fits & starts

Where I've Been

We moved. We're now in the new place but not exactly happily settled. The move didn't go all that well, but ok. The settling in didn't go all that well, but ok. Our brand new tv broke last night...but ok. We'll get there. These are inconveniences--annoyances, not Problems. In the grand scheme of things, I can't even complain. But the biggest issue right now is the very real possibility of having to find a new home for the Boy Dog. It's a long story and I can't get into it right now, but rest assured, it's not because of anything he did. It's kind of hard to get anywhere when this is really all we can think about.

In the midst of all this, I've been working more from home and trying to juggle work sans babysitter. Ideally I'd like to have someone part-time so I can take more jobs, but if the jobs don't come, I can't exactly pay someone. So this means a lot of working late at night and early into the morning, which can be exhausting. On the flip side, the jobs I am getting these days are closer to what I want to be doing. And then there are moments like the one this morning while I was walking Jackie Mack and thinking I should chuck it all in and start over with a new career. Medical school at 34, anyone? Or what about law? We've been pestering our lawyer friends lately for advice, maybe I should just go to law school myself and  answer my own questions.

Enough of the woe is me.

Sunday was one year to the day that we brought H. home from Korea. He officially joined our family on December 1. Where did that year go? How is it that we are now parents to a 1 and 1/2 year old who walks around the apartment with an armful of books declaring, "I read!" We watched some footage the other night of his first hours and days with us. When was he ever that small? So fragile? Because now all I can see is the boy with the full mouth of teeth who can't help but run and crash and dive onto his new rug and then laugh hard, like he's just told the best joke ever.

He loves his big new room. He loves when I chase him from the kitchen to the living room to his room. He loves to climb in my lap a thousand times a day to have his favorite books read to him. He loves to dip his hand in the dog's water bowl, to pull out all my cookbooks, to climb into his chest of drawers. He loves--I mean loves--raisins.

Last year at Thanksgiving we were traveling to Korea. This year, we were traveling to New Jersey...when we got rear-ended. It was pretty awful. When the car hit us, it sounded like a massive can being crushed. Turned around, H. was okay. Smiling even. We pulled over and Mr. Fits surveyed the damage. There was none to our car but the car that hit us was a wreck in the front. While H. and I waited for my husband to handle matters outside, all I could think was I am so thankful no one got hurt. The other car had pulled in front of us and the three adults who were in it looked a little shell shocked. I was fine, but shaking. It could have been so much worse and I guess you can't help but let your mind go there. I was looking ahead at the other car when I noticed three little heads pop up. I don't think any of them were in carseats. Jesus, it could have been so much worse.

If I was lacking any kind of perspective then, I think getting hit knocked it right back into me. So their car got banged up--that's a headache. So our tv broke, our couch couldn't fit through the door when we moved, things aren't running as smoothly as we'd hoped right now. But we'll get there. It will get better because it can.

Here We Go Again

We are moving at the end of the month. Out of our neighborhood and into the great unknown: Queens. The moving part was inevitable. Our space is closing in on us and it's making me one cranky biotch. The where to part of the equation has been a heated topic of debate round these 900 sq ft. Do we buy? Rent? Move to the suburbs?

Last week my sister called and said there was a three bedroom apartment for rent in her building. Mind you this was after we had brunch at our friends' loft in Williamsburg that was sick. Sick as in, swing inside the apartment. As in, huge dining room table with two benches. As in, they are both graphic designers so of course their space is gorgeous and inventive and we are so jealous. The day before we had a playdate (one of H's little friends whose parents are our little friends) on the Upper West Side in an equally sick apartment. Sick as in, a foyer that was larger than our living room. As in, Will & Grace-sized rooms (and I swear, I don't even watch that show). As in, full-on views of the Hudson River. As in, the husband said to me on the 15-minute long grand tour, "So I am sure you know, this is a classic six." To which I replied, under my breath, "Yeah. Classic."

Is that jealousy you detect in my tone? Why, yes. Yes it is.

I just want more space. Real rooms. A place to put our desk that's not our bedroom if you know what I mean and I think you do.

So anyway, back to the phone call from my sister. We went right over and decided that we liked it. How could we not? THREE BEDROOMS, PEOPLE! EAT IN KITCHEN! DINING AREA! SUNKEN LIVING ROOM! THIRTY THOUSAND WALK-IN CLOSETS! Do you see where I am going with this?

We signed the lease today.

I'm sad to leave this neighborhood. But ready to start anew. And it'll be so very Brady Brides to live in the same building as my sister. I'm currently accepting treatments for a sitcom based on our circumstances.

