the peacoat papers

hats off to the single moms

(It's Mommy Mondays, where I chronicle my experience of being a new mom.  Does my ear look huge in this picture?)

The Gorilla had to attend a wedding on the other side of the country, so this was my first weekend as the sole acting parent to Pigtail. 

We survived!

My sister took the opportunity to visit from Oklahoma - I wasn't quite ready to be alone alone yet - but the poor girl got sick and was pretty miserable throughout the weekend.  We mostly stayed in, ate takeout, and watched movies. 

Pigtail was an angel baby for almost three days straight.  She finally had enough and melted down mere hours before The Gorilla was due home Sunday evening, so we weren't exactly a picture of zen bliss when he walked in the door.  But all in all, I consider the weekend a success.

I don't know how single moms do it.  With a happy, healthy, baby, I was still running exhausted.  The Gorilla and I normally take turns doing the night shift, so just tackling that alone was enough to give me monster eye bags.  I can't imagine parenting night after night, day after day, without someone else around to take a turn bouncing the baby. 

I tip my hat to you gals (and guys) who have to go it alone. 

My sister is a single parent to four.  My sister-in-law birthed her first baby boy when my brother was fighting in Iraq.  It's one thing to know in your head, "Wow, that situation must be really hard for her," and then getting the teeny tiniest glimpse of what it would be like to do this partner-less.

I am not equating a few days without my husband to the plight of single parent, but I am feeling utterly grateful for those who help with my daughter, love on her, and in general make me feel less alone in this world.

Especially my husband.   

goo-goo ga-ga words (i love you)

Having a baby makes everything turn to mush.  Your heart, your brain, your words.  Things get downright mushy around here on a regular basis. 

All day long I say things like, "You're the most beautiful girl in the world!" and "I love you so much, there is no one I love as much as you," and "You're my favorite person in existence, we're so happy you came into our life!" and on and on.  Really.  It's almost embarrassing.

A curious and pleasant by-product of all this sweet sappiness is that it has spilled over into my marriage.  So maybe I don't use a high screechy voice when I'm talking to The Gorilla, but the hormones or the general baby bliss has made us both more vocal in our affection.

We had a date night on Friday and wandered around the LACMA then had a nice dinner at The Little Door.  (This restaurant has the best atmosphere in Los Angeles, hands down.)  I found myself saying, "I'm so glad to be on this date with you," and other, um, sweet things. 

It's not that my husband and I weren't vocally affectionate before Pigtail was born, because I think it is very important to say those three little words and every derivative often.  But these kinds of things are contagious.  Happy thoughts produce loving words produce mushy, gushy, sentimentality.

I'm not complaining.  It's the holiday season, so maybe my sickeningly sweet google eyes for my husband will just get lost among the festive spirit, so as not to mortify him.

Babycakes.

Pigtail is wearing an adorable hat by Kelley Hart Creations. 

sunday in the canyon - unique christmas tree ornaments

We happily pulled out the red and green tubs of holiday decorations late Saturday afternoon.  We put up the tree, hung stockings, and bounced around to festive music.

I joyously started stringing the lights up the tree, weaving in and out of the fake branches.  I was only halfway done when I ran out of white lights that worked.  I had several other boxes of lights, but they were all dead on arrival.  We must become a pre-lit kind of family.

So tonight we had to finish the job. 

Isn't the best part of holiday decorating when you discover a treasured ornament or trinket that you had forgotten about?  I picture families all over the world carefully unwrapping the bauble that sends tears and memories spilling over.

This is not what happens at our house.  Here, I unwrap crumply newspaper to find ornaments like this:

Sparkly poop.  With a ribbon on it.  Because this is what my husband thinks is funny.

And the shopping cart ornament?  It's not a nod to consumerism or the flailing economy.  It is, however, full of our memories.

family resemblance

My husband and my daughter.  I'm in real trouble.

 

sunday in the canyon - gorilla & grandma

The Gorilla's parents came out for the week to meet Pigtail.  We had a wonderful time and they were so helpful, letting us sleep in every morning by taking the baby practically before the sun came up.

They let us enjoy a date night on Tuesday, then on Friday we took them out to a restaurant that we enjoy.

(Did I mention that on our date night, we happened to sit at the table next to this famous Jackson?  We didn't stare.  But we could have.)

Grandma and I spent a lot of time analyzing Pigtail's every breath, while The Gorilla and Grandpa took in a mid-week Clippers game.  It was good family bonding for all.

They left this morning, but not before Grandma got a spin on the Vespa.  

wrapping paper pinch

Over the weekend we were in a bit of pinch when the gift The Gorilla needed to take to a baby shower wasn't wrapped. 

In my condition, I wasn't rushing right out to buy wrapping paper.  So I sort of directed from the couch, and this one was all Gorilla-style.  (A role reversal, if you will.)

I did have some plain kraft paper, and a random stamp in my desk drawer.  It was the first thing that came to mind.  Of course we didn't have stamp ink, but tempura paint worked fine.  It gave it sort of a messy, handmade look that I liked.  You have to give it adequate time to dry on each side, though. 

And normal people would use a newspaper underneath when applying, instead of just sitting straight on the hardwood floors with a bunch of paint.  Oh well, blue speckles give our dining room floor character, I suppose. 

The Gorilla stamped all over, and then we added a gift tag.  Viola.

I like receiving fussy, fluffy packaging.  But I'm not a good wrapper myself.  My style is a use-what-you-have approach. 

And sometimes it works better than others.   

sunday in the canyon - new football buddy

The Gorilla has friends over almost every Sunday to watch football.  And this is how he spends it.  In his sweats, eating greasy food, laptop handy.  The laptop is so he can keep up with his fantasy football stats minute-by-minute. 

Who cares that we had a baby one week ago today?  It's still football Sunday.  Friends are over and hamburgers have been consumed.  Only now there's a baby swing in the corner.  And, oh yeah, a baby in it. 

Welcome to the family, Pigtail.

(I tried to take this picture of the tiki room without giving away too much of the remodel, because we're still waiting on two pieces of art.  And art changes a room don't you think?  It would just be unfair to reveal a remodel without the art.)

security breach

On Friday a fan of my husband's work posted the link to our personal flickr account in a chat room on the JAW website.  This is a community of 30,000 people.

Devastated, hormonal, and stuck at the pediatrician's office, I frantically called Megan to change the settings on my account before there was too much damage.  By the time I got home, the account had thousands of hits.  I probably overreacted with the tears and drama, but it made me so sad to think of all these strangers flocking to look at our personal family photos. 

Notice I say "personal," and not "private."  I had kept the photos open to a certain extent, so it was probably only a matter of time before this happened.  The photos were non-searchable in any way, but if you had the link you had the link.  I did this as a convenience for friends and family, so they wouldn't have to join the site or remember a password.  I have no idea how the person who posted it got the link, but that six-degrees-of-separation thing comes to mind.

Now.  I write this pretty personal blog, and am active on Facebook.  I have an old myspace account and obviously I twitter.  So it may seem silly that I was upset by this one little bit of overshare.  But I control all of that content.  I don't use my husband or daughter's real names, and the pictures and stories are chosen with thought.  To have the control taken away from me left me feeling invaded, which may seem impossible given how much I put out there.

I've spent the entire weekend thinking this through.  This article hit on all the points that have been running through my head.  How do we enjoy and take advantage of all the new aspects of technology, while also maintaining a certain amount of privacy?  I don't want to be a crazy person about it on either end of the spectrum.  I have an added dimension of The Gorilla's life already being somewhat public access, but this incident has made me realize that maybe we still haven't found the right balance yet.

This is not a new topic in the bloggy world by any angle.  Or in the internet world in general.  But what's that saying?  It feels different when it happens to you?    

sunday in the canyon - room service breakfast

We continued our second anniversary celebration with a "staycation" this weekend, since I didn't think it would be wise to be too far from the hospital. 

Swanky hotels are just about my favorite thing, and I've always wanted to stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel, made famous by so many movies.  (My favorite, of course, being Troop Beverly Hills, which ranks in my Top Five.)  So we did it up.  We rented a bungalow, got relaxing massages, and slept in this cushy bed.  It was hard to believe we were roughly seven miles from home. 

I choose to show you this picture of fruit and oatmeal, but on my side of the table you would see chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and a coke.   

two years ago this evening

...were the best hours of my life so far.

I just happened to be reading a book today with this passage:

"There is a word in Yiddish - bashert - that translates more or less as soul mate.  Intended.  The one that God, or fate, meant for you.  The legend associated with this word says that before you are born, an angel appears to the soul of your infant self and takes you on a tour of your life.  You visit your future, or a version of your future.  One of the things the angels show you is the person whose soul is a match for yours.  The person with whom you are meant to share your life.  Then the angel strikes you beneath your nose, leaving that subtle channel in the skin between the nose and the mouth, your philtrum.  The blow causes you to forget what you have seen.  But there remains a vestige of memory, an unconscious sense of what you saw and learned.  Enough of a memory to evoke a jolt of recognition when you stumble across your bashert."

You are my love.

Happy Anniversary.

See what I wrote last year. 

Photo by Rob Garland