Ti'bits

Quick! Bea's napping! Harper is playing some coding game! Work doesn't need me for a sec!

-- Bea is now fully walking, nay, running. For a few weeks there she could walk, but was mostly still choosing to do her crab scoot. I wasn't bothered in the least except that she'd get super grimy at the playground and all her clothes had holes on one side and I was semi sick of other people wondering if there was a delay (she's only 15 months old, people). Then, suddenly, a few days ago she woke up and decided meh, I'mma walk. So she does now. It's like I live with a full time day drunk. I love it.

-- Harper's starting day camp tomorrow. She was quite disappointed to learn it wasn't sleepover camp as she'd already planned what to pack for a bunch of breakfasts. "Do my french toast sticks have peanuts in them, mom?" Related, I have no idea what I'll pack her for lunch as pb&j is our only real lunch success. And please know I will laugh in your face if you suggest sunflower butter. Or sorry, Harper will laugh in your face and I will probably cry a little.

-- I couldn't find my headphones yesterday as I left for work and was filled with a level of angst I feel wasn't really appropriate to the situation. I was so upset I stomped my foot waiting for my elevator. I hope someone saw me. How human beings commuted without music or podcasts filling their brainwaves is a head scratcher.

-- My little brother is getting married on Saturday. Bananas! HJ and I are taking the trip to Mass together and Bebe will stay behind with her dad. I'm excited for a hotel trip that doesn't involve a 4:40 wakeup call! Oh and I'm also excited to be getting a new sissy! I don't have one, you know.

-- I have really fallen down on the eating-like-a-grownup thing. I've been eating the strangest things at the strangest times. Last night I ate an oatmeal cookie when I got home from work and then forgot to eat again until 9:30 when I had fistfuls of popcorn and pretzel Goldfish. It's such a relief not having to cook that I sometimes forget it's actually nice to do it sometimes. Sometimes.

Baby awakens!

Werkin

Okay this week has been crazy. Work is busy and personal life is busy and oh yes, I have two small children folk. All of the things are good, if not exhausting, if not intense, if not woah, I'm just tired.

Tonight I'm putting the girls to bed as early as humanly possible then I'm eating old takeout and working on the couch until I give up and will then commence bingeing on Orange is the New Black SEASON THREE YAAAAAS YAAAAAS MY QUEEN. I want to be asleep by 10:00.

Life as a part-time working mom is such a limbo land. Somedays we laze and run in the fire hydrant and make the house a giant mess, sometimes I put on booties and a dress and very loud music in my ears and I get going to work.

I like working. I like what I'm working on. I like wearing booties.

I'm struggling with this identity shift because I always thought I'd stay home with any kids I had till they were in preschool or kindergarten. I felt very strongly tied to my identity as a full time mother, honestly couldn't imagine doing it any other way.

And now I just feel differently. I'm a happier mom as a working mom. I'm a happier person as a working person. I feel tiny waves of guilt when I put that out there, when I admit it's not just for the money that I'm working. It's the oldest blah blah in the book, but it turns out many people want you to want to stay home with your kids. People squirm a little when you say otherwise. I know I used to!

I'm a little too tired to tie this up with a bow. But I think I want to tell people that this is a positive change for me and not to worry about me or wring their hands. Just like the idea of leaving my pretty old house in Connecticut seemed difficult to the outside world and it really wasn't at all. I think it might look like a really sudden change, this working life, this booties life, but was really a couple years in the making. So yes. I'm tired, but I'm good! I'm good.

Friends

This is going to be a really corny and sappy post about how much I love my friends.

I'm just kidding this is going to be about HOW OBSESSED I AM WITH RE-WATCHING FRIENDS FROM THE BEGINNING.

Guys. It's so good. And I don't even know what I mean by "it" ... The actual show, yes. Which I'm kind of surprised about, I kind of thought I might hate it as a 33 vs. 13 (!) year old. I like it more, though. Hi -- maybe because I might actually get the marriage/sex/job jokes? Just a thought. But I also just love the whole nostalgia of it all. The clothes! The clothes. The overalls and the strange sneakers and the crop tops and the leather string necklaces.

There are also giant giant Star Trek phones and waiting to hear back about interviews by MAIL and they drink so much Snapple. Like cases of Snapple. Why were we all so into Snapple? The facts inside the cap? This is a real question.

I am completely infatuated with Jennifer Aniston. I always liked her fine, but now I'm just so into her everything. Marry me, Jen. Also Lisa Kudrow and Matt LeBlanc are way funnier than I gave them credit for before. And Matt Perry is way less. He's like a tiny flailing Muppet who says every line the same way. Was it the painkillers?

Oh also I'm realizing it's probably like New York! I live here now. Yeah yeah. That's probably part of it.

Is this how you write a blog post? Talk about an old TV show with no real transitions or purpose?

I thought so.

Episode 50, The One Where No One's Ready: PLAY.

