Full Hands (The Beginning of The Big Piece of Cake: Part I)

11 Replies

Today is my 100th post. Considering the fact that I started this blog in late June, that seems to have crept up on me rather quickly… What can I say, I’m an enthusiastic poster. To celebrate this milestone, I decided to devote the next few days to the first posts I ever wrote.

They were written last Winter when The Big Piece of Cake didn’t exist, and my neighborhood friend Tricia, ask me to contribute some guest posts as a mother of twins to her blog, Reston Mom. I enjoyed this so much that after several months spent mustering up the courage, I decided to start my own blog.

This is the first of the three pieces I wrote for Tricia (this first one was broken in to three parts for Reston Mom, so it’s longer than the next two):

Full Hands

Recently, Tricia asked me if I’d be interested in contributing to her blog with some reflections on being the mother of twins plus a first child that was only 18 months old when they were born. This is a question that I get all the time: “So you must really have your hands full – how do you manage?” The answer to this would be that I have no idea. People say, “I just don’t know how you do it,” and I think, “me neither.” As my husband, Chris likes to say, we’re just trying to survive and our only real job right now is to keep the three of them alive.

Now that we’re out of the marathon phase of three-hour feeding schedules for infant twins (including three to four wake up calls each night), I think we can get past survival mode. Newer priorities include herding, refereeing, and keeping anything weapon-like out of reach. They’re not violent children – just very physical. The oldest probably sets the tone by initiating games that tend to involve knocking each other down on the floor and seeing who can hold the others down the longest (and as a 40 lb. two year old that looks like a 4 year old, he has a gross advantage over the other two pee wees combined). Honestly, after about six months of feeling like I ruined Oliver’s life by bringing home not one, but TWO unwanted siblings, I’m just glad that they all seem to like each other.

I just never considered that I might end up with twins. I knew twins and I babysat for twins. I listened to my friends muse that it would be so nice to just have twins the first time around and then be done with pregnancy. But I never had those daydreams myself. I always knew that this would be too much chaos for my orderly existence. When Oliver was born, I couldn’t believe how exhausting and all consuming he was; and I have a very clear memory of saying to Chris, “I don’t know how people have multiples – I just couldn’t do it.” But here we are, and somehow we’re all alive, and I find that I don’t need to have everything in order anymore.

It’s impossible to predict what a weekend day at home with the kids will bring: how many battles of will I can expect, what moods I will encounter when I enter their bedrooms in the morning, who will have a runny nose, or when they will actually start the day (it could be anywhere from 5:00 to 7:30 a.m.). What I do know is that I will have a pile of laundry that will never be completely folded until everyone goes to bed, that I will never get around to that vacuuming that needs to be done and that I will very possibly not even leave the house or put on shoes. But I also know that I will witness a developmental leap in speech or motor skills, I’ll receive innumerable hugs and kisses, both requested and offered, and I will discover yet another amazing skill that I didn’t know I possessed, such as fixing matchbox cars or leaping over hurdles Bionic Woman-style to reach a 2 year old attempting to push his little brother down the stairs (all in good fun of course).

The truth is – everything about my twins was unplanned. I’m one of those controlling types that prefer to keep things logical and organized. I knew for a fact that I wanted a three to four year age difference between my (two) children so that I could get the first one out of diapers, into pre-school and engaged in some kind of intelligible communication before embarking on another round of sleepless nights with a second newborn. Well that didn’t work out. Instead, we ended up with three babies under the age of two, all in diapers, in daycare, and nowhere near the ability to communicate clearly with words.

Life was simple with just one baby. There was always one answer for everything: whatever is best for him. If there was an earthquake and a giant crack opened up in the ground, I could pick him up and run in the other direction. Now I’d need to get the stroller, strap in both twins securely and then convince Oliver to actually hold on to me while I carry him and push the stroller with my free hand. At this point, we’ve all been consumed by the giant crack; and trying to climb out with all three of them is beyond even my disaster planning skills.

I spend less time making future plans now (and forget disaster planning, I can’t even watch movies like War of the Worlds). Instead I focus on the next few weeks, days, hours. I’ve found that no one is on board with my preference for sticking to a plan (not even my husband), so I’ve given up. I just do the best I can to keep things organized and try to be ready for anything. But then – isn’t that the case for all families?

Currently Making My Day: The Evening Picture by Janet Hill Studio

17 Replies

Doesn’t everyone have a “happy place” online? Usually these are sites devoted to beautiful images. Ones that make us forget about our daily grind or the political debates or the state of the economy… Just a little escape into a world where everything is beautiful and peaceful – and no one is running around the house with a non-washable red crayon….Oh wait – that last part only applies to me, but you know what I mean.

For me, this site is Ontario artist, Janet Woodward-Hill’s Janet Hill Studio: The Evening Picture. Materialistic Monday is not all about clothes and accessories. It’s about wanting something that you don’t actually need. And I can honestly say that I want every painting on this website.

I found Janet’s lovely work at one of my other happy places, The Paris Apartment. These little jewels that she creates DAILY (I’m not kidding – one each day) are usually on small canvases (6 x 6 give or take a few inches), and pretty affordable for original paintings. That is – if you can snag one from her Etsy shop before someone else beats you to it. They don’t last long.

As the daughter of an interior decorator, I was immediately drawn to the interior scenes and use of textiles. So of course, the first thing I did send the link to my mother. I also e-mailed Janet to see if she sold her work to stores since these paintings would be perfect for my mother’s shop.

As it turns out, The Evening Picture will soon be sold as limited edition prints on canvas. They will be in her Etsy shop (which should last all of five seconds) and also in retail stores throughout North America, Australia, and Europe. (If you are a retailer or designer and want to carry her line of prints on canvas, email her at janethill111@yahoo.ca and she’ll add you to her list.)

