Silly Nico

Here are a few of my favorite Nico things happening this week...

7. When we're at the store and he's hanging out in the shopping cart seat, I always say "Oh look Nico, you have a neighbor!" whenever there's another kid in a shopping cart nearby. Nico started smiling and reaching out to the other babies. It's fun for both of us. He gets to meet a new buddy, and I get a little adult chat break with the other mommy.

6. He just chewed up his second copy of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar". Out of all the books he has, "Caterpillar" is the only one he actually eats.

5. He's outgrowing his baby bath tub. He used to fit in the little seat, then he started sitting in the big end. Now I can't even un-bend his legs enough to wash the baby chub folds behind his knees. Luckily he likes to stand up in the bath now to grab the faucet, soap dish, shower curtain or whatever else he can get his hands on. That's when I scrub away.

4. Mimicking me or Frank whenever we yell at him. As he mocks us, he runs around the room with his hands in the air.

3. Clapping. Finally!

2. After months of stand-up diapering, he finally lays down for me to change him. My floors are much drier now.

1. Nico has a new fascination with toilet paper. He grabs the end of the roll, spins around a few times, then runs away screaming (or falls down on the bathroom floor) with whatever he's got wrapped around his body. It's hilarious and so damn cute.

Across the pond scum

If there's one thing I love to watch on TV, it's smart British comedy. It all started with "The Young Ones" back when they used to run it Sunday nights on MTV. I only knew one other person at school who watched it, and to this day he and I call each other Vyv. I'd never seen anything like that show before, and it cracked me up. The format was confusing at first, and I didn't understand everything they were saying, but I loved it none the less. One of the things I found really interesting was their way of cursing and talking about all things sexual and/or bodily function related. Tossing off? Wanking? Snogging? Bottom burp? Giving someone the finger by putting up TWO fingers? Fascinating.

I was just flipping the channels and "Extras" was on HBO. I still have trouble understanding about a quarter of what Ricky Gervais says in any given episode, but even then it's funny to me. British men are supposed to be a little on the frigid side. I don't know from experience, it's just what I've heard. Maybe I should say 'emotionally unavailable' instead. With all the talk about jerking off and telling people to fuck off, it seems like they would be a little warmer, no? But I digress. I think it's great the way they curse and show a little nudity on TV. I wonder what's got us so uptight in this country that we can't embrace the same spirit of sexy, foul-mouthed entertainment in small but healthy doses.

Speaking of sexy and foul and unembraceable... I caught an old episode of that bunny ranch show the other day. Maybe all sex all the time isn't such a good thing... not the way these ladies were lookin'. Getting busy with strangers on a daily basis didn't seem to be doing any of those girls a favor. Except for the money, it boggles my mind why anyone would want that for a job. I suspect some comedy and English accents would give that show a lot more entertainment value. British whores are a lot funnier than any trailer tramps out in Nevada. I wonder if there's any Brit slang for venereal disease.

Lovely days

My sister's wedding on Friday was so beautiful and so much fun. Having a little break from home was nice for us. I think this was our first family trip with the baby. We had a king size bed and I had so much space that I had to make an effort to find Frank so that I could push him when he started snoring. Nico slept in his pack and play. He's funny... when we're away from home he usually doesn't eat very much, and he also shies away from doing his usual doodies. I don't know if he's too distracted or if he's just a private kind of kid or what. On Saturday after we got home he pooped three times, and twice today. Aside from getting the baby dressed on Friday -- I hadn't tried the pants on him and it turned out the waist was almost too small to button -- there was very little stress and everything was so relaxed. We had pictures at my sister's house a few hours before the ceremony, there was no rehearsal, and we just had nice people directing us around and telling us where to go. We went back to our room when the reception ended, but I heard there was quite an after-party happening until the wee hours of the morning.

This afternoon when Nico and I were food shopping, they were playing Christmas carols. I can't believe the season is upon us. Seems like I pay so little attention to holidays any more. I'm looking forward to Christmas, but we probably won't have a tree again this year... although I keep eyeing the pretty wreaths in the Williams-Sonoma catalog. I may have to buy one. And to go with it? The snowman hot chocolate mug set and some fresh marshmallows. Yesss.

