? Doesn't have to be kid related.

Anyone got any fun ideas?

8:42AM

That is when we woke up this morning, everyone sleeping in their own beds, in their own rooms. Bunny crawled into bed with us and J. opened his eyes and almost simultaneously gasped, "Whattimeisit?" Sunlight was streaming through the windows. We're not used to that.

We scrambled to get everyone ready so we could:

• go out for coffee and croissants
• get J. to work across town (too late for the "whistle stop tour of San Francisco" bus)
• and then head back across town for playing at the rec center

We made it. Despite the craziness of the morning, we managed to get everyone dressed  and out the door without any major meltdowns.

Today is a good day for many reasons, but the first and foremost being the sleep issue being solved. What a difference a little sleep makes.

Other good things about today (back to my Lunar New Year resolution-but-let's-not-call-it-that to focus on The Good):

Tonight I am having dinner with the bloggers who write Suburban Bliss, Crazed Parent, and Sweet Juniper. I also happen to work with them, but I haven't met 2/3 of them. I selected a restaurant mainly for its blog fodder possibilities. I hope they report back, their write-up will be waaay better than mine.

The BlogHer peeps have my money. I wanted to go last year, but it all depended on Wallie self-weaning by the time the conference rolled around.  She didn't, and ain't no way was I going to be dragging a baby around with me the entire weekend. I wanted it to be a sort of a break for me. But this year, we live within driving distance (one good thing about being back here), and I am so there. Are you going?

The dryer is working.  Hooray!

And lastly but not leastly, Grace aka Dr. Laura's Worst Nightmare, who makes me smile BIG on a daily basis is having a big ole, bloggery slumber party next month, and youbetcherass I'm going. At least for one day of it. I'm sleep obsessed and can't sleep on a floor. (We have a birfday party to go to that weekend.) Miss out on a chance to meet one of my blog idols? Nevah! 

Thanks, friends, for the sweet comments and contact. Wish some of you weren't so frickin' far away.  I'm not cracking up right before your eyes (or "going Ayelet" as my friend Bad Kitty says.) Me and San Francisco? We've got an uneasy truce going on right now, but armed with The Good and some zzzzz's, I'll be fine.

A BACHELOR NO' MO'

Okay, here's why I don't like watching TV with my husband:

Last night we're on the couch pretending not to watch the Bachelor, and every five seconds he's doing his dorky "Travis" impersonation asking me if I will "accept his rose."

"Will you accept this rose?"

"Will you accept this rose?"

"Will you accept this rose?"

"Will you accept this rose?"

...So on the annoying tip.

ON FRIENDS, FENG SHUI, FILTERS, AND FREE WIFI

Our year is starting on the wrong foot already. Yesterday the dishwasher crapped out. Today the dryer isn't working. (Anyone in San Francisco know anything about appliances?) I think our rental house is trying to let us know that it doesn't like us sleeping in the dining room.

For the Chinese New Year you are supposed to rid yourself of the old and embrace the new.  Out goes the old sack of rice, buy a new one. You clean your house. You wear new clothes. What does it mean, then, that our house is completely rebelling against us?

I feel like Sisyphus. Rolling, rolling, rolling that rock. Never getting it to the top. I've got to hang those chimes today.

###

Speaking of out with the old in the with new, I found out recently (by reading it on her blog) that apparently I am short a friend. This must be a sign that we are indeed in the 21st century. My friend and editor Sarah Gilbert recently wrote about sending thank you notes via email, so apparently declaring a friendship over on a blog shouldn't come as a surprise. But it was.

I wasn't going to make mention of it but it's Monday and it's rainy and it's on my mind. Plus, this blog is a piece of me—me in a particular time and context—and I choose to record my feelings about this. I also realize that the older I get I just say things without the same filtering that I had in my twenties, when I constantly wondered what people thought of me. In this sense, I am turning into my tell-it-like-it-is mother. I don't want to intentionally hurt people's feelings, but I think with 36 comes the right or is it privilege to speak one's mind finally once and for all. I mean, we are supposed to know ourselves by now, right?  And, you betcherass I do.

So a friendship has ended. I wish I could go into details but I can't. Suffice it to say that it is a matter of perspective. I understand how my friend feels and I think she understands me. For her the not being able to reach a mutual understanding was a reason to call it quits, for me it's not. It is weird place to be when you still consider someone a friend but they don't feel the same about you.  And that is me this drizzly Monday.

###

But it's the New Year. Out with the old and in the with new. As I sit here in a sassy Cuban cafe—with free frickin' WiFi, finally, San Francisco—watching new moms stroll in with their teeny tiny babies, in a city that I am not so sure I want to be in, I am trying focusing on the new. The good.