I told Janet that I planned to feature her on my blog, and asked if she’d mind answering a few questions about her work and process. Here is what she so graciously sent back:

BPOC: When did you decide to start “The Evening Painting” site? What prompted it? Friends, clients? Just a desire to have a virtual portfolio for your miniature work?

JH: I started “The Evening Picture” site when I decided I wanted to shut down my retail store. For six years I owned a store called The Great Dame in Stratford, Ontario. It specialized in European bath and beauty products, but I also displayed my paintings on the wall. After a few years, I realized that it was the paintings that were drawing a lot of customers to the store and it no longer made sense to keep up the high overhead of owning a bricks and mortar shop. I had heard of other artists selling online, more specifically on Ebay, so I decided to start selling my ‘oil sketch’ paintings online and that lead to the blog and Etsy. It was a leap of faith I suppose, but I enjoy taking risks.

BPOC: Where do you get your inspiration? Do you paint strictly from your imagination or do you sometimes actually set up still lifes? Or both?

JH: I get my inspiration from anywhere and everywhere. Magazines are a big component, as are other blogs, movies (I have a portable DVD player in my studio and will often have movies playing in the background), and my imagination. Often it’s an odd combination of all of the above that leads to a painting. I never work from still lifes as I’m too lazy to go about setting it all up.

BPOC: I am particularly drawn to the details you include in your work – especially the textiles. Have you ever done any work in textile design – or interior design?

JH: I don’t really have an interior design background, unless you count the three days that I worked in the Schumaker fabric library which I found a little hellish. I graduated with a fine art degree and never really knew what to do with it. I considered going to design school but never felt that I would be a particularly great designer as I tend to get annoyed easily. All my friends and family told me that I was a natural painter, so somehow I combined my love for interiors and painting and found a way to make a living off of it. Every day I wake up and can’t believe that I am able to do this.

BPOC: Obvious question: how do you find the time? Your small paintings are like little jewels – it’s hard to imagine that you don’t spend all day on them.

JH: It’s pretty much a full-time job for me, so I try and approach painting as a job. Doesn’t sound too glamorous, does it? After I walk my dog in the morning, I try to discipline myself and head into my studio for most of the late morning and afternoon. Money is also a pretty good motivator I hate to admit. If I want that pretty, new hot pink clutch, I have to buckle down and paint. My husband is quite jealous that I’m able to do this for a career, as he thinks I don’t “technically” work. In many ways I have to agree with him when I reflect back on previous jobs – particularly office jobs that I had that required an hour of highway commuting every day.

Thank you Janet for taking the time to exchange e-mails! And more exciting news – I will now have a little piece of my happy place in my own house (which I guess is supposed to be my real happy place…) I told a close friend about my near obsession with these paintings, and she purchased one for me as a belated birthday gift (very belated since my birthday is in April – but I’m not asking questions!)

Need a quiet moment in a place where colorful shoes are perfectly lined up and Spring flowers never wilt? Visit The Evening Picture. I do this every day and it’s better than…dare I say it?…CAKE (and a lot less fattening).

Ungrateful Bitch

16 Replies

Okay – so that sounds harsh. But I figure if teenagers are allowed to say it on the WB, then I’m not in any danger of being labeled a potty mouth. Not that I have anything against potty mouth writing. It’s almost the standard for most popular blogs. But I really don’t swear that much, so I’d feel like too much of a poser if I tried. And you have to be true to yourself – you know?

Okay, so now that my unnecessary disclaimer is out of the way… I’m running a little late on my Friday Confession. Actually – it will look like I have TWO Friday posts since I didn’t actually hit publish on my last one until after midnight last night. But since I was still up, I considered it Thursday. And THIS is my official Friday post.

So where does the swearing come in? Not at all actually. But but when I was trying to come up with a title for my subject, that was the first thing that came to mind. You see – I am terrible at receiving gifts. It’s not that I’m against getting presents – bring it on! – but people really do have a hard time shopping for me. I’m picky. I’m particular. And I’m mercurial when it comes to my likes and dislikes.

To clarify, I might like owls (I don’t – this is just an example – don’t buy me an owl), and I may even collect them. But that doesn’t mean that I like everything having to do with owls. I could even narrow it down and say that I like white ceramic owls with yellow eyes (again – I don’t – just making a point). BUT that doesn’t mean that I will like EVERY white ceramic owl with yellow eyes. Some may be too big, or the quality might not be great, or there might be a greenish cast to the white glaze when I prefer a warmer tone. You get the point. I’m a pain in the ass.

My friend Megan once put this well by saying “all the elements are there, but…” And I blame this entirely on my father. I inherited his fussiness along with his tendency tell people how to solve their problems when they haven’t actually asked. It’s genetic.

But I am a lot better at pretense than my Dad. How many times have I given him a gift, only to receive a noncommittal “huh” or have a flaw or observation pointed out to me (“I sure do have a lot of Hawaiian shirts”). He doesn’t do it on purpose – he’s just not good at pretending. I on the other hand have learned over the years to smile big and exclaim over whatever it is that I DO like about the gift. And if I don’t like anything about it, I marvel over something vague and not necessarily negative or positive (“Wow – this is so unusual. Where did you find it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it before!”).

At the end of the day – I’d be happier just picking out my own gifts. But I’ve gotten better about this, and I’ve even tried to be open minded about things that may not have initially struck my fancy. The fact is, I really need to be less rigid about things because I now have children that will soon be coming home with hideous pantry inspired jewelry. I want to wear that macaroni bracelet and Fruit Loops necklace with pride. Well actually – I don’t think I can do that last one since I can’t stand the smell of fruit scented cereal and I might literally pass out from the stench. But you know what I mean.

I’m not really ungrateful, I’ve just always put a lot of thought into the way things look. I like my hair a certain way, I like my bed made just so, and yes – I like a particular sweater that I circled in the J. Crew catalog – not the one that was ultimately purchased for me. Does this make me a bitch? No – but I definitely walked a fine line when I was first dating Chris would be honest about presents that were a “good try.” My reasoning was that I didn’t want to paint myself into a corner where he thought I really did like tapestry vests (another made up example to illustrate a point) and continue to buy them for me. Instead I thought he could “learn from his mistakes.” Which sounds logical if you ignore the fact that it’s incredibly obnoxious.

