CityMama™

BASIC INSTINCT

Back in April I wrote about Bunny peeing in the toilet for the first time after showing interest in "all things potty" for months. ("Hooray for Peep" April 2004 archives.) We were so proud. Since then she has not peed in the toilet once and seems to have become completely disinterested in, if not repulsed by, the toilet. I was lamenting about this on the Craigslist Parenting Forum and was told that I "missed the boat" on toilet training and should have been more aggressive when Bunny was more interested. The window of opportunity had closed.

Was a time when she followed not just us but every houseguest into the bathroom to watch them use the toilet. Was a time when books about pooping and farting were her favorites. Now, when I ask her if she has a poopy dipe she runs away. When I change her diaper she shamefully covers her face with her hands and fake-cries no matter how vehemently I tell her that "Mamma loves poop!" and that "Poops are so nice!"

Back in April I thought that she was too little to be pushed into toilet training. After all, she wasn't yet two. And back in April I was in my second trimester of pregnancy and feeling "too tired" and like I "didn't have enough energy" to pursue it. Heh. Tired. What the hell was I talking about—tired.

A couple weeks ago, spurred on by being told I was too late, I decided to force Bunny's hand with the toilet training. We bought sparkly Hello Kitty and Dora panties that she chose herself. I promised her all the chocolate she could eat if she went pee-pee in the toilet. We put the panties on for a couple days and she held her pee until the diaper was on. (We had to leave the house.) On the third day she actually wet herself which is what I wanted her to do. We cleaned up and put on a diaper because I ran out of steam. We haven't busted out the panties for a couple days now. She hasn't asked. I haven't offered.

I was researching toilet training over the weekend and from what I've read, I don't think she is ready. She probably won't be ready until she is closer to three. So no more bribes. The panties have been put away in a drawer. She can wear them if she wants but I am not going to force it. It just didn't feel right.

I learned once again that I should just trust my parenting instincts about such things. They haven't let me down yet.

WALLIE'S FIRST THANKSGIVING

Which one is the turkey?

Tata came and all was good. We spent Thanksgiving day getting ready for the evening meal. We chatted, noshed, and sipped cocktails while we chopped, stirred, and basted.

Our basement family room conversion was finished just in time so we shooed all the cousins downstairs to play. They stayed out of everyone's hair and we all pretended not to hear the fighting... (I am going to love having a family room.)

I made the turkey, stuffing, gravy, and yams. My mom made the oyster bisque (our traditional starter) and vegetables. My brother made the mashed potatoes. It was a group effort that resulted in deliciousness. We all sat down to eat at about 6:00PM. Wallie and I started the meal with the family then escaped after the toast so I could nurse. We rejoined the family and she spent the rest of the time in her bouncy chair squealing and cooing.

Wallie laughed for the first time on Thanksgiving, an appropriate milestone for the day, I think.

WALLIE'S FIRST THANKSGIVING MENU

NOSH
Truffled Chicken Liver Pate
Assorted Cheeses

Jalapeno Artichoke Dip
Clam Dip
Avocado Salsa

Bloody Marys and Martinis

DINNER
Oyster Bisque

Roast Turkey with Chanterelle Mushroom and Herb Stuffing
Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Cognac-Infused Gravy
Pea, Gorgonzola, and Toasted Pecan Salad
"Shaved" Brussels Sprouts with Pancetta and Balsamic Vinegar
Baked Yams with Fresh-Squeezed Orange Juice, Orange Zest, Brown Sugar and Butter
Cranberry-Orange Sauce

Pumpkin Pie with Vanilla Whipped Cream
Coffee and Port

Amity Vineyards (Oregon) Dry Riesling, 2001
Avignonesi Vino Nobile Di Montepulciano DOCG, 2001

HOW TO BE A REALLY GREAT HOUSE GUEST

Since we moved to Portland at the end of August, we've had visitors practically non-stop. It has been alternately fun and exhausting. We have loved having all the company but feel bad that due to the constraints of having two children (one being a newborn) we haven't been able to show our guests much of Portland beyond our own neighborhood. After Thanksgiving we have no visitors planned for a long while. This gives me time to reflect on what makes a really excellent house guest. And by the way, if I didn't do these things automatically upon staying at someone's house, my mother would kick my ass.