Well congrats again and lots of love to my sister and my brother-in-law. What a lovely day. What a lovely life.

My sister, my sisters, and my sister's sisters

There has been a lot of sister talk going on the past few months. When I talk to people not directly related to me and I say "my sister", they know who I mean. Liz. The funny thing is, I've actually got three half-sisters. And one half-brother. Liz and Fran are my sister and my brother. We have different fathers but we all grew up in the same house (our mom's house). At least for a while. So I don't bother to say half this and half that with the two of them. Liz and Fran have two other half-sisters, Christie and Meredith. They, too, had the benefit of growing up at one time or another with Liz and/or Fran living with them at their dad's house. Since none of my friends have met Christie or Meredith, I start out by calling them "my sister's sisters" and then everyone knows who I'm talking about. The three of us (and our niece) are Liz's bridesmaids and it's been really nice to be able to talk to the them past few months and get to know them again. Phone calls, emails, texts. It had been years since I had a conversation with either one of them. I can definitely say the apple doesn't fall far from the big sister... they're cool girls.

With my two half-sisters, it had also been years since we had seen each other. When I was young and lost touch with my dad's side of my family, Lynn and Kathy were the only two people who called me, visited, and kept track of me as I grew up. In the past ten years or so, Kathy would call me every so often and finally we got together a few years ago right after Christmas. I had three cousins I'd never met and one I hadn't seen since he was a baby. We started seeing each other more, emailing, visiting at holiday time and barbecuing in the summer. Kathy has an embroidery business and I do design work for her pretty often. She went to the same art school as I did, only it was back in the 80's when there was one computer and they did everything by hand -- ugh! Our dad was a professional typesetter, and sometimes we like to talk about how we kind of do the same thing he did. (Side note: my mom is also very creative in many ways... knitting, sewing, quilting... so I have double the luck and creative juice.) So again, the apples don't fall far from the trees.

There is a weird sister naughty bit I do once in a while. My half-sisters often ask how Liz and Fran are doing, and there have been quite a few times when I have referred to Liz as "my sister" in conversation with them. I don't realize I've done it until it's too late to correct myself, and Lynn and Kathy aren't the type of people to be genuinely offended by it. They're all legally and blood-ily equal in terms of being my sisters, but there's something different about one that makes her "my sister", hands down. So when I'm talking to anyone, including Frank, about a job I'm doing for my sister Kathy, I have to say it like that... my sister Kathy. It's not a bad thing. But if I talk about a job I'm doing for just "my sister", Frank looks at me for a second and wonders why I'm doing a logo design for Liz.

So... this Thanksgiving weekend, my sister and I and my sister's sisters and our brother and the rest of our families will be celebrating. The bridesmaid's dress color is, appropriately enough, apple. How cool is that. Happy Thanksgiving, see you in a few days!

Me take nappy long time

Most every night, I stay up until around 1 or 2 am. It's not on purpose. Either I'm working or the baby is having a rough night, or I'm catching up on bills or housework. Just about every night this week I have turned on HBO and "The Departed" is playing. It's my new "Ocean's Eleven"... the movie I have to watch when I see it's on tv, even though I've seen it so many times and I know how it turns out. For some reason I have to see Rusty in that outfit when he picks Danny up from prison, and I have to hear them joke about being the groom and Ted Nugent. I don't have my must-see moment in "The Departed" yet. It's still at the point where I have to see all the moments.

Anyway, I've been up late. The baby woke up at 6:15 today, and he's down for an early nap. I have to leave for a dr. appointment at 12:15 and I'm having an inner debate... do I take my nice long nap, then rush to get out the door on time? Or do I stay awake, sort through everything I have to do before we leave for PA tomorrow, do my hair, and leave the house in an organized fashion? I'm really leaning towards the nap. Nico's naps are 2-3 hours lately, and I've been using that time to ignore my chores and catch up on my sleep. I usually have to get up one or two times during the night, so it's not like I get five or six straight hours when I go to bed anyway.

