If James Could Speak

He would say that the two worst words in the English language are "nasal aspirator."

He has a bad cold. When Mary gets sick she spends all day on the sofa wrapped in blankets, napping, watching TV, getting plenty of fluids and chicken soup. She's more quiet than usual, but she's game enough to give us a watery smile now and then through her cloud of used Kleenex.

James, on the other hand, is furious when he has a cold. I do feel bad for him; how would anyone feel held down to a changing table with a bulby blue thing stuck up their nose?

***

It's weird and novel sensation for me to go through the clothes that Mary and James have outgrown, and instead of saying "Oh, some day some hypothetical future baby can wear this," -- saying, "The baby can wear this NEXT WINTER."

I didn't mean to give the impression that we're not delighted by the arrival of Baby 3 (or Pogo, as he/she is known around here). It's true that I'm scared for all kinds of reasons*, but both Bill and I are very happy in a giddy, oh-boy, leap of faith kind of way.

(Mary, on the other hand, is incredulous. "But you just had a baby.")

Obviously it's going to be a rough couple of years for all of us, but at least we know from experience (Mary) that there's light at the end of the tunnel. And that light, when it comes, is very beautiful and very bright.


*A sampling:

1) How am I going to take care of two babies in diapers, when I'm notoriously selfish and short-tempered?
2) How unfair is it that Jamie only gets to be "the baby" for a short time?
3) How am I going to cope with the ordeal of another C-section delivery and recovery when the memory of the last one is so hellishly fresh in my mind?

Back After A Long Hiatus

But I have a pretty good excuse.

Last Monday I took Mary to a birthday party at a skating rink in Culver City. We almost didn't go because it was raining very hard. I'm a native Californian -- a heavy rain to us is like a blizzard to normal people.

On the drive over, I began to feel kind of crappy -- headachy and a little nauseated, as if I might be getting a migraine. The skating rink was ridiculously crowded and cold (lots of helpful strangers telling me that the baby should really be wearing a hat) and Mary was disconsolate because her father wasn't there to skate with her. I don't know how to ice skate, so we came to a compromise: she hugged the inside edges of the rink while I tried to maneuver the stroller through the crowds along the outside, saying encouraging things to her. After the skating was over, we had to locate her shoes, locate a place to change into her shoes, and then transport the baby, stroller, etc. up the stairs to the second floor party space.

I hustled everyone out right after the cake and made it home without barfing -- hurray! I put Jamie down for his evening nap, plopped Mary in front of the television (“Angry Beavers” and “Rocko’s Modern Life” are her favorite shows these days, along with -- I’m not kidding -- “My Name is Earl”) and then called Bill. “I’m taking a nap,” I told him. “Please come home early and pick up a pregnancy test on your way home.”

So ...

Yes. Pregnant. Due August 29, 2006. I'm unsure of how I'm going to handle two children under the age of two, but what the hell -- in for a penny, in for a pound, I always say, and since we've already started along this road to penury and chaos, we might as well do it up right. Right?

Oy.

Whew!

It's taken me this long to get over the horror that was the yard sale.

Actually, it wasn't that bad, except for the first hour, which was hellish. It all began at 7:45 am, when Bill told a lady, "We don't open until 9, but you're free to come in and look around." I gave him a look of death, because we weren't anywhere near ready and I had put "no early birds" in the ad, but by then it was too late. The floodgates had opened.

So we had the baby, way past naptime, screaming in my arms. Two women fighting over Mary's pink and purple LeapPad ($3). Little old lady trying to bargain me down from $3 to $1 on a pair of vintage embroidered pillowcases with the argument that "they're used." Cat trapped on the roof meowing piteously. One person berating me for opening the sale early, when SHE WAS THERE EARLY HERSELF! Mary in tears until we finally agreed to let her hold her own cashbox and make her own sales, even though it was horribly inconvenient for everyone, never mind that she's a seven-year old with inconsistent math skills and no calculator, not even a pencil and paper because there was no time to run into the house to get it. Plus some buyers who I think may have had borderline personality disorders, no kidding. Oh, and no change. ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

We sold the sofa to friends. The baby didn't sell for some reason. So we packed him up and took him to Out of the Closet with everything else that didn't sell.

