वोर्री तो Fire

I was up late last night. My usually couple of phone calls with my husband at work were the usual, although he did mention that people were a little more out of control that night (he's a police officer). I don't know if it's the fact that the weather has finally cooled off enough to be tolerable for people to be outside, but whatever it is, people have been unruly lately.

While on the phone with John at about midnight or so, I heard a frantic call come in over his radio from another officer requesting assistance. Of course John told me he loved me, said "I gotta go" and snapped his phone shut. I reminded myself at that moment that he is doing what he loves and he is doing everything he can to make sure he comes home from work safe.

We have talked about the fact that when I do finally fall asleep at night, it is with no less than two phones on my pillow and a weary eye on the clock. I love 7:45 AM, simply for the fact that I can hear him walking quietly down the hall, stopping to whisper "I love you" at our daughter's door and coming into our room to kiss me good morning and tell me that he's home safe. I knew what I was getting into when John decided that it was time to follow his dream, we talked about it many times before hand. I still will never get used to the fact that my husband goes to work wearing a gun and that he puts his life on the line every night he steps foot out of our house.

Hurried calls from him like last nights are the norm, although I don't think I will every become accustomed to them, nor do I want to be. I stayed up most of the night beading, to keep my mind calm and my hands busy. I finished what I started last night this morning as Ocean tottled around the living room. Fleur on Fire--what I did while waiting for John to get home.

Firsts

As Ocean’s first birthday nears, I can’t help but find myself thinking about all of my firsts growing up. My father was the one who put me to bed most often when I was younger, this was due largely in part to the fact that my mom was busy with a newborn by the time I was six. Bedtime routine was pretty standard fare—story time, followed by discussion and analysis of said story, possibly a discussion about Sandy the surfing dog, or the man whose legs were eaten by a shark, yet how he still managed to surf on his hands, and then, a back rub to quiet the mind and settle me in for a good night’s rest.

A few firsts happened during this traditional evening endeavor. One such event, the reading of my first “real” book, Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe, was a milestone that I shall never forget, one that has placed isolation on a deserted island in a very sentimental place in my heart. I still have the copy of that book, just waiting for Ocean’s curious hands to pick it up and start flipping through it.

Many times I’m reminded of our nighttime traditions while I am playing with Ocean on the floor of her room. She has begun to like the idea of cuddling, be it only for a few seconds, 10 seconds if I’m lucky, but we’re making progress just the same. Anyway, I believe this new found interest in cuddling stems back to my back rubs when I was younger. You see, Ocean is incredibly fond of the feeling of my nails being dragged lightly across her back—I know this because she can be in the middle of playing with her favorite toy and I will begin said massage; causing her eyes to glaze over and her body to freeze in whatever position she happened to be in when the tickle rub commenced. I’m immediately transported back to my dad bringing out a surprise for me during one of our nights together: Honeycomb.

This glorious structure was a part of material he used to make his surfboards, it was pliable enough to maintain its shape while still remaining easy to manipulate. But all that aside, honeycomb served an even better, more profound and significantly more important purpose: It was the ultimate tickle rub material. Honeycomb was necessary for a proper rub, because my dad, being a typical mad scientist had no fingernails whatsoever to speak of, and we all know that with no fingernails, one cannot receive a really good tickle rub.

I think about this honeycomb heaven many times whilst rubbing Ocean’s back--I find myself wondering if she will remember the rubs I gave her while playing on her floor amongst all her toys. I wonder if she will remember and treasure her first “real” book, I wonder if I’m making her firsts as memorable and easily plucked from her memory as mine are. I hope so. I hope she has honeycomb like tales to tell her children, or to draw upon when she looks back at her childhood. I hope her firsts are as treasured as mine.

Looking For Love in All the Wrong Places

It has been far too long since I have sat down and blogged. I blame this on the massive amount of time I sit in my daughter’s bedroom on the floor doing my best impression of a jungle gym. I tend to get crawled all over, poked at and smacked all in the name of fun by my daughter who is growing at inconceivable rates.

At 11 months, she tips the scales at a whopping 23 lbs—yes she is kind of, just a little bit chunky; OK, she muffin tops her diapers, but geez those rolls are so cute. At the ripe old age of 11 months she has begun to learn the meaning of the word ‘no.’ Now, understanding ‘no’ and abiding by ‘no’ are two totally different concepts. I know she understands that ‘no’ means to not do whatever she is doing when the dreaded word tumbles out of mommy’s mouth, because she will quiver her lip, fill her eyes with tears and give me the look that almost—yes almost—melts my heart.

