Monthly Archives: October 2009

Happy Anniversary (Halloween)

Of what is Halloween an anniversary, you ask?  Here’s a hint:

HEM.FrontDesk+-+halloween+cookie[The hint was borrowed from Cakewrecks — the funniest blog ever.  Go read it so they don’t get mad that I borrowed their image.  It is just so dang appropriate.]

Have you guessed?

Two years ago.  Two years ago, and I will probably never ever forget it and will always throw back half a bag of candy corn in celebration of it, I saw the second line on my pee stick.   I was released from my TTC duties by the insemination I did on October 19.  Do I remember the date when Cakie got his first tooth?  Nope.  When Trucker took his first step?  Unh-uh.  But October 19 and October 31 will still be in my dementia-riddled brain when I’m 104.  It was the day Trucker set me free.

I dressed up like a pirate and dressed Cakie like a pirate and walked him around the block begging for candy, door to door.  All the while, I was haunted by that ghostly pink line I’d seen at four am that morning.  Later, I took Cakie-the-pirate to my building Halloween party.  And I took Trucker, too.  It was his first “Lobby Party” as Cake calls it, even though he was just a doubling cluster of cells at the time.

As an anniversary present to you, my invisible friends who helped me survive the insanity that lead up to that 4 am BFP, I present a photo from Trucker’s “third” Halloween.  My superhero, Speedyboy.

IMG_3098[Ok, I put a different picture in that was already horizontal.  I think I originally didn’t choose it because Blue’s Clues is in the background.  But who am I kidding?  My children watch TV. No need to pretend that they don’t. ]

PS  I dedicate this post to eggdrop’s ten follies.  I’m sending a zillion virtual sperm Halloween cookies out to those about-to-drop eggs.



Filed under my second son, Trucker, TTC

The Adventures of Quickman and Speedyboy

I don’t know if we should wait until the day before an event, such as Halloween or a birthday party to get Cakie’s opinion on things.

For a good long time, Cakie wanted to be an astronaut for Halloween.  My honey was psyched to create a jet pack.  She even acquired a realistic safety-orange astronaut costume from kris.  Then, about three weeks ago, he changed his mind.  He wanted to be Bumblebee (a Transformer, for those of you unfamiliar with the current child toy trends.) That was quickly and skillfully avoided.  Then he decided he wanted to be “Quickman.”  Who is Quickman?  He’s a superhero. Made up by Cake. Can you guess his superpower?

Of course I, the purchaser of the matching toggle coats, immediately made up Quickman’s sidekick, Speedyboy.  It sounds cute.  And it is.  But not as cute as the original Trucker costume that was Cake’s idea back in the olden days when he was going to be an astronaut.  Cake said, “Trucker can be a rocket!”  How cute would that have been?  Achingly cute.

According to Cake, Quickman wears red pants and a red shirt with “a storm” on the front.  A silver one. And some silver stuff on the pants. No hat.  No cape. But he must have muscles.  Muscles are a requirement.

We got an old Hulk costume with muscles on it from a friend.  Then, on the same day, my honey and I separately went to neighborhood discount stores and bought three red shirts, two pairs of red pants, one pair of grey pants and a silver drape.  The plan is to sew the red shirt on to the muscles for definition.  Speedyboy will get a silver cape, a silver belt, a onsie and some PJ pants.  And some kind of emblem on the shirt.

Two days ago, Cake decided he really wanted to be Spiderman.  Really?

If he had decided before the discount store, I’d be at Party City right now buying an over-priced muscular Spiderman costume.  But I’m sorry, love.  It will be Quickman or no man.

The thing is, I want to indulge him sometimes.  Especially when it comes to my favorite holiday.  A person has got to be happy on Halloween.  There’s just no other choice.  But if I did, I know Friday night as I kissed him goodnight, he’d swing back to Bumblebee.  Or Wolverine.  Cake.  That’s my boy.

Anyway, I need to go sew a storm.  Just thought I’d fill you in on the latest adventures of the supermoms.



Filed under my son

Playground, Two Boys, One Mom

Having two kids makes a person a different kind of parent.

Namely, I can no longer hover over my one child and marvel in his every move.  I can’t stand under him to catch him if he falls head-first from the bar from which he’s hanging upside-down.  If I do, I won’t be able to catch the baby, who has managed, at 15 months, to climb half-way up the playground structure ladder.