Kidding! If I were going to get rid of the baby, I'd sell him on eBay.

Anyway, it's over -- we made a nice pile of money, even selling things cheaply, and got rid of a lot of clutter. Hurray!

Yard Sale Tomorrow!

We're having a yard sale tomorrow morning and I've been a little grumpy about the additional work, because Bill has a script to finish and hasn't been as big a help as he might have been. But he sent this to me, so now I'm feeling a little more charitable.

Indiana Wants Me / But I Can't Go Back There

There comes a time in the life of every young American where you are required to do a report on one of the fifty states, and create some unwieldy prop to go along with it. I think it might even be in the Constitution.

Mary chose Indiana. I have no idea why. She said she liked the name (maybe because her middle name is India?). In the course of her research, we discovered that Indiana produces corn and soybeans, that it was the nineteenth state admitted to the union, and that the torch in the flag stands for enlightenment and something else that I don't remember. She cut out all the yellow parts herself and we glued it together last night. She was very proud of it, and I think her pride is entirely justified.

I loved the idea of a flag costume, mostly because I thought it would be funny, like Lisa Simpson's terrible Florida costume in that episode of the Simpsons where Marge develops a gambling problem. "I'm not a state! I'm a monster!"

Ayelet Waldman wrote an article on homework in Salon a couple of weeks ago where she recounted stories of "mind-numbing make-work" given to kids in even the youngest grades.

"But my favorite is Carlie Williams' nephew. Assigned to construct a relief map of one of the 50 states out of plaster of Paris, the boy chose Nebraska. He made a flat rectangle. As his aunt said, 'You've got to love a kid who puts into the assignment exactly the effort it's worth.'"

Baby + Standard Time = Misery

The time change has thrown us all for a loop. My brain is so frazzled that I can't even remember if I've lost an hour or gained an hour. All I know is that it's dark outside when the baby wakes up.

Gomez, our fourteen year old cat, has suffered from some kind of crazy feline anxiety disorder since he was a kitten. Last night he sprayed Mary's Halloween costume, which had to be ready for her school's Halloween parade today. Stella, the girl cat, sneaks bites of Gomez's food, which is filled with medications for his thyroid disease and upset stomach, and barfs it up later. She's very lurky; her favorite thing is to slink into the bedroom when no one is looking, wait until you've closed the door and fallen asleep, and then pound on the door to be let out.

Last night I suggested to Bill that we both run away and leave the children and animals to fend for themselves, but I didn't really mean it. I wouldn't mind a night in a nice hotel, though.

In other, craftier, news, I went to the Knit Cafe for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I'm usually a Wildfiber kind of girl, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop in. It's tiny but charming, with a friendly salesclerk and a small but good selection of yarn. I still think Wildfiber is the best yarn store in Los Angeles, though -- they have a whole wall of Koigu!

Anyway, I bought the new Knitted Babes book by Claire Garland. I'm completely obsessed.



We've named her Nessa. Her dress is made out of an Oilily hankie that I never thought I'd find a good use for.



You'd think she'd be more appreciative of the handknit undies, but all she does is complain that they're "mumsy."

Thank you, Carmen !!!

from Carmen to Rachel
Originally uploaded by Grouchy Muse.

I don't usually go in for multiple exclamation points, but I think this situation called for it. I finally opened my Vintage Swap package from Carmen, and I was thrilled to find so many wonderful things, all selected with obvious care. Check out the fabulous plastic baby hanger! The wonderful little glittered Halloween tags! The pretty strawberry pin cushion!

She also included vintage greeting cards, which I love, and some vintage buttons, ditto:

This last thing is my favorite. A wonderful little metal sewing kit with a drawing on the front. I'm going to have to hide it from Mary.



Thank you so much for everything, Carmen! I feel very fortunate to have had such a great swap partner -- fun, nice, and with excellent taste! What more could a person want?