How Do You Celebrate Valentine's Day?

It's almost Valentine's Day. We've never done much to celebrate it. We're of the annoying "I celebrate my love to you every day" ilk. But really, do we? Most nights, we clean up after the kiddos, pop on the DVR and stare at our iPhones for an hour before I slog sleepily off to bed and he works from home for an hour or two. I mean, we fully appreciate each other's presence, but we're both usually spent from our days and ready to veg out. I guess that's not really expressing our undying love on a daily basis, but for now, it'll have to do. These kids poop us out.
So while we won't go out to a fancy restaurant or buy each other expensive gifts or enjoy a Love Toilet, we'll maybe sit on the same side of the couch and snuggle a big more, or fold the laundry together or something super romantic like that.
Oh, and I bought myself flowers yesterday. Romance!

Cooking with kiddos

We're all hacking up lungs today. So early on, I decided I wouldn't be changing out of my pajamas. I put the kiddos in comfy clothes and we hunkered in for a quiet day at home. Ok, so quiet isn't exactly the right word. A rambunctious day at home, more like it. I was expecting a good nap out of H because he's been snotty and snuggly so I started to plan something quiet to do for W and I during H's nap. I knew if I had to listen to Toy Story one more time, my head would explode. So I started flipping through my William's Sonoma Kids Cookbook. I got it for W a few months ago. It's a bit old for him, as he can't read or operate a stove. But one day, I know he'll love the recipes in there. For now, he's just my little sous chef. We chose a recipe based on the ingredients we had in the house, cinnamon swirls.
We rolled the puff pastry and spread the sugar with our hands. Messy cooking is the most fun, says W. Then W jumped up and down as I rolled the pastry up into a log and cut it, and placed the pastries on the cookie sheet.

 This recipe was great for a three year old because it only took 5 minutes to make and ten minutes to bake. By the time I cleaned off the cutting board, they were ready.

We gobbled up way too many of them. I'm kind of ashamed of myself, really.
These snacks are completely void of nutritional benefits, but whatever. The kids had a kale smoothie (sshhhh... they don't know there was kale in there) for lunch, so I'm not sweating it. And really, I think the benefit of cooking with Mom outweighs the butter and sugar he inhaled. I hope he always loves cooking with me. It's such a great way to spend time together and it helps reinforce the importance of every day mathematics and following instructions.
Today, a kid's cookbook. Tomorrow, Mastering the Art of French Cooking!

My brain is a gerbil that can't get her footing on her little wheel

I have so many topics to discuss. We went to the zoo the other day which is a whole thing in my head. I'm thinking about taking the Insanity Challenge which is a WHOLE thing in my head. I just made a delicious latte. Ok, so that one's pretty to the point.
My point is that I just can't seem to get anything out of my head today. It's all rolling around in there like a gerbil flopping upside on it's wheel. So here's what I consider to be one of the funniest things on the internet right now. Toodles ya'll.

Holy Sleet, I'm Bored

It's another snowy/sleety/rainy day in these parts. So I've written today off as a lazy day at home, doing puzzles and watching movies with the boys. They played nicely by themselves for about 45 minutes in the next room, so I was even able to catch an episode of my boyfriend, Tony's show, The Layover. Parenting!

I'll be stepping on blocks and books and dinosaurs all day today. But you know what I won't be doing today? Going onto Pinterest for "rainy day" ideas for toddlers and preschoolers. Because you know what? All that horse sh!t is just a lot of flipping work for mom. I made cloud dough once for W and blargh! I was cleaning slippery flour off my kitchen floor for days. And my house smelled sickeningly of baby oil all day. I wanted to ralph. So, I won't be filling a bag with finger paint and taping it to my door. I won't be making any more god forsaken cloud dough. And I won't be making an indoor mini sandbox with rice. My kids can rot in front of the television, thank you very much. Screw you, Pinterest! I free myself of your vice grip. I will be a god-for-nothing, lazy parent today. Ole!

I will NOT be making any more f@&king cloud dough.

