Home Again Home Again

We are Home and we are glad.

We started leaving Savannah yesterday around 10am. We left the low country around 3pm. We got home around 9pm. The Boy was a pill. We stopped to feed him and eat some dinner in a town called Lumberton. We ate at a Subway and the girl who helped us was COUNTRY. I couldn't even understand some of what she was saying, which her accent was that thick.

All said and done the trip was a success. The Husband particularly got to do everything that he had wanted to do and I consider it my job to make sure that the Husband is happy.

The Boy? He was charming and adorable and well-behaved. He was particularly charming with his uncle the Jefe...
He was absolutely fascinated by that big beard.

And yes, yes, he's wearing Baby Carhartts. They are almost the cutest thing I've ever seen...


And as proof that even the cutest boy will eventually wear down his mother after a whole week with family...


Yep. He's eating a traditional French baguette...I know. It's WHEAT! And he's only 4 months old! He's only had rice cereal! We don't know if he's allergic! I'm over it. He gummed that piece of crust until it was unrecognizable. He sucked and slurped and made his happiness known by completely ignoring the rest of us. It was adorable to see his little face light up at food that actually taste like something other than paste. And he LOVED it. Who can blame him. It was a great little French bakery on our way out of town. I myself ate a pain au chocolat that was worth every dripping calorie.

But after it's all said and done, we are glad to be home. And the Husband had a realization on our drive home wards...where we are--it's HOME. Much as he loves Savannah, that's just where the family lives.

Here, we are home.

*All pictures courtesy of the Jefe's iPhone. Thank you, Jefe!

Mid-sojourn

Greetings from the low country!

So far so good. When we left, the Husband wanted to spend an afternoon downtown with his best friend, go shooting in the country, eat lots of food, visit with family and catch up with some friends.

I just wanted us all to make it out alive.

Tuesday we spent the day downtown with the Best Friend of the Husband (aka The Jefe). We had lunch at this great barbeque joint--I ate the sides (some mac and cheese, fries and some rockin' collards--and I don't like collards but these were awesome). We lazed around Forsythe park, we broused E. Shaver's for books. We caught up and had a lovely mellow afternoon in the warm sun.

Aaaaaaaand we forgot the camera.

Wednesday the Husband and the Jefe gathered up an alarming number of firearms and ammunition and we drove out to a pine plantation where they did some shootin' and the Boy and I hung out in the house.

This time we brought the camera aaaaaaaaand forgot to take it out of the bag.

Today. Well. Let's just remember that Thanksgiving is not the Wife's best loved holiday. The Husband ate all of his favorites and played Guitar Hero with his brothers, sister in law and nephews. Me? I walked out to the end of the dock. The Boy and I went for a walk through the neighborhood. He had a nice nap and plenty of entertainment from his cousins.

And the day was sufficiently hectic that we also didn't take any pictures. Yep. The Boy's first Thanksgiving and we FAILED to document it. We are AWESOME parents.

I am thankful for many things and among them, I'm thankful to be past Thanksgiving. I'm really looking forward to Christmas, New Years and the Husband making a trek to Boston for my birthday. Keep him in your prayers we're hoping for very good things from this trek.

As for tomorrow, we're having lunch with Chris' grandmother and I think he's hoping to meet up with another lovely friend from school and then pack up everything for the trip home. We're set to leave early Saturday morning so that we can get home, do laundry, prep a lesson, go to a birthday party for one of our lovely friends and, in short, return to our normal life.

Thank you and Good Night

First,

Thank you all so much. I am truly overwhelmed by all your kind words and encouragement. And Molly called me! Not even 2 weeks postpartum and she CALLED me on the PHONE!!! I was so touched when I hung up that I cried. [When I was 2 weeks postpartum I was still whining to my mom and sister everyday and I don't recall that I even answered my phone, let alone picked it up to make a phone call. Which just goes to show you all how AWESOME that Molly is.]

And for the record, we're going to gradually wean him...he's getting one bottle of formula a day and we'll gradually replace the nursey works with bottles through December so that he'll (hopefully) be weaned by 6 months old. We'll see.

As for us, we're all headed down to Savannah for Thanksgiving. Well, not all of us, the Cats shall remain behind to take command of Burnstopia in our absence. Leike can't wait. A whole week without the mewling infant. So, if you don't hear from us--that's where we'll be. I will try to post at least once whilst sojourning in the low country...but I can't make any promises.

