College prep

Gavin is apparently gearing up for early admittance to West Virginia University.

Chip off the 'ol block. Certainly makes a mama's heart sing.

Two becomes one

The Goose turned into a chubby and ultra-adorable appendage during our week-long vacation in the mountain state. She had a fabulous time seeing her family and friends but only as long as her vantage point was from my left hip. She would smile, cooh, wave and even utter "nana", "pa", and "heeeeeyyyyyyy" (much to the delight of all she encountered... especially pa and nana) but the second I put her down, the waving ceased, the smile turned upside down and the only vocalization she could muster was a "maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" or a "waaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh". The girl totally lived in my butt the entire week. Even her beloved daddy was unable to soothe or console her during our brief stint outside the confines of our home.

Her dramatic and intense need for all things me was cute for about a nanosecond. It honestly felt weird to be at work today without a 25 pound, wiggly growth on my hip. Weird but oh so good and refreshing. Stranger anxiety blows. What blows even worse is that I went from "mama" to "maaaaaaaaaaaaa" in one week. I swear, she sounds like Bea Arthur on the Golden Girls when she says "maaaaaaa". Me and Bea were quite a duo. The thing that sucked the most about my wiggly appendage was that I missed out on time with Gavin. A year ago at this time, mama reigned queen supreme in the Gavinator's universe and while I know it is not unusual for toddlers to pick one parent and run with it, it sucked to be unable to interact or play with him because I am currently and very much the parent du jour to the Goose. It was a family vacation but I wound up missing the Gavinator and the husband. Parenting two children two years and younger is quite the juggling act and up until our vacation I felt I juggled both very well but I had no choice but to only keep the Goose balls (Goose balls.... hmmmmmm, I wonder what kind of google search will bring folks to my blog with those two words) in the air. Argh. Pack my bags, I'm going on a guilt trip.

The hardest thing about being out of town was not the Goose that grew out of my left hip or the major diss from the Gavinator, it was the realization that life out of my hometown- while finacially and culturally superior- is kind of pathetic. Lloyd and I have a couple of close friends here in SC and we love them to pieces but they are nothing like the friends one has growing up. I have known my BFFs since childhood and only me and one other have moved away. Everyone else is back in the river city spending time together, raising their kids together, and basically having the social life I long for. I e-mailed another friend who moved away from Chucktown and when I asked if he had made many friends in his new city (like me, the majority of friends he has are of the BFF variety from way back in the day) and he felt that friends are correlated to the number of alcholic drinks consumed. As parents and pillars of society, our drinking days are long gone... as are our friendships.

When I met up with the girls and their husbands and kiddos, it was refreshing to plop down on a blanket and enjoy the warm summer evening with some brew and some music. It was nice to be understood and have the banter that is only found amongst people who loved you when... when you had big hair and braces... when you thought that Slaughter was the coolest band ever... when majorette and dance performances were a matter if life or death... when your parents divorced and you played it cool even though they really knew how you felt but didn't say anything to the contrary... when you snuck out of your house in the wee hours of the morning and they were too tired to go with you so they gave you a hairbrush to protect yourself... when a total douche bag broke your heart and although they were nonsmoker, smoked a cigarette with you to make you laugh... when you didn't even know to wish for the fabulous the life you now have and now, how they constantly remind you that yes, you deserve it all because you are loved.

Some say blood is thicker than water. Well, they've never seen the likes of our water.

Home sweet home.

We're back.

I'm exhausted.

So much to blog about but the contacts are all dried out and visual acuity is somewhat required for posting blog entries. What? I've read my own blog. Hence, the somewhat.

Some of the highlights of the trip occurred during the 8 hour drive home today. We stopped at a rest area so I could #2 (the first #2 in a WEEK! Once I cross state lines, the internal plumbing ceases to operate). I came back to a grinning Gavin who informed me that "mommy dropped duece". Charming.

Later, after Gavin has spent a good ten minutes spitting all over Grace, Lloyd turned to me and said "I can't wait until she is old enough to smack in the face". I totally agreed. I have to wonder, though, if it is ever appropriate for parents to wish one child was old enough to smack the other child in the face? Who cares. The big brother. He deserves a major ass-kicking sister style one of these days.

