When the going gets tough

Wow. Just wow!

Look into his eyes

As a reward for actually accomplishing some much-needed housecleaning today, we took Jacob to the Edisto Island Serpentarium. We'd heard from friends at church that this was a fun and educational outing (one of our marine biology friends--yes, we have several marine biology friends...maybe because we live near coasts frequently? maybe because I grew up on a island? hmmm--anywho, he liked it quite a lot).

And the Serpentarium didn't disappoint. Note: what follows may not be suitable for the vegetarians among my tiny band of loyal readers (tg and mtg, I'm looking at you).

The Serpentarium (I just really like that word, so I'm going to use it frequently) is a little over an hour's drive from our house through more rural South Carolina. It's really startling how quickly you go from developed areas to trailers and dilapidated abandoned houses abounding in this state. While at the Serpentarium, we learned yet another reason why we should avoid such parts of the state where things are so very overgrown, but more on that later.

We arrived just in time for the alligator feeding, which sounded much more dramatic than it was. The seven or so alligators in this pen were already assembling below an elevated platform from which they were thrown pieces of raw chicken. A demonstration of the dramatic eating practices of this super predator this was not. The animals were so lazy/conditioned that the chicken would hit them on the head and still they would struggle to locate it. But they were massive, paticularly Big George at some 10+ feet. Here's Jacob by some alligators who might be eyeing him as lunch but can't be bothered to act on those impulses.
After the feeding, we wandered around the habitats. There were many, many snakes of course, the stars of the Serpentarium held in open air areas filled with trees and grassy knolls and separated from the spectators by small moats. While we were watching the first area of snakes, we saw one coiled up in a tree very near where we were walking...and then noticed with audible gasps that the trees which almost overhung the walkway were FILLED with snakes. There were literally hundreds of them in the trees, very close to us. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Later, we learned this was the non-venomous pen, but still! There was also a venomous pen, with rattlers and diamond backs and copperheads of impressive dimensions, but their trees were trimmed much farther back than the others. There were also habitats with more alligators and all kinds of turtles and tortoises, the latter quietly munching on lettuce and squash.

Then it was time for the snake lecture, conducted by an imposing but surprisingly well-spoken young woman in knee high boots who clearly enunciated her accentless English, a rarity in South Carolina. She talked about venomous and non-venomous snakes alike, allowing the latter to coil around her while she lectured on things like the shape of snake pupils. Jacob and I only made it through a little of this half hour presentation because he was out of sorts and too distracted to eat, so we went to an outdoor pavilion after a little while and listened to the employees on lunch break (we learned that one of the women prefers her meat cooked "Elvis style," which apparently means burned. Who knew?). After the talk was over, the husband joined us for a picnic lunch of our own before the next event, the feeding of the snakes.

Apparently, these snakes are fed only once a week, so we were assured we were in for a treat, the highlight of a visit to the Serpentarium. When we returned from lunch, we found several employees throwing hundreds of little white mice into the snake pit. And then, there before our eyes, the snakes went at them, striking viciously with amazing speed and taking out poor little white mouse after poor little white mouse. The workers helpfully threw some mice into the trees as well, so many snakes didn't even have to make it to the ground to get their meal. And let me just say, I'm not super squeamish about snakes, particularly those enclosed in pens, but watching them feed en masse was chilling. Here you see Jacob was as enthralled as we we were, but what's really important is what's going on over his shoulder, which you can see more clearly in the next close-up shot.
That's right, that snake is swallowing that mouse in mid-air. CRAZY!

All in all, it was great if carnivorous afternoon at the Serpentarium. There is also an indoor exhibit with more snakes and shots of researchers off doing what they do when they study snakes, it appears: get bit and wrangle really, really large serpents. The husband noted, after looking at some pictures of 6 foot diamondbacks as thick as your calves that what we really never wanted to do was go to Ace Basin, SC, since that's where the majority of these snakes were found. I dutifully promised we would never go there, accursed place that it is...and then we passed the sign directing us to the Ace Basin Wildlife Refuge on our way home, right at the point we saw two teenagers cutting across an overgrown field by yet another run-down house. We had to resist the urge to stop and warn them to get the heck out of snake-infested dodge!

Tenderness like before

Jacob has filled out recently, in more ways than the expected. Yes, he's gotten chubby, with, as the husband calls them, man boobs and a trucker gut. And his cheeks have gotten more and more round. He looks like a little boy now instead of a baby. Already!!

In addition, he's developing quite the personality. He has distinct likes and dislikes. Likes: shadows on the walls, especially those that move in the wind, ceiling fans, kicking (particularly in the swing or on the changing table), mommy singing "Do Your Ears Hang Low," My Pigeon House," and "The Wheels on the Bus," daddy singing anything (yesterday the husband was practicing "In Flander's Field" and cracking Jacob up--like I said, ANYTHING his daddy sings is magic), getting and giving kisses (his are enthusiastic, open-mouthed affairs), wind, the front porch, and mornings. Dislikes: baths that last longer than about four minutes, talking too long on Skype, mommy taking too long on the computer, bedtime, being hot, his car seat, and sleeping past 5:30 am.

He has started babbling and vocalizing all the time. He hums to himself as he goes to sleep, he talks while you change his diaper, he babbles in the morning when he first wakes up, and he tries to sing along with you.

Jacob has also finally figured that the bottle is where he gets his food, so now he watches you intently as you make a bottle, following it with his eyes until you put it in his mouth, and getting very cranky if you don't get it to him fast enough. In addition, he is getting more and more interested in big people food. Yesterday, for instance, he couldn't get enough of watching my turkey sub. Sadly for him, his mommy is lazy and he won't be getting cereal for a while yet and no other solids until after his six month appointment.

The cliche is "they grow up so fast," and they do, but the newer, older, more mature baby Jacob is much more entertaining, so I'm glad the changes are coming so rapidly.

Feed me, Seymour

I've been reading (in snatches, the only way I do anything nowadays) Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle about her family's year-long experiment to eat only those foods grown in a single county in West Virginia and only in season. They have their own vegetable garden and chickens and rely on farmers' markets and local farms for the rest. Kingsolver's narrative is interspersed with short essays by her husband on topics such as agri-business or farm politics and pieces by her oldest daughter which include seasonal menu ideas and recipes. It's quite the family affair, this text, and if I were still in school I would have all kinds of things to say about polyphony and narration and dialogism and textual interplay, but, fortunately for you, I am no longer in school so I get to skip all that!

