Sometimes the Universe Answers Back

Some times I ask the Universe a question and it answers right back.

Like yesterday, when I ran into trouble with my blogging tool, since it doesn’t allow ads. I need to either host my own instance of the tool or move to another tool, which will take a few days to research and I would rather write.

So, I take Baby Girl to Genuine Joe’s Coffeehouse for a Jelly gathering. Jelly coordinates meeting places and times for people who usually work from home so they can work, collaborate, and bounce ideas off each other. Here is a video about Jelly. This is my first time to meet with the goup. I bring my laptop so I can start the research about blogging tools.

So, I meet Dusty and I’m telling him about my blogging question. He says he has hosted his own instance using the same tool and gives me the scoop about that. Then Marcus points out limitations with the tool I was thinking of moving to. So, the two questions I had just the day before were answered before I hardly even tried. And Baby Girl was having a good time, eating from her bottle and smiling a lot.

(One funny part – the coffee shop didn’t have a changing table and Baby Girl was smelling funny. The best place to change her was a coffee table where Joey, also with the Jelly group, was working. I read his name tag and said “Hello Joey, I’m Carol. I hope you don’t mind, but I need to change my baby’s diaper on this table.” This may not have gone over well with just any body, but Joey was a Dad and he said “Sure!” And he didn’t even flinch when we saw just how messy Baby Girl’s diaper was.)

Besides thinking about my blogging tool, I had also been thinking about my career (I’m on leave from my job as a software project manager), motherhood, writing and what it looks like to do all of that. Then a friend from church introduced me to Barb Cooper who is very funny and has a successful blog, column and book, which are all the things I want some day. She has a great spirit about her and she gave me some sound advice. I’m in a place where I can create the life I want. It isn’t our Mom’s generation when I must stay home and the next generation when I must focus on my career. She said “There are no Career Police. And there are no Mother Police either.” It is a little unsettling to be in a place with no clear boundaries and pretty exciting too.
Hmm, what should I think about next?

 

The Scariest House on Halloween

It’s Baby Girl’s first Halloween and she may sleep through the whole thing. She is four and a half months old and she is almost ready for a regular routine, but not quite, we are still pretty loose about when she eats and sleeps and naps. This works except for when the rest of the world expects us to plan ahead. I had a doctor’s appointment early in the morning and I had to wake her up for that. When we got back and she ate and played, then she fell asleep just before I had planned to have coffee with someone. Later in the afternoon, she fell asleep just before it was time to pick up Noel from school. So now it was 5:00 and she had just gone down for her first real nap and the Halloween party started at 6:00

It all worked out. It helped that the party was just down the street, with the neighbors on our block. Blue Eyes and I took turns at the party with Noel. At about 7:30, Baby Girl was stirring, so we woke her up and dressed her in her monkey outfit. She was sooooo cute! Which was a contrast to Noel, who is always cute, but whose costume was her own design, that of a serial killer, well, really a cereal killer, with a box of Life cereal taped to her chest and a bloody knife in her hands. Blue Eyes and I are not in costume really, except that we could have been tired-parents-of-an-infant-too-busy-to-think-about-costumes or two-adults-looking-to-get-hit-by-a-car-on-Halloween-night since we were both wearing blue jeans and black sweaters.

So we walk with Noel and the neighbors trick-or-treating down the block, with Baby Girl in the Baby Bjourn. It was a cool night, but not too cool and our neighborhood was great with lots of decorated houses and adults in costume. The kids especially enjoyed a house that was having a party of young adults in some pretty sexy costumes and the house with a graveyard on the lawn and smoke machines.

We were heading back home, it had gotten dark and we were almost there when we stopped at one more house. I was a small older house, on a street without many other houses, without decorations. Blue Eyes and I were at the curb when Noel and her friends called back to us. Noel said the lady wanted them to come inside. This made the girls nervous, so they stayed on the porch, not sure what to do.

I walked up to the door. An elderly woman explained that she had treats inside, if we could come into her kitchen. Well, this was unusual. Didn’t she know about the boogy man and how you were supposed to hand out the treats at the door? But she didn’t look like the boogy man and if she was I could probably take her in a fight.

