Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

Mad wanted ducks and frogs, chocolate cupcakes and white and a spoon for her birthday party.

I admit these frog cupcakes are rather pitiful.  I found the best frog cupcake toppers, but Tom decided "we" should make these instead.  In the picture we'd found online, the green candy stayed in a smile.  Ours would hardly stay bent at all.  When I tried putting a very bent piece on one cupcake, it dragged the frosting down until the frog looked even more grim than the others.

Corey said these look less like frogs and more like green French people. Vohoho!

Oh, and what they lack in style, these cupcakes made up for in ability to stick to the paper.  I don't say I completely forgot to put oil in the batter.  I say I made fat free chocolate cupcakes.

The same lady who made these perfect ducks was the maker of the frogs Tom said we shouldn't buy, because "we" could make our own.  (Our order was perfect and shipped a lot more quickly than I'd expected.  Not only that, but since we'd purchased the candy for the frogs at an overpriced mall candy shop, the cost savings for doing it ourselves was $3.)

Banana nut muffins cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.  Um, yes please!

I am just so relieved that Tom didn't insist we make duck cupcakes, too.  Oh, I found an adorable ducky cupcake.

But I also found a blog that showed exactly what my ducks would look like, should we attempt such a feat.  I think the fact that the writer calls her sister-in-law's (I believe) effort "mutant rubber ducks" speaks to the horror.  You can check that out here.

When the kids arrived, they hunted for butterflies.  The butterfly nets had one "catch" in it and the kids had to find the matching prey.  Good thing Grandma put the butterflies out and not me.  I envisioned them being spread high and low around a couple of rooms in our house.  She put them all in one tiny little section.  The kids are two, so easy finding and matching is different for them than for me.  Note to self.

This little lovely is still on the wall.

Critter tree.  For looks.  We are using it for Easter, too.  Just as you see here, only without the balloons.  It may also become our Cinco de Mayo tree.  Arribe!

Making caterpillars in our weed-ridden backyard.  Check out those short sleeves.  It was a balmy 53 degrees in the sun.  With wind.  Jackets were brought out shortly after this.

Lots of activities to do, but what's better than digging in cement-like clay?

Each of the kids had a pot and a selection of veggies to choose from.  Samantha and her mother opted for an ambitious looking watermelon plant.  I am not kidding.  That's what she called it (the mother, not the child).  I love Valeria.  She's from the mommy group I was in when Mad was born.  We were the rare group that had nothing in common aside from our babies.  Valeria is from Belarus and a model.  Now she's working on her own clothing line.  I can be counted on to not wear makeup, accessories or, often, shoes and a bra.  Somehow we make it work.

Mad got some great gifts. Apparently people felt like they could help us furnish our barren abode house at the same time as they celebrated Mad's third birthday. She received a puppet theater and a table and chairs.

Safety is important.  We were all happy to read this on the box.

Not as happy to see this on each and every chair.  At least they won't pinch!

And now for the dramatic conclusion...

Right after this was taken, Mad seemed to have a seizure.  Thank god my mother-in-law was there.  Her nursing skills, speed and calm exterior helped us all cope a little better.

Yes, she's seen a doctor.  He said it could've been a seizure or she could have been holding her breath from all the excitement.  Waiting on a neurology referral.  Yes, that's a ridiculous thing to have to wait this long for.

Mad Mouth

Daddy, to Mad:  "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to be a purple."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"That's Babies R Us.  That's where stinky diapers come."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mad, to Mama:  "I want a chippie."

"You do?  Where are they?"  (Asked as I scan the post-birthday party bomb blast that is our living room and kitchen.)

"They're right over here, honey.  They're right over here, hon."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And what does Fynn add to a conversation these days?  A lot of panting like a dog and blowing raspberries. 

To Answer the Question

It's now 29 degrees and everything's covered in frost.  Upside:  no wind, so it only feels like 29.

Hooray?

Yesterday I bought Mad an outfit to stand in for her cute sundress, and bought a sweater to go over Fynn's.  I may just stay in my sweats and yoga pants.

Incoming!

Upon turning on my computer this morning I can see that today is the day my in-laws will arrive at our house.  How do I know this (rest assured it's not my sleep-deprived brain that cannot keep track of complex lists or the days of the week)?

At this moment outside my window it is 36 degrees and raining.  Which probably means it's snowing in the pass.  In the middle of April.  Officially warmer than where Judy and Larry left (just outside Chicago) a few short days ago.

On the upside, the wind is about 35 miles per hour slower than it was yesterday...

Not That Wild After All

Tom and I are sitting here catching up on tonight's Idol elimination show.  I like that we can fast forward through the commercials, including the in-show Ford commercials*.  I also like skipping the often horrendous group songs and some of the guest performers.

Tonight's guest performer, to my utter shock, was Iggy Pop.  (Yeah, I know that Constantine Maroulis "performed"... whatever.)  I love me some Iggy Pop.

But not on American Idol.

And maybe he's gone the way of Funyans.  Those were some of my favorite bites of junk when I was a kid.  Had them about ten years ago and realized that either the ingredients or my palate has changed.  Or both.

Mr. Pop, who is almost exactly a year older than my mother, did some things tonight that made me contemplate his AARP membership.

The peepee stance.  Feet out, knees in, hips to one side?  And you're gonna look like you're scanning the aisles for the blue light of a restroom sign?  Almost sent me to the restroom.

Or how about that Marilyn Monroe-esque rolling around on the stage?  Again with the out-of-breath-how-the-hell-did-I-end-up-here-and-where's-the-restroom/whiskey/next-shot-of-something-strong look on your face.

*Seriously, winning a 20-anything Ford Focus is not a prize.  It's a white elephant.  White elephant gifts are not funny unless you don't "win."

I Know Why They Say

... glasses make me look smarter.

Now I look like I can read. 

Unless I take them off, in which case I sound like someone trying to read in their new second language.

(Note to self:  So what if you  read "today" as "holiday," you got three-fifths of those letters in the right order.  And location!)

Sticking With Tradition

Tomorrow it should be in the upper 70's around here.  A few days ago it was in the 90's down the hill, mid-80's here.  Sunshine and blue skies are a lot more common up here than any other type of weather. 

My in-laws will be here on Friday.  The forecast?  Rain and temps in the low 50's.

I don't know how they do it, but they manage to bring cold, often wet weather every single time.  One time they arrived to gorgeous blue skies and nice temperatures.  About two hours later the wind kicked up and blew in this awe-inspiringly massive storm cloud.  Rain splats the size of silver dollars pelted us as we stood there in disbelief.

