Binkytowne

Wishing I Was Here

The man in the poodle suit

[caption id="attachment_453" align="alignleft" width="225" caption="He's handsome isn't he? You want him?"][/caption]

This is waaaaay too easy.

This week, Parent Bloggers Network teamed up with SC Johnson. Pledge™ is giving your pets a chance to redeem themselves in their Show Off Your Shedder contest. Check it and you might win $5,000 cash (and a year’s supply of the new Pledge™ Fabric Sweeper for Pet Hair, but me? I'd rather have the cash thankyouverymuch.)

PBN asked bloggers to write a post about how life gets hairy with pets around.  The thing about poodles is that they don't shed, but that doesn't make life with them any less hairy.

Let's see.... where to start... This is Oliver.  (No relation to this one.) Oliver is almost eight years old. He's a standard poodle who weighs about 80 pounds give or take.

I could write about the time that he ate an entire rotisserie chicken off the counter and chewed through a garbage bag to get after it. Bones and all. How we spent hundreds of dollars at the vet for special food and treatment to make sure he wouldn't DIE from eating the whole chicken and how he shat all over our yard and lived to be perfectly fine.

How about the time that he showed up on our bed in the middle of the night coughing like an tiny old man (*cough*) all night (*cough*) long (*cough cough*) because he had jimmied open the pantry and eaten an entire bag of powdered sugar.

I probably shouldn't bring this up again, but then there was the time that he initiated the worst fight my husband and I ever had because it was somehow my fault that that dog ate an entire, gigantic (delicious) rueben sandwich off my waaaaay overly-hungry husband's plate. 

Last but not least,  (this is not for the squeemish, consider yourself warned) there was the "Baby-Oil Incident of 2007".  The dog ate/drank a bottle of baby oil. Why? No idea. Did he get sick? Not exactly.

How did we know? It leaked out of his ass. For about forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours, to be exact, of him wearing a pair of my husband's raggedy old boxer briefs and confined to his cage.

Note: I hope someone finds this to be funny because as I am recalling this, I still do not. 

All things considered, baby-oil and all, for eight years he's been a good dog. Very mild-mannered. Mellow. Smart. Mostly-obediant. Extremely loyal. He loves my husband more than a pork chop.

Still, that baby- oil thing? No amount of Pledge is going to make that right.

It wasn't the egg

The chicken came first.

After Christmas break, the first morning that I tried to take my son to school he got so worked up about something that he picked up a container of baby wipes and threw them at me.

Having had approximately three hours of sleep at a time for weeks before that, I reacted. Badly.

I sat at my desk that morning not able to stop the tears. I was drowning in frustration and feeling a level of inadequacy as a parent I had not experienced since he was an infant. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do, was all I could keep muttering. I really didn't.  Time outs were a game of trying to chase him as he laughed and ran. Taking away privileges and treasured trinkets didn't work, it only escalated his emotions to the point where he couldn't come down. I couldn't keep it together and keep my cool as he fell apart again and again, wearing me down to the very last nerve.  

Acting on a referral I had been given by a neighbor, I called and made an appointment with a child psychologist. The appointment was yesterday.

Yesterday morning I called and cancelled. I chickened out.

I don't think there is anything clinically "wrong" with my son.  He is a difficult mix of sensitive-intensity. I don't know how else to explain it. I'm not sure someone with even a semi-compliant child would understand it. I need help. If the worst case scenario is that we spend an outrageous amount of money for someone to tell us he is demonstrating age appropriate behavior and it seems like a waste of time, so be it. If the best case scenario is that my husband and I hear the same message and come up with a plan and it helps us help him, even a little, it will be time well spent.

But the night before we were supposed to go I started to turn this around and around in my head. What do we tell him? It's not exactly a doctor appointment- he would know this was different than that. I don't want to call it "therapy" it's not that either. We contemplated calling it a meeting, but he associates that with us going to work. I was afraid I would not be able to talk about this overall situation and my feelings of failure without crying, something I don't want to do in front of him. The appointment was for late in the day, which meant a disruption in schedules and a tired and hungry kid. Oh yeah, there was also the fact that he would miss his yoga class at school. We both shook our heads. Yoga is cool and all, but I don't think either one of us believes that yoga is more critical than dealing with this problem, but still, we both clucked about how he shouldn't miss yoga, etc. etc.