Blue Eyes was still at the curb, far enough to not fall into a trap that might await and close enough so he could hear a scream for help, so I went on inside with the girls. The house had a very particular smell to it, I’m not sure of what, but I was sure the windows hadn’t been opened in twenty or thirty years. There hadn’t been any new decorating during that time either, the furniture, wall hangings and nick-knaks were all tired and old.

We walked through the living room and into the kitchen. There were treats laid out on the kitchen table and the girls just stared. Besides not knowing that you were supposed to hand out the treats at the door, this woman didn’t know the treats were supposed to be candy. She had an odd assortment of sugar cookies, Oreos and apple filled pastries.

The scene was just so unusual, the girls were uncomfortable and a little scared. Noel took a sugar cookie and nearly ran to the front door. The other girls were trying to figure out what to take that wouldn’t make a mess in their bag. Then the woman looked at me and said “This has been my best night in a very long time!” She asked if I wanted an apple pastry. I didn’t really, but it seemed very important to her, so I said yes.

The woman asked if Baby Girl was a boy or girl, then she offered to baby sit her. She said if I needed to go to the store or take a nap, I could just leave my baby with her. Now I was scared.

More than I was scared, I was sad. This woman and the whole house felt so lonely. I was afraid if we would leave, maybe no one else would visit until next Halloween.

I asked her what her name was. She said it was Helen. I told her I was glad to meet her.

By now Blue Eyes had come in to look for us. He met Helen too. She offered again to babysit Baby Girl anytime we wanted, she said she was a very good baby sitter. Then she asked again if Baby Girl was a boy or a girl.

We finally left and wished her a good night. She told us thank you for coming.

Back out on the street, the girls were all relieved to be out of the house, having survived a real Halloween scare. Blue Eyes said, just to be sure, that we won’t be leaving our baby with any people we just met. I asked my neighbor and Blue Eyes and myself, what kind of person am I? Will I go back to visit her? She so desperately needs someone to visit, but would I feel trapped, would she want me to come every day, would she ever let me leave?

I’m going to try to help Helen, I just don’t know how yet. I’ll let you know what I figure out.

Back at the house, the girls trade for their favorite candies. Baby Girl goes to sleep, still tired from the day. Blue Eyes and I snuggle in bed. We have such an amazing family. I’m so grateful tonight.

Technorati Tags: halloween, scary house, scary story, trick or treat

 

There is a Fat Rat in my Tree

This post is co-authored by my 10-year-old, Noel. If I haven’t mentioned this yet, she is very smart, funny and creative. Since I’m on leave from work now, we get to hang out together after school and I love our time together.

So, one morning a few days ago, I’m loading the dishwasher or washing bottles or something like that and I look out the kitchen window into the back yard and I see a fat rat in my tree.

It is HUGE. And WHITE. And clinging to the trunk of the tree, facing downward, in the middle of the day, which seems an odd place for a rat to be. So I look closer.

Then its tail moves into view and it is a squirrel’s tail. Hmmm, a rat with a squirrel’s tail? I look closer and this rat also has the body of a squirrel. Hmmm. I look again and this rat IS a squirrel. A completely white squirrel. I was amazed and I looked for a long time, then I thought to get my camera, but before I had a chance, it ran off and I couldn’t find it again. But, thanks to the Internet, I found an image so you can see something like what I saw on my tree.

Also thanks to the Internet, I learned a few things about white squirrels. They are the same species as the brown squirrel, but with a genetic mutation. They are very rare, since they are easy to spot and usually don’t survive long enough to mate. There is as much information as you could possibly want, like…

The genetic explanation for white squirrels
Towns that claim to be Home of the White Squirrel
The Albino Squirrel Preservation Society
The White Squirrel Research Institute
White Squirrel News
Many things you can buy with white squirrels on it – here and here and here

Later in the day, I’m telling Noel about how I saw this white squirrel and she asks if it acted different than other squirrels. I said no, its tail moved the same and it climbed on the trees the same. She said this would be a good post for my blog.

I thought, well, it would be all right, but is there any meaning in a white squirrel?

Then she went on to explain that it would be a good post because someone might expect a white squirrel to act differently because it looks so different, but it doesn’t. It is a reminder to not judge a book by its cover and to not assume anything when someone looks different.