We have scheduled Mad's birthday party to coincide with their trip.  For some ridiculous reason we have included messy outdoor activities.

Dear Diapers.com

You amuse me.

Yes, I love that you don't charge sales tax.  And that there has been a 20% off coupon code each time I have needed to order a ridiculously expensive European car seat from your fine establishment.  And that I have ordered on Saturday night and received the shipment on Monday morning.  That's all cool and, yes, you rock.

But no, I will not be utilizing the "reorder in seconds" link.  Each girl has one car seat per car.  We're done.  Please stop sending me invitations to spend more money we don't have on things we don't need.

Sincerely,

Me

Oh Yeah, Huh?

I've had my new eyeglasses for a few days.  Seeing with them on is different than without.  Strange that everything is not only clearer, but seems closer, too.  Stairs are still weird, and I'm not exactly thrilled with the way I kind of get woozy when turning my head.  I'm sure I'll adjust to those things soon enough.  There is one thing I have to get into my head STAT, though.

Wearing glasses isn't like wearing sunglasses.  If one is a people watcher in shades, nobody really knows whether you're still looking a second too long.  Note to self...

Ha!

This post had already been written.  Badly.  I'm sparing you that, and will instead get to the point.

Tom said this afternoon (after a full day of cleaning and organizing while Margaret watched the girls here at home), "This is fun!"

And again I say, "Ha!"

People Get Into Trouble For This, Right?

I do wonder if Fynn will some day sit across from a therapist and uncover hidden memories of being left alone.  In a closet.  With the door pulled shut.

Will she ever recall images of her parents high-fiving over their schemes to find the darkest recesses of their home and sprawl her out?  Has she seen the desperate glee as we've plotted an end to her days of napping only in a carrier or someone's arms?

Or, as I sometimes suspect, will she someday drive us to weekly therapy sessions, where her father and I will try to figure out how we went from being two people who could successfully sleep train an infant for nights and naps in one day (bless you, Mad-A-Girl!) to people who have to bring Grandma up to the house to help with Fynn so we can get things done?

Only time will tell.  For now, I'd better get all that pre-cleaning day laundry put away so I have time to deal with everything else tomorrow when Grandma's here.

Tribute to a Man I Never Met

MH II died far away from here this week.  His father, a teacher I've only been working with for a couple of months has left to meet his son's body and bring him home.

I don't know how he died.  I have the basic understanding of why he was in the Middle East that most of us have.  So, like a lot of us, I don't really know why he died either.  All I know is that a soldier is coming home with his father by his side.  Twenty-four years are what they got together.  In friend years, it's a lot.  Not so much in parent-child years.

My Precious

Poor kid's got Mama's frizz already.  But check out that toothy grin!

Party Planning

Tom decided he'd like Mad's third birthday party to be WordWorld themed.  Or The Wiggles.  I have never really disliked a kids' show until seeing a few episodes of The Wiggles.  Granted, they have some catchy tunes, but they also... okay, they're just weird.  And they're not my kind of weird.  Ugh!

More importantly, do we have to have commercial themes?  We did get her a musical Elmo balloon last year (the music piece lasted five or six months longer than the balloon itself... an excellent investment in Mad's eyes), but are we really the type of people whose parties match up with television shows?  We may as well shop at WalMart, catch Bieber fever and start teaching Mad that Hannah Montana is an excellent role model right now.

*sigh*

Margaret and I did a little birthday decoration reconnaissance Monday night.  Stopped at a home decoration store rumored to have butterfly nets for cheap.  When you're looking at a dozen kids, they weren't that cheap, and for some reason, the more appropriately sized small ones were twice as much as the large ones.

Went to the dollar section at Target and found the small ones for a buck.  Along with some frog slippers and a frog magnifying glass.  Have I ever mentioned Mad's unswerving adoration for frogs?  I do find it ironic, since my dad insisted on calling me Froggie from age 11 to probably 19 or 20.  It was cute for about three minutes.  People loved to gift me with frog statuettes, stationary, stickers specially printed with my "name."  Beginning at age 22, frogs were given away, donated or tossed with every move.  I moved four times that year alone.

It's probably inevitable, Mad's frog love.  She also loves ducks.  They do not have quite the same luster as fwogs, rather they are fwogs' pond buddies and, as such, held in a position of esteem.

Behold part of her collection of frogs and ducks:

Allow me to introduce you to some of her friends.  Back Row: Duck, New Frog, Backpack Frog, Other New Frog.  Front Row:  Another New Frog (sometimes known as Fynnie's Frog, which Mad reclaims as often as possible), Little Green Frog (AKA Original F.R.O.G., this is the dude that started the craze... ahem... for Tom... before Mad was born), Duck and Frog Blanket.  (Not pictured because she's sleeping on him right now:  Big Green Daddy Frog and a collection of fuzzy and rubber ducks, but no, not fuzzy rubber ducks.)

The other morning on the drive to Grandma's, I asked Mad, "What do you want to do for your birthday that is coming up?"

"I need chocwet."

"Yes, honey, that's because you're my daughter.  What do you want to do?"

"I need chocwet and white."

"You want chocolate cake?"

"Yeth."

"And white cake?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you want a cake or would you rather have cupcakes?"

"I ravviveler have cupcakes!"

"Chocolate cupcakes and white cupcakes?"

"Yeth.  I need chocwet cupcakes and white cupcakes.  And a spoon.  And ice cweam."

One thing I love about my girl, that ability to separate the needs from the wants.

Today we made more progress in the party planning details.  There's a cupcake bakery that recently won Cupcake Wars.  Margaret pulled the address for me so I could check 'em out.  I asked Mad if she had any particular decorations she wanted on her cupcakes.

"Yes, ummm... I want fwogs."

"Anything else?"

"And ducks.  And fwogs and ducks."

In case that wasn't clear, this evening she explained the whole situation to Tom.  Covering her bases, don'tcha know.

Tonight Tom made invitations that feature a frog who is a complete unknown in the world of children's television.  Or probably any television.  Printed on duck yellow paper.  Has some cute wording.  I gave it a fun font.  More of a garden/pond feeling than a theme.  At our house in the desert.  All is well.  (Yes, I am dying to go all "ducky" here, but a modicum of restraint, people!)

Psychically Linked to My Physician

No, not the one who gave me the naked hug.  I have a team of specialists, people.  A team.

