What the?!!!!

(Jon with Josh...Kodama The Wondercat Observing)

Ok, little mommies to be...I have discovered yet another secret that the "Old-Hand" Moms have conveniently forgotten to mention. Gentlemen, you may wish to skip this blog. Nursing mothers can go from Jessica Rabbit proportions standing up to flat-tire-floppy lying down. Perhaps this is not exactly new stuff to most of you, but no one bothered to mention that if I were lying down, a bra does not seem to do the job it used to do. Now, I suppose I could get a nursing bra, but a little creative manuvering with a regular bra seems to work just fine...until we get to that whole sleep issue. (Besides, in order to obtain a nursing bra, I would have to SHOP for a nursing bra -- and I'm sorry, shopping for clothes just makes me all different kinds of cringy.) I have been forced to use a bit o' strategery (I LOVE that word!!!!!) in order to keep myself, er, in line. For the first time in twenty-two years, I have been forced to stuff my bra. Yes, Virginia...for the last several months, I snuggle into bed next to my husband with a pair of rolled up socks placed oh so flatteringly in the center of the bra-area. Do I make you horny, baby?!! No, didn't think so. Of course with the socks in play, I kinda have the front physique of a character from Total Recall (no, not the slimy stomach puppet)...Hrm, maybe you just have to be there.


I am sorry. I have not been slacking off on my blogging, but this has been an awfully short week. We began with a grand experiment on Friday...could I make it through two nights without Josh?!! Answer: Yes, but apparently, I will need sedation the next time through...and perhaps a stunt cow. After weeks of prepping -- I was in High-Elsie mode, believe me -- I was finally able to prep for Josh's extended seige, er, stay at Mom's house. Fifteen bags o'Moo, a backpack and enough clothes for a month...We had been planning to go to the Anime Punch Convention since November, and Mom and Dad had been kind enough to throw themselves on the Joshua Grenade. There wasn't going to be any doubt in my mind that Josh would have a blast. According to Mom, all he has to do is grin at his great-grandfather George, and then G.G. George wants to know where to send the pony. Oh, sure...Josh can have a pony,but can _I_ have a pony? No. I get Kodama, the "blank-blank-blank" (<--insert favorite expletives here) Wondercat -- who spends half of his life finding new ways to kill me, half of his time keeping me awake at night showing me his mouse-y prowess as he chases the shrieky fuzzballs into our bedroom and crashes into everything. Josh gets me up once a night...Koda gets me up all of the time. Stupid cat. We only keep him around for comic relief, really. Although at four in the morning, I'm not nearly as amused. Josh, at least, has a reason to be up, and once he's out, he's done for several hours. Adding to the fun is that Koda doesn't want to eat the mousies...he just wants to play with them until they are exhausted and then they become ex-mousies. I've had nightmares of Josh getting to that "everything goes into my mouth" stage, and rounding the corner to find a dead mousie between his drooly, grinning gums. Eeeewwwww!!!!!

Ah...I digressed a bit, didn't I? No, not really.

Well, while this had been a plan in the works for quite some time, and even knowing that, I was uneasy...Yes, Josh would have a blast. Yes, my mother and the cast and crew at home would be all goofy and silly and enjoying themselves -- but my hands itched. Really and truly itched, just below the first layer of skin, at the thought of Josh not being in my arms. And my arms just felt awkward and weak. Two nights without Josh? It was just too weird to contemplate. Of course, Mom said I could back out anytime, and while that was really tempting, I had something else to consider. Jon.

In the last several months, I've watched as my husband has slowly been moved to the periphery of my vision...Josh and I are the ones everyone wants to see. Every word out my mouth lately has been "Josh", or in some way Josh related. I can't seem to stop it, and while he tries to understand, for someone who was once the complete and total center of my world...the most important person in my life, it's been rather tough on him to be sidelined in such a fashion...he just feels lost. So we needed Jon and Kim time, like P.T.J. (Prior to Josh). And we needed it desperately, itchy hands or no.