Instead, let me tell you what we have been inspired to do because of reading her book: we are now proud participants in our local CSA (community supported agriculture) farm, Stono Family Market/Ambrose Farms. The farms are located on John's Island and Ambrose farm is the same place we went to pick strawberries recently. They have only recently started offering CSA produce shares, so we got in just in time (they are now closed and there's a waiting list after a thorough news story on the endeavor). We signed up for the summer share, a 6 week trial run (for us and for them) lasting from early June through the middle of July. Signing up for summer share makes us eligible for the fall and spring shares this and next year, so if we like what we see, we can be members virtually year round.

Thus, our first pick-up is June 3rd. And I'm very excited! And a little concerned about what to do with some of the new fresh ingredients I will soon have in my pantry. I checked the website and this week's shares included lettuces, sweet onions, strawberries (though I know those are gone at the end of May), yellow squash, kohlrabi, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, zucchini, new potatoes, cucumbers, dill, and patty pan squash. With the exception of the kohlrabi and the patty pan squash, I've cooked with all these before, so that's good. But now I need some good kohlrabi and patty pan squash recipes (or receipts, as the members' handbook call them, in true Charleston style). Any suggestions?

Expect weekly updates on our culinary adventures for most of the summer (and hopefully into the fall if this all works out). I can't wait to see what we come up with. At the very least, we'll be eating healthier meals, more home-cooked fare, and trying new foods throughout the next 5 weeks or so. In the process, we'll be supporting local farming, getting tastier and fresher produce, and putting our money where our politics are. Yay!

Drip, drip, drop

It's been/going to be a busy few weeks for our church women's organization. We've had several meetings, a service project, and several baby showers, with more on the way. In light of the multiple baby showers I've been going to lately, I've decided to share my no-fail baby shower gift.

First, I think it's important to point out that for a long time baby showers made me uncomfortable. This feeling came not only because I was baby-less but also because I was never sure what to get people, and I like gift giving too much to feel happy when I'm unsure about my choices. It seemed like everyone was getting blankets and onesies and strange accouterments that made no sense to me, so I'd struggle trying to pick something out, go with something generic from the registry, and be done with it. I did, however, once decide that the mother-to-be really should get something for herself, since this struck me as one of the last parties many women might have that were just for them. So I'd throw in some shower gel or bath salts or chocolate or the like with my gift for the baby and the mothers were always appreciative.

Then I got pregnant. And I realized that registering for gifts is a crap shoot, especially for first-time mothers. And I also had my own showers (at which I was just as uncomfortable, by the way) and decided that registries were also, apparently, completely ignored by most people. And I discovered that what I really needed were gift cards (bless those women who got them for me!) but that many people felt (understandably) that cards were too impersonal. And then I went to the hospital with my labor bag packed with all the paraphenalia the many lists I had consulted had recommended and I ended up using maybe two of the items I brought and missing a whole bunch of useful equipment I should have had instead. And the idea for my perfect shower gift was born!

The Perfect Baby Shower Gift: A Labor Essentials Kit*

Assemble the following items in a gift bag or a small (cheap) tote. Adjust the content as desired, deleting or adding items as the mood strikes you. Stay within one color scheme to up the wow factor.

1 small bottle of good-smelling shower gel (for post labor washing up)
1 mesh sponge (those round things, like plastic loofahs? who knows what they're really called)
1 small tube of lotion (for hospital dryness)
1 tube of chapstick or flavored lip gloss (again, for hospital dryness)
1 small bag of wint-o-green mints (in case of bad tastes in one's mouth)
1 small tube of toothpaste (a toothbrush is also a nice touch)
1 pack of gum (I like Orbitz because of all the pretty colors and the powerful taste)
1 package of thank-you notes or note paper (in case one gets to the hospital early and has some time to kill)
1 pen (because it will be forgotten and is very handy)
1 general interest "ladies" magazine (for mindless diversion if needed)
1 pair of colorful, seasonally appropriate socks (so one can be warm and then get rid of them guilt-free)
1 bit of whimsy (a ball of bath salts, funny stickers, a troll with pink hair, because there might be a need for a laugh)

*I have done a similar kind of kit for wedding nights/honeymoons based on what we needed/would have liked to have had, including items such as a toothbrush/toothpaste (the husband forgot his), a bottle opener (the husband cut his thumb opening a bottle of Martinelli's), band-aids (there was blood, lots of blood), small packet of alcohol or antibiotic ointment (it was a deep cut--did I mention the blood?), extra condoms (just in case), K-Y (because, well, because), massage oil (a nice touch), a phone card (in case the cell phones fail or disappear), some candy bars (we totally forgot to eat), or a deck of cards (for the plane).

You're trying hard not to show it

I cleaned out my refrigerator today. Now, for most people, I realize this is a mundane task, hardly worth mentioning. However, for me, the fridge is always an adventure and a stroll down my gastronomical memory lane.

You see, I'm not a domestic goddess by any stretch of the imagination. I have no one to blame but myself. I know how to clean, I just choose...not to. Or, perhaps more accurately, I choose to do other things. So, when I do decide to clean, it's usually a marathon event. And the refrigerator is no exception.

I always clean the fridge when the husband is away. My husband is many things but able to stand bad smells is not one of them. And because I wait so long to get this done, there are always some unforgettable smells. You see, I have good intentions. I store leftovers in ready-to-eat portions for the husband's lunch or for mine. But then I forget. And the leftovers languish. And then when I'm cleaning, I think "that sure was good stir fry...last month," or "once upon a time that juice would have been good but it expired...in February," or "I remember those mints I made...at Christmas." You see?

This time I found old roasted pork loin that had created lovely colonies of mold, chicken and peanut butter soup that we loved the first time around (seriously!) but was pretty pungent now, 4 partially used pints of sour cream, those Christmas mints, multiple bottles of salad dressing with less than an inch left in them, and 6 assorted containers of hummus, most still edible. Oh, and two open packages of whole wheat tortillas and two unopened containers of whipped cream as well as multiple small plastic containers of who knows what leftover from who knows when.

See? An adventure!

Down in a blaze of glory

This weekend, in the grand tradition of my childhood, we went to a cemetery (my dad is a genealogy fiend, and we often played in cemeteries as children while he got birth and death info from gravestones--yeah, that's what I said). Not just any cemetery, mind you, but the 110th anniversary celebration of the Mormon cemetery in Society Hill, SC. Getting there required us to take Jacob on his longest car trip yet (going, he was great. coming back, he was not so great.) and meant that we traveled north across the state and into the sand hills of South Carolina with the route passing through ever more rural country until we got to the cemetery on a tiny little road that no one drives on except people coming to visit there.

We went for several reasons: one, I have a brother buried there whose grave I haven't visited all that often in my life since I left South Carolina as a child. Two, my Jacob is named after that brother (they share first names, though neither of them goes by his first name), so we needed to get some pictures of the baby with the memorial to his namesake. Three, this cemetery is maintained by the folks who practically raised my brother and sister and I when we were small children (literally: my sister is in every family picture they ever took during the years between when she was born and we moved away) after my parents moved into their little congregation, and it seemed right to come to help them celebrate since we do live in the state now.