So here we are at T minus 22 days and counting before doing what we do so well: pack up and move. We've now done it four times in six years. Anyone want to help?

An Update, If There Ever Was One

I am going back to work. On Monday.

Here's what happened: I got an offer for a temporary, but full-time job that goes until the beginning of November. In the last few days, I: negotiated till my head exploded (literally--not even figuratively, it actually just...BAM! exploded. It's a wonder I can still type.); frantically searched for childcare; interviewed several candidates; called several references; worried every morning between 4-7am; wondered why I am doing this; wondered why I wouldn't be doing this; and started reading into every move my baby made as doing it to incite guilt. Is it a coincidence, I ask, that in just the last week he has become the clingiest baby in the world? He knows. He so knows.

On top of all that, he had a stomach bug. And it wasn't pretty.

There are several pros to going back to work, albeit only temporarily, and only one con--the obvious one. I am going to miss my boy like you wouldn't believe. It makes me sad to think about it. Why am I doing it then? I think that even though the next few months will be really hard, it will make the several months after it much easier. It's also the next logical progression in terms of my work, and will be a good experience and I'll be that much further ahead the next time. I think in the end it will benefit the Fits and Starts Family Cause. I just wish it didn't have to hurt so much. And it's not even Monday yet.

I am sure every parent goes through this. Everyone tells me the first week is hard and then it gets easier. I have no desire to work out of the home full-time year round while H. is still a wee lad. But a couple months on, a couple months off would serve the cause well.

The only thing preventing me from losing it at this point is that I have found someone I really like to take care of H. I got a great feeling from her. She's coming tomorrow to see what H's day is like and to get acquainted with our home. There were many people I interviewed who I felt were competent. But this woman was more than that. She had great experience, was thoughtful, smart and kind. Very bubbly too.  I knew we were simpatico when she asked me, as a mother herself, how I was enjoying motherhood and how I felt about going back to work. It was a small gesture, but it showed me she had my number. She was also the only person Jackson the Boy-Dog didn't bark at. That's something.

Unfortunately, I have to start Monday off very early and won't be around when H. wakes up most likely. Which might be for the best. For both of us.

Wish me luck.

The Return of Mr. Collar Bangs

I'm back. We spent a couple of weeks in Cape Cod. My mother lives by the beach and we shamelessly took full advantage of that. In the past month there have been some goings-on, both minor and major, so I'll do my best to get you up to speed.

1. The Sound of Two Hands Clapping
What's 19 lbs, has collar bangs and likes to wake up in the middle of the night just because? If you guessed H., you are correct. With all the excitement of the last month or so (turning 1, vacation, etc.) H. has decided he likes to wake up during the night. A lot. A lot a lot. Sometimes he wails. Sometimes he just wants company. And sometimes he claps. He's so good at it, he should earn some kind of medal. He's really a clapping prodigy. It's at moments like those when I look deep into his eyes and say, "That's it kid, you are on your own. Goodnight. I SAID GOODNIGHT DEAR SIR!"

2. Ferber Redux
See 1. We are going back to the land of no return. Hopefully.

3. The Mullet Strikes Again
It's back. Didn't we just cut it off? The collar bangs are up to their old tricks and we are going to  have to subject the boy to the scissors and the big scary duck chair once more. I ain't raising no hillbilly.

4. The Impending Arrival of LSPJCWSW
Brooklyn is all abuzz as we wait for H's future wife BFF to arrive. We are beside ourselves with anticipation. I have one word for you, dear Figlet: PLAYDATE! Aw yeah.

5. The Sound of Two Feet Walking
And one baby ass falling. H. has taken off, and I mean TAKEN OFF. In the last month he has really blossomed into an accomplished walker and this boy has no fear.

6. 13 Months Old Today
Still no words (unless you count gueway), but entertaining nonetheless.

7. Need Help
If anyone knows what gueway means, please email me.

7. Etc.
There's lots more but I can't really think of it right now. The only thing I want to add is that it was wonderful to take H. to the beach. Before we left, our upstairs neighbor who learned of our trip said: "The first time a child sees the ocean, it's amazing. It's going to be absolutely beautiful when he gets there."

And it was. The look on his face was one of wonder and amazement. I was amazed too...because it was as if I were experiencing it for the first time through his eyes. His hands reached down and met the shallow waves. And after he deemed it safe, he sat down or fell, I can't remember which, and let the water cover him. It was clear and the tide was low, and he was fascinated by how his hands and feet could be under water but he could still see them. He kept looking up at me as if to say, "Do you believe this?"