So, I left Josh with Mom and the tender care of the ornery folk at home (I only sobbed hysterically for the first thirty minutes of my hour & 1/2 drive back to our house) , and Jon and I went home for the first of our nights without him. We were exhausted, and the next day was going to be early and long (Jon is a huge anime fan. I am about middle of the road, but my job at the conventions is to take pictures of the silly costumes and to let him know when it was time to go home) -- but we did our best to recreate "The Mood". Things would have gone quite well, if when I started kissing him, I hadn't had to pull three Koda hairs off of his lip. (I think they were on the pillow...I hope they had been on the pillow ---eeeeewwww!!!). Well, minor distraction, the kissing proceeded...and then, the owner of those three white Koda hairs showed up. Koda's timing is nothing short of criminally superb, and he always wants to show up when we are otherwise engaged. First he tried to jump on the bed...and was not so gently removed from the proceedings. When this failed, he tried to jump onto a nearby armchair to keep an eye on things. He failed to judge the fact that his perch was already occupied by several books and magazines that we had just put there to get them out of the way. He jumped, slipped on the magazines, fell...the magazines fell on top of him...Jon and I just looked at each other. Jon gallantly got up, and escorted Koda outside of the room, where Jon then shut the door, and we tried to pick up where we had left off. Tried.

MRRRrrrrOOOOOOOWWWWWW?!!! MRRRrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! scratch.
MRRRrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! scratch. scratch.
MRRRrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! scratch. scratch. THUD!!!!
MRRRrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! scratch.
MRRRrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! scratch. scratch. THUD!!!!

Oh yes, it was charming. Yowling and clawing and throwing himself -- all twelve pounds of himself --at the door, Koda demanded to be allowed to rescue me from the evil husband.

We couldn't help it. We began to laugh...and laugh... and cry. It would seem that since our primary birth control method had not worked all that well the last time around, that we now had a living, breathing, yowling alternative... Yippie.

Josh's visit went well. The Con was a hoot. But, Mom, the next time Josh stays with you, I'm packing the *&%# cat!!!!

(Synchronized Sleeping with Josh and Jasper)

Snippets

I had this dream last night that I was a member of the audience on American Idol...As a joke, a producer sent me to the stage instead of to my seat. Everyone on the set was in on the joke. I went along with it as gamely as I could, but was, as you can imagine, more than a little uneasy and displeased with the set up...As I went up to sing, the first thing I noticed was that I had started the "let-down" process on one breast...(meaning, on one side only, I was totally soaked). Josh had also sneezed on me on the other side, so the whole thing was completely balanced out. Gross. Then, I got onto the stage, and not only did I not know the song I was supposed to be singing...but they kept switching to other songs in the middle of it (and I didn't know them either), so I was really getting ticked...Jon, of course, wanted to shoot them (he always wants to shoot people in dreams -- his or mine -- in his waking life, he just wants to hit them over the head with a golden shovel *) . Simon Cowell ended up telling me that I would do best by getting a job dressed as Donald Duck in Walt Disney World...lip-syncing. Ha, flippin' ha!

* More on the Golden Shovel later


**********
Another dream I had involved a cartoon fire (I swear, I'm the only person I know who actually dreams in cartoons) in a many storied building...little cartoon people yelled and howled out the windows like they always do in cartoon fires...and the fire department was called, but wouldn't get there until it was much too late. Suddenly a brass band beside me began to play the Mighty Mouse theme, and I found I was wearing a large, flappy cape. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I whipped out my "wild stallions" (sorry, you'll only get that reference if you made it all the way through the fourth season of BBC's COUPLING), and they just went haywire...they were everywhere like the cartoon pressure hoses, and I was thrown back and forth all over the place, but I put the fire out, by golly. Somehow, I don't think pubescent boys dream about breasts as much as I have been lately.

*********

Recent Conversation:

Jon -- I am a speedbump.
Me -- I'm sorry?
Jon -- I am a speedbump. People come cruising into my office and hit my desk, and then whine because their lives aren't going as smoothly as they'd like, and all their money is gone.
Me -- Ah, and then you come home to Baby Speedbump. Like Father, Like Son.


**********

The True Story of the Golden Shovel:

My husband is a very practical person with a low tolerance for blatant, head-numbing stupidity. In his opinion, every problem in the world can be solved with a shovel. Simply hit the problem upside of the head with a shovel, dig a hole with said shovel (no wasting time changing implements) -- and Voila! No more problem. One year, my parents who knew of this philosophy, purchased a ten-dollar shovel, painted it gold, and gave it to him as a Christmas present. Now, he got quite the haul that year...dvd boxsets, clothes, the whole speil. Yet his most favorite present (TO THIS DAY!!!) is that silly ten dollar shovel. At any point in time, Jon will calmly mention to anyone listening that he has a shovel and isn't afraid to use it.