The visit was fun. They told lots of stories about us as young children and the things my father said or did that live on in their collective memory. As the husband pointed out, it's like my parents are royalty in the area so we are royalty by association, even though we all left many years ago. In fact, we were recognized during the proceedings so everyone would know we were there, which was a tad embarrassing but not at all unexpected (for those who know/care, we've included some pics of our visit in the web gallery). Not a lot changes in this place, which is at once comforting and a little sad. Indeed, 75% of the attendees at the celebration were over 75, underscoring the very real fact that many parts of rural America like this one are slowly dying. When those folks are buried, there will be very few young people left to celebrate their legacies.

We didn't stay long, slaves as we are right now to establishing and maintaining Jacob's bedtime routine. We could have shlepped the pack-n-play over and crashed at one of our friend's houses, but it's really only 2 1/2 hours away, and we had a busy Sunday ahead of us, as usual, so we trundled home. But our visit was worthwhile (if only to confirm for both of us yet again that Charleston is the smallest "city" we ever want to live in. We both started out in small towns, but we've really become more (dread the term) suburban in our tastes since then) and they appreciated our coming, so it was time well spent.

When I'm faced with the knowledge

So, I've logged in and updated my Facebook page, at long last. Only because I was forced to in order to see my new niece's pictures. You see, I'm pretty plugged in already and was resisting getting involved in any more virtual activities if I could help it, but here I am, logged in and befriended by three whole people already. If I cared more and were more like my students, I would start to feel inadequate right about now and begin to madly post on peoples' walls, poke wildly, and generally show some cyber-panic. But no, I am fine, though I couldn't resist doing a quick search for my high school graduating class and my mission location. But then I walked away and went...here...another place in cyberspace. You see what I mean??

I also have (long abandoned) Myspace and Friendster pages and I have to say, I'm just not that into these virtual contact sheets. Something about them is off-putting to me, though I haven't tried to articulate exactly what turns me off until right this moment. Surely it can't be the "there is too much info about me out there already" fear because, hello, I have a blog that I am not only not hiding, I put the url in my Christmas letter, for crying out loud. So that can't be it. Is it the "stranger danger" element? Well, I am not a 14 year old girl and don't cavort with random folks, so that doesn't seem to apply either. What about the time wastingness of it all? Again, POT (as in pot calling the kettle black--we have long since shortened this phrase in my family) because note all the time I am (hopefully not entirely) wasting here. Though I must say I have some friends whose Myspace pages are better decorated and maintained than their houses, which seems odd to me. And it's not the curmudgeon factor either, because, while I'm not an early adopter like my husband, I am still an enthusiastic fan of the Internets and its accouterments.

So what is it? Hmmm...riddle me this. I shall think on it and get back to...myself...some time. Move along, nothing to see here, people! More/better stories later, promise.

Wow, that was such an (un)informative post. Sorry. Move along, nothing to see here, people! More stories tomorrow.

Turn around, bright eyes

New pics in the web gallery!

Last night was a night of great firsts, which was great since it followed one of the WORST NIGHTS EVER.

Worst first: Jacob doesn't respond really well to baby Tylenol. It makes him sleep but then wake up at odd times in a really bad mood. But, on the night after his shots, we really had to dope him up or else he wouldn't sleep at all. We put him down as usual around 8pm (why then? we sort of set that time arbitrarily, as we do most parenting around here, but I'm not sure if earlier or later is actually a better idea. we shall see...) and he cried but not much. Then, at 10ish, he woke up crying bloody murder, fully and completely awake. Not a good sign. And after all the shots, I didn't have the heart to let him cry it out, which, since he was so awake, seemed doubtful anyway. So I brought him into the swing, parked on the couch, and we both slept fitfully until 2am (I got a killer backache, not pretty). At that point, I fed him and tried to put him in his bed. Emphasis on tried, since I ended up "trying" every 45 minutes until 6:30am when he finally went to sleep (in his swing--the bed never worked out). Needless to say, I was exhausted, and yesterday was NOT a good day for Lilita and Jacob (there was a period during which I cried and left the room to escape his crying and avoid being any more short-tempered with the baby--like I said, bad day).

Firsts next: so, I was not looking forward to last night. And, admitedly, things did not start off well: after we fed and put him to bed around 7:30pm or so, he woke up (again) screaming and crying at 9:00pm. But this time, I decided to try feeding him on the off chance that the 4 ounces he'd had (forced down through his sleepiness) before bed weren't enough. And wouldn't you know it, after he scarfed down almost 5 ounces more, he went write back to sleep without a complaint.

Next, I tried the doctor's advice to turn the monitor down very, very low. And I didn't hear him enough to wake up until 1:30am, a reasonable time for him to eat again. When I made his bottle and brought it in, lo an behold, he was on his stomach (despite the preventative sleep sack, dang it) and protesting the fact with his signature "eh, eh, eh, eh" cry. So, I flipped him over, fed him, and went back to bed. Sadly, Jacob was unhappy for 15 minutes, so I went back in and rocked him into a much deeper sleep and put him back to bed.

Then, I woke up with a start at 5:30pm, wondering what was going on since I hadn't heard a peep out of Jacob. I checked the monitor, and he looked...odd...so I rushed in...to find him sleeping happily on his stomach! I tiptoed out, and he stayed asleep until the (relatively blissful time of) 6:30am. So, let's count, shall we: first time successfully sleeping on stomach, first time sleeping past the dreaded 5 o'clock hour, and, best of all, first time with only one feeding in the middle of the night (that 9:30pm thing didn't count because we were still awake then and, clearly, just hadn't given the poor baby enough food to begin with).

Is this love that I'm feeling?

Oh my goodness, this news from the entertainment world makes my frankly frivolous pop culture heart go pitter-pat: Joss Whedon is doing an online musical starring, among others, Nate Fillion of Firefly (and Desperate Housewives, but who really cares about that? And also that short-lived cross-country road trip show that no one watched but me). Remember the Buffy musical? Come on, you know who you are, you small sliver of my tiny readership, you know you totally remember and have watched it multiple times since. Aren't you excited??

On such a winter's day

We returned to the doctor's office for Jacob's four month visit, which necessitated another round of shots. Given his PTSD-like crying last time, the doctor recommended giving him baby tylenol as soon as we got home and keeping it up throughout the day since these shots were boosters of the last round. Once again, Jacob cried until he was red-faced and then he went white from exertion, a new color for him. So, once again, it was traumatic for both of us. At least this time they let me hold him. Well, actually, I didn't really give them much of an option, just picking him up and cradling him as soon as the nurse came in with the shots. My friend ege told me there has been some research to indicate that holding a child lessens the impact, both physical and mental, of receiving shots.

