Around The Block

The last week has been wrought with procrastination; this might also be called writer's block. While loads seems to be going on in my life on a day-to-day basis, none of it seems worthy of updating into the blogosphere, hence my weeklong hiatus. It's funny because I get so many really-great-ideas! during the course of the week, and think that I know exactly what my next blog post will be. But I don't carry around a pad to write my thoughts down, so inevitably, I always forget my great blog ideas and am at a lost for what to write when next I'm behind the keyboard. I hate that. Especially thinking about all of the really great stories and post ideas that have fallen into the abyss that is my forgetfulness, never to be read by anyone.

But, as I said, there is a lot going on. First, there was Thanksgiving. We had a really nice dinner with our friends Sarah and Max (and Sarah's mum) here in Lansing. I spent the previous night cooking and baking--pumpkin tarts, dressing and an eggplant-caper salad. Thanksgiving morning I woke up early to bake a cranberry bread, a soda bread and roasted rosemary potatoes. I was exhausted by the end of food preparation, but it was totally worth it when we made it to Sarah and Max's and sat down to dinner. They were extremely sweet and took care to make dairy-free food options for me, because of my near-vegan diet of late. Bryony (I think) had a nice time; she kept reaching otu to grab all the food, so I think she's pretty close to her big introduction to solid foods! *sigh*

We got a cat habitat for Greg House this weekend and the poor guy nearly had a kittygasm. I couldn't believe the way he flipped for the hanging toys, the scratching post and the different levels to play on. We totally should have gotten this for him a long time ago; maybe he would have given the furniture a bit of a reprieve from the scratching.

The latest and greatest no-news is that we are currently waiting to see if Adam gets orders to Virginia for two weeks in December. The Army indicated that he had been selected to work a detail in Roslyn, VA, which would be great because Bryony and I could accompany and visit my family during that time. However, in typical Army fashion, since the initial offer, the orders for this detail have been changed, postponed and put on hiatus several times, leaving us wondering if we will be going at all. Since we had not planned to travel east for the holidays, we were excited by the idea of unexpectedly getting to see family during the holiday season after all; now, it's just been one disappointment after the next, with the D.C.-area family (and even the NYC family, as we had hoped to take a trip there, too, since we'd be on the east coast) wondering if indeed we'll be in town. What a cluster.

But, since the cosmos always keep the world in balance, we know that there is never just chaos and disorder without some sense of harmony and peace. In my case, in the presence of frustration and aggravation (Army stuff) there is also humor and laughter. My good friend Noi sent me this graphic tonight and I am so in love with it that I just had to share. Hope it brings a smile to your day as it did mine. Thanks, Noi, for lifting my spirits!

Gotta Go, Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right Now

I guess I am really and truly a mother now. I got up early Saturday morning to run out to the Mom-2-Mom sale, which is basically a big rummage sale where mothers sell gently used baby/kid clothes for a small charge. It's nice because these parents make a little of their money back and new parents like me get nice items without paying store prices. I couldn't believe how much fun I was having shopping for Bryony. Ne'er did I think the day would come when I'd have just as much fun shopping for my child as I do shopping for myself. I got her winter coat--a nice mauve fleece-lined coat--for just $1, and a couple pairs of slacks, sleep n plays, onesies and a sweater, all for only $8 more. The piece de resistance was the old-fashioned rocking horse, originally priced at an absurdly low $8, which I ended up getting for $4 once prices were slashed mid-day. I was so excited to bring that home; Adam loved it, but we agreed it's still a little big for her, and since her bedroom is small, we're putting it down in the basement until she's a little older.