Finally, Grace was crying while Gavin was trying to watch his DVD and Gavin screamed "HUSH! Hush, baby, hush!". This is funny because that is how we yell at the dog when she barks. Careful what you say. They're listening and one day, they won't be speech delayed.

The ride home, of course, was puncuated by my performing nursing yoga in the backseat. Good times. Nothing like squeezing my 5'7" frame in between two Britaz carseats while cruising 70+ miles an hour during an interstate and leaning over one of the aforementioned carseats with a boob hanging out. Some truckers are going to have an awesome story to tell their friends and family tonight and if you're one of those trucker, you're welcome.

Hugs and kisses...

... to the ones I'll misses.

The officially a mom clan is going to be officially out of town for the next week. Off to West "by God stand up and be counted" Virginia for a week of R&R. Hoping to soak up some rays on my dad's pontoon and hang with friends at a wine and jazz fest.

Country roads, take me home....

Happy First Birthday, Goose!

Or as Gavin would say: Baby Day!!!!

Create your own video at One True Media

As a bonus birthday present, the Goose, the Gavinator and the husband are Image of the Day over at Blogging Baby (I won't repost the pic since it is the same picture I recently posted on Father's Day).

Sugar highs and a little low

The birthday party was a hit and I’m still reeling from my sugar hangover. I had lost three pounds in the weeks leading up to the party but I’m pretty sure I gained it all back in frosting consumption. Mmmmmmm… frosting…… Most of the adults were drinking and since I never know when Grace is going to want the boob I abstained from the booze but I turned to my second vice- frosting. Both result in a euphoric buzz but the frosting is breastfeeding safe so I went with number two. Grace seemed a little unsure of all the party goers at first but soon found her groove and was able to enjoy herself. She inherited her mama’s love of all things sugary, powdered, and hydrogenated and dove right into her smash cake. Of course, in the case of Grace’s smash cake, it should be called an eat cake because girl put a serious dent in her cake. She put her little hand into a scoop shape and shoveled the cake in her mouth with incredible speed and accuracy. Fearing another blowout to beat all blowouts (and thus, another change in my profile pic), I took the cake away from her much to her disappointment. When she is older and nursing and unable to indulge in alcohol, she can eat all the cake and icing she wants. Until then… tough titties.

I met with Gavin’s psychologist yesterday to go over the results of Gavin’s evaluation in depth. The psychologist strongly believes that Gavin is NOT autistic. He does exhibit autistic-like behaviors but as Gavin is extremely social, initiates and maintains eye contact, engages in appropriate- albeit delayed- communication, and participated in all facets of the eval, there is no way he is autistic or even on the spectrum. We are to continue with his speech therapy to address his severe expressive and receptive language delays and he doesn’t need to be seen again until he is four unless his progress lags or we have any other concerns. The psychologist predicts that as Gavin’s speech improves, so will his behaviors.

Basically the boy is weird and has speech problems.

Hmmmm, sound like anyone else you know?

After revealing Gavin’s new habit of taking all of his matchbox cars and lining them up neatly and in perfect order from one end of his room to the other, I confided in the psychologist (stuttering all along the way), that I’m not sure who found his obsession with lines and order more comforting: me or him? The boy. He may look like his daddy but he is all mama.

Last night Grace and I went to La Leche League and I’m afraid that if one of the new pregnant moms is a member of Babycenter, I see a LLL vent in our near future. This one mama was about 8 months pregnant, as country as country gets, spoke through her own mother who came with her, and revealed (again, by whispering to her mom) that she was scared to death to breastfeed and wasn’t even sure if she wanted to. My LLL group as a whole is not very crunchy but last night, only the crunchiest of the crunchy were in attendance. The woman looked at all the no bra, no make-up, Birkenstock-wearing, Dr Sears lovin’, LLLers with wide eyes and I could just see the wheels in her brain turn as she looked for an escape hatch under her seat. I attempted to engage her in conversation. I blinked my mascara-laden eyes, retouched my lipstick coated lips, and crossed and uncrossed my wedge-heel covered feet. I told her that I had to formula feed my son and it was totally ok to be confused and scared. She asked me why I still came to the meetings if I was already breastfeeding and I told her for support. She asked why I needed support with breastfeeding. What do you say to that?