Timehop

Do you folks have the Timehop app on your phone? It gathers the Instagrams/tweets/Facebook posts you wrote on this exact date 1, 2, 3 years ago (sometimes my Facebook posts go back 8 or 9 years gasp). It's one of my favorite things to check every morning.

Like... a year ago today I was carrying Bea around for every single one of her naps and the irises were blooming in my Connecticut garden. Two years ago I was just finding out Bea was happening, not believing it might stay this time. Three years ago I was doing endless crafts with HJ at our crazy brown house in Westport and trying to train George not to pee on my bed. Four I was obsessively reading medical journals in my Denver bungalow for the latest on aspirin's effects on recurrence. Etc. 

I wish there were a way to send little notes back in time. Give ourselves some future hindsight. Some love. A promise of good days ahead.  Last year at this time was rough. And it was about to get rougher. And then, well, even rougher. Yesterday I saw a picture of myself from May 26, 2014, a chubby face selfie with chubby face Bea. I was still 25 pounds overweight and trying to stay calm about it, but it felt like no one else was. 

I've got a small frame and don't carry extra weight particularly gracefully. It's very noticeable when I lose or gain even 5 pounds, which is frustrating but just my thing. I probably shouldn't even add that detail because it's mostly irrelevant. I guess it's entirely irrelevant. Because absolutely of course I can't stress this enough it was okay to still have weight to lose in May (this May even!). But I could sense people's weirdness around it. I could tell people close to me felt turned off and worried.

I cried a long time about it yesterday, remembering those feelings, remembering how I felt I wasn't good enough or pretty enough anymore. Realizing how much importance were placed on my looks. Feeling like there was little patience for me to get back. Or, rather, no patience if I never got back. Deep down I knew I would, I knew losing the weight was important to me and would happen. But I'd gained 50 pounds -- 5-0! -- and that takes awhile to shed. 

I lost the 50 -- 55 actually -- and that feels nice and I'm proud. But it mostly feels good because it's just for me. Entirely for me. I'm working on working through that anger and closing up that little hole that happened in my heart. I'm working on softening that time for myself, letting those memories and images -- nursing on the dining room floor and catching a look of disgust as my soft belly squished over my yoga pants -- fade away. Instead, I want to remember the way I'd swaddle Bea every night on my soft white quilt, lay her next to me and we'd both drift off to sleep watching the sun set over the pond. Or planting carrot seeds with Harper up by the cabin after a skinny dip in the pool. Or stomping through the fields as I listened to podcasts, absolutely essential emotional balms for me, and felt fleeting moments of okayness. 

I'm grateful for the pictures I took that anchor me to the good things I wanted to capture and savor, that remind me there was and will always be beauty and richness amidst the rocky stuff. I'm grateful for a life that's kept on moving forward and onward, sprinkled with so many happy moments. 

I am not dead

Hi, peoples!

I am not dead.

I am just

I paused there for so long. I want to write "really busy living!" but that sounds ABSURD because we all are! And that does not preclude writing an update or a life tale. And because these are the times I want to record the most. And so I'll just say

I'd been tiptoeing into my new job (feel free to ask me offline about the job if you're interested in details -- I'm not trying to be secretive, but I still blush thinking about my old advertising bosses finding Blue Jean Amy and reading all my inane ramblings about boring meetings) but as of last week I'm in the real swing of things, going into the office and wearing office clothes and taking the train and being a lady with a desk (though it's only 20 hours a week until September) and I can only say that woah, lots of adjustments underway.

My headspace is cluttered and scrambling. I haven't needed a real work wardrobe since 2008 and so that's a thing. Harper's been watching a few too many Shopkins tutorials on the YouTubes lately. Bea fell asleep with yogurt in her hair tonight. I keep eating breakfast sausage for all my meals.

I want to say upfront I'm pretty damn happy to be working again and getting out of the house. I needed it.

I just don't like: leaving the girls with a sitter all day. (I am all about this stellar preschool/daycare for Bea come fall and public kindergarten for HJ. Then I will skip carefree into Manhattan.) A lot of my reasons are helicopter-y, so I won't bore you, but purely logistically speaking? I HATE GETTING THE HOUSE READY FOR A SITTER. Hate it hate it hate it. I've gots to: make sure there's tons of food and snacks and everything and all organized and super tidy and not weird bras or self-help books or emo journals laying around or whatever. I'm a super private person in lots of ways and it makes me squirm to have someone in my space all day. Then the added prep of making sure everything is all set up/not confusing/clean before I head out the door? Do not want, world!

This post is boring me.

I want to write more in this space. Things are good right now. I'm hectic and chaotic and changing and busy and confused and so tired, but I'm happy. I feel like I have so many New York things happening to me that I'm loving. And I'm loving New York more than I thought I would. Like tonight, the girls hung with their dad while I went grocery shopping in my car. I'm always doing little trips or deliveries, but I wanted to do a massive trip and really stock the freezer and cupboards. I drove to this amazing store in Red Hook (a Brooklyn neighborhood) and I felt this crazy manic runaway happiness being there near the water while the sun set -- looking at the choppy waves and this new angle of the Statue and the hipsters eating crab at picnic tables and I had a case of coconut La Croix in the passenger seat and yeah!