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Speaking of lazy parenting, I'm currently reading an excellent book. I haven't read many general parenting style books. I can recite the Essential Guide for Parents of Preemies and You Can Adopt, but that's where my parenting research kind of fizzles out. I perused The Happiest Toddler on the Block for a while, but it seemed so far fetched to me. Like, for robot parents. Not parents who have lazy days. Then I found the book I'm currently reading and I just fell in love. It's called The Idle Parent, by Tom Hodgkinson and I think it might have been written just for me. It's magic in type form. Teaching kids to 'just be' and sitting back to let the magic happen is my kind of parenting style. Please, check it out if you're like me and just want to let you kids be free range from time to time so you can sit back and watch No Reservations while snarfing a Diet Coke float for lunch. 

Some of the key points in his idle parent manifesto are:

• We pledge to leave our children alone
• We reject the idea that parenting is hard work
• We drink alcohol without guilt
• We lie in the bed for as long as possible
• We read them poetry and fantastic stories without morals
• We reject the inner Puritan
• We try not to interfere
• We both work as little as possible, particularly when the kids are small 
• There are many paths    

Sounds pretty ok, doesn't it? Coming from a childhood where I suspect my mother was a so-called "helicopter parent," it only make sense for the pendulum to swing back the other way. Not sure if this is your bag or not? You know this book might be for you if any of the following are true:

• You're happy letting your kids run free at the playground while you play Words with Friends on the bench
• You let your kids climb up the slide the wrong way, even while other moms are screaming at their kids for the same apparent atrocity
• You wait for the mother at the birthday party to finish her story about how cake is a big deal because at home, they mostly eat BULGAR, then tell her happily that sometimes you let your son walk to the bakery to eat a cupcake for lunch.
• You calmly wait for a howl after a large crash before you get up to see what or who is broken. 
• Your baby proofing begins and ends at plugs in electric sockets and an upstairs gate.
• You don't shelter your kid from good music, just because there's cursing in it

Check it out. It's a good thing. Also a good thing? The aforementioned Diet Coke float I just made to wash down my lunch. Yessiree, today's shaping up to be an ok day.

Ain't No Party Like a Liz Lemon Party Because a Liz Lemon Party is Mandatory

Next week marks the end of one of my favorite shows of all time, 30 Rock. I want to have coffee with Liz Lemon. She's on a very short list of amazing sitcom women. And I will just miss her so very, very much. Not much else to say about it, really. So here's a bunch of YouTube clips from a really classy show. Weep not for the memories.

At least I still have Leslie Knope. Now walk away from YouTube, Linds...

...In Which I Find Some Time for Me

Confession, ya'll: I pluck my eyebrows in the car because it's the only place I have to do so. And I only do it about once ever six weeks. So... yeah. When I paint my nails, I text pictures of the event to my friends. Just today, I took ten minutes to master the art of sock bunnery and was so proud, I texted it to the friends I knew would feign interest. Taking time to do things for myself is very, very low on my list of priorities (and I don't consider sitting on the stool in the kitchen, pinteresting on my iPhone while hiding from the kids "me time"). But that's something I'd like to change this year. The kids aren't in a constant state of AAAAACK anymore and I think I've got this mom-of-two thing down a bit more and I'm ready for a little Summer of George.

Damn tight sock bun, son. But worthy of mass text? Really? Also, judge not the walls. It was that way when we moved in (ahemfouryearsago).

I'm not gonna like, liposuction my double chin and lay around eating bon bons or anything looney like that.  I just want to do more things for me. Like remember to pluck my eyebrows more than once every six weeks. Or start saving for a new bathroom so I don't have to pluck in the car anymore <insert wishful dream bubble>.
This weekend, I'm supposed to go out with a friend to celebrate her divorce which by definition, means a hangover will be involved. So that's cool. Last weekend we actually got a sitter and went out with friends. Or I'll paint my nails more - and when they start to chip, I'll take the time to actually remove the paint instead of looking like a 14 year old girl for a month. Or I'll make shaving my legs in the shower such a commonplace affair, that I can stop announcing it, proudly.

Sometimes I feel like the only mom who can't hold her shit together. But I can't be, right? Surely there are other women out there who feel the need to document when they take the time to learn how to jam a sock in their ponytail, right? Right?

Go the Eff to Sleep!