Or, well, I have an OB (AKA the Naked Hugger) and a regular doc.  Regular Doc has been my dad and Margaret's GP since right before Margaret had her accident.  Only he didn't know he was her doc yet.  The switch was that right before.  So when it came to getting doctor's orders for Margaret to be moved from an intermediate care unit at the hospital to a rehabilitation center, my dad had to call and explain.  Only he couldn't deal with one more thing at that moment, so I called. 

I explained the situation to the receptionist, figuring she'd speak with the doctor and either let me know what he said right then or call me back to do so.  Do you know what happened?  The man got on the phone within a matter of about 30 seconds, got the lowdown and approved the orders.  Margaret was moved at 5:00 that night.  That man is magical.

Do you know why else he's magical?  Because my father, the man who throughout my childhood proudly displayed a poster with a picture of an orangutan and a caption that read, "If I want your opinion I'll beat it out of you" (yes, really... I have a photo of him sitting proudly on his Harley in full biker regalia in front of that poster... he gave one to each of his girls about 10 years ago), actually listens to the man.  And follows his instructions.  Dad's health isn't great (that's what being free and easy in the 70's will do to a person, I suppose).  He gets blood work done regularly.  And goes to all of his appointments with Dr. Mike.

Do you know why else he's magical?  Because my mother, the woman who had an infection in her leg so bad that she basically slept through her mini-vacation at my grandparents and then promised them she'd go to the doctor as soon as she got home... but went to a cabin in the mountains ALONE for three days before going home (thereby keeping her word, don'tcha know), therefore ending up in the hospital for a week, followed by a couple weeks of home health care... she actually listens to the man.  And follows his instructions, gets blood work, etc. etc.

In case you're wondering, yes, there was some confusion in the office with my dad, his wife and ex-wife all being patients.  I think it's clear now.

Dr. Mike has officially been my doctor for a few years, but I'd never been to see him until recently.  Mostly I don't get sick (this past fall and winter were an aberration... and if my aberration coughs on us one more time I will flip out all over him, mm-hmm).  There was one time when I tried to get an appointment, but couldn't.  Doc was on vacation and his receptionist didn't have an on-call alternative, nor would she schedule my appointment before he was back.  It was bee-zarre, to say the least.  And annoying.

I never bothered to find another doctor.  When I recently had issues that should be dealt with, I tried again.  I have to say I don't care for Dr. Mike's front office people.  But the man?  He took care of everything that could be handled by him, referred me to an orthopedist for a ganglion cyst (am I becoming freaking cyst-tastic or what?).  When I had more issues, I saw his physician assistant, who ran labs and gave me some suggestions on how to manage my dizziness in the meantime.

I didn't get right on the blood work because that night was when Fynn got so sick.  Then I was sick.  Then I was on my period.  I figured my best blood should be tested.  So I went when things settled down (and after I resumed prenatals).

Today I was thinking about what the PA said about getting my test results.  "If there's a problem, we'll contact you.  If not, we won't."  Personally, I don't trust this method of communication.  Sometimes people overlook something or forget to make a call.  Wouldn't it be nice if they could just call?  Is that too much to ask?

This evening I asked Tom what came in the mail.  "Bill for my car, something from DirecTV (dude, that's junk... have you noticed we've had FiOS going on two years now?) and something for you from some medical place.  I don't know what it is."

Turns out it was a card from Dr. Mike's office, but in an envelope so that prying eyes would not know my test results.  'Cuz I'm mysterious like that.  It says I'm normal.  In writing.  I don't care what you've heard or read.  Dr. Mike said it, so it must be true.  Like magic.

PS Coincidentally, now that Fynn's past that growth spurt/illness/teething thing, I get more sleep.  Turns out I'm a lot less dizzy when I'm not exhausted.  Go figure!

Mish-Mosh

In case you were wondering, I love making food for Fynn, just as I loved making Mad's baby food.  (Corey couldn't have cared less about food until around a year, so he just went straight to food.)  It's easy, natural.  The bananas Fynn eats are never pink (wth?).

I do not, however, love the feeling of Fynn's food on my hands or wrists while I'm feeding her.  I was the same way with Mad.  It's like being slimed.  It practically is being slimed.  I do not want to be slimed.  On my hands.  Clothes are fine, go for it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The other night Tom brought the girls home after work.  It just so happened that I arrived home about 45 minutes ahead of everybody else.  Part of my free time was used doing dishes and getting the girls' dinners ready.  I also went across the street to check our mail.  We received a card from my in-laws with a check "to help offset those rising gas prices." 

The mind immediately starts coming up with ideas, dreams, lofty goals for what we could do with the money.  One thing was a priority, however, and that was getting oil changes for both cars.  Tom's went to the Toyota dealership.  Mine went to a local franchise tire shop.  They had awesome reviews online (as opposed to either of the Ford dealerships within 30 miles).  When I walked in, the two guys behind the counter were friendly... to the point of being charming... and said that my car would be ready in 20 minutes.

Going to a tire shop for an oil change usually means a bit of a wait, so Tom and the girls were in his car, ready to go shopping for each of us with some of the remaining money.  With a 20 minute wait, we decided to hang around.  On our way back from a jaunt up a hill, Michael called to tell me that my oil change was done, but that my rear differential needs to be serviced and that my tires need to be aligned.

*sigh*

Have I ever told you my theory about extra money?  When the money comes, the problems will follow.

The upside?  I mean aside from the fact that my girls will be safer travelling up and down the hill each day.  Seriously, a couple of young mechanic types being charming.  With me.  I haven't come across charming mechanics in years.  (Okay, my old guys were charming, but they were... you know... old).  Yeah.  I'm wondering if I just paid $200 to be charmed, too, but in my mind the answer is a resounding no.  Stained baseball cap holding back unruly hair.  No makeup.  Clothes with this mornings bananas, cereal and breastmilk combo all over 'em.  Bloated because my period's coming.  I mean, these things are all normal for me, but I guess I should have sent Tom in for me.  Bua.Ha.Ha.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I recently scouted out local eye doctors.  Called one and inquired about the cost of frames.  I haven't needed to wear glasses regularly for about eight years or so.  When I did, I often allowed myself to be suckered into expensive frames.  Those days are gone.  I set a limit and don't want to try on anything over that amount.  It makes sense to me that I should have a decent selection of lower cost frames in this area (where Tom recently discovered 48% of the population is on welfare, gah!) than down the hill.