Besides the traumatic shots, the rest of the visit went well. We talked about his eating habits (how he eats so frequently at night even though he really should be sleeping for longer chunks), our ridiculous trip to the ER, his sensitive skin and whether or not he has a new freckle (not freckles, one freckle, singular--how did she even notice? Freaky!), and how well he can hold up his head. She says he can hold his head up enough that if he flips over in his sleep, he'll be fine, but I'm still concerned because of his tendency to hold his head up until he gets tired...and then...face plant. Not confidence inspiring. So we're keeping him in sleep sacks a while longer. The doctor also wants us to start solids in a four or five weeks, soupy rice cereal at night, though she wanted to assure me that feeding him cereal was not a sleep through the night cure all. I had already decided I was going to wait a while for solid foods for practical reasons. Making bottles is complicated enough for me, and he will be just fine if we hold off on solids for a while. Plus, my doc agrees, which is nice.

So, today Jacob is having the post-shot Tylenol-induced stupor-like naps and whimpering pathetically whenever he's awake. They will never convince me that babies don't understand exactly what has happened to them on these horrible immunization days.

Gimme a break

5 is the new 2. 3 is the new 1. Lemme 'slpain (warning, parental minutia ahead. deal.):

You see, Jacob has never been a championship eater. If we could get him to eat 2 ounces plus a little time at the breast, we considered ourselves lucky. Of course, this meant he ate frequently, sometimes (too often) every hour and a half, even overnight (oh, those were dark days). However, one day recently, this all changed. Jacob decided eating was fundamental and pounded a four ounce bottle while we were out at a friend's graduation party. Shocked, I made another four ouncer and he ate half, the most he'd ever eaten in one sitting in his whole short life. I decided this was an anomaly, brought on by overstimulation (which should really be his middle name, so bad are his parents) and timing issues. However, I was wrong, and I started having to make 5 or 6 ounce bottles regularly, especially for his first feeding after he went to sleep for his longest stretch. And now, he eats all the time, lots and lots. Just now he ate 5 ounces at 11:30am and then woke up crying at 1:00pm. I couldn't imagine he was hungry but all other attempts to calm him failed so I made him a 3 ounce "snack." And then, after he scarfed it down, I made him another. And he was finally satiated after finishing that bottle as well. I stand all amazed.

Remarkably, this newfound love of eating did not correspond directly with my stopping breast feeding. Though I did stop shortly after he discovered his appetite, the timing was coincidental. You see, we made it through four months nursing, Jacob and I, but we just couldn't go any longer. You know that you are no longer producing milk enough to feed a bird a very small snack when A, your son actually rejects your breasts for 24 hours in a row, even in his sleep, and B, you stop breast feeding for four days...and nothing happens. No clogged ducts, no pain, no infection, no flu-like symptoms, nothing. The well has officially run dry, and we're both coming to terms with that. Jacob still likes to nuzzle around my chest when he's hungry but will take a bottle 100% of the time when he realizes there's nothing else on the menu. We fought the good fight, we finished our course, we did all we could do but going any longer just isn't in the cards for us. So, we hope he's gotten all the antibodies he's going to need and we hope the new research that shows that children who were breast fed have higher IQ's is really a lot of hype.

Oh, and finally, in the "boy will be embarrassed about this later" vein, all this eating has resulted in the baby going from one dirty diaper a day to three. One was really very convenient for me: I knew he would never mess us both up once he'd gone for the day; I didn't have to pack so much in the diaper bag; and we really didn't have to buy that many diapers. But, oh well, I'm glad to exchange poor eating habits for more mess any day!

The girl is mine

Well, shiver me timbers! I'm new to this whole mommy blogging thing and also a bit slow on the uptake at times (see last post), so I only just found out that Dooce is a (former) Mormon. Famous money-making long-term snarky mother blogger recently interviewed on the Today show (a sad interview, really, because of Kathy Lee Gifford's sactimonious lack of irony about over-sharing about you children) is a (former) Latter-day Saint. More interestingly to me today, ABC's article on Heather Armstrong (aka Dooce) reveals that the church is advertising on her blog. Hmm, that's a bit hipper of a move than I would have expected from the PR department in SLC, but what do I know? Not much, as this post reveals. I'm behind the curve in so many ways, it seems.

Well. Shoot.

I have dealt and moved on, so here's a couple of links to web stuff I've found recently that held my attention for longer than the obligatory three second glance (some people do this every week, but I don't want to institutionalize my web addition in this way, so this will just be an irregular and brief feature of my blogging):

Have you heard This American Life's show on the causes behind the mortgage crisis? Muy illuminating, people!

Have you checked out Hulu.com? If you're a TV aficionado like me and you are currently without a subscription to cable like me, this is the place for you. Current and classic TV shows, streamed with minimal ads to your computer, though for now the offerings are mostly from FOX and NBC stations and random others (like SciFi--go there for current eps of season 4 of Battlestar Galactica!) and some shows don't have all their episodes available at all times or at all (Top Chef, you baffle me). But lots do, particularly older shows (like Buffy, for one). Plus, the name "hulu" reminds me of Star Trek, so that's always nice.

We love daddy, yessiree

Happy (day after) Mother's Day to me! This year is the first in which I didn't get a pity rose at church. You see, every year on Mother's Day in our congregation, they hand out roses to all the mothers. And then, at the end, after every mother has gotten one, one of the teenaged boys doing the handing out will feel sorry for me (because I guess I not only look childless but also pathetic) and will hand me a rose and say something like "You're in charge of the children, so you're like a mother. Here." It's really very touching...ish. And last year at this time I was pregnant, but we weren't telling anyone yet as a precaution, so no rose again. But this year I had an actual child, my child, in tow, and I could not be denied or pitied. So I got my white rose...and promptly stuck myself on some VICIOUS thorns! Thank goodness I don't believe in signs, no?

I also got Mother's Day gifts...sort of. You see, the husband had a great idea to make me a photo collage of some of my favorite shots. He even got me to tell him which ones I liked without my actually clueing in to what he was doing. He even got me to pick out some collage frames I liked without my being any the wiser (can you tell I'm new to this whole holiday?). However, he was thwarted in actually getting the shots developed or framed, even after 5 trips to Walmart and various other photo kiosks. But the collage is coming, and it really is the thought that counted in this case (did I mention FIVE trips? That's perseverance, baby!). I did get cards, one each from the husband and Jacob. Jacob turned out to be the more verbose of the two. Go figure! That four month old has a lot to say to his mommy, apparently.