A few weeks ago, Walt started refusing to stay in bed after we put him down for the night. He'd get up and just stand in the hallway over and over until about 11pm. We tried Nanny Jo's method of wordlessly plopping him back into bed. We tried yelling at him, we tried ignoring him, we tried taking toys away. Nothing works. I know it's just a phase but it's starting to annoy me. Ok, it's way past "starting" to annoy me. I'm totally irked by it. Neil and I feel like we don't get a single drop of time to ourselves day after day. It's wearing on us. Every time it happens, he knows there's no cartoons the next day and I will take his most prized toys, his wooden train set away. It still doesn't stop him - even though he's heart broken when he comes downstairs in the morning and his trains are gone.

Through this punishment, though, something magical has happened. He's only had one day over the past two weeks where he's been allowed to watch cartoons. And you know what? He doesn't miss them at all. He barely even asks me for them. He's like a recovering addict. Before this punishment routine began, if he went a day without watching Pocoyo, he'd be frothing at the mouth. But now, he could care less if he watches anything at all. I use to pop a cartoon on when I put H down for his naps so I didn't have to worry about W getting into trouble or hurting himself. But now that that's not an option, I come back from rocking H to sleep and W is curled up in a chair with a book, pretending to read. It reminds me of the end of the Cable Guy when the cable goes out and people rediscover life outside of tv. It's not like he was glued to the tube all day. But he definitely watched his fair share of cartoons.

So while I hate that we're still fighting the fight over bed time, I love that he's using his imagination 100% of the time during the day. He no longer tells me that he's bored (where on earth did he learn that, anyway?). He can just sit down with some cars or trains ad piddle away quietly for hours. I couldn't be happier.
Speaking of bored, how spot on is Louie CK? I'm so in love with him right now.

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Since none of our punishments are working, I'm faced with one last ditch effort. And it's a very scary one for me... no. more. napping. Gah! We'll see how it goes. When did your kids stop napping?

I think I'll be getting this book for Neil for Christmas, this year.

Ode to the Second Child

Little H is eleven months old now. How that happened, I can't fathom. He's been home with us for eight months, but it feels like a lifetime. He has the funniest little personality and knows what he wants. Thank goodness what he wants is to tail around behind his brother. Because that's all he gets to do. We're either taking his brother to and from school or play facilities, keeping him from eating his brother's toys or being pummeled by his brother (playfully, of course).  He is truly the second child. Give him a view at the front door and a toy to chew on and he's set for twenty minutes.

I finally noticed him signing "milk" a few weeks ago. I thought he was waving to me as I was helping Little W build a train track... but here he was patiently asking over and over again for milk.  Helloooooo negligent mother! I was so happy to see him using words to communicate, I nearly forgot to give him the milk he asked so nicely for. D'oh.

This breakthrough got me thinking. I taught Little W so many signs. But as I sat with H and his requested milk, I couldn't remember a single one. What else was I forgetting to do with H that I did with W? Once W was home and healthy, I fretted over every milestone and taught him so much. I read Leaves of Grass to him as an infant, for flip's sake. By the time he was eight months old, I had read all seven Harry Potter books aloud to him (ok, I read them for myself but I read them aloud so I could read while he was awake. Remember, we couldn't take him anywhere that first winter, to protect his premature lungs from germs so I was climbing the walls). I taught him about 12-15 signs and gave him baby massages almost daily. He had every developmentally appropriate toy on the market.

Exhibit A: Here I am photographing him leaping off of the couch, head first, onto his brother's fort instead of trying to catch him.

I've caught him doing things I would have never let Walt do at his age. He tries (and succeeds on rare occasion) to sneak up the steps. He has gotten away with eating dog food. He prefers to play with wooden spoons and remote controls and dog ropes and the front door rather than developmentally appropriate baby toys.

What's that Henry? You want a baby treadmill? Say no more. I'm sure the 50 year old stadium seat (possibly full of asbestos) will soften your fall. Just try to fall to the left, please.

I wonder if I'm not so far up H's butt simply because he's the second child and my hands are more full, or because I'm a weathered parent and I realize that it's really, really hard to break a baby. An attentive, loving parent really has to work hard to mess a baby up..Especially Little H. He's built like a brick sh*t house. He'll still be a smart, independent member of society even though I didn't read Walt Whitman to him as a six month old. I'm nearly sure of it. But just in case I'm wrong, I'm going to set time aside to read to my little guy some more. And I'm going to teach him all the signs that I taught Walt. Maybe he'll learn them, maybe he wont. But the point is, I'm spending my time engaged with him. I may still find him crashing through the gate and tearing ass up the steps. I might still catch his brother playing way too rough with him. I may still let him play slam-the-front-door-against-the-wall for twenty minutes every evening so I can prepare dinner. But it doesn't mean I love him any less than my first born. It just means I'm a mom doing the best I can. Yeah, ok. I'll go with that.