See you back here soon.

The calendar says it's Tuesday so sure, let's go with that!

-- My brother and his soon-to-be-wife (am unsure for life whether the guy or girl is fiance or fiancee and cannot be bothered to check) came to stay in our teeny third bedroom for the weekend. It was nice! My mom (who was not here, but acting as a benevolent overlord) treated us all to Mamma Mia on Broadway. Now LISTEN. I'm not the worst theater snob, ain't nobody got time for that, but I can't say this was my first choice.
But.
Shall we fast forward to tonight? When I anxiously get the kids in bed, desperate for some alone time so I can sit on the couch and watch NONSTOP OVER AND OVER REPEAT ABBA VIDEOS? Somebody put a chip in my brain. AN ABBA CHIP. They're following me! It's all over. I'm sorry but I'm not sorry, I love them I love it all I need an ABBA tee shirt kthxbai.

-- After dinner last night I gave Harper her first pack of Shopkins. I don't have the will to go into these right now, but basically they're tiny little rubber collectables that are grocery store items with faces. DUH. She watches a crazy person on YouTube play with them and that's how she became obsessed, but had yet to really ask for them. So because I'm crazy I bought them anyways; I just knew she would flip. Which she did.
She put them all "to bed" on her nightstand and giddily lay her head down. Kiss kiss goodnight, bye. 3:00 a.m. on the nose, I wake up in a sweat because I hear voices in my living room. Aaaaaand those would be the voices of Juicy Orange, Cheesy Churro, and Coffee Drip performed by one Harper June. Sure okay, wake up smack dab middle of the night and play with your toys on the couch what? I was convinced she must be sleepwalking, something she's done once or twice, but she was definitely awake.
"I was just sleeping over there and woke up to play..." She points to the corner of the room behind a chair, all set up with a blanket and pillow. I am beyond confused. And tired. So I nod like any of this makes sense and scoop up my child and her plastic children and send them back to land o' nod. (What on earth?!)

-- Today we waited for the rain to stop and then hustled our bums to Harper's soon-to-be elementary school for official kindergarten reg. They needed approx 800 pieces of info from us to prove she is she and we are we and we really live at this address. (Lots of scamming in the world of NYC public school, no joke.) Had to bring all these things and then fill out 100,000 pieces of paper while Bea yelled AT THE TOP OF HER BABY LUNGS, from joy/boredom/religious freedom/don't know. Harper calmly sat and looked at her Shopkins, answering the principal's cheery "And what brings you here, Harper?" with a very quiet "Well, I'm new"...
I feel so good about this place for her. Of course she's a little weirded out by the real schoolness of it all.. "This sho' is different from Apple Blossom"... but I have no doubt she'll love it. FREE SCHOOL WHO KNEW.

-- Okay I'm tired and need to put flowery sheets on my bed.

Doobiedoo

My current blogging style is like that string of tiny songs on Abbey Road. Yes I'm comparing myself to the Beatles.

-- The greatawesomebignews of the week (year?) is that Harper got into our neighborhood's public kindergarten (and therefore elementary and middle school). I am relieved beyond measure infinity infinity and so on and on. It's a great school, we can walk there, and it's just gonna make my life easier/cheaper/better. And I think Harper is going to love it capital L. There's a big waitlist, something I honestly didn't anticipate (because the consultant we hired told me it wouldn't happen ahem), and I'm feeling giddy I somehow dodged that bullet. (My apologies to those who were waitlisted, but c'monz. I've had a rocky year... I can gloat a bit, non?)

-- I always feel guilty/ashamed when I'm jamming out to music and I replay the same song 20-25 times in a row but why? This is allowed, dearest me. No one there to judge but you and okay. Okay maybe I am a little disappointed I went on a late 90s Will Smith binge that shall never be repeated or mentioned again.

-- The months leading up to Bea's birth I wanted to prep for natural birth, but didn't really vibe with the tips in all those books. (There are just so many ice cubes a person can hold to their wrist.) So I came up with my own method that probably needs a whole book of its own because hey, it helped me birth a 9 lb. 2.5 oz baby in a bathtub. I don't know if I'll have the time to write out all the complicated parts of my method, but I'll try: When it's cold out, don't wear a coat or mittens or hat while you pump your gas, then try and sit with/go into the all-encompassing discomfort of it. Oh, that's it I guess. (This legitimately helped me!) (No luck for you, west coasters.)

-- A cute guy at the deli counter called me 'mama' today and I don't know, I kind of enjoyed it. I think I need to analyze this.

-- I just got a 19 dolla pair of supersoft sweatpants in the mail today and they're really a cherry on top a darn good week.

Onward ho.