Luckily Chris put up with me (and I don’t own any tapestry vests – so there!). We’ve been together for almost ten years and married for eight. He now picks out great gifts for me – when we actually do gifts. I will state for the record that I’m sure he would have developed a better understanding of my preferences over time, regardless of any tough love present buying lessons I gave him. To assume that it was all my doing would make me the worst of know-it-alls. But since this is a confession, I have to be honest. Deep down I really do think that I’m responsible for his finely honed instincts. So I’m an ungrateful know-it-all. What can I say? It’s genetic. Thanks Dad!

Kate & Oliver’s Baby Soothing Service: We Make House Calls

18 Replies

The other night, my three year old son, Oliver accompanied me to our neighbors’ house to help soothe their baby. Actually, I was being consulted for my medical skills (if you call squirting saline solution up an infant’s nose and then finishing the job with a plastic syringe “skillful”). As a mother of three small children, I tend to command a great deal of respect in the knowledgeable mommy department. Which makes me feel very important – when I stop laughing.

I may not be the best choice for Rich and Cathy’s parenting guru, BUT I’m the fastest aspirator sucker in the West (or East since I live in Virginia). Oliver had a stuffy nose from the day he was born until his first birthday. And then six months later I gave birth to the twins who had their fair share of snot – though nothing to match Oliver’s prolific booger production. Bottom line: I may have to call the nurse hotline to get advice on constipation or vomiting – but I know exactly to do about a newborn with a stuffy nose.

Ironically enough, they really did think that Jack (the adorable two month old baby) might have a more serious problem. And when Rich knocked on our door to ask me to come over because Jack was having trouble breathing, I was expecting to find a baby gasping for air – and possibly turning blue, since I have a rather overactive imagination about this kind of thing. Instead I found a placid baby staring up at worried adults and comically snorting out breaths.

The reason that I brought Oliver with me is that I had been at BlogHer DC all day and since it was a holiday, the kids were at home and noticed my absence. I couldn’t leave the room without hearing a panicked Oliver calling for me. Somehow leaving the house didn’t seem like it would bode well for a peaceful bedtime. It was decided that he would have to accompany me on my house call.

It was about 8:45 p.m. when we arrived – just about the time that I usually start trying to convince Oliver that it really is time to put on pajamas and not just some crazy idea I dreamed up. Although he can’t read the clock, he can sense an approaching bedtime like a tracker hearing hoof beats from a mile away. (Does that metaphor work? Not sure…a little awkward…but I’m keeping it.) This is when he generally starts his redirection routine: “Hey look! It’s Curious George!” or “Sammach [sandwich] PLEASE” or “Uh Oh! Pee pee!”). So you can imagine how thrilled he was with our impromptu excursion.

He was equally enchanted with “baby Jack” and did a lot of pointing and Cousin It-like babbling (Oliver’s version of talking) about him. And he happily watched as I examined my patient. Diagnosis? A lot of snot plugging up Jack’s nose. Prognosis? A very uncomfortable and sleepless night for everyone that lived with him. But a little saline and aspirator action would help.

Because I’m all about sharing my gift. I held the baby and made Cathy do the work as I guided her through the complicated process. Step one: have someone restrain flailing baby as you insert the saline bottle in the nostrils. Step two: hold the bottle over each nostril for approximately three seconds. Step three: wait a few more seconds for the saline to do its work. Step four: continue to hold baby’s arms – now that he’s most likely gaining Incredible Hulk strength and can beat you senseless with his fists – and use the aspirator to remove “the obstruction.” Note to new parents – saline for babies will drip, so you don’t have to squeeze the bottle. I made this mistake for an entire week of Oliver’s life until I finally realized that I was powerwashing his brain with saline.

It was only after we finished the procedure and started trying to soothe a hysterical Jack, that I noticed Oliver’s agitation. He was horrified by what we did to that poor sweet baby and hovered around us as if he was trying to figure out how to snatch Jack and make a break for the front door. And when I imagined the scene through his eyes, I had to admit that it probably looked like something that would happen in an alien abduction. It was definitely time to go home and watch some Barney.

So we said our goodbyes to the happy little family (translation: shell shocked parents and wailing infant) and made our way back. As soon as I closed our door though, I knew that it wasn’t going to work. Oliver just stood there, lips quivering and tears streaming, asking for baby Jack. What could I do? I took him back.

I didn’t even bother knocking since barely five minutes had passed, and sure enough, we found them just as we left them – trying to calm Jack down. Oliver gave me a “do something!” look – so I took Jack and did another one of my baby voodoo tricks on him.

When George was a newborn, he had bad reflux and upon the suggestion of another twin mom, I purchased the Itsy Bitsy Yoga Book. Apparently yoga poses help with reflux. Since George couldn’t exactly lower himself into a downward dog position, I had to read the book and do the little exercises with him. The only really useful piece of information that I took away from that chapter of my maternity leave was that if you hold a baby out in front of you with their head in your hands and their feet at your chest, and then quickly squat down and slowly rise up over and over again – the baby will be instantly soothed. It’s absolute magic.

While it did look ridiculous, my squatting routine did the trick after just a few drops. I continued while I spoke with the exhausted parents and watched out of the corner of my eye as Oliver relaxed. Since it seemed as if my work was done, I returned Jack to his mother and hustled Oliver out before the crying could begin again. No such luck. The wailing started as we were walking out the door.

This time we didn’t even make it into our house, Oliver charged back without me. I told Chris that we were returning and asked him to come with us. I don’t even know if Cathy and Rich were surprised to see us. All I could say was, “yeah…we’re back.” I returned to my squatting routine, Oliver found Wonder Pets on the TV and Chris opened a beer. We certainly do know how to make ourselves at home.