I went in and spent about half an hour trying on glasses.  (The less expensive ones were in a tray box in the corner, in case you're following my lead.)  I go back on the 17th for the exam.  After noticing that I had to walk 10 feet to see myself in the large mirror, Tiffany, the woman helping me suggested that I should perhaps not be too surprised if bifocals were necessary.  In which case none of the glasses she's holding for me will work.  Whatever.  Then we talked about how my eyesight has just tanked since having Fynn, and how I'm going to be turning 40.

"Oh.  Ohh yeah, that's it.  That's the problem.  Mm-hmm.  It's the big FOUR-OH.  Yep.  That'll do it."

Again I say, whatever!

Awesome Hair Theory

Tom had jury duty yesterday.  He was supposed to be at work 70 miles away at 4:00 in the morning, but instead he had to be at court five or so miles away by 12:00.  Noon.  Poor guy. 

He spent a few hours in the jury box yesterday and had to return for continued jury selection today.  At 10:30.

I was pulling for him to get selected.  I've sat on a couple of juries, and have found the whole process fascinating.  Okay, there was that awkward moment with my last service, when asked if I had any knowledge of anybody in the court, I admitted that I'd met the judge before.  When he was in family court about two years earlier.  The judge handled a situation with my ex-husband.  Peering over his glasses at me, the judge said, "Wait.  I remember you!  Wasn't your husband, The Lurker?"  *sigh*  Yes, yes he was.  Can we move along?

When Tom went back today, he spent roughly two minutes seated in the jury box before being summarily dismissed by the prosecution.

I said it's probably because Tom's been growing out his hair and it's just too awesome for them.  I'm probably right, too.  Tom said the next person to come out of the court room was another man, somewhat older, but with equally awesome hair.

Peacefail Demonstration

A friend sent me a facebook invitation to this Friday's "a day of peace."  I like peace.  I signed up.

For the past two days I have been trying to practice the requirements.

I have an idea... for a day of peace. Wouldn't it be amazing?


Just one day in the year where we all held our tongues.


A day where we ignored others' shortcomings and made a valiant effort to be kind and understanding.

Doesn't that sound nice?

I believe I've found a way to successfully do my part.  It will involve sending the girls down with Tom and spending the day in the closet and maybe flicking the light on and off. 

It will definitely not involve going to work, driving, talking to coworkers, relatives or certain friends, explaining why fantasy baseball isn't really a good enough reason to pull money from our meager savings, watching the news or listening to the radio.

The other option is to hold my tongue, between fingers or teeth.

Milestones

Today, March 1 two things became irrevocably true.

One, Fynnie got her second tooth.  Perhaps that's why we were up from 2:30 to 4:00 this morning, although she seemed perfectly happy.

Two, I must now say, "... when I turn 40 this month."  Last year Tom threw a surprise party for me.  To make up for the god-awful birthday of 2009.  More than one person insinuated last year that I was "39 again."  Dude!  Today one of my coworkers said, "Is that all you're going to be?"

Apparently she meant that in the because 40 is so young sort of way (most of the women I work with are at least 50).  Or that's what she tried to explain after hearing me gasp and seeing my mouth drop to the floor.

Not that mere weeks from 40 is old or anything, but today I borrowed a magnifying glass from my dad and Margaret so that I could do some paperwork at the office.  We have to cross-check students based on this exceedingly long series of digits.  Turns out I can't see much difference between 3, 6 and 8.  Or 4,7 and 9.  Okay, yes, sometimes I get 5 and 0 mixed up with other numbers.  But 1, that I can handle, no problemo.

No Really... I Swear!

Remember that mom's group I found around the time that Fynn arrived?  The one that had their first get-together (after I'd heard of them) the night of Fynn's first shot?

And the second one the day of Tom's and my fifth wedding anniversary? 

The one that canceled every other get-together while I was off work and held two in a row the first two days I was back at work? 

The one where I stalked the leader and dragged my girls out in a storm to buy Girl Scout cookies, but the mom wasn't there? 

The one where I finally knew we were going to meet because there was this trip to the exotic animal sanctuary that's been in the works for almost two months?  That got snowed out yesterday.

I don't know if any of my friends are beginning to doubt their existence.  It really doesn't matter.  I am.

Still An Issue

Peek over my shoulder as I read my latest email, won't you?  It's brief.

You, Miss Shannon, are a doll!  Even if you can't seem to get buttons, zippers, etc. down.  :)

Snow Blossoms

Saturday was stormy.  "Sewiously windy," Mad said every time it seemed like a train screamed past.  Our 40-50 pound barbecue was blown off the patio and tumble about 10 feet.  Some time after the girls were in bed, rain turned to snow.  Not a lot.  Enough.

Storm or no, spring is coming, my friends.

Deepish Thoughts

As part of my job, I go wherever my employers have their materials.  One of my employers runs the business from her gorgeous home near the top of the foothills.  One morning Nance and I went to pick up a job.  The smell emanating from her house was noxious.  She said that her trainer had her cooking a bunch of broccoli the previous night and that it, for some reason, was still hanging in the air.


Last night I made a bunch of broccoli, pureed it and tossed in the freezer for future consumption by one Fynnie Fynn.


Last night and today I noticed a serious lack of noxious smells.  Except from Maisy, who'd gotten into the compost.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


I have a dilemma.  If I hold my stomach in, I look better.  An odd side effect is that my belly button goes up more than an inch.  Not to an unusual height or anything.


Dilemma?  That makes my breast over an inch closer to my belly button.  I'll bet if I had another baby, I'd eventually be bumping my breasts with my knees.  While walking.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Last week I made a wild and crazy suggestion to Tom.  It used to be that he enjoyed my weird ideas.  This one involved sending the kids away to Grandma's for at least a day, possibly an overnight, this weekend.  To clean and organize our home.


A snowy pass and a long Saturday morning at work for Tom have eliminated the possibility for this weekend.  We have plans for next weekend that are supposed to be just as fun.  Trip to an exotic animal sanctuary with that mom's group I found when Fynn was born.  It could be fun, I guess.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Speaking of the mom's group... I hunted down the woman who started the group yesterday.  Her daughter was selling Girl Scout cookies at Albertson's (which Mad now thinks is The Cookie Store).  Bundled up the girls, complete with hair and unstained, appropriate clothes for all of us.  Met the daughter of the mom, other Scouts and a couple of other mothers.  The mother wasn't there.  She apparently just missed us and heard how adorable my girls are.


