Sunday Summary

* The people who let their kids take more than the alloted number of eggs (9) at yesterday's Easter Egg Hunt? Special circle of Hell! Is this any way to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus? By cramming extra eggs in your kids' baskets while my kid searches in vain for just a few?

* I got all excited about sending the Beanie Babies to Afghanistan when Hub-D wondered idly if the Beanie Babies might be used to transport opium in Afghanistan. Cripes! Well, at least I'm supporting the local economy.

* Speaking of which, have I become a lazy Beanie Baby snob? I posted on Freecycle looking for more Beanie Babies and some lady is going to put seven of them on her porch for me tomorrow. Is it really worth it for me to drive across town for seven measly Beanie Babies? When Shaken-Mama-Reader Katie sends me a hundred and I don't have to leave the house? Well I'll go pick them up. The people of the world need their opium.

* I'm having one of those psychic-seeming moments again. I haven't been troubled by these bizarre scenes for a long time. Nothing since the whole Bob debacle. But it's back. I just keep seeing the same scene -- this one involves Japanese people shopping for art. The best way to describe it is it's a lot like deja vu, except the things I see haven't ever happened to me. So yet again, someone is mistaking me for Alison Dubois.

* I have successfully conned Chebbles into TWO naps in the last three days, and it's been great. We lie down together and read a story, then we go to sleep. She is totally with the program, she likes having the together time with me. And there are NO 5pm breakdowns.

Now, to avoid a breakdown of my own, I shall force myself to go to bed. My Health.com entry is nowhere near done, and I have about 500 nesting-type activities I would like to undertake, but no! Bed! I have to find out what kind of art those Japanese people are buying anyway...

Satisfaction

I packed up the final boxes for Operation Crayon tonight, and it was so satisfying. After I put the last APO-addressed box in my trunk, I slammed it shut and said, "THERE, Bitches!"

I'm pretty sure I was referring to bitches like Osama Bin Laden, who really have no ability to compete with the cuteness of a bazillion Beanie Babies. ("Oh, you're on your way to terrorist school, Afghani child? Well, would this adorable toucan change your mind?")

In the end, it was me, and two women I've never met (Thank you again, Katie!), who made these four jam-packed boxes of love possible. I still am paranoid that the lieutenant to whom we are sending the packages is going to open them and say, "That's it? I've got a thousand needy students and they're going to have to share five to a pencil?"

But nevertheless! The packages will soon be on their way. And it's somehow lovely how well Beanie Babies function as packing material. There they are, all nestled together, securing the school supplies below them.

It's just so damn satisfying.

"Pregnant -- And Laid Off" entry live on Health.com

It's posted, my latest entry for Health.com. I found it interesting, particularly how we could potentially negotiate with the hospital.

Enjoy!

How I felt better today

I have been thinking about the whole Operation Crayon thing.

I announced that we would be doing it last month, and I put out a call to a lot of folks I knew, asking for help.

And the response has been dismal. I'm not writing to complain about that, though. It's just an observation -- people couldn't get into the idea of sending school supplies to kids in Afghanistan. One local mom, who I don't even know, and who read "Kite Runner," left a big bag of stuff on our front porch for the program. And the USPS gave me a bunch of special boxes so I could have discounted shipping rates. Right on!

But otherwise, pretty much nothing. A few people are donating their Beanie Baby collections, which is superb, but overall, compared to similar efforts I've conducted in the past? Really dismal.

It's definitely got to be the economy, I think. Who wants to shell out for some random children's rulers and notebooks when you don't know how you're going to make the mortgage next month?

But this is what I observed for myself...

We aren't doing great either. We have some things to worry about, being small business owners with a twice-monthly payroll to meet. I too was up my own rear end thinking about our own problems.

Then tonight, in order to make up for the school supply shortfall, I put Gigi and Chebbles in the car and we went to the dollar store and bought $40 worth of pencils and notebooks. Chebbles thought they could use a pink stapler, so we're including that as well.

And for that couple of hours, while we blew off dance class, while we put down our tired little credit card to pay for our purchases, I didn't think about our own problems. I was really happy, just focusing on how damn happy a PENCIL is going to make a kid halfway around the world. Chebbles was into it, she can even say "Af-ghany-stan" and she would also like us to include some ice cream for the kids.

So here is what I'm saying: it felt really good to stop looking at the mirror making sad faces about our own financial position.

I would just advise other people to do the same, if they can't stop obsessing about their own issues: volunteer, contribute, and stop fussing about yourself. Worked for me.

Sleep and the preschooler

If I could get Chebbles to nap for just 45 minutes a day, or for two hours every three days, that would be perfect. Because she is just a little bit too tired for life, especially at 5pm every day. But she's a little too wakeful for serious afternoon naps anymore.

I've found that if I do enforce a nap, what results is a super-cranky Chebbles upon wake-up (regardless of how long the nap is), and then she can't fall asleep at night, and the next day is kind of hellish because she hasn't had enough nighttime sleep.

I just re-read "Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child," which remains the VERY BEST parenting book I have ever read, and he had some good ideas about this.

First, I'll experiment with the re-establishment an afternoon nap. This would be ideal, primarily for my OWN napping aspirations. Dr. Weissbluth (genius... GENIUS!) suggests taking your child into bed with you and napping yourself. (I love this man!) And then the child gets a reward if they fall asleep with you, a more minor award for lying quietly with you, then some kind of withheld treat or minor punishment if they jump around the room and act like a baboon instead of conforming to your sleep desires.

Second, on days that she doesn't nap, we've got to stick with a 6:30pm bedtime. Tonight her bedtime slipped to 7:30pm, which was my fellow bloggers' fault mostly, because I innocently checked my Google Reader account while she was in the bath, and a lot of people had put up juicy new posts, and by the time I snapped back to attention, she had stewed in the bath for more than 45 minutes.

(Note to concerned Chebbles Fans: She sings the ENTIRE time she is in the bathtub, so as long as I hear yodeling from the direction of the bathroom, I know she is alive and well, and I can do things nearby like read about Jbeeky's observations of teen love and Cindy's thoughts about the Octo-Mom.)

So tomorrow might be a little dicey, since she wakes up by about 6am every day, regardless of when she went to sleep, and 10.5 hours is not enough for The Chebs.

You see, she's had three days of NO STICKER due to bad decisions. For example, she was totally on course to get a bride-dress sticker today (she still needs six), when we had this interaction:

(I find Gigi crying on the ground. Chebbles was clearly not the instigator, but she definitely witnessed whatever upset The Jeege.)

Me: Oh poor Gigi (picking her up). Chebbles, what happened?

Chebbles: NEH.

Me: I know you didn't do anything, but is she hurt? Did she fall?

Chebbles. NEH!!!

Me: What did you see, Chebs?

Chebbles: I'm NOT TELLING YOU.

Me: That's a pretty bad decision. I'll give you to the count of five to tell me what you saw, or you're losing a sticker.

Chebbles: (Looking away, setting her jaw like James Dean) I'll NEVER tell you.

Me: And there goes your sticker. That seems like a pretty dumb way to lose a sticker, Chebbles.


I am struck by the fact her behavior was terrific, and sticker-worthy until this time, as always: 5pm.

So I'm going to try a few solutions, but I'm going to guess that the early bedtime is going to be the ultimate result. Although the mere idea of cozy naps together while Gigi's sleeping is really lovely, I'm not going to get delusional here.

Sisters' Colorado Dance Performance

When we were in Colorado, our friend J. took us to the World of Wonder Museum in Lafayette. It was amazing!

It was, first of all, muuuch cheaper than our closest California equivalent, Studio Grow, and even more fun!

The dance room had a stage and a bevy of real dance dress-up clothes. The pretend bank had tokens that made a ride-on car rock-n-roll. Plus there were "computers" upon which the kids could pretend to transact their banking business. There was a freakin' pirate ship, and so much more.

The highlight of our visit was Gigi's insistence on putting on tap shoes THEN performing a little dance. This was particularly hilarious since she had started walking just two weeks before, and -- as in everything -- now considers herself unstoppable:

She can be bought

As of last week, Chebbles' behavior was really getting bad. Her temper tantrums, although they lacked the head-banging craziness of days of yore, were like hurricanes that could strike several times a day.

Her crappy behavior was weighing our family down -- we could barely get from Point A to Point B without a big fight, and I felt like her constant crying and screaming were scaring Gigi.

Enter: The Bride Dress.

While we were visiting my friend J. in Denver, Chebbles wore her daughter's dress-up white gown about 90% of her waking hours. She was enchanted with that dress, and only relucantly took it off so we could leave.

On the plane on the way home, she asked me meekly, "Mama? Can I have a bride dress?"

I finally sensed that I had some bargaining power with The Chebs, and I had been granted the ability to reclaim the peace in our household.

Now, I KNOW that I am the parent. I am the authority on a day-to-day basis as to what she can and can't do. I have the power to forbid her behavior. I have the power to ignore her, to embrace her, to try every coping mechanism in order to soothe or tame her troubled soul. I should not require the use of BRIBES in order to nurture my children.

But ultimately, did I have the power to STOP the behavior? No. Not without a significant bargaining chip. And when she asked me in that little voice about the bride dress, I knew I finally had that chip.

"Well, Chebs, that sounds like a great reward. The bride dress."

"Can I have it?"

"We're going to have to talk with Daddy, because that is an expensive thing to buy for you. I'm guessing that it will be a reward for good behavior for you."

So once the purchase was cleared with Hub-D, Chebbles and I sat down and made a sticker chart for her.

I dreamed big for the sticker chart:

* Respect Adults.
* Be Kind to Friends.
* Share with Sister.
* No Temper Tantrums.

I thought that I was being kind of mean. She would NOT earn a sticker if she violated any of these guidelines throughout each day. And these were behaviors that were rampant. We were getting so much backchat and attitude, bossiness toward Z., and acting pissy about sharing -- in ADDITION to the horrible tantrums -- I thought it would take her weeks to get her act together.

I'm here to tell you that the minute that sticker chart was taped to her bedroom wall -- with the promise of Snow White stickers in her future, and a big Bride Day celebration after ten stickers, where she would get to watch "Enchanted" while wearing a Bride Dress AND Bride Shoes (thank you eBay) -- her behavior completely turned around.

All I have to do is vaguely imply that she might lose her daily sticker, and she turns around in her tracks. For example, today, at 5pm, when she was legitimately hungry and tired and dark storm clouds had gathered on her forehead, signalling an imminent tantrum, we had this conversation.

"NO MAMA! I DON'T WANT TO HAVE DINNER NOW!"

"Hey Chebs, I hear you. You don't want to have dinner now. (nb: Special Shout-Out to Dr. Karp for the idea of repeating what your kid says, which totally works) But you are SO CLOSE to getting your sticker for the day, and if you decide to have a tantrum now, and disrespect me, I won't be able to give you the sticker. So, how can I help you make a different choice now?"

"Can you snuggle me for a minute?"

"Yes."

(Brief hug.)

"OK, can I sit in my wooden chair for dinner???"

And she jumped up as if nothing had happened in the first place.

Amazing.

THANK YOU, BRIDE DRESS.

Now, what am I going to do after she earns these ten stickers? In the past, once we have rewarded a behavior out of her daily routine, it doesn't need additional reinforcement. She tends to develop a new muscle to eliminate the behavior, and she starts behaving without needing additional rewards.

Let's all hope that's the case, because I don't think eBay has enough dress-up clothes to last us until she's 18.

VBAC vs. C-section, Part One -- new Health.com story posted

Welcome to my wild world of PONDERING ENDLESSLY about how to birth our newest daughter.

I'm so lucky that the editors of Health.com work even harder than I do on my stories, coming up with valid statistics and smoothing out my thoughts. They make me look coherent! AND they knocked two years off my age on this post too. See, I told you they were great.

I'd really love your feedback and experience in this arena. The new article is HERE!

Turning my Retail Mistakes Into Tutus

I finally have started selling some things on eBay and it's AWESOME. Once I puzzled out how to ship things from home (and it was ultimately quite easy), I was off to the races.

Do you know how terrific it is, after all this time, to have a SURPLUS in my PayPal account? It's burning a hole in my pocket!

It's basically like having a weeklong garage sale where you can charge much more, and only people who are really interested in your specific items come to shop. Tonight, I posted a Diane Von Furstenberg maternity dress (an otherwise beautiful piece that makes me look like a whale with graffiti across my gut) and within an hour I had three "watchers" and a real live bidder.

Why did I buy a petite maternity dress in the first place? What planet was I on when I purchased this thing?

It will plague me with regret no longer!

Instead of donating the dress in a depressing heap of clothes, I'll now get at least $11 back from it, plus some surplus from the shipping and handling charges. Then I can keep that $11, or spend it on a swimsuit for The Jeege, who really needs one.,

Specifically, I think she "needs" a used Kate Mack pink tutu swimsuit but I haven't found one on eBay for less than $20 yet, so I'll keep hunting.

It's just so very satisfying to get money back from the things we have no use for anymore. I've sold some of our boyish baby clothes, plus an unflattering floral maternity dress and a Michael Stars maternity shirt that exposes my protruding belly button.

Now I wonder, as I think about whether or not we want to take "permanent measures" to end our procreating days forever -- do I just want to stop having babies so that I can sell our baby stuff on eBay? Well, yeah.

Thoughts on Denver

Anyway, Denver was really great. It was so nice seeing our friends, and the mountains were extraordinary, always peeking out on the western horizon.

I used to live in Boulder, for three somewhat hellish months of my life in 1993. It was nice to bring Hub-D past the house where I lived, and walk with him down the roads where I once walked, and the Power of Hub-D helped eradicate the remaining tatters of ghosts from that time. I should rent that man out, he's so good at making things better.

We were disappointed to learn that Denver's housing prices have not fallen. As California "bargain shoppers" who are non-urgently looking to relocate to a lower-tax (or no-tax) state, we'd had high hopes for Denver. The scenery is amazing, the people are wonderful, there are ample cultural activities, we already have friends there, and the schools are great too.

But the houses we would want to invest in are still too overpriced to consider. And the fact that there isn't a significant videogame community (our profession), it makes it not as do-able as we thought.

And ALSO, while we were in Denver, Gigi decided that she is a Big Girl. No more bottles, high chairs or baby food for this gal. You'll notice that she's a real toddler now. No mistaking that look!

Home from Denver

Sometimes I feel paranoid about posting when we leave town, especially now that our identity is exposed via Health.com. So I didn't tell you guys we were going to DENVER this past weekend. But we did. And it was really fun for the four of us to get away.

First, if you ever think you're SO SMART for planning a trip to Denver when you're seven months pregnant, I'll tell you that you're not. You know how Denver's nickname is the Mile High City? They're not screwing around when they use that term. You are in high altitudes there, my friend. So if you're the kind of pregnant lady who is already exhausted and lightheaded from pregnancy, then a weekend trip to Denver is not the perfect destination for you.

So that was somewhat asinine timing on my part, but after about three days, both Hub-D and I were over the bulk of our altitude sickness and really enjoying a lot about the area.

Yesterday we went to the Denver Zoo. Chebbles shared her ice cream cone with Gigi in a massive show of cuteness (above), just as the hippos shared their hay.

We were visiting some long-lost and some recently-moved friends there, and they lived in very different parts of the Denver area.

I'll plan to write more later, as Hub-D and I are going to go relax after a day of travel. And to put on more Chap-Stick.... oh, the altitude!

New Health.com post is live... Gigi's nutty 0th birthday

Remember Gigi's exciting birth last February? I barely do, but it was kind of interesting to further research the official terms to explain why it turned into such a festival of calamity...

The new post is here!

Our three-and-a-half year old baby

This is kind of her ideal scenario these days, being "swaddled" and carried like a baby.

But yeah, as previously stated, it's driving us a little bit crazy, particularly the huge tantrum part.