One problem with the Itsy Bisty Yoga soothing magic is that it’s impossible to sustain for long periods of time. This is the exact reason why people hate going to the gym. It’s hard. Unfortunately – Jack was a grumpy boy, and the minute I would stop, we would start crying. Since Oliver refused to leave Jack in his time of need, I was starting to wonder if we’d ever get out of there.

My solution was for Rich and Jack to escort us back to our house. This ALWAYS works when Oliver doesn’t want to come inside after playing with a neighbor’s dog. Now instead of fighting with him, I just ask the owner to come back to our house for a few minutes (maybe I should write a book – I’m just full of great advice!) So we applied the same principles to the crying baby. Have I mentioned that I live in a townhouse? This story sounds a lot less bizarre if you know that we’re only walking about 20 feet door to door.

Jack continued to be fussy at our house, and Oliver wouldn’t go upstairs with me. I couldn’t do one more squat if I tried. As it was, I was worried about being able to walk the next day. Chris said he’d give it a shot. Apparently – he is the secret weapon of our baby soothing service. He just held Jack close and rocked him while making shushing sounds. Within minutes, the baby was asleep. I was a bit suspicious and thought Chris may have learned that Ninja trick of pinching the side of someone’s neck to make them pass out… Either way – he seems to have a gift. Why he wasn’t using it on the twins when they were newborns and woke up every 20 minutes at night? I’m not sure. But it certainly did work on Jack.

It’s too bad that we don’t plan to have anymore babies, because DAMN – we’re good! But we really don’t plan to have anymore babies. I can barely control the ones that I do have. Who knows? Maybe Oliver absorbed everything he learned that night and will become The Baby Whisperer for his generation. Or more likely he’ll just cultivate an unusual fear of nasal spray and develop the disconcerting habit of entering his neighbors’ houses without knocking.

And the Winner Is…

7 Replies

Congratulations poolegarcia! You won the trip to Hawaii! Okay – so it’s just a clutch purse – but if you had to pick the Hawaii vacations of purses, this would be it.

I would like to thank Amy of Amy in Ohio for telling me about random.org. Otherwise, I would have been cutting up 101 pieces of paper to do the drawing. Since I had some duplicate comments from a couple of people and one deletion, I cut those out and then numbered the list so I would be able to differentiate between people with the same name. Then I randomized the list 10 times to pick the winner. Can I TELL you how much this exercise appealed to my OCD side?

I apologize for the lateness of this announcement. I’ve been sick today and didn’t get my act together until late this evening. Don’t feel too badly for me though. Since I work, the kids were in daycare and I got to spend the day in bed catching up on my “stories” (which today would be Brothers & Sisters and Ugly Betty). If you eliminate the whole stomach flu thing – it was the best day ever!

I’ll be busy catching up at work tomorrow – so I won’t have time to write anything, but I’ll make sure to post something new on Thursday.

Thanks again to Brooke Galardi from Bee Gee Bags!

Little Despots

11 Replies

Just a couple of reminders:

You have ONE MORE DAY to enter my drawing for a beautiful vintage fabric clutch from Bee Gee Bags. If you haven’t entered yet – do so now! I’ll do the drawing tomorrow evening after work.

Also – check back next week for a very special Materialistic Monday (that sounds a lot like “a very special Blossom” doesn’t it…this will be much better). I’ll have a short interview with Ontario artist Janet Hill. It will be short because her dreamy images speak for themselves. Can you tell I’m excited about this one?

I’ll be skipping Materialistic Monday this week to participate in a little virtual party of sorts. Thoughtful Issa asked a number of us to contribute our own parenting advice to soon-to-be-mom-of-two, imommy. Even though I was thoroughly made fun of the last time I did something like this, I just really love giving unsolicited advice, I mean imommy.

I thought I’d use the advice column format that my Uncle Dick came up with for this post. So welcome back Oliver and Mrs. Hood!

Dear Mrs. Hood,

I am a 1 1/2 year old boy. About three weeks ago, my parents brought home a couple of babies (I’ve now accepted it – apparently, that’s what they are). We had a rocky start, but Mom and Dad finally seem to be adjusting to the new family dynamic (you were right – soon enough, they won’t even remember what it was like not to have two other children in the house). Here is the problem though. The twins have been plotting to actually replace me. They look innocent, but it’s becoming increasingly evident that they want to usurp my position as the most important person in this family. Seriously, I’ve started watching my back. They demand to be held at all times, which means that I am often asked to play by myself while they are having some bogus need met like ANOTHER bottle or ANOTHER diaper change. Who eats and poops this much? They’re totally doing it on purpose. Also, they pretend they don’t see me no matter how many funny faces I make for them, how many blocks I throw at their heads, etc. They never crack a smile – not even when Mom does that hilarious bit with the bee (that’s really her finger) buzzing around until it attacks your tummy. They barely register any of it. What are they? Robots? (Now THAT’S an interesting idea…) But back to the point. I just find it hard to locate a shred of familial spirit in these “siblings,” and I wonder if they are just biding their time until they can get rid of me altogether. Right now, it’s not looking good. I’m considering telling my friend Jonas to call the police if I disappear. What should I do Mrs. Hood? I just don’t know who to trust anymore.