What I've Been Up To

Hold onto your seats. This is going to be one boring post.

1. Finding a babysitter. I'm happy to report that we have found a delightful young woman who (bonus points) lives right around the corner from us. Now Mr. Fits gets to enjoy some Mommy & Me time of his own. (Did I really just say that? Ewww.)

2. The little dude has yet another cold, this time new and improved with ear infection and chest cold. This has lead to no fewer than three sleepless nights in casa de Fits. Thanks to modern medicine, I can happily say that he's getting better and we are all getting more sleep.

3. I was going to post about that asshole on the train last weekend, but I just couldn't do it. Instead, I offer this tasty nugget: we were out to dinner the other night--the start of ChestCold Mania '05--and H. started choking. He coughed so hard that he vomited right into his Dad's two hands. I'm not talking baby spit-up either. Rather than freak out about it, Mr. Fits took it all in stride, relieved that the lesser of the two evils (choking v. puking) won out.

4. H. continues to hone his walking skills. He falls on his bum quite a bit, and walks like a frat boy at Mardi Gras, but forges on nonetheless.

5. I have become super forgetful lately. My mind is somewhere else. In the last few days, I've left the keys in the door, the milk in the cupboard, and called my in-laws to wish them a happy anniversary. Only their anniversary is a month from now. At least my mother-in-law said I don't have to call again next month, so even if I forget, I've already remembered.

6. There was something else I wanted to say, but I've forgotten it.

7. Oh! I know. I got to see Coldplay the other night. They were taping a show for VH1, so it was a very small audience. Chris Martin is dreamy. HIS VOICE. I mean, his voice is dreamy. It looked especially hot the other night, his voice did.

See? Fairly boring, puke story aside.

This One Goes to 11

They say if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Right? Hence the lack of posts. My mind is scattered these days and I'd hardly know where to begin. Some thoughts, then, in random order.

1. I have caught up with the rest of society and finally starting seeing movies again. Thank you, Netflix. Because we don't really have a babysitter, we don't go to the movies much these days. This past week alone we saw Sideways (liked it), Spanglish (loved it), Closer (really liked it and Clive Owen), and the other Bridget Jones movie (couldn't even think about finishing it and it doesn't deserve ital). Next up: Hotel Rwanda. Promises to be a great feel-good movie.

2. On The Daily Show, Drew Barrymore said "dramanazination." I am not sure what that word means, but I'll be sure to add it to my repertoire.

3. Britney Spears! Is! Pregnant! For reals! The most upsetting thing about this is that I don't think the media is really interested in Baby Federline-Spears because they wish the pop tart well. I think they see it as the point on the steep incline from which her eventual downfall will originate. And that's unfortunate.

4. A third tooth has reared its pearly white head in the mouth of my son. It looks damn cute.

5. I saw two boys of approximately 3 or 4 years of age yesterday walking down the street. With mullets. Why?

6. My son has neck bangs. They keep getting longer. The natural progression of neck bangs is a mullet. Why?

7. In the past week we have started swim class and music class. What, you ask, does a 10 month-old get out of swim and music class? I'll let you know in a couple of months...

8. I am hopelessly addicted to Supernanny. Full stop.

9. Was that wheat in her hat or was she just happy to see him?

10. If I won Mega Millions tonight ($120,000,000), it would be enough to: buy a house in my neighborhood, a car, and have enough money left over to buy another ticket next week. That's how ridiculous the real estate market is in my neighborhood.

11. That annoying couple on the "Save the Plaza" commercial who goes to the Plaza every year on their anniversary and calls it "Plaza Day." I'm calling bullshit on that. Maybe you go there every year, but I don't think you call it Plaza Day. I think you call it "your anniversary."

Eleven seems like a good place to end. Feel free to add anything that's pointlessly going through your mind.

Editor's note: It's come to my attention my by darling husband that they are not "neck bangs" but "collar bangs" (see point 6). He was the one who coined the term. Nevertheless, I still must ask Why?

Howla Back

Once upon a time, we rescued a beagle. Or the beagle rescued us. It was at a time when we were having a lousy run of depressing, bad luck, and were eager to hear the pitter-patter of little feet in our house. Instead, we settled for the pitter-patter of four little paws.

I was mostly in a foul mood back then, but somehow, seeing the J-man's beagly mug when I walked in the door brought a smile to my face every time. I had never been a pet kind of person before, but once we brought Jackson home, I finally "got" it. I understood how an animal could be a part of your family, and you could love it and miss it and plan to do things with it--like, go to the dog park on a beautiful day, or run along the beach chasing the waves.