Right now, the husband is putting the baby to bed, and I have the baby monitor on in anticipation of the (usually very slight) crying that will come soon. The husband is reading the baby a story, which just happens to be an alphabet book of America's important women (given to us by his grandmother). You know, D is for Emily Dickinson and then a little bit about her follows, along with a snippet of poetry. So my husband is reading this book to my son and making periodic comments like "wow, that's crazy" when he learns a new fact about a lesser known but important woman educator, for instance.

This is the kind of scene that warms my feminist mother heart! And that's the kind of gift I can really support. Plus, that kind of husband and my cute kid? Who needs anything more?

Strawberries and Greeks for baby

Since Jacob is just four months and change, I'm still a rookie mom in training, but we have managed to get out of the house and have some fun baby-in-tow style, largely because I couldn't imagine sitting around staring at each other all day. That would make the transition from working girl to mostly SAHM even more mind boggling! As it is, I'm often hoarse from singing endless versions and verses of The Wheels on the Bus and Go To Sleepy Pretty Baby (a lullaby learned from my mother that is really more of a hopeful wish put to music).

For example, in early April, when Jacob was just three months, we went strawberry picking at a local u-pick farm. I had been the year before in my footloose and fancy free days as a single gal and was looking forward to introducing him to the warm soil, the smells of the farm, the feel of the sun and the wind on his face, and the wonders that are fresh-from-the-ground strawberries. Unfortunately, the day we'd planned to meet our friends there dawned frigid and blustery (by South Carolina standards), but, undaunted, we bundled up our children in their warmest clothes (which was difficult for me, again given that we had very few warm outfits in anticipation of SC's mild winters) and headed out. Our party included, besides Jacob, one 6 month old, one 8 month old, several 2 year olds, and assorted 5+ year olds. It turned out to be even more of an adventure than we had anticipated as we struggled to keep the babies warm and the other little ones enthusiastic despite cold fingers. However, even in the cold and the bluster, picking strawberries with a baby in a Bjorn is imminently doable and quite enjoyable, combining getting outside with picking up (literally) some fabulously fresh treats and even sneaking in a little exercise in the process (strawberries are very low to the ground and managing the Bjorned baby helps you strengthen those core muscles!). And, since all us moms went together, I only felt slightly guilty about unexpectedly exposing my newborn to the elements!

On another recent weekend, we were feeling very ambitious (read: bored), and Jacob and I decided to go to a double header: a college baseball game and a greek festival. Actually, part of a baseball game. We wanted to see the Charleston Men's Chorus sing the national anthem, catch a couple of pitches, and then head to the festival for some dolmades and greek meat (in any form). Once again, I packed up the baby in the Bjorn (how would I live without this contraption?), pared down the diaper bag to lighten the load, and headed off. This time the weather was beautiful, but did I mention that my baby is VERY fair and not yet old enough for sunscreen? So that's us, me under the enormous hat (big enough for the both of us, natch) and him rocking the styling shades:
The greek festival turned out to be a perfect baby outing. Jacob loved the sights and sounds, particularly the dance music that was captivating for a baby just discovering rhythm. I loved the chance to people watch, peruse outdoor craft vendors, sit on benches in a piazza, and eat yummy food I didn't have to cook (gyros and spanikopita and fried dough, oh my!). So all in all, I consider our adventures in baby outings hugely successful: fun was had by all, we filled our tummies, and we got out on the town in Bjorn-packing style!

This post was inspired by the Blog Blast sponsored by the ladies over at rookiemoms.com and blog.parentbloggers.com

Don't take your love away from me

We're having some technical difficulties posting our latest batch of pictures, so here's some to tide Jacob's fan over until the next big installment:

My two boys, looking more and more identical with each passing day. This was taken when they had both just woken up.


A friend of mine gave me the good advice to have Dad be the one to put baby to bed. It gives them some quality time together and gives me a break. And look how cute they are at night!


Here Jacob has just rolled over and been stuck on his tummy for a while. Notice the exhausted look on his face. He really needs to learn what to do next or at least how to rest on his cheek.


Crooked smile Jacob, outside in front of our house. We go out at least once a day and sit on the porch in his Bumbo because he loves the wind and the birds and the passing cars (though there aren't many of those, thankfully).

In her time of need

In looking through some other blogs (my current obsession), I found this link to a new(ish) blog called Finally, a Feminism 101 Blog, and I'm linking to it here really for my own purposes, so I don't forget where it is. This is an issue that comes up repeatedly in my classes, even those not called Introduction to Women's Studies or some such title (huh...go figure!).

In fact, that brings up something I forgot to mention: I finished my spring express course (hurrah), submitting my grades 14 hours before they were due (perhaps a record for me--I usually forget the exact time and therefore am submitting them in the 11th hour almost always). And I must say, I am glad that teaching is almost behind me for the time being (yes, I know, I have two more classes, on each in June and July but I'm trying to forget about that).

You see, my grad school friends and I have long talked about the lie of feminism. Don't get me wrong and let me be expressly clear: I am undoubtedly a feminist. Do I believe in equal rights and equal pay for women? Check. Do I believe women should have all the material, social, economic, and political advantages afforded to men? Check. Do I think such advantages are still far from being equitable? Check. Do I work actively to try to secure those advantages for myself and for other women? Check. Do I believe a lot of what we think about gender is simply (simply?!) a social construct? Check, check, check, all of that and so much more, check.

However, my feminist beliefs do not stop me from seeing the lie, the (literal) man behind the (metaphorical) curtain. Well, perhaps lie is too strong a word. Perhaps delusion is more charitable. The delusion, to put it simply, is this: women can have it all. You've heard this before: we can bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan; we can have kids and a career; we can do any and everything we want simultaneously. In fact, such is our right. And while that idea sounds good in theory, in practice the delusion becomes more clear, at least to me.

Because sure, I can bring home the bacon (and have for a lot of our marriage so far), but I am really often too tired to fry it up in the pan. However, I've been socialized to know that, ultimately, pan frying is my responsibility, if only (only?) because I have more experience with frying of all kinds (vicious cycle much?). So I feel guilty, because I've also been socialized to be a mistress of guilt, a guilt guru, if you will. And I can have kids and career, too, as long as I'm able to afford decent childcare, feel alright about turning my child over to said childcare, can handle the guilt of making the decision to rely on childcare, and can balance the demands of that career with the kids when they are not in childcare. In point of fact, my career, university teaching, is imminently kid-friendly, at least on the surface. I can arrange to have all my classes on two days a week, leaving me lots of at-home time; I have summers and long winter breaks more or less off and these vacations coincide with elementary/middle/high school time off; I have the flexibility and privilege to be able to go to doctors', dental, or school appointments without taking a sick day or un/paid time off, etc., etc.

