Why Can’t I Look At My Kids’ Baby Pictures Without Crying?

Look at these photos.  Adorable, right?  How do they make you feel?  Warm and fuzzy maybe?  Wistful?  Well, they kill me.  Send me into a tailspin of tears, and no, I am not PMS-ing.

It all started a few days ago, innocently enough, to show McLean some videos of when he was a baby.  I had been dreading dragging them out of the hard drive and putting them in the new photo system on the laptop we got forever ago because I knew what was going to happen.  Even Derek saw the videos coming out while he was making dinner and quietly uttered an “uh-oh.”  He knew I would be binge-watching videos of both kids being babies; they would be laughing hysterically at themselves and I would be crying hysterically.  At they baby-ness.

I don’t even remember recording them.  Any of them.  I don’t even recognize my own voice.  I had a different Baby Mama Voice.  It was soft and encouraging and amused:  “Hey, big fella!  Whatchoo doin’?  You sure are working those muscles for tummy time.  Look at you go!” over the soft little be-boop-de-boop-de-boop sounds their cute little toys made.  Breastfeeding pillow ever-present like a third pet.

Those videos are nothing like the Naggy Bitch Voice I constantly engage these days whilst shouting to be heard over the Warriors game or Teen Titans Go:  “You forgot to put the toilet seat down!  Close your mouth when you chew!  We’re leaving in TWO MINUTES WHY ARE YOU STILL NOT DRESSED?  Don’t wipe your nose on the couch, ew!  I have enough to do around here without picking up your scrillions of Legos!” etc., etc.

The thing is, back then, I can only recall a feeling of being overwhelmed, not the peaceful serene little snippets I see in the videos.  The first one overwhelmed me with how much sheer heartbreaking love I felt for him that seemed to engulf my very soul.  Took over my being completely.  The long hours.  The lack of sleep.  The confusion of constantly feeling lonely but never being alone.  And the ever-present mother’s love that everyone tells you about but you are never prepared for just how earth-shattering and deep it really is.

Then the second one came and I cried constantly because I loved him just as much as his brother, but was also reminiscing about the first one being a baby, and all those profound emotions.  My strongest memory of that time is McLean loving the show Yo Gabba Gabba, and the episode about babies was his favorite.  Every time I heard the songs on that episode I just broke down into tears.  It was like a Pavlovian response.  And dealing with even less sleep, more work, less time for myself.  These videos are my only real link to that time, to that person I was, to the eyes I saw my little world through.

I also didn’t realize it at the time, but I was really unhappy with where we lived.  Now we live somewhere else, and though I didn’t think I had any attachment to the house we left, I realize now in looking at it in the photos and videos that I do.  It was the first home my babies knew, and there are things about it that I really miss now:  the huge backyard, the master suite, the old bathroom tile.  Things we did to make it cute and make it ours that we can’t do in a 100 year old rental home that is quite literally crumbling at the edges due to lack of TLC.  I really wished we could have picked up our house and dropped it here in SLO.  But at the time, I lumped the house in with all the other things I had grown disenfranchised with about living in the area and I just wanted a new beginning.

I love where we live now, so much.  It was the best decision for our family and I would do it all again.  But I feel a little sad now about the skid marks I left driving away from my kids’ first home.

What is the point of this post?  I don’t know.  Does missing your children as babies ever go away?  I hope so.  Because eventually I will have to make a baby photo album, right?

Aren't They Adorable?

Heaven

Dear McLean,

Some days you are just hungrier than others.  About once a week or so, there is a 48-hour period during which you must eat every hour and a half and you let it be known with your newfound strong lungs if the grace period for the current feeding has expired.  I suppose it takes a lot of food to maintain the title of Longest Baby In The World, which is why I don’t complain about it.  Somebody’s got to empty these giant milk jugs and it might as well be you.