So that was the beginning of the day. After coming home with my baby booty (pun intended), I played with Bryony while Adam finished packing for a weekend business trip. As we were on the road to the airport, I realized that I needed to visit the porcelain throne; since Bryony and I were on our way to a party afterward, however, I figured I would wait until we got there to "go." The party was actually a luncheon sponsored by a community center that I've volunteered for in the past; they were acknowledging all of their volunteers with lunch and an awards ceremony. It was very nice. However, I quickly realized that of the few people in attendance that I actually knew, all of them seemed busy with working, socializing or eating, and therefore not able to watch Bryony so I could run to the restroom. I decided to worry about pottying later, and to just go ahead and eat lunch. And what a good lunch it was--salad, garden-on-a-stick (veggies, kabob-style), corn salad, potato salad, sandwiches, hummus and pita...a healthy plethora of uber-fibrous delectables, all of which were helping my plumbing right along. Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention that Bryony got hungry midway through my meal, so I decided to breastfeed her at the table. Normally, that's no big deal, but lately I've been having some..."leakage" issues...and well, before I knew it, I had two huge milk stains on either side of my shirt. And wouldn't you know it, it was just then that my name was called to come up front to accept my award! Since I had to carry Bryony with me, I tried (successfully? I don't know) to position her in the sling so the big wet spots were hidden. Luckily, it's a pretty liberal, forgiving crowd so I'm sure folks who noticed were just kind enough not to comment.
After the lunch was over, and I had spoken to a few friends and acquaintances, it was time to leave. On my way out, I remembered my bathroom issue. Oh yeah, that! I looked around the room. By that time, people were in clean-up-and-leave mode and it really would have been an imposition to ask someone to hold Bryony while I went to the bathroom. So, I decided to wait...again. I walked outside and realized that I wanted to stop by my friends George and Emily's house to return their housekey to them, so I'd just use the bathroom there. I called Emily's phone--which she picks up 9 times out of 10--and wouldn't you know it, there was no answer. Hoping she'd simply not heard her phone ring, I decided to drive the couple blocks to their house anyway and see if they were home. Boy, was I ever relieved to see their truck in the driveway when I got there! I hopped out of the car, leaving Bryony in her carseat, and knocked on the door. I figured Emily could watch Bryony while I ran inside to poo. I heard a cat meowing from behind the door. I knocked again. The cat meowed again. I thought I heard footsteps coming to the door, only to realize it was a guy walking down the ramp of the moving truck parked across the street. Seriously?? I could feel myself "prairie-dogging" as I squirmed and tried as hard as I could to tighten all relevant muscles. Momentarily, I considered using the housekey I was clutching in my fist to just let myself inside. On the chance that they were actually there, and didn't hear me knocking or were ignoring the door, I didn't want to just walk into their house uninvited. I had mental images of walking in on them at a most inopportune moment and the thought made me X out the idea. Defeated, I realized sadly that I would have to high-tail it back to my own house to do my business. The idea of sitting down, even for the five-minute drive, was almost too much. But, I jumped in the car and plowed on. I drove the one mile to my house, of course hitting the one stoplight that exists between our houses, and gratefully pulled into my driveway. I got Bryony out of her carseat...only to discover that a baby poo smell was emanating--quite strongly--from her diaper. Seriously???? Who would I attend to first--her or myself? Just as I stepped inside the house, I saw a frantic Kika, clad in her own doggie-diaper (because she's been having accidents lately), motioning to the door. Seriously???? With a triage mentality, I quickly prioritized the bathroom order--me, Kika, Bryony; after all, Bryony had already poo'd her pants. Kiks and I still had a chance.
Without going into too much detail, I'll just say it was one of the most grateful bathroom experiences I've ever had...probably because I was thankful just to have made it there in time. When I changed Bryony's diaper, I discovered that after a few days of constipation, she'd blown out a massive poo explosion. When I mentioned this to her, she threw her head back and giggled. Well, better her than me.

Dueling With Duality

I spent one night last weekend roaming up and down my street, lifting and carrying off my neighbors' big brown bags of raked leaves. At one point, with Bryony and Kika in the car (at one in the morning, no less), I jumped out, flipped open the trunk and started heaving huge bags of leaves inside. And then into the backseat next to Bryony's car seat. And in the passenger seat, almost on top of Kika. My heart was pounding, as I could already imagine the neighbor's porch light flicking on, a dark silhouette in the doorway, a shotgun branded, and a menacing voice saying, "What the hell do you think you're doing???". Okay, I live in suburban Michigan, not backwoods Arkansas, but still...I was scared. And so why was I willing to brave the wrath of my neighbors in the middle of the night for bags of leaves? I'm trying to get rid of the overabundance of weeds in my yard, and the best way to (naturally, sans pesticides) choke them out is with a thick layer of leaves. Once they're on the ground, I'll mow over them to make sure they are ground up and truly form a carpet over my lawn. I'm excited. Most people think I'm a little crazy. Well, I am a tree-hugging, vegetarian environmentalist, so the crazy label probably isn't too far off.

