Winston Says: Goodbye

I’m not sure how to say this…

I’m not even sure that I should…

But after a couple weeks of having Winston back in the house we have decided that he is just not a good fit…

And the truth is that we’re not a good fit either.

I hate to say that old phrase, “It’s not you. It’s me.” But really it’s exactly what we’re up against.

There are several reasons that we are officially and permanently giving Winston to Andrew’s parents.

First: Though he is a beautiful dog he is totally neurotic and weird. But he is much less so in Pennsylvania at my in-laws where he can roam around throughout the house and run all over their acre of land. A hunting dog doesn’t belong in a city with tons of noise and and little space – we literally only have a small back yard and with all the foot traffic going by he barks the entire time he is out there. He is not allowed in the basement because he gets into stuff. He is not allowed in Clare’s room for obvious reasons. He is not allowed in our room because he likes our bed too much.  He won’t go upstairs very often. So he is restricted to a small area of an already small house.

He is 105 pounds and as hyper as a lap dog. So he is constantly running into walls and smacking his face into pieces of furniture.  Imagine this when Clare starts to crawl or walk.  It isn’t safe for her.  Although we know that Winston would never intentionally do anything to harm Clare we also know that he has very little control over his size and strength.

Though we exercise Winston twice a day, which is more than most dog owners can say, his state of mind does not improve. It has gotten to the point where we are yelling or ordering all the time just to keep him under wraps and it is taking a toll on him.

When we leave him alone he eats the dry wall and scrapes at the wall until his feet are raw.

I know that people will say that I am giving up on him.  I know that people will say I’m doing the wrong thing and just moving a pile of dirt.  But the truth is that he is actually happier at my in-laws.  He is calmer and more normal when he visits.  And Andrew’s parents LOVE him.  I mean…really…in a way we couldn’t.

We’re sorry to see him go but it’s just not a good environment for him as he is constantly on edge.

I wish, in so many ways, that I could have done more and worked harder for him to be happy here. I wish I could have just laughed it off.  But that wouldn’t have changed the fact that he is miserable here.

To Be Simple

I wake – the same sleepy weight in my eyes, surrounded by the perfectly  conformed sheets and quilt. But now it is not the sun sneaking in the window or the harsh soundings of my alarm that wake me. No. It is the patient squeaks of a bald little beauty in the next room.

It is her call that brings me back to earth and beckons me to begin again the daily celebration of life.

Her life is simple – only a matter of food and sleep delivered with love.

Our lives together follow a simple pattern and rhythm and they are not easily interrupted by outside intrusions. We are a happy and hardy island where smiles and spit-up are as frequent as the sun shining. The wooden floors under our feet are the sand. The little blue Mazda in our driveway is our life raft. The great green grass is the vast ocean. The big grey dog perched on his large pillow is our guardian against dangerous beasts and foul weather.

We are tragically content with the boundaries of our world and whenever we leave, always return as if letting out an enormous sigh.

Life is now simple and bright and beautiful – like no clear dream I have ever experienced.

It is toes

and fingers

and wet noses

and fuzzy hair

and open-mouthed snores

and a beating heart.

When I reflect on what my life used to look like – the hype the flurry of activity in each day – I do not mourn. When I trace the frame of my former existence and it’s solo melody – I do not weep. For this smallness, this simplicity, is a gift and has been the greatest treasure I have yet to know.

Tis a gift

In other parts of my world: I have not done an ounce of Christmas shopping. Not and ounce.

Kitch-eh…

We bought a junker.  I’m not kidding. We bought a charming junker but a junker nonetheless.

Don’t get me wrong. This is what we wanted. We wanted something we could put our own love into. It’s just taken a little while to get started…considering we have  been working on a little something else … that being Clare. So it was restricted to painting and pulling up old carpet and replacing light fixtures and doors.

Now...who would want to change anything about this kitchen?

 

Our kitchen has been the biggest eye sore of our little dwelling – Speckle painted cabinets, disgusting old linoleum tiles on the floor, grease spattered appliances and cheap teal countertops.

We’re finally ready to start our remodel.

We just got our appliances in – they are all crowded in the basement, still in their boxes, except for the refrigerator and the oven….oh the oven…bliss. Doesn’t everyone feel like a clean refrigerator is like starting your life over? oh…oh.

 

This is the old oven...bleh

 

Andrew often hugs the new oven.

Now if any of you need new appliances don’t go to Best Buy or Home Depot or whatever…go to AJ Madison. With all the rebates we got we were able to purchase everything including the garbage disposal for under 1,800 dollars. That’s good people…good!