I am so freaking close to making friends up here.  Part of me wonders if I've hallucinated the upcoming trip to the animal sanctuary.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Mad thinks "Ins Mints" are the best thing ever.  She was disappointed Fynnie couldn't try them.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Fynnie's first tooth erupted today.  About an hour after we got up.  She was chewing on my knuckle and it wasn't there.  She nursed, went back to the knuckle and there it was.  Thank goodness, poor baby.  She's the first one of my children to need anything more than a cool washcloth to help her get through.

Dear Abby I'm Not

Notice some subtle changes to my blog?  Yeah, well I was going to explain to someone else just how easy it would be to change hers.  Only I needed to go through the steps so I'd know what the heck I was saying.  For some reasons, changes took place without my meaning to.  Once those occurred, additional changes did not take place no matter how hard I tried.


Hmmph.


Yes, I was supposed to be working on something else anyway.  What?

Well Alrighty Then

Me:  What are you doing?


Madelyn:  I am coming out of my room.


Why?


I need to fold towels and clothes.

For My BB Buddies

There are good things and bad about joining an online pregnancy birth board.  Enough of a roller coaster that I haven't recommended joining one to any of my pregnant friends.  The ups are the friends you can make.  I've made a few good ones.  Mostly they live at the north end of this state, with a couple spread around the country.  Belly laughs are another great thing.  I have rarely laughed so hard at my computer as I have while reading posts on my birth board.


It's addictive.  While pregnant with Fynn, I seemed able to only sleep up to eight hours a day.  If I napped, that meant less sleep at night (good practice for those I-didn't-nap-but-I'm-still-not-getting-any-sleep nights).  August 7, 2010, for example, I took a short nap.  Thus, I was online responding to posts when my water broke August 8 at 2:20 A.M.


The downsides include a lot of unnecessary drama; you get 12,000 pregnant woman together and avoid drama.  Not surprisingly, the hair flips have died down since babies have started sleeping more and moms are feeling more human again.


A huge drawback... and the one that keeps me from promoting birth boards to expectant and new mamas... is that someone is going to have that awful, heartbreaking experience and the rest of us are going to go through it with them at some level, too.


Watching Mini Cooper fight to live... and then not make it.  It felt like losing a nephew.  It still hurts.  A lot.


Of course, there are the ones who do battle and win.  Gavin was born within days of Cooper.  He should be a few weeks younger than Fynn, but he turned nine months old about a week ago.  Gavin is strong and beautiful, and I love finding out what he's up to next.  You can check out the most adorable video of him giggling here.  It'll do your heart good.


Sometimes a baby is born perfectly healthy and things still go haywire.  Take Baby Scarlett, for example.  She was born in October.  Went to her two month check up, where the parents asked questions about the strange bruising on her forehead.  Last month she had two surgeries to remove a tumor from her brain.  The doctors got it all, but she needs to begin chemotherapy next week.  In all honesty, I follow Scarlett's story, but not as closely as "my boys," Gavin and Cooper, or "my girl," Evelyn.  It's hard on the heart. 


Going back to the good parts of being on a birth board, people really pull around one another.  Monday night when I was sitting in the ER with Fynn, I had a solid group of women sending up love, prayers and well wishes.  Such a short-term event, but it really brought home for me how much that support can mean.\


So I am doing what I can to pass on that support.  One of my Triple B's (uh, yeah, that's birth board buddies) has set up a scrapbooking service.  She's sending 15% of profits from any sales to help defray Scarlett's parents expenses.  If you could use a scrapbook, or you know someone who can, check her out.  Leave a comment between now and the end of Valentine's Day on this page, and you'll be entered in a drawing for a free scrapbook.  And if you find that she offers a service you'd like to use, know that you'll be helping a little girl and her parents.

Walk of Shame?

Left for work in the sun-not-quite-up hour yesterday morning.  Came home at 10:00 this morning wearing someone else's pants and T-shirt. 


Wild night partying?  I freaking wish.


Let me just start by saying there are some oddball traditions in my family that we really like.  Having Mad and Fynn delivered by nurses because there was no way for the doc to arrive in time (after ridiculous labors... I earned it!) is one.


And then there is the "my daughter had her first ride in an ambulance" tradition.  Tom and I are really over that one.


Went to pick up the girls yesterday evening.  Fynn felt a little warm.  Temperature was 101.4 and she wasn't quite herself.  However, I am usually driving her home by then, and she does sleep for about half of the trip.  I called the doc anyway and got guidelines for taking her to urgent care, as well as advice on managing things at home.  Tom spoke with his very knowledgeable mom who agreed with the doc.


As we'd just given Fynn acetaminophen before the doctor called, we decided to wait for her fever to go down (101.9 when the medication was given) before trekking home.  Ten minutes later I said that she seemed to be cooling down.  Margaret checked her temp again. 


Down?  Not even close.  It was 105.  I feel like an idiot who will never trust my hands and lips again.


We packed her up and headed straight to the car.  Just as I was about to put her in, she had a seizure.  My ability to communicate was sub-par.  All I told Tom was that we weren't going; call 911!


He had problems calling from his PDA (yes, I am working on my own words for what PDA really means).  He used Margaret's phone, but it was soon clear he didn't know what the hell was going on.  We got it straightened out and within 2 minutes help arrived.


Seeing the fire truck pull up brought back hard memories of Madelyn's injury, but they were quickly replaced with questions that needed to be answered.  Stupid easy questions took me a half-second longer to answer than they should.


What's her middle name?


*internally* Does she have a middle name?


We were advised to transport her via ambulance to the nearest hospital... (where she was born) a place we trust completely.  I rode with her.


When Mad and I went in the ambulance, she was calm and relaxed.  Not so with Fynn.  I was wearing some five- (or more) point harness, so it was tough to reach her.  I felt like I was fighting a parachute in the wind, but I managed to hold her hand, sometimes a foot, too.


I'll spare the minute-by-hour in the ER.  After Motrin was administered she actually perked back up.  That was more than doubly good because it meant she did not need to have a spinal tap to rule out meningitis.  Her lungs sounded perfectly clear, which meant we did not have to get chest X-rays.  The only diagnosis that couldn't be made without testing was regarding a bladder infection.  Fynn and I cried together as she was catheterized long enough to collect urine.  But the urine turned out to be clear.


It's a virus.  It's probably the same nasty virus that Tom, my mom and Corey all had this weekend.  It's miserable. 


We were released late last night into an ER lobby that was shockingly full of waiting babies and children. I'm so grateful that we were encouraged to take the ride in, as we were given a bed within a few minutes of arriving. Who knows how long we would have waited otherwise.  The three of us headed back to Dad and Margaret's, where we spent the night.  Neighbors from up and down the street dropped by to make sure Fynn was okay this morning.  That's the sort of neighborhood we need.


