Letters

Dear Blue Cross Blue Shield,

Thank you for having not one, but two very nice ladies available to help me over the phone today. I now understand better why I had to shell out a large chunk of money for my one routine ultrasound that is supposed to be included in my global maternity plan.

While your customer service people were nice and helpful, it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting screwed here. Having switched from an OB to a midwife will save you a huge amounts of money. The three days that I won't spend in the hospital this time? Will save you a huge amount of money. All of the decisions that I am making in this pregnancy happen to save you huge amounts of money.

So why is it that it's costing me so much more?

Sincerely,
Just another American frustrated with health care and insurance companies


Dear Jardin people,

You make a lovely crib. I did not mean to break it when I was so pissed off earlier today. I now know that I can't yank the rail up that hard. At least not without breaking the little plastic parts on the bottom.

The fact that you are sending me the new parts free of charge and so quickly is very nice, and it makes me wonder if you realize that it's my own damn fault the thing broke in the first place.

Sincerely,
A mommy who seriously needs a break


Dear Glenn,

I'm guessing that working at Babies'R'Us in the furniture department is not your dream job. Maybe you had your sights set on something white collar, 8-5, that came with a company car. I don't know. Maybe, you are really good at retail.

However, I for one, am grateful that you work there. You probably just thought you were doing your job, but unless your job description includes dealing with insanely hormonal pregnant women who cry on the phone to you while their toddlers scream and throw things in the background? Unless it includes that, you went way above and beyond today.

I didn't know the brand, the model number, or where it was made. You knew your cribs so well, that you helped me identify it over the phone by describing a couple of specific parts on it. When you realized that I still had one child using the crib, you asked if you could call me back so you could see if there were parts you could take off a crib in stock so I could have them today.

When you couldn't actually get the parts for me today, you instead gave me the part numbers and phone number and everything else I needed to order them myself so they would get to me faster. You did pretty much everything but come to my house and dial the phone for me.

My day sucked. You not only helped my fix Bird's crib, you helped fix my day. I should probably tell your boss.

Sincerely,
That same mommy who seriously needs a break

My boys

Dear Little Bean,

I think you need a new name. I'm not sure what it's going to be yet, but Butterbean just doesn't fit you. You, the kicking, twisting, must be made known, you.

You actually do have a new name. As of today, we know what we will call you when you are born because we know that you are a boy. Oh boy, do we know you are a boy.

The ultrasound tech didn't have that wand on my tummy for more that 5 seconds when you mooned us, threw your legs open, and showed us all of your glory. She didn't have to tell us what you were; I started laughing and said, "Is that what I think it is?" And it was. My little exhibitionist.

I guess it's safe to say now how very much I wanted you to be a boy. There are both pragmatic and emotional reasons involved. The pragmatic is obvious: I already have all the clothes you need in the proper season. Score.

The emotional reasons are a little more complicated. One reason is that I didn't want for your big sister to feel like she was being replaced with a new little girl. Maybe she wouldn't have. She's pretty amazing, and I think - I hope - that she is secure in how much she is loved. But I'm glad for that reason.

Also, knowing that you are a little boy reassures me that I know what to do with you. While I know that you won't come out just a carbon copy of your big brother, I feel like I know how to love a little boy and take care of a little boy. That might never make sense to you, since you won't ever be somebody's mama, but it makes sense to me.

My heart melts when I think about "my boys" now. I love saying it. I love finding reasons to say it. I can't wait until you get here and I get to say, "Today, me and the boys . . . " which is of course terrible grammar, but I love the way it sounds.

My boys. My boys.

My heart.

I am so in for it.

Love,
Your Mama

The kid's gonna be alright

I hover. It comes naturally to me. A smidge of control freak mixed in with an annoying amount of always being right sets poor Little Bird up for a lifetime of me up in his business.

Already, I'm consciously trying to let go where I can. He runs in the play area at the pool while I watch without chasing. He climbs up and goes down the Little Tykes slide without me holding his hand. He is learning everyday how to do more without me hovering.

