My younger sister was born when I was 3, and I remember having a very volitile relationship with her when we were little kids. Once we hit like high school and middle school age, it was an outright hostile relationship and we were agreed in our mutual dislike of one another, but when we were little kids, we ran very hot and cold. I remember being very jealous, since people talked all the time about how cute she was, how sweet, blah blah blah. This all sounds pretty standard, doesn't it? We get along fine now, but it took about 25 years to get there.
But being that I'm the older sibbling, you'd think I'd remember more about what Oliver is going through. You'd think I'd be able to muster up more sympathy for him since I know what it's like. But the thing is, I keep hearing that little voice inside my head saying, "But your sister wasn't the little sweetheart that Elliot is." But I'm sure that she was. Which means that I was a pretty rotten little kid to be so angry at my sweet little sister. It wasn't her fault that she was born, after all, and in the beginning that really was her only crime. I just wish I had the magic right words to say to reassure him that just because there's another child in the family doesnt' mean that we love him less. If anything, we love him more because we get to go back and do the baby thing again, and we remember how cute he was as a baby, and we see how cute he is now, and we get excited about seeing Elliot grow, too. But all Oliver sees is that Elliot cries and we pick him up, that he smiles and we smile back, and that he doesn't have our undivided attention any more. And it's too scary to blame mommy and daddy for that, so the only person left to blame is the little smiling interloper who doesn't know what he could possibly have done to have won Oliver wrath (and truthfully, doesn't seem to care all that much, since he is only 6 months old, after all).
And not that it's all tears and terror, we're just having some pronounced bad times. I know it'll all pass and we'll get new challenges and such. I just wish I knew the right thing to do to prevent my boys from having 25 years of bad feelings, like I had with my sister.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Monday, December 03, 2007
One finished object!
I FINALLY finished something, woohoo! I started this little sweater for Elliot and I managed to finish it up lickity quick. I just love doing kids' clothes, they knit up so quickly and it's just so satisifying to be done so quickly.
Pattern: Textured Jacket
Source: Baby Knits by Lois Daykin
Yarn: Berroco Comfort (2 skeins)
Size: 9-12 month
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Halloween!
Halloween was great this year! This was the first year that Oliver really dressed up and he seemed to really enjoy it. He wanted to be a kitty, but I found this wonderful elephant costume and since he's always coming up to me and saying, "Mommy, would you talk to an elephant?" I just couldn't resist. He didn't actually go trick or treating, I thought it would probably freak him out too much, and who really needs the extra candy in the house, but he had a great time helping me hand out candy to the kids who came by.
Elliot was a tiger, because I had to find something for him to be dressed as, and the tiger was pretty cute. But oh my, it just takes my breath away how sweet he was all dressed up as a baby tiger! I know, I know, I HAVE to think he's cute. But judge for yourself, could you actually resist such a cute little tiger?As you can see from the ears, I was a little kitty (Oliver said that I was Inky).
Friday, October 26, 2007
The picture of the day
I don't know that I really need to even say anything. There's nothing sweeter than having a baby sleeping against you, all warm and wrapped up.Thursday, October 25, 2007
And more sick kids
Oliver seems to be suffering from some kind of mysterious and very annoying illness. A moderate to high fever, a barking cough that only emerges at night, and a general increase in his usual level of toddler angst. He'll be going to the pediatrician if we have another bad night, so fingers crossed that he manages to sleep (his fever broke, leaving him thoroughly saturated, and though he had to wear ducky pyjamas instead of fire trucks or dinosaurs, he went back to sleep after being changed).
Tuesday he just seemed kind of feverish, so I kept him home from preschool. Wednesday, he was actually whiney and ill-seeming, as well as feverish, so again he stayed home. And I learned just how hard it is to have two kids demanding your physical attention at the same time. Elliot's been chewing on everything he can get his pudgy little hands on and generally been clingy, but we lucked on and he slept a bit later than usual. So Oliver and I watch PBS shows while he dances around the living room, then runs back saying "want mommy to sit with me?" All well and good until Elliot wakes up, in his usual good humor, thankfully, but with that look on his face that meant he'd be spending the morning trying to chew his way across the living room and wouldn't be content to be put down for long. All is well for like a half hour, until Oliver begins demanding "Want me to hold you?" and Elliot starts demanding the same. And obviously, holding both of them is not a reasonable solution for Oliver, since Elliot keeps trying to grab handfuls of his hair and put them in his mouth, and in his overly-angsty state, Oliver just couldn't deal with the rapturous smiles Elliot kept throwing his way. So I bowed to begging and put on yet another movie ("A penguin movie! Want to watch a penguin movie? Awwww, it's a baby penguin! He's so cute!"), and as I'm standing in the kitchen, trying to decide if I can manage to clean the counters in the 5 minutes of quiet that the new movie has bought me, I smelled the unmistakable smell of cat poop and knew my day had gone from challenging to certifiably crappy, pardon the pun.
Back into the exersaucer Elliot went as I rounded on Inky, the assumed culprit. And I was right. I took Inky into the kitchen, mostly so I could swear at him without having to worry about Oliver repeating me at preschool, and realized that mere paper towels were not going to do the job. Inky needed a bath. I cursed Haakan under my breath (and over my breath, once I got upstairs), ignored the demands of my children (Oliver's "Want some MIIIIIIILK!" and Elliot's general displeasure at both me having walked out of his line of sight and running out of things to chew on), and locked myself and Inky in the bathroom. And as I'm leaning over the tub, washing poop off my cat's ass with baby shampoo, I had one of those "what has happened to my life" kind of moments. But I managed to get Inky clean, though it was a struggle and I had to change clothes by the time we were done, and rejoing my no longer fussing children. Oliver had handed Elliot a bunch of new toys (all of which were, luckily, actually Elliot's toys) and greeted me with a happy "We're wathing a penguin movie!"