Mad and I are coming down with it, too.  But we know what to look for.  Tom is at the store now buying the girls their own bottles of acetaminophen, extra tissues, an ear thermometer and lots of water, Pedialyte and Gatorade.  Mad's been napping for two hours.  Fynn's been nursing and napping all morning.  I can't get out of this chair or I'd be asleep, too.  The good news is that Tom's feeling a lot better.  It gives us an idea of what to expect.  Plus, we're getting to spend the day together during the week, which is so rare.  (Yep, looking for all of the silver linings I can find right now.) 

And the Next Thing I Knew

... I was in Mexico.


No, really!  I went to pick up Mad and Fynn from Grandma and Papa's.  Decided to nurse Fynn for a few minutes before heading home.  Next thing I know, I'm wearing a sombrero, holding a margarita, and there's a donkey over in the corner.  Serapes everywhere.


So yes, I opened my eyes and said, "Margaret, I just went to Mexico.  Would you mind if I lay down in your bed before driving home?"


And I wonder why I'm getting dizzy spells.

Time Must Really Be Flying

Madelyn:  "I'm old.''


Mama:  "Huh?"


Madelyn:  "I'm getting old."


Mama:  "Oh!  You mean you're going to be three in April?  Right now you're two and you're going to be three?"


Madelyn:  "Now I'm five."

I Should Be Sleeping, But I Slept Already

Two and a half hours with a nonstop nursing, going through a growth spurt baby.  Instead I've been spending the evening catching up on a colleague's CaringBridge page.  Turns out that while I was off having Fynn and enjoying my life as her mama, Ruben was being diagnosed with multiple cancers.  He's a public speaker, writer and thinker, so there are a lot of posts to catch up on.  After five hours or so, I'm about halfway.


And you know what?  I have never laughed so hard while reading about someone's journey toward becoming a cancer survivor.  I hope to never take his journey.  If I do, I hope to do it like him.


After our snowy start to the new year, we've been enjoying downright balmy weather.  I'd heard it was coming to an end by the end of this weekend.  Yesterday I made PB & J's for Mad and me.  We sat on the warm concrete out back and ate them while talking about her baby (her name is Sister, but you can also call her Sister Baby... not to be confused with Fynn, who is Baby Sister.)


Today we had a play date with Mad's and Fynn's friends, two families, each with kids who will turn three and one this year.  Mad's the oldest by two months, Fynn's the youngest by two months.  The park is one where I spent many hours running as a teen.  It's the epitome of a beautiful community park, with sporting fields, an awesome three-ring playground and an exercise trail (.8 miles) that loops it.  The trail is adjacent to an equestrian path, and the park is set in the foothills of a chic-chic neighborhood.  It was frigid.  With a breeze.


We arrived early, which is a rare occurrence for anyone of our playdate families.  Fynn was ready for a nap, so I tossed her in the Beco and did a lap.  For maybe the second time ever, I went the easy way.  That would be down the steep quarter mile or so hill.  I figured that 15.5 pounds of baby meant I could go a little easy on myself.  As I moved, I was reminded of how different my body is now compared to my 16 year old running, dancing body.  Instead of getting down on myself, I thought of people who might not be able to get around with such relative ease.  A mental shout-out went to Bossy Betty's friend E.


After all the playground fun and an icy, rainy lunch we all did a lap.  Mad was the only toddler not in a stroller; because of Fynn's preference for the wrap and carrier, we don't use a stroller.  It's at Grandma's so Mad can still get her daily walks.  So the rest of our group had a slight advantage over us, speed-wise.  By the time we were halfway around, everybody else was done.  Even the lone Grammy of the group.  We skipped the big hill and had a quick-quick-slow race up the grass.


In the car, Mad had a snack, but even with it her energy was low.  All that running around wore her out!  I'm not sure I believed it could happen.  She said sluggishly, "I'm tired," and I believed her.


On the way home, Tom and I dreamed of living closer to our friends, and of one of us getting to be a stay at home parent.  We have to be in our house 14 more months in order to satisfy the requirements of the tax credit we got two years ago.  Fourteen months and selling the house for at least enough to have a down payment on another house down the hill are all that stands between us and a normal life.

.5

Presto Blocks Girl Birthday Invitation

Shutterfly has unique birthday invitations for every age and occasion.

View the entire collection of cards.

Six months is coming up so fast.  We made this card because we (still!) haven't sent out announcements.  It's a lovely way to catch people up on the glory that is Fynn.  I just hope people don't think we're soliciting gifts.  And I'm letting Shutterfly advertise on my site because I can get $25 off my next order for doing so.


*No, I'm not the genius who thought of celebrating .5; that would be the highly talented mama over at And Evie Makes Three. 

Good Times

Tom has accepted that we'll be paying the $475 truancy fine, even though we got Corey to school every day.  He was always on campus; the school failed to keep him in class.  (Two teachers have told me that they "should have called" when they saw him out and about.  I didn't respond with anything remotely like what I was actually thinking when I heard that.)  Personally, I believe the principal should pay the fine or risk having his driver's license suspended.  But that's just me. 


Corey's printout from the Department of Juvenile Probation was clean, as we'd expected.  Job Corps will be pleased to know that not being a criminal is something my son has going for him.


Pulling an illegal and - worse! - badly done U-Turn in front of a police officer, I have decided, is an expensive lesson for Corey.  Accept responsibility when you make a mistake.  Remain cordial, find the humor and do what you can to avoid making the same (incredibly stupid fricking) mistake again.  That's right.  I did it for my son.


Around 1:00 yesterday afternoon someone said to me, "Shanni... is your shirt on inside out?  Is it?  I mean, some people do that like a style thing."  Dude.  I was fully dressed.  My bra was completely on.  What else do you people want from me?!?


I had my first cup of coffee in about 17 months.  Decaf.  It was heavenly.  I'm sensitive enough to caffeine that it still made me stoopid.  After lunch, I returned to my office.  Twice I started to say, "Hey girl!  How's it going?" or something along those lines before realizing that the woman in front of me was, in fact, not the boss' assistant.  And by "started to say" I mean words had begun flowing from my mouth.  With sound.


Ten minutes after I went ahead and introduced myself to the woman (who thought I was just very friendly), I did the same thing.  With another woman.  Only this time the new not-someone-I-know looked like my friend's mom.  Friend's mom, Maria, is a teacher and we do have teachers in and out of our office all the time, but I couldn't fathom why she'd be wearing a badge from our office as she does not work in special education.  Or why the name on her badge... which I could only make out while squinting deeply as she approached... was Julie.