Part of this one a.m. skulking might just be a way to stop thinking about my current employment predicament...in that, I'm not gainfully employed. I'm love-LOVE-LOVING staying home with Bryony, but for our family, this arrangement just won't be financially feasible for much longer. So, I've been applying to different positions--had an interview a couple weeks ago, but didn't get the job--and am remaining fairly optimistic. But I realize that for every job I apply to, there are at least another 50-100 people applying to the same opening. In Adam's profession, it's even worse. He's been told that the State of Michigan gets 300-500 resumes for every legal position that's posted. What I've come to realize is that getting a job (particularly in this economy) has a lot to do with who you know. Most of my friends who have great jobs either had a friend who let them know about the position, a colleague who put in a good word for them, or a mentor who pulled strings. I have loads of good friends and while I'm not asking for or expecting any huge favors from them, I'm told the best way to get a job is to tell everyone you know that you're looking. So here you go...I'm looking for a job, preferably as a Wildlife Biologist, Ecologist, Program Manager, etc. at a state, federal, non-profit, or private agency/organization that does ecological/biological work. While Michigan would be the easiest place for me to work, since I already live here, I am willing to relocate for the right job.

One of the real downsides of pinching pennies and not spending money is that I've started to become very critical of our lifestyle, particularly now when I can't afford to do anything about it. I hate our living room furniture, which feels like stuff from my undergrad days. Consequently, I get really uptight when I visit the homes of people who have really nice stuff, and then I start to wonder why our situation is such that we can't afford to have nicer things. Then, I get upset with myself for being so shallow and materialistic; after all, I've always been the crunchy near-hippie who didn't care about that type of stuff, right? I guess some of Adam's prophecies are starting to ring true after all: The older you get, the more you care about your stuff...having it, keeping it, and getting more of it. I HATE that I'm even close to falling into that category of people, but I do admit that very unfortunately, I've started to worry about what other people think. It's an exercise in duality, because on the one hand, I LOVE our little house, but on the other hand, I HATE our neighborhood, the smallness of the house and how even one item out of place can make the whole house look messy. I love the idea of not caring what other people think, but I find myself increasingly concerned, especially as Adam and I are associating more with people who have money. I love the idea of not being materialistic and being content with what I have, and yet I find myself wishing my belongings were different, better, costlier. I hate duality (and yet, I love it on some other level!).

NPR did a spot some months ago about people--some of whom used to be major big-wigs prior to the recession--who are now jobless, homeless and living in tent cities (essentially, shantytowns) across the U.S. It was mind-bending to even think of; truly and unbelievably sad. I try to remember those folks when I get sad about the fact that we only have a futon instead of a nice sofa. I find myself thinking of the "have-nots" a lot these days to derail negative thoughts about what we don't have. It's kind of depressing.

We are lucky. We have health care (and we have our health!). We have families who love us and are very supportive. We have great friends. We have solid educational backgrounds that inevitably will work in our favor to allow us to acquire decent-paying jobs. We are lucky.

And there is nothing in the world that can duel with that.

Hands Clean

I'm the first to admit that I can get a little obsessive about certain things. And Adam swears I'm a hypochondriac if he ever did know one (I tend to dispute this charge myself...). But, I've just not been overresponsive to the swine flu issue of late. I realize it can be problematic for some and that it's not something to be taken lightly, but since the vast majority of folks experience mild symptoms, I'm just not overly worried. However, I am fiercely protective of Bryony's health and safety, and have been really floored by the lack of common sense that many people use in their interactions with her.

Bryony's head full of hair attracts a lot of attention, so we frequently get stopped at the mall, at the grocery store, at restaurants, at the park...just about anywhere. I know that the majority of people's intentions are kind and well-meaning, but I cannot count the number of strangers who have reached out to stroke her hair, rub her cheeks, grasp her hands, without asking me first if they can touch my child. And they are fast. Even when I think I see it coming--and have an appropriate word of dissuasion ready to keep them from touching her--their hands are already all over her. It's hard to tell the sweet little old lady to get her grimy, swine-flu-infected hands off my child, so I always just end up taking wet wipes to her hands and cheeks as soon as the offending person has walked away. I've been tempted to hang a sign from her stroller that says "Please don't touch me; I can't handle your germs!"

The biggest offense came a few weeks ago at a visit to Sam's Club. I was carrying a sleeping Bryony in the sling (which means I was "wearing" her), and while standing in a line at a register, a random woman came up, tried to move the fabric aside and grab Bryony! I was caught so off-guard that I immediately backed away, turned my body to the side with a huff and gave the woman the look of death. She laughed self-consciously and asked "Is there a baby in there?" It was very bizarre that she would not only disturb my child but also invade my personal space; I had to assume the woman was not quite right in the head.
When Bryony was only about 4 weeks old, my mother came to town to meet her new granddaughter and to help us out. We were at the local grocery store and I was carrying a sleeping Bryony around in a Baby Bjorn, which meant her legs were dangling. A couple--the woman appeared to be of Indian origin and the man hispanic--walked by, and I noticed the woman admiring the baby. Before I had time to react, she reached out as we passed by and grabbed Bryony's leg. I was so startled that I let out a cry of disgust and pulled away. Who do people think they are? But my mother, who works with the public everyday, made an observation that I had not thought of. She commented that it might have been a cultural difference; Americans are much more into their personal space than people from some other countries are, and so if this woman were indeed from another country (she did have an accent, so I assume she was), perhaps it is commonplace for strangers to touch each other--and their babies--without a second thought. I tried to be openminded about it, but there is just a primal need to protect your offspring that cannot be overcome, despite my best attempts.