New moms and small babies are good. Keep on keeping on, mamas. I see you Pony Tail Mama. Maybe you aren't sure if you should nurse your baby here because it's all so new.  Go for it, mama. I've sending you my nursing vibes. Feel 'em? You are beautiful and confident and so is your little one.

Free WiFi is good.

Living here this past month has brought on a whole host of stress-related problems that I would like to go away once and for all. For the first time in my life, my predisposition to be night-owl has turned into full-blown insomnia. Now that we have a new bed, I'm hoping this problem will go away. At least the girls slept later this morning. That's good.

Another "good"—I'm finally connecting with women that up until this point, I've only known through an online parenting forum. J. laughs when I start a story by saying, "So this friend of mine said...I mean, she's not really a friend-friend...okay, I have never actually met her, but I know that she likes tea (or guacamole or knows where all the indoor play parks are or has excellent taste in laptop bags or makes a killer chile verde or knows where to find the most juicy celebrity gossip)..." I mean, I know these women intimately, but I have never met them.

We've supported each other through pregnancies, birth, loss, sickness, new jobs, good times and bad. We've laughed, hugged it out, and cried happy and sad tears all over our keyboards together. We've shared where to buy the best cupcakes, which "adult toys" work best, how to write notes to teachers, how to answer interview questions, and how to make a mean minted vodka lemonade.  Twenty-first century, indeed.

Anyway, some of us have been meeting up for dinner and playdates. Some of us haven't yet met but are planning to. To these women I'd just like to say that as I sit here reflecting on the coming year, you're in the "good" column. And I know that if my filter ever needs adjusting, you'll call me on it.

LOST: ONE LOVEY BEAR

Has anyone seen my "Orso?" It's been gone for about a week now. My mamma and papa have looked everywhere for it and they can't seem to find it. I think I put it somewhere that I don't usually put it, but I can't remember where. I have a tendency to do that. I've slept with it every night since I was about a year old. That's over two years now.

My mamma has torn apart this house and she can't find it. My papa has looked under all the beds and couches, and inside of and behind things, and he can't find it. I am happy that my parents had the forethought to scour the interwebs for a back-up for me (thank you, eBay) as soon as they saw that I was becoming attached to it, but "Orso's Friend" is just not the same as "Orso."

For one, Orso's Friend doesn't have the same perfectly stinky smell.  And Orso's Friend is fluffy and pink, not matted and my favorite shade of gray-brown. Also, I love to hold onto Orso's squishy foot and suck my thumb, but Orso Friend's foot is too big and firm.

I'm really missing my Orso so if you've seen him, please return to this sad girl:

Reward is one, big, squeeeeeeezy hug.

PARTY BALL

J.'s work party was fun. I liked being back in the company of salaried employees, and found myself slightly jealous of all the people that get to get up in the morning and leave the house to go to work. I miss being privy to all the inside jokes and office goss.

It felt like 1999. The drinks were flowing. The office girls were dolled-up and showing just enough décolletage. The office dudes looked uncomfortable in ties. Photos of everyone in the company splashed against a giant screen. In a cool twist, employees could submit any photos they wanted so we saw vacation pics and family pics and work pics all blended together.

I got a little choked up when the company founders stood up and thanked everyone for working so hard to build the company to what it is today. They told stories of when their company was so small that employees would come over to discuss business and end up sleeping on the living room floor. We've all heard these stories before, but it's not often that you get to hear the people who coaxed and coddled their dream and made it a reality tell it. They told the employees that they were all "smart" and "hand-picked" and there for a reason. One of them broke down and cried.

J. and I have been going to each other's work parties since we've known each other. I started going to his when he was a part-time IT guy, and now he's the boss. I have been at his side when he approached all his managers to say his hellos and to show his appreciation his job. And even if the CEO and board members had no idea who he was, he always made it a point to introduce himself and say hello. He's that kind of a (sincere) guy.

Last night I was at his side when people from his team sought him out to say hello.  But they didn't know that they didn't need to make a special effort to find him. He couldn't have lived with himself if he didn't catch up with each and every one of them to talk with them. And not small talk either.

He's only been at his job for a little over a month, and I could tell he wanted to join in on more conversations, but he didn't know the people talking.

So many times throughout the evening I looked up at my 6'4" guy to see his eyes all a-crinkle and a big, wide grin on his face. It was nice to have J.'s peers tell me how happy they are to have him there. I was right next to him when he was congratulated for jumping in and swimming. His VP told me I could "have him back sometime next year."

A prouder wife, you've never seen. Being there last night with him made me feel just a smidge better about leaving Portland.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, DOG

I don't know if anyone remembers last year when my mom's Qi Gong Master prescribed his feng shui tips for the year (the Chinese lunar calendar), but here are this year's tips:

• the chimes (low-toned, which means they will be BIG) move west
• put something red in the center of your house

Normally we spend the Chinese New Year with family. We go out to eat in a Chinese or Korean restaurant.  I'm not sure if we will do that this year.  Maybe tomorrow morning we will walk up to Clement Street and pick up some dim sum from Wing Lee Bakery and then bring it home.