The truth is, however, that working and taking care of Jacob at the same time has thus far proven so difficult I'm glad I don't have to do this to live. I have found childcare arrangements to be expensive, utterly complicated, and/or inherently flawed; teaching requires a lot of out-of-class work that I simply don't have the time or energy to do right now; I'm both a worse teacher (distracted, forgetful, unmotivated, lacking in creativity and compassion) and a worse mother (exhausted, busy, short-tempered, lacking in time and ideas) when I try to do both at the same time; and the guilt about all of my decisions at home and at school is by turns crippling and mind-numbing.

The truth is, you see, no one, man or woman, can have it all, if having it all means refusing to compromise and living without guilt. You can't do it all, at least not at the same time, and, in my mind, accepting that there are seasons in your life in which you play some roles but not others is not betraying your feminist consciousness (though there are many, many of my fellow feminists who would disagree with me vehemently about this contention). My friends, the delusion is pretty and shiny and bright but only (actually) exists in our imaginations.

When you dream

Increasingly, Jacob likes to vocalize. I suppose it's only natural, given who his parents are, but it really is astonishing how much he likes to "talk" when the mood strikes him. And the mood strikes at the oddest times. I mean, he always tries to sing along with The Wheels on the Bus or Do Your Ears Hang Low (an oldie but a goodie that he especially likes), but lately he's also started making a lot of purposeful noise in the morning when he first gets up and, my personal favorite, as he puts himself to sleep. Whether he was crying first or not, when he gets very sleepy, he starts a little whine, a sound that gets slower and slower as he gets closer and closer to sleep.

Then, he's also started laughing during his naps, just after he's closed his eyes, as if something from his dreams is always amusing right at first. Both his parents have a lifelong history of talking in their sleep, so he appears to have inherited this from us. Finally, he "talks" all night long, whenever he slips from deep sleep into something less profound. And he can keep that up without waking up for hours at a time, as I have learned so convincingly recently via the baby monitor right by my head. Sadly, his mommy is not so lucky and his nighttime jibber jabber wakes me every time and often tricks me into making a bottle and going to feed him, only to discover he's still fast asleep and not at all hungry.

Actually, all this talking while sleeping got me thinking about sleep, for lack of a better word, disorders. As I said, I have talked in my sleep forever, and I have always had extremely vivid dreams, to the extent that if I dream I am hiking (which would only happen in a dream), I wake up with sore muscles as if I actually had hiked. The husband and I share a tendency toward elaborate dreams we can often remember parts of in the morning. My mother walked in her sleep until she got married and a sister had strange night terrors for years. Right after I got married, I began to have night terrors too, during which I would jump out of bed or yell to the husband about some man in the bedroom or something on the wall or behind the curtain, carrying on in terror, all while sound asleep. Sometimes I remembered something vague in the morning but often not. So I wondered, are similar sleeping issues hereditary? A quick check of some reputable websites (such as the National Institutes of Health) tells me that only narcolepsy has a proved heritable component.

Aw shucks, there goes that theory. Back to washing bottles!

Why? Because we like you

Fun with Flickr! (Idea courtesy of Rookie Moms.)

Like a record, baby

Well, it's finally happened: Jacob rolled over. He's been getting close for a week or so now, especially at night when he's falling asleep. He was rolling very far onto his side, and I suspected it would be soon that he would make it over but wondered what he would do when he got there.

Today he didn't nap in the morning, so when he had his midmorning bottle and almost fell asleep drinking it, I decided to put him down for a nap in his room, which is much darker than everywhere else, even though we don't use the pack and play during the day, normally. But he was so sleepy, I didn't think he would notice. So in he went and slept soundly for 45 minutes or so.

Then I started hearing an odd, repetitive "eh" noise, and I wondered what he was doing, so I went into the other room to check the video monitor and there he was, fully awake in a push-up position, looking worriedly in the direction of the monitor (there's a little green light on the non-video monitor that I think attracts him). I went in and got him and then put him down on his tummy with some toys in the living room, hoping that he would learn to put his head down while I was watching so I could feel more secure about putting him to sleep on his own. Previously, when we have put him on his stomach, he often face plants when he gets tired and doesn't seem to notice he is cutting off his air supply. He did put his fingers in his mouth and rest his head briefly, but mainly he just stayed up, getting more and more frustrated and more and more out of sorts until I rescued him, gave him something to eat (early, but he had worked up an appetite, apparently), and put him to sleep in his swing again, where he fell into an exhausted stupor lasting well into the afternoon.

So, just when he had slept for a full (blissful) 7 hour stretch last night, the longest in his life, he will now apparently be challenging his own sleep training, our resolve, and his developing motor/survival skills for the next little while as he learns to sleep on his tummy and/or turn himself back over. Sigh.

But hurrah for Jacob!

All around the town

Well, it appears that I have been being a bad mommy for a while now, so I guess I should just deal and move on. As Dooce writes to her daughter,
"But I guess there are some people who are very uncomfortable with the fact that I and many other women are writing about our children on our websites. How dare we violate your privacy like this, how dare we endanger you like this...Will you resent me for this website? Absolutely. And I have spent hours and days and months of my life considering this, weighing your resentment against the good that can come from being open and honest about what it's like to be your mother, the good for you, the good for me, and the good for other women who read what I write here and walk away feeling less alone. And I have every reason to believe that one day you will look at the thousands of pages I have written about my love for you, the thousands of pages other women have written about their own children, and you're going to be so proud that we were brave enough to do this. We are an army of educated mothers who have finally stood up and said pay attention, this is important work, this is hard, frustrating work and we're not going to sit around on our hands waiting for permission to do so. We have declared that our voices matter...Finally, I've seen it suggested in my inbox and by various critics online that what we do on our websites is egotistical and exploitative. Some even refer to it as child abuse. I know I am not alone when I say that when I sit down to update my website I do it to connect with other people, I do it to reflect on the absurdity of everyday life with the hope that the people who read it will find similarities in their own routine. I did not know that wanting to be a part of a community qualified as egotism."

Seriously? Seriously. I'm with her and with the authors of many of the other mommy blogs I read, almost all of which are written by hyperverbal, thoughtful women trying to do the best they can as (new) mothers and "talk" about it with other adults as they do so. I'm sure we all have different reasons for blogging about our children, some of which Dooce points out. Some of my reasons include updating family and keeping in touch with far-flung friends but perhaps my main reason is one that lies unstated in her post: to stay sane.