When you're in a wedding, you generally don't have too many huge responsibilities on big day. Basically you show up, look pretty, and do what the bride wants. Group photo? Sure. Hold your flowers? Absolutely. Gin and tonic? You got it, baby. But there are those little bridesmaid fears that crop up... oh my God I forgot my shoes... oh crap I didn't bring the right thing to do my hair... oh no I just spilled something on my dress. Plus I have to get the boys ready and pack their stuff. It's an unforgiving position to be in when someone is asking you to take care of a select few things that really aren't that difficult. You have to make the effort not to screw up someone else's day. That's the reason I can't take a nap. I had a daydream that I was getting ready for the wedding and realized I'd left my dress at home. So really, what's a nap compared to having the right outfit on your sister's wedding day?

Here comes the bride!

This time next week, my sister will be a newlywed. Oh. My. God. Woo-hoo!

Monitoring the neighbors

Filling your house with baby gear is way too much of a trial and error thing. There are many items I quickly found I could do without, and certain things I never thought I'd need but that turned out to be fantastic. The baby monitor was one of the easiest things for me to choose. Ours is a video monitor and I love it so. Nico is turning into quite the busy bee, and it makes me feel so much better to be able to check on him and see what he's doing without having to go into his room during nap time. During the night I can hear if he wakes up and cries but I can also look at the monitor to see if he's walking around or dancing (which is when he needs help), or if he's just rolling around (he can usually get back to sleep on his own).

Once in a while he'll see the monitor on the living room floor and take an interest. The other day I was letting him hold it and we were switching the buttons and playing with the dials. There are two channels, and when I switched from A to B I was able to hear a man and a woman talking. Nico and I looked at each other and after two seconds I turned the handset off. I was freaked out. That had never happened before. I guess I'm not as nosy as I thought I was. After it hit me that I could accidentally invade someone's privacy like that, I began to wonder if anyone had ever picked up one of my conversations... and perhaps not been so neighborly. Maybe I'm suspicious, or too paranoid. Who knows. It's just one of those weird little things that happens to reminds you that you may not be as alone as you think.

Holding back the tears

I must have been a very sensitive child. A couple of years ago I heard "The Rainbow Connection" and started to cry. Then I flashed back in my head and realized that song has made me weep most of my life. You know the song by Kermit the Frog from "The Muppet Movie". It's a super deep song to sing to kids. Every time I saw that movie or listened to the soundtrack (on vinyl), I broke down. And if I wasn't crying on the outside, believe me, I was a wreck on the inside. It has never occurred to me to simply listen to music and ignore the message. I listen to everything about it. I have to know the words and I need to hear what this person is trying to say. I've never written lyrics, composed accompanying music, and performed the work... but it seems to be a process that takes a lot of energy, even if the song happens to be crappy. I can't imagine anyone putting in the effort just for the hell of it.

That one time a couple of years ago when I heard "The Rainbow Connection", I started to write a list of songs that made me cry when I was little. I tried to figure out what it was about these songs that brought me to tears. I was too young to really understand the meaning behind many of the lyrics... the same way a kid could laugh at and enjoy "Three's Company" and still miss half of the humor because a seven year old naturally wouldn't grasp the sexual innuendo. "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins was another one. It was on the radio all the time when I was a fourth grader. I didn't truly get the depth of the pain or understand why the guy was crying, but hell if that song didn't break my nine year old heart. Simply Red's "Holding Back the Years"... I pretended to hate that song because it made me so upset. I tried to imagine how it must feel to be older and have spent so much time doing whatever this guy had been doing, then look back and realize it was all a waste.

What is it about these kinds of songs that ripped me apart? Was it the sense of loss? The idea that love and beauty and dreams could be nothing more than an illusion? Or that love can be so profound that even adults struggled over it? As a child, picturing grown-ups -- men -- sitting down to write these words on paper was intense. I imagined them crying as they wrote. They had to deal with their confusion and pain to be able to understand it, otherwise they wouldn't be able to write about it so intelligently. And the fact that there were so many other people who were touched by these experiences, well, that just blew my mind. Now that I'm a grown-up, I can better appreciate the message behind "The Rainbow Connection"... it's not as sad a song as La Little Rivera thought it was... but I'll still cry over it every time.