I decided recently to take the boys straight to the playground, weather permitting, as soon as I pick them up from daycare.  Bringing them home was bumming me out, because too much tv was involved.  Cake had so much energy after being cooped up in his daycare “class” all day, that he was running back and forth in our living room as though it were a racetrack.  So I thought I’d let off some energy, avoid the boob tube, and possibly give my honey some alone time when she got home from work by taking them to a place where they are supposed to run around in circles and climb things.

It has been fun.  I’m glad I made the decision.  It has also made me look long and hard at myself as a parent.  I really need to be with Trucker in the playground.  I’m used to being with Cakie, though.  Lord knows, they don’t stay together.  So I’ve had to let go of Cake a little.  I’ve become that mother of a “big kid” about whom the mothers of little singletons are thinking and possibly saying under their breaths, “Where is his mother?”  I’m right here, on the other side of the playground trying to stop the one-year-old from jumping off of the concrete water fountain, thank you very much.

Mind you, Cake is a good kid.  He loves babies and is generally careful around them and loving to them.  He’s also a little dare-devil.  And he’s pretty athletic.  So I’ve had to look seriously at the risks in my playground (there are very few).  I have to just let him play and stop hovering.  Trucker needs me to hover, not Cake.

Then the other part of me hears that evil kidnapper guy who imprisoned that girl in California in his back yard for all those years.  Apparently he said to a woman who was trying to print out a child-safety flier at his copy shop, “All you have to do is grab just one [child.]”  That just makes me into a crazy person.  Our playground has only one exit, so it would be hard for someone to take him without me seeing.  Regardless, in the playground I do a little dance between fierce protective mama and “Where is his mother?” mama.

The truth is, I think I am a little over-protective.  And I think Cake is partly glad that I have to watch Trucker instead of him.  He likes to be free of me for a while.  Having Mommy stand right there while you try to be Wolverine and a pirate simultaneously can seriously cramp a four-year-old’s style.


Filed under family, my second son, my son


What kind of mothablogger am I?

I never blog about the kids.

Trucker is 15 months old.  I thought that for a whole month, then I realized that he had only been 14 months old.  Now he really is 15 months.  I’m tired.

He has done some cute stuff lately.

I’ve mentioned before that he hasn’t picked up any baby signs yet, because he’s always looking at Cakie and never at me.  But he recently made up his own version of “eat.”  And today I came home from an emergency run to the store for milk (we really ought to invest in a cow) and my honey had taught him the sign for “more.”  Mind you, I’ve been trying to teach him this for, oh, nine months or so.  Now if he wants to, he can sign “more eat!”  Which will be so much better than his current “word” for that sentence —  AAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEuuuuhhh. I hope he’ll pick up some other signs.  It was so helpful with Cakie when he was a wee one.

I also mentioned in a previous post how he has taken to slapping me in the chest when he wants to nurse.  He has modified it to simply tapping me lightly on the chest.  Thanks, sweet boy.  It is pretty cute.

On Saturday mornings, we walk to the park for Cakie’s soccer practice.  It is at a time when many people are walking their dogs.  Trucker loves dogs.  He has a word for dog that he says every time he sees one.  The word sounds nothing like “dog” or “woof” or anything, really related to dogs.  I realized yesterday, though, that his word for dog does sound like the French word for dog.  So maybe he now knows a little ASL and a little French.

Have I mentioned my purchase of the matching toggle coats?  My honey was annoyed.  She thinks it is silly.  She thinks they look like they are ready to go to Hogwarts.  I don’t care!  Cuteness rules!

I feel like this post is boring.  Maybe that’s why I don’t blog so much about momming so many of the stories about my boys just feel like maybe they are only interesting to me.  But maybe you’ll find it more pleasurable than reading about my girly bits.


Filed under family, my hon, my second son, my son, nothing at all, Trucker

The Post I Never Wrote

Several weeks after I gave birth to my Truckster baby, I convinced myself that I had a prolapsed uterus. Something was coming out.  My midwife was so great. She squeezed me in between appointments to check me out.  In New York, this is a minor miracle.

I’d like to just say here, do NOT google “prolapsed uterus.”  That google image is lodged in my mind.  Just don’t.

Anyway, she said it was normal wear and tear, especially for a baby that size who came out so very fast.