Starting over isn't so bad

Since the baby was born and the father decided to parent, things haven't been too bad around these parts. We were busy with incredibly warm beach days, grown up get-a-ways and little W's third birthday. All of which have been excellent distractions.
Wednesday night we scrambled to throw together a last minute weekend getaway. We gave the boy and the dogs to my parents and we took off to the Finger Lakes in upstate New York. We went there for a short weekend about four or five years ago and we fell instantly in love with the area. We're just two soggy winos at heart and it was calling me back. Loudly.
This was a very healing trip. Our hotel was warm and luxurious (by our standards), our suite was about the size of our home (ha!), the porch was cathartic and the jacuzzi literally healed my (broken) bones.

View from our hotel porch

On Saturday, we hired a chauffeur to take us around for the day to all the wineries on Seneca Lake.  We got soggy and stupid by 5:00pm. And we bought a LOT of wine. Like, a serious lot. That's all I can really recant from that experience.

This is me after about eleventy billion glasses of wine. Mmm... wine

Sunday was a quick trip to Kauka Lake for a visit to a few vineyards before the long trip down to pick W up at my parents. And what trip to wine country would be complete without stopping at super classy Bully Hill?
The ancient memory of twenty three year old Lindsay that lives deep in my head, somewhere was reveling in all their cheap-wine-splendor. Once upon a time, many a night was spent with a bottle of Bully Hill in the crook of my arm. And of course I had to get a few bottles of Sweet Walter. Because, well, that's my Little W! And by late Sunday morning, we were really jonesing for our own sweet Walter.

Bully Hill: Giving Young Lindsay headaches since the year 2000

By the time it was all said and done, we sloshed back down the highway with over three cases of wine of varying colors, flavors and fancy winey words we don't care to understand (seriously... you can't tell me the tannins of your table wine matter as you're downing Wegman's brand spaghetti in your sweatpants on a Tuesday).

Monday was our sweet W's third birthday. How that happened, I'll never know. He's been begging to go to the Franklin Institute to see the traveling dinosaur exhibit for weeks. So we took him there for his birthday. And it scared him to death. Like, little hands plastered over closed eyes the whole time, scared. I have to admit that the exhibit was pretty spooky. Lots of mood lighting and creepy noises gave it an eerie feeling.
So we showed him the rest of the FI, which he loved as much as I remember loving it as a kid. After a long walk down to Reading Terminal Market for his favorite food in the world (Amish pretzel dogs) and back, he decided that "the dinos weren't too scary and I'd like to try it again," which yielded the same, petrified results. Oh well. At least the kid tried. It was a good birthday, for sure. His favorite restaurant sang to him and he was up on an ice cream and present high until 10:15pm.

Now we're all home and our souls have been recharged and we're ready to jump back in and redo our home study and profile book et cetera et cetera. I can not wait to get The (next) Call. I'm so ready for W's little brother or sister. I'm not sobbing myself to sleep at night over this disruption, but I'm not 100% ok, either. I'm in a weird, emotional limbo place and I'm not sure how to express what I'm feeling. "It is what it is" is really the best way to describe it.  I'd like to take some time and try to write through my feelings some more, but I'm not quite there yet, from an organizational stand point. I'll get there.

What I can take away from this experience right now is that I am an incredibly fortunate girl. I may have the most amazing husband in the world and my son is just the sweetest thing on two legs. What else can a girl ask for?

Catharsis

Thank you, Global Warming for providing me with an unseasonably warm, tshirt/shorts/flip flops kind of day. It did wonders for what ailed me.
In the morning, W and I ran to our adoption agency to drop off checks for the updated home study (um hello salt in the wound!?) then we tossed a blanket, some fishies and juice boxes in my trusty old LL back pack and high tailed it down to the beach. I laid on the blanket and watched the waves roll in and W drove his trucks-du-jour through a maze of old tire tracks. We hunted for shells, dipped our toes in the frigid Atlantic and barrel rolled down the sandy dune hill (broken ribs and all). It was the definition of catharsis. The salt air helped to heal my wounds. I just wish Neil could have been there, too. But then again, someone needs to bring home the bacon.
My doctor, himself couldn't have prescribed anything better. I still smell like a mix of salt and SPF 50, and my hair's wonderfully unsalvageable.

