Once, I was king. Now, I’m just bait. Oh, the injustice!!
Vivo El Seabass!
24 MayFor Seabass’ first birthday party, I had not intended to go over-the-top. I mean, he’s only ONE, right? Right. And yet…
Lately, I’d been thinking that a Mexican wrestling theme would be appropriate for our little one-year-old Seabass. Maybe it’s because he’s not so little – he’s actually quite a tank. Or maybe it’s just because I love any excuse for wearing a luchador mask. Hm.
Anyway, I started with a 1st birthday party invitation, specifically inviting anyone who had spent time babysitting Seabass during his first year. (And there were many.) Then I got cracking on the luchador masks.
From there, I planned a menu featuring our neighbor Sally’s unbelievably good guacamole, soft tortillas, carnitas and black beans with shredded red cabbage, carrots, radishes, tomatoes and cilantro for color. Plenty of Mexican beer and a simple white wine punch accompanied the meal.
I put a lot of thought into the cake because there were a few key factors to consider:
- Whenever I’ve seen a 1-year-old child receive their first cake and frosting, they don’t seem all that interested.
- We want to hold off on giving Seabass refined sugar for as long as we possibly can.
- But we still wanted to get that classic 1st birthday photo where the kid has cake smashed into his hair, eyelashes, ears, and nose.
The solution? Strawberry shortcake. I made the butter cake with 1/4 of the sugar and substituted apple sauce, while the strawberries were tossed in a tablespoon of no-added-sugar strawberry jam and topped with fresh sugar-free whipped cream. How did Seabass enjoy his first taste of cake?
Nuff said.
Someone else enjoyed the cake, too. Can you guess who?
Murphy the Mooch.
Yeah, the symbiotic relationship between Seabass and Murphy hit a new peak this weekend at the birthday party. Murph was everywhere the baby was, with a laser-point focus on anything that resembled food. As evidence, witness this pair of photos. Notice a difference?
The whole pinata thing was new territory for me. And geez, it’s terrifying to watch kids swing a baseball bat. I remember my own parents holding me back as a child from diving into the torrential downpour of candy just beyond the small child swinging a metal bat. And now I’m holding my own child back from being brutally mauled in exchange for sugar. Whoa.
Pinata whacking.
More pinata whacking.
Watching the pinata exhibition. Note the unbridled fear in spectators' eyes.
It was terrific to see so many of Seabass’ friends and supporters out on Saturday afternoon.
Seabass' gang of babies playing with...a Negro Modelo box. Huh.
Seabass was in rare form that day. In short, he was an absolute gem – like someone had lit him up from the inside to shine. The party was just his style: raucous, noisy, and bustling, with lots of friends and lots of food. So many people mentioned to me how happy he looked, which made it all worth it. He did lap after lap after lap around the yard, saying hi to everyone and making sure they were having a good time. He was such a good host. In fact, he even helped clean up afterward.
I will forever remember how happy our little guy was that day. I will go to my grave remembering his happy little giant face.
Vivo El Seabass!
What a bunch of freaks you are.
18 MayLooking over the search terms that have led you, dear readers, to my blog over the past year, I get a little creeped out. Sure, the most common searches are for “higher highs lower lows,” but guess what the FOURTH most common search words are?
- peeing together
And the FIFTH?
- netflix envelope
Incredible. When I started this blog, I had no intention of attracting kinky nuts or poor souls who’d lost their Netflix envelope, but I’m so glad they’ve found their way here. Welcome!
Other favorite searches that have brought you to my doorstep:
- sniffing baby’s butt
- girl go away
- how to get my 12 year old son to practice more on his violin
- old people kissing
- perfect baby head
- what does having long hair feel like
- fake babies that act real
- the oh yeah dog
- when a guy and a girl hugs, does it matter who hugs higher or lower?
- what nipples look like after pumping
- why am i a high needs person
- frankenstein scar
- butt whoopin
- i’m not a nice mom
- horrid henry waking the dead
- write a short story beginning with ” i was alone in my house.”
- dad zerberts moms belly
- my dog ate a tucks pad
Keep it comin’, weirdos.