I was embarrassed and felt like I overreacted.  I didn’t even blog about it.  And back then I blogged about everything every few minutes.

Here’s the part where I thank you guys.  I had just been sucking it up.  But I’m so glad I wrote that post-post-post etc. partum post, because I did have it checked out.  I don’t have a prolapsed uterus, but it is not normal wear and tear.  I don’t know what is going on exactly yet, or how they will attempt to fix it, but I do have an appointment with a uro-gynecologist.  My family doctor (it was her at the orchard) checked me out an referred me.

So thanks.  I just would have lived with it.  And that would have sucked.  But it also makes me feel for women everywhere who don’t have health care available like we do here; for women who don’t have a support group — internet or otherwise;  for women who are too embarrassed to ever talk about things like this to anyone.  I mean, as far as difficult conditions for women are concerned, this ranks pretty low.  But still.  I’m glad I don’t have to live with it.  I feel lucky.


Filed under NYC What is it about you?, Post partum


I haven’t been able to get my doctor on the phone. Teachers and phone calls during the day don’t always mix.

Then today I’m pretty sure I saw her while we were apple-picking in Westchester.  I wanted to run up to her and her daughter and yell, “Doc!  I think I might have a prolapsed bladder problem!  I need a uro-gynecologist!  HELP ME! Oh, and the cider donuts are really yummy.”

I decided against it.

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Filed under nothing at all, Post partum

Morning Sickness

No, I’m not pregnant (though I am experiencing several annoying pregnancy symptoms.)

I’m just sick of the morning.  5:23 am, to be exact.

Sometimes it is 4ish.  Once it was 3.

Trucker is a big fan of the sunrise.  He hasn’t missed one in what feels like a year.  And he’s just creeping up on 15 months old.

Sooooo.  Wait.  Have I neglected to blog about my new downstairs neighbors, Startle and Smokey? OMG.  I have not.  Well, our much beloved and quite deaf previous downstairs neighbor unfortunately passed away many months ago.  We loved her.  LOVED her.  May she rest in peace.  I contacted several friends with small kids and had them calling the management company asking about the apartment.  Who did they rent it to?  Who?  Smokey and Startle: a 30-something childless couple who somehow manage to smoke heavily enough that our entire apartment smells — especially our bedroom, not to mention the entire hallway of the fifth floor.  A couple who decided to not use the master bedroom with an attached bath as their bedroom, but have rather chosen the room under the bedroom of my two loud sons.  And they like to sleep in on the weekends.  This couple is in constant fear for their health, despite the offensive smoking habit.  Their health, it seems hinges on not being startled.  By noise.  Like, oh, the sound of a hulking one-year-old throwing his sippy cup to the floor.  Or moving furniture.  Or pulling the shopping cart down upon himself.  We are loud.  I would not like to live downstairs from myself, it is true. But I’m ready to take up tap dancing, I’m so over these people.  We’ve been breaking our backs trying to keep the noise down to a dull roar.  If Startle comes up here again (she has come up three times,) I’ve decided to tell her that her coming up does not make it quieter, it only makes me feel bad.  And to tell her that if she comes up again for noise, I won’t try to keep them quiet any more.    Then maybe she’ll appreciate the fact that my kids pretty much never play in their own room any more, and most of my energy is spent trying to get Trucker to at least throw things onto the carpet, not the slim strip of bare floor (coop rule of 80% floor coverage, check) where he prefers to throw things.

[breathe, ohm, breathe]

So, anyway, out of sheer good-neighborliness and coop rules, I can’t even put Trucker down on the floor until 6.  He’s loud.  And if he gets near something to throw or climb or topple, he will do it.  He’s a Truck. So if he gets up at five, it is a lot of heavy lifting. Or, I’ve found that the only way to not carry him that early is to lay on the couch, lay him on my belly, and turn on NY1.  I’m not proud.  But if I don’t he’ll sliver off of me and start eating the plants or climbing onto the dining room table or some such Trucker stunt.

My point, and I do have one, is HEEEELLLP!  Do any of you wise women have any advice for getting the Truck to sleep longer?  We’ve pushed his bed time back about 30 minutes.  What else?  Anything?  Anything?

Thanks in advance,



Filed under family, my second son, nothing at all, NYC What is it about you?, Trucker, ZzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzZz