Dr. Teeth

Remeber him? The Muppet? Aah, teeth. A whole new chapter in the book of breastfeeding. I've mentioned before that I didn't nurse my son for very long, so I've never dealt with this part of it before, but here I am at five months with my daughter and we're still chugging along. Although lately you might say one of us is chomping along. New teeth are adorable, yes, but someone here is using them for evil instead of good.

There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. All of a sudden, WHOMP here comes the toofers. Ever see video of a great white coming out of the water to wrestle some meat off a big hook out on the open sea? That, my friends, is why I call my sweet, innocent little baby The Shark. And she has the audacity to act surprised when I'm snapping up my nursing tank. Shah, girl, bye bye boobie. I've instituted a "one bite and you're out" rule. If things continue this way, I'll be shaking up a lot more bottles. In a few years, though, when it's time for her to learn about the Tooth Fairy, I'm having those little teef gilded and I'm making a necklace. Is that weird?

Sleepytime

Today is a blur. Kids are both sleeping in my room in their pack n' plays. I'm about to head to bed, just finishing up watching this week's Entourage. I miss my house. I miss hubby. The babies totally held me together today. Just them needing things and wanting to have their normal day and take up all my attention kept my mind off of things. Maybe a little too well, because I'm going to bed without doing a lot of the things I planned on accomplishing today. I guess that's not much different from any other day, but I do still have to figure out where I stand with bills and cancelled utilities and the budget and what has been spent since Friday.

I've been up and down so many times lately. Happy, excited, upset, and downright miserable. Too busy, too lazy, too confused, and waiting for pieces to come together. Then one of the kids laughs, or they both start giggling together, or somebody cries, and that's the only thing that matters. I keep thinking about how happy I am that I have both of them here with me. This is the first week Frank is staying with George and Irene, so it's lonely. I'm going to miss the mom's group meeting tomorrow because I have to go home and get some of the kids' gear, like Nico's sofa, Livi's jumperoo, and blankets and loveys. I also gave Frank my iPhone charger in the car this morning, so I have to borrow his until Friday. I can't believe it's just past midnight. I'm tired, but I'd really love to stay up for another cocktail. Just in case Livi wakes up, though, I'm going to call it a night and head off to bed. Oh shit, Ferris Beuller just came on. Serious dilemma.

One last night

We wound up staying here again tonight. There's no furniture, except the crib and toddler bed. I left for Mom's this morning with the very bare essentials, meaning diapers and baby monitors. I'm amused at myself for having the presence of mind (or lack thereof) to take the outfits I had packed out of Nico's backpack and replace them with all his toy cars and farm animals. Oh, and I also put Olivia's 3-tiered pink tulle crib skirt in there. Talk about essentials. Have tulle, will travel, I suppose.

So with no clothes, no toothbrush, and no make-up bag, I decided to head back. Frank thought it best to hang onto that rented cargo van overnight, so we have to take that back in the morning on the way to the bus station. Glad to see I'm not the only one flaking out a little.

Goodnight to you, dirty fireplace. Sweet dreams, spackled spots on the wall that need sanding. By the time two weeks have flown by, you'll be clean and smooth, and I'll be gone for real. I'll miss you, recessed lights with dimmers. So long, ceramic cook top stove. Adios, master bedroom window seat. I never did make a cushion for you, and for that I apologize. I promise right here and now that I'll treat my next window seat much, much better, and I'll make a cushion in your honor and I'll read books there and drink iced tea and hang lovely curtains. Maybe The Dude will have a cute butt like I do, and maybe she'll treat you like you deserve to be treated. Just always remember, I loved you first.

Boxing

Here we are, on pretty much the last night we'll all be spending together in our condo. Hubby and I are splitting a noodle soup bowl that he spiffed up with some shrimp, and there's what I understand to be some good boxing on HBO. Mosely and somebody else? I don't know, I'm paying attention to the soup. We already have a bunch of boxes moved over to the storage unit, and in the morning Frank's cousins will be here to do all the heavy lifting. Sofa, bookcases, etc., etc. We'll go out early and get breakfast for everyone, and they should be here by 8:30am. The hundred little things I could be doing instead of sitting here writing just don't seem worth the worry. Much of what remains unpacked is stuff that will either be following us to Mom's or getting tossed out as trash.

