I used to suffer from the phenomenon of post-Christmas letdown. The last of the presents would be opened, dinner would be through, and I would feel depressed. All of December there was this intense energy, these frantic preparations, this whole month of effort, culminating in only a few hours of fun. And then it was over.
But as the Johnson & Johnson commercial says, a baby changes everything. This year, Christmas is over, and I AM SO GLAD. I am relieved. I am honestly looking forward to the dull winter months of nothing. Nothing is not such a bad thing anymore.
However, that also means I don't have anything interesting to blog about . . .
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Christmastime revelation #2: I am so uncool
Pregnancy stole my fashion sense.
I am a firm believer in the concept that the price you pay for a piece of clothing should be relative to the number of times, or the length of time, you will wear it. And I refuse to drop more than $30 on anything I would/will be wearing for less than five months. Consequently, I spent the second and third trimesters of pregnancy in jeans, T-shirts, and tank tops from Motherhood Maternity and Old Navy. I should also mention that my birthday is on Christmas Day, so I have essentially one shot at getting any clothing or accessories that I cannot justify buying for myself. Since last year I received only maternity clothes -- per my wish list -- I haven't had many new non-pregnancy clothes in the last two years.
Last night at the mall it finally occurred me: I am just not cool anymore. Once upon a time -- and I am talking way back, like middle school days -- the mall was the center of the fashion universe. You wore, like, your coolest, raddest clothes for a day at the mall with your friends. And then there were those annoying adults in their jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers taking up space with their baby strollers, giving you dirty looks for acting stupid and obnoxious.
I was not wearing sneakers, per se, but I was wearing comfortable, sensible shoes. I also did not actually give any teenagers dirty looks -- but I thought mean looks at them. Because they're stupid and obnoxious.
Feeling down, I went into Express to look for jewelry for my brother's hip girlfriend. Nothing but long, dangly earrings that Ghoulie would love to yank out of my ears. Perfect for B., of course, but no longer practical for me. *Sigh.*
On to Victoria's Secret, strictly for body wash and lotion. Guess what? Victoria's Secret is not set up to accomodate new mothers! Not only do they depress you by displaying half a zillion cute outfits that just would not look quite as good on you as they used to, but they set up their displays about 18 inches apart from one another, covered in long, sweeping satin cloths that get caught and tangled in stroller wheels. No I am not kidding about this. We almost took out the entire Very Sexy collection.
Now I have two New Year's resolutions. The first, decided a good month ago now, is to quit the red meat habit. Again. (Pregnancy not only took my coolness, it also turned me into a meat-eater.) My second resolution, made at the Express jewelry rack at 8 pm last night, is to get rid of this uncoolness. Or, at least, return to some minor semblance of fashion. So family, if you have any shopping left to do, make me hip again.
I am a firm believer in the concept that the price you pay for a piece of clothing should be relative to the number of times, or the length of time, you will wear it. And I refuse to drop more than $30 on anything I would/will be wearing for less than five months. Consequently, I spent the second and third trimesters of pregnancy in jeans, T-shirts, and tank tops from Motherhood Maternity and Old Navy. I should also mention that my birthday is on Christmas Day, so I have essentially one shot at getting any clothing or accessories that I cannot justify buying for myself. Since last year I received only maternity clothes -- per my wish list -- I haven't had many new non-pregnancy clothes in the last two years.
Last night at the mall it finally occurred me: I am just not cool anymore. Once upon a time -- and I am talking way back, like middle school days -- the mall was the center of the fashion universe. You wore, like, your coolest, raddest clothes for a day at the mall with your friends. And then there were those annoying adults in their jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers taking up space with their baby strollers, giving you dirty looks for acting stupid and obnoxious.
I was not wearing sneakers, per se, but I was wearing comfortable, sensible shoes. I also did not actually give any teenagers dirty looks -- but I thought mean looks at them. Because they're stupid and obnoxious.
Feeling down, I went into Express to look for jewelry for my brother's hip girlfriend. Nothing but long, dangly earrings that Ghoulie would love to yank out of my ears. Perfect for B., of course, but no longer practical for me. *Sigh.*
On to Victoria's Secret, strictly for body wash and lotion. Guess what? Victoria's Secret is not set up to accomodate new mothers! Not only do they depress you by displaying half a zillion cute outfits that just would not look quite as good on you as they used to, but they set up their displays about 18 inches apart from one another, covered in long, sweeping satin cloths that get caught and tangled in stroller wheels. No I am not kidding about this. We almost took out the entire Very Sexy collection.
Now I have two New Year's resolutions. The first, decided a good month ago now, is to quit the red meat habit. Again. (Pregnancy not only took my coolness, it also turned me into a meat-eater.) My second resolution, made at the Express jewelry rack at 8 pm last night, is to get rid of this uncoolness. Or, at least, return to some minor semblance of fashion. So family, if you have any shopping left to do, make me hip again.
Monday, December 11, 2006
fa la la freakin' fa la la
My latest new-mom, Christmas shopping pet peeve: Able-bodied individuals who insist on forgoing the stairs at the mall, instead sauntering s-l-o-w-l-y up the single-file ramps, and leaving we stroller-users to wait at the bottom. . . and wait. . . and wait. . .
Ditto for that perky lady who virtually skipped out of the elevator. . .
Ditto for that perky lady who virtually skipped out of the elevator. . .
Thursday, December 07, 2006
it takes a whole hell of a lot more than a village
Hilary Rodham Clinton only gave us the shorthand version. What she should have said is, It takes a village full of like-minded, forward-thinking, well-informed friends, family, neighbors, and acquaintances, to raise a child successfully.
God help us.
Since our return to New Hampsha', we've been blessed to be a small part of four living generations, on both Jake's side and mine. And 98% of the time, when I say blessed, I really mean blessed. It's the other 2% of the time that might do us in.