For months, the shovel lived in the trunk of our little honda, ready to be whipped out should the need arise. And one day, the need did arise after all. First, you should be aware that Jon can say anything in such a fashion that you WILL believe whatever he says. Imagine sort of a boy scout...now imagine an annoyed boyscout with more steel in his tone, his eyes, and spine -- a smile that just barely stays this side of biting off an offending head...and you have Jon after a really long day. (Now, I can get around any mood he's in simply by rubbing his head, but I don't think he really makes a point of giving anyone else that option. Frankly, if you're not me, I wouldn't recommend it...there could be pain involved...it would be very sad.) At a prior job incarnation, Jon was faced with a client who chose to be overtly obnoxious to all in the vicinity. There were certain rules of the facility, and this client chose not only to ignore those rules, but to flaunt that fact, and his actions were freaking out the other clients. Jon looked at him, and calmly told him that if the client did not cease his disruptive behavior, that Jon carried a shovel in the car. The client laughed and ignored him. Jon shrugged, and went out to the car, where he retrieved the shovel, and went back to his office -- which had a window that looked out onto the facilities living room area. He then caught the attention of the client, and smiled.
He looked at the shovel. He looked at the client. He looked at the shovel. He smiled again.
Apparently, the jerk was was the model gentleman the rest of his stay.


After Jon recieved his shovel, he decided that like the great weapons of old, it should have a name, and he settled on the perfect one within moments of grasping its handle -- PANACEA.
Literal translation: Cure All.

Shades of Gray

My mother invited Josh and I down to for a long delayed, much needed "slumber party" this last weekend. It was absolutely wonderful. I kissed my husband goodbye (actually it felt more like a welcome home kiss -- but we've been a bit backwards lately as you well know), tossed the Roo and the bassinette, two backpacks (one with his stuff, and one with a shirt for me and more of his stuff) my purse, a cooler with frozen moo, and the stroller (in case Dad can figure out how to get some rubber wagon wheels over the stroller's originals, so that we can trek off-road in Dawes Arboretum) -- and tried really hard not to peel out in my attempt to FINALLY FINALLY give Josh and Mom their day (oh, yeah, and mine, too!!!). Jon absolutely hated the idea of my leaving. Hated, pure and simple. We've been living together for a little over five years, and have been married for almost four. In that time, there have only been two nights that we were separated -- the first was the night before our wedding. The second was this trip. Jon was going to try to console himself by having a one-man Jon party -- complete with a whole deep-dish pizza and home-made cupcakes for himself, while he watched anime, played video games, and plowed through some crucial paperwork -- not necessarily in that order, of course. Still, he looked like an abandoned puppy, and was too unhappy to watch me leave. We kissed, hard and fast, and then broke away before I forgot I was supposed to heading out.

The little red Honda was overflowing with all things baby, but as I pulled into Mom's driveway, I realized that while I had prepped for a siege for him, the basic necessities for myself were stashed safely in the drawers at home. No undies for me, no socks, and a limited supply of breast pads. I just barely remembered to bring my little life saving manual breast pump -- I've been without it in times of dire need, and manually milking myself was an ugly, clumsy (and deeply slimy) experience. Reminded me much more of my experience milking cows at the State Fair (and if my hands were as cold then as they were for me, my sincerest and deepest apologies to the entire bovine community).

Mom kept trying to make it an Uber-Spa experience, even offered a foot soak...but I just wanted to be all comfy and cozy. Not that my motives were entirely altruistic, mind you...in addition to my goal of finally (after weather and flu delays) getting a Mom visit, I was after something just as special (sorry Mom, but for some reason, new parenthood puts this right up with my love of you) -- a shower. A real, honest to God, lobster-steamy, water-pressure-drilling -through-the-back-of-my-head shower-type-shower. Ah, rapture. It occurs to me that I probably owe Mom & Dad beaucoup buckage for the all of water damage I have caused the bathroom ceiling and those painted walls over the years, as I never made a point of coming out from under that mini waterfall until the room was so clouded with steam that I must physically push it aside...until I am scalded white and red and every shade in between. Again, rapture. Absolute joy and rapture. Came downstairs to find Josh a snuggly and sleeping bulge on Mom’s shoulder…and Mom had the same look of joy and happiness on her face from holding Josh that I had in stepping into and out of the shower.

Both days began with hot cinnamon bread and sausage and coffee…and cats…Jasper was convinced that he had been elected guard cat to the Dauphin (or maybe he just liked the really fuzzy Care Bear blanket Josh slept on) -- and he resembled a Ra shi da -- or Foo Dog-lion from Chinese mythology as he curled around Josh‘s feet

…we spent most of the night downstairs, because Josh seemed upset in my old room -- I think it was just too odd a place for him…so Josh slept on the loveseat, and I crashed on the couch in the living room. Josh was guarded on one side by a chair that prevented him from wiggling off, and at his feet by Jasper, who took up where Fancy left off, and glared at me when Josh cried (because OBVIOUSLY it was my fault he was crying). Jasper was a hoot, he never comes near me…he never shows any interest in me, but when Josh is there, he hurls himself along side of me and stays as close to Josh as it is possible to be. I made several calls to Jon, who had decided to eat his entire pizza after ten p.m. The silly creature had then gotten violently ill and as a consequence didn’t sleep until five-thirty in the morning. He then didn’t wake up until ten in the morning. I left Mom’s house refreshed, and recouped, and all was good.

