The Delaney and Waylon Diaries

Man, I feel like a woman.

Since the boy babe turned six months old on Friday I decided it was time to bite the bullet and entrust his care, along with his sister's, to someone else for four hours so Roger and I could remember what it was like to be alone. Yes, it had been over six months since our last date and, therefore, at least that long since we'd been anywhere sans children. It had been so long, in fact, that it felt kinda like a first date. I was nervous. What would I wear? Where would we go? Would we remember how to act in public? Would I try to cut his meat for him? What would we talk about? Would he think I looked pretty? Would the one glass of wine I'd allow myself make me easy? And, if yes, would that be a bad thing?

Turns out our date muscle had not atrophied. We had a great time over sushi and chardonnay. I went a bit crazy, allowing myself a GLASS AND A HALF which made me insanely chatty about things like: What we can do to ensure that Delaney and Waylon grow up to be self-respecting Democrats? Because my parents are Republicans and how did I end up becoming a Democrat when I was surrounded by all that Republican rhetoric and Oh. My. God. What if that happens to our kids??? What if they grow up with Democrats for parents and yet somehow turn into Republicans? Because that would kill me and how can we prevent that? We need a plan! Yeah, I'm a lightweight these days. But my charming chatter didn't seem to bother my husband one bit because he seemed really interested (or maybe it was the blushing cleavage I was sporting).

We ended our date browsing at a bookstore over fancy coffee which should have been romantic but wasn't because we ran into my sister and her family. Look, they're some of my favorite people but they prevented me from making a move on my husband in the computer book section (Not as strange as it sounds. A soused wife pawing him amongst all those C# books...it's gotta be one of my husband's top three fantasies.).

I loved getting dressed up and feeling like a sexy woman again and I had such a good time reconnecting and laughing with Roger. Maybe we'll do it again in a month, or six.

Exhale (for a minute)

This is probably not the longest break I've ever taken from writing on this blog but it's certainly the longest I've ever gone without reading or commenting on other blogs. I have no idea what's going on with anyone out there! How've ya'll been?

Life has had me by the hair and given me a good shake lately. "I'm busy!" is an understatement. We are living in the big house and it is fantastic but we're not exactly unpacked. The bare essentials are available to us indoors but lots of stuff remains in boxes in the garage. Makes me wonder if we need all that stuff (RIP George Carlin). I don't think we really miss most of it and it's possible I don't even know what's out there.

The old house is finally on the market as of a few days ago. While that lets Roger and me heave a sigh of relief, now we're just waiting, hoping, praying for an offer to come in, which isn't as physically stressful as getting the house ready but is kinda tough on the nerves. We've done all we can to freshen the place up and now what happens next is out of our hands. For a control freak like me, that's hard to take.

Work has been non-stop and while it (in addition to raising the kids) leaves almost no time for anything else, it's been so enjoyable. I'm lucky to get paid to do what I love. But it would be nice to take a break. Don't see that happening any time soon though.

Waylon got his Prevnar shot last week and, like all the other vacs he's received, what it really shot was his sleep pattern. He sleeps terrible for 4-5 nights after he receives them. And, because he's on the alternate vac schedule, that means we go through a crappy week at least once each month. Not fun, but I guess it's a small price to pay for the peace of mind I get from not giving him the shots all at once. He'll be six months old tomorrow and I haven't been able to fully process that, what with the move and everything else. It just can't be that six months have passed. They have truly been the most difficult six months of my life in terms of the stress and changes we've all been through but I wouldn't change a thing. He is big and broad and smiley and full of laughter and he never stops moving. I never knew that having a son would open my heart this way.

Delaney loves going to school three days a week (mom's kind of fond of it too). She had a few rough days transitioning from the old house to two weeks at nana & papa's house but once we moved into the big house she adapted wonderfully even though she caught a nasty cold. She loves her bedroom and her new playroom and outdoor playscape. She goes up and down the stairs with ease. And we no longer have a baby monitor in her room since we moved it to Waylon's room (this was a weird and big step for me because we've always had one in her room and not hearing my baby girl sigh in her sleep was unsettling for a night or two).