So here goes:

Bring a host gift. Preferably alcoholic.

Offer to cook dinner for your hosts one night. Take care of everything from grocery shopping for ingredients to doing the dishes afterwards. (Or treat them to take-out or dinner out).

If you drink all the juice, replace it.*

Empty the dishwasher or drain rack at least once.

Give one of the hosts' children a bath. If it weren't for our visitors, I swear my toddler would never have a proper bath. Really helpful, this.

Refill the Brita.

When you leave, strip the guest bed and put the sheets on top of the washing machine. Our most excellent house guests even laundered the sheets and remade the bed for us. They get extra points for being fantabulous visitors.

If you have more tips please feel free to add them below.

Happy Thanksgiving hosts and house guests everywhere!!!

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*When we visit my brother we bring all our own food. We bring our own coffee, oatmeal, yogurt, juice, string cheese...anything Bunny would eat or snack on. His former uber-model wife has "food issues" so we don't feel comfortable even asking her for an apple. Sucks because my brother is the most generous person in the whole world. We just don't want to cause any problems.

WAITING FOR TATA

I promise this will be the last of the "two kids is hard, I'm so tired" posts (for a while) because my mom is finally arriving tomorrow. I feel like I'm running a marathon and just trying to hang on until the finish.

Two kids are hard. And I am tired.

Funny thing is—it's not Wallie that is hard. It's Bunny. She requires so much attention and interaction (kids are funny that way) that it just exhausts me. Wallie is content to snuggle or sling or hang out in her bouncy chair. As long as she doesn't spit up on or poo through her outfit she can wear it for a week as far as I'm concerned. She's mellow and easy.

Bunny needs her "latte" first thing in the morning. She needs to get dressed. She needs to have breakfast. She needs to play or do something to tire her out for naptime. She needs to have some activity to fill the hell time between nap and dinner. She needs to have a bath and to be read to and to be put to bed.

And in the meantime, laundry needs folding, dishes need washing, meals need cooking, the house needs tidying, the mamma needs showering (wait, scratch that...).

Wallie needs to nurse. And, really, that's pretty much it. But it's hard to nurse when you are trying to manage all of the above.

So mom will come and all will be fine.

In advance of my mom's visits, strange things appear on my doorstep. It's just her way. She arrives tomorrow and so far we've received a Smithfield ham and a rasher of bacon from Luter's, and two FedEx boxes filled with presents that she didn't want to pack in her suitcase. She likes to travel light and hates to check baggage, so she'd rather FedEx. Whenever she buys anything on her travels she has her purchases FedExed home so she doesn't have to fill up her suitcase. She has her own FedEx number. Her friends call her "The FedEx Queen."

The last time she was here was 10 weeks ago to see newborn Wallie. She made her travel plans months in advance so she could be here around the time of Wallie's birth. I told her not to buy her tickets until we were closer to my due date, after all, everyone knows how unpredictible births are. My mom said, "Wallie is waiting for 'Tata' (her term for grandma). I'm not changing my ticket." Sure enough, she arrived the day Wallie was born.

That's my mom. And that's how I know I will be okay once she gets here.

DUDE, WHERE'S MY X@NAX?

Having two kids is hard.  It's fucking HARD, I tell you.

The last two days have been the absolute worst.  Bunny has been so terrible that I am not exactly sure she is my child.  In fact, I'm entertaining fantasies that the authorities (you know, "THE authorities") will knock on my door to tell me that my child was switched at birth. Today, for the first time ever, I actually felt like I didn't like her.  Everything is a battle.  Everything is a tantrum.  I say yes, she says no.  I say up, she says down. 

It's like that.

It's terrible, but when Bunny is acting like such a hellion, I almost can't wait to pick up Wallie. I am so captivated by her smiling eyes and her wide, toothless, grin.  And, she says, "Goo!" now.  How cute is that?

Eh, but it's not all roses with Wallie either.  She is a social butterfly that so far has managed to get by with only one real nap during the day.  And she's been nursing constantly for the past week.  We're chained at the...Boppy. 

J. says he looks at Wallie and realizes why people have more children.  Then he looks at Bunny and realizes why they stop at one.