Sincerely,
Paranoid on the Playground

Dear Paranoid,

First of all – let me assure you once and for all that your newborn twin siblings are not out to get you. It may seem like they are trying to replace you, but that is only because they are now doing all of the things that you once did as a baby. Things that in spite of your obvious “big boy now” status, are still fairly recent for you. The reason that the twins do not seem interested in you is that they can’t see very far, they have very little control over their limbs, and as I’ve told you before, it will be several more weeks before they are even able to smile. It is a known fact that newborn babies can seem rather boring to other small children. They can’t play with you yet, but that will change very quickly. Although it sounds like an awfully long time, in a couple of years, they really will become constant companions for you. And you will appreciate their friendship (well – most of the time…hopefully). In the meantime, you just have to be patient – with your newborn brother and sister AND your parents. My advice is that you are honest with your parents about your feelings. If you’re not comfortable talking to them about it (or if you can’t because – you know, you don’t really speak in sentences yet), write them a letter (based on the same premise as the previous ones that you’ve written to me: that you can actually write a letter even though you are barely able to recite your ABCs.) Tell them that you need them to put aside special time for you when the babies aren’t around. This might be during one of the times that the twins are sleeping and you are not. Maybe each of your parents can take you out at separate times. If they talk to you about how only you can do fun things like play at the park or go out to eat, then they will be reminding you that you are special and could never be replaced by a baby. Inform them that they will have to “baby” you a little too, and let you regress a bit. It’s only natural. This may be the first really hard thing that you’ll ever have to do – but believe me when I tell you that you will be stronger for it. It will create an opportunity for you to start thinking of yourself as a big kid. And all of these accomplishments can be very empowering. Don’t spend another minute worrying about your place in your family. You will always be the first baby – no matter how much of a big kid you are. As long as your parents make time to focus on you, and let you go through some growing pains, you’ll all be just fine.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Hood

If you’d like to see more posts like this (of course you do – what’s more interesting than mommy blogger advice?), go vist: Anymommy, EatPlayLove, ForADifferentKindofGirl, Insta-mom, Issa, Marinka and Psychmama. Those are the only ones I know about – but Issa should have a full list posted.

Toddler Confessions

21 Replies

*Don’t forget to enter my giveaway for a beautiful clutch from Bee Gee Bags! Click here for details.

In honor of the twins’ birthday this week, I’m going to give them the mic. They will be taking over this Friday Confession. I’ll have to translate for them since they don’t really “talk” so to speak – but I’ll try to keep it honest.

First, we will hear from Eleanor:

Hello! My name is Eh-ni-ner [Interjection from Mom: This is how Eleanor pronounces her name]. I am pretty much perfect, but I do have one little fault. I’m just the teeniest bit of a princess. I demand to be the center of attention at all times, and whatever you have? I want some. Of course this is entirely justified as I’m in a word, fabulous. I’m terribly multifaceted though in that I’m what some of the neighbors call, “a tough cookie.” I fall down a lot (oh yeah – another flaw: I’m kind of a klutz), but I don’t waste much time crying. If I’m having fun, I can shake it off. Regardless of what may seem like a tomboy personality though, I really am quite the girly girl. I will only wear one pair of shoes. They are silver mary janes with little bows, and they are so “me.” Mom tries to make me put on these clunky brown shoes (must be a throw back from her past) and insists on calling the horrors my “school shoes.” Well I don’t go to school yet, and if school requires wearing shoes that Mom preferred back in “the olden days,” then I’ll pass. I have a reputation to maintain you know.

ANYWAY – I have also recently become addicted to barrettes. I call them “pretties” which seems to make everyone laugh. But when Mom first started putting them in my hair, she’d say “so pretty!” She didn’t say “so barrette!” What was I supposed to think? Mom says that she’s just excited because I was more or less bald until a month ago. I prefer to say “follically challenged,” but George is signaling to me that it’s his turn, so I won’t get argumenative about it. So…in conclusion…what were we talking about? Oh right a confession. I don’t really have one. I pretty much perfect.

Take it away George:

Right, thanks Mom. Hi there (big wave). HI…..hi……..hi (still waving). [Interjection from Mom: We could be here all day. He loves saying HI and BYE, and no one can out wave him. So I’ll get this started. “Hello. My name is George, and I am weird.”] YES – that’s right. I’m weird. Sorry about that – I just really like waving. It’s kind of my thing right now. But you know – like Mom said, I am weird. First – I’m obsessed with toothbrushes. I love them – and I want to brush my teeth pretty much 50 times a day. My parents have to hide all of the toothbrushes since I am a climber. And when I do have a toothbrush in hand? I dare you to try to take it away from me. You will find it next to impossible to prize it from my iron tight grasp. And if by some miracle you do? I will blast you across the room with my super human shrieking. I’m not kidding, you may have some temporary hearing loss. At the very least, you will drop the toothbrush.

The other weird thing about me is that I have just this week become extremely attached to a pair of shoes. They are lime green Vans that are just a little too small for me. Here is a picture of me in me half dressed for bed – still wearing my Vans:

Aren’t they rad? Vans are a West Coast thing, and people say “rad” on the West Coast. Or that’s what Dad told Mom when she said that they didn’t match anything (I mean – he said that Vans not matching your outfit is a West Coast thing – he didn’t say rad). Dad is getting a bit long in the tooth to say things like rad. Have you met my parents? They’re really old. They’re not rad. But they are very patient with me. And they’ve let me wear my lime green Vans every day this week, even though they don’t match anything. And now they let me wear them to bed. Well they kind of have to. Because if they don’t, I’ll scream. And I’ve already explained the consequences of that. So that’s pretty much it for me. I’m just weird.

Thanks kids! I can’t think of a good closing for this, so I’ll just go play with the little ones now. Playing with the twins generally looks like this:

Make Mine a Double: Part II

22 Replies

*Don’t forget to enter my giveaway for a beautiful clutch from Bee Gee Bags! Click here for details.

We last left off the evening of October 9, 2006, with me driving to the hospital with amniotic fluid soaking through my pants and into my car’s upholstery. How’s that for an opener? Didn’t catch the “Part I” post? Maybe you should read that first.

Back to the story. I was very lucky in that I didn’t start having painful contractions until I arrived at the hospital. It was only when I was sitting in some light traffic, that I started thinking about the fact that I might not be able to drive if my barely perceptible contractions became more intense. I was definitely rethinking that decision to let Giacome finish my blow dry before leaving for the hospital.