I’m pretty sure Jake planted this in my path in case I start thinking about having a second one.
12 MayI was recently hunting down an Excel spreadsheet for work and came across something that took my breath away. It’s a spreadsheet chronicling Seabass’ sleep habits when he was about three months old. Have a look.
My eyes!! It's burning my eyes!!!
Blue signifies Seabass’ sleep periods. Blue is also the color of relaxation and calm.
Red signifies when Seabass was awake. Red is also the color of aggression, agitation, and blood.
I must have blocked out whatever yellow stands for.
When I look at this horrid, vomitous melange of color, here’s my train of thought:
- If anyone ever accuses me of being a laid-back, easygoing type of person (not likely), I will smirk and then show them this.
- God I love Excel.
- Wouldja look at all those “fussies.” Thank you Lord, those days are over. I would choose a million days pulling Seabass out of the kitchen trash can (his newest stunt) before going back to the pain of raising him as a newborn.
Seabass: Year One.
10 MayOne year ago today, I was ten days overdue with my baby boy and ready to burst. During a checkup with my doctor, he said he was going to “strip my membranes” to move things along, and before I could so much as “whaaa?” I was officially having contractions. (Note to readers: If ever your OB threatens to “strip your membranes,” I suggest you buckle up.)
The doctor sent me away to labor at home – on the exercise ball, in the shower, while attempting to bake cookies for the nurses – and Jake finally took me to the hospital at 5:00 PM at four centimeters dialated. We’d hired a wonderful doula who tried her hardest to get me a tub room in the hospital, but those two rooms were already occupied…by women who’d ended up opting for epidurals and couldn’t leave their rooms. So I muscled forward, hanging onto Jake for several contractions and breaking water all over his shoes.
At about seven centimeters I finally begged asked for the epidural, but it was too late – nothing could have helped me at that point. I knew the end was near when the nurses called the doctor in, which ended up being about two minutes before I gave birth. And at 11:37 PM on May 10, 2010, a gorgeous, slimy Seabass was placed in my arms and life as I knew it changed forever.
This has been the hardest year of my life, without question. In fact, I found my first grey hair last week and laughed. Of course it came this year! But it has also been my year of greatest discovery and growth. Jake and I are closer than ever to each other, and our hearts have burst open with love for this hilarious, bizarre, beautiful, new little person.
Happy birthday, you wild, untameable Seabass, you.
There goes that.
29 AprRemember when I was all, “I’m going to post every day this week?” And then how I posted twice and then how you heard crickets because…well, because I didn’t post every day this week? Yeah, I’m sorry.
I still want to say all the things I said I would say, but time is at such a premium right now I could throw up from all the pressure. Seabass, a new home, working part time, family in town for five straight weeks, keeping house, and the never-ending trail of committments to dinners, weddings, BBQs…the list goes on. And it’s taking its toll. I am exhausted.
The next time I say I’m going to do something crazy like post every day for a week, I permit you to kick my butt. Better yet, just enroll me in the nearest insane asylum. I hear it has TVs, rubber rooms, and you can sleep all day if you want. Sounds like paradise!
Back With A Vengeance. Part 2. ONE NAP.
26 Apr
- The photo Jake was terrified to find.
Remember waaaaay back when I said Seabass stopped taking his afternoon nap? And remember how I was working so hard to get him to take it again to no avail? Well, I’ve finally given up. He is now a one-nap man.
The transition officially occured last week. Since Christmas, Seabass had been taking super-long, super-solid naps from 9-11 or even 12pm on occasion. But then, when I put him down for a nap in the afternoon, he refused. So, for the past month, our little guy has been up from about 11:30am until 6pm every day. For those of you who don’t have kids or who have forgotten the ins and outs of baby-wrangling, that translates to some very, very unhappy afternoons in our household.
Play date with another fishy.
Much as I resisted losing that precious hour to myself in the afternoon, it had become worthless to sit and listen to him play – or more often, cry – in his crib. If Seabass ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. I found that I couldn’t get any work done with him making noise in his room. It’s as if his voice is designed to paralyze me, rendering me useless for any productive task. (Can you imagine if I had a video monitor?? Game over, dude.)