But something sounded different when I put you down for your nap today.  You had already eaten and been changed.  You made this pleading cry that I hadn’t really heard before, and it wasn’t just naptime fussing.  You had just eaten, so it couldn’t be that.  I had just changed your diaper due to a huge assex (that would be ass explosion for those of you not familiar with my vernacular), so it couldn’t be that.  You were so very tired from being up half the night eating, but you just couldn’t sleep.  You can’t talk yet, but you kept repeating “ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma. . . “  I went in and picked you up and held you against my chest and sat in the easy chair.  You wrapped your long little arms around my neck and lay your head on my breast and promptly fell asleep.  You just wanted Mama, and that was all.

A few silent minutes went by and then suddenly Uncle Rufus came running in from the living room, whining anxiously like he always does when you cry.  Only this time he wasn’t whining at you.  He was whining at me.  “WHAT IS WRONG????” his wrinkled up brow and concerned eyes pleaded.  Your mama was crying like a baby.

I have long believed that we create our own heaven or hell right here on earth.  A shift in attitude can bring the greatest joy into the most hellish of circumstances.  And likewise, all the money and fame and accomplishment in the world cannot bring true happiness to anyone.  It’s an inside job.  This is something I want to teach you as you grow up.  You are not responsible for my happiness, but in that moment that you slept on me, I felt heaven on earth in the very depths of my soul.  The only other moment that came close was the day I married your father.  And as I sat there with you, I thought how incredibly fortunate I am.  I am the richest woman in the world.  I’ve been through some heavy times in my life and had terrible moments of despair.  But they were all like cobblestones paving the way for me to have you enter my life. 

When we made the decision to have a baby, I didn’t know at the time that I needed you, specifically you, one in a billion you.  But here you are.  To say “I love you” just seems so very inadequate, but it’s all I have.  I love you.

Of course, I couldn’t very well explain this to Uncle Rufus, so I just told him it was okay and, believing me, he curled up on the monkey rug and the three of us stayed that way for at least an hour until you woke up, ready to eat again.  Ready to hang out in our little slice of heaven.

Love,

Mama

Berfday and Godbaby Extravaganza

Oh man, I love me some godbaby. She is just flat-out and hands-down the most adorable, happy, smiley, radiant little creature on the planet. But I'm not biased.

I held her, I played with her, I read to her, I listened to her views on Little Brown Nut Hare vs. Little Rabbit. I was hoping to read her the all-time children's classic Everybody Poops, but alas, it was not amongst her extensive collection. [Note to Godbaby-Mama: This is a must-read. So is Captain Underpants And The Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants.]

I watched in awe as she sat on the floor and giggled in response to The Big Brown Dog constantly sniffing her, licking her head, nibbling at her diaper. She just simply was not fazed by him one bit, but he was sure fazed by her. I've never seen him so nervous before, and I realized he hadn't yet really been around someone that young, and a 9-month-old baby is quite akin to a very drunk person: they wobble, they teeter, they fall unexpectedly, they make strange noises. I think he was afraid her little drunk ass was going to fall over all the time, not to mention all the great smells coming out of her diaper. Forget butts -- diaper smell is THE SHIT, people!

Here he is, all like "Awwwwwwyeah, diaper booty gettin' in mah bed!":

The below photo is mildly deceiving since Babe also took quite a shine to the Young Juliette. She doesn't ordinarily display a particular fondness for persons under the age of 21 now that she is older and just can't be bothered. But she wanted to sit next to Juliette at all times. Not lick her, not sniff her, just sit beside her and look proud. It was so cute.