Ideally, Chris would have been driving me – but it was important that I go to the hospital immediately since I was definitely going to have a c-section (George, “baby A,” was breech). And Chris had to drop our 18 month old, Oliver off with friends before coming to meet me.

It was a little anti-climactic when I first arrived. I drove around for a bit looking for a good parking place, and then I stopped to give someone directions on my way into the building. Once I reached the reception area, I had to wait in line behind people who were interrogating the receptionists about whether it was possible to order vegan meals from the cafeteria. Okay – I just totally made that last part up. But I did have to wait in line behind a bunch of people that did not have blood pouring out of a gunshot wound OR amniotic fluid streaming down their legs.

Eventually I was sent up to Labor & Delivery where I finally got a little service! Actually – it was a bit disconcerting because when I provided my name, the nurse said, “oh – your doctor just called. She’s very worried about you.” I asked if I should be worried about me. She clarified that since surgery was necessary, they wanted to check me out right away. So off I went to triage.

Here is where the pregnancy crazies come into play. The young nurse who “checked me out” said, “oh yes – I can feel that head.” Now – this made me very excited because last I heard, George (who was positioned to be the first one to come out) had his little heiny jammed firmly into my birth canal. Could he possibly have turned? Could I skip the whole major abdominal surgery thing and have the twins the old fashioned way? I was really getting psyched about this.

Then my doctor arrived. She is great and I trust her implicitly, but that woman is strictly no nonsense. I told her about the miraculous head sighting (or feeling), and she gave me one of her famous looks. “Kate,” she said, “it is almost impossible for that to happen now. They have very little room to move at this point.” But I wanted my fantasy to be real, so I begged her to check – just to make sure. She agreed to go get the ultrasound equipment, and I could literally feel her eyes rolling as she walked away from me. Long story short, the nurse gave me false hope. She felt George’s butt, not his head.

Shortly after my disappointing news, Chris arrived looking like he had just parachuted onto the front lawn of the hospital. He was excited though and I needed some positive energy in my little corner of triage. Then I noticed that he only had one bag with him. I had packed two. Was it the bag with my skincare products and my toothbrush and my comfy socks? No – it was the bag with my DVD player and my books and magazines. I asked him if the other bag was in the car, and he said, “what other bag?” I said, “um, the one sitting right next to this one?” Nope – didn’t ring a bell. I expect that when I called to tell him my water had broken, he didn’t register anything more than, “water broken…blah blah blah…hospital…blah blah blah…Oliver…blah blah blah…bag.” Oh well – at least I could watch some Gilmore Girls if I got bored.

As much as I really was dreading the surgery part, I was happy to see my anesthesiologist and get the news that it was go time. The contractions were becoming more than uncomfortable. And Chris was starting to get on my nerves, all windblown and positive with only one suitcase… Men.

Since I had expected to have a c-section, I knew what to expect. I kissed Chris and told him that I’d see him in the OR. He had to scrub in. Then the anesthesiologist and I walked down the hall together. Which seemed weird. I was kind of expecting to be wheeled in on a gurney. Or to at least be pushed in via wheelchair.

The next thing that I remember finding a little unnerving is that when I lay down on the operating table (which was so thin I thought I might fall off – is it me or do you picture something more along the lines of a dining table?) I was completely stripped below my chest. I don’t know why this would surprise me since I’m familiar with the area where they make the incision. But I just didn’t picture being naked. Especially with strange men wandering around talking about sports. Everyone seemed a bit too jovial for my liking… What did they think this was, Gray’s Anatomy? Were they going to be too busy flirting across my blood and guts to notice that I was bleeding out? No – I wasn’t overly fond of the banter. I wanted them to come to MY surgery with their A game.

Anyone who has had a c-section before may have noticed that I skipped the part about having a needle poked into my lower back to administer the spinal block. It wasn’t my favorite part – but it was over quickly enough. Let’s leave it at that. But the actual effects of the spinal block made me want to jump up and run screaming out of the room (if I could actually move my lower body that is). They had positioned me so that my knees were up in the air, and then suddenly my lower body just disappeared. But I knew that my feet were on the table and my knees were bent. BUT I couldn’t feel them. This made me ca-razy! But once they moved my legs back down so that they were on the table again (couldn’t feel it – but I knew they were doing it – eeeeww!), I felt better.

I also noticed that the numbness reached up to my chest and I was finding it hard to breath. Of course that could have been due to the general sense of panic, but the numbness didn’t help. Finally I couldn’t stand the jokes and the sports and the numbness and the tiny table and that fact that I was AWAKE for all of this, and I pulled off my oxygen mask and clutched the arm of the closest nurse. I dragged her down so her face was right next to mine and said, “listen – I just need to tell someone…I’m REALLY SCARED.” She kindly patted me on the shoulder, replaced my oxygen mask, and told Chris who had just entered the room to come hold my hand.

And then it started. I of course couldn’t see what was going on since there were about ten inches of sheet screening my view. But Chris had to actually avert his eyes since he was sitting up. He was given instructions to stay facing me if he didn’t want to “see anything.” Chris and I are pretty much in agreement when it comes to the inner workings of the human body. We never want to see anything.

Most of the procedure was a blur – but suddenly, there was George with a full head of dark hair. He was pink and screaming – and he looked nothing like my first baby. So it was kind of like having my first baby – if that makes sense. I had never seen anything like him. Chris went to go look at him as they started to pull Eleanor out. She looked a little bizarre since she was up in the top of my uterus and didn’t get washed off the way George did when my water broke. She was covered in vernix – but she looked more like Oliver did when I had him (just a little light brown hair on her head). But she was a girl and that was new to me. Chris watched them clean her off and saw both babies get weighed. Born at 9:23 p.m. and 9:24 p.m. (respectively) George was 5 lbs. 11 oz. and Eleanor was 5 lbs. 12 oz. They were so tiny.