Last weekend Adam and I went to Traverse City, Michigan for the weekend. As we were about to get on the road to travel back home, we stopped at a hotel to use the bathroom--and change Bryony's diaper--before getting in the car. While I was in the bathroom changing her diaper, I heard a woman in one of the stalls making a great deal of noise--moans, grunts and sighs followed by toilet explosions that embarassed even me, the queen of potty humor. I was trying to finish with the diaper-changing as quickly as possible so as not to have to come face-to-face with this woman of energetic bathroom goings-on. But, alas! I was not fast enough, and unfortunately she came out of the stall and made a beeline for the sink right next to where I was changing the baby. And of course, she noticed Bryony, her head of hair, her sweet smile and with her poo-infested, germy bathroom hands, started to gesture to my precious baby. She was an elderly woman, but this was too much; there was no way she was touching my child. I used my body to block her from Bryony and kept up very minimal conversation to make it clear that neither Bryony nor I were to be considered fair game. Luckily, she seemed to get the hint, and she thoroughly washed her hands. I was grateful for that much, but of course, my timing was poor, and I finished up with the diaper changing at the exact moment the woman was drying her hands, so she followed us--very closely--out the door, trying to keep up conversation the entire way. I hate to be rude--especially to little old ladies--but come on!

I think my shining moment of utter protective motherhood was at a party, when an elderly woman I'd never met before exclaimed, "I've been watching your precious baby all afternoon, and I just had to come over and give this baby a kiss before you leave!" All throughout the party, I'd had to deal with various people stroking her hair, touching her cheeks and grabbing her hands (which go right in her mouth because she sucks on them). The idea of some strange lady kissing my then-four month old was just too much. I didn't care who this lady might be related to, and who I might offend; I put my foot down. I told her--my voice shaking a bit with nervousness but also indignation--that she would NOT be kissing my child when there were so many germs floating around and Bryony's immune system was still so fragile. The woman seemed taken aback at first, but then she nodded and smiled and apologized. She said, "You're absolutely right. I should have known better. You're a good mother, protecting your new baby like that!" I felt empowered and very strong for my daughter's sake. I felt proud.

But, none of this means that I'll have the nerve (or quick timing) to stop strangers from touching her in the future. Instead, I think I'll have to break out the cardboard and thick black marker, and start working on our sign:

Before you touch me: Get me sick, pay my medical bills.

We'll see if that keeps 'em away.

Jersey Girl

Bryony made her first visit out to the NY/NJ area last weekend to visit the Mittman side of the family. This also coincided with Halloween, which we were lucky enough to celebrate with Aunt Christine and her family. It was such a pleasure to spend time with the Mittmans and many thanks to Uncle Scott and Aunt Christine for putting us up (or rather, putting up with us)! See you again really soon!


Aunt Christine picked us up from the airport and entertained us for the evening. Bryony LOVED her aunt!


Meeting Dad's brother Uncle Scott...he's so silly!


Just by coincidence, Dad's cousin Adrian was in town visiting his fiancee Wendy. We were happy Bryony got a chance to meet them.


Bryony really took to Wendy.


Grandpa Cal was so happy to meet his granddaughter; and she was so happy to meet him!


Uncle Scott is trying to steal Bryony's brains...!


Grandpa, you're not really leaving now, are you? The night is young!


Christine's mum lent Bryony a Tigger costume for Halloween. We had such fun trick-or-treating, even if we didn't collect any candy!


Christine's mum enjoyed having a little baby in the house


Aunt Christine got into the Halloween spirit as Yo-gabba-gabba


Uncle Joe is so gentle and sweet that Bryony fell asleep on his chest.


Hanging out with Aunt Christine near evening's end.


Saying good-bye to Uncle Scott and Aunt Christine before heading to the airport.


Back in Lansing airport, Mama took a picture of us in the ladies' bathroom.


Mama and Bryony, two travellin' gals, home again, home again.