This weekend, I stopped by my favorite maternity store to see what might be on sale and capable of making me feel cute - in other words, miracles. She keeps some toys in a little play area. Bird remembered right where they were and ran to them, leaving me to shop blissfully. It's a very small store, so I didn't think twice about leaving him to play while I tried on tops in the dressing room right next to the play area.

There were also two sisters there with their mother and a little girl who was about three. One of the sisters was pregnant and shopping, the other left to go to the china shop next door, and the grandma was giving fashion advice. Bird and the little girl were playing.

At least, I thought they were.

The little girl looked so sweet in her smocked dress with matching hair bow. It never occurred to me that she was a little three year old piranha.

As I was checking out, Bird came over and stood by me. The little girl followed him and started to whack him in the face with her fists. I let out an instinctive, "No," as I scooped up my child who was just standing there, being pummeled.

It happens. I wasn't upset, and I didn't think ill of the girl or her grandma. It could have just as easily been my child who has thrown a tantrum over a train. I just picked him up, and we moved on. No big deal.

Until we got home and I noticed his arm.

Bright red bite mark. Clear as day. It could have been used to trace her through dental records if needed. That little girl bit my Bird. Hard.

At first, I was all over myself about not watching him closely enough. How could I have let that happen? I made vows all night long to never let him out of my sight again - to never let go of his hand - to never stop hovering.

Then, the next morning, the bite mark was gone.

It dawned on me that he was alright. That really, he was going to be alright.

In a couple of weeks, we go to Mother's Morning Out for the first time. Bird won't just be out of my sight, he'll be out of my reach. I'll pack his lunch and backpack, and drop him off. As in leave him. As in get back in my car and drive away without him.

He might get pummeled. He might get bit on the arm. Or, God forbid, he might be the pummeler or the biter. I don't know what will happen.

But I do know that he is going to be alright.

To my dance partner

Dear Butterbean,

Next week we find out if you are a boy or a girl. I'm very excited. If you are a boy, then I have a lot less work to do to get ready for you. If you are a girl, then we get to use the name that I love so much for you.

I will be happy either way.

Last night you kept me awake as I lay in bed next to your daddy. The little flutter dance you did was undoubtedly adorable, if not just slightly ill-timed. I was alright with it though, because I'm enjoying having you show me your presence.

One of your brother's favorite words is "baby." He has noticed my protruding belly, and likes to poke it. A lot. So, I taught him to say "baby" when he pokes it or when I ask him what is in my belly. It's much better than people just thinking that he's poking my beer gut.

Every night we pray for you and we pray for all the people we know who are expecting new babies. When Bird hears "Ms. Heather and Mr. Mike," or "Ms. Tara," he stops nursing just long enough to say "Baby!" I hope that his enthusiasm for babies continues after you get here.

You will have a lot of people love you when you come into this world. You know, you have a lot of people who love you already.

Keep dancing, little one.

Love,
Your Mama

Best friends

After my oldest dog, Chelsea, died in December, Bird seemed to lose interest in dogs for awhile. The other dogs are so much bigger than Chelsea was, and with Bird just learning to walk, he was leary of them.

I can't say that I blame him. Gibson and his big chocolate lab tail can still knock him down with one exuberant wag.

This summer, he has become inseparable from the two big dummies, as we affectionately call them. "Dog" is constantly coming out of his mouth.

He hears them in the backyard, barking, and he runs to the door to help let them in.

He likes to help feed them by carrying their bowls to the utility room where we keep their food.

He also like to help them eat by squatting next to their bowls and putting the little pieces of kibble that they drop back into the bowl for them.

This week, Bird learned how to give them cookies. Now, he will go into the kitchen and put both arms up towards the cookie jar and say "dogdogdogdogdog" until I get two dog biscuits for him to share with his best friends.

I think I love it best when he sits with them on the dog beds. Just one of the pups.

I think the Setter loves him too.

Nemesis

He's taunting me. I leave the front door open to let in the sunlight through the storm door. When I walk by, he doesn't budge. He dares me to come running out the door, cursing and waving my fists at him.

Sometimes I chase him all the way to the dogwood tree, shaking it until he runs up into the neighboring pine.