Chinese New Year is also a time when people do a little spring cleaning and adorn their house with forced plum blossom branches and piles of tangerines and pass out red envelopes full of lucky money. I've been seeing (mostly) Chinese women carrying these newspaper-wrapped branches home all week. The plum tree outside our kitchen window is in full bloom. When I am writing I can look out the window and see the delicate pink flowers fluttering in the breeze. They are so beautiful.

We are doing some house adjusting of our own trying to get more comfortable here.

Today we went to IKEA and bought a new bed. J. and I have been sleeping on a full-size bed, and since Bunny sleeps with us most nights, none of us have been getting much sleep. It's too small, and I don't like to have anyone touching me when I sleep.

We've decided not to have the girls share a room (Bunny doesn't sleep in there anyway). She will get what is now our bedroom, and we will move downstairs into the dining room. The girls had their own rooms in Portland and they are used to sleeping alone. Plus they wake each up too damn early in the AM when they sleep together. Wallie would sleep until 9:00AM if we let her, but Bunny is often up at the crack of dawn. Separating them is better for everyone.

And for us, sleeping in the dining room will actually be great because the dining room is one of those multi-purpose, Victorian rooms that can be completely closed off from the rest of the house. Bed is delivered Monday morning so in less than 48 hours, I look forward to finally getting a good night's sleep.

We also got a new sofabed thingy because J. can't get comfy on the sofa that came with the house. J. doesn't choose sofas for their looks.  He tests them by lying down and closing his eyes and seeing if he can fall asleep on it. We will never own anything from Ligne Roset, guaranteed. Current sofa is very dainty and velvety. J. is too tall to fully stretch out on it, and since I'm usually always parked on it, he has no where to sit.

J. was right.  It was much easier to just sell our stuff and get some "new" furniture instead of spending money on moving our furniture and then paying for it to be stored (since this house is furnished).  So Pretty Lady sofa will live next to Swedish Manly sofa (aka Sven). We can always use Sven in the next place we move if we can actually find someplace where we can have a TV room or playroom. We must.  I need to get out from under this pile of toys.  I so miss our basement...

So this Chinese New Year, we are seeking more comfort and relaxation. And uninterupted sleep for all.

Gung Hay Fat Choy! Happy Chinese New Year!

SMELLS LIKE POO

I'm taking Wallie's clothes out of the washing machine and putting them into the dryer, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why they smell like shit.

I'm sniffing and looking and wondering if somehow a dirty diaper got mixed in with the laundry. I see nothing...until...

I peer into the bottom of the washing machine and spy a damp, brown, Milk-Dud-sized poop nugget sitting in the bottom of the washer all by itself. How the fuck it got there, and how it remained solid throughout an entire wash cycle is beyond me. But it did. 

That is some industrial-strength poo right there.

Children are filthy and disgusting.

PARTY GIRL

Finally had a phone interview yesterday for that job I was telling you about. I snacked up the girls, parked them in front of the TV and waited for the phone to ring. Half way through the interview Wallie toddled up to me and wanted to get into my lap, but I was prepared.  Not only did I have my notes in front of me, but also: an iced oatmeal cookie, 2 boxes of raisins, a sippy cup full of juice, and a bowl full of Cheerios.

They were allowed everything usually verboten: unlimited snacking on anything they wanted, TV in the middle of the day, crayons in the living room... The interview went a little something like this:

Recruiter: So tell me about your family.
Me: blahblahblah

Wallie toddles over. I hand her the cookie, she scoots away.

Recruiter: How do you feel about technology.
Me: blahblahblahblah

Bunny tries to ask me something. I hand her the sippy cup. She runs back to watch TV. Wallie, crunching her cookie begins shrieking and holding her mouth. I put the recruiter on hold, wipe away the gushing blood mixed teething drool and half-chewed cookie (she bit her tongue), wipe her up, and park her in front of the previously forbidden kitchen cabinets, tell her to go to town, and then resume interview.

Recruiter: What kinds of parenting-related things do you feel comfortable writing about?
Me: blahblahcelebritybabygossipblahblahblah

Wallie and Bunny try to tag-team me. I dole out raisins and Cheerios. Continue blabbing.

Recruiter: Who are you at a party?

(Who am I at a party?)

I wasn't expecting this question at all.  I was expecting any number of trick questions from the stardard "What is your weakness?" (parenting forum pals suggested I respond, "Chocolate" or "Kryptonite." I considered saying, "Naveen Andrews.") to the Baba Wawa classic, "If you were a tree what kind of tree would you be?"