But in this photo, she seems to be saying "Oh heyall naw bitch, you ain't getting in this bed! You're cutting into naptime, punk!" And it's not even her bed -- it's actually Rufus' bed that he graciously shares with her when her own bed is just not deemed as being sufficient for Her Royal Pugness:


And here she is again, giving you the ol' stinkeye:

So I got sick the day before my berfday (WTF???) which really blew, but I still managed to have a great one anyway. Several adoring fans came over to oooh and aahhh the Darling Godbaby, but here are a couple of preliminary photos from Jillie until I get mine out of jail in the camera:

Here's me and MY FIANCÉ (squeeeeeeee! love saying that!) -- pigging out for a little pre-berfday celebration at Buca di Beppo in Encino. Man, I love that place. You walk in hungry, and you leave full for a week. And Bonus: it's within stumbling distance of our house.
But the real treat was having my precious friend in the house for four days, and remembering all over again how great she is, and how God was smiling on me the day I was placed next to her at that shark tank-- I mean law firm-- all those years ago. I love you, Jillie-pew:

White Trash A-Go-Go

In all the hoopla that has been my engagement, I neglected to tell the story of the white-trashiest house I have ever seen. Allow me to dispense with said story now.

Kristi and I were out walking the hounds in beautiful, cozy, diverse Chico. When I say diverse, I mean all over the map: You’ve got your college kids, your old-timers who have lived in Chico longer than God (i.e., Grammy), hippies, slackers, sportos, motorheads, geeks, sluts, pinheads, dweebies, wonkers, richies, they all think Chico is a righteous place (okay, sorry, had to go with the Ferris Bueller moment there).

Anyway, as newly soon-to-be-sisters-in-law, we were chatting away about all things deep and meaningful and pertinent when I was stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of this:

Holy crap! Now, don't get me wrong. I love me some mudflap girl. I have one on a wife beater that I wear out on nights I am feeling particularly sassy. I also have a very interesting pair of clear shoes that have the iconic symbol embedded right in the platform part of the shoe, courtesy of my adorable fiancé (man, that was fun to say -- fiancé, fiancé, fiancé) who has a wee bit of a shoe fetish. So those shoes don't see the light of day much. Okay, ever. But tell me, who actually has these anymore on anything other than an item that bespeaks some sense of irony or maybe costume jewelry? This is so old school trashy, I was struck speechless for a moment.

But then my eye took in the trashtastic glory of the rest of the yard. Somebody had taken it upon themselves to actually plant, in the ground, a big huge long row of SILK FLOWERS. Of all colors and varieties, but all silk, and all covered in a layer of dust. Planted. In the ground. Like we wouldn’t notice they weren’t real.

As we moved further along this display of tacky splendor, we noticed the backyard, which was in full view, had a garden gnome and a smattering of auto parts strewn about.

I half-expected Britney Spears to come trotting out and offer us some Cheetos. But alas, nobody came out. And we walked on, inspired and awed by what we had seen.

And speaking of inspired and awed, yesterday Kristi said the funniest thing to me that I have heard in perhaps a fortnight. She was complaining about her boss who has been, shall we say, mildly frustrating to deal with lately. "He's driving me to drink Arbor Mist every night," she lamented.

Oh. dear. God. How can you not love a girl who hits the Arbor Mist when the times are tough?

Something tells me I'm going to fit in just fine with this family.

I’m Engaged! I’m Engaged! I’m Engaged!

Yes, you read it right: Derek popped the question and (big surprise) -- I said yes. Actually it was more like YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! Want the full story? I’ll tell you how it went down just in case the Enquirer gets it wrong.

So we went to Chico this past Thursday to visit Derek’s Grammy. I know I’ve told you about her before -- sweet, feisty lady, nearing 102 years old, golfs like it’s going out of style, can whip up a mean peach cobbler, I could go on and on. I love the woman something fierce. Anyhoo, Derek and I went to lunch at his fave cheesesteak place which has now opened up a location in Chico. We stuffed our faces and decided to go for a walk in Bidwell Park to work off the stuffage. Bidwell Park is one of the largest municipal parks in the country and quite beautiful. We were meandering around on a trail that looked quite like this:
The park was deserted since it was a Friday, and we found ourselves wandering deeper into the foliage. It got deathly quiet. The squeals from the nearby swimming hole were now long gone.

Me: Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?

Derek: Heh heh.

(silence)

Me: No, seriously.