 I'm almost ready to go to work tomorrow and field the endless barrage of questions. GAH.

Ok, now I'm ready.

The best part about today is knowing that as awesome as it was, it's not going to be able to hold a candle to what we just planned for this weekend. Stay frosty, friends <insert some kind of winky emoticon here>.

Dancing Queen

Look... I wasn't lying. Here I am shipoopieing at our final dress rehearsal

 That's all. Just thought I'd share.

Limbo

We met our birth mother, D on Friday and it was a really nice experience. Her baby sitter fell through and she had to bring her two youngest children with her. So we decided to meet at a McDonalds with a playground instead of the original restaurant. I don't want this to come out the wrong way. Because to say it out loud sounds like I was "window shopping"... but her two young children were absolutely gorgeous. I couldn't help but make the correlation, staring into that little boy's eyes, that I might be staring at the same eyes our son will soon have. D was struggling with some personal problems, so our conversation didn't get as deep as I had hoped. But we still had a really lovely time. She asked us a few questions. But I wanted her to ask so much more! I was prepared to tell her so many things. But mostly she told us about her story. Which was both enlightening and heart breaking. I wanted to hug her and tell her I loved her (because I do. The moment this woman chose us to parent her baby, I was instantly and irreversibly in love with her) and I couldn't wait to get to know her better and share this precious little life with her. We gave her a picture of our family and she let us look at her ultrasounds, which was very special to me.

From speaking with our social worker, it sounds like she felt equally good about us. She was very comfortable with us and really seemed to love our family. I'm very grateful that our first meeting went so well and we have mutual respect for each other. But it brings me no closer to feeling like we'll definitely have a baby in 25 days. Because despite her apparent conviction that this adoption is going through, once she gives birth, and that warm little body is in her arms, anything could happen. And I'm VERY aware of that. So I'm still full of anxiety and worry and probably will be until those magic 72 hours are up.

Another problem I really wasn't anticipating has arisen, as well. I really didn't think I'd feel a connection with or love for this baby before he was born. Partially as a defense mechanism and partially because that's just my personality. But meeting her and seeing her children and seeing those ultrasounds has changed things. I'm in love with this child. And I feel VERY invested in and protective of his well being. So if D decides to parent this child, while I won't hate her for her decision, I will mourn the life he could have had with us. I'll forever wonder if he's had enough to eat that day, or if he got a christmas present or if he did well in school.
So that'll be the stuff rattling around in my head for the next few weeks.

On a happier and less stressful note, this past Friday was opening night of the musical and it was a wonderful distraction from all the baby stuff going on. It was a blast and I look forward to doing it again this coming weekend. I'll definitely be sad when it's over. We also got our new cabinets/sink last weekend. They're just what I wanted and I can't wait to get everything back to normal. We won't have our counter tops for two more weeks, so that means that much longer without running water. Yikes! Living without a kitchen sink is HARD! Silver lining is that we have a stove and when it's all said and done, we'll have a super sexy dishwasher, as well. I'm a quiver with anticipation.

One Thing at a Time

Move over, darling husband and adorable son. I have a new love in my life. And his name is Mucinex. DayQuil (my former lover) can suck it. I forget important things like blinking and stopping at traffic lights when flying high on the big orange Q. But Mucinex? Oh that stuff is delightful.
Little W was out of commission for a week with a fever and ridiculous cough. It was breaking my heart to see him so sick. You think he'd return the empathy to me now that I'm on my death bed? Noooooo way. Kids are heartless that way. One more day of nonstop cartoons won't kill him, I suppose.
It's two weeks until opening night of the musical, so I'll likely see no empathy from my rehearsal schedule, either.
No rest for the weary.

In cheerier news, the baby stuff is coming along nicely. He has a dresser and it's chock full of clothes. I borrowed 20 gallons of newborn-3 month clothes from a friend this weekend, which was a lifesaver. So we're set. The diapers and linens are washed and in the drawer, the clothes are washed and organized by type and size (crazy much?) and the emergency gotta-run baby hotel stay bag is packed.