My mother and my mother-in-law, I have to acknowledge, back me up 100% of the time. If they have ever once disagreed with mine and Jake's parenting philosophy, I haven't known it, because they haven't said a word. And even their mothers and mothers-in-law generally don't offer their opinions. Not often. (Although Jake is getting fed up with his time with Ghoulie being referred to as "babysitting" by certain ancient parties.)
And then there was last Sunday. Ghoulie's dedication day, which is the Protestant answer to a christening. Beautiful ceremony, officiated by my father and attended by several representatives of each of the aforementioned generations. Afterwards, brunch at my parents' house. For the first half of the afternoon, Ghoulie was content to be passed around between several family members. At one point, this allowed Jake and I to catch up with a very close friend of mine, and to get to know her new boyfriend. Ghoulie was being cuddled and cooed at by two members of the eldest generation, who shall remain nameless. We gazed at her across the room as we talked. (You know, Jake and I probably are not very good in adult conversations with others lately.)
During a lull in our adult conversation, I noticed Ghoulie gumming at something. From the other side of the living room, I asked, "What's in her mouth?"
One of the two cuddle-and-cooers gave a little laugh at Ghoulie's cuteness and replied light-heartedly, "Oh, we just gave her a little bite of quiche."
Cheese and eggs to our seventh month old. We were dumbfounded. The town crier, apparently, has not effectively spread the word on baby dietary rules to this particular village. He has his work cut out for him. . .
Now, if only we can get someone in this family to take on the town crier role.
God help us.
Since our return to New Hampsha', we've been blessed to be a small part of four living generations, on both Jake's side and mine. And 98% of the time, when I say blessed, I really mean blessed. It's the other 2% of the time that might do us in.
My mother and my mother-in-law, I have to acknowledge, back me up 100% of the time. If they have ever once disagreed with mine and Jake's parenting philosophy, I haven't known it, because they haven't said a word. And even their mothers and mothers-in-law generally don't offer their opinions. Not often. (Although Jake is getting fed up with his time with Ghoulie being referred to as "babysitting" by certain ancient parties.)
And then there was last Sunday. Ghoulie's dedication day, which is the Protestant answer to a christening. Beautiful ceremony, officiated by my father and attended by several representatives of each of the aforementioned generations. Afterwards, brunch at my parents' house. For the first half of the afternoon, Ghoulie was content to be passed around between several family members. At one point, this allowed Jake and I to catch up with a very close friend of mine, and to get to know her new boyfriend. Ghoulie was being cuddled and cooed at by two members of the eldest generation, who shall remain nameless. We gazed at her across the room as we talked. (You know, Jake and I probably are not very good in adult conversations with others lately.)
During a lull in our adult conversation, I noticed Ghoulie gumming at something. From the other side of the living room, I asked, "What's in her mouth?"
One of the two cuddle-and-cooers gave a little laugh at Ghoulie's cuteness and replied light-heartedly, "Oh, we just gave her a little bite of quiche."
Cheese and eggs to our seventh month old. We were dumbfounded. The town crier, apparently, has not effectively spread the word on baby dietary rules to this particular village. He has his work cut out for him. . .
Now, if only we can get someone in this family to take on the town crier role.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BLOG???
. . . I know you're all asking. Answer: Life happened. Good life. Which always, it seems, equals busy life.
Up until last week, I was just the yoga teacher at work. 6 1/2 hours each week, or 8 on the weekends I offer the Introductory class. No big deal. Starting last week, though, I also became the office administrator, for an extra couple hundred a week. I'm enjoying it, and my mom and company (AKA my siblings who are now, incidentally, one terrific aunt and three doting uncles -- plus a couple of girlfriends and one foster brother and anyone else who might happen along) are taking care of Ghoulie.
Now I am officially juggling.
Oh, and one more "official" bit of news: As of last Saturday, when he signed his Academy paperwork, I'm officially a cop's wife. And, if I may brag for just a sentence or two, I have to mention that of 550 applicants, 5 were hired. Total. Yes, that's right, 1%. And my husband was at the top of the list. Go Jake! I love you.
Ghoulie is asleep, finally. Today was well-baby and immunization day (except for the flu shot, which we've decided against). She's a trooper when it comes to shots. Cried for about 10 seconds, then pouted for another 15 or so. After that, you wouldn't know she'd had anything. We've also decided we love our new pediatrics practice.
Augh, now I'm annoying myself with my rambling. Goodnight, and I will try not to let real life get in the way of my computer anymore.
Hardy har har.
Up until last week, I was just the yoga teacher at work. 6 1/2 hours each week, or 8 on the weekends I offer the Introductory class. No big deal. Starting last week, though, I also became the office administrator, for an extra couple hundred a week. I'm enjoying it, and my mom and company (AKA my siblings who are now, incidentally, one terrific aunt and three doting uncles -- plus a couple of girlfriends and one foster brother and anyone else who might happen along) are taking care of Ghoulie.
Now I am officially juggling.
Oh, and one more "official" bit of news: As of last Saturday, when he signed his Academy paperwork, I'm officially a cop's wife. And, if I may brag for just a sentence or two, I have to mention that of 550 applicants, 5 were hired. Total. Yes, that's right, 1%. And my husband was at the top of the list. Go Jake! I love you.
Ghoulie is asleep, finally. Today was well-baby and immunization day (except for the flu shot, which we've decided against). She's a trooper when it comes to shots. Cried for about 10 seconds, then pouted for another 15 or so. After that, you wouldn't know she'd had anything. We've also decided we love our new pediatrics practice.
Augh, now I'm annoying myself with my rambling. Goodnight, and I will try not to let real life get in the way of my computer anymore.
Hardy har har.
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