I'm not just saying this, he's really been better since I scheduled the appointment. Also, here is the rock feeling in the pit of my stomach: I think sitting with a professional and talking about my son's emotional outbursts is going to pretty much suck, hard. I did not cancel for that reason, but in all honestly, it sure made it easy to rationalize not going.

I set up another appointment for two weeks from now. We'll see where we are at that point. The next one gets us in first thing in the morning and gives us more time to think about what we really want to accomplish by doing this, or if we really want to do it at all.

I know we should. I don't want to. We should.

But I don't want to.

Because milk is good for you

Have you ever arrived at daycare or at a sitters only to find that an entire bottle of breastmilk has leaked into the bottom of your bag? (Then had your brain explode?) I have. It's not pretty.

Lucky for me, there is MilkBank, a patented, clinically-proven breastmilk storage and feeding system that treats every drop like the precious commodity it is.

Parent Bloggers Network gave me the opportunity to try the Milk Bank System and I'm glad they did.

Read about it here at The Full Mommy.

The good the bad and the milk

I can easily say I have covered all the bases. I have been an exclusively breastfeeding mom, a pump and bottle feeding mom, a half expressed breast milk half formula bottle feeding mom and a formula only bottle feeding mom.

My girls have been through it all. I have suffered crippling mastitis, cracked nips, suffered through bad pumps, sung the praises of good ones, dealt with over supply and have had to give up dairy in order to keep breastfeeding.

Heard enough yet? I hope not.

Because I hope you will come and visit me at the newly launched MilkBank blog. I'll be writing there a couple of times a week along with some bloggers you may already know.

Seriously, I won't only write about milk, boobs and bottles. That was one of the reasons I was interested in being a part of MilkBank. They are devoted to parents and providing a line of products to support parents in feeding and caring for babies but it's not just that. The MilkBank blog is meant to be a resource for people wanting to know about parenting issues especially as they pertain to feeding, but also for their baby-related questions.

I have a baby. I have milk. I have a blog. I have questions and answers!

You are officially invited and I do hope you'll visit.

(Check back tomorow for my official review of Milk Bank products over at The Full Mommy).

Beggars Can't Be Choosers

Wow. I know we are in a recession and bad news is cropping all over the place. I get it. People are down and overpriced roses and crappy candy are not high on the list of priorities these days.

But I, for one, will not bash Valentines Day this year.

Younger and childless, with lots of sex and time for I-love-you's and you-look-awesome and opportunties for ways to demonstrate kindness to eachother and dinners not eaten standing up, I would have rolled my eyes and said BAH Valentines Day is LA-AAAAME.

Cue reality: Completely overwhelmed and totally child-focused and spending more time with my computer than my spouse I welcome Hallmark shouting  HEY YOU. GO GET A CARD AND SOME CRAPPY CHOCOLATE FOR YOUR WIFE.

This is not about my husband being inattentive, he's attentive to all the things that need attention, I happen to be pretty far down on that list, as he is on mine. Not intentional, it's just the way it is right now with two small children and a gazillion hours of work between us.

So bring on the soggy chocolate covered strawberries and the cheesy card that will be in the recycle basket by Sunday. I am ready and waiting for a hug, a moment, an I love you and whatever else could happen after that if those kids would just go to sleep already.

When your friend doesn't want to be your friend

I received an email from an old friend. By old friend I mean a real-life high school friend, someone I used to hang with daily and whom I felt close to. Like a lot of close high school friends we parted ways in college- she moved west and I stayed put and we gradually drifted apart. I haven't actually spoken to her in probably twenty years but I have a lingering affection for her and many fond memories that came flooding back when I saw she found me on Facebook and wanted to be friends.

I think she did it once before. After we became friends (and when I cared enough to check these things) I saw she disappeared from my list of friends. Strange, I thought, and sent a request to her which she accepted. Naively, I thought it was a mistake. There were obvious differences, she lists herself as a Republican and a Christian and I am neither. I don't think she has kids and I have two that I talk about a lot.