Tuesday he just seemed kind of feverish, so I kept him home from preschool. Wednesday, he was actually whiney and ill-seeming, as well as feverish, so again he stayed home. And I learned just how hard it is to have two kids demanding your physical attention at the same time. Elliot's been chewing on everything he can get his pudgy little hands on and generally been clingy, but we lucked on and he slept a bit later than usual. So Oliver and I watch PBS shows while he dances around the living room, then runs back saying "want mommy to sit with me?" All well and good until Elliot wakes up, in his usual good humor, thankfully, but with that look on his face that meant he'd be spending the morning trying to chew his way across the living room and wouldn't be content to be put down for long. All is well for like a half hour, until Oliver begins demanding "Want me to hold you?" and Elliot starts demanding the same. And obviously, holding both of them is not a reasonable solution for Oliver, since Elliot keeps trying to grab handfuls of his hair and put them in his mouth, and in his overly-angsty state, Oliver just couldn't deal with the rapturous smiles Elliot kept throwing his way. So I bowed to begging and put on yet another movie ("A penguin movie! Want to watch a penguin movie? Awwww, it's a baby penguin! He's so cute!"), and as I'm standing in the kitchen, trying to decide if I can manage to clean the counters in the 5 minutes of quiet that the new movie has bought me, I smelled the unmistakable smell of cat poop and knew my day had gone from challenging to certifiably crappy, pardon the pun.
Back into the exersaucer Elliot went as I rounded on Inky, the assumed culprit. And I was right. I took Inky into the kitchen, mostly so I could swear at him without having to worry about Oliver repeating me at preschool, and realized that mere paper towels were not going to do the job. Inky needed a bath. I cursed Haakan under my breath (and over my breath, once I got upstairs), ignored the demands of my children (Oliver's "Want some MIIIIIIILK!" and Elliot's general displeasure at both me having walked out of his line of sight and running out of things to chew on), and locked myself and Inky in the bathroom. And as I'm leaning over the tub, washing poop off my cat's ass with baby shampoo, I had one of those "what has happened to my life" kind of moments. But I managed to get Inky clean, though it was a struggle and I had to change clothes by the time we were done, and rejoing my no longer fussing children. Oliver had handed Elliot a bunch of new toys (all of which were, luckily, actually Elliot's toys) and greeted me with a happy "We're wathing a penguin movie!"
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sick kids
Oliver's home sick from preschool today, though you'd never know he was sick to look at him. Weird random fever this morning, like over 100, and he was cranky and miserable and whiney (moreso than usual). But now he's watching TV and jumping up and down giving me a running commentary on what's going on, silly child.
Yesterday I got to take both kid with me to take Inky to the vet. Oliver had been a normal 2 year old all morning and I had been a normal tired mom, so when we got to the vet he kept saying, "WHY are you doing that? STOP doing that!" The nurse was perplexed and I had to tell her that he wasn't really talking to her, just repeating what he'd heard that morning. Nothing like admitting that you have virtually NO patience to relative strangers to make you feel like you're up for mother of the year. We all made it home with most of our sanity intact, and despite his best efforts, Oliver did NOT manage to crawl inside Inky's "kitty cage".
On Friday we had to take Elliot to Children's Hospital for his renal ultrasound and VCUG to make sure there's nothing serious going on in there, since he had a urinary tract infection about a month and a half ago. It makes me realize just how lucky we are to have two such healthy kids. I saw two baby girls in hip braces, one little boy with some fairly significant problems, kids in beds and on oxygen being wheeled around. I don't know how the parents of seriously ill children do it, just holding Elliot's hands during the VCUG while he screamed was about enough to reduce me to a sobbing pile of maternal fear and sorrow. I know, in real life and online, more and more parents who have children with severe problems, it makes me not want to push my luck with a third child. I had such easy pregnancies and have such healthy kids, I feel like I'm playing Russian Roulette or something, like my number's going to come up eventually and we might not be so insanely lucky the next time. When you think about all the things that have to happen in order to have healthy child, and all the things that can go wrong in the process, it's kind of amazing that ANYONE has a healthy child. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I've got my hands full with the two we already have!
Yesterday I got to take both kid with me to take Inky to the vet. Oliver had been a normal 2 year old all morning and I had been a normal tired mom, so when we got to the vet he kept saying, "WHY are you doing that? STOP doing that!" The nurse was perplexed and I had to tell her that he wasn't really talking to her, just repeating what he'd heard that morning. Nothing like admitting that you have virtually NO patience to relative strangers to make you feel like you're up for mother of the year. We all made it home with most of our sanity intact, and despite his best efforts, Oliver did NOT manage to crawl inside Inky's "kitty cage".
On Friday we had to take Elliot to Children's Hospital for his renal ultrasound and VCUG to make sure there's nothing serious going on in there, since he had a urinary tract infection about a month and a half ago. It makes me realize just how lucky we are to have two such healthy kids. I saw two baby girls in hip braces, one little boy with some fairly significant problems, kids in beds and on oxygen being wheeled around. I don't know how the parents of seriously ill children do it, just holding Elliot's hands during the VCUG while he screamed was about enough to reduce me to a sobbing pile of maternal fear and sorrow. I know, in real life and online, more and more parents who have children with severe problems, it makes me not want to push my luck with a third child. I had such easy pregnancies and have such healthy kids, I feel like I'm playing Russian Roulette or something, like my number's going to come up eventually and we might not be so insanely lucky the next time. When you think about all the things that have to happen in order to have healthy child, and all the things that can go wrong in the process, it's kind of amazing that ANYONE has a healthy child. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now I've got my hands full with the two we already have!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Escape from Stockholm: Part Deux
When we last left our intrepid and foolhardy travelers, they were attempting to leave the land of modular furniture and $500 strollers (also known as Sweden) for the Steel City, where french fries go on everything and the verb "to be" has become obsolete (aka Pittsburgh). We had successfully managed to make it through security with minimal hassles, though as I'm watching everyone hop around on one foot while they try to put their shoes back on while standing up, I always marvel at how poorly planned out those security checkpoints are.