Unfortunately my one-on-one with her was cut short by the start of the meeting which immediately took an extended breastfeeding turn as there were three of us there who were nursing 11+1 month year olds. I tried to direct the meeting to the needs of this new mama but next thing you know people are talking about how they nursed until the were four years old and they planned on nursing their children for years and years and years and I swear, I could feel the new mama shudder from two seats away. Then the conversation turned to the recent NY Time article, Breastfeed, or Else and the pulled ad council commercials to promote breastfeeding by comparing formula feeding to being as risky as log rolling or riding a mechanical bull. For the first time in my 16 month membership with LLL, a meeting has been devoted to the evils of formula and all the new mama could do was mutter “but I was formula fed”. I had to leave early but I told her to get my number from the leader and she could call me if she needed anything. She probably won’t some back to LLL and I don’t blame her.

Promoting and supporting breastfeeding by demonizing formula makes no sense to me. It doesn’t work. I saw that first hand.

What does work, however, is that after 43 long weeks, see that countdown clock up there? I AM DONE PUMPING TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And this is how GOOD it feels to be done:

Happy Father's Day

Need I say more?

It's a jungle out there

Q&A

Amy asked:

Anyway, I would be thrilled if you would give us some tips on what you are doing to celebrate. I'm still trying to decide how big these shin-digs are supposed to be (i.e. Do I invite my friends without kids, too? Because that's pretty much most of my friends at this point.)

Take this with a grain of salt as I am socially-retarded when it comes to party etiquette outside of throwing a kegger in Sunnyside but what we tend to do for first birthdays is celebrate OUR survival of the first 11+1 months. The kid is too young to remember anything and really participate in any of the festivities so we like to invite our closest friends and family members, have some pizza or throw some food on the grill, watch the baby eat smear an entire cake all over his/her face, open gifts, and then sit around for the final half hour or so and share war stories from the first year. This last part is especially fun if you have friends who have kids and it turns into a game of one-upmanship.

“You call that a butt explosion? Check this out [show party goers my profile picture of the Goose’s massive blowout to beat all blowouts. Why do you think I took a picture of that? Bragging rights, dude].”

I say yes, invite your friends who don’t have kids because more than likely they will be the only ones to have the energy to keep the party going and the money to buy nice gifts. Besides, when the time comes to share war stories, they probably have a few tales about Fido’s indiscretions to share that interestingly enough will sound strikingly similar to raising a baby and your stories will serve as a reminder to them to go home and take their birth control. It is win-win for everyone.

I usually have a food activity for the kids such as cupcake or cookie decorating. We did that at both Gavin’s first and second birthday parties and it was a hit. It is fun to sit back and laugh when you send your friends home with children totally high on high fructose corn syrup. Be sure to hand out the gift bags with the annoying toys that make a lot of noise right as the children are leaving so they can play with them in the car the entire way home. Don’t worry, your friends will get back at you at their kids birthday parties. It is a rite of passage for all parents.

Because my kids have enough toys to last a lifetime, I generally ask those with kids not to buy my kids anything. I prefer that they let their kids pick out a toy from their own stash to give to my kid as a gift. This way, they get to clean out some of their stash, my kid gets a new toy and when they are totally over it after 15 seconds no money is lost, and the child who gave the gift learns a lesson in giving. This is all fine and good but sometimes it backfires when the child who gave the gift changes their mind at the last minute and doesn’t want to part with their toy and must be dragged out of the house screaming… all hopped up on sugar… with annoying, loud toy in tow.

Good times.




Judy asked:

My question is how the h-e-double-hockey-sticks do you get anything done with two little ones running around? I mean, I have a hard enough time just going to the bathroom some days.

Simple, Judy. I had colostomy and urostomy bags placed so I never have to go to the bathroom. It is amazing how much more time you have when you aren’t wasting those pesky minutes on the pot.

Just kidding. Honestly? Some days I don’t know how I do it. I have a wonderful husband who is supportive, extremely hands-on with the kids, and knows his way around a kitchen so that makes life easier. Oh, and the Zoloft and vodka don’t hurt, either.

Is this thing on?