I am almost out of those handy wipes that are specially made for breast pump parts.  I plan to buy more.  In the meantime, I'm trying to find places to wash out the parts after pumping.  Happened to be in a restaurant recently and had it fall out of my purse and onto the floor in front of servers who are dear to me, but not exactly mi familia.  Yesterday I brought it into the office, but the restrooms upstairs were closed.  On my way to the staff lounge I saw a man I thought I might know (I'm pretty sure I was right).  Yes, I did start to wave with the hand holding breast pump pieces.


And last, today it took about seven tries to get the buttons lined up on my shirt after pumping on the way to the office. Eventually I had to get out and do it in the reflection of car. I wasn't exposing myself. I had on a tank top (that I realized two hours ago was inside out. What?)

Mad-A-Speak

Mad: "What is that?" (the sign-off from AOL)

Mama: "What is it?"

Mad: "That's your cucumber getting off."

Daddy: "Cucumber, concuter. computer... what's the difference?"

For a Good Time Call...

Missing You

Every day since returning to work, I've thought of a few things I'd love to blog about.  Some of them I was smart enough (in my opinion) to save somewhere (we'll see what you think in a minute, won't we?).


So, here are some parts of conversations and thoughts I've had over the past two weeks.


With my Mad-A-Girl at the doctor's office for Fynnie's monthly shot:
"Is that the music for me to dance?"  Yes, yes it is.  (Even better than dancing, Mad stepped into the middle of the packed waiting room and held her snowman out.  Mm-hmm, my girl's a performance artist.)


With my sister, who was reflecting on her (thankfully temporary) post-surgery life with a catheter and without hormone replacement therapy:
"I call the bag Whizzer.  Ya know, it's not that bad.  I'm kind of getting used to peeing like a guy.  I think I'm jealous."


"I'm so emotional.  I'm all over the place.  One minute I'm crying watching Pride and Prejudice and the next I'm cursing at the TV because it's too effing slow." 


"I don't want chocolate.  I don't know why.  It's got to be better than being high."


With my Wicked Stepmom, who texted me last week from her home outside of Atlanta:
"Hello from the sunny south.  NOT.  Snowed in.  One mom, six children, one nana, one papa, and one dog who doesn't want to pee in the snow!"


A few minutes later, "We are hoping for a small window to get them home.  It's going to ice up in two hrs, all is closed here."


In terms of real life, face-to-face conversations, I learned that my multi-tasking skills, and Nance's poker face skills aren't up to par anymore when I flashed her the pic of me trying on those pants in the middle of a meeting last week.  Okay, so Nance actually held it together pretty well after that view.  It was the shot of Madelyn trying to put "milk in a bag" for Fynn that did her in.


And, within my own brain, I had a pregnancy scare.  Yes, I did have my tubes tied.  But I recently joined a board for moms to share baby clothes and gear amongst ourselves (more on this topic later).  One mama, who has a gob of children and got her tubes tied last spring is now expecting a baby.  So, when my breasts were extra sore and sensitive, and my appetite and sleep patterns were changing, I immediately thought it could be a baby.  Between you and me, I was not exactly upset (as long as I didn't think too deeply about how life would change yet again).  Instead, the truth is that I had cracked nipples, a clogged duct and, oh yeah, my first period since forever ago.  It's a bundle alright.


There you go.  A little trip through my life and mind.  Aren't you glad I was able to keep these gems and share them with you?

Fynnie Fynnie Five Months Old

Okay, so not until tomorrow, but still!  Five months! 

The End of One Chapter

The highs:
*Got out of the house seven minutes early.  Each of us was fully dressed (yes, I even had on appropriate shoes and backup appropriate shoes in the car).
*Was able to nurse and pump before leaving Grandma's.
*Managed to pump about the same amount as Fynn had in bottles with Grandma.
*More importantly, Fynn ate really well with Grandma.  *whew!*
*Fynnie got two great naps, including one where Grandma was able to put her down drowsy and let Fynnie put herself to sleep in five easy minutes (uh, no, that did not translate to home... it's just more evidence of Grandma Magic).
*Even better, she didn't seem even a little traumatized.  When she saw me, her expression was the epitome of bemused pleasure.
*My energy level was consistently high until begin a not-too-rapid descent around 2:30.


The lows:
*While nursing before leaving the girls this morning, I managed to leak.  Through two breast pads, my bra, a tank top and my new not black or white shirt.  Margaret, who's about 5" nothing, offered me a replacement, but I opted to rinse and use a hair dryer (okay, at first I was just going to dry, but I remembered the white circles milk can leave just in time).
*I finished pumping (in my car, away from the crowds... it's my "me" time), got out and headed back into the office before realizing that everything but the top button was undone on my shirt.  Twice.
*At random times during the day I realized that I hadn't hooked this side or that of my nursing bra.  Yes, twice.
*Picking up the girls and leaving Grandma's took over an hour.  Traffic was heinous, with a complete stop for at least 10 minutes at one point.
*Half an hour from home, I heard something no mama wants to hear from the back seat.  "*gasp*  My heinie is pooping."
*We arrived home half an hour after Fynn's bedtime routine should start, and Mad was so wound up (read: tired) that she kicked Fynn in the face while sitting/trying to escape from the potty during her second poop of the evening.


And now, I'm off to bed.  But before I go, I wanted to thank everybody who sent encouragement and compassion.  I appreciate you all!

Psych!

I'm not sure if I have the snow gods on my side or what, but indeed everybody from my office who lives remotely near me (and that would still put them about half an hour closer to work than I am) has stayed home today.


Tom braved it.  He left at 3:30.  Called me at 5:25 to say that he was about 10 minutes away.  From home.  Stuck on the freeway.  He got to work by 7:00, I believe.  Tom is more stubborn than I am.  Oh, and he has a jerkwad of a boss.


Talked the admin assistant at work and she said there's no problem with changing my calendar.  So today is now just an off contract day.  Whoop whoop!

It's the Night Before I Return to Work And...

... my car is 1/3 ready to go.  Fynn's extra clothes, a box of diapers and four packs of wipes refills are in the cargo area.


... the seating area is full of crap that I need to remove.


... Mad's car seat is currently rear facing because Fynn borrowed it during our trek down south.


... Madelyn's extra clothes are sitting at the top of the stairs.