Dressing without stressing

This time last year, I was almost 50 pounds over my normal weight. My belly was huuuuge. At that point I owned just one pair of pants I could wear comfortably. I was a size extra small for as long as I can remember. For the first six or seven months all my XS maternity wear was fitting pretty well. Then somewhere in October I hit a point where even my prego clothes were unbearable. I'd squeeze into my maternity low-rise corduroys and go to my doctor appointments, all the while cursing the pants that were too tight on the bottom of my belly when I sat down and crept lower and lower around my hips with each step I took. Damn you, chocolatey brown maternity corduroys!

I was really reluctant to embrace the belly-covering stretch panel. I wanted nothing to do with it. Nothing. The year or so before I was pregnant with Nico, I was wearing my Lucky jeans with funky high heels to work, being all fancy and feminine. I wore cute little jackets and girly tees and home-made knit scarves. When it came time for me to say goodbye to my pre-baby wardrobe, I was relieved to find there existed such a thing as low-rise maternity pants. Yay! But honestly, the more I wore them, the more I hated them. With this pregnancy the main clothing issue I had to contend with in the beginning was that my maternity clothes were an XS and my ass was not. No matter how hard you try, there is just no way to be comfortable in a 1 if you should really be wearing a 4. It's a sad, sad day when you outgrow your pregnancy wear.

The only person I've really been up close and personal with during her pregnancies is my friend Jen. When I was on bed rest that whole time, she kept me company on chat just about every day. She'd already had two babies (and was planning her third) at the time I was relying on what came to be know as my fishin' pants -- a pair of grey jersey knit loungey pants with a waist panel that covered my whole enormous belly. I want to call them maternity yoga pants, but seriously they were just big giant pants for fat mamas. They were a gift from my mom, who was spending several nights a week with me. God bless her for buying me those pants. I loved them then and I love them today. While I still spent most of my time pants-less, those fishin' pants were the start of something beautiful... they showed me it's ok to love the big stretchy belly panel.

This time around I'm prepared. I've already got two pair of full-on belly panel jeans and a pair of grey cords and maternity shirts that completely cover my bump. Mom went out shopping for me a few days ago and she saved me from being a dumpy-looking clothes-too-small-wearing mama. I know Jen will probably giggle at me for the huge belly panel, the same way she did when I told her I also bought maternity panties (not grannies, just boy shorts and bikinis). It's ok, she's allowed. I actually enjoy being made fun of by her because she's just so silly and it makes me laugh too. If I remember correctly, it wasn't until her third pregnancy that she bought herself a pair of real maternity pants. Her third baby was only a pound lighter than my first. She gained 8 pounds and I gained 50. WTF! Say it like Napoleon... "Lucky!" One day I'll be back to the regular panties. One day I'll wear low-rise jeans again. But for now, all I want are pants I can love... and that love me right back.

Pork Chopsh and Apple Shaushe

Autumn is the best time of the year for comfort food. Mashed potatoes with gravy... mac and cheese... ginger snaps and tea. The dinner combo I most clearly remember loving as a kid is pork chops and apple sauce. Shake 'n Bake pork chops and apple sauce topped with cinnamon sugar.

In my neighborhood all the Catholic kids went to CCD. I still have no idea what those letters stand for. All I ever knew was that on Monday nights we all had to go to St. Joan of Arc, sit in a classroom, and learn about how to be a good human being. I remember what a bizarre experience it was for me. The rooms there were marked by a number and a letter (not just a number like at public school), you got to sit at a stranger's desk and check out their stuff, and the school part of the building was two stories so when you got older you got to go to class upstairs -- cool! You saw the occasional nun walking around, and if you had to go into the office you got to talk to the infamous Sister Maria. At my school it was no big deal, but at St. Joan's going into the office was like getting to see God's work being done first hand. I was sure Jesus was sitting at a desk in the back, and that he and Monsignor Padata hung out at McDonalds on weekends.

I'd get home from CCD, it would already be dark out, and my mom would be in the kitchen cooking dinner. I'd ask what we were having, and I would get so excited when she answered in her Peter Brady voice... "pork chopsh and apple shaushe". Yesssss! I loved the crispy coating on the chops and that little bit of juicy fat around the edge. I loved the Jack Frost cinnamon sugar shaker with the metal lid. Usually there'd be green beans too. Yum yum. With butter and salt. Awesome. To this day if I hear my mom, brother or sister name this delicious meal, they all say it like Peter. And that's the most comforting thing of all.