We still haven't gotten word when we're meeting D&A, the birth parents. Which is causing more than a little shpilkes and agita. But I'm going to remain in my zen frame of mind. If this baby is meant to be ours, he will come home with us. And if not, then we'll mourn the loss and move on. Because our little person will still be out there and we'll be ready for him or her. See? Don't I seem peaceful and content with the situation? I'm remaining peaceful, dangit!! Peaceful!

If I even begin to think about the work scheduled to be done in the kitchen next week (then the week after that we'll be without a countertop) or the musical's opening night in two weeks, my whole peaceful bubble is going to pop. One.Thing.At.A.Time. And now W's hand-me-down monster cold on top of everything is the mucousy icing on the cake. Thanks, little man.

Today will be full of tissues, hot tea, cartoons for W, packing up the kitchen for the eminent work being done, OTC deliciousness, and trying to make myself presentable enough to get changed in front of my cast mates for our first rehearsal in costumes. But first, I think I'm going to curl up in the fetal position on the couch for a few hours.

Avoidance is no Longer Acceptable

We bit the bullet over the past few days and finally painted the baby's room. It was very hard for me, for some reason. I've yet to figure out why. I guess because it forces me to acknowledge that no one has deemed us right to raise their babies. Every month we're shown to several people and no one picks us. I know we're awesome, so it's hard for me to accept.
The bedroom is striped and adorable. It's going to come together fast, now. We're using W's old crib and area rug. So I just need to find a few pieces of furniture. We're attempting to go used on this kid's room. There's SO much lovely stuff out there on craigslist and in consignment shops. But shall those intentions fail, we'll be loading the wagon up with Ikea for sure. Either way, I'm really going to enjoy putting a proper nursery together. We didn't get to do that with W. We moved into our house two weeks before he was born and I was too sick or spending too much time at the NICU to get it together. So it was all just an after thought. This process is very cathartic for me. Getting started was the hard part. Now I'm a roll that can't be stopped.

Help... I'm stuck in the internet and I can't get out...

Shasta on a shingle. It's dangerous internet rabbit holes like the one I've fallen into today that makes me really REALLY wish for a girl.

And I blame you, Mini Boden!

Don't look at me like that, Old Navy. You're just as guilty with your extremely accessible prices...

 But then again, dressing little boys can be just as darling.

As if you can't tell, I have a deep love for all things Boden

*head palm*
Get me off the internet before I do something stupid like buy things!!

Keeping Busy

I find that it helps to keep busy during this stupid waiting-for-a-baby-period. Ok, it's not stupid. It's just... well, annoying. So I'm doing things to take up time. Lots of time. Especially since I'll be leaving work in a few weeks. Hobbies are good. Like this blog, for instance. It takes up a few minutes of my morning. I don't think anyone even reads it. But it's nice to get things out there, regardless. I'm of the frame of mind that if I load my schedule up with important commitments that take up a lot of my time, we'll surely get The Call. Like, if your food's taking forever to get to the table at a restaurant, you walk to the bathroom and it's sure to come as soon as you walk away.

So for that reason, 2012 marks my anticlimactic return to the world of singing in front of people in costumes and makeup. Rehearsals for The Music Man started last night. And much to my dismay, somewhere in my 20's, I turned from a 1st soprano to a very low alto. I didn't know that could happen. But I thought, what the heck. It'll be an adventure. Well, it turns out I'm a horrid alto. After so many years of being a loud, bossy soprano, I'm completely inept when it comes to maintaining any sort of harmony. So as my fellow altos were picking the music up right away and singing in perfect harmony, there I was, in the front row wailing away like a cat in heat. I'm surprised no one threw a shoe at me. Needless to say, W's naps will be spent with me tinkering away at the piano trying to become a respectable member of the group.

In March, when my caterwauling is complete (I mean, when the musical has wrapped), I'm going to take a photography class for credits at my community college. I'm thinking about making it my career once the kids are in school, so I'm going to jump in and see if it's something I can really get lost in.

So when that wraps up, it'll be June. And if there isn't a baby by June, I'm going to take up drinking.
I kid, I kid. I'd like to say that I'm going to throw myself into a daily gym routine in the mean time. But I don't see that truly happening. But I do have to say, being able to drop your kid at the play area at the gym is a lovely respite for those days you consider opening that bottle of wine before 10am. So maybe I should start lacing up more often. Dropping the kid off for a few minutes, guilelessly watching Rachel Zoe on mute and listening to Howard Stern... maybe I should runnotwalk there right now!