Josh had been all smiles and coos for everyone, so of course, they thought he was pretty darned amusing…and we began our long journey home…made longer by the fact that I thought I would hit the C- Wallyworld before I hit Z-. My intention was to breeze in and breeze out, but even in C-, Josh drew a crowd, and while the gauntlet was infinitely smaller than at my store, there were still enough people who remembered me and who had heard of Josh’s story to be fascinated and so our progress was delayed a bit.

Josh, though all of this, was a docile, interested little guy…but the hour and a half drive home now had an additional thirty minutes tacked on, and he had now been in the car seat for two hours. I came home to worn and shaky Jon, and within thirty minutes of our arrival, all of my recouping and refreshing got shot to hell. Josh had had enough. He uncrunched and stretched out and began to let out ear-bleeding screams that wouldn’t stop for another hour and a half. Changing didn’t work, bathing didn’t work…singing and playing soft music didn’t work. Both of us felt as though we’d been hit in the face with a heavy, flat rock. Finally, I resorted to the old standby…I wrapped Josh up, and began trudging around in the mud of our field. The mud squelched into my shoes, and around my ankles, as I had not stopped to put on socks, and Josh screamed and struggled and screamed. I was convinced that the relatives would think I was just torturing him, but as loud as he was, the walk was helping…me, at least. The screaming just wouldn’t stop, and it was a cold, clear night that echoed every sound. In all likelihood, Josh’s howls could be heard up and down the river. Usually, Josh is out and gone by the time I hit the far end of the field -- no such luck, this time. However, by the time I rounded the “bend” and began to make my way back to our house, he finally settled into that heaviness that signals deep sleep… As I stepped back onto the porch, my muscles untensing, my neck unknotting, and the ringing in my ears subsiding -- knowing that in fifteen minutes more, Josh would be so out that we could clogdance on his head without his making a whimper -- some weasel trucker came whipping around the curve (and that jerk was totally speeding) -- and not only did we suddenly have to deal with the noise and rattle of his rig, but he decided he needed to honk too. (Pastor Bob, are you absolutely certain there isn‘t a codicil to that “thou shalt not kill” routine…something about “unless you wake up the howling creature I JUST got to sleep?” Couldn‘t we just pencil it in somewhere? God might not approve, but I‘m sure Mary would totally side with us.) That was it. Joshua Chamberlain, Banshee-boy, awoke with even more determination, and somehow even more decibels. In moments, I was reduced to howling, whimpering goo myself. Jon, still looking and feeling as though he had been hit by a flat brick, tapped my shoulder and tagged me out. Somehow, Jon did it…not immediately, not quickly…but with more patience and calm than I would have credited to either of us. In the soft red glow of Josh’s lamp, he soothed and sang and burped and spoke…and Josh relaxed, and responded. After about fifteen minutes of deep breaths, and deep sighs of my own, I returned to Josh’s room to find a fascinating sight. Josh was looking up at Jon with utter fascination, and Jon was looking back…like the Dream Prince I knew, and the honest to God father he was becoming. Just he and Josh…he would talk, and Josh would coo back up to him. Josh was enraptured…and Jon, well, Jon was a little dog-eared and worn, but soothing and even smiling.. I’m getting all sniffly. All he ever wanted to do in life was love me and be loved by me …and he gets all gruff and difficult when anyone else gets involved in our life, or when talking about Josh...and yet …and yet…every once in a while, someone can get through those walls he puts up…and I think, spite of Jon’s natural contrariness and bluster…that Josh may have found a crack of sunlight...it will come, I think...it will come.


****************

Days later, Jon and I were cuddled up to each other…I was holding a not-quite-asleep Josh, and leaning into Jon’s arms. Some how the conversation turned to testing…and I told Jon that I was going to teach Josh how to love essay questions as much as I do -- that it was those nasty true and false deals that I hated. Jon responded that the true and false questions were the best, that he’d teach Josh that the world was simply black or white, good or bad. “No, love, it’s shades of gray…” I told him, and snuggled deeper into his shoulder. “Just like your hair.”