You know, come to think of it, we spent the greater part of today acting like there was nothing much to be done. In the morning we went out to sign for the storage unit, opened the bank account for The Big Jebowski's security deposit, and stopped by the U-Haul place. Papers, papers, signing names, and more papers. A phone call to our realtor, a chat with the neighbors, some Inca chicken for lunch, the Barcelona game, family nap time, and then out to pick up the rental cargo van for some pre-pow-wow hauling. Tonight we watched the new Chris Rock special and shuffled some empty boxes around in mock productivity. When my son wakes up in the morning before the crack of dawn, it'll be serious "go time" around here. Tomorrow evening, this place will look empty. I'm not sad now, just interested in making the day go smoothly and helping out by keeping myself and the kids out of the way. Maybe we'll head over to Mom's and scope out the situation there. Now, though, it occurs to me that packing the diaper bag for the morning will be a big help. So I'm off.

Pork chops, juice box, Extra Sugar

The kids are asleep. I am sitting on my bedroom floor, eating leftover pork chops for lunch, and enjoying my last moments as my street's nosiest resident. Across the road I see Extra Sugar's parents helping him inside. Sometimes he can make it out to the car and back alone, but I guess on his bad MS days he needs help ditching the walker at the front door. Often times Minnie brings out a cup of coffee for her son to drink while he sits in his driver's seat, smoking his Marlboro Lights, banished to the outdoors because Raul has emphysema. There goes Minnie, off to the market, wearing her Gilligan hat to keep from catching cold until the hair she lost during chemo grows back.

G.I. Joe is taking out the trash. Yesterday I talked to Mrs. Joe, and Nico and her daughter ran around in the grass together as we chatted about how it's a shame that we were getting to know each other better just in time for me to move away. And here I go with the water works... I didn't think it would be so difficult to leave this place. Finally I have all these people in my life, dare I say new friends, and just like that it's time to pack up and move. If ever there were a time that I would really like to stay put, it's now. It didn't seem to matter before I went out and found a life for myself and the kids. The sign language groups, the mom's club activities, play groups, making friends with neighbors... I didn't mean for roots to spring out under our feet while we were standing around planning this whole move, then waiting for a tenant. If I've learned anything about myself so far this year, it's that I do have it within myself to get out there and meet people and make life a richer experience. I'm shy, and it's not easy, but I'll go out and do it again without thinking twice.

Last night I caught a brief chat with my sister as I was welling up, packing boxes in the kitchen. She told me to stop crying, called me Weezy, and said we're movin' on up. It was just the pep talk I needed, and I just repeated it to myself as I'm looking out the window slurping on my juice box. The Jefferson's theme song has been stuck in my head all day. Ok... I'm pulling myself back together, closing the blinds on the bedroom window, and ending my four year stint as the mayor of D Street. I'll miss it here, but I'm Weezy and I'm movin' on up. Now gimme the damn packing tape, for Christ's sake.

Thoughts while packing

I'm going to get back to packing up all the useless shit in my kitchen, just as soon as I get a couple of things off my chest. Firstly... Dear John McCain, you are a toad. Secondly... Dear Sarah Palin, you are a douche bag and if I were McCain, I'd also try to avoid letting Biden kick your Alasska in a debate. Am I feeling particularly mature tonight? Obviously not. I just finished watching my new favorite show, Tabatha's Salon Takeover, had myself some leftover shrimp and broccoli, and now I'm debating having a beer. Also, I have decided that after all this moving business is done, I am calling Dr. Rey. I've always wanted to visit California anyway.

Ugh... back to packing. I am now at the point where I will pay any one of you a thousand dollars to come over and do this chore for me. I've had enough and now I'm waving cash at you so I can sit on the sofa and watch tv, and drink that beer I just decided I deserve.