Sometimes I just sigh in defeat and kick the storm door. Those times, he sits still on the railing, staring me down, never missing a beat in the rhythmic devouring of the leaf he has stripped from my hibiscus.

I hate that damn squirrel.

"Squirrel" is the newest word in Little Bird's vocabulary. He has learned to go to the front door and yell it out to me, just to see me come running to save another branch of my soon to be naked topiaries. He steps aside and chants, "Squirrel, squirrel, squirrel," rolling the r's in that odd little baby way that he does. He likes it when I make it all the way to the tree shaking.

Gibson stands next to him, drooling. I should let him take care of that squirrel.

It was only the one on the right for awhile. However, today, when I opened the front door for the first time, there he was, hiding behind the planter on the left. He peeped around it, and I swear on my grandmother's box of handwritten recipes, he waved.

I really hate that damn squirrel.

Two weeks ago, my front stoop was flanked by two beautiful hibiscus topiaries full of lovely deep pink blossoms. Today, I didn't even bother to sweep it off or pull the weeds before taking pictures. It wouldn't have mattered. My flowers have been ravaged.

The biggest surprised is that the squirrel didn't stop and pose as I snapped photos of the devastation he has wrought.

He had better watch out. I'm planning my revenge at this very moment, and he just might find himself making a lovely rug for some Barbie's Dream House living room.

Damn squirrel.

Snapshot.

Because I don't want to forget this moment . . .

I'm sitting in the living room watching my children play. Lovely is shaking her hair and hands at Little Bird while he lays on the floor, laughing until his mouth is just open with no sound coming out. That laugh of so much joy that he can't get anymore out.

They occasionally stop to hug, but mainly it is just play play play. Almost every toy has been emptied from the basket. Bird has spun in a circle until he falls down, just to make Lovely laugh some more.

For this, we skipped church, and I'm so glad we did.

No more baby mullet

Little Bird has been sporting a mullet. I know this and admit it willingly, but I have been loathe to cut it. It curled up in the back, and I knew, even though my momma said, "Cutting it will bring the curl out more," I knew that the curls would be gone.

And they are.

It's still not a "little boy" haircut. He just doesn't have enough on top yet, so it's still a little baby.

A little.

He wouldn't sit in the chair by himself, and Trish kind of had to cut when she could because he was so wriggly, but all in all, it was a good experience. He really liked the big brush she used to brush away the hair from his neck.

I didn't shed a tear. But only because he needed me not to.

Nudges

Dear Butterbean,

You aren't even here yet, and I already feel like a failure as your mother. By this time in my pregnancy with Little Bird, he had dozens of posts about him. I thought of him constantly. I never felt alone. Even when he was still in my belly, I thought of "me and the baby."

I must confess, I don't think of you that way. Or at least I haven't started to yet. Sometimes, in my food and drink choices, I even forget for a moment that I'm pregnant. Then, as a second child myself, I replacing forgetting with an overwhelming guilt.

I think things are turning around though. Just a few days ago, I felt you move. Your big brother was climbing on me while we were having book time on the couch. He stepped on my belly, and you answered back with a little nudge.

It was the first time that I felt like the mother of two.

In about two weeks, we will find out if you are a boy or a girl. We already have names picked out for either case, and I will be happy no matter what. But I think of you in terms of a brother or a sister instead of my little boy or little girl.

I guess that's because your big brother is right here in front of me. You won't understand this for a long time, but he is still just a baby himself. He still wears diapers. He still eats with his fingers. He still sleeps in the crib that will become yours, and he still nurses from the same "nuh-nuh's" that will feed you.

He is still my baby.

But you will be my baby too. And I'm learning a little better every day how to love you both. In the meantime, keep nudging me. Every little flutter nudges my heart closer to you.

I can't wait to see you again at the end of August. I do love you.

Sincerely,
Your mama

The right path

I don't want to sleep there, I'm not particularly interested in peeing there, and I certainly don't want to cook there, but I do love the woods. I love mountains specifically, and I love streams.

I'm not sure why we don't do more hiking. We have the dogs for it. We have the kid for it. We have the love for it. We just don't get around to it.

Kevin is a doer. There is always a project either in full swing or in planning mode. It is one thing I love about him. He finishes what he starts, and he starts big things. His plans are not lightly made nor are they easy to finish. Right now, he is adding onto the house. Just he and the contractor. When he comes home from work , he works some more. On the weekends, he's building. I'm excited for the new spaces, but I think I am more excited for him to finish so that I have some of his time and attention back.

All this to say, I think this is why we don't hike. We do things together as much as possible, but this is a stage in our life where Kevin is determined to get things in order. I love him for that. I miss him, but I love him.

While we were in the mountains, I had him back to myself one day. He wanted to know what I wanted to do, and I chose this hike. We packed a backpack full of snacks, water, and diapers. The dogs got to tag along and tap into their inner hunters. Gibby ran out about 10 feet ahead with his tail pointed straight up. He even helped corral Little Bird when he got too far ahead of us.

We miss a turn along the way - rather, I missed a turn, and we ended up about 40 minutes off track. Luckily, we had also packed our Babyhawk, so tired Bird could ride on his daddy's back when he got tired. And after playing nekkid in the creek for awhile?

Bird was really really tired.

It was a great day with my boys, my dogs, and a trail in the mountains.

Time enough to know

My brother and I grew up about a mile from on set of grandparents and just across town from our other grandmother. We saw them regularly. Spent every holiday with them. Had sleepovers with them. Ate Sunday dinners with them.

Now, my parents are 12 hours away. They live around the corner from my brother and his family. Momma talks about the grandchildren coming to play in their backyard. She tells me about the meals they share. Even the Fourth of July was a family gathering complete with a new croquet set for the grandparents' backyard. Bro's kids are taking full advantage of having their grandparents so close by, and that really makes me happy. They are growing up like I remember growing up. Close to family.

My children will have to do things a little differently. We will have to have phone calls and pictures. Emails and blogs replace time around the table. We have to cram a whole lot of loving into short bursts of time.

That's what we did last week. Little Bird spent the week with his Nana and Gee. They were a willing audience and always had a lap available for book time. They were initiated into the Yo Gabba Gabba fan club. Bird was quickly following his Gee around, knocking persistently on the bedroom door when Gee would manage to escape for a moment. There were hugs and kisses and "night night's" for everyone.

Today, Bird and I spent some time looking at pictures on the computer. We got to one of him sitting on Nana's lap, and he pointed while he said, "Nana."

"Yes, that's your Nana, Sweetie. Good job."

We got the the picture above, and I pointed to my daddy.

"Who is that?"

"Baby!"

"Yes, and who is that with Baby?"

"Gee!"

He called them both by name. I kissed his head and sent up a little thankful prayer that it was enough time for him to know them.

Play me that mountain music

We're back. I know, you missed me and didn't even know I was going somewhere. Well, I did. We just got back from spending the week in the mountains. Surprised? Good. I learned the hard way not to tell the internet where I was going and when I would be there.

Last Saturday, Kevin, Little Bird, and I met my parents in Black Mountain, North Carolina, for a week long visit. We loaded up the dogs and most everything else we owned and headed west to our favorite place on earth.

While we were gone, Bird seemed to have a developmental explosion. He added more new words than we could keep count of, and his communication skills overall made him a much easier child to please and to discipline. He had his first Popsicle, his first hike, his first trip to the Biltmore, his first skinny dip, and his first berry picking outing. Even the days that his gums bled from the molars busting through were mostly filled with complete toddler joy.

There are pictures and stories to share, but for tonight, I'm just checking in for a quick hello. There was no cell phone or internet for the week. I have as much reading to do as I do writing. Hope you have all been well.

The best day

Today is our third anniversary. Three years ago today, Kevin and I jumped head first into marriage. The months preceding our impromptu nuptials were set to a Damien Rice soundtrack as we spent every moment we possibly could together. We were so surprised to find each other. So surprised to fall in love so quickly and so deeply.

One of our songs. For you, Kevin. You are truly the love of my life.