For what it's worth here's what I'm grateful for this year:

The Husband was busy napping, but I'm still really grateful for him, even when he's asleep.

And one of these:


The Boy, overly tired and therefore wired but I love him just the same.

Gestures

I have been remiss in taking note of the lovely unconventionally romantic things that the Husband does for me with his own version of quiet regularity.

This week it was poached eggs.

I love poached eggs but I do not love them enough to actually make them for myself. They are a pain. But I had made a big batch of crumpets (for eating with jam because what could be better than a warm toasty crumpet with jam?) and the Husband, rightly so, thought that a warm simple dinner of poached eggs and crumpets would be delicious and so he made it for me.

And it was.

And then he did the dishes.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Confession. And a Crossroads

So, I have a confession to make.

I love this little boy.

I love him with a love that is fierce and protective and primal. I love him enough to want better for him than for myself. I want to make everything happy and easy for him even though I know that in the long term that would be bad for him. I love him to the point where I wish I could wrap his little heart in bubble wrap to protect him from the world.

And yet, I am done breastfeeding.

I know. Believe me. I have read and researched and read some more. I know it is what is absolutely best for him nutritionally. I know it fills him chock full of antibodies. I know it's the perfect balance for him. I know. And yet. I am still done.

I would like to take a moment to bid adieu to any male readers I might have. Adieu, male readers, this one is for the ladies.




Are we down to just us girls now? Ok.

I'm done with being sore all. the. time. I'm done with being exhausted all. the. time. And I'm not talking "Oh, I'm feeling a little tired, I'll take a nap and feel 100%!" No, this is bone-weary, mind-numbing exhaustion. This is the kind of exhaustion where you can't keep up with conversations any more. I'm done obsessing over supply issues. I'm done fretting over every single thing that I ingest into my body. I'm super done worrying about every bite that I eat and oh--will this upset his sweet little tummy? Most of all, I'm done dreading those 5 times a day when I have to feed him. And I do. I watch the clock and I dread it.

I would like to qualify. I have loved breastfeeding him. I love having my time with him when it's just him and me. I love snuggling him in close and I especially love that he's discovered textures and runs his little hands over my face and neck. I love the whole earth-mother-natural thing that we've had going on so far. But I sat down today to feed him and I sighed and wished in that moment that I was anywhere else. And then I covered his face with kisses because I felt small and mean for wishing to be away from him when he needed me. We had planned to breastfeed for a year. And then dealing with the low-supply drama train we shortened that to 6 months. And now that he's getting the hang of food I'm thinking--I'm done.

And so, I am at a crossroads. Do I continue to breastfeed him, knowing that it's what's best for him and all the while secretly resenting that he demands this of me? Or do I leave breastfeeding while I can still say that I have loved it and will absolutely do it with all future children and accept that I was raised entirely on formula and lo, I turned out all right in the end?






Comments: Please be nice. It's been a long day at the end of a long week--he's also not sleeping so well right now (we're talking waking up 3 times a night thinking it's time to play and then not napping during the day and being Super Foul) which means that I'm not sleeping right now so try not to pick on the Wife while she's down.

Destination Discouragement

There are a number of things I could talk about. The Husband is now 8 for 10 as far as rejection letters go for Fellowship applications. The Boy was up from 1am until 3am and then again at 6am for no apparent reason at all. Thanksgiving is next week and I hate Thanksgiving. I'm all for being grateful, but I hate all the hoopla, it's just too much--too much food, too much football, too much shopping so that by the end of it everyone is over-full, broke and irritable.

So, instead of my whinging and worrying I will present you with the one ray of light in all this autumnal gloom:

Deja Vu

When the Husband and I were dating, in the early days, when he wasn't the Husband he was just This Guy that I Think I Might Like but I Can't Tell if He Likes me or Just Thinks I'm Odd--well, we used to go to lunch. I was horrifically poor, choosing to buy books for a special project (on Anna Akhmatova) and put gas in my car to get to school rather than buy food. And the Guy that I Think I Might Like but I Can't Tell if He Likes me or Just Thinks I'm Odd, he would meet me on campus and we would walk up to this lovely Indian restaurant (Bombay Cafe) for their excellent lunch buffet. Many days it was my only meal and the Guy that I Think I Might Like but I Can't Tell if He Likes me or Just Thinks I'm Odd, he LOVES him some Indian food. So we would eat and talk and eat and talk and gradually meander back to a bus and back to his apartment where we both grab our homework--I was usually reading some enormous book and the Guy that I Think I Might Like but I Can't Tell if He Likes me or Just Thinks I'm Odd was usually studying Chemistry; or rather, we would read and study until we both fell into a food induced coma. This was the sum total of our dating experience.