The first time we tackled a napless morning, I took him out to walk the Bob Jones Bike Trail with my mom and our dogs. Being out in the fresh air, I find, extends his fuse a lot – as does having lots and lots of food on hand for him to munch. With the transition from two naps per day to one, we also dropped a couple of breastfeedings (hallelujah!) so it’s been of the utmost importance that I supply plenty of bait for Seabass at any given moment.
Play date with YET ANOTHER fishy.
It hasn’t been exactly what you’d call a seamless transition, but it certainly has been the right decision. I saw it immediately the first day. Seabass was a bit fussy around 9am when he would have typically gone down for a nap, but with ample food and distraction, he made it to 11:30am, no problem. It’s only a matter of time before I get him extended all the way to 1pm.
Cost-Benefit Analysis:
The bummer about one nap is that I don’t really have a chance to check my email or get any work done until the morning is practically over. That is a frustration for my employers, to be sure.
The benefit of having a one-nap baby is the freedom I now have to do things in the morning. No more politely declining to participate in play-dates, library readings, and music classes. We can do all of them now! Yippee!
Back With A Vengeance. Part 1. THE HOUSE.
25 AprSo. What’s up? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Great! Okay, now it’s my turn.
For me, the past month has been a whirlwind tour of the many different ways in which one might go nuts: Moving, family-hosting, baby nap-changing/teething/walking (!), the re-appearance of depression, and a new, 800-square foot house. It’s all in there! Were I a stronger, more balanced individual, I might call it edifying – even educational. But seeing as I am who I am, I just call it insane. In an effort to make up for lost time and bring y’all up to speed, this week, I will break down the many different ways my month has been a challenge. Lucky you!
Part 1. THE HOUSE.
I know. This is a blog about the highs and lows of parenting – NOT houses. But so many of you have shown an interest in what our little place is like that it seemed appropriate. If not, boo hoo and come back tomorrow.
The first time I ever laid eyes on our new house was during a drive-by with our realtor.
“Nah,” I said. “Keep driving.”
The next time I saw our new house was after Jake and I realized we weren’t going to be able to do much better in the town of our dreams. At the time, it was a rental house for two college boys, and it was a mess: nasty stained carpet, a freakish red wall that called hell to mind, a toilet encrusted with pee, and a kitchen more aptly called a “kitchenette.”
But the bones of the house were good, and there were aspects that appealed to us very much: a spacious, beautiful backyard traversed by a creek, lots of windows in every room, and hardwood floors under the carpet. “This might be it,” we whimpered.
As escrow came to a close, neither of us was terribly excited about moving in. It was going to be a lot of work over a very short period of time to get the house even marginally comfortable. But March 31st arrived, and we began the intense process of deciding how we wanted to live for the next several years.
The kitchen – unanimously the most challenging room in the house – would have to wait to be remodeled. Our savings evaporated the moment escrow closed, so we would only be able to take care of the cheapest, most cosmetic aspects of moving in. We started with painting the rustic wood-plank ceiling white to lighten the living room, dining area and kitchen. We tried painting it with brushes at first, but it looked horrible. Then we tried using a roller, but it didn’t get into the grooves. So then we decided to go with a paint sprayer – in theory, a very good idea. In practice, a nightmare.
Jake went through five – count ’em, FIVE – sprayers over the course of three days.
- Borrowed from work, was broken. Returned.
- Bought on Craigslist, was too weak. Returned.
- Rented from equipment company, was defective. Returned.
- Rented from same equipment company, was brand new but refused to suck paint. Returned.
- Rented from same equipment company, worked. Mostly. Returned and was still asked to pay rental fees. Refused.
This is the point at which I was sure Jake would lose his mind, but he never did. I could learn a lot from observing the way Jake handles conflict.