Tips for BlogHer '09 from someone not going

This year, I'm sitting out BlogHer. It doesn't have anything to do with the conference - BlogHer is terrific. It's also terrifically expensive, and with me not working anymore, it's just not practical for me to spend the money on it.

With that disclaimer out of the way, I present, "How I Would Do BlogHer '09."

1. Even though you are there in person, stay online. You will likely miss something if you aren't checking Twitter. And use your hashtag #blogher09. Because some of us will be living vicariously through you, you know.

2. You are responsible for your own fun. Don't wait to be invited. Sit down at a table and meet people. Show up at a party and have a good time. Introduce yourself to the person next to you in a session. Don't wait on someone else. You do it.

3. Try to mingle. Even if you have a group of friends there, pick a meal to share with someone you don't know or someone you wanted to meet.

4. It's not about the stuff. The amount of product thrust at you can be overwhelming. Take what you want - what you can use, and leave the rest. You probably can't fit it all in your luggage anyway.

5. Don't take it personally. Any of it.

6. Some, okay, a lot of bloggers suck at small talk. Why else do we take to the written word? We can edit, mull, contemplate, and craft our words. All things you can't do at a cocktail party. When the conversation lulls with your newly made blogger buddy? Ask them about their kids. Or their pets. Or their roommate. There are always plenty of things to talk about if you are asking questions of the other person.

7. People are not their blogs. You only get a small glimpse of what they choose to share in their writing. Just because you've read their blog for three years doesn't mean you really know them. Take some time in person to meet them as a person and not a blog.

8. Wear cute shoes. Okay, so that's shallow, but I do recommend it. Just ask Amie, my roomie in '07. I think I packed a pair of shoes or boots for every hour of the day.

9. Don't feel like you have to go to everything. You don't. Sit something out and have a cup of coffee with a friend. An old one or a new one.

10. If something does cheeve you, don't write a blog post about it. Suck it up and review #5.

I hope y'all have a fabulous time. There is a huge part of me that wishes I could be there, and I will miss seeing you. There is also part of me, however, that is enjoying just watching y'all all scurry about and not having to be scurrying myself.

If you will excuse me, I have some more not preparing for BlogHer '09 to be doing.

Little Bird's best friend

This week isn't going to be as much fun for Little Bird as last week was. Last week, his big sister was tracked out of school and was home with us. Bird was in heaven.

Lovely was a fabulous dance partner, a wonderful audience, a master storyteller, a patient art instructor, and an energetic outdoor companion. We played with trains and blocks, his farm set and balls. It was a week long fun fest at our house.

Today, Lovely went back to her mother's, and Bird stood at the door watching her leave with her daddy. I thought it would tearful, as every time she left the room last week, he cried for her, but he was alright. He waved and gave her one of his sweet, multisyllabic Bye's as she walked to the car.

As an only child for 11 years, Lovely has taken on the role of big sister like a champ. She has been unselfish with her toys, her time, and her daddy. It is quite impressive. She is quite impressive.

One afternoon last week, Kevin came home early from work to stay with Bird so that Lovely and I could go see the new Harry Potter movie. We both reread the sixth book before the movie - Lovely, because that is what she does, and me, because I wanted to be able to keep up with the conversation after the movie. We also watched Freaks and Geeks together over her break. I considered it an important part of her pop culture edumacation.

I guess it's safe to say that my week isn't going to be as much either. She is just as good of a stepdaughter as she is a big sister.

Welcome to the world, Rena Rose

I know I haven't posted in over a week. I was totally wrong about being over the plague last time. It was just some weird two hour break and then things got way worse. Aside from my sinuses still cleaning out and the persistent cough, I am well now, and there are pictures and stories to post. But not today.

Today belongs to Leanne, Daniel, Lydia, and Rena.

I have been reading Daniel's words since January 2007, and openly weeped at my computer this morning because I am so very happy for them.

Congratulations to an amazing family.

Hello. Just back from the other side of the plague. Taking one more day to recuperate, but I finally feel well enough to even type. It was that bad. Poor Bird has been quite a sport as I rot his brain with too much TV.

Before the plague hit, he and I tried out one of Abby's projects. Linus is about six months older than Bird, so when I see something on My Sweet Babboo that I want to try out, I bookmark it for a little later. Back in March, she posted about an edible finger paint and even included a great picture of the artist hard at work. Click on over and check out how well Linus is doing. Note how he is painting on the paper. It's awesome.

Little Bird? Went straight for the thighs and belly. Tribal warrior, that one is. He gleefully stuck his open palm into the paint and began rubbing it all over his body. Between the body paint and his affinity for rhythm, he might just be destined for Blue Man Group. Frightening.

Regardless of the artistic outcome, Bird had a good time. It did get a little sticky, but when it did, he just became fascinated with how his fingers had to be pried off his belly. He's a little goof.

I'm THAT mom too

Tonight we toured another hospital and met a group of midwives. They were lovely, and the hospital was alright. I don't think it's what I want to do, but it's still a very viable option.

During the tour, we proceeded to be the family that made all of the first time parents in attendance think, "OH DEAR LORD. What have we done?"

Little Bird was a holy terror. All he wanted to do was get down and run like a mad man. When we put him down, he ran in circles and squealed at the top of his lungs, making it very difficult for the midwife to be heard. If we picked him up, he thrashed about and screamed, "nononononononono" until we put him back down again to run in circles and squeal.

I thought Kevin was going to implode. I thought I was going to collapse.

People stared, and I know they were thinking, at least the ones who were still carrying their first child safely around in their bellies - they were thinking, "I will never let my child act like that."

What they fail to understand is that we weren't letting Bird act like that. Bird was choosing to act like that because he is his own little person. We were trying everything we knew to do to distract, redirect, occupy, or remove him. Only, when we were in the hospital part of the tour, we couldn't remove him because you can't hang out in the hallways. We didn't have a lot of options, and I could only whip out a boob when I had somewhere to sit.

It was his choice to act like a little hellion, and tonight, we failed to find the magic button to make him stop.

We were THAT family. He was THAT child. I was THAT mom.

There is a lot of talk about being THAT mom going on. I hope that you'll click over to Triangle Mamas and read about Susie's recent experiences as THAT mom. It's an awesome lesson in looking at someone through eyes of compassion instead of judgment.

It's also an awesome reason never to step foot in a Whole Foods again. Buy local. Buy fresh. Buy organic. But do it straight from the farmer and the dairies. It's better for everybody, and you won't risk getting treated like dirt from the emo artist lead singer check out people at Whole Foods.

Little Bird's pajama drawer

I like for my drawers to be neat. I like for clothes to be put in the exact same place every time. I like to fold my underwear. I like to organize my t-shirts by color, size, and softness. I like to fold my socks into neat little tubes that you stick directly onto your foot and unfold as you put it on.

At least I used to like all these things. I've been freed a little.

I still insist on folding my t-shirts all the same way. All the towels are folded in half, in half again, and then into thirds.

Kevin has freed me from the sock and underwear compulsiveness. I now toss my socks in one drawer and my panties in another - all wadded up.

It's liberating.

This sense of freedom has not found it's way into Little Bird's room. It's the only room in the house that stays compulsively neat these days. Until the construction is finished at our home, I've resigned myself to live in a bit of a mess, but Bird's room, it stays clean.

And his clothes stay organized and neat.

At least they used to. Before Bird decided that he wanted to "help Mama."

Little Bird likes to help put away his pajamas. He doesn't just like to help, he insists upon it.

And so his pajama drawer belongs to him completely. He has even figured out that he has to put both hands in and stir them up good so that the drawer will close. It's hard for me to close that drawer with those pajamas all twisted and the tops and bottoms scattered amongst each other. But he wants to do it himself, and I want him to learn.

My way is not necessarily the right way. Little Bird is his own little person with his own little messy pajama drawer.

I couldn't be more proud.

Entitled to change my mind

On the rare occasion, I have to admit that I've been wrong. Today is one of those days. Craigslist isn't always entirely a pain in the ass.

I mean, when you score a little beauty like this for $25, how can you complain?