Have you all filled your schedules similarly? What kind of things are you doing to make The Wait go by faster?

Shipoopie

In an attempt to grow as a person and learn something about myself et cetera, I grew a big ol' set of cajones and tried out for my community theater's production of The Music Man. I haven't sung (sang? sung? hmmm...) in front of people (aside from Little W, of course) for over 10 years. So my audition was crazy bad. But it was fun and I am quite proud of myself for giving it the old college try. I'm very much looking forward to basking in the ambient glow of local, low budget theater lights once again. Not to mention, it'll be a nice distraction from waiting for The Call.

76 trombones led the big parade...

Want vs Need

"Oh, I need this" is something I say, on average, four times a day. I'm not proud of it, but when I see something awesome, my brain says "gimme, gimme, gimme!" I think I'm wired that way or something. I need to start wheedling down the wants and taking a harder look at what is truly a need. I want to set a good example for my children. I don't want them to think they need every new, stupid toy out there.
I'll be leaving my job in February and with it, losing our second income. Regular, everyday stay-at-home-moms don't get to buy everything their heart desires. So I seriously have to get a grip on reality.

That being said... I totally need all of this Falcon Enamelware .

kinfolk

mmm...

 It's so pretty and rustic and British. Yup, this is definitely a need. Hey... back off. I'm a kitchen ware junkie. You can't expect me to just go cold turkey.Maybe I'll throw all of my current bake ware and mugs down the basement stairs, blame it on Little W and the pets and insist that this is the only suitable replacement. What say you? Good plan?

What do you lust for that is irrational or wasteful?



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Distractions from The Wait

Just like any expectant mom, I find comfort in painstakingly nitpicking over every detail of baby#2's bedroom. When our little bundle of joy arrives, everything has to be Just Right so s/he can gracefully grow into the next Obama, Jobs, Einstein, Whitman or poet laureate. You know... be all they can be. Maybe their nursery has something to do with that? Probably not. But if it gives us expectant moms some control over such an uncontrollable time, lets us go with it.
This is especially true for expectant moms by way of open adoption. We are completely out of control when it comes to any family-related time line. We can't take vitamins or eat the right things or go to the doctor to see the heartbeat or feel the kicks and punches. That part kind of sucks (and that is coming from someone who threw up every time I brushed my teeth for the duration of my pregnancy). What we waiting adoptive moms have is the nursery. And so it must be perfect. Lets not even talk about nesting. I am living proof that nesting has little to do with actual pregnancy. But I guess that's a post for another time. If I start talking about cleaning insane things, I very well may have to follow through and jolt up to my attic to color code all of the boxes of W's old baby clothes. So I'll save that for another time.
Here's a few things I've been eyeballing on the interwebs for baby#2:

I recently picked up these inspiring Tibetan prayer flags from Ruka, a lovely shop in Philly.

I think they're wonderful because they're colorful and playful for baby as well as peaceful and inspiring for mom and dad.


At a local book fair I recently picked up some old books for a few cents full of amazing images. I fully plan on framing and adorning #2's walls with some of the more memorable illustrations. I so wish I remembered Gordon's Giveaway Gibson from my childhood. It  is chock full of early Sesame Street awesomeness (although I see on Amazon that a copy is selling for $88... maybe I should rethink cutting it apart!).

 Little W's current favorite book is Caps for Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina. The images in this book are just so lovely and endearing. Plus... It was Little W's idea to include them in #2's room. So how could I say no?

 And finally, in this house, no child's room would be complete without some of Anthropologie's Pinwale Alphabet letters.

They're just so very sweet. And I need to utilize my employee discount while I still can. February (marking the end of my time in the professional world) is fast approaching. But what letters to buy? If only my crystal ball could tell me if we are having a boy or a girl. I guess that's something I'll have to put off until #2 is safely home with us.


So three cheers for distractions. They're wonderful for passing time and forgetting about the painstaking Wait. In fact, while I was writing this very post, I received an email from our social worker saying we were passed over by quite a few birth mothers last month.

The Wait continues...


Photos courtesy of Amazon and Anthropologie