Anyway, with the ceiling now painted, we moved on to painting the walls. I’d seen a color in a magazine ages ago that I always thought looked nice. Thank goodness I bought a sample and tried it out first before painting the entire house. It was a gray that read cold and sterile – and sometimes, purple. Not cool. Thankfully, my nice friend April is an interior designer and knows her stuff. She came over with her Benjamin Moore book and recommended the most incredible color: Manchester Tan. It is so rich and beautiful, and has a different effect in every room depending on the time of day. After the first day of painting, I called April.
“Manchester Tan makes me want to weep every time I look at it. It’s gorgeous.”
“Jaime,” she said, “the goal was to make you weep. I’m so happy you like it.”
Next came the floor, which was a labor of love for Jake, who has never refinished anything before. We stained it a dark walnut color – which is absolutely gorgeous, but doesn’t hide dirt, baby-flung food, or dog fur – and slapped on a satin finish coat. It had to cure for about a week, which meant we were eating our meals in beach chairs from the kitchen for a while.
And speaking of the kitchen, yes it’s miniscule, but it’s liveable…for now. We have plans to knock down some walls and create more storage in a year or so. For the time being, though, we’ve installed a pot rack and crammed all of our utensils into one of the THREE drawers at our disposal.
My mom and dad are in town right now, and they’ve been enormously helpful at deciding on furniture and decor placement. I chose the Emma curtain from World Market for its vintage charm. Someone told me they look like the drapes that Maria turns into the Von Trapp childrens’ clothes in The Sound of Music. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I like that they evoke a reaction! My style tends toward the 50s and 60s, so it’s not much of a surprise.
My favorite room so far is the dining room. (The chandelier came with the house, to my utter delight.) I also love Seabass’ room but haven’t been able to get a shot of it yet because he’s always napping in it when I have a spare moment to shoot.
We are settled, comfortable, and enjoying our new place very much. Thanks for your interest.
Now I have to get back to baby-proofing all these new cabinets. Excuse me.
The breaking point.
7 AprI packed a kitchen timer in a box yesterday. Somehow, that timer has been tripped and is currently beeping from the bottom of a very tall pile of boxes in the living room. Apparently, this one doesn’t have an automatic shut-off. In fact, it’s been going for about an hour now.
Guys, this might be the end for me.
The next time you see my face may be on the six o’clock news, whether as the woman about to jump off the bridge, the woman arrested for being drunk in public, or the woman suspected of murdering engineers at the kitchen timer manufacturing company.
So I don’t post for a week and you all just leave?!? Harumph.
5 AprSo, we bought a house.
It’s just a funny little 50s house, but as we’ve started painting, tearing out carpet, and sanitizing the bathroom of two decades’ worth of college boy pee, we’ve already begun to fall in love.
The work is hard. And time-consuming, particularly when I’m running home a few times each day to nurse and put Seabass down for a nap. Poor Jake is on his own much of the time, on the verge of panic attacks trying to figure out how to get the house ready for move-in day this Saturday. There is a story about his adventures with paint guns that I’ll refrain from sharing right now, but suffice it to say that from what we gather, paint guns were wielded in the fires of hell.
Anyway, on the Seabass front, our little guppy is right on the verge of walking. I can hardly believe it when I catch him standing by himself or (lo and behold!) taking a few steps on his own. He has a crazy grill of teeth that cracks me up when he smiles, and his poops are reaching a whole new echelon of putrid. Our little boy is all growns up.
Still, he’s a handful as always. I can’t leave the room without him dissintegrating into a quivering lump, and due to my ineptitude at teaching him sign language, he basically screams at full volume whenever he’s hungry, thirsty, wants up, wants down, or wants anything at all. Grandma Lewis is taking care of the wee Seabass while we pack/paint/slave on the house, and she has been a saint. Truly. I’ve never felt so comfortable leaving my boy because she has the patience of Job with him and finds EVERYTHING he does adorable. I thought she was humoring him at first, but now I realize she’s just delusional.
So, all that to say we’re doing fine but we’re exhausted and ready for life to go back to *normal.* Until then,
Jaime
P.S. I’d love to post pictures of the house or Seabass, but it’s too hard and I’m too tired. Sorry.
Higher Highs, Lower Lows 