It was at this point that Chris decided to come back and talk to me. Big mistake. Or it wouldn’t have been if he turned back the way he had come: facing me. Instead he went in the other direction, and got a perfect view of the intern inspecting my uterus (outside of my body) and then shoving it back in. A nurse had to grab his arm as his legs started to buckle. He didn’t actually faint, but he almost did. Now that’s an image that will haunt your dreams. And he wasn’t too keen on what he saw during the “regular” birth of our first son. You know how the doctor says you have to wait six weeks before you can have sex? Six weeks after I had Oliver, Chris looked at me and said, “I’m not ready.”

Stop making faces Chris – that last line is crucial to the story. Well maybe not – but it’s really funny.

So that’s it! We got to hold our babies and take a picture and then all kinds of drama began the next day. But that is a story for another day. Today is a birthday. And while I’ve never been one to get sentimental the miracle of birth – I’m VERY sentimental about the birth of my own little angels.

Happy Birthday George and Eleanor. I love you so very much.

Make Mine a Double: Part I

29 Replies

*Don’t forget to enter my giveaway for a beautiful clutch from Bee Gee Bags! Click here for details.

Exactly two years ago (give or take a week), I looked like this:

And yes – it was just as uncomfortable as it appears. And what is even more outrageous is that I remember looking at that picture and thinking it was “flattering” – that it made my stomach look less gigantic than it actually was. So apparently, I was even bigger in real life. People who have never been pregnant before can pick themselves up off the floor now. It’s not like that happens overnight. You do have some time to get used to it.

Enough about my enormous stomach though (shut up – I mean then, not now!). I am showing embarrassing pictures of myself as an opening for the story of the birth of my twins. It’s their birthday! On October 9, 2006, at 9:23 p.m. and 9:24 p.m. (respectively) I gave birth to George and Eleanor Hood. They looked like this shortly after they departed my body:

And no – they were not nearly as angelic as they appear. Actually, they were perfectly sweet babies – it’s just that there were two of them. And having had one newborn already – I knew the difference between one screaming baby and two screaming babies. It’s simple math: 2 x 1 baby = 1 seriously deranged mother. But that’s another story.

On the morning of October 9, 2006, I had a feeling that the end was near. While my scheduled c-section (my “baby A,” George was breech) wasn’t supposed to take place for another week, I just didn’t feel right. And of course I was already four centimeters dilated and showing some “signs” that are TMI for even this blog. Also, we had just moved into a new house three weeks prior and I was still carrying my 35 lb. 18 month old up and down the stairs. This probably helped to speed things along.

The bags were packed and waiting by the door and I was finally resigned to the fact that George was not going to turn over for me, and I would have to have my first experience with surgery. Awake. One word: barbaric.

We were as ready as we were ever going to be – and I decided that I would spend the day trying to wrap things up at work, even though it was a federal holiday and the office was closed. It’s like I knew…

I won’t get into the details of the day – mainly because I barely remember them. But at about 5:00 p.m. I was ready to leave. I felt the urge to do some errands, so I called Chris and told him that I would be running late, and that he’d have to do Oliver’s bedtime routine (which he was more or less covering already in preparation for my post surgery limitations). Then I was off to the mall.

First stop – the cosmetics department at Nordstom. I was running low on concealer, and you know – this is a huge priority for someone that expects to be sequestered to their house for several months. I have to look good for the mail man and all. Then I headed over to Suissa, a hair salon where I had a history of success with random stylists (I’m notorious for being a walk in client).

When I arrived, the receptionist smiled at me and told me that I was the third expectant mother to come in that day. My first thought was that I hoped the others were as far along as I was and also sporting ill fitting maternity clothes that hinted at a penchant for inappropriate belly baring. I didn’t want to be “the big one” when they talked about the run on pregnant ladies that day. She told me that Giamcome would be able to take me immediately. (I don’t remember his name – but I once had another stylist named Giacome, and I think it suits my no name guy.)

Giacome? Not that much of a talker. But that suited me well enough, as my mind was racing in fifty different directions, and I didn’t mind NOT playing 20 questions with him as he pretended to be interested in my pregnancy. But one persistent thought running through the rest was that I was starting to worry about incontinence (don’t worry – this isn’t a story about incontinence – but it’s relevant in context). All day, I had been feeling a little…well, loose – for lack of a better word. I had never experienced incontinence before, and I was wondering if this was an early sign.

It was while my hair was being washed that I had the first pang of concern. There was definitely something going on down there – and I was feeling extremely grateful for the long black gown that covered my legs. At this point, I was thinking that I might look as if I had just had accident – or more accurately, that I looked like I HAD had an accident. But at the end of the day, I’m an optimist, and I hoped that it either wouldn’t show once I was standing up – or that maybe it would be dry by the time I had to unveil myself.

The haircut was uneventful. It was looking exactly like what I had requested and Giacome continued to play the strong silent type. But about ten minutes into the blow dry, something rather significant happened. I suddenly knew that I was not experiencing incontinence. I had my water broken for me in the hospital when I had my first son, and while this was not the same, there were definite similarities. It finally dawned on me: I wasn’t peeing my pants – I was going into labor.

I had never spontaneously gone into labor before. My 9 lb. 2 oz. first born was a week late and I had to be induced. And I was expecting a scheduled c-section for the twins. So I was completely unprepared for the slapstick situation of having my water break during my blow dry at the Tysons Corner Suissa where I was a goddamn walk in for god’s sake. Oh my god! Damn!

But I’m nothing if I’m not practical. And I never panic. So I quietly weighed my options as Giacome continued to smooth and straighten my hair. I had done this once before, and I knew that I had some time before I actually went into real labor. At this point I wasn’t even having contractions. Oh what the hell – my hair was only half done, and I figured that it wouldn’t hurt anything if I just let him finish. I deserved to have perfect hair for my first surgery. Awake. BARBARIC I tell you!

