Happy birthday, little dude.

New things:

• tooth, one. Poked through so you can feel it. You won't let us look. But it was kinda how I thought it would be. Andrew poked his finger in, said you had a tooth. I called bullshit, because you hadn't been giving us grief. Andrew 1, me 0. Since then, of course, sleeping is SO 2008, Mother!
  
• hair, some. It's getting there.
  
• um, locomotion, lots. Inspired, apparently, by your love for all things digital and buttony. I sense either a lot of vigilance in our living room or a complete redesign involving height and fences. Maybe a moat. We'll see.
  
• food, more than lots. Your grandfather fed you one day and was amazed that he had to keep going back and making more food. "And then I gave him peas," he said. "Suddenly, he was full!" Yeah, it's like that. I've been making your food and it's been awesome, but I'm starting not being able to keep up. More cheerios make it into your mouth than onto the floor, and that's a big accomplishment.
  

We're coming to the end of our glorious three week break together, what with the week of ARCTIC BLAST and then winter break. It's like blam! you got hit with the growing stick, and now you can't get enough. You're really into experimenting with your voice, from growls to squeaks to absolutely awesome high-pitched shrieks which make Matilda run for cover.

More videos to come, so I'll be sure to embarass you online as much and whenever possible. So, you know, big-dude-who's-already-wearing-18month-clothes, beware. I'm armed with a new video recorder, and dangerous.

Love you, baby boy.
Mama

Arctic Blast

Backyard
Originally uploaded by karijean

Last week, during school, we had some lame-ass Snow Days.

THIS is a real snow day. Andrew (of course) still went into work today, but the rest of the city is literally frozen in its tracks. And I don't say "literally" meaning "figuratively". I mean, planes are going nowhere (hence why we're still here--Andrew's family will have to wait to meet Howie), garbage hasn't been picked up, and the shelves of our grocery store are rapidly becoming bare. The UPS guy was spotted down the street--his truck couldn't drive the street and he was walking packages door to door. That is dedication.

I took some pictures of our view, this is the first of them. Take a look!

So... remember when I said it never snows here? Yeah, about that....

Winter crazy

Winter temperature
Originally uploaded by karijean

It has not stopped snowing today.

The television networks are calling this "Arctic Blast! 2008" and other crazy hyperbole. Wednesday was entirely devoted to live television coverage at various points around the city, which was ridiculous because aside from a brief period Monday morning, the city has been entirely drivable and not even close to being snowed in.

Today, however, is another story. The entire town is hunkering down for what may be a prolonged period of isolation and snow storminess. Or, as the midwest would call it, "Saturday".

This would be entirely awesome if we were staying here for the holidays, but we're not. Tomorrow we're supposed to fly to the midwest.

Travelling with a baby is entirely different from travelling by yourself. Travelling by yourself, you can pack a week early (if you want to) or pack the morning of. Throw some shit in a bag, bring your ID and a book, hey! good to go.

Travelling with an eight month old? You have to consider how much you'll need to feed him during your travelling time. (flight leaves at two, we get to the airport at noon, fly until 8 Chicago time which is 6 in Portland so... carry the two... we're travelling for twelve hours and apparently he'll have to eat five times and have six bottles? Whatever, just pack too much and assume he won't eat it all) Clothes. PJs. Toys. Blankets. Diapers. Wipes. Dear heaven and all the gods in it... when do I get to pack my own shit? Because don't forget car seat (the rental agency only has forwards-facing ones) and booster seat/high chair.

Talk about makin' a list and checkin' it twice.

So all day today has been packing and laundry and packing and organizing and list making. Uploading pictures because we won't be back here for a week. Charging various batteries, phones, cameras, and other electronic apparatuses (apparati?). All while juggling a totally inconsiderate eight month old who wants to do things like eat and crawl and get his diapers changed... can you believe it??

At any rate, our wee family is (hopefully) off to the midwest for more snow and family and a white Christmas, and will be back on the 26th, you know, assuming the gods don't choose to let loose with the fury of flurry at that end either. So if we don't see you before then, a merriest of seasons for you and yours!

Blizzard, 2008: Update

Okay, so now I'm as bad as my students. I'm obsessively refreshing the news sites hoping to see my school district. No luck yet.