Having survived my thoroughly unpleasant father in law, two difficult gate agents, and, of course, the various vomiting and whining of my kids, Haakan and I congratulated ourselves on making it inside the airport with most of our sanity intact and decided that we'd all earned some breakfast, which means cinnamon rolls and a badly needed cup of coffee. And things progressed smoothly for a while from that point. Elliot stopped spitting up all over everything for a few minutes (which usually means he's hungry, so I fed him again), Oliver peacefully ate his Swedish cinnamon roll (which he'd been demanding for the past 10 minutes, since he heard the word), and Haakan and I giggled about how we'd narrowly skirted disaster with his father in the car that morning.
But then, as was bound to happen, our luck changed. Oliver was growing increasingly more and more restless since we finished or cinnamon rolls, and by the time we made it through security checkpoint number 2 (or 3, I've lost count), he'd begun a chorus of "Want to ride on an airplane? Want to ride on an airplane? Want to ride on an airplane?" that barely paused for breath between question marks. Our various other suggestions, "Do you want to read a story? Do you want to play with cars? Would you like some bunny crackers?" where all met with screams and near sobbing, then the eerily calm question "Want to ride on an airplane?" As this is going on, Oliver's been let off of Haakan's back and he proceeds to tear around the lounge where we're all trapped like proverbial lambs, tripping over everyone's feet and knocking down carry on bags. And oh so slowly, Haakan and I begin to lose our composure, which Oliver also senses and begins to also lose his. As I pry him off of the heating element under the window for the fifteenth time, I can see the looks of pity on people's faces, as if they are saying "Look at that poor frazzled woman. I hope I'm not sitting anywhere near them!"
As Oliver begins to really freak out and scream "WANT TO RIDE ON AN AIRPLANE!" as he sobs, Haakan picks him up and tries to comfort him. By this point Elliot had finally fallen asleep in the wrap, after much whining and settling of himself. And then, in a movement so quick there was nothing we could do to stop it, Oliver nearly threw himself from Haakan's arms and managed to head-butt Elliot with an audible thud. In a move that we pure reflex, my hand flew up and I pinged Oliver on the top of the head, saying "Don't you EVER do that again!" This got the attention of not just Oliver, who stopped crying for a few moments and looked at me very surprised, but also of everyone standing near us. I could almost hear their shock that they had seen me lose it and smack my two year old on the top of the head. People shuffled away from us slightly, as if fearing that they would be next to feel my wrath. A woman with her own toddler wandered over and pointed at the planes outside for her very contented child, perhaps hoping that I'd observe her excellent example of good parenting and repent for my evil ways. Or maybe it was just in my head as I fought back my own tears and appologized again and again to Oliver for having lost my temper so badly.
At about this same moment, one of the gate agents announces that the plane was late coming in from Philadelphia and is going to be late leaving, so it'll be at least another 20 minutes before we board. At the mention of the plane, Oliver goes into another chorus of "want to ride on an airplane!", but at least this time we're able to distract him with his toy airplanes and the promise that we'll ride on the airplane SOON.
A half hour later, we finally make our tired way onto the plane. By this point Elliot had woken up, but hadn't yet barfed on me since his last feeding, Oliver was in better spirits, and Haakan and I looked as if we were about to collapse into little puddles of poor parenting. And once seated, the flight attendant informs us that the audio visual stuff isn't working in our part of the plane, but she gives us free headphones anyway (for what, I'm not sure, since the only radio stations we had were muzak and the radio equalivant of the Home Shopping Network). The sneaky guy sitting diagonally behind us quickly leaped from his seat and immediately fell asleep across the empty row of seats behind us (vacated by a family who wisely decided that they really did need to be in a section of the plane that had a movie). And just as we took off, Elliot threw up on me not once, but twice, managing to absolutely saturate my sweater.
But amazingly, we did indeed make it home in one piece with most of our sanity intact (as well as our carseats - which, despite my best effords, were NOT gate checked and ended up thrown on the conveyers along with everything else) and hopefully, it will be a long long LONG time before we have to attempt another transatlantic flight with the kids. I'm thinking we'll just mail ourselves parcel post the next time.
Having survived my thoroughly unpleasant father in law, two difficult gate agents, and, of course, the various vomiting and whining of my kids, Haakan and I congratulated ourselves on making it inside the airport with most of our sanity intact and decided that we'd all earned some breakfast, which means cinnamon rolls and a badly needed cup of coffee. And things progressed smoothly for a while from that point. Elliot stopped spitting up all over everything for a few minutes (which usually means he's hungry, so I fed him again), Oliver peacefully ate his Swedish cinnamon roll (which he'd been demanding for the past 10 minutes, since he heard the word), and Haakan and I giggled about how we'd narrowly skirted disaster with his father in the car that morning.
But then, as was bound to happen, our luck changed. Oliver was growing increasingly more and more restless since we finished or cinnamon rolls, and by the time we made it through security checkpoint number 2 (or 3, I've lost count), he'd begun a chorus of "Want to ride on an airplane? Want to ride on an airplane? Want to ride on an airplane?" that barely paused for breath between question marks. Our various other suggestions, "Do you want to read a story? Do you want to play with cars? Would you like some bunny crackers?" where all met with screams and near sobbing, then the eerily calm question "Want to ride on an airplane?" As this is going on, Oliver's been let off of Haakan's back and he proceeds to tear around the lounge where we're all trapped like proverbial lambs, tripping over everyone's feet and knocking down carry on bags. And oh so slowly, Haakan and I begin to lose our composure, which Oliver also senses and begins to also lose his. As I pry him off of the heating element under the window for the fifteenth time, I can see the looks of pity on people's faces, as if they are saying "Look at that poor frazzled woman. I hope I'm not sitting anywhere near them!"