The Name Game

When I talk about my house, I'm actually referring to the condo we bought in 2004. It's not an actual house, but it is a home. Living in a condo complex, we've got neighbors a-plenty. We know some of their names, even. There's Michelle and her kids Jayden, Ayonna and Kiara. I thought Kiara's name was Tiara at first, but that's ok because even though I talk to Michelle all the time she still refers to me as "the girl in front" and thinks my son's name is Mico. Jayden is also know as "that kid's gonna be gay one day" and Ayonna's nickname is "the gardener" ever since she dug up/destroyed the beautiful basket of mums my mother brought over last month. Michelle's husband is in the Army and we know him only as "G.I. Joe". Michelle was "Mrs. Joe" until she happened to tell us her name one day.

Above Michelle live "socially retarded", "quiet mustache guy", "mustache's possible daughter", and "girl with the tan Jeep", who may or may not be married to quiet mustache. They replaced "Eminem", "Mrs. Em" and their daughter Kayla last year. They're all friends, so for a while they were known as "Eminem's friends" until we gave them real names. Across the way we have Bob and his downstairs neighbors who are possibly married and definitely have a baby named Abraham. They're in the Army but we just call them "the couple who replaced the fighting couple" since we've already got a G.I. Joe. We've also got "blonde girl" and her kid Delaney, "cat lady" (whose real name is Peggy) who lets her many cats out several times a day to pee in other people's gardens, and "redneck" and his family who used to have a white pickup that actually said "redneck" on the back. And let's not forget our downstairs neighbor "the smoker" who looks like LaVonne Johnson, the math teacher I had in 8th grade.

The retired couple across the street, Minnie (Minerva) and Raul, have four grown children. One son has MS and still lives with them. This son loves to go out and sit in his running car about five times a day. He starts the engine, maybe gets himself a cup of coffee or turns on the radio, even opens the windows now and then. We called him "the polluter" until something very exciting happened the other day. I was getting into the car with Nico and the polluter, sitting in his car with the window down, shouted "Extra sugar!!!" I'd never heard him talk before... he never says hello or waves back... what was this extra sugar of which he spoke? At first I was confused. Then I giggled. I told the story to Frank later that night and we agreed he shall henceforth be known as... you guessed it... "extra sugar".

I've got no home

There was a time not long ago when Frank and I shared this computer. It started out as my computer. Then it was his. Then it was ours. We probably shared it for about nine months or so before he went nuts and bought a second laptop, basically the newer version of what is once again "my" computer. My beloved PowerBook. Three thousand dollars of gleaming platinum fabulosity. As we speak, there are three of these beauties in my home (Frank's company bought him one for work).

Now whether you use a Mac or a PC, you'll probably agree that sharing a computer with someone sucks. Or maybe I'm just selfish. Seriously, is there a more annoying feeling than having someone waiting to use your computer? It's like trying to poop in a public bathroom. No matter how hard you try to relax and do what you've gotta do, knowing someone is waiting for you to wrap up your business can really cramp your style. When you've got your own private space to work in, though, you get to do little things you wouldn't normally try if you knew others were watching.

I'll share with you one of the most liberating computer experiences I've had so far... getting rid of my home page. You know, that same old page that pops up every time you open your web browser. I went in and deleted that shite. Now when I go to the internet it's a blank slate... an open book... and it's actually a pleasant moment when I open Safari and I'm not inundated with the latest Britney headline or stories about whether or not JLo has a baby bump. I only see what I really want to see now, and it's fantastic. No more comcast.net. No more apple.com. No more crap stories, no more window shopping for things I won't buy anyway. I've got my bookmarks and I stick to them. I get back that half hour of life I used to waste at the beginning of every web session. Try it. You might feel weird at first and add it back on in a panic, but eventually you'll be done with the home page. You can thank me once you've got all that unwasted time.

Just another day

That's what today is. Just another day. The thing about spending most of your time at home is... there are chunks of time where one day runs into the next. On one hand it's great because, in a way, every day is Friday. On the other hand, every day could also be Monday. This just happens to be a Monday.