Jackson, because he'd already been abandoned at least twice, suffered from really bad separation anxiety at first. And of course, any change to his or our routine, sets him way back. Oh, and there's one more thing you need to know about him: he's part boy, part dog. Thus, Jackson the Boy-Dog. Also, beagles are pack animals, so the way he sees it, Mr. Fits and I are the mommy and daddy and he's the kid.

Enter Baby H.

 

Jackson's always been great with kids--most beagles are. They are fantastic family dogs, partly because of their sweet nature and partly because of their pack dog mentality. But it was far from ideal when baby made four. I think that maybe he was doing what toddlers do when their parents come home with their second child: they like they little creature, alright, but wonder how long it'll be before their parents bring it back to wherever the hell it came from.

The first couple of months were rough. There was the Jacques Torres chocolate-gorging fiasco (which, aside from the inconvenience of a trip to the vet on Christmas Eve, wound up costing $104). There was the butter cookie episode. And of course, there was the scroll we brought back from Korea that was torn apart into tiny shreds, as if to say, "Screw you and the plane you came in on." And who can forget the time he made himself way too comfortable in the baby's highchair while we were out, in some last desperate act of role-playing and infantilization? (We shan't talk of that one again.)

All of a sudden, his world of fatly stuffed Kongs, rawhide and squeaky toys had been taken over by baby paraphrenalia. That he wasn't. Allowed. To. Touch.

But it's been a few months. And I think we are all adjusting to life as a foursome. Jackson has gone from a "don't ask, don't tell" policy as far as the baby is concerned, to being able to play on the floor in perfect harmony. I think that because I am home full-time now, the J-man has grown really attached to me, but understands our routines, and knows that we will always be coming back for him.

I think he sees H. as part of the family, maybe even the little brother he both can't stand or get enough of. Even though he's gotten a bad rap lately, we still love him. He still makes us smile and keeps us entertained with all his little boy-dog tricks. Already we are seeing little gestures on the pup's behalf that show us that he just can't get closeenoughtothebaby.

He's going to be a great best friend to our son and will inadvertantly give H. his first real lesson in friendship. And there's no one better than a boy's dog (or, a boy-dog) to do that. Even if he does have a propensity to lick his privates when company comes over.

Howla back, Jack.  You rock dog.

Similac, Straight Up

I have a confession to make. We joined a playgroup. I thought it would be neat to get out there with Baby H. now that he's crawling standing (!), and meet other kids and moms in the neighborhood. And we had a good run of it, all two times we went. But I don't think we'll be going back. The problem is, I don't really consider myself a playgroup sort of person and here's why: I'm not good at small talk. Oh, I can do it, alright. But it somehow rings false to me. Frankly, I'm not sure that we have much more in common than the reason we are there: motherhood. There's a whole lot of getting-to-know-you-and-your-kid chit chat, but little else. For me, at least. I notice that some of the women in the group seem to be friends, and maybe that's why it works for them.

I was never really a big fan of cocktail parties, either, and to me, that's a little what playgroups are like.  In fact, a lot of the whole meeting other moms thing is like a giant cocktail party that follows you from playgroup to the park to the pediatrician's office. For instance...

Cocktail party: I'm Sally, nice to meet you. I didn't get your name?
Playgroup: This is little Casey. What's your little guy's name?

Cocktail party: What do you do?
Playgroup: How much does she weigh?

Cocktail party: We live in Tribeca. Where are you guys?
Playgroup: How many naps a day does he take? NO WAY! In the crib or stroller?

Cocktail party: Do you own or rent?
Playgroup: How many teeth does he have? None? Oh don't worry, he'll catch up. Really, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.

Cocktail party: So how long have you two been dating?
Playgroup: Is she sleeping through the night--NO, sweetie, don't put that boy's shoes in your mouth--yet?

See? Not exactly scintillating conversation. It just makes me long for real conversations with friends. I am with my baby all day, so I'd welcome the opportunity to talk about something else. (I am more than just a mommy, yo.) This isn't to say motherhood isn't deep. I am having those conversations about what it means to parent--with my sisters, my mother, my friends. But they go way beyond the latest weigh-in or which art class my 9 month old (art for 9 month olds?!) is taking.

So for now, I think I'll skip playgroup. And maybe, some day in a month or two when H. and I are chillin' in the park, some other loner mom will sit down next to me, and we'll hit it off. We'll go beyond cocktail party niceties like what size junior is fitting into these days, and get around to talking about ourselves and who we really are.

Happy Birthday M.

Baby H is one popular little dude. Tomorrow he'll attend his second birthday party. The first was on New Year's Day--it was the first birthday of his future best friend, E. E's mom, J, became one of my best friends after a rocky start. We were 14. We had a mutual friend who split her time between us. I couldn't find a good reason to dislike J, so I did the next best thing and found a bad reason: she thought she was so cool because she wore sleeveless mock turtlenecks. (Who did she think she was showing off her arms like that?) She has said she found good reasons to dislike me too, i.e. my on-again off-again "relationship" with one of the most popular guys in school. (Who did I think I was, trying to get with that?) It all came to a head one afternoon when a group of us went to see Pretty in Pink at the Loews' on 84th and Broadway, and J. and I decided that we could get over our jealousies ourselves and be friends. That was 1985.

So H's first birthday party was J's son, E's. They had an impromptu Tol ceremony, we gorged ourselves on delicious Korean food, E wore an over-sized han bok and, in determining his fate in life, chose the item his father didn't want him to choose. We all had a big laugh and then we ate cake. Hopefully, H's first birthday will go just as smoothly.

Tomorrow is his cousin M's first birthday. It will be a small celebration of cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. And, of course, M's older sister who is almost three and just now starting to believe that this whole "sister" thing is for real. She's come a long way in the last year and I think she will grow to be her sister's biggest champion, even if M. does, on occasion, wear sleeveless mock turtlenecks.

I made a CD for M's birthday--a healthy mix of kids' music (Dan Zanes, Music for Ardvarks) and big people's music (Bjork, Joe Strummer, Cat Power, Ben Folds Five). Because that M, she really knows how to rock.

Happy Birthday M. We love you.

Back, By Popular Demand...or Blog Blog Blog

Things have been really busy, I swear. Here's the pretty ho-hum turn of events that has kept me from blogging posting. (Don't like blog in the verb form.)

So we went to my mother's house in Cape Cod for the long weekend and wound up getting snowed in. As in, we couldn't come back to NYC on Monday. We took the little man to see my grandmother, who is in a nursing home up there. She's almost 88. She fell last summer in her apartment, which led to her having to go into rehab and physical therapy, which led to her needing a pacemaker and as she was waiting for said pacemaker, she had a stroke. She is now a completely different person. Earlier in the summer, we'd been researching assisted living facilities, and somehow it went from that option to her being in a convalescent home. The stroke left her unable to see, and robbed her of the ability to piece together information accurately. It destroyed her short-term memory. And one of the saddest parts, for me at least, as her granddaughter, is that she knows something is wrong. She can't put her finger on it and it frustrates her to no end.

We took H. to see her, and to our surprise, she could make out a little bit of what she saw. At first, she was shocked that I was grown up. She kept asking, "Who is the mother?" Which led to me loudly (because she can't hear very well) stating, almost defiantly, again and again, "I am his mother. I am this child's mother." She said H. is beautiful. She said he has "such a nice expression. Like he just looks at you with an open face and says So lovely to see you. And how are you today?"

She's not wrong about that.

There's something momentous about introducing your grandmother to her great-grandchild. As if history is happening before your eyes. Because H. won't remember it, and my grandmother will be gone before he gets a chance to really know her. And so I will tell him, "Yes, you met her. And she thought you were full of light and beauty."

Then. The snow came.

We got back to the city on Tuesday. H. was up all night, crying in a way he doesn't usually cry. Nothing would console the little dude. Which is not like him. He wouldn't drink his bottles. And after a week of snot and snot by-products, I thought perhaps our boy got his first ear infection. Took him to the doctor that day and indeed, he had one. So he's now on antibiotics and the cold's all just about cleared up, and I can put my protective face shield away until the next one hits.

I've been getting a lot of freelance work lately which is good. And bad. Good because I feel fortunate to be able to work from home. Bad because it means that all my free time now is spent on work. What can I say? Mama needs a new pair of shoes!

Jackson, I think, has made his peace with the H-man. I'm trying to show him a little extra love these days, and I could swear the last time I went in for some heavy petting he muttered under his breath, "A little too little too late, lady." Ouch.

And finally, the last bit of news to report is that I finally ventured out on my own to Target today. If I've only mentioned it a thousand times, our baby doesn't nap. ("Consider the possibility that he's an insomniac," our pediatrician said.) So I decided to go to the closest thing Brooklyn has to a mall. By subway. Who goes to Target by subway? Me and my kid, that's who. I bought a whole mess of baby-proofing gadgets since H. is now upwardly mobile, some things I didn't need, and more cleaning supplies for the housecleaner I've recently employed. And I gotta tell you: it's a major turn-on buying cleaning supplies I won't be using.