As Oliver begins to really freak out and scream "WANT TO RIDE ON AN AIRPLANE!" as he sobs, Haakan picks him up and tries to comfort him. By this point Elliot had finally fallen asleep in the wrap, after much whining and settling of himself. And then, in a movement so quick there was nothing we could do to stop it, Oliver nearly threw himself from Haakan's arms and managed to head-butt Elliot with an audible thud. In a move that we pure reflex, my hand flew up and I pinged Oliver on the top of the head, saying "Don't you EVER do that again!" This got the attention of not just Oliver, who stopped crying for a few moments and looked at me very surprised, but also of everyone standing near us. I could almost hear their shock that they had seen me lose it and smack my two year old on the top of the head. People shuffled away from us slightly, as if fearing that they would be next to feel my wrath. A woman with her own toddler wandered over and pointed at the planes outside for her very contented child, perhaps hoping that I'd observe her excellent example of good parenting and repent for my evil ways. Or maybe it was just in my head as I fought back my own tears and appologized again and again to Oliver for having lost my temper so badly.
At about this same moment, one of the gate agents announces that the plane was late coming in from Philadelphia and is going to be late leaving, so it'll be at least another 20 minutes before we board. At the mention of the plane, Oliver goes into another chorus of "want to ride on an airplane!", but at least this time we're able to distract him with his toy airplanes and the promise that we'll ride on the airplane SOON.
A half hour later, we finally make our tired way onto the plane. By this point Elliot had woken up, but hadn't yet barfed on me since his last feeding, Oliver was in better spirits, and Haakan and I looked as if we were about to collapse into little puddles of poor parenting. And once seated, the flight attendant informs us that the audio visual stuff isn't working in our part of the plane, but she gives us free headphones anyway (for what, I'm not sure, since the only radio stations we had were muzak and the radio equalivant of the Home Shopping Network). The sneaky guy sitting diagonally behind us quickly leaped from his seat and immediately fell asleep across the empty row of seats behind us (vacated by a family who wisely decided that they really did need to be in a section of the plane that had a movie). And just as we took off, Elliot threw up on me not once, but twice, managing to absolutely saturate my sweater.
But amazingly, we did indeed make it home in one piece with most of our sanity intact (as well as our carseats - which, despite my best effords, were NOT gate checked and ended up thrown on the conveyers along with everything else) and hopefully, it will be a long long LONG time before we have to attempt another transatlantic flight with the kids. I'm thinking we'll just mail ourselves parcel post the next time.
I got the books...
... now all I need is a few good ideas. I've been wanting for a while to begin designing my own sweaters and such, since I can never seem to find quite the pattern I'm looking for, but being a big wuss, I've always been afraid of screwing up. Well, armed with a couple of books about sweater design (in addition to the ones I've already had), I'm about ready to start out. But first I need to get myself one of those Vogue Stitchionaries, the one for cables specifically.
My basic knitting philosophy is this - the froufrou novelty yarn just doesn't do it for me. Give me cables, fair isles, lace... the more complicated, the better. And I think this is going to be my basic problem - that I'll want to create things so complicated that they'll be practically unwearable. It's a fine line between something that's complex and cool and something your grandmother would wear or that would be better off used as a table cloth!
My basic knitting philosophy is this - the froufrou novelty yarn just doesn't do it for me. Give me cables, fair isles, lace... the more complicated, the better. And I think this is going to be my basic problem - that I'll want to create things so complicated that they'll be practically unwearable. It's a fine line between something that's complex and cool and something your grandmother would wear or that would be better off used as a table cloth!
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Escape from Stockholm
We have returned, sanity mostly intact, from 10 days in Stockholm visiting the hubby's family. These trips are stressful for a number of reasons, but I think our trip to the airport and flight home sum it up pretty well.
Perhaps it was my bravado that did me in. I was cocky enough to think that since we'd made it the entire 10 days without a major blowup from my father in law that we'd manage to chalk the trip up as a success in that regard and that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't think I'm quite the evil harpie that he seemed to. But alas, as I emerged into my brother in law's hallway, running late and lugging ALL of our bags, my quick smile in his direction was obviously not enough.
"No good morning, Gen?" he said, and I swear, if it was actually possible for one's veins to actually freeze into ice water, mine would have. I stammered and tried to cover myself with a hurried (and I hoped sincere) "I'm sorry, I'm just so rushed trying to get everything together and all..." but the damage was done. He stood in the doorway and muttered to himself about how I was "unbelievable" and had "no character" while I turned thirteen shades of red and tried to will myself into invisibility. After an ulcer-inducing ride to the airport, during with I tried to keep my eyes averted and not do ANYTHING that was going to earn me more of his wrath, he basically slowed down the car and we all lept out. Huzzah! We had managed to somehow, against the odds, avoid a major blow-up (and indeed, when he and the hubby spoke about a week later, there was no mention of any discomfort or ackwardness. Of course, there was also no mention of me, but that's all for the best).
So there we stand, Oliver on Haakan's back, Elliot wrapped on my front (in the wrap that he'd vomited all over about 30 seconds after I put him in it), hauling all of our assorted crap in one of those airline carts up to the long LONG line to check it. At some point before they checked our passports to make sure we weren't trying to smuggle Swedish children into the USA, Oliver began to get antsy and we broke into the stash of toys. Finally, we got to the person who would hopefully check our bags and all, and were treated to the following.
Clerk: (riffling through our tickets) Where's the ticket for the baby?
Me: (shrugging as Elliot begins to whine) Isn't it there?
Clerk: (shuffling the tickets again) There's no ticket for the baby. WHERE'S THE TICKET FOR THE BABY?!?!
Me: (noticing that Elliot has thrown up on me) He's sitting on my lap.
Clerk: (looking at me with some disgust as I try to clean up said vomit) He still needs a ticket. You have to PAY for him to fly, you know. Why didn't passport control stop you?