... I am wearing the new jeans that I wanted to wear tomorrow (we went shopping today and I swear they were the only pants that were completely dry when it was time to leave)... and that I now really need to wear.  Why?


... it's snowing.  We got a little snow last winter.  In the past four hours we've gotten at least twice the total of last year.  Mad and I went out to play in it briefly while Tom was upstairs on sleep duty with Fynn.  Then we switched places so he didn't miss out.  (No, that didn't mess things up for Fynn at all.)  He and Mad made her first snowman.


... our neighborhood is blanketed in white and dotted with children running around and riding new Christmas bikes.


... the pass down to our jobs is, last I heard, running with CHP escorts, but may be closed by morning.  Elevation-wise, it's about 1600 feet higher than here, so that area gets a lot more "weather" than we do.


... our phone just rang with a call from the local school district indicating that there will be no school tomorrow due to inclement weather.  (This brought hearty scoffing sounds from Tom because it's really not that much snow.)


... I'm sitting here, kind of hoping that we'll be snowed in.  Tom could take a vacation day.  I might be able to maneuver my schedule at such late notice, but an unpaid day off wouldn't be that bad.  A day of snuggling with the girls whenever we weren't outside building more snowmen sounds perfect.  Doesn't it?


***Okay, since I started this post, the car is now in order, laundry is about to move to the dryer and photos from this evening are uploaded.  Here's a sampling of Mad's first romp in the snow.

In Training

Our beloved Pamela, childbirth educator extraordinaire, is a strong proponent of sleep training at four months.  Moreover, she firmly believes the Ferber method (in a nutshell, let the baby cry, but check in at regular intervals for specific durations of soothing) is dee-vine.


I did not do sleep training with Corey.  When he was roughly four months old my then-husband and I decided to let him cry it out.  It's what we'd always heard, "You gotta just let 'em cry it out."  We sat there, nervous, queasy and eventually upset with one another before we dashed in to rescue our poor boy.  After that we went back to about 50% co-sleeping and 50% putting him in his crib asleep.  By the time Corey was in a toddler bed, he and I shared a room at my mom's.  Bedtime then involved reading him a story in my bed, turning out the light and smooshing myself up against the wall so we could share the twin bed.  Occasionally he slept in the tiny bed at the end of the same wall.  When we moved into our own place and I got him a big boy bed, we reverted to the 50/50 method.  It was eventually cut down to 10/90.  After Tom and I married and joined households Corey was finally booted from my bed for good.  Gah!


When Pamela stressed sleep training and its benefits, my ears perked up.  About two months before STD (uh, that's Sleep Training Day) we bought Baby411 specifically for it's info on training methods.  I felt sick as I thought about that awful night back in 1993, even though I understood that there were steps Tom and I could take to ease our Mad-a-baby into sleeping bliss.  The night she turned four months I chickened out.  I wasn't ready, so I said she wasn't ready.  We agreed to try again the following Friday night.  That afternoon I began searching the Interwebs frantically looking for reassurance, guidance, an online Pamela.  With 15 minutes to spare, what I found was Dr. Sears' method.  It involved having Daddy stay and maintain soothing contact with Mad until she was asleep.  This was a good match for how we parented her.


It took Tom 45 minutes to get her to sleep, with maybe half of that involving crying.  An hour later it took 35 minutes to get her back to sleep.  At 4:30 the next morning, it took me maybe 10 quiet minutes to put her down after nursing.  Even better, the following day Mad got her first 45 minute nap in her crib at home.  (She'd napped well with Grandma, just not with Mama.)  One not too bad night of sleep training cured everything that ailed us.  By the end of the second night, we were done.


Okay, yes.  We knew we were lucky.  We contemplated how Mad's beginning as a box baby in the NICU may have played a role in her preference for sleeping alone.  But we were also self-congratulatory, full of ourselves.  If we hadn't been smart enough to find the method that fit so well with our parenting style and been so consistent with it (lo, those two nights), well, who knew what kind of problems we'd be having!  As late as a few months ago, Tom and I regularly stood outside Mad's door and quietly high-fived while giggling about how awesome this sleep training thing is.


We started sleep training with Fynn about two weeks ago.  We were going to wait until Christmas weekend, but Fynn is so different than Mad that I wondered if it would take longer.  And I wanted a little extra time to enjoy the fruits of our labor before returning to work. 


You know where this is going, right?


*sigh*


There are several obstacles this time.  Namely, Fynn has an older sister whose own bedtime has gotten moved around as we've tried to adapt to life with two small children.  At first I tried sitting in during Mad's storytime, but with Dad directing things, it kept getting later and later.  (One of us, as you'll see, is goal-oriented, the other process-oriented.  When we can work side by side, this is good.)  Add to that, Tom's the one who's really good about sticking to the steps in a routine, where I'm better about sticking to the timeline.  So a routine in my hands tends to fall apart as I focus on getting things done.


Still, it had gone from taking 90 minutes down to only 20 minutes to get Fynn down by last weekend.  Then we had Christmas, which was too stimulating for our four month old.  Teenaged cousins who wanted to shake rattles and use squeaky voices loud enough to be heard over the din of about 20 people, a few dogs and the TV.  Two days later, a very clingy Fynn and I left for San Diego.  When I set her down for her first diaper change at Auntie's house, she was fried.  By the end of the evening, just walking into that bedroom would bring her to tears.  We spent the entire night nursing and snuggling.  Same thing with our first and second nights home.


Getting back into the wobbly swing of things has been difficult.  Last night started out well, but took about 90 minutes again.  Tonight it took Tom almost an hour.  Ten minutes later he headed back upstairs to start again.  Took another half an hour.  Now he's asleep on the couch, but if he breathes too loudly I stop to see if that's really Fynn crying.


And naps?  So far we've used the sleep training technique three times during the day.  The rest of the time I toss Fynn into the wrap and walk around to make sure she gets some rest.  I just can't take that much time with Mad here, too.  There have been no fruits to enjoy.  No giggling.  High fives are a thing of the past.  Heck, eye contact is becoming harder to come by once bedtime rolls around.  The last week or so before I returned back to work after Mad I was able to start developing a routine.  Today I did several loads of laundry and sorted old clothes with a baby strapped to my back.  It wasn't a big deal as long as I didn't drop anything.


The upside?  Once she's down, Fynn sleeps really well.  I've been awake and heard her roust and put herself back to sleep.  She only wakes for one nighttime feeding 3-4 times a week.


What were your experiences with sleep training?  Did it ever end up the way you'd envisioned?  Is there any hope that we'll get to enjoy tension-free evenings once again?