I am busy planning for the Gooser's "age that comes after 11 months" birthday party this weekend and putting together a photo montage of the past 11 + 1 months so blogging is going to get put on the back burner for the next couple of days or so. Just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you.

What was that? No, really, it's not you, it's me. I have a lot on my mind and I'm just going to be really busy for the next couple of days. What? Of course you look great and that outfit! Yowza. What can I say? Have you lost weight? No, I'm not just saying that because I'm putting other things before blogging for you. It's just that the "age that comes after 11 months" birthday is a really special one and I have a lot to do. Fine! Be that way. So typical of you.

Anyhoo, if you're still talking to me I thought this would be a good time to open the blog up for questions. So, if you (and you know who you are) have any questions for me or if there is anything you would like to know about the Officially A Mom household then this is the post to leave them on.

Doggy style and no, we're not interested in a threesome (I figure that took care of probably the two most burning questions inquiring minds would want to know).

Boo-yah!

The husband and the Goosers are Image of the Day over at Blogging Baby! I love, love, love this picture! Not only is the husband super hot; he is an awesome dad and an even awesome-er cook. I took this picture the day before Thanksgiving. Gavin and I were outside playing while Lloyd and the Goose stayed inside to get a leg up on the preparation of our Thanksgiving feast. Grace was in heaven as two of her favorite things had collided: being close to her daddy and FOOD!

Although I may need to rethink which photos to submit to the Blogging Baby pool. Am I really that confident in my marriage that I should be sharing half naked pictures of my husband cooking AND baby wearing for all the internet to see?

Nursing me with her eyes

Yesterday it was so stinkin' hot that I set the kiddie pool up in the front yard because that was the only place I could find shade. Not only did it mean fun in the sun for me and Gavin to splish and splash while Grace remained cool as a cucumber on our porch, it meant sporting a bikini for all my neighbors to see. While I did recently vote to pass the homeowner's association by laws, truthfully? I'm a little foggy on the details. I'm telling you people, until there are 38 hours in the day, unless it contributes something worthwhile to keeping the kids from screaming, I'm not doing it.

I know there is something in the by laws about fences being only this tall and storage buildings being only that color but whether or not a woman who has had two kids in two years and is all flippity and floppity where things aren't supposed to be flippity floppity (Am I the only person who can nurse for almost a year and never move beyond an A cup??) is allowed to prance about in a bikini for all the neighbors to see is allowed, I can't be certain. Being the rebel that I am and the pool in the front yard was one of those things that kept the kids from screaming, I did it anyway.

Fortunately, the neighborhood was pretty dead so I didn't see any of me neighbors and they didn't have to see me. Grace, however, was captivated. She couldn't take her eyes off me. I'm not one of these earth mothers who runs around the house nekkid with a baby on my boob. I get nekkid for the shower and that's about it. (Ok, there's one other thing but this is a family blog and I would rather not discuss the hot beef injection with the whole internet. Hiding the salami is a personal thing between only me and my husband. Please respect my desire to not discuss the horizontal tango with all of you.) The only time Grace sees some skin is when she is being nursed. Especially when we used to cosleep I would just sleep topless to make her hours of torture nursing as easy as possible.

When I picked Grace up to take her outside she literally tried to latch onto my belly. I was showing skin so it must mean time to nurse, right? If I walked past her she started clapping and waving and reaching out for me like "Here comes the boobies!!!!!!" and would scream when I kept on walking. When I was in the pool with Gavin I kept imagining she was looking at me the way Sylvester looked at Tweety and imagined the yellow bird as a slow roasted chicken in a cage. I swear, she even licked her lips. It was quite uncomfortable. As a nursing mom, walking around half naked in front of a nursing baby is like dangling a piece of steak in front of a man who hasn't eaten in a month.

I feel so violated.

First at being second

It is so true that the second sibling gets the shaft. Gavin and Grace are only 22 months apart but they are worlds apart when it comes to celebration and attention to various events during their first year of life from family members.

When Gavin was born people crammed into our hospital room and we left with a cart full of flowers, balloons, cards, and stuffed toys. Once home, neighbors and friends brought meals every day for a week and friends and family couldn’t wait to get their first look at our bundle of joy.