Dilemma of the day: I'd love to go buy some clothes that fit, but I have nothing to wear out shopping. How gay is that? I've got a shirt to wear, but my jeans are dirty. And I've got a pair of tan cargo pants but no matching top. I feel like Smokey in "Friday", standing in the kitchen talking about how Craig never has two things that match. Cereal but no milk. Peanut butter but no jelly. Kool-Aid but no sugar.

Wedding excitement of a different variety

It's no secret that I'm excited about my sister's wedding. The older I get, the more I can see how special it is to be asked to be in someone's wedding. It's one of the biggest events we celebrate as women, and also one of the days we want most to share with the people we love.

My excitement began in May when I picked up my bridesmaid gown. I had tried on, and ordered, the size six because I still had a lot of baby fat when we went shopping in March. As the time for alterations drew near, I found myself pregnant again. Every few weeks I'd look in my closet and fan out the bottom of the gown, admiring it and silently thanking God that I'd ordered the six and not the four! The woman at the bridal shop suggested I hold off on the alterations until the beginning of this month, just to make sure we'd get the best fit.

Yesterday I arrived at the shop promptly at 11am. A woman named CC who spoke very little English came out to do my fitting. After about an hour of standing there bring tucked and pinned, I started to feel a little sick -- a funny mix of suddenly having to sit down and also having to run to the bathroom. I thought, ok, this is just the morning sickness coming back... don't freak out. I let CC know I needed to have a seat, and she said fine and to let her know when I was better. I called out for my mom who was across the room helping Nico stay out of trouble. I asked her for a drink of water. Before she could return, I knew I had to get to the bathroom right away because I felt like I was going to barf all over my pristine gown. The other alteration woman was nearby and I said, "Excuse me, I really need to get to the ladies room. Can you help me?"

She pulled me out of the chair, put her arm around my waist, and began to guide me towards the rest room. As soon as we started moving, I was overcome by nausea and fatigue. This was more than morning sickness. I asked her to go faster, and as she picked up the pace I felt her grip around my waist tighten. My head started to fall diagonally backwards (so dramatic!) and my feet just wouldn't move any faster. Everything started to go black. I snapped my head back upright and felt all the blood drain out of my face. We got to the ladies room and I braced myself over the potty. Somewhere between the fitting space and the bathroom, my body had broken out in a cold sweat and I was all sticky. The ladies who work at the shop were so sweet, bringing me water and crackers and locating my mother and son (Mom had gotten back to the fitting room and had no idea where I'd gone). After a few minutes, I felt functional again and went back out to finish my fitting.

I've heard of "blushing brides", but I wonder if I'm the first ever "fainting bridesmaid". At least they were kind enough not to charge me the extra $25 for having to pick up my gown in less than two weeks. Sweet!

It's a girl!

I'm convinced I'm having a girl this time. I feel more compassionate, less cuckoo, and suddenly I can't get enough Diet Coke. On December 6th I'll know for sure, but for now I'm saying "girl". So this presents me with some questions. What if it is a girl? Will I like having a girl as much as I like having a boy? Will she look like me?

I never thought I'd enjoy having a little boy so much. It's a weird experience to be a woman and suddenly have to look at life from a male perspective, and consider things in terms of how you want to raise a son. But I've found myself getting very comfortable with all things boy. The shouting, rough-housing, the dinosaur noises... it's a lot of fun. I've come to think that a second boy might actually be easier than having to squeeze a fair share of pink into our world. Not quite sure how I feel about that yet.

Then sometimes I think it might not be so tough. Nico's a boy, but he's still a baby and needs the same kind of attention any girl does. He gets upset, hurt and confused the same as any kid. He needs to be comforted and soothed. And since we girls are more adaptable, any daughter of mine could surely endure Nico's tackling and T-Rex imitation. Who knows... I had an older brother and I survived just fine. Even learned a thing or two from him about how to be a better girl.

And so it begins...

Welcome. Welcome to my blog. I'm glad you're here.

I've been reading my sister Liz's blog every day. She moved to Pennsylvania with her family and reading about her life makes me feel like we aren't so far away from each other. On her page, she has a link to her cousin Jennifer's blog. I started reading Jennifer's page too when the two of them started a daily blogging challenge, complete with weekly theme titles and video clips.

They have inspired me.

So here goes... La Rivera. I hope you read, and I hope you enjoy.