The upside is that Bunny is napping again.  And, that she just when I am ready to lose it, she breaks into The Christmas Song:

"Chesssssnuts roasteeen on an open fiiiii-yeeeeeer, Jack Frost nippeeen atcher nooooooossssse..."

J. has sung it to her every day since she was born; she knows it by heart.  And when she sings it, she makes me laugh everytime.

The "upper" upside is that my mom arrives in a few days.  The only time I ever get a break—a real break—is when my mom is here. I wake up to the smell of coffee brewing and breakfast cooking (which only ever happens in this house when my mom is here). She takes care of Bunny—gets her dressed in the morning, gives her bath, explains to her who Dolce and Gabbana are...

I made a doctor's appointment today pretending that I was sick and needed to see the doctor right away.  But really, it was to refill my Ativan and Xanax prescriptions.  I'm serious.  It's that bad.

As soon as my mom arrives, I'm knocking myself out and not waking up until after Thanksgiving.

FOR THOSE KEEPING SCORE...

Wallie's two-month check-up stats:

Weight—14 lbs. 12 oz.
Length—23 3/4 inches
Head circumference—39.2 cm

She's in the 95th percentile for weight and length and 75th percentile for head. (Bunny was the same—I hatch some small-headed girls.)

She had 4 shots today (her first vaccinations) and handled them like a champ. Just a little bit of crying and then she was fine.

Doc said she'd probably be sleepy after her shots. Right. Will someone please tell Little Miss Wide-Awake-And-Always-Ready-To-Party-Like-A-Rockstar? Because I'd like to finish painting our basement sometime before the end of the year.

IN MEMORY OF IRIS CHANG

You brought an important story to light. You spoke for an entire generation that would not speak for themselves. I admired your writing tremendously. Be at peace.

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

It rained today. Really rained. The kind of rain that people think of when they think of Portland.

Our furnace went out last night. We turned it on, it made horrible clanking noises, then died.

Did a load of laundry and the utility sink (into which the washer drains) overflowed.

Wallie cried for an hour tonight suffering from some freak bout of gas. I'd lay her down to nurse. She'd scream. I'd throw her all the way over my shoulder and she'd alternately burp and fart. But at least she wouldn't cry. She's still a little fussy. In fact, I'm typing this entry one-handed as she is still flopped over my shoulder.

Bunny gave up her nap. For the past three days she hasn't slept during naptime. Upside is: bed by 7:00PM. Downside is: WTF do I do with her for those three hours? And, we now eat dinner at 5:30. I haven't eaten dinner that early since I was six.

And, finally, for the first time, Bunny hit Wallie. A smack right on top of her head when she thought no one was looking. Wallie screwed her face and let out a wail like she was being stabbed. Thought cops would be arriving on our doorstep at any moment. I was SO. MAD. at Bunny. I felt like smacking the top of her head. But I didn't.

It's been a rough couple days. But this stout is making me feel better.

TIME TO MOVE BACK

So according to the Vietnamese woman that was doing my mani-pedi today, there is no good pho to be had in Portland. Or, more accurately, she said:

"There is no restaurant that has good pho here."

"I wouldn't eat pho in any restaurant in Portland."

and finally—

"It's all Americanized here. If you want authentic pho, go back to San Francisco."

The woman working next to her nodded her head in affirmation the whole time her colleague was talking.

That just phocking BLOWS.

DELTA TAU CHI, MEET YOUR NEWEST PLEDGE.

Her name is Wallie.

How did I give birth to a fraternity guy? Because a lady, she is not. She is the farting-est baby I've ever met in my life. She just let's 'em riiiiiiiipppppp. She has zero shame. Okay, so she's only 8 weeks old, but still.

She will be nursing like crazy, pull off, glance up at me with a far away look in her eyes, fart, then smile broadly.

While she is nursing she makes slurping, swallowing sounds. Like she's chugging a beer. Sometimes she will make "Mmmm! Mmmm! Mmmmm!" noises, like she is in milk heaven. I'm almost certain that Wallie's future includes her imitating John Belushi in Animal House at some point. She will be the one in the cafeteria stuffing Jell-o into her mouth about to pretend she is a zit. She just has that look about her.

Besides the farting, she burps louder than a trucker. And, she is already wearing 3-6 month clothing. At two months old. (She is the exact same shape as Babe Ruth.)

I don't think we really need to try for a boy. We already have her.