I can’t wait to update you on this epic venture mostly because that means our kitchen won’t be gross. It’s going to be so pretty that I’m not sure I won’t just bring a blanket in there and sleep on the floor.

We love our oven...can you tell?

 

 

In other parts of my world: Thank you to all the tummy time advisors. I tried the normally torturous event but this time I put Clare on my chest and laid down myself.  She actually liked it! She was makig all kinds of cooing noises and  stayed there happy as could be for 15 minutes. She just wanted company. Maybe she’s not an introvert.

 

 

Tummy Torture

I love how “Tummy Time” is just a cute name for torturing your baby in order to develop their stomach, neck and arm muscles.

The books and doctors make it sound so easy like, “Oh. Just put her on her stomach for 5 minutes twice a day and then up the length of time every day. It’s no big deal.”

Ha!

It makes me wonder if the people writing instructional books on parenting have actually ever had an infant. Have they ever listen to their baby scream bloody murder?

Here’s what I’m up against:

Clare often wakes up starving…so I feed her. But if I put her on her stomach she will spit up all her milk.

“Just wait a half hour.” you say.  She is back to sleep within a half hour…I’m not kidding.  This kid sleeps MOST of the day (not that I’m complaining) and I have a very short window in which I can even attempt tummy time.  I guess I figure feeding my child is more important than preparing her to crawl…

This whole tummy time thing is making me feel bad.

If I don’t do it like they say then she won’t crawl and if she doesn’t crawl she won’t learn crisscross patterning and she will never read or walk or graduate from high school and then she will never move out of the house…ever…not to mention get a flat head.It’s simple…just listen to your daughter cry and whimper so that she grows…

ugh.

Right now I’m writing this blog solely to ignore the bellowing cries of my child beside me who has five more minutes to go before I can pick her up and comfort her. She has actual tears coming out of her eyes and the dog is freaking out and my neighbors are ready to call the cops and all the while she is staring at me pleading with me to reach for her and save her from her misery.

Stupid tummy time….how I hate you.

In other parts of my world: Does anyone know a cheap place to cut down your own Christmas tree?

The Happiest of Happies

I never really thought of Thanksgiving as much of a holiday.  I remember having to eat weird food my Grandmother would make, placing black olives on my fingers, watching the Macy’s parade and attempting to play football with my brothers.

I guess I always thought of Christmas as the big show and didn’t really even consider Thanksgiving anything really special.

But it really is…

We used paper plates because my parent's dishwasher was broken. Big deal. Nope. Made the day even better.

 

This Thanksgiving I realized that.

As Andrew and I woke this Thursday everything was quiet. We didn’t hear a car on the street or dogs barking. There was a cold and heavy fog that had settled over night and blocked the view barely 50 feet away.

We turned on the parade but didn’t feel a need to watch it.

We made coffee and drank it with lots of cream and sugar while cracking jokes and remembering.

We cooked and assembled our part of dinner.

We bathed and brushed and dressed just slightly better than usual but still comfortably.

We drove to my parent’s house and arrived an hour later than we said we would…

Clare on her first Thanksgiving. Slept through most of it. Doesn't she look like a sweet little pilgrim?

 

No big deal.

Thanksgiving is no big deal. Right?

We ate and talked and loved each other well.

We made liquid nitrogen ice cream…that was kind of a big deal.

Andrew makes every holiday better.

 

But we didn’t get a single present.

We didn’t go to a church service.

We didn’t spend hours shopping.

We humbly gave thanks for what we had and smiled at eat other across heaping plates of hot food.

Have you noticed there are no Thanksgiving songs?

No big deal…don’t need any.

Time to relax and read.

 

And that, my friends, is why Thanksgiving is my new favorite holiday.

It’s low key. It’s delicious. No pressure.

The only criticism I have is that it doesn’t traditionally serve cake…

Clare....sleeping some more.

In other parts of my world: I love PBS.

 

Come to Call

When I was pregnant I used to believe that parenting was only a matter of determination and endurance.  If you could outlast your child’s screams and protests…you were golden.

I would insist, completely ignorant, that anyone could take any baby anywhere. It was just a matter of practice for the baby.

Any baby, anywhere.

Wrong again Valerie…wrong again.

Only a matter of training. Right?

Lot’s of friends and family want to meet Clare. This is totally understandable to me considering the fact that she is the cutest thing since ruffle-butt bloomers.

I’ve had quite a few friends over but every time they step foot in my house my angel sleep-all-the-time child becomes a hellion screamer… until they leave.