I did want to report that I put much of your advice into play today, with good results. I told her that I'm happy to give her hugs, but if she wants to get crazy with the yelling, she's going to have to do it in her room. Along with a dollop of good humor, and giving her a way out of the temperamental corners she paints herself in, we had a relatively nice day.

The she REALLY wanted to help me make macaroni and cheese.

But I asked her, "Can BABIES help stir macaroni and cheese?"

"No, babies can NOT do macaroni and cheese."

"So tell me, what are you?"

"I am a baby."

"Oh no! Then you can't help me with the macaroni and cheese."

"But I want to add the yogurt!" she said, reaching for the plastic tub.

"You'll have to say you're a big girl first." (I held it high over her head)

"Mama, I'm not going to say that."

(Pause. Pause. Pause.)

"Alright, add the yogurt, and I'll just know you're a big girl."


(Note: This is such a good macaroni and cheese recipe, in my opinion. It's the Trader Joe's mix, but with yogurt instead of butter and milk, plus a lot of frozen peas. THEN the grown-ups get cayenne pepper dusted on theirs. Awesome. Between Chebbles, Gigi and me, we ate two boxes today.)

Bad days for The Cheb

How is The Chebs doing, you might ask.

With Gigi's birthday party last week, my advancing pregnancy and wrist surgeries crippling me, and her officially turning three and a HALF, things have been somewhat hectic for our Cheb.

And she's sad. There is no better way to explain it. She's just a little sad a lot of the time. Today she was on an amusement park ride and I was taking pictures of her and I was struck by the slight veil of sadness over her face.

She's having big fat tantrums, about two each day, and they mostly coincide with times that I am paying attention to Gigi. A typical scene: Gigi tries to walk, falls and bonks her head, cries -- I go to her and pick her up, and Chebbles, who had been happily reading a book just moments ago SCREAMS at the top of her lungs, "NO! Comfort me!"

This kind of scene usually devolves into a half-hour or so of whimpering and screaming and devil-voice moments: "YOU'RE NOT NICE. YOU'RE MEAN."

I'm no longer impressed with the tantrums, and today I shared with her my dilemma:

"Chebbles, I don't know whether to comfort you at times like those, or to ignore you. It seems like when I do comfort you, it only encourages you to continue crying like this."

"NO! COMFORT ME!" She replied.

So I try. And there is Gigi with the bonked head, after some smooches and hugs, she walks off to find something to climb or dismantle while Chebbles lies pathetically with her head in my lap, just snotting and writhing around. "Rub my back. RUB MY BACK!" (Devil voice)

In the car, on the way home from the amusement park, where she had enjoyed massive dollops of attention from both of her parents, I made the mistake of turning to Gigi at a red light and saying, "I know you're tired and hungry, Jeege, and I appreciate that you stopped crying until we can get home and take care of you."

"NO!" Chebbles screamed. "SAY SOMETHING TO ME!"

"You're right, Chebs, I wanted to say to you---"

At that point, she cut me off by screaming and bucking in her seat, tears suddenly shooting out of her eyes.

She wept copiously the whole way home, and collapsed in Hub-D's arms when he lifted her out of the car, spent from all of the emotion.

I hear Hub-D in the driveway now, home from dinner with The Cheb, where she maintained her sad mood.

If history is any indication, this is just the latest phase, and I'm glad she's processing it before Leaf is born. But Chebbles. Oh Chebble.

My latest Health.com article posted, this time with even more moral quandaries!

It's finally up! My latest Health.com entry, this time about the controversy surrounding public vs. private cord blood banking.

It really is amazing, the possibilities that the stem cells in our kids' umbilical cords contain. Will our kids chuckle at our naïveté years down the line, or will they thank us for our foresight?

I imagine our kids saying, "Mom! Dad! If you'd only invested all that money in Google instead!"

"Sorry kids, we were enchanted by stem cells."

I learned all about regenerative therapies, and I want to apply them now. Could they have regenerated my wrist tendons with stem cells instead of cutting them open? Probably not, but I now feel like anything is possible.