We are here, finally, in this house, making special new memories together. On our second night, after dinner, the four of us played in our new backyard. I sat with Waylon while Roger pushed Delaney on her swing. The heat of another south Texas summer day began to fade as a warm breeze blew around us, ushering in the beginnings of night. My heart flooded with a peacefulness and sense of complete satisfaction. This house, this kind of night, was why we'd worked so hard for so long, sacrificing weeks, really months, of family time. And it's only just the start of our wonderful, new life here together.

Super Savvy Work

One of the (many!) job titles I've recently accepted is "City Expert" for the brand new city blogs on the popular parenting site, Savvy Source. Therefore it's time for me to come clean and reveal where I live. I've been vague about it during these last three years of blogging, only saying that I'm somewhere in south Texas. But San Antonio is the place I've called home for the past 18 years. That's right...the Alamo, World-champion Spurs and mighty margaritas. Lucky me!

With everything going on in my super crazy life right now you may wonder why on earth I'd take this on. Well, the reason is two-fold. When I heard who was recruiting bloggers (CityMama! Woot, woot!) and then learned about the amazing bloggers who were participating (you can find them all by visiting the city list dropdown on my blog's main page) I was thrilled to be included in such a super-fun, worthwhile endeavor and could never have turned down the experience. And this is also a wonderful way for me not only to share my own knowledge of how to hit the town with toddlers (and preschoolers) but it's also a cool way for me to get out there and learn more about my city and all that it offers young children and their parents. Delaney and I have already made some rather interesting trips around town (see The Peen-yis Post for more on that!).

I hope San Antonians reading here will join me over at Being Savvy San Antonio to contribute your brilliant comments and ideas. As my bio says, I may be savvy but I'm not omniscient. Be sure to chime in with great ideas to share with your fellow San Antonio parents about things to do with preschoolers here in S.A.

And for those of you who aren't in San Antonio, I know you wish you were. So plan a trip to see the Alamo (or the River Walk or the Texas Hill Country). Or, visit the other City Experts on Savvy Source to see what's going on in your town.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get back to my To Do list. Someone needs to stop me from getting more jobs!

Just post!

I write prolifically in my head. Most of it never makes it to the blog. Like Pinky Dinky Doo, "I think and think and think and think," but I think too much and I write too little. So, here it goes - a blurt straight from brain to blog.

I'm sitting amidst boxes and freshly painted walls. The house is dirty and in disarray. We're moving but not for another month and a half. First we have to get this house ready to sell. We've been working on it for weeks. Well, Roger's been working on it. I've been keeping the kids busy and out of his way.

I think about our new house all the time. I fantasize about what life will be like there. How it will be so much more perfect than it is here in our shoebox. How we'll have pockets of quiet to be enjoyed for reading and writing instead of trying to write while sitting in one room with a noisy TV airing repetitive political commentary which generally interests me but is currently boring a hole in my brain. I'm putting a lot of pressure on our new house to round me out, make me a better person, as if this tiny house we've lived in for almost seven years can alone be blamed for my shortcomings as a wife, mother, human. That somehow, having additional space, a walk-in closet, the ability to do laundry indoors, more than one bathroom will transform me into Martha Stewart. Hell, I've even had fantasies that I start cooking and cleaning because this house will inspire me to take on the impossible. June Cleaver, watch out.

"When we live in our new house, we'll have more room. I'll organize things. I'll organize my life. I'll be a newer, better, happier me. I'll work more, write more, read more, mother better and have sex at least three times a week with my husband. The kids will watch less TV. We'll do more arts and crafts. We'll take long walks and go to the nearby park. I'll keep up with housework and come up with a schedule for cleaning, rotating the rooms I clean each week so the entire house is cleaned at least once each month!"

Is it crazy to think a house could make me that happy, that productive? Stay tuned.

Super Chardonnay-istic Saturday (the antidote to Brutally Honest Monday)

This week:

- I complained about being a mother (oooh, poor me!).

- Delaney may have bid farewell to The Nap (although she's cried no nap before so, God help me, I hope I'm wrong.).

- Waylon started giggling when I change his diaper. They do start that penis love early, don't they?

- A sweet bloggy friend sent me some cheer-you-up Sbux cash (Thank you, Karen, for knowing just what I need--caffeine and cranberry orange scones--even though you told me not to thank you and yes, you are crazy for suggesting I take both kids to Sbux but that's OK because I only target Sbux drive-thrus these days, thankyouverymuch, so your cool gift will still come in very handy.).