Me: (wiping off me and Elliot with the burp cloth that Oliver had been flinging around like a flag) No idea. If this is such a big deal, how did we GET HERE?
Clerk: (eyeing me as if the little mini-me attached to my front was a baby I was trying to smuggle out of the country) You have to go over to that agent over there (points to someone WAAAAAAY on the other side of the airport) and sort this out. YOU (he points at me) stay here.
Haakan and Oliver (who has begun to thrash around on Haakan's back and chant "Want to get down? Want to get down noooooowwwwww?") head over to the other agent while I stand at the counter and steam over how ridiculous this all is.
Clerk: I don't know how you got through passport control. I just don't understand, they should have stopped you. This just isn't allowed. I just don't understand it.
Me: (wiping my vomited-on hand on the back of my pants because Haakan has taken the burp cloth with him) Why don't you ask passport control? How am I supposed to know what the problem is? This really isn't MY problem, now, is it? This is YOUR problem! But no, here I stand with my TWO little kids, while YOU figure out what the problem is and while we probably are charged AGAIN for the privledge of me sitting with my 3 month old on my lap, which I haven't even BEGUN to address!
Clerk: (looking at me with terror in his eyes, as if he thinks my head is about to spin around) Why don't you go and wait with your husband. Here, I'll walk you over.
The scene pretty much repeats with the second agent, but instead of cleaning up vomit, I pass Elliot to Haakan and take Oliver for a walk, because he has begun his chorus of "want to ride on an airplane?" and my head is already about to explode from having heard it for the fiftieth time in the preceeding five minutes.
So fine, after nearly reducing gate agent number two to tears with my rant about how stupid it is that we have to PAY for Elliot to sit on my lap, we go back to work out the luggage situation.
Clerk: (motioning to our giant bulky wheeled bag with our carseats) You have to check that.
Me: We're going to gate check it.
Clerk: You can't, the union doesn't have insurance to cover anyone to carry anything that heavy down from the jetway. You have to take it to "special check in" over there (and he points around the corner to a crappy x-ray machine where the checker-inner guy is drinking a cup of coffee and looking exactly like he's just going to go on the other side of the machine and drop kick all those "special" items onto the same conveyer belt that all the other stuff has already gone on.
In case anyone is wondering why we didn't just check the carseats, it's because the stupid airlines assume no responsibility for broken carseats. Meaning they could run over them with the damn cart, if they break them, they just say "Whoops! My bad" and that's about it. So, being that being stuck at the airport back in Pittsburgh with two (by that point) exhausted and beyond whiney children why my husband drove to Toys r Us and purchased two NEW carseats because the stupid airline had trashed ours was not my idea of a scenario that was good for my mental health, we were trying to gate check the carseats.
So fine, ok, round 1 goes to the airlines, who now have our money AND our carseats. We get in line for security, where Oliver proceeds to play the "how far can I get from mommy and daddy before mommy loses it and freaks out in front of everyone" game until I hissed at Haakan that I was going to grab him and stuff him into someone's carry on unless he was contained again. So back onto Haakan's back he goes, because, hey, punitive babywearing is STILL babywearing, right? Unfortunately, this does nothing to silence Oliver, who spends the next 10 minutes in the security line saying "Want to ride on a airplane now? WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!" and throwing himself back and forth on Haakan's back.
And that, gentle readers, brings us to a natural pause. Will we make it home from Stockholm in one piece? Well, yeah, I guess I didn't build the suspense very well on that one. But I'll continue this little tale of dysfunctional woe in part two.
Perhaps it was my bravado that did me in. I was cocky enough to think that since we'd made it the entire 10 days without a major blowup from my father in law that we'd manage to chalk the trip up as a success in that regard and that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't think I'm quite the evil harpie that he seemed to. But alas, as I emerged into my brother in law's hallway, running late and lugging ALL of our bags, my quick smile in his direction was obviously not enough.
"No good morning, Gen?" he said, and I swear, if it was actually possible for one's veins to actually freeze into ice water, mine would have. I stammered and tried to cover myself with a hurried (and I hoped sincere) "I'm sorry, I'm just so rushed trying to get everything together and all..." but the damage was done. He stood in the doorway and muttered to himself about how I was "unbelievable" and had "no character" while I turned thirteen shades of red and tried to will myself into invisibility. After an ulcer-inducing ride to the airport, during with I tried to keep my eyes averted and not do ANYTHING that was going to earn me more of his wrath, he basically slowed down the car and we all lept out. Huzzah! We had managed to somehow, against the odds, avoid a major blow-up (and indeed, when he and the hubby spoke about a week later, there was no mention of any discomfort or ackwardness. Of course, there was also no mention of me, but that's all for the best).
So there we stand, Oliver on Haakan's back, Elliot wrapped on my front (in the wrap that he'd vomited all over about 30 seconds after I put him in it), hauling all of our assorted crap in one of those airline carts up to the long LONG line to check it. At some point before they checked our passports to make sure we weren't trying to smuggle Swedish children into the USA, Oliver began to get antsy and we broke into the stash of toys. Finally, we got to the person who would hopefully check our bags and all, and were treated to the following.
Clerk: (riffling through our tickets) Where's the ticket for the baby?
Me: (shrugging as Elliot begins to whine) Isn't it there?
Clerk: (shuffling the tickets again) There's no ticket for the baby. WHERE'S THE TICKET FOR THE BABY?!?!
Me: (noticing that Elliot has thrown up on me) He's sitting on my lap.
Clerk: (looking at me with some disgust as I try to clean up said vomit) He still needs a ticket. You have to PAY for him to fly, you know. Why didn't passport control stop you?
Me: (wiping off me and Elliot with the burp cloth that Oliver had been flinging around like a flag) No idea. If this is such a big deal, how did we GET HERE?