Contest at "The Meanest Mom" Blog

One of my favorite mom bloggers is hosting a JUICY giveaway here.

I mention this for two reasons:

* If I mention it here, I get to submit a second entry to win those CHOCOLATES.

* You know how when you go to Trader Joe's, and you bring your own bags, they let you fill out a raffle ticket for a $10 gift certificate? And each week, at our local store, THREE people win. Do you know how often I've entered that raffle? Do you have any idea how many times my friend A. has entered that raffle? Enough times to know that it is RIGGED, my friends. We should be rolling in the gift certificates, or at least have won some kind of consolation prize by now. But no! Nothing! So I'm going to start entering as many contests as possible until I feel like the contest karma that Trader Joe's messed up has been rectified.

Healing, Spoiling The Jeege

Hooray for my healing right wrist, which suddenly started to feel better at about noon today, and never resumed its pissed-off behavior. I was afraid I was going to have to keep taking Vicodin in order to function, but the throbbing, agonizing pain seems to be a thing of the past -- I'm so relieved!

Of course I still can't lift Gigi with these aching hands, which is something of an issue because she is wont to get in a lot of trouble these days. Now that she's walking, she's virtually unstoppable. Whereas I could always tame the one-year-old Chebbles with a growl, Gigi just thinks it's funny when I discipline her.
So I wondered -- as Gigi crawled up Chebbles' Stokke chair and straight onto the dinner table and wrapped her little hands around my stunned neck -- am I just going to sit back and watch this kid disobey all of the rules I so carefully put in place with Chebbles? I don't have the manual dexterity to place her on toddler time-out just yet, and once I do, I'll be distracted by Baby Leaf -- but Gigi is beyond ridiculous and funny, so I always end up chuckling at her, regardless of whether her behavior is sanctioned.

Today at playgroup, she found some Mr. Potato-Head glasses, and worked for several minutes to place them on the bridge of her nose. Of course, as in everything, she was finally successful in her efforts, and she looked around the room with her miniature spectacles, knowing how damn hilarious she is.

Oh Jeege, you determined little clown. It's simply counterintuitive, not to mention futile, to tell you what to do.

Right wing, clipped

I'm alive, Leaf's alive, we made it! Both wrists are now done.

This one's about 5 times more painful -- there was a lot more scar tissue in my tendon, weirdly.

But we made it!

My personal organizer

After Gigi goes to bed each night, I have to spend time locating various kitchen utensils and accessories. Where are the sippy cup valves? In the frying pan, of course!

And the plastic bags? Naturally, they have been relocated to a much better drawer...

Gigi as Snow White

The Jeege went down early tonight.

The poor princess got a bit of food stuck in her throat, and she never full-on choked (thank GOD), but the process of coughing it up made her so upset, I'm guessing she scratched her throat. She's still a little barfy, but she's holding down the milk I gave her when I put her down. She's simply verklempt from the whole ordeal, as am I.

The mortality of The Jeege is something I got over a long time ago. I had to, so I could function in life. When she was about four months old, I looked at her and said, "Hey, I guess you're sticking around, huh?" I had been so skeptical up to that point, not wanting to DARE to allow the tidal wave of baby-love to overtake me.

Now we're cool. She's just The Jeege, newly dubbed The Troublesome Toddler. She started walking yesterday, big long strides, sauntering across the room like a cowboy. (Oh, those cute twisty legs!) There is nothing that can stop her. Except maybe a little chunk of apple.

Oh JEEGE, you scared us! Chebbles and I sat holding Gigi, and caressing her long locks while she wept from the misery of it all. She was tired from skipping her afternoon nap, and she just spiraled into great sadness, alternately hurling a little more spit and sobbing on my shirt.

It looks like your great love of apples will have to be set aside for awhile. Poor Jeege!

She went to bed at 5:30pm, and I can't stop checking on her. Of course her breathing is fine, and she never spit up blood or anything -- it's just the first time in her whole life that she choked on anything. So her mom got totally freaked out.

Which reminds me, time to go in and disturb her sleep for my own edification.