Well, Noel found the meaning and she was right. It is a good post after all.

 

Poop Story Contest Retrospective

Thanks to everyone who entered the Poop Story Contest. I’m not sure if it helped me or not, to know how common these stories are, but I imagine I can handle whatever Sophia might surprise us with next. This contest isn’t a traditional contest with place winners and prizes, it is more about sharing. Here are the highlights…

One theme was leaks. No matter how sophisticated we get with out trips to the moon and our iPhones, we still haven’t mastered a diaper that doesn’t leak. There were..
- A leak you don’t realize
- You leak on it, you buy it
- All in good fun

Something you hear about but can’t really know until it happens to you is the projectile throw up or poop. What power comes from such little bodies! Like this one…
- When wipes aren’t enough and you need a shower

I especially liked a theme that emerged around airports. Maybe there is an energy to airports, of change and displacement and being out of the routine, that inspires our little ones to make such a mess. There were three airport poop stories…
- Thank goodness for blankets
- What are you looking at?
- Pack a change of clothes in your carry on

Do ya’ll remember the TV show Northern Exposure? Do you remember an episode when Chris, the town DJ, was stealing car stereos? When he was caught, he said he was doing it to remind people not to be so attached to material things and to learn to accept the challenges that life will bring them. Well, maybe that is the reason our babies surprise us with their messes. Just when we think we have a routine and we are managing quite well, they remind us to not get to comfortable and to be ready with lots of wipes.

 

Something Else Reviews: Parenting from the Inside Out class – part 1

This time, I was the one with homework. Noel, my 10-year-old, is great about her homework. She does it when she first gets home from school. Now I’m the one with homework from my parenting class.

I tell Noel that I need to tell her a story using a picture or memento. She say she MUST know all my stories already because I LOVE to tell stories. But I tell her this is homework, so I’d like us to try.

We pull open scrapbooks and leaf through them. She knows a lot of my traveling stories and the story of me getting married to her Dad when she was six. (Noel is my step-daughter.) But I find a funny picture and it might be too grown up, but I decide it is OK, so I show it to her and tell her the story.

My friend was throwing me a bachelorette party at her house and I was nervous because she told me my Mom couldn’t come. I wondered if that was a code of some kind for strippers and I said I’m not into strippers and she said I should trust her.

So the big night arrives and we eat and drink and tell stories (I LOVE stories!) and then we gather in the living room and my friend says there is entertainment and she turns on the stereo and I’m already embarrassed.

Then the male dancers come out and start their routine, but something is different, I recognize these guys. No, not from the clubs on 6th street, but from church. These guys were my girlfriend’s husbands!

They danced a funny dance and ended up in their boxers and I was crying and laughing the whole time. Then, near the end of the routine, Blue Eyes came out, dressed in a handsome suit, with a single red rose for me. It felt so right. How great it was to be single and free and date different men (well, not usually my girlfriend’s husbands) and have them dance for you (well, that never happened exactly, until now), but Blue Eyes was the man for me and I was ready to settle down.

I show her the picture of the three guys in their boxers and her Dad in his suit with the rose. I tell her how much I knew her Dad was the right man for me and how much I appreciated my crazy friends.

She said that was a pretty good story, but she wanted to know something else.

With no warning, no reason to think this might be coming, she said “Carol, have you ever done drugs?”

Weellllllll, I guess the RIGHT answer to this is “No, never,and don’t you ever think that is an OK thing to do!” but that wouldn’t be the exact truth. I have a history, a little one, nothing memior-worthy and it is probably still safe to run for office. The most difficult part of my history related to bad decisions I made when it came to alcohol. The legal drug, when I was of legal age, was the most dangerous for me.

So I told her the truth. And I told her that for me, drugs and alcohol aren’t so bad by themselves, it is the decisions people make when under the influence. Your brain works differently and definitely not better and there can be pretty extreme consequences.

She said OK, that made sense. It made sense to me too, to give her a little information at a time about drugs, laying a ground work for making good decisions later. To avoid the authoritarian approach of “no drugs or else!” because I wouldn’t always be there to take care of the “or else” part of that deal. I imagine each day now as a preparation for when she goes off to college and I want her to have the information and the strength to make good decisions then.