When Grace was born we had two visitors and left with an armful of flowers and cards. Once home, I think someone brought us a meal and while family and friends came to meet her, it was much hurried and with less enthusiasm that they trickled through our door.

Throughout Gavin’s first year, cards and boxes arrived for every holiday from Halloween to Christmas to Easter. Special knickknacks and homemade gifts were sent to commemorate every event and holiday in his first year. I believe Gavin has about 10 Bibles inscribed with his name.

Grace has probably received 1/20th of the mail Gavin received in his first year. She has one Bible inscribed with her name and it was given by our church.

When Gavin was dedicated on my first Mother’s Day, my dad and grandma were in attendance.

When Grace was dedicated, no one came. Fortunately our neighbors were there to take pictures.

My mom and her husband came down for Gavin’s first birthday.

No family (other than my sister and her family) is coming to Grace’s first birthday.

As the third child in my own family, I know how it feels to be the “been there, done that” child and I swore I would not let Grace experience that for herself. My brother (the oldest) has a complete baby book filled with locks of hair, baby teeth, and picture after picture. Every event- big and small- was scribed in great detail in my mother’s handwriting. My sister is the middle child and she has a baby book but it is incomplete. There are few pictures of just her. Most are of her and my brother. Me? I don’t even have a baby book.

Because of this, I take pictures of Grace with the same fervor of Gavin’s first year. To be fair to both of them, I have not put together either one of their baby books but I do have two baby books in two different bags filled with every memento just waiting until there are 38 hours in the day so I can put them all together. Grace’s first are just that: firsts. Sure, 22 months ago we may have been experiencing something similar with Gavin but Grace is her own unique person and being born second does not make her second best. Gavin, as firstborn, had the benefit of our sole, undivided attention but Grace has the benefits of our experience and an older brother to lead the way. Sure, he may be leading the way to the litter box to gnaw on some cat turds but still, he is there and he is leading.

There were benefits to being the “been there, done that” child but again, from having been that child, I will not repeat my own experiences with Grace. Which is very unfortunate for her because being the “been there, done that” child totally rocks once you are older. My older brother and sister totally broke my parents’ spirit. By the time I was old enough to discipline, my parents just didn’t care. Just like saving locks of hair from a first haircut or taking family portraits twice a year lose their luster by the third go round; enforcing the grounding a teenager for inevitable behaviors like drinking or back-talking or attempting to instate a curfew that will only be broken for the third time just isn’t worth the trouble. I may not know when I took my first steps or what my first food was or when I got my first tooth or have a lock of hair from my first haircut but I partied like a rock star in high school. Maybe not so much a rock star but I partied as hard as a dorky seventeen year old girl in Charleston, West Virginia, could possibly party. I never had a curfew and from the “whatever it takes” parenting philosophy, as long as it spared my parents from my hormone-driven rantings, I was pretty much did and was given whatever I wanted.

Because of this, Grace is not going to be allowed to leave the house until she is 18.

Bye Bye Blond

I colored my hair last night. After dying my hair a light golden blond for the past 8 years, my roots (and my lack of time to dye my roots) finally won out and went to a more natural hue: medium ash blond with highlights. Well, what I imagine would be a more natural hue. Who the hell knows. I have been coloring my hair this that and the other for over ten years.

I like it a lot but I sort of feel like I've given in to "officially being a 30 year old mom of two" by letting go of blond ways. My faux blond hair was the last thing I had from pre-baby days. Of course, that's not necessarily a good thing. Like all things that came with the husband and the kids, I believe this change is definitely for the better.

Another benefit of breastfeeding

When you take off your shirt, there is someone who will smile, clap, and cheer.

Granted, that someone is 11 months old but still, not something I thought I would ever see in my lifetime and you know what? The girls deserve a round of applause every now and again.

What's the opposite of mensa

My homeowner's association!

For the past year or so, my neighbors have been trying to organize a homeowner's association. It has been excruciating to watch. I have attended only a handful of meetings and more often than not, I pretend to not be at home when the come knocking on my door to ask me to sign this petition or vote for this or that member. My pretending to not be at home is fairly humorous since Gavin is usually screeching at the window and Grace has usually managed to pull herself up on the windowsill to wave at them like she is a homecoming queen on a float. I'm just thankful no one has called CPS for child endangerment from me leaving the kids home alone.