Derek: Actually, quite the opposite. I have something for you.

Me (confused, thinking): Is it a shank? Or is it that Tastycake thingy he saw me eyeballing at the cheesesteak place by the cash register?

Just about then we arrived at this beautiful little pond, all green and mossy with stones in it -- the sun glinting through the tree overhead just so. It was quite a sight.

Derek: Here, I want to give you something. (turning his back)

Me: Here it comes, he’s gonna cut me, or he’s gonna give me a tasty treat for being such a nice girlfriend. Either way, I better be prepared. Let’s see, how does that go? Over the teeth and past the gums, look out stomach here it---

Derek turned around and handed me a little box. Every girl knows what that little box is. It is THE box. My heart started pounding and my hands started to shake. Holy crap, that is THE box! I opened the box slowly and sitting in its little cushion was the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen in my life, swear to God and Jesus and all the saints. Like it was made for me. Just perfect.

Derek: It was Grammy’s engagement ring.

Me: (choking up)

He got down on one knee. In the dirt. And it was scruffy dirt too, not nice hard-packed dirt. Seriously dirty dirt. Normally a thing that Derek would avoid at all costs. He and dirt are not friends.

Derek: Punkin, will you marry me?

Me: YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES, YES!

He slid the ring on my finger. And it fit perfectly. Then the real crying started. Was this really happening to me? I couldn't believe it.

I’ve never been much of a jewelry person, but I couldn’t believe how much sentimental feeling was wrapped up in this little ring. I couldn’t stop staring at it. So many loved ones had been touched by this ring -- an adored husband, children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, friends. And now the man who will be my husband was giving it to me. And the more I looked at it, the more it made me cry. Tears of joy. Tears of gratitude.

We hurried home to tell Grammy. She said she hopes we will have as many happy years as she had with her beloved husband. And I believe we definitely will.

More Kauai Photos

Greetings and salutations! Hello, even! Hi! How ya doin'? Oh yah? How's things? [Kauai says hello]:


Shave ice being consumed in mass quantities. Again. At -- where else? -- Shave Ice Paradise.

I believe this section of beach is called "Why you think they call it the 'Garden State', Goofy Mainlander?"

Finally! A shot of the beloved little pond with the precious lily pads! I see this pond in my dreams. [God bless Sue for getting the shot.]
Hey, Sexy Mainlander. Yo quiero poi.

Come Vacay With Me

Okay, it should be stated that I am a craptastic photographer, but it is difficult to make anything in Kauai look bad. There are quite a few photos here, but it was so hard to edit anything out besides the ones that showcase my beer belly. There is just so much beautalaciousness to be seen. I hope you enjoy.

This was our lovely condo. My dumb ass forgot to take photos of the adorable pond on the other side of the building where our patio was, which had lily pads (I mean! Could it BE more precious?)-- dolphin sculptures, and croaking frogs at night. But anyway, here is the front. Kewt, right?

Derek and Kimo enjoying their newfound occupation: Chillaxin'.

This was where our luau was. Tropical Paradise is right -- it was stunning:

There were peacocks running all over the place there. They make this really loud whooping mating call that could be heard throughout dinner. Here is one just hanging out. He's all "Hey, what up G's?"

Schwing!!!! And here he is when a chick walks by:


Prettiest. Smiliest. People. EVAR.

Prettiest. Smiliest-- No, just kidding. Here we are all fat and happy after the food-fest:

Like I said, they OWN your ass. And your stinking beach toys. Deal with it.

This guy was hanging around the waterfalls, and was giving me the ol' stinkeye after I commented on his poor parenting skills, but I mean . . .

His kids were hanging out by the cars unattended and stuff and he didn't even care! Absentee Dads . . .

Preeeetttyyyyy . . .

More pretty. See the rainbows? It is Kauai's way of saying Hi!

Someday, all of this could be mine.

This is the plant that goes "EW!" when you touch it. Apparently, it is not fond of children either.