Well, Carol, that is a funny story, but not much of a review about the parenting class. Well, I know but I am out of time so stay tuned for part 2.

 

The Ponytail Hairdo at the Oscars Update

How did my Ponytail Hairdo, the one for my big date to the Oscars, I mean to the Paramount, go? Well, I got a little nuts for one thing. I thought I had it all together, but I left a few things to do on Saturday, which at first seemed to be going all right. I found cute shoes with a bit of a heel, at least for me, and sparkly rhinestones that matched the dress. Then I needed panty hose because it has been so long since I’ve worn them that I don’t own any. Then I had to remember where you even buy panty hose, then I had to ask for help at Macy’s because I didn’t remember what sandlefoot meant.

I was still on track when I started to alter the dress. “Alter the dress?”, you might ask. “The afternoon before your big date?”, you might think. Well, now, looking back, I can see your point. “You must be an accomplished seamstress!” Well, no not really. I used to sew, but never very well and now that I think about it, Blue Eyes asked me when we got married if I would please never hem my own pants again. He has a sense of style stronger than mine and he was tired of seeing my socks when I was standing up.

But the alteration was so easy. There were two straps that met at the back of the neck and were held with snaps and hooks. I just needed to move the snaps and hooks closer, because my chest wasn’t as big as the average woman’s chest, which is a little sad since I’m nursing and I’m pretty big right now, for me anyway.

I can think back to the time when it started to go wrong. I had taped the University of Texas football game earlier in the day and I was watching it, fast forwarding through the commercials and boring parts. I was also painting my fingernails and toenails and sewing my dress in-between coats of paint.

Yes, now I realize that this is doing three things with my hands at one time. More importantly, my mind was split in three ways, making me much less smart at each activity. I have admitted to this problem before, of knowing when Enough is Enough.

The first sign of trouble was when the University of Texas was loosing to Baylor, but that situation took care of itself. Then I noticed that the sewing was scratching my almost-dry nails. Then I noticed that snaps and hooks were needed at both ends where the straps meet, which would take longer than I thought. And each snap has two parts. And if I took the time it took for me to finish the first half of the first snap and did some math to figure out when I might be done, then I was in trouble.

I didn’t figure this out logically at first. My subconscious mind knew and I started to try to work faster and then I started getting mad at the needle and thread when they kept doing what my hands were doing instead of what I wanted them to do. Then the recording of the football game stopped suddenly, the recording was corrupt. Then my fingers and toes were done, but a little messy. Then I tried on the dress with just a few of the snaps and hooks in place and it was too tight. This was about 5:30 and we needed to leave by 6:00 and I still had to do my makeup and my fancy Ponytail Hairdo.

I finally stopped to slow down, which always makes me smarter, but somehow I don’t remember that in the moment when I need to remember that. Then I had an idea. For one night, I could just use safety pins. “Really?”, you ask. “For the Oscars?”, you think. Well, I’m not REALLY going to the Oscars. I’m going to the Paramount. And if I have someone else do it carefully, then no one will be able to see the pins and it will be just fine.

Well, all that business left me about seven minutes to pull together the Ponytail Hairdo, and it didn’t work. The curls on top fell flat and then you could see the pony tail underneath. I didn’t have time to work with it, so I used some barrettes and that was just fine too.

In the end, I think it all came out all right. I’m usually a pretty casual person and I tried to dress up in all the ways I knew how at one time, since we don’t dress up much these days. When we got to dinner, I settled into the evening, doing just one thing at a time, listening to my husband, making plans for the future, enjoying a surprise gift and a yummy dessert. Just before the show, when Blue Eyes was getting our tickets and I was waiting out front, a group of ladies walked by. The one in front looked at me and smiled and said “That is a beautiful dress!”

Well, it may not have been a red carpet or the paparazzi, but that was just what I needed. It was a good night.

 

Poop Story Contest Rules

Well, I promised a Poop Story Contest and I have been worried about this today. Contests have rules and deadlines and judges and a process for appeal and it can all be so formal. So, this may be the most informal Poop Story Contest there is, but here it goes. Submit your poop story by Saturday, October 27th at midnight and I will include my favorites in a retrospective post about the Poop Story Contest. You can submit by commenting on this post or the original Poop Story post. No purchase necessary. All decisions by the judges are final. Void where prohibited by law.