- I won a prize from the awesomest poly sci moms on the planet (Momocrats. What? You're not reading them? During the hottest political season ever? You SO should be. Check 'em out.).

- We attended three playdates in two days and no one got hurt.

- And...Delaney finally started to chill the F out. Sure, it could be a fluke. Sure, I'm probably jinxing it by even mentioning it. Sure, I might go back to bitching about motherhood tomorrow. But since my rant on Monday she's really turned things around (even without naps!) and been a pleasant daughter, sister and playmate. I'm so proud of her. I'm not sure what to attribute the change to but kudos to the powers that be. Keep up the good work (I'll burn incense and squirrel fur later tonight for an offering).

Now, both kids are in bed. I just enjoyed a takeout sushi dinner with my husband while forcing him to watch enjoying his company during game 1 of the Spurs/Hornets series and I'm drinking a dry, oak-y chardonnay. Not a bad way to kick off Super Chardonnay-istic Saturdays. Cheers! (and Go, Spurs, Go!)

Brutally Honest Monday: this post may self-destruct in three days

I haven't been around here much lately and that's because when the going gets tough I tend not to blog about it. I've always meant for this blog to be more baby book than mom confessional and I've written it with the intent that one day Delaney (and now Waylon) will be able to read it. But that leaves me with no place to be fully honest, no place to air my dirty laundry, no place to let loose about what's really going on in the trenches of my parenting boot camp. I certainly don't want to leave my kids with the impression that their childhood and my years of on-the-job training as a parent were all kisses and lollipops but I also don't want to detail, here, the really ugly, sometimes scary, messy stuff that they may wish I'd kept private.

But today, the stink comes off. The laundry gets aired out. I'm starting to crack and I have to get this out. I'm not enjoying motherhood very much right now. It's not the first time I've ever felt this way (obviously) and it won't be the last (evidently). It's not something every other mother out there hasn't felt before. I'm not unique in feeling this way. But man, does it suck.

These feelings stem mostly from the wretchedly terrible, seemingly unending period of sibling rivalry angst that causes Delaney to hurt her brother and others with very little remorse for her inexcusable actions. She's also unbelievably defiant and uncontrollable and it's so difficult to be around her right now. Is this what Three is all about, I ask myself. Or are our issues with her larger than those of the average pissed off tot?

I'm also feeling detached from Roger. He works hard all week and then has to work all weekend too as we try to get our house ready to sell. We never get to see each other or spend fun time alone together and I'm sure that the stress we're under is also making him feel dragged down and empty too.

In addition to all that, I've sunken to a new low in the "taking care of myself" department. I'm not exercising or eating right. And because I can't exactly drink my stress away I've been eating one (or four) too many donuts instead, knowing it's wrong but still feeling like I deserve some small (large?), guilty pleasure.

OK. This is all very, "Woe is me!" Look, I know this time is precious and fleeting. My kids will only be this young once and I should treasure every minute. I know other people have worse problems than me and trust me, I'm grateful for all that I have. I know I shouldn't complain about any of this because I wanted kids and I am very lucky to have them. And I do love them to pieces. But still, I'm not having much fun or feeling at all like myself right now.

I feel haggard and dragged down and just plain spent at the end of each day, never feeling like I actually accomplished anything other than keeping the kids fed and bathed and keeping Delaney from harming her baby brother. Is it wrong to want more out of life than that? To want to enjoy reading again, to date my husband, to get regular haircuts, to visit with friends and reclaim a little part of the me I seem to have left behind in that operating room four months ago? Or am I being overly dramatic because caring for two little kids simply is a difficult business fraught with defiance and outbursts and poop, lots of poop, but it all passes eventually (and much too quickly upon reflection)? Do I need to just chill out and stop bitching and be grateful for everything I have? Or is it OK to kvetch and moan about the things stewing inside me right now, recognizing and then releasing the negative so it doesn't stay in and fester?

Visit Mrs. Flinger for more of Brutally Honest Monday.

How to make your wife cry

Leave her with the two kids (one of whom is diving ever deeper into her angry, sibling-rivalry-induced abyss) for a week, for the second time this month, with the intent of returning late tonight only to inform her at 6:00 p.m. that your flight is delayed and while you'll eventually make it to your connecting city, you'll miss your connection and the next available flight home is tomorrow night.