Clerk: (eyeing me as if the little mini-me attached to my front was a baby I was trying to smuggle out of the country) You have to go over to that agent over there (points to someone WAAAAAAY on the other side of the airport) and sort this out. YOU (he points at me) stay here.
Haakan and Oliver (who has begun to thrash around on Haakan's back and chant "Want to get down? Want to get down noooooowwwwww?") head over to the other agent while I stand at the counter and steam over how ridiculous this all is.
Clerk: I don't know how you got through passport control. I just don't understand, they should have stopped you. This just isn't allowed. I just don't understand it.
Me: (wiping my vomited-on hand on the back of my pants because Haakan has taken the burp cloth with him) Why don't you ask passport control? How am I supposed to know what the problem is? This really isn't MY problem, now, is it? This is YOUR problem! But no, here I stand with my TWO little kids, while YOU figure out what the problem is and while we probably are charged AGAIN for the privledge of me sitting with my 3 month old on my lap, which I haven't even BEGUN to address!
Clerk: (looking at me with terror in his eyes, as if he thinks my head is about to spin around) Why don't you go and wait with your husband. Here, I'll walk you over.
The scene pretty much repeats with the second agent, but instead of cleaning up vomit, I pass Elliot to Haakan and take Oliver for a walk, because he has begun his chorus of "want to ride on an airplane?" and my head is already about to explode from having heard it for the fiftieth time in the preceeding five minutes.
So fine, after nearly reducing gate agent number two to tears with my rant about how stupid it is that we have to PAY for Elliot to sit on my lap, we go back to work out the luggage situation.
Clerk: (motioning to our giant bulky wheeled bag with our carseats) You have to check that.
Me: We're going to gate check it.
Clerk: You can't, the union doesn't have insurance to cover anyone to carry anything that heavy down from the jetway. You have to take it to "special check in" over there (and he points around the corner to a crappy x-ray machine where the checker-inner guy is drinking a cup of coffee and looking exactly like he's just going to go on the other side of the machine and drop kick all those "special" items onto the same conveyer belt that all the other stuff has already gone on.
In case anyone is wondering why we didn't just check the carseats, it's because the stupid airlines assume no responsibility for broken carseats. Meaning they could run over them with the damn cart, if they break them, they just say "Whoops! My bad" and that's about it. So, being that being stuck at the airport back in Pittsburgh with two (by that point) exhausted and beyond whiney children why my husband drove to Toys r Us and purchased two NEW carseats because the stupid airline had trashed ours was not my idea of a scenario that was good for my mental health, we were trying to gate check the carseats.
So fine, ok, round 1 goes to the airlines, who now have our money AND our carseats. We get in line for security, where Oliver proceeds to play the "how far can I get from mommy and daddy before mommy loses it and freaks out in front of everyone" game until I hissed at Haakan that I was going to grab him and stuff him into someone's carry on unless he was contained again. So back onto Haakan's back he goes, because, hey, punitive babywearing is STILL babywearing, right? Unfortunately, this does nothing to silence Oliver, who spends the next 10 minutes in the security line saying "Want to ride on a airplane now? WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!" and throwing himself back and forth on Haakan's back.
And that, gentle readers, brings us to a natural pause. Will we make it home from Stockholm in one piece? Well, yeah, I guess I didn't build the suspense very well on that one. But I'll continue this little tale of dysfunctional woe in part two.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Oh I'm just wild about Harry...
I went out this morning and bought the last Harry Potter book. The last one there will ever be. Haakan is sitting on the couch reading it, and to be honest, I don't have the heart to fight him for it, I'm unsure I even want to open it up. Truly, the fact that the jacket only states that it's the last book in the series is comforting to me, since every page that I'm going to read will bring me one page closer to the end.
So why is a supposed grown-up getting all misty-eyed at the prospect of the end of the Harry Potter series? Aren't there more important things to get misty-eyed over? Aren't there more important things happening in the world? Sure there are, but for me, and for so many other people (kids and grown-ups alike), Harry Potter gives us a wonderful escape from everything that's going on in the world. I know there are those whole like to malign the series as a rip off of this or that other book series, but it hardly matters. It resonates with so many of us. Who doesn't have that fantasy about a stranger showing up and telling you that you're not who you think you are, you're actually extrordinary? Who doesn't want to believe that there really are witches and fairies and epic battles between good and evil? And who doesn't love the idea that a child can stand up for all of us and save the world? The series overall has that same appeal that all epic good vs. evil books do - it gives us hope. And at a time when so many things seem hopeless. There is something wonderful about the vanquishing of evil in these books, the idea that friendship and family are going to win out in the end. No matter what side of the political spectrum one falls, there seems to be real evil all around these days and the world suddenly seems so dangerous. Who doesn't have the fantasy of being given the ability to rid the world of its greatest evils, and have the added bonus of having your best friends at your side while you do?
My kids are some day going to laugh at me, I'm sure, for all the emotion that I'm expending on a series of books written for children. But it hardly matters. Like all good books, Harry Potter gives us a wonderful escape, and into a world that I'm sure we would all like to inhabit. I came to the series after seeing the first movie, which came out right after I started graduate school, and I left the theatre thinking "Screw grad school, I want to go to Hogwarts!" And I still harbor that small hope that one of these days a giant is going to show up on my doorstep and tell me that I'm destined for bigger things. So as soon as Haakan puts down the book, I know I'm going to dive for it and begin reading. And I know that just like every time before, that wonderful and dangerous magical world is going to just suck me in and leave me breathless, like a swimmer who stays underwater just a few seconds longer than she should. And even though every page is a heartbreak, bringing me one step closer to the inevitable end, I know I'll consume it just as quickly as every book before it.
And when I'm done, I'll crack open a beer and drink a toast to J.K. Rowling and her wonderful imagination. And then I'll sit back down with Book 1 and fall right back into it again, as if I'm having a reunion with old friends.