The last episode of this dramatic event occurred while I was on the floor doing what I do best; being a moving climbing apparatus. Amidst torrential giggles, Ocean, being at that stage when everything she loves goes in her mouth, decided that she loved me so much she wanted to put me in her mouth as well. With a huge grin on her face, she looked at me adoringly, opened her mouth, and proceeded to attempt to fit my thigh in her mouth.

This attempt was of course met by an “uh-uh, No Ocean, don’t bite mommy.” She jumped back, looked at me like I was crazy, and with her eyes still glued to mine, went in for a second attempt. “No, Ocean, don’t bite.” Indignantly, she looked at my thigh, then at me, back at my thigh, and went for it—fast and hard. She pulled out all the stops, wrapping her chubby hands around my thigh, and shrieking as she went in for the kill. I removed her hands from my thigh, told her No one more time, and set her down in front of some of her other, much more bitable toys.

She turned—gave me that look; the one that makes her face look like you just took away her puppy, contorted her face up and loudly lamented the ending of her ability to show affection to my thigh. I am quite sure that she was simply letting me know “Everything I love I put in my mouth and I love you so much I want to put you in my mouth as well,” but I simply will not be eaten. For now, I will leave you with this photo of Ocean playing on the movable jungle gym, otherwise known as Daddy. Be well!

Patience is a Virtue

I’m finding this elusive patience harder and harder to come by with everyone and everything around me. I really feel like I need a break. I just about went through the roof last night when I was telling John just that, and he offered, this gem: ‘Don’t worry May, in a couple of years, you’ll be able to relax a little more…” What!!! A couple of years?!? I about lost my mind. Incredulously I looked at him, and calmly asked, “Are you serious?” “Well, yeah.”

Allow me a minute to compose myself here. OK, so, I asked him exactly why it was that he could never get up in the morning to take care of Ocean. I don’t want a couple of days, I don’t even want a whole day, I just want one morning to be able to sleep in. Just one. He looked at me, and with a serious face said, “Well, you’re the mom.” Afraid that I was going to pull chunks of hair from my scalp, and then equally scared that I would hurl something across the room at him, I turned and walked out of the room.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I really have a good life here. I get to stay home and play with my daughter—I get to spend more time with her than most parents’ dream of spending with their children. For that, I am thankful. I do very much so look forward to my gym time, and my alone time at night, because, let’s face it, caring for an infant is not the most relaxing, nor the easiest of jobs.
I have spent parts of my life working three separate jobs at once just to pay the bills, working six or seven days a week… I find this stay at home mom stuff to be exponentially more exhausting than and one two or three jobs I have maintained. I suppose part of this desire to physically bring harm to my husband when he mentions his lack of desire or will to tend to the little one in the morning stems from jealousy.

John has been making plans to take a couple of days off coming up pretty soon here. He just wants to “relax and mellow out, because, you know, my job is really stressful and stuff.” I asked him if during this week off, while we’re “vacationing together” as he puts it, if I will get a break as well. He looked at me inquisitively. “What do you mean?” “Well, I don’t know, do you think that I could sleep in for just one of the days?” I didn’t get a response. So now—I’m seething. I don’t know if it’s obvious, but I am a little peeved.
I also have speculated that this jealousy is not the only issue that my deeper violent instincts stem from—I think it may also stem from the audacity that my beloved husband demonstrated when he informed me that “in a few short years, I too, would be able to sleep in.” Uggghhh. OK, so I’m done venting, I feel a little better, although not much more virtuous.

I must find an outlet for this angst, because the five miles I find myself running on the treadmill is tearing my knees up pretty completely. I play the piano daily, which does help to calm my nerves, yet I can’t do such things when John is “vacationing” for he is sleeping for a good portion of the day… There’s that angst again, can you feel it? I’ve decided that I will paint something, and paint something soon, for alas, my scalp cannot take much more of this pulling, and my knees are begging with me to pick up a paintbrush.

I want to paint the walls of my home. They are white white and more white. It seems like a daunting task. I have settled firmly on something abstract, which is ironic, because I used to detest abstract art. My father, being the master creative mad scientist that he is brought Chelsea and I down to his shop in “the Hood,” aka Inglewood when I was about 14 or so and had us paint “resin paintings.” Here’s a photo of us doing this project. I don’t know why I cannot figure out how to make my scanner scan in COLOR, but you get the idea.

I’m fortunate enough to have a husband, ahem, John, who doesn’t mind abstract art created by teenagers to be one of the first things seen upon entry to our abode, for this very resin painting is hanging in my front entry way. I love it; it makes me happy every time I look at it. I would so love to make more of these “fine pieces of art” but alas, I am lacking the resin, pigment, and plywood box frame thing, so I may have to retire this idea as well for the time being.