And in the meantime? I haven't done my homework. My excuse though: earlier today, the laptop I'd been using went all blue-screen on me. Looking at a long day indoors, and possibly more than one day, horror filled me. An entire day? Without Scramble????

My husband, though, found an old laptop and over the course of this afternoon, scrubbed it and reinstalled XP and IE (at the highest version that this old dinosaur can handle). I don't have Office, but at least I have email. I may not have married rich, but I sure married smart.

I'm off to cook dinner. And refresh a few sites.

Snow! The great blizzard of 2008... okay, blizzard-ish

Dear Mr. and Ms. Weathercaster and the entire Weather.com family of networks,

The PNW cannot deal with snow. They cannot deal with the idea of snow. Unless it's safely up a mountain and then they snowboard. But snow? In driveways???? GOOD GOD MAN STOCK UP ON WATER AND HUNKER DOWN!

Make those Pacific Northwesterners teenagers and tell them that it might maybe just possibly snow this weekend, maybe, and it's like you sprinkled magic fairy dust on everyone and then pulled a unicorn out of your ass. Work? Homework? Reading? Math? HAVEN'T YOU HEARD IT MIGHT SNOW? WOMAN! HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO WORK IF IT MIGHT SNOW???

So on behalf of teachers throughout Northern California, Oregon, and Washington, I have a small request: if you think it might snow at anything less than 1000 feet of altitude, can you keep it to yourself? Until it actually does start snowing? Because now, whether or not we have a "snow" day on Monday (which we might very well even if it doesn't snow because even the scent of snow is enough to call off school), I humbly predict 80% of my students will not have done their homework. BECAUSE IT MIGHT SNOW.

Thanks,
Ms. Kari

Microfamous!

Dude! I'm microfamous!

I'm in there. Yes, yes, I am Shit Filled Underwear.

Seven (and a half) months

Dear Howie,

It was inevitable, really. Apparently, ear infections run in our family.

But you know what, peanut? Our only clue that you were sick? Was the unending river of nasty that ran out of your ear. There was no petulance, no ear-grabbing, no sleepless nights, no refusal to eat, fevers, clinginess, nothing. Your ear just looked like you'd shoved a handful of pear puree in your ear--repeatedly--daily--hourly. And then let it slowly leak out. Think runny nose. Only out your ear.

Grossed out yet? Happy to share, my son!

Apparently your eardrum ruptured ("Totally normal," your doctor says. Which--ew!) which meant that your ear was infected enough to tear through your eardrum and you still were your rosy-cheeked, sweet, normal, investigative self.

Like, seriously? To paraphrase a famous nun, I must have done something damn good to deserve you.

Thanksgiving with you was a blast and a half. Mashed potatoes sent you into raptures of gnarlitude, complete with choking and shudders and wiping your tongue. Mark me, I will remind you of this when you go for thirds when you're a teenager, because that was certainly what you looked like--a teenager being asked to try something like kimchee or brussel sprouts, which, by the way, do deserve the whole-body shudders. Mashed potatoes, you will find out, most assuredly do not.

But yams and squash and pears and apples and bananas and peaches and beans and peas are all A-OK by you. I pick you up from daycare every day, and if you're awake, you see me across the room and grin and you've started holding your hands out to each side as a "Pick me UP!" signal which I never thought could turn my heart to mush but it so does. We run home and settle in and you sit in your high chair and nibble on Cheerios while I put your dinner together and then I sit down with your daily dish and I can't get it in you fast enough--you lead with your open mouth like a baby bird, but you have conversations with me the entire time.

You've got things to say, kid.

I know I only have like two weeks until your next monthly letter is due, but we have a lot of crap to do in the meantime. It's your first Christmas, homey! Your first plane trip, your first meeting with the rest of your cousins and aunts and uncles and don't worry, you won't be expected to know everyone's names (I'm still working on it) and your first true overnight outside of your home, but this is gonna be awesome.

You are SO close to crawling. You sit--you're pretty expert at that now--not quite black belt but definitely red belt--and there's something juuuuuust beyond your reach. You reach--and reach--and reach--and one of your feet goes behind your butt--and you reach--but that other leg just stays stuck in front of you. I love sitting near you and just watching as your focus keeps you trying. I don't know if you'll wait til 2009 to crawl.

There's one more milestone that you haven't hit yet, though, dude. I don't want to pressure you, but it starts with t and rhymes with shmeeth. No one never grows teeth, right? It's not a criticism, because my nipples are appreciative, but... dude, you don't even have blisters as if teeth are even coming soon. I'm not freaking out (exactly)... it's just weird.

So I have one small request--you've put it off this long, can you wait til we're done with airtravel before deciding to finally join the dental bandwagon? Thanks, buds, that'd be great. Because knowing you, you're going to go from toothless to BAM! an Orbit grin, like, overnight. One long, sleepless, cranky overnight.

Or, maybe you feel no pain and like your ears, my first clue will be your mouth full of teeth. In which case, either you are awesome or we are the most un-noticing parents in the history of parents. You know, either way.

Stay cool, kiddo.

xoxo
your mama.

Dear Self,

You know how today has sucked? How, even though it was a "day off", you've done nothing but grade old stats assignments? And how you haven't even made a dent on the quizzes and tests that need to be graded? And you haven't even STARTED entering these grades?

Right? This has sucked.

DON'T DO THIS TO YOURSELF EVER AGAIN. Asshole. This back up? This overflowing-toilet of homeworkness and looseleaf lined paper that has taken over your dining room because you needed TWO BOXES to get it home to grade over your HOLIDAY WEEKEND? YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF. Asshole. AND RUINED YOUR HOLIDAY WEEKEND. Asshole.

For the love of little green apples, DON'T LET YOURSELF GET THIS BEHIND EVER AGAIN.

Asshole.

Love,
you.

Friday Friday Friday!

It's Friday!

No new posts on single-parenting as Andrew is home now (as evidenced by the fact that it's 6:15 and I have time to sit down with coffee and type this). Today is Friday and as such might as well be the weekend, and then next week isn't even a full week of school and isn't life so much better when there's holidays to look forward to?

I fell asleep last night at 8:00. Can you tell?

Third weekday: not dead yet.

We fell asleep again. Which makes sense considering "we" were awake at 4. And "we" wouldn't go back to sleep. So "we" decided to get dressed. Then when "we" were too exhausted to continue getting ready and besides which there was still an hour until daycare was even open, "we" decided to lie down. THEN, of course, "we" fell asleep. And ONE of us stayed asleep when the other suddenly sat up and realized it was 6:15.

Thank goodness I'd packed up (almost) everything the night before.

I'm so tired my legs don't feel like they're going to work. I was up late last night doing laundry so that Howie had diaper covers for daycare. Did I remember them this morning, though? No. Nor did I remember to bring a new change of clothes for Mr. Poopy Pants, so hopefully his butt contained itself today or he's coming home in Silly Pants, my new nickname for the donated clothes that daycare has for just such an emergency.

That extra hour and a half of sleep Howie normally gets in the morning, from 6 to 7:30 (or 5:30 to 7) is apparently critical, because he's just been all off on his sleeping schedule. Normally a champion napper, he can't stay asleep at daycare and can't fall asleep on time or on his own and I need to wait until he's completely asleep before putting him down and so he's been going to bed later, waking up earlier and not napping. That sound you hear is my head exploding.

On the bright side, we survived, and I know we could long term if we had to. But--on the even brighter side--thank goodness we don't have to. Andrew gets home at midnight, and we can partner up again.

I miss my partner.

Second weekday: not a failure, but less than successful

This morning. First of all, hearing baby not-quite-crying-but-sure-getting-ready-to, the sound gets incorporated into my not-quite-asleep-but-sure-trying-to-be head and I think Andrew is in there trying Operation Reinsert Pacifier and I keep wondering what's taking so long. Until, duh, Howie starts crying more and I realize that Andrew hasn't been helping at all. So I go scoop him up and bring him into bed with me and we start nursing.

Mistake number 1. Because we both fall back asleep and suddenly it's 6:00 and I have fifteen minutes to get myself presentable and Howie dressed in clothes that he didn't wear yesterday (which he also slept in, by the way, but I wasn't going through the Sunday night "You mean I have to go BACK to sleep?" outrage by waking him up to change him--he fell asleep, let's do everything we can to keep him that way, mmmkay?) and get his food and get my food and get out the door.

Which, by the way, led to Mistake number 2: since we fell asleep while nursing, he only nursed on the one side. So by 10:00 I was gushing leaking down the side he didn't nurse on. And that was WITH wool nursing pads. SO grateful for my fleece jacket.

Which showed me Mistake number 3: I didn't bring my pumping crap. In fact, I left it in its little portable cooler on the dining room floor. Yay me! So I had to bring my pump home and guess what I'm doing as I write this? (edited to add: in fifteen minutes, got nine ounces. Yeah, I didn't plan my morning right at ALL).

Which meant Mistake number 4 was of little consequence: I forgot my lunch.

But I'm home, and we're still alive and he has food and milk and bottles at daycare and he even had socks on, so it couldn't be THAT bad, right?

First weekday: success.

It was a success today in that we're both alive, we've both eaten (thank you Emily!), one of us is asleep and the other almost is, and neither of us went naked.

That reminds me: just before first period today, one of my students snaps her phone shut and says, "Trista (ed--not her real name) just called, she's out in the parking lot and forgot her shoes. Do you mind if I go get her some shoes from my car?" and just like that, skips out of the room. Both girls return within two minutes.

Which leads to several questions--the main one of which is, how do you get all the way to school and then realize you don't have shoes?

Take me for instance. This morning, I got Howie all bundled up and we were in the car and then I realized I forgot his food. And then I realized I forgot my food. And then I realized I forgot my books. But I did all that before I left the driveway. And none of them are parts of me involved in the actual act of driving.

And now, I'm going to go put on comfy pants that have the fuzzy insides, and cuddle up under the comforter and pass out after two pages of my trashy novel.

Single Parenting

How do you do it?

How do single parents do it?

My hat off to every single one of them who has managed to bring up a happy, well-adjusted child without (a) devolving into bankruptcy (b) becoming hopelessly addicted to something or (c) running stark naked through the streets. Actually, check that: my hats off to any single parent who managed to bring up a happy, well-adjusted child. Period full stop. Because DAYUM this shit is HARD, and I've only done it for two days!

Andrew let me know about six weeks ago he'd have to go to New York for a couple days for business. Mmmm, errr, fine, I mean, what am I going to say? no? Seriously. But then suddenly the couple of days was FOUR days and then it was FIVE days and those five days? were from Saturday crack-of-my-butt early to Wednesday-might-as-well-be-Thursday late.

And now here I am, two days in, and I'm beat. I'm sitting here with a great honking glass of Smoking Loon after listening to the monitor for Way Too Long (why don't babies just know they're tired and give it up already????) and there's still the garbage to take out and the dishes to... dish and can I tell you I'm terrified about tomorrow morning?

I've never done the morning routine. That's been Andrew's bailiwick since the little man started going. I nurse at 5, because I have to be at school by 7; Andrew needs to be at work some time. By nineish. Mostly. So he gets the morning after I nurse, I get the afternoon. And going by the little daily report cards we get, Andrew rolls in to daycare any time between 7 and 8:30. Which is great. That means they have the mornings together and if some of that is planning and packing, then that's what it is.

But now I have to do it. And I don't have much time to do it. So many mornings Howie and I both fall back asleep while nursing, with the soothing tones of Steve Innskeep in the background--there's been mornings when it's only been the Morning Marketplace (comes on at 5:50) or the voice of the new OPB dude Geoff something telling me that it's 6:19 that has me tossing a sleeping infant back in his crib so that I can rush into my room to put clothes on and go. When I invariably forget something critical like MY LUNCH or MY PUMP or MY SHOES or something. And for the next three days, I don't have that luxury. Of the sleeping. I suppose I can forget something for myself (insert common family joke about HOW FORGETFUL KARI IS AND HOW FUNNY THAT IS HA HA HA! here because it is always so funny) but I don't want to forget Howie's stuff. He didn't ask for this, you know?

But also, I want to prove--to myself, to Andrew, to my family--that I can do this. I may not like it, but I can do it. So far this weekend, while exhausting--so little downtime!--has been doable, if a little lonely. We only have a faintly crazy Costco bill to show for it, and we spent some good time with Bectastic.

It's the next three days that'll really decide it.

Wish us luck.

Six months

Dear Little Man H,

I've been composing this letter to you in my head for weeks, but wouldn't you know it? I sit down to write it, and everything flies out of my head. Maybe there's something going on today...

Nah. That can't be it.

This past month has been the best so far. I realize I only have six of them to choose from in the running for The Best Month Ever, but seriously, I think that this one would win.

Last month you've discovered your feet with a flair that can only be described as gleeful. Now it's been a foot-fest (not to be confused with a foot fetish. That comes later, young man.) You can hold them! pull them! put them in your mouth! When sitting up, you can bend over and hit yourself in the head with them!

Okay, that last one you didn't enjoy so much. In fact, this whole Sitting Up thing, while kind of cool, ends in tears on a regular basis. In fact, it's pretty much guaranteed that after some absolutely fabulous arm-jerking and giggling and tag-wrangling and perhaps towel-waving, you will at one point want to look up, or sideways, or, gods forbid, BACKWARDS, at which time you will perilously begin to lose the battle with gravity. You do it slowly, oh-so-slowly, and often with a "What the FUCK?" look to me, until you pass the Point of No Return and gravity really does take hold and you weeble, you wobble, and you do indeed fall backwards. If I happened to be a caring mama at that point, you hit a boppy, but on a couple of occasions it must be said that we were overconfident and decided that we didn't need the big pillow. At those occasions, you hit the rug with a resounding thud. And after a couple seconds of shock, proceeded to let me know just how displeased you were.

Unless of course, you fall forwards, in which case you always hit with the thud-silence-scream combination. But that is happening more and more rarely.

You're starting to interact with your cousins, which is entertaining in the extreme; the Paci-pass you and your cousin Eleanor do is hilarious until one of you ends up with both paci's, somehow thinking that there is a way that if one paci is awesome, two must be AWESOMER. You do that, by the way, all the time. Paci? Awesome. Paci and fingers? AWESOMER. Nursing? awesome. Nursing AND sucking on my thumb? AWESOMER. Except it doesn't quite work that way. But whatever, we're working on it.

Speaking of nursing. You hit the big six months now, dude. You know what that means? FOOD. So far your dad and I are WAY more excited about this than you are. Not that you mind the attention, but so far, avocado and rice cereal get the tomato splat from you. Butternut squash doesn't suck, but you're still kind of meh on the whole thing.

Don't worry. I know that'll change--one day you'll be a teenage boy and I'll think back to when I couldn't get you to eat. You probably won't want to use utensils then either, but I bet you'll manage to swallow.

So today's kind of a big day here. It'll be interesting what today will be like seen ten years from now. Hopefully you'll grow up knowing a better world than you were born into. Hopefully one day you'll be in a history class and today, this date, this will be the beginning of a new chapter, like the Star Wars IV prologue but in a history book and therefore boring. Hopefully.

Hope.

If there's nothing else you deserve at six months of age, little man H, it's a big ol' barrel of hope. Well, that, and a pillow permanently behind you.

Love you,
Mama

Wherein I talk of things about which I have very little knowledge, only instinct

So, I was listening to NPR today this morning in our early-morning-nursing ritual (will that warp little minds?) and as has been traditional for the past twenty-one months, a good portion of it was political. And there were a ton of soundbites of different voters from different regions of the country. Determination, exhiliaration, consternation, all sorts of different emotions from these different voters. What they were doing to get out the vote, change the vote, support the vote.

And there was one group of voters from--well, I guess the where isn't all that important, which is good because asking me to remember details from pre-dawn nursing ether is a worthless task--from somewhere who said that they were praying, their minister told them to pray, that prayer was the only thing that worked, and what they were praying was, "Dear Lord, save our nation and make John McCain the next president."

Huh.

Leaving off my own beliefs on who the next president should be and my own beliefs of prayer, what struck me was the twist of logic that prayer denotes. Shouldn't prayer leave the method of salvation up to God? What if the best thing for the nation isn't John McCain? Is it just my--let's not say agnosticism, because my spirituality is something not-quite-agnostic--my lack of churchy-going-ness that makes me ignorant of how prayer works? Isn't it arrogant to assume that the prayer-maker needs to tell God how to save the nation? Is that how God works?