We recently had friends over (we got engaged the day after their wedding). I was so thrilled to see them and anxious to catch up with them but the minute they walked in the door screams exploded from my sweet child’s mouth and my dog burried his nose in my visitor’s crotches. It was a pretty hilarious sight…me bouncing Clare, pushing Winston away with my foot and trying to carry on a conversation with my friends. They were so gracious and kind. I would have left after the first minute.

I tried everything to calm Clare down but nothing worked.

I thought if I just stayed calm she would be fine as well.

Wrong.

I thought if I bounced her.

Nope.

I thought if I kept her really full of food.

Not in your life.

Warm?

No.

Cold?

No.

Gassy?

No.

What she's like when we don't have company.

I suppose our little girl is just introverted and needs space.

Maybe parenting isn’t all about determination and more about patience, desperation and enough humility to realize that sometimes your baby knows what they need better than you do.

In other parts of my world: How come cleaning always requires a ton of water? I feel like my hands are always a giant pruney mess.

Like Reading Your Favorite Book

I recently read a friends blog.  She talked about books she read and I made some comment about her selection of favorite books.

I’m really good at being sarcastic about other people’s habits and overlooking my own strange quirks. In reality I actually only read three books…over and over and over…

They are:

Christy by Catherine Marshall

A Rose In Bloom and

Old Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott

I grew up with an English teach…I know what good literature is.  These books are not really what I would call GOOD literature but they are beautifully sentimental and inspired much of who I am today.

I love the heroines and admire the journeys they travel through these little books. I always connect with their struggles and feel better about my own.

But I haven’t read any of them in a year…or more.

I was trying to think about why I have put away my old loves and what has cause such a strange hiatus from the books I have faithfully read again and again since I was thirteen.

Then I was looking through old pictures yesterday and found this:

 

Andrew in June 2008

Andrew is literally exactly like all of the leading men in my beloved novels! I’m serious. Here are some descriptions of the dudes:

“Big-boned, a large frame even for a man. He had a shock of reddish hair, unkempt, looking as if it had not been cut in a long time, tousled and curly.  His features were rugged with deeply etched lines.” – concerning Dr. McNeill in Christy

“Trying to discover why he looked so well in spite of the blue flannel suit and dusty shoes. There was a certain sylvan freshness about him, as he sat there full of the reposeful strength the hills seemed to have given, the wholesome cheerfulness days of air and sunshine put into a man, and the clear, bright look of one who had caught glimpses of a new world from the mountain top.” – concerning Mac in A Rose in Bloom

“but there was a brisk, genial, free-and-easy air about him, suggestive of a stirring, out-of-door life, with people who kept their eyes wide open…The rough and ready traveling suit, stout boots, brown face, and manly beard…” – of Tom in Old Fashioned Girl

Not only does Andrew look similar to these heros but he also had similar life transformation to them all.

Weird.

I won’t go into all that now…although I wish I could but if you’re really desperate to find out just read the books yourselves…ah…you will love them.

Anyway, the whole point is that i realize that I am living what I dreamed about as a young woman. I don’t know if Andrew was it all along or if the novels influenced my taste in men but I’m thrilled to have the love of my life echoed in these treasured pieces of fiction.

from my dreams

The only problem is that if He is just like Neil McNeill then that means I’m Christy and Clare is Catherine and she will write a novel about us later in life…geez…I should have been a little more interesting.

 

In other parts of my world: Gonna stuff my face tomorrow.  WHO’S WITH ME?!!?!

 

 

AMA Play By Play

Well…it started out like every Sunday night – Andrew and I settled down after a long day of rushing around and getting things done for the week ahead.

Our Sunday night tradition, as we have become network tv junkies due to our lack of cable, has been to watch Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I enjoy the emotional purge (I cry every time) and Andrew likes the home improvement aspect.

Clare was asleep my belly was full of food and as I let my body sink deep into the couch I clicked the power button and turned the channel to ABC.

“Andrew why is Janet Jackson dancing on Extreme Makeover Home Edition? Where’s Ty?”

“Oh! This must be the American Music Awards.” said Andrew.

I always feel like I have to want to watch music award shows. The truth is that I don’t. They are always super boring and the only reason I watch them is for the clothes…and let’s be honest, I can’t afford any of those garments and I can easily find pictures of them online the next day.

At that point, Andrew and I were too tired to change the channel so we decided to watch.

During the awards - Clare didn't like it either.

Well…it wasn’t boring.

I have to say that I saw more raunchy dance moves than I ever have before. Performer after performer would bounce out on stage, each act bringing more and more dancers with them to the point where I wasn’t sure I knew who the performer was.

The more dancers the worst the music.