 

Daddy’s Girl – A Poop Story

I got a call from the editor of a local parent’s magazine this week. She said the story I submitted for the humor column made her laugh, she thought it was hilarious, but the magazine has a policy to not print Poop Stories. I said you have got to be kidding, that is funny, because my blog has the same policy.

You know Poop Stories, every parent has them, some kind of embarrassing and messy disaster, usually in public, when you are both wearing white and you have run out of wipes. When I started this blog, I didn’t want it to be about Poop Stories because they aren’t very original and every parent has their own already. That is why I submitted the story to the local parenting magazine instead, but I guess they have the same opinion.

But, when I think about it again, how you handle Poop Stories is an important part of Graceful Parenting. If I had a manifesto on Graceful Parenting (which I would have time to write, if I weren’t a parent), an important element would be the ability to laugh at Poop Stories. Maybe there is a little frustration and/or health risk at first, but this is overshadowed by the laughing that starts deep in your gut and leaves you all teary eyed. And Blue Eyes says that Poop Stories are funny. Not everything has to be original, especially if it is funny.

So, I have decided to share my story on the blog after all. This is ‘Daddy’s Girl – A Poop Story.’

———-

The morning started off normal enough. The carpool has picked up Noel and Blue Eyes is heading to work. As he leaves, he asks if I’m doing anymore laundry before the weekend and I say no, I’m all caught up and he says OK. Then I sit down to feed Baby Girl her bottle.

She is almost done feeding when I feel something wet on my hand. I lift her a little to check things out and there is runny poop on her outfit.

I set down the bottle and carry her to the dresser to change her. Poop gets on the lap pad and the changing pad cover. Then I see the poop all down the front of my robe.

I clean her up the best I can, but I decide a bath would be better. She is still naked and little dirty, so I put a blanket in her swing, then set her on top of the blanket, so I can change my clothes and get her bath ready. As soon as I set her down, she pees.

I’m still not intimidated. She is running out of ways to make a mess and I have all day to clean. I change my clothes and change out the lap pad and changing pad cover. But I hadn’t noticed the poop on the front of the dresser, I must have leaned against the dresser when I was wearing my robe and I must have leaned against the dresser again in my new clothes, because they have poop on them too. She is really good.

I clean up the dresser. I change my clothes. I give Baby Girl a bath. I sit down with her to finish her bottle and I see more poop in the middle of the floor, I don’t even know how that got there.

When Baby Girl finishes, I put her in her crib, saying a prayer for no more mess. I clean up the poop on the floor and then get a laundry basked for my clothes, her clothes, the lap pad, changing table cover, blanket and swing cushion. Then I call my husband to see what it was he needs washed, because I’ve got a load ready to go.

Then I looked at Baby Girl in her crib. I know she loves her Daddy. Maybe this was all on purpose? She smiles at me. I smile back.

———–

Do you have a poop story? I want to hear it! Better than that, I want to have a Poop Story Contest. Everyone can submit their stories, then we all vote and the winner gets a very expensive (or not) prize package. Start thinking of your best story. The rules are pending and will be posted in a few days…

(Oh, and some good news. The editor of the local parenting magazine called in person because, while she didn’t want to print my Poop Story, she wanted me to submit some other work for the humor column. I’ll let ya’ll know how it goes.)

 

The Pony Tail Haircut

So much of what we experience day-to-day is so packaged for sale to a demographic, so averaged and simplified for mass consumption. I just love that the land from the old airport is being developed and how lucky we are to have another Old Navy.

That’s one of the reasons I love my hairdresser Cameo. For one thing, her name is Cameo. I don’t know even one other Cameo and she is definitely an original. I love that I drive down a major street in an industrial part of town, but turn right by the big red and white TIRES sign and end up on a tree-lined, winding street, a secret entrance into a hidden little neighborhood. The neighborhood isn’t planned and packaged with curbs and sidewalks or formal deed restrictions. People have some times clever, some times trashy things in their yard and the lawns may or may not be mowed. Cameo’s house is green with purple trim with kid’s toys in the yard and if her house were a word it would be Joy. There is a studio in the back, a large metal building with her husband’s glass blowing studio on the right and her hair cutting studio on the left.