Today we revisited that lovely time. We went for Indian buffet lunch and came home and the Boy was sound asleep so I laid down for a lovely nap and 15 minutes later WAAAAAH!!! The Husband tried valiantly to explain to the Boy the sacred nature of this sequence of events in Burnstopia. He cordially refuses to adhere. We have hope that as he ages he comes to recognize the magical blessing of Indian food for lunch followed by a lovely nap.

Boy Update

Remember this post on Sweet Mary? Well, she's not alone!

The Boy had his 4 month check up today and he's squarely in the 50th percentile for height and weight** and 80th percentile for head size!

I'm telling you! Look at the size of that noggin! It's like Sputnik, spherical and quite pointy in parts! There must be something in the water down here--or else it's all the colleges in the area, we just grow big brains.

Otherwise, the Boy is doing great, he shredded the tissue paper on the table, he smiled and laughed and spit and was otherwise totally and completely charming. I? Well, I had my first First Time Mother Neurotic Paranoid visit with the pediatrician. Nothing is wrong, he's perfectly normal, his mother however has been rendered pants-on-head crazy from sleep deprivation.

So, it's a rainy Friday and I'm going to attempt to stay awake today. Our plans for the weekend include grocery shopping and cleaning the apartment. Oh, and I might corner the Husband and make him take me out to lunch.

What are your plans for the weekend?






**He's 15 and half pounds and 25 inches long. Too bad they don't measure foot size, I pretty sure he'd be in the 80th percentile for that too!

Awesome; NOT Awesome

So, Whimsy started doing this thing where she breaks down situations into Awesome and NOT Awesome, and it's been a sufficiently awful day for me to openly STEAL the idea from her. Sorry, babe. If you had drawn your child's blood today, you'd be stealing ideas from other people too.

Awesome: Getting 9 of the Boy's RAZOR sharp claws cut while he was sleepily eating this morning.
NOT Awesome: Cutting a chunk out of his thumb on the last cut, drawing blood and a horrendous SHRIEK of pain from him and spending 30 minutes soothing him and apologizing over and over and over again.

Awesome: The Boy totally forgot about the thumb cutting incident and forgave his slatternly Mother for her ineptitude after those 30 minutes of soothing and yet more MILK!
NOT Awesome: The HORRIFIC guilt I felt ALL. DAY. LONG.

Awesome: Getting the Boy to nap for 2 hours this afternoon.
NOT Awesome: He napped in MY bed. On top of ME. My nap for the day? Um. Not so much.

Awesome: Our neighbor brought us leftover sandwiches from his workplace for dinner tonight!
Not Awesome: My dirty dishes from lunch are still sitting in the kitchen sink.

Awesome: Finished my book! Never mind that I had read it several times before (Northanger Abbey for those curious), I still finished it!
Not Awesome: Not knowing what to read next.

Awesome: The Husband is almost done with school for the semester!
NOT Awesome: Oh, we still have to slog through 3 more weeks of classes and FINALS and lo, he is DONE.

Awesome: The Boy has a doctor's appointment this Friday and I have a LIST! A loooong list of questions (along the lines of, "He does ____, is that NORMAL?") for the doctor!
NOT Awesome: He also has to get shots.

Awesome: The Husband is setting up a lovely picnic for us in the living room.
NOT Awesome: um...

um...

Ok. I can't think of anything that's NOT Awesome about that.

Question

Will someone please explain to me how this kind of behavior is justified?

[See disclaimer and following note below before you STAKE me alive in the comments section.]

Several points:

1. 52.5% of Californian voters approved Prop 8. The entire Mormon population of the state of California isn't 52% (it isn't even 2%), and YET--we are the ones bearing the brunt of the protests.
2. I can't seem to recall anywhere in the bill of RIGHTS that says that all citizens have the RIGHT to life, liberty and the pursuit of marriage. Given that our nation has the highest divorce rate in the world, I find it difficult to support yet another group obtaining the right to marriage. Indeed, I think that all people should THINK (with their brain) before they decided to get married.
3. Marriage is a sacred as well as a secular union, irregardless of whether it's a judge (pull out a dollar bill and read the back if you have any doubt about the nature of God and this country) or a priest/pastor/bishop etc. performing the union. Those protesters have only proven that they don't hold anything sacred so what is the point of their marrying?