I don't live in a fancy neghborhood by any stretch yet they are asking for $200 annually in homeowner fees. For what? It is a subdivision of about 100 or so "starter homes" priced anywhere from $100,000-$175,000. We don't share any common ground- no pool, tennis courts, playground, etc...- aside from a brick sign at the entrance and the landscaped areas around the perimeter of the subdivision. Our neighborhood is in the city limits so the city is responsible for pretty much all the maintenance of streets, lights, sewage, and all the stuff. I really don't even understand why we need a homeowner's association except for what is commonly referred to as argument A-Z for why we need a homeowner's association:

The Rednecks

There is one family who keeps about 3 run down trucks on their front lawn, landscape with rocks, keep their cats outside so they can breed and breed and breed (they're on their third litter in one year), built a pool in their backyard that- until it was blown down during a storm last week- hung haphazardly over a hill and has remained incomplete for two years, and the worst offense of all: they cut their daughter's hair in a mullet. Any time anyone says "why the hell do we need to pay $200 a year for a homeowners" the answer is "you do know the rednecks, don't you? You don't want more people to do what they've done." It's true. I don't want a neighborhood of rednecks (although living in SC the odds are not in my favor) but how many people in on neighborhood are really going to live like that and do we really need to spend $200,000 annually just to make one family of rednecks denounce their rednecks ways and put their cats inside, take their trucks to a dump, run a lawn mower, and for the love of God, have some mercy on the dear child and cut her hair?

Apparently the anti-redneck argument A-Z worked because last Thursday night we voted to approve the by-laws and the move forward with the homeowners. I was in favor of the homeowners because yes, I do have a deep-seeded fear of rednecks and I figure I can sell a couple gallons of breastmilk to make dues but there is one man in the neighborhood who was vehemently opposed to the homeowner's and for the past few months has launched a counter-attack to the proposed homeowners. He is old and retired so dude has a lot of free time. He made up fliers and recruited other people in our neighbohood to help spread the word of the homeowner's conspiracy. I'm not really sure what the conspiracy was as the one time I did open the door it was an Indian woman with a thick accent and I'm really not sure if she was talking about the anti-homeowners conspiracy or trying to sell me Encyclopedias. All I know is dude made A LOT of people angry and when he tried to get up and speak at the meeting people started booing and screaming names at him. A little old lady in front of me even bellowed "JERK" with all her old lady might. Apparently the retirees in our neighborhood are not a united front.

I have to say that I was appalled. I almost stood up and took the mic but Grace picked that time to puke all over me and it gave me the time I needed to collect myself. Spoiled, regurgitated breastmilk really helps to center the soul. I just can't believe a room full of adults were yelling names at another adult just because of a homeowner's association. I mean, people please. Maybe it's the Libra in me or perhaps the fact that since I have become a mom I look at everyone as being somebody's child and how would their mama want them to be treated, but I really cannot tolerate behavior such as that. I looked around at the room and the only people not hollering names were the rednecks. Tha night everyone in the room became the rednecks to me... except the rednecks. Manicured lawns be damned.

I was walking with the kids last night and I bumped into one of the board members and she asked me how I felt about the meeting. I told her that it was one of the ugliest displays of behavior I have seen since high school and that I wanted no active role in the homeowner's association as I can't surround myself with people like that. Sheepishly, said that she was one of the ones yelling names and I told her I know. She said that my views were very noble but I didn't know half of what the old dude had been doing around the neighborhood in an attempt to stop the homeowners. I told her that I was going to tell her what I tell my children "two wrongs do not make a right" and I walked away. Noble my ass. Those people need to spend a little time on Sesame Street and learn how to treat their neighbors. Officially a mom moment when you realize that you treat people the way you teach and want your children to treat people because that is the only way to make change.

Gauchos, no? Gauchos, YES!!!!!

This is for all you gauchos haters!



Oh, and alimum, yes When Mothers Nurse is that website which featured the "incredibly exhibitionistic mother of a three year old freaking out the elderly in Target". But since I'm from SC, we'll probably plan a photo shoot at a Super Walmart or Waffle House so we can freak out the redecks! And I may just wear my gauchos!