One of my local mother friends said recently you can only play (My Little) Ponies for so long before you go insane. And the same goes for Peek-a-Boo or The Wheels on the Bus or changing diapers or making bottles or doing anything else we do more or less alone for the whole day, cute little bundles of joy notwithstanding. You have to do something else, anything else, and if that something happens to exercise your brain the process, so much the better. My drug of choice used to be television, exclusively. But I actually think blogging is healthier for me and baby (if a tad more narcissistic, I'll admit). I feel, as Dooce points out, connected to the world around me, I'm doing something productive and not passive with my time, and I'm chronicling, in much more detail than any diary would ever get from me, the vicissitudes of Jacob's early life (and my mid-life). Will some of this embarrass him in the future? Most definitely. Will I be proud to have provided the raw material for that embarrassment? You better believe it! Child abuse? I think not. Dedication to child and self at the same time? More accurate, certainly.

When the day is long

Exactly 4 months old today and we've had our first emergency room visit.

Calm yourselves, it was nothing major. In fact, turns out it was nothing. I had noticed a red patch on Jacob's cheek before church but assumed he had slept on it too long, leaving a mark. In case you haven't noticed from the pictures, my child is very, very fair. Everything leaves a mark. But then after church, hours later, I saw that the mark was still there. And when I kissed his cheeks, I realized that the marked cheek was demonstrably warm, hot even, particularly in comparison with the rest of his face.

So, I called his doctor to check in. I was referred to the after hours nurse, who listened to my description and told me to go the ER. WHAT? Well, it could be an infection, an allergic reaction to an insect bite, any number of worrisome conditions you wouldn't want a child to have so better to be safe than sorry, she says. And since never has a nurse told me to go to an ER when I've called about any of my own symptoms in the past, I was duly impressed with the potential seriousness of the matter and off we went.

(Our trip was complicated by the fact that the husband had just before been called into the pharmacy after a slew of technician maladies had resulted in an almost total lack of technicians. So he drove in with us since he was going to the same place. One stop shopping at the children's hospital!)

When we arrived, the waiting room was empty. However, by the time we were done being triaged (no reaction from Jacob to either the blood pressure cuff or the rectal thermometer--that's my boy!), a 13 month old with a temperature of 105, a 14 year old with swollen lymph nodes in his groin, and another baby with a visible skull fracture arrived. Boy, was I glad an actual nurse had told me to come in, or else I would have felt even more silly than I already did about my child's paltry little red cheek!

We saw the nurse after a fairly short wait and found out that Jacob has very sensitive skin (duh!), and we should avoid using Johnson's baby wash, especially the lavender variety (oh, you mean the kind in our bathroom?) and scented or colored lotion, especially Johnson's (oh, you mean the kind in my diaper bag right now?) and watch out for signs of excema. Most likely he drooled on his sheet and slept in it (check--he's just learned how to sleep on his side, this side, and was in that position when I got him this morning) and irritated his skin. Otherwise, the baby is the picture of health and happiness--he had a giggling fit with the nurse that tickled her to death, again in stark contrast to the muffled screaming all around us. And I wish I had had my camera in the diaper bag to catch a shot of him in his cute little yellow hospital gown!

La la la, nothing to see here, please move along!

What else do I have to say?

This weekend I was a bad mommy. An okay wife but a bad mommy.

This weekend was the husband's birthday. In celebration, Jacob and I got him assorted gifts that we knew he wanted (Jacob's very intuitive that way, of course), among them a pass to see a matinee performance of Iron Man on Saturday (the gifts were brought to him by the letter M and the number 30 because I'm all about the theme/narrative gifts).

So off we went to see Iron Man as a family yesterday. Now I had vague notions that I might have to leave with Jacob if he started to be disruptive, but really that was as far as my considerations about the consequences of his attendance went. Silly, silly mommy.

Things got off to a good start: I had brought him hungry so he contentedly sucked down a bottle during the early previews. But then the previews, this being an action flick, started to get more and more loud and violent and more and more frenetic (Speed Racer? I felt like I was going to have another stroke watching that one). And he started to get a little distracted. Then a lot distracted. Then sort of weirdly fixated. But, I thought, the previews are ending and he seems calm enough, and the movie stars Robert Downey Jr. for heaven's sake, so how much action can we really be talking?

And then the opening sequences involved an attack on a military caravan and torture images, so I was doing a lot of shielding of Jacob's eyes and feeling more and more uncomfortable about the whole thing.

And then Iron Man busts out of his cave prison in the prototype of his iron suit, shooting a huge machine gun on his way out. With every blast came bursts of light, as usual. And with every burst of light and sound, Jacob started laughing. Laughing. It was perfectly timed and very disturbing, so Mommy decided, too late already, it was time for us to go. I went outside and Jacob was wide awake but limply clinging to me, a sure sign of trauma. I did get him to sleep eventually and walked around outside for a while before going back in and watching the first part of Made of Honor with Patrick Dempsey, a perfectly acceptable if kind of boring but at least quiet and not violent chick-flick. Besides, by then he was asleep anyway. When he woke back up and started to get restless, we played games and chatted in the lobby until Iron Man was done. The pimply teen manager gave me an unsolicited refund because he felt sorry for me, so that was good, but all in all I just felt guilty about overstimulating my poor child and underestimating his capacity to be completely aware of what was going on around him, and not in a good way.

I mean really, laughing in time to machine gun fire? How pathetic can you get? I am such a bad mommy! But we have learned from our mistakes and will get a babysitter next time, though there won't be a next time for a while. I'm cut off, people!

PS I was really off my game today. We started watching the Kentucky Derby three minutes before it began and the husband asked me for my pick (we know nothing) so I considered the field and picked Eight Belles because she's a filly, of course! She came in second...and then was immediately euthanized after breaking both her front ankles during the cool down period. Sheesh!

Scenes by the wayside

I've been thinking about children's books lately, now that we've started including a bedtime story in our bedtime routine with Jacob. And I'm currently obsessed with Dr. Seuss. I remember liking Dr. Seuss as a child, though I don't particularly remember having a lot of Seuss books around the house, for some reason. Perhaps that's part of the reason I liked them so much, the rarity factor. The other reason I liked Dr. Seuss, of course, is the language play. I'm a language fan from way back, of course. I also remember that my mother's favorite was The Lorax, one of the best. As usual, she's got great taste!

Right now we have only one Dr. Seuss book, Fox in Socks, a tongue twister tale we read pretty much every night. The rhythm of the words seems to be very lulling for the baby, and the "story" is interesting enough (or challenging enough) that we don't get bored of it. So we need more! I've gotten some from Ebay already and have more in my Amazon shopping cart (ahh, the web) and will start trawling for more at the used book stores and thrift stores. No time like the present to increase the library. Jacob will certainly have an extensive library. He's my kid, after all!