Eventually, I will take a paintbrush to my wall or pigment to resin, I’m unsure which will come first, but I do know that either or may very well stop me from temporarily maiming my scalp or launching a random projectile through the air. Sigh, I feel much better now.

25 Random Facts

So, the other day I was perusing Facebook, attempting to avoid the inevitable bill paying frenzy I would soon be working myself into, and someone, ahem, Bob, had “tagged” me with this random “note.” The point of the note and the tag were simple—fill it out with 25 random facts about yourself and tag 25 other people to do the same. I was not too thrilled at the daunting task of thinking up 25 things, although I figured it may be a good opportunity to purge my brain of a few odds and ends.

My 25 things are not all that interesting, nor are they mysterious to anyone who knows me, although I did find myself re-reading my “note” a couple of times. I find it interesting that so many things that I hold near and dear to my life are things that occurred in my child hood. I had to stop myself from making the “note” be 25 Random Facts about my childhood, and attempt to maintain some sort of balance.

I could very easily have discussed my Clavinova electric piano… The one that my father taught me how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Baa Baa Black Sheep, and Mary had a Little Lamb on. He promised me Pop Goes the Weasel also, but said that he had to figure it out first. What a genius I thought he was for such amazing pieces he demonstrated on the piano.

I have since returned this favor by supplying him with a plethora of classical music to fall asleep to whilst growing up in Malibu. He would retire to his room at around 8:00 (if we were lucky), and call out pieces he would like to hear. I always knew that he was on the brink of sleep when I would hear “Raindrops Hana, play Raindrops.” I still hear him saying that in my mind when I play Raindrops for my daughter.

So, with no further ado, here’s my “balanced” list:

1. Um, this could be a slow start, I'm still a little brain dead from getting up four times last night. Ocean is teething, does that count for two?

2. I am minorly obsessed with Desperate Housewives, and majorly embarrassed to admit that. I have yet to grab Bon-Bon's and watch it though, so I guess I'm OK.

3. I kind of really miss getting beat up in class

4. I'm a new mom and sometimes I wonder, actually I wonder almost constantly how people have more than one child, ever.

5. I blog every now and again, I don't know why.

6. I love a man in uniform, thank God I'm married to a really hot cop.

7. I have five dogs, and I make them a pot of rice everyday to supplement their kibble.

8. I have been married twice and I'm only 26. Yikes.

9. I'm addicted to the gym.

10. I want a treadmill for my birthday even though I hate running.

11. I love eating. I mean really love it. I will run an extra mile just so that I feel good eating what I want to when I get home from the gym.

12. I miss doing ballet, sometimes I loathe seeing people on pointe because it makes me want to go out and take class again, but then I would be one of those weirdos covered in tattoos wearing a leotard and tights, trying to fit in with girls who are the appropriate age to be wearing such things.

13. I play classical music, it is my passion.

14. I eat a huge bowl of edamame all to myself almost every night that John is at work.

15. My wiener dogs sleep under the covers when John works nights

16. 25 things is a lot, I'm kind of running out of steam. Sometimes I wish that we would have another daughter so I could name her Phoenix.

17. We're only having one child, there's no way around that.

18. I never thought that I would even want to be a mom until I met John, for some reason I couldn't wait to see him as a daddy.

19. My favorite thing to do when I was a child was ride bikes with my dad down to the Venice boardwalk and watch the chainsaw juggler. Oh, and the Russian guy who could balance a stove on his chin.

20. I'm thankful for my first marriage because it was the absolute worst relationship a person could be in and he showed me exactly what I didn't want in a man. My eyes were wide open when I met John.

21. I spent a good portion of my adolescence "away."

22. I play internet spades as you well know Bob, and I am slightly addicted to it as well. I am not ashamed... much.

23. I love school, if I could be a professional student I would.

24. I want to paint something really bad--I've never painted a thing in my life.

25. Orchids, Stargazer Lilies and houseplants in general make me really happy.

real Conversations

I find myself staring at the keyboard with a blank look upon my face regularly nowadays. I’m a little concerned, though not overly as to the reasons for this lack of affect. I have a strong inclination that it stems from the sole fact that my interaction on a day to day basis is most abundantly with a four and a half month old. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to carry on shrieking conversations as she feels out her vocal chords and attempts to imitate a few consonants here and there. I love the fact that she gives me all the news around the crib while I’m changing her diaper, for apparently there is much to tell.

I’m always forewarned about the onslaught of deep conversation with Ocean, by her quick inhale of breath—which she invariably holds for a few seconds, and her hands that clasp together in front of her chest. Shortly following these two tells, she will open her mouth twinkle her eyes and let me have it, all the while ringing her little fists together. I am as of yet unsure as to what it is we are discussing, but we sure can talk about it for quite an extended period of time. I am also convinced that when Ocean really learns how to talk there will be nothing that I can do to stop her from doing so day in and day out.

Occasionally I find myself craving a conversation with someone other than of the infant persuasion. Although, I’ve come to notice that there really aren’t many people out there worth wasting my time attempting to engage in any sort of real conversation. Perhaps it is the areas that I frequent most? Hmm. Wal-Mart, the bank, the gym… I suppose I’ve answered my own question.
I fear that extreme introversion is right around the corner for me yet I don’t really find myself working very hard to avoid it. I just don’t have the energy to brave a world full of judgmental, ignorant people. I find myself rationalizing why I really don’t need to make that phone call to so and so, or why I simply don’t feel like dealing with people who underestimate me. I find myself increasingly content to stay within my own little bubble—to spend time with just those closest to me; for I’ve become stingy with any extra I may have laying around. I’m a time miser—I can waste my own time perfectly well, I don’t need anyone else’s help.

Perhaps this lack of motivation to get out and “be” in the world is a residual effect of that life changing event I just went through a few months back? I am unsure, but I think that it could mean I am finally content with myself and the path my life is one. I have given myself the opportunity to no longer feel obligated to carry on unnecessary “real conversations,” instead I think that I’ll stick to a healthy dose of Ocean talk and count my blessings.

One of Those Weeks With an Educated Tongue

Ok well, maybe it hasn’t been a whole week yet, but I’m beginning to feel that this upcoming couple of days could be somewhat difficult. I mean, if the last few days are any indication of what to expect in the future, I’ve got to get some things worked out fast.

Ocean goes through these phases, well, I don’t know if you can call them phases, for they seem to accelerate as she gets older. Some days it’s hard to believe that she could ever be classified as a fussy baby, but others, my God, there’s times I can’t believe my eyes or my ears. You know you’re on the verge of being classified as a drama queen when you stop sucking on your bottle to utter a few whimpers, simply for the added effect they might bring your way.

She has not yet mastered the follow through (give her time, she’s only four months old), for after she utters these whimper’s, she will take a cursory look around, making sure that there is a plethora of concerned faces hovering above her—and then, as if nothing happened, go back to happily sucking her bottle. I am of the belief that within the next couple of months, she will in fact have managed to wrap all the adults in this household around her tiny little fingers, for I am sure that the follow through will be something of the near future.

I am currently practicing my headstands, for I am well aware that when the follow through has reached its full potential, and Ocean engages this Weapon of Mass Destruction, I will become something like a dancing monkey—running around, clapping my hands, and occasionally standing on my head to abort Ocean’s mission of devastation.

At this time, I am concerned for my neck and my sanity—I am not sure how some women decide to do this four or five times. Every morning we get up and get dressed in the cutest of outfits (this helps me to deal with some of my more disheartening moments—I will explain shortly). Upon awakening, it is feeding time--now feeding time is supposed to be one of the most beautiful times a mother can share with her child; this in fact would be true, if my child was not Ocean Caterina.

You see, Ocean has developed what my mother coined, an “educated tongue.” She has found a way to manipulate the nipple out of her mouth using her tongue in the most ingenious of ways. I am quite convinced that she will be one of those women who are able to tie cherry stems in knots with their tongues (yet another thing to give me and her father heart palpitations). So, with this educated tongue deal, a feeding which should take approximately 20-30 minutes lasts for eh, somewhere around an hour. It is accompanied with said whimpers, smiles around her bottle, and various other tricks she has picked up along the way.

Feeding time has come to be known as frustration time, and I have come to realize that this is just the start, dear Lord have mercy. Today’s feedings have been especially frustrating. Ocean is overly tired (she has decided once again that she really doesn’t need to nap), and has extended her whimpering time to maximize its effectiveness.

She is a master at her craft and my hat is off to her, for I found myself tearing up and begging her to “please Ocean, just eat one meal like a normal baby….” I looked down at where my tears were falling to realize that they were landing squarely upon the cutest socks known to man. They are made to look like little ballerina slippers, complete with ribbons and a couple of well placed rhinestones. I started to quiet my sniffles while I took in the rest of the ruffles and pinkness that made up her outfit for the day. I have since decided that my situation (the one which places me on the verge of insanity), is the very reason baby’s clothing is designed to be so incredibly precious.

I was able to calm myself, talking myself back from the brink of hysteria by reminding myself that I cannot allow the most darling of children (and I say that with a smile on my face), dressed in the most adorable of outfits to push me to the point of no return. I have begun to understand and accept her weapon of choice, and am ready to arm myself for any upcoming battles with many, many ruffles and bows… Speaking of which, I hope that one day she can forgive me for this hat.