I have un-friended two people on Facebook. One was my twenty-year-old cousin who was posting wild pics of parties and underage drinking and make-out sessions and things I thought better for me to not be aware of, at least in such vivid detail. She noticed and re-friended me and I accepted, because she's a kid and that's what kids do. I just try and stay away from her profile page. The other was someone from high school that I never really knew and I admit I did remove him partly because of his political affiliation- not because it was different than mine, but because he didn't play fair- he searched for and posted extreme articles trying to discredit the current administration and wrote disparaging comments to go along with them. It bummed me out so away he went. He sent me a wacky email after the fact asking me why I had done it since "liberals were supposed to be so open minded".  That was my reason right there and so I never responded, I didn't feel the need.

But this was different. Today's message said:

"Amy, I don't think we have anything in common anymore.  I wish you all the best. "

I think I know what did it. I have made my support for Obama known and that's probably why she removed me the first time but I think my link to this put her over the edge.

I shut my computer and tried to move on but this continued to bother me. Let it go, I thought. I couldn't. I can't help it. "I wish you all the best." Really? If that's true, then why are we not 'friends' anymore?  It would have better had she said I think you are one crazy bitch. I'm out of here. That, I could live with.

Her message felt very personal and it made me sad that someone who used to be a part of my life had the opportunity to do so once more and chose to reject it. Based on what I said or did not say. On Facebook. 

Who I am on my Facebook page is not a reflection of all of me, of all my parts, my quirks, my beliefs. I do support Obama and I do think gay people should be allowed to marry but does that change the person I was, I am, who still likes '80's music and cracks jokes to cheer people up or buys peanut m&ms and leaves them in your car just because I know you like them. The woman who always brings soft tissues to school when her kids have colds and the person who always forgets birthdays but makes up for it later.

I contemplated a number of responses:

I'm sorry you feel that way. Cheers.

I'm sorry you feel that way. Your loss baby.

What?????

Thanks for the message. Now don't let the door hit you on the ass.

I settled on this:

I'm sorry you feel that way. I think if you would have stuck around you would have found that maybe we do.

I guess now we'll never know, will we? AJ

Crying it Out. In Reverse.

Yes, I cried.

My baby is not a champion sleeper. What he does do brilliantly, is fall asleep. Every night he might fuss and cry if he's still up between eight and nine, but then I take him, hold him, nurse him for about five minutes and he's out. Staying down is another story, but going down is never the struggle.

It started in November when my husband got hurt. He couldn't walk the stairs so he slept on the first floor. To keep from waking everyone during the late night feedings, I put the baby in the bed with me.

And he hasn't left.

I never dreamed I would be a co-sleeper. I never expected to sleep as soundly as I do with a warm, squirming, sweet baby next to me, listening to him breathe and snore and wiggle.

Of course he is my baby, but he's not really a baby anymore. At seventh months old he is becoming very engaged. He's starting to demonstrate that he's aware of his surroundings. As much as it pains me, I know I can't let him continue to fall asleep and wake up tucked snugly between his dad and me.  He needs to learn what his room looks like. 

I hate it.

My oldest is and was a terrible sleeper. I know that doesn't mean my youngest will do the same, but I'm afraid of making the same mistakes I did the first time. At some point soon I'm going to have to stop the midnight feedings and he needs to sleep, I need to sleep. I've been working and functioning on so little sleep for so long. I want him to know his bed before he realizes that the one he sleeps in has not been his.

I counted the steps between our bedrooms. Nine steps.

Still, I held my pillow and I missed him and I cried.

He slept all night.

And so did I.

Need some help here

Scene: My living room. Frantically trying to get everyone out the door. Baby is in car seat, crying. Big brother is wandering around aimlessly ignoring my every direction.

Big Brother, approaching car seat: Baby, I am going to pee on you.

Me, digging in my briefcase, full stop: What did you say?!!

Big brother, defiant: Nothing.

Me, still slack jawed both at the comment and the lying: Did you just say "I am going to pee on you?"

Big brother, defiant: No

Me: What did you say?

Big brother, lying: Baby, you are my best friend and I love you very much. 

Me, secretly impressed by how quickly he came up with that and his ability to know I would secretly be impressed and therefore, not give him the time out he deserved:  I heard you, you know.

Big Brother: But I was just trying to cheer him up!

What would you do? Let it go? Time out for not telling the truth the first time I asked?

I believe his intentions were good, but that was very, very tricky.

[caption id="attachment_418" align="aligncenter" width="726" caption="Tricky."][/caption]