And if you're so sure that God listens to you, how can you be sure that what He's granting is to save the nation? Maybe He's doing it to teach a lesson, or to let our nation's downfall save the world. Or something. I'm certainly no god, and couldn't understand the workings of one who is. What human being could understand the workings of the infinite? Or deign to tell one how to acheive Their goals?

If you believe in God and the power of prayer, of course. If you don't, then it's all the power of man. And the power of man is built on each vote. So vote your conscience, and either way it works: the power of man prevails, and let God's will fall as it may. But don't preach of salvation and tell me how to get there. You can't have both sides.

Making history.

 

This vote feels like none other. I am filled with hope and exciting excitement (...and, dude, I'm still waiting for the Democrats to screw it up because if anyone can, they can, but I'm starting to believe that maybe, truly....)

I took pictures of my ballot, y'all. Because now I'm part of history too.

I heard this on NPR today, and I think it applies no matter our race, creed or color:

Rosa sat, so Martin could walk.
Martin walked, so Barack could run.
Barack ran, so our children could fly.

Today.

among the pumpkins
Originally uploaded by karijean

Some days are just perfect.

Where'd the month go?

How can I be working part time and still have a five-inch pile of homework and quizzes to grade--a pile I worked on for (essentially) eight hours straight yesterday, and still didn't finish?

Apparently I'm still having problems juggling this part time job thing. No big, really, but I always seem to think I can do more than I can in less time than I need. Or something. And I feel like I should be putting forth more effort, always. I can always see what I'm not teaching well enough, and I have ideas on how to do it better, but those ideas take time and planning and you know what? I'm getting paid slightly less than your average first-year bus driver, so why should I be writing new lesson plans, when half of my third period class can't do eight problems of homework?

What I'm saying is, the juggling I'm having problems doing is half timing, and half motivation. And half--well, hell. I have the cutest little boy at home that I'd way rather spend time with.

Of course, last week I was gone for a very precious forty-eight hours, to the coast with a dozen pretty spectacular women. It makes me realize my Hanging Out skills are a tad rusty. I guess a eight months of depression and then 10 months of pregnancy will do that to you, you forget how to manage the ebb and flow of conversations and groupings and rhythms and tempos. But now I can feel myself starting to join back up with the human race again, and that's good. I'm still letting some tricks drop, and that's bad, but I'm giving it my best, and it'll get better as time goes on. It helps that there are some pretty awesome people round these parts.

I can't believe Halloween is on Friday. The grocery store already has their Christmas stuff on display, which--dear God, I'm old, because...where has the time gone? Also: get off my lawn!

Flickr madness

Govt. Bailout Blowout
Originally uploaded by karijean

So, I'm a flickr gal. I may use picasa to edit my photos, but I don't use their online site--I use flickr. To the endless frustration of my father. (Note to friends--if you want to copy pictures I took of, say, your children? email me through flickr and I'll make you a friend! just be sure to credit me when you do copy it...)

Anyway. where was I? Oh, yes, flickr whore. I mean fan. Whatever. I love posting my stuff to flickr. And I was just going through my pictures and checking out their stats--nothing amazing, I'm no dooce or sweet juniper, but 7 views here, 16 views there, 831 views... WHAT. The. WHAT?!?!?!?

A picture I took at the Saturday farmer's market in downtown portland. Has gotten. Eight hundred and thirty one. views.

It was a toss-off picture I'd taken of a funny sign on a box of tomatoes. One of the best results of the digital revolution is that, once I buy the camera, pictures are, essentially, free. I can take pictures of everything, as many times as I want. And I can just snap pictures of stuff that amuses me without thinking of the cost of film and developing and paper and time in a darkroom and... so I like to take the camera when I go to the farmer's market. Actually, I like to take the camera everywhere because I'm learning so much about what makes a picture good. But sometimes I just take a picture because a sign is funny and I don't worry on it being a good picture from a sort of artistry standpoint.

But eight hundred and thirty one views?

If I'd known that was going to happen, I would have taken a better picture!

08! 08! 08!

Words I'm beyond ready to never hear again:

"Battle ground states"
"Maverick"
anything to do with lipstick, pitbulls, hockey moms, or soccer moms

And can I just say? Whatever else anyone says about a certain lipstick-wearing hockey mom... her voice makes me want to jump out a window.