How to make your wife cry again (this time from relief):

Call back 20 minutes later to tell her you've rented a car and will drive 3 hours from your connecting city, enabling you to get home in the middle of the night.

My man? ROCKS.

Easy, reader*

How's this for pathetic? I just finished this book. You know, the book I started back in early January right after Waylon was born. I don't think I've read so little in my entire life. I love reading. It's usually an addictive pleasure for me. But having a second child and then adding work back into the mix has rendered me readless. See? Even my vocabulary's suffering and I'm starting to make up words. But now that Way's sleeping through the night I'm hopeful I can read a book a month instead of one every three months. Call me a crazy optimist. I'm off to Good Reads now to find something worthy of my limited time, unless you have something to suggest?

* Anyone out there remember Easy Reader? Right on, man.

And just like that, we bought a house

It's here. The Year of the House is truly, officially here. Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Considering that 2006 was supposed to be The Year of the House, I was starting to wonder if it would ever happen. But, something about birthing another baby and trying to squish him into a tiny house already full of people and pets will apparently spur you on to action.

After just three weeks of looking at houses we found one that we (well, I) love. Roger likes it pretty well. Although, according to him he'd be happy with any house that was bigger than our shoe box of an abode. He's so easy to please (which is great because, generally, I'm not). Closing is set for early June and while that seems now like an awfully long way away, it will be here before we know it. Especially since we need to (gulp!) get our house ready for sale. Nothing like adding that menial task to an already overwhelmed "to do" list. 

No thanks, Ms. Banks

I recently received the following email:

I am working on an upcoming show for Tyra Banks. We would love to have a mom on who is a germaphobe and discuss the rituals that you have since becoming a mom. Can you call me at your earliest convenience to discuss this opportunity?

Ms. Blah Blah
Associate Producer
The Tyra Banks Show
226 West 26th Street
4th Floor
New York, NY 10001
BlahBlah@tyratv.com

First off, how did this chick know I'm a germaphobe? Well, with Mr. Google it's pretty easy to identify me as such if you search for "germaphobe mama" or if you do another germy-related search and find the comments I left on this Mom-101 post. OK. So, it's out there. We all know I'm a germaphobe. But I'm certainly not that germaphobe, am I? I mean, I'm not absolutely, completely and utterly obsessed with keeping my family safe, at all times, from all bodily ills, right? Wait. Don't answer that. I like to think of myself as "Germaphobe Lite" and certainly not as anyone whose phobia is over-the-top, startling or gawk-worthy enough for a national talk show. Therefore, I do not plan to respond or appear on that or any other talk show (Weeelllll, maybe Oprah...but only if she asked. Nicely.) about my slight tend towards cleanliness.

Yes, becoming a mother has influenced my probably latent germaphobic tendencies and helped blossom them into finely tuned sanitation practices but, really, who wouldn't benefit from a little extra hand-washing, a little more hand sanitizer, a couple extra boxes of virus-killing Kleenex stashed around the house? What's wrong with wanting to keep your kids from getting sick, from passing things around and from infecting the entire family so that you're all stuck in your tiny house for days and days upon end during which time you get so little sleep that you truly think you've lost your mind and you fear you'll never breathe fresh air again?

I'm familiar with the theories: that over-sanitizing our world makes it easier for the germs to get out of control, to get stronger, to eventually take over (Oh. My. God.). That being too clean has led to the increase in food allergies and sensitivities (that even my own child experienced). That exposure to dirt and germs, although unpleasant, can be good for our kids' immune systems. But I can't. I just can't seem to let go and relax when it comes to germs. I can't sit comfortably on a picnic table bench while watching Delaney play on a playground at a burger joint when I see kids with streaming, gooey noses play next to her. I can't stop from seeing the invisible germs on every surface she touches and chasing after her with hand sanitizer. And apparently I'm not alone. But does that make me a GERMAPHOBE of the highest order? Or just a mom who's trying to protect her kids?

Either way it doesn't matter. I'm not going on The Tyra Banks show. Because besides the fact that I'd possibly be humiliating myself on TV, the show films in New York. And then I'd have to confront an even bigger phobia, one that Ms. Banks may do well to tackle on a future show: germaphobic, control freak moms who are afraid to fly.