Bro and Sis chillin'. You can't tell by this photo, but we could look down into this pool and see giant sea turtles swimming around. I'm not sure what Derek is saying in this photo, but I believe it is something along the lines of "This Totally Does Not Suck" (TTDNS Enterprises, LLC©)

Considering this was taken the eve before we had to leave, it's hard to believe we are smiling. But we donned our aloha wear and we put on our game face and tried to just pretend that this could go on forever.

I can't wait to go back.

Roosterbitch: Reporting Live From The Most Freaking Beautiful Place On Earth

[This post is dedicated to Kimo: Rich called. He wants his person back. I told him to go eat some spam and shut the hell up and don't call this number again.]

Things you learn while hanging in the Most Freaking Beautiful Place On Earth:

1) Your hair is not going to do anything you want it to and you are just going to have to accept the fact that your lustrous locks are going to frizz and puff and pouf like a giant fro and you will look like a giant Q-tip head throughout much of your vacay, but it's so freaking beautiful here you really don't give a crap.

2) Poi kinda doesn't really taste that great, unless you put it on something else, like mahi mahi or chicken. Then it tastes pretty darn good.

3) Your toes develop confinement issues. They get so used to walking around nekkid or in flip-flops all the time, so if you put them in actual shoes (as I made the mistake of doing this morning for a walk), your toes are all "Bitch, WHAT? Exqueeze me? Oh no you di'int! WTF, over? Have you seen the super-festive paint job on these toenails that is going to waste in here? I mean!" Especially the last three toes on my left foot (which are known rabble-rousers) -- they did not let up their complaining all the way back to the condo.

4) Hawaiians are ridiculously beautiful people. I'm serious. Forget Czechoslovakia -- this place has the models. And they smile a lot. Being a life-long super smiley person, this is something I really appreciate. I go through life smiling like a damn fool everywhere I go (I can't help it!), and there is nothing worse than being met by a scowl in return. It just pisses my shit off. That is not the case here. You smile at someone, and they smile back at you. It rules.

5) The one exception to the smiley-happy rule came not in human, but plant form. There is this freaktastic plant that no one knows the name of, that if you touch it, it's like a reverse Venus Flytrap -- it bends away from you in a recoiling fashion as if to say "Ewwwww! Dirty mainlander, don't TOUCH me!!!! Gross! Ew, you did it again, STOP TOUCHING ME! I'M TELLING!"

6) Shave ice rules. No, not shaved ice. SHAVE ice. Most. Refreshing. Taste sensation. EVAR.

7) You start scheming with family members as to how you can move here and manage to scrape out a living. Kristi and I came up with the brilliant idea of serving beer in coconut shells to the tourists, while Derek and Kimo start a construction company and build us a compound to live in. We would name the beer/coconut stand Derek's Spleen. The parent company of our businesses would be called TTDNS Enterprises, LLC. Which stands for the mantra we have been repeating all week: "This TOTALLY Does Not Suck." Our brilliant logo that Kimo came up with would be the word SUCK with a slash through it. Brilliant, right? I think it could work...

8) The place is OWNED by roosters. Yeah, I'm totally serious. After Hurricane Iniki blasted all the chicken coops, the roosters got out and became wild, and they hang out everywhere you go in Kauai, sort of like wanna-be directors do in L.A. They're on the roadsides, the beaches, your patio. And they have no internal timing as to when they crow. They just do it whenever, even if it's the middle of the night, just to remind you that they OWN YOUR ASS AND YOU BETTER REMEMBER IT, BITCH AND WE WILL SING FEELINGS, NOTHING MORE THAN FEELINGS, AT 4:00 A.M. IF WE BLOODY WELL FEEL LIKE IT, MAINLANDER BITCHES! Which is fine, because the place is so freaking beautiful, you don't mind being a rooster's bitch. You sit there and you thank your lucky stars that you even managed to get here, and wonder what you did to deserve to be in a place so spectacular.