Disclaimer: I don't generally talk about things of this nature on this blog because of the Burnstopia motto of Live and Let Live--however, when people attack innocent people in the streets because of the Church they belong to, I take great exception. Since there's no way of knowing how (or IF) those individuals voted then the only logical assumption is that they were attacked because they are Mormons. And here I thought that we had made some progress in the last 100 years. In additon, lest anyone think that this post is driven by homophobia of any kind, I have many gay friends and I love them dearly. We cordially agree to disagree on this topic and remain friends at the end of the day.

Now if we can return to the purpose of this entry which is for you all to explain to me how the aforementioned behavior is justified, I would really appreciate it.

[Note: All smarmy comments will be summarily deleted. It's my blog, it's my right of free speech; if you don't like it--don't read it.]

Gestures

As part of my continuing series on unconventionally romantic gestures I must admit that it's becoming difficult. Not because the Husband hasn't done anything this week, but rather that some of the gestures are personal and I'm not willing to share them on the blog.

What's that? You didn't realize there were limits here. Well, there are.

Anyway. Since I can't decide on one that I'm willing to share, I will say this.


Know that he has peppered my week with generous mercy and kindness. Know that I adore this man and am so grateful that he's a part of my life. Know that he cracks me up. Know that he gives a lovely, relaxing back rub and that he loads the dishwasher. Know that he gnaws on the Boy's ribs until the Boy squeals in delight. Know that, as exhausting as life is right now, life is still very good.

And MORE Done.

Well.

That was exciting, now wasn't it?

The Boy says, "Pleeeeease stop talking politics now!!!"

Aaaaaaand DONE

Well, there's one less thing to get done today. Incidentally, after I took this picture, the Boy horked up his entire breakfast all over my pretty "I Voted" sticker. I think it's a sign.

A Story

So, my nephew is 6 and his favorite thing in the world is to ask me, "Tell me a story from when you were a little girl." He's done it often enough now that when the Husband is bored he looks at me and says in his best imitation of JV "Tell me a story from when you were a little girl."

We were driving up to see my parents (who am I kidding? We were chauffeuring the Boy up to see his grandparents and were happily rewarded with yummy dinner and some awesome fleecy pajamas for the Boy) and the Husband turns to me and says, "Tell me a story from when you were a little girl."

So this is what I told him.

When I was a little girl we lived in Tennessee. And my grandpa lived in a tiny town about an hour or so away from the other town where we lived. I remember (vaguely, I was really little) that we would get in the car to drive out to visit my grandpa. East Tennessee is really hilly so there are lots of hills that my dad would race up and then we would drop down over the top so that our tummies plummeted a bit. Anyway, we would turn on to this country road and then onto a little dirt lane that went up hill a bit. We would tumble out of the car and up to the porch and into our grandpa's house that smelled of old fashioned peppermint and tobacco smoke, up into his lap for the hugs and kisses and the quarter he would give us to buy a Brown Cow down at the Piggly Wiggly.


And then us kids would sort of scatter...for my part I usually ended up out in the barn or on the back porch and here is why. My grandpa always kept cats for keeping mice out of the barn so as a child it always seemed like there were kittens. No matter the time of year, there were always kittens. And further more there were lots of kittens. As an adult I look back and know that there were probably only 6 or so kittens at a time, but as a child it seemed like hordes of kittens. And they were small and sweet and so friendly (usually because I had snatched some milk to give to them) and I would sit out there and chase and hold and pet kittens for hours. (Never mind that they were probably flea ridden and wormy and half feral, I was a child and it was positively wonderful!)

I suppose it's the fall weather that brought this to my mind this past weekend. The leaves have all turned here and are starting to fall industriously to the ground. It is my favorite time of year. Aside from longing to be back in school again, it's just full of wonderful things. The leaves turning red and orange and gold and then that wonderful crunch crunch crunch under foot and think of the lovely smell; the cool crisp air, the crunchy apples and the short days which make for wonderful evenings reading.

Which reminds me, I have the last fifty pages of my book to finish and Bed Sweet Bed is calling.

So tell me, what's your favorite part about fall?