So why is a supposed grown-up getting all misty-eyed at the prospect of the end of the Harry Potter series? Aren't there more important things to get misty-eyed over? Aren't there more important things happening in the world? Sure there are, but for me, and for so many other people (kids and grown-ups alike), Harry Potter gives us a wonderful escape from everything that's going on in the world. I know there are those whole like to malign the series as a rip off of this or that other book series, but it hardly matters. It resonates with so many of us. Who doesn't have that fantasy about a stranger showing up and telling you that you're not who you think you are, you're actually extrordinary? Who doesn't want to believe that there really are witches and fairies and epic battles between good and evil? And who doesn't love the idea that a child can stand up for all of us and save the world? The series overall has that same appeal that all epic good vs. evil books do - it gives us hope. And at a time when so many things seem hopeless. There is something wonderful about the vanquishing of evil in these books, the idea that friendship and family are going to win out in the end. No matter what side of the political spectrum one falls, there seems to be real evil all around these days and the world suddenly seems so dangerous. Who doesn't have the fantasy of being given the ability to rid the world of its greatest evils, and have the added bonus of having your best friends at your side while you do?
My kids are some day going to laugh at me, I'm sure, for all the emotion that I'm expending on a series of books written for children. But it hardly matters. Like all good books, Harry Potter gives us a wonderful escape, and into a world that I'm sure we would all like to inhabit. I came to the series after seeing the first movie, which came out right after I started graduate school, and I left the theatre thinking "Screw grad school, I want to go to Hogwarts!" And I still harbor that small hope that one of these days a giant is going to show up on my doorstep and tell me that I'm destined for bigger things. So as soon as Haakan puts down the book, I know I'm going to dive for it and begin reading. And I know that just like every time before, that wonderful and dangerous magical world is going to just suck me in and leave me breathless, like a swimmer who stays underwater just a few seconds longer than she should. And even though every page is a heartbreak, bringing me one step closer to the inevitable end, I know I'll consume it just as quickly as every book before it.
And when I'm done, I'll crack open a beer and drink a toast to J.K. Rowling and her wonderful imagination. And then I'll sit back down with Book 1 and fall right back into it again, as if I'm having a reunion with old friends.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Well, my "little" baby turned 2 months old yesterday, and the verdict is in: he's HUGE! Today at the pediatrician's he tipped the scales at 13lbs 5oz and 23.75 inches long! That's almost the same size Oliver was at 3 months old (Oliver was a touch heavier, and maybe a little longer). But he's so damn happy all the time, it's just wonderful to be around him. Now if we could just get him sleeping at night a leeeeetle bit earlier... And just look how cute he is! Clearly, he is the apple of his gramma's eye.
And, in knitting news (yes, I once again have a little time to knit), I FINALLY finished the spiderweb shawl from the Victorian Lace book that my sister got me for Christmas. I would have finished it pre-baby, but the yarn took FOREVER to arrive (note to self - quicker to run over to Knit One and just have instant gratification rather than save a couple of bucks and order online), and now, just in time for the heat of summer, I have a gorgeous mohair/silk shawl that could easily drape a two year old from head to toe. I'll try to get some pictures up later, as well as a few finished pics of the "Grand Canyon" shawl that was in progress below. I actually finished it a while ago, but thanks to those blocking wires that I got for my birthday (thanks, Katherine!), it actually looks like a finished shawl now, and not just a clump of pretty wool.
Friday, June 08, 2007
I'm kicking myself that I didn't write down Oliver's birth story (though I don't think I'll ever forget how hard it was to push that kid out), so I thought I should put down Elliot's before I forget that, too. Like my boys themselves, their births were like night and day. Oliver's was hard and I'm convinced that pushing him out was an act of will on my part. By comparison Elliot's was easy. I still catch myself a little bit in shock that I'm the mom of two boys, I was just so sure that Elliot was going to be a girl. But hey, when I'm wrong, I'm wrong! Here's the birth story I posted in a couple of places online.
so my labor started probably really early yesterday morning, but i didn't really realize i was having contractions until i got up out of bed and they got regular really fast. luckily dh had 
decided to sleep in, so he was still around. between like 7 and 8 am things got timable to 10 minutes and an hour later i was at 4 minutes between contractions and they were getting stronger. so my mom came over and we went to the birthing center. i was about 6cm when we got there, spent some time in the tub and then wandered around for a while, got checked again and was just shy of 8cm. i let the midwife break my water and that's when things got really intense, lots of "holy cow this is hard" and "i'll take those drugs now", which just made everyone laugh (omg, i was totally serious, though, i was absolutely unprepared for how much back pressure i had this time - it was crazy!). i finally got the bright idea to get back in the tub, and the next hour was MUCH more bearable. i found a position that let me r
elax, and i mean really relax through contractions, and it was like having an out of body experience. it was almost like when you wake up early in the morning and the radio's on, and you start to have dreams about what you're hearing on the radio, even though you're not really asleep. my mind was just going to the weirdest places and i can't say that i was really present at all. i knew dh was there, and the nurses checked me a few times (and then i yelled at them to turn the hot tub back on! ), but i pretty much just didn't want to move once i found a good position. i started to feel some pressure that could have been pushing pressure, but given that i never go the urge to push with oliver, i didn't want to get out of the tub and start all that until i was sure, so i probably stayed in the tub through like 7 contractions like that. i finally got out because i figured i should pee or have a bowel movement, and holy cow, the urge to push hit like nothing else. i yelled "i'm pushing!" and the nurse ran to get the midwife, haakan came running in, and they 
managed to get me to the bed and on my hands and knees just in time for baby elliot to come shooting out. my midwife called it an "explosive birth". it was frightening just how little control i had over it, and it was literally like 2 minutes of pushing. and despite that giant head, NO tearing at all this time. they laid him down underneath me, i sat back and picked him up, and said "oh my god, it's a boy! and he's blond!" i just kept saying, "i can't believe you're a boy!" i was SO convinced i was having a girl. i'm still a little in a state of shock. he actually looks a lot like my sister when she was an infant, and quite a bit more like dh than oliver does but true to form, i felt WONDERFUL as soon as things were over, and other than walking around with a very sexy adult diaper on, i really don't feel like i just gave birth.