I’ve never been much on small talk with my hair dresser and have usually opted for reading a magazine, but not with Cameo. She has great stories like how she has her girlfriends over the first night of each full moon. They make a fire out back and share what they are grateful for and one thing they wish for in the next month. They write their wish down and then put the papers in the fire, to send the wishes out into the universe. Cameo is also a great listener. I’m a pretty private person (well, except for this blog, which is a very new thing for me), but I will spill the beans about my infertility, difficult pregnancy, new family dramas and old childhood wounds, all without hesitation, as if I had known her forever.

So, I have a HUGE date on Saturday and I wanted to get my hair cut. For my 40th birthday a few months ago, Blue Eyes gave me a set of envelopes with dates on them. They are tickets or some other plans, one every other month or so, well into next year. When we get busy with Baby Girl and Noel and the house and his job, we’ll have these plans already made, reminding us to take time to be together and have some fun. We have a baby sitter and everything.

I’m wearing a fancy purple dress that is so pretty I could wear it to the Oscars, for which I have yet to be nominated, my husband says because my screenplay hasn’t left my laptop, but that is another post. I COULD wear this dress to the Oscars, IF I were invited, it is that beautiful. I thought it would be nice to fix my hair to, you know, something a little more than combing it through when I get out of the shower. But my haircut is pretty grown out and it flips oddly and my bangs hang in my eyes, so I make an appointment with Cameo.

Cameo doesn’t even make fun of me when I explain to her that I want a great pony tail haircut. Most all of the time, I want it to be long enough and not too layered so I can just take a shower, let it dry and put it into a pony tail. This is all the time I have most days and it is a safety issue as well, since Baby Girl’s grip has gotten pretty strong. I have even given up on blow drying my bangs, so they just lie flat on my forehead, looking kind of sad from being neglected. But, on special nights like a date with my husband, I want to style it, without too much work of coarse, and look amazing.

And Cameo takes care of me. She gives me a trim with very light texturing and then gives me the scoop on the best ponytail styles. One is to take the hair on top of my head and twist it, then bobby pin it down, like I’m wearing a yamika. The take the hair from one side and twist it heading to the back of the head, same with the other side, then gather the two sides and put them in a tiny, invisible pony tail holder. Then undo the yamika and let that hair hang down. It’s a super fancy pony tail. Julia Roberts wears this style. It is a pony tail worthy of the Oscars. And for every day, she give me sweep bangs, which hang well, off to the side, even without blow drying.

There are a lot of hair dressers that can help Julia Roberts ready for the Oscars, but to help a Mom with a new baby look good without using product or styling during the week and also do something a little special for a date with Dad, now that is an Oscar-worthy performance.

 

Music Review: Dancing with Baby Playlist

Oh, to be young again and to see my favorite rock band at 2 AM in a smoky bar while standing shoulder to shoulder on concrete floors. I think. Music changes when you are a parent. I used to think it meant less, now I think it just means different.

Even though Spoon’s new album is titled Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, 4-month-old Baby Girl doesn’t get it, so I keep that on my iPod and listen to some other things around the house. I don’t mean children’s music, I haven’t gotten into the children’s music, I don’t think music needs to be simplified so much.

Tonight, when she was fussy and couldn’t settle down, I wrapped her in my favorite wrap, the Moby Wrap and put on our favorite music for dancing. Not too fast or too slow, with rhythm and feeling and easy lyrics for singing sweetly to calm her down. So, this is our product-tested, Baby-Girl-is-now-resting-calmly, Dancing-With-Baby Playlist:

Sweet Baby - Macy Gray, lyrics
When the Stars Go Blue – Ryan Adams, lyrics
Cradle of Love – Kelly Willis, lyrics
Upside Down – Jack Johnson, lyrics
Don’t Wait To Long – Madeleine Peyroux, lyrics
Stay with You – John Legend, lyrics
Put Your Records On – Corinne Bailey Rae, lyrics
What Light – Wilco, lyrics
I Love Everybody – Lyle Lovett, lyrics

Later on, I’ll post favorites of Noel’s that we listen to while we make dinner. Let me know if you have favorites for your kids…