Plus – I kind of needed time to figure out what I was going to tell Giacome. I couldn’t imagine that this was something that happened every day at Suissa. So when he finally finished his last flicks and fluffs, it was time for me to break the news. I said, “so Giacome…I have to tell you something. I THINK that my water may have broken.” He looked at me blankly – and if he did say anything, I don’t remember what it was. At this point I was beginning to wonder if he was actually mute.

Then I stood up and he removed the vinyl drape. And that’s when I realized that my water hadn’t really broken yet – it was just starting to break. It was only when was vertical and gravity took over that it really BROKE. All over. With sound effects. I was truly in a sitcom from hell. And as an added bonus, that morning I decided not to wear the black pants that I had sported every day for the past two months. No – I was feeling “khaki.” And there was no camoflauging the river of amniotic fluid running down my legs.

Giamcome looked me. I looked at him. And then as if we had the same thought at the same time, we both looked at the chair where I had been sitting. Thank god it was the usual fake leather. I can’t even imagine the humiliation of leaving a soggy chair in my wake. I guess I expected more of a puddle – but maybe my pants absorbed most of it. All that was left was what you might find after a very sweaty person in shorts got up from a vinyl seat. And in silence, stoic Giacome switched on the hair drier and commenced to cleaning up my mess.

The receptionist’s desk was conveniently located directly behind me, so I grabbed her attention and explained that I’d have to settle up rather quickly. And I would have to use her phone because – of course – I left my cell at home that morning. I called Chris – told him to get the bags, make the necessary calls, take Oliver to our plan A person, and if she wasn’t home, to our plan B person. And then I was ready to go.

The receptionist was incredibly sweet and asked if there was anything she could do for me. I couldn’t really think of anything… She wasn’t a doctor, and she had already helped me with the walk in appointment… And a pedicure was definitely out of the question. So I said that I thought not. But then she offered to get my car for me – and that sounded like a great idea since I seemed to be losing gallons of amniotic fluid with every step I took. And I was pretty sure that I’d needed to keep some in there for another hour or two.

After some discussion about where I may or may not have parked (pregnant women NEVER remember where they park), I told her to “walk in that direction and just start clicking.” Eventually she’d hear the “beep-beep” noise.

While I was waiting outside for her, strategically covering my soaked pants with my purse, it occurred to me that I hadn’t called my doctor. Rookie mistake! And I didn’t have my cell… so had to again rely upon the kindness of strangers. The only person in speaking distance was a touristy looking guy who I think I remember as being Japanese (I know that there were characters on his phone screen instead of letters/numbers). Either way – he definitely didn’t speak much English, and I could only hope my appearance made up for any confusion over the translation for “broken water.” Apparently it did since he handed the phone over without any questions.

Just as I signed off with my doctor’s answering service, the receptionist peeled around the corner in my car. I handed the man back his phone and realized that I had never said goodbye to Giacome. Seems like we should have hugged or something. But it was too late, and it didn’t seem appropriate to hug the Japanese tourist. We didn’t have quite as much of a history, and you know – I was really wet.

With effusive thanks to the receptionist and the tourist, I was finally on my way to the hospital. As I drove off into the twilight, I wondered what my story’s cast of characters would make of my cameo appearance in what seemed to be just another ordinary day at the salon. Would they reminisce about me in months to come? Would they wonder what happened to me and wish me well? I didn’t know – but I didn’t have time to think about it. My real journey was only just beginning…

Cool ending huh? Like something from a really bad romance novel. Yeah – I just kinda went with it.

What’s that? Yes – I said “ending.” Have you noticed how LONG this post is? It’s definitely a “to be continued.” I’ll finish up tomorrow. And here are a couple of spoilers: I realize that when you have surgery you have to be naked, and Chris almost faints. In that order. But the two are not related. Till tomorrow then…

As Good as Cake Giveaway: Bee Gee Bags

106 Replies

**UPDATE: I forgot to mention when I first posted this, that Brooke has offered to give all Big Piece of Cake readers a 10% discount on any orders. So if you do buy any of her bags, just make sure to let her know that you placed your order after hearing about her bags here!

Poor Chris! He reads my blog every day, and all I’ve been giving him lately is handbags, dresses, skincare products and 80’s fashion nostalgia…

Too bad! It continues today with an exciting giveaway from one of my favorite indie designers, Brooke Galardi of Bee Gee Bags. She was so appreciative of my rave review last week, that she offered to send me one of her gorgeous bags as a thank you.

But you know – I’m so generous and giving, I just had to use it for a giveaway to my readers. Which of course means that I’ve already worked out how I can set up an alias on blogger and comment to be included in “the drawing.” Said “drawing” would be documented with pictures of one of my kids pulling a name out a glass bowl and then proudly displaying the winner. And what do you know? It’s my alias! This would be easily accomplished by either (a) a drawing of several slips of paper inscribed with the same name, or (b) just taking a picture of my child holding the slip of paper with the alias, whether it was selected or not.

But of course I wouldn’t REALLY do that. I’d just think about it…

Back to the real drawing. Here are pictures of the beautiful bag:

Don’t you love that fabric? It’s so vintage – but at the same time modern (or is everything vintage kind of modern right now?) Anyway – you can click on the image for more detail from her Etsy shop. Also keep in mind that purple is “a very important color this season” (Kathlin Argirio said so in the interview I posted yesterday – so I know that’s true). That lavender accent would work well with the colors we’re seeing in fashion this Fall.

This bag usually retails for $66, so how exciting would it be to win one? Like – for free? If you aren’t jumping up and down saying “pick me! pick me!” right now, then you don’t deserve to own one of these bags – so don’t bother entering.

Here are the rules. ANYONE can enter to win (yes – even you less than enthusiastic types – I was only kidding). All you have to do is visit www.beegeebags.com and then leave a comment on this post telling me which style and fabric combination you like best (and it’s okay if you don’t pick the bag that I’m giving away – but wouldn’t it be cool if it was AND you won?)

I’ll keep this open for a full week and will do the drawing next Tuesday evening. Good luck!