decided to sleep in, so he was still around. between like 7 and 8 am things got timable to 10 minutes and an hour later i was at 4 minutes between contractions and they were getting stronger. so my mom came over and we went to the birthing center. i was about 6cm when we got there, spent some time in the tub and then wandered around for a while, got checked again and was just shy of 8cm. i let the midwife break my water and that's when things got really intense, lots of "holy cow this is hard" and "i'll take those drugs now", which just made everyone laugh (omg, i was totally serious, though, i was absolutely unprepared for how much back pressure i had this time - it was crazy!). i finally got the bright idea to get back in the tub, and the next hour was MUCH more bearable. i found a position that let me r
elax, and i mean really relax through contractions, and it was like having an out of body experience. it was almost like when you wake up early in the morning and the radio's on, and you start to have dreams about what you're hearing on the radio, even though you're not really asleep. my mind was just going to the weirdest places and i can't say that i was really present at all. i knew dh was there, and the nurses checked me a few times (and then i yelled at them to turn the hot tub back on! ), but i pretty much just didn't want to move once i found a good position. i started to feel some pressure that could have been pushing pressure, but given that i never go the urge to push with oliver, i didn't want to get out of the tub and start all that until i was sure, so i probably stayed in the tub through like 7 contractions like that. i finally got out because i figured i should pee or have a bowel movement, and holy cow, the urge to push hit like nothing else. i yelled "i'm pushing!" and the nurse ran to get the midwife, haakan came running in, and they 
managed to get me to the bed and on my hands and knees just in time for baby elliot to come shooting out. my midwife called it an "explosive birth". it was frightening just how little control i had over it, and it was literally like 2 minutes of pushing. and despite that giant head, NO tearing at all this time. they laid him down underneath me, i sat back and picked him up, and said "oh my god, it's a boy! and he's blond!" i just kept saying, "i can't believe you're a boy!" i was SO convinced i was having a girl. i'm still a little in a state of shock. he actually looks a lot like my sister when she was an infant, and quite a bit more like dh than oliver does but true to form, i felt WONDERFUL as soon as things were over, and other than walking around with a very sexy adult diaper on, i really don't feel like i just gave birth. the only weird post partum thing
was that around 5pm or so, a child who was at a meeting with her parents upstairs managed to set off the security system and it took a good 15 minutes for them to get it turned off. i was trying to nurse elliot and as soon as the LOUD siren and flashing lights started, he literally passed out and i couldn't get him to wake up. i freaked and set haakan out for the nurse, who took his vitals and roused him a little, but can you believe that he fell asleep with all that? as soon as the siren stopped, he woke up and started crying. that little episode took a good few weeks off my life, it was just so weird to see him respond that way!
was that around 5pm or so, a child who was at a meeting with her parents upstairs managed to set off the security system and it took a good 15 minutes for them to get it turned off. i was trying to nurse elliot and as soon as the LOUD siren and flashing lights started, he literally passed out and i couldn't get him to wake up. i freaked and set haakan out for the nurse, who took his vitals and roused him a little, but can you believe that he fell asleep with all that? as soon as the siren stopped, he woke up and started crying. that little episode took a good few weeks off my life, it was just so weird to see him respond that way! so, like 5 or 6 hours after the birth, we were home. oliver took one look at the baby and sai
d "baby! have it?" and tried to get him out of the carseat, then pitched a fit when we wouldn't let him and spent the next half hour before we put him to bed being very upset about this whole baby situation (poor kid's teething like mad, it was more than an hour past his bedtime, and he hadn't napped well earlier in the day, so he was pretty out of sorts). elliot's nursing like a champ, but i'd forgotten just how hard it can be to get them to latch on and stay latched on at first. i didn't sleep much because it was hot in our bedroom and elliot wanted to be either nursing, pooping (kid's not even 24 hours old and he's pooped 3 times already!), or trying to raise a giant burp, so hopefully i'll get some more sleep today here's some pictures of my new little beauty. i still can't believe i had a boy!
d "baby! have it?" and tried to get him out of the carseat, then pitched a fit when we wouldn't let him and spent the next half hour before we put him to bed being very upset about this whole baby situation (poor kid's teething like mad, it was more than an hour past his bedtime, and he hadn't napped well earlier in the day, so he was pretty out of sorts). elliot's nursing like a champ, but i'd forgotten just how hard it can be to get them to latch on and stay latched on at first. i didn't sleep much because it was hot in our bedroom and elliot wanted to be either nursing, pooping (kid's not even 24 hours old and he's pooped 3 times already!), or trying to raise a giant burp, so hopefully i'll get some more sleep today here's some pictures of my new little beauty. i still can't believe i had a boy!I'm still trying to get a decent picture of the two of them together, but so far Oliver's adapting really well to having Elliot around. He keeps trying to share his toys with him, and the other day in the car when Elliot was crying, Oliver said "Elliot's hungry. Share my grilled cheese sandwich with the baby?" Awwwww... it was so sweet. And a little terrifying since I didn't really want to have to turn around to fish grilled cheese off my newborn while I was driving down the highway. But knock on wood, so far, so good.
Oliver also just had a birthday on May 13, so I got to have a birthday party for him just four days after Elliot was born. Good thing I felt really good after the birth! I'm really glad Oliver was able to have a day that was all about him. This is me and Oliver and his friend Leo looking at one of his birthday books. The day went great, minimal screaming or grabbing of toys (always a concern when another 2 year old is over to play), so I count that as a success. Oliver had no complaints and asked for birthday cake for days afterwards.
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