But, who am I at a party?

What I said was this. I am the person at a party that will introduce herself to everyone because I hate that awkward moment when you find yourself standing next to someone at the punchbowl and you know you've seen each other earlier in the party—made eye contact even—but didn't say hi. Now, here you are next to other ladling jungle juice into Dixie cups, and you don't know if you should say "Hi" now, or just avoid saying it all together since you could have said it hours ago, but you didn't, so now saying "Hi" seems awkward.

Seriously, though. What's up with the people that don't introduce themselves at parties? I get the shy thing, I'm shy, but not intro'ing yourself is rude. It takes all my courage (and sometimes some liquid courage) for me to make the rounds at a shindig, but I do it. "Hi, I'm Bunny and Wallie's mom." Or, "How do you know so-and-so?" Or, "Hello, I'm CityMama." Once I get the HiHowYaDoings out of the way, THEN I feel like I can retreat into a corner (if I feel like it). I don't feel as rude because at least I've met everyone.

I'm also the person at a party that offers to help the host (partly because my mother would hunt me down and kick my everlovin' ass if I didn't), and has no problems passing around a bottle of champagne or cutting bread. I will clean up my kids' crumbs and make sure they wash their hands before touching your silk drapes.  And if kids aren't melting down I am able,  I will always help to clean up. I love doing other people's dishes.

I am not the person at a party that you will ever see raising a beer bottle and going, "WHOOOOOHOOOO!" (I'm not Tara Reid.) I am not the person at a party that you will see whispering in a corner (either to myself or with others). I am not the person at a party that will use the last of the toilet paper in your guest bathroom and not tell you about it. I will also never be that person at a party that gets drunk and passes out and lets people do stupid things to them and then take pictures and post them on the internet.  Never.

Tonight I get to play Doting Partner at a party, since J.'s work is having a fancy cocktail-y/dinner party thing complete with gift bags. I get to wear perfume and lipstick. I dropped him off at work this morning and he said, " See you later, love. I'm so proud to introduce you to my co-workers." (Swoon. Sometimes I think I don't deserve him.)

The last fancy work function I went to with J. was almost four years ago when a company he consults for invited us on a junket to the Sonoma Mission Inn.  I was 10 months pregnant with Bunny and Braxton-Hicksing like a mutha, but I wasn't about to miss out on swimming in the mineral pool, free massages, and a multi-course wine-tasting dinner.  Yes, I sipped the wine. And, yes, I got yelled at by my OB not for the wine, but for being so far away from San Francisco so close to my due date. (Bunny was born the next weekend.) But I couldn't help it. I hate to miss a good party.

So how about you? Who are you at a party?

TALES OF THE CITYGIRLS

Bunny's favorite book right now is Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born (look left), and, as a result, she loves to hear her birth story. Both J. and I have been telling her the story of how she was born every night for the past several weeks.

This was overheard last night as J. was putting Bunny to bed:

Bunny: But how does a baby come of the mamma's belly?
J.: (pause) The baby comes out really fast.*
Bunny: Did I come out of mamma's belly?
J: Yes.
Bunny: (authoritatively) And Wallie came out of your belly.
J.: (laughing) No, Wallie came out of mamma's belly too.
Bunny: (thoughtful) But the boy babies come out of the papas' bellies.

*In our case, that is the truth. Both Bunny and Wallie were born in two pushes. From 10cm to holding my babies in my arms took seconds.

####

Overheard today as I was cooking dinner:

Wallie: grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop." grrrrunt..."Poop."

As if I didn't already know what she was doing, she felt the need to tell me.

####

And I guess the honeymoon is over. The sibling rivalry has started. It's been 16 months of pure bliss with Bunny being a doting big sis and Wallie soaking it all in, but all good things must come to an end. Wallie is finally walking and I think she's realized that with walking comes certain...um...privileges.

Wallie will sidle up to Bunny and take the book/toy/whatever out her hands. Or when Bunny is sitting on my lap, Wallie marches up to us and screams, "No! Mine-y! Maaaaammmmaaaa!" (She's very possessive.) Or when Bunny is having a snack, Wallie reaches up and grabs stuff off her plate. This is our world right now. And the whining. O the whining!

You detecting a pattern? Yes, it's Wallie that is too punky for her own good right now. She's the troublemaker. She's the one stomping around shouting, "No! No! No!" in staccato bursts. She's 16-and-half months old and it's almost like she's hitting the terrible two's early. Eeeks! What have I done! I take it back! I hope it's not too late. My laptop to God's ears and all that. What I meant to say is...Wallie is an absolute angel.

Poor Bunny. I really feel for her. She puts up with so much. She has infinite patience for her sister's antics. Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts. Wallie doesn't know it, but she is operating on borrowed Bunny time.