True confessions, however: I am still creeped out by the Grinch, even as an adult. I think those little Whos in Whoville were sold a bill of goods by the green liar, and he was just waiting to pounce again. Why do you think there was never a part 2 to that tale, huh, huh? In fact, there are many creatures I was afraid of as a child that still bother me. That abominable snowman from the stop motion Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer? Still have to turn it off every year when they air that show. The monkeys and the wicked witches from the Wizard of Oz? Still terrifying, as are those wind-up/electric monkeys that bang cymbals together (a remnant of reading some Stephen King short stories when I was much, much too young). People in gorilla costumes? Haven't been able to handle them since a traumatizing encounter with a Nancy Drew mystery. It may be I have a too vivid imagination. It may also be that anthropomorphized creatures really are gosh darn creepy!

Give me just one reason

I've been thinking about tone. The last few posts (besides Jacob laughing) have been such downers, people! So it's time for some happy thoughts....

Jacob was very, umm, flirtatious today, for lack of a better word. He's learned to grin and duck his head and bat his eyes all at the same time, and I just hope he doesn't figure out quickly how gosh darn cute it is. I'm too much of a sucker.

He also picked up and started sucking on his first toy today. He's finally starting to manipulate his hands to do more than find his mouth. He looked so intently at the toy, I could see the synapses firing and the cells developing!

I'm getting so much more sleep than before, and I'm loving it. And my house is slowly (ever so slowly) showing the signs of some more free time on my hands.

I was reading a magazine today and saw all these pictures of 35 year-old women, and they all looked a lot older than I do, which made me feel younger than my years. So that was good!

I'm almost through with season 3 of Battlestar Galactica, which, though it has become increasingly dark, speaking of tone, continues to be entertaining and surprising, like all the best shows are. Okay, and also very weird but hey, still good.

Happy days are here again

Here is some shameless parental pride for you: Jacob laughing. He's so gifted! (And no, I don't know why my jeans look tapered--I swear they're not. Focus on his cute overalls instead!)




PS check out some new pics in the gallery

Sit and wonder why

Monday was a busy day.

You see, one of our very venerable congregation members died on Thursday (it's very sad. He had been ill for a long time, and his wife of 60 years was reluctant to let him go, understandably). What this meant for me on a practical level was that our women's organization would be handling the lunch after the funeral for 150+ people and providing childcare during the services for the 20+ small grand/great-grandchildren who came from this man's very large family so their parents could participate in the event. And remember how I was recently called into the women's organization presidency? Right!

Luckily, I don't have to do this sort of thing alone. There are committees and volunteers and the like, but all that has to be coordinated and the coordination fell largely to me. Think many, many phone calls over the weekend (for organists, child care volunteers, choristers, food volunteers, servers, someone to buy new table clothes, set-up and clean-up crew, etc., etc., etc. ad infinitum) just to get us ready.

Then the day arrives. Normally, this kind of thing puts me in my element. I love to organize, to cook huge vats of food, to help run errands and troubleshoot, that sort of thing. However, this was the first time I was trying to do all this and more with a small baby attached to me (literally--he spent the majority of the day in the baby bjorn so I could have my hands free). And darned if he didn't need to eat and sleep once in a while!

First, I trucked three shopping bags full of serving platters, bowls, and utensils, pasta salad, a dessert, stuff to make punch, the diaper bag, the bjorn, and the baby to the church. Then I helped tend 25 kids, three of whom absolutely did not stop screaming...for an hour and a half. At one point Jacob, strapped to me and a clearly overwhelmed, started laughing maniacally at nothing. I think he was trying to find his happy place. I know I was looking for mine.

Then we started to get the food ready: piles of ham and fried chicken, pans and pans of macaroni and cheese and "funeral" potatoes (don't ask if you don't already know--you're better off), high fat desserts, a few salads for color, and some random meatballs. Yes, a coronary on a plate. A plate piled very high. Welcome to Mormons in the South. And we set many tables and prepared for the ravening hordes to descend, which they did, an hour after expected, in huge numbers (many more than we were told to plan for, so we were running around trying to accommodate everyone and not run out of food, which we almost did).

It was, in short, exhausting, made worse by the fact that I was having some sort of allergic reaction breakdown from a plethora of mosquito bites I got on Saturday weeding the widow's flower beds at 6:30am (just part of the service package). Poor Jacob got a few catnaps and he did get fed, but he was slung around from pillar to post, and I felt horrible about it. And tired. So very tired. So. Very. Tired.

A fuel injection cut off

Some perils of new home ownership are expected. You expect there to be a problem with plumbing, for instance, though you wish it wouldn't happen on your second full day in the house, on a Saturday morning. But you deal with it.

Other perils of new home ownership are more oblique, less anticipated, but perhaps even more insidious for their very unexpected nature....

Since we moved in in September, we haven't mowed our new lawn. It was fall and then winter and we didn't own a lawnmower, so we just left well enough alone. Of course, we live in the South, so fall and winter are relative. And things really were getting out of hand, so last week the husband bought a lawnmower. This weekend, he used it. And we weren't surprised to uncover heretofore unknown tree stumps, though the pile of what had apparently been leftover concrete was a shock. And the lawn looks much better and we won't be kicked off our street, as expected.

No, what caused us the most problems occurred before the mowing began, when the husband accidentally sprayed gasoline on himself while filling the gas can. When he came in after mowing, he reeked, so I told him to strip immediately and drop his clothes into the washing machine, where I already had a partial load ready, so as not to infect the rest of the house with the pungent gas smell.

Dear tiny band of loyal readers, don't ever, ever do this. What happens when you wash clothes that have gas on them is that the gas doesn't wash away. Instead, it contaminates everything else it touches (in this case, the one pair of cords that fits me now, among other things), leaving them covered in gas. Oh, and guess what? You can't dry something that smells like gas in the dryer because, of course, it's flammable now. In addition, the gas infects your washing machine, making the machine itself a distributer of gas for the next however many loads. This, in turn, converted my laundry room into a death trap of noxious fumes. In short, one outfit of gas covered clothing became one very big mess.

What to do? The internet provided me with many options: white vinegar in the wash was a no go, as was apple cider vinegar. Dawn Ultra Pump Foam along with vinegar sounded fancy and didn't work. Citrus degreaser wasn't available anywhere. What finally helped was hanging said clothing out to dry outside where (DUH!) the gas evaporated and the clothes are now able to be laundered normally (and, I hope, dried as well). Which left the washing machine itself. Again, all vinegar, in all water temperatures was unhelpful at best. What has finally prevailed is washing rags in hot water with a lot of baby oil in the machine. Something about oil-based product attracting oil-based product. Who knows? I'm just happy to be done with the whole fiasco.

Yet ANOTHER reason to cut down on fossil fuel use, no??