Andrew made the comment that most of the songs just sounded like chorus’. We’ve lost the verse people. What a shame. What. A. Shame.

I just felt assaulted and not by awesome music, not by music that should be winning any awards at least.

Shakira got on stage and sang a terrible song that I couldn’t sing to you again if I wanted to while 50 dancers did pelvic thrusts with their legs spread eagle…really?

Jay-z and Alicia Keys (who I usually love – she’s my girlfriend) did this song that repeated the chorus so many times that I was afraid that it might drive me admit myself to an insane asylum just so I could avoid hearing that ever again. It was good the 1st, 2nd and 3rd time but not the 40th…no.

Then there was Lady Gaga, who Andrew and I had actually never heard of, who “played” the piano cross legged while smashing glass bottles on the keys. Yeah…I’m sure that was live…

The good acts were the ones where there was hardly anyone on stage. Oh…Mary J…Kelly Clarkson…Eminem…

Taylor Swift won way too many awards. It was hilarious. When they would pan out on the audience everyone was so mad. I’m still laughing.

Oh and Adam Lambert, runner up last season on American Idol, was the worst.

Andrew and I have long been advocates for Gay and Lesbian rights but that performance was nasty. Adam made the argument that people are just scared so that’s why they censored it for the west coast. He said it was such a shame that people are willing to accept that from other performers but not a gay man. Now…on some levels I agree with that considering the other displays of grossness that night and considering how performers have been exploiting men and women alike for hundreds of yearrs but Adam…just made gay people seem ridiculous with his stunt and not like sensitive and wonderful individuals. ( I know people are going to eat me alive for that one but that’s how I feel) Not to mention the song was terrible and he was off key…

At the end of the award show, an award show that prides itself on being a fan based selection, they read off this disclaimer about the results being based on radio airplay…

Wait…really?

So labels pay to have their artists played on radio stations and then they win an award for that. So basically…the people with the best PR and the most money get an award. This isn’t about music.

In other parts of my world: I’m having a hard time waiting until Thanksgiving to eat that cranberry bread I made yesterday.

Winston Says: I’m BAAACK!

That’s right. The long awaited return of Winston, the crazy maniac weimaraner, has finally arrived.

vacation is over. Photograph by Andrew Vaché

The only problem is that he seems to have lost his mania. In the 7 weeks that he spent at my in-laws he has become an old man. He’s got a nice case of what we think might be arthritis. He sleeps the entire day and does what we say exactly when we tell him to do it.

He hasn’t run into any walls while he has been home.

He hasn’t eaten any freshly made food off the kitchen counter.

I’ve only found him on the couch once and honestly… I would have tried to pull a fast one while my owners were trying to subdue their screaming baby.

He has been extremely calm around Clare.

There is the hunger strike, which he started the minute he walked in the door. Won’t eat the food we give him. His stomach was growling so loud today that I literally thought it was the baby crying in her crib…seriously. I put my ear up to the monitor to listen and then to his stomach…definitely his stomach.

He does the hunger strike thing every time he comes back from the grandparents. We don’t get it. He must think he is Ghandi. It’s too bad that he doesn’t have a nation to free from the bondage of colonialist occupation. I’m thinking of shaving his head and wrapping him in a crisp white toga.

Then again it could be the fact that my in-laws treat him to canned dog food….so tender and meaty and delicious.

I must say my fears of having a 103 pound unpredictable dog around my infant have been significantly lessened and I have to say that having him around has made me realize how much…

I

missed

him.

(insert “awww”s)

We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

In other parts of my world: Had a visit with a friend today and her sweet little baby boy. I haven’t seen her for four years. So much fun. Can’t wait to do it again.

Why Use Soap?

I was having my daily powwow with Andrew just before we both dozed off with the lights on and still on top of the covers.  We were talking about Clare and whether or not to bath her every day.

I personally like how she smells when she is all Johnson & Johnsoned up but it seems that it has worsted her Cradle Cap and dandruff. Our compromise was to bath her every day but not to wash her hair every day.

“Are you sure that’s ok? Are we being bad parents if we don’t wash her hair every day? What if she starts looking like a grease monkey?”

“What? Of course we’re not being bad parents!”

“Well I don’t know.”

“Do you wash your hair every day Val?”

“Duh!”

“Why? I don’t think anyone else in the world does that.”

“Really? Am I a weirdo?”

“Why don’t you try it out and see if you like it?”

“I don’t know…”

So I tried it and wow…I actually love it!!!

 

grease monkey #1 and #2

Love it!!!

Try it. It’s better and cheaper than Paul Mitchell.

 

In other parts of my world: burgers tonight!