Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Owen - The Spice Ninja

By all indications, Owen will grow up be a chef... a chef who is not afraid of seasoning, spices, and flavor.  He has long pulled a chair up to the stove to cook with Niles and me.  At this point, we're just trying to make sure he's entertained enough to not catch himself (or anything else) on fire.  It was a sad moment when I realized he DID know how to turn on the gas burners.

Once he's got his pot of "food" (meaning extra scraps of what I'm cooking minus raw meat) "cooking" (meaning he's stirring it with a large wooden spoon, rubber spatula, whisk, or his chosen culinary tool), he usually will then push the bar stool over to the spice drawer to choose appropriate seasonings.

Unfortunately, his favorite spices to add seem to be: red curry, onion powder, and garlic powder.  And he only knows one amount: half of the container or whenever I stop him, whichever happens first.  Other than going through an outrageous amount of these seasonings, the main problem is this:

He' s a spice ninja.

He'll add these items to your food when you are not expecting it.  It's one thing for him to season foods under my supervision.  It's quite another to do it when we're not watching.  Beware of leaving open containers of food on the counter or items bubbling away on the stove at our house.

True story: I was putting away leftover curried beef with spinach and rice into a tupperware container, turned my back to take care of something, and then popped the lid back on.  The next day, I wondered why the normally sweet curry burned the roof of my mouth.  Then I realized, I had been a victim of Owen the Spice Ninja.

Other victims of the Spice Ninja include: two separate occasions of boxed macaroni and cheese, scrambled eggs, stir-frys, pasta with (now) garlic sauce, (now) garlic mashed potatoes.

So in case you have a spice ninja on your hands, here's my best advice:

- give up trying to get the seasoning out of the dish.  Powders are impossible to remove
- adding sour cream and whole milk to heavily curried macaroni and cheese makes it a creamy, spicy, Indian influenced dish
- adding sweetness (honey, sugar) will help cut through some of the heat
- adding more butter to overly garlic/oniony flavored items makes it seem almost intentional

Otherwise, lock up your spice drawer while you still can.
Owen the Spice Ninja strikes Niles' dry rub

Friday, December 7, 2012

The Law of Inertia (and small children)

Okay, so I have just enough physics education to be dangerous.  The Law of Inertia, when applied to small children, every parent though is familiar with even if they don't recognize it in those terms.  I'm just going to plagiarize the rules of physics to put it further into words. 

The Law of Inertia according to Wikipedia:
"In common usage the term "inertia" may refer to an object's "amount of resistance to change in velocity" (which is quantified by its mass), or sometimes to its momentum, depending on the context."

Here's the equation for momentum:
p = mv

Now tailored for small children:
where p equals your ability to actually get your kids out the door by a certain time
where m = the amount of resistance your child provides by taking thirty times as long to do something that normally takes them two seconds or the ability to break down into an unexpected (completely unnecessary) tantrum
and where v = the speed you actually need to get out the door to make some deadline or appointment

And yes, the relationship is inversely proportional... Meaning the sooner you need to actually get out the door (smaller v), the harder your children makes it for you to get out the door on time (gigantic m).

And yes, generally, p is constant, meaning:
1. If it doesn't matter, you'll get out the door with little mess and probably on time.
2. If you are going to be embarrassed by being that parent who shows up twenty minutes late for appointment and throws the entire day's worth of appointments into a tizzy, you're never going to make it there on time.

So in the end, I salute any and all parents who make it to appointments on time (or even somehow early!) with their kids.

Monday, November 26, 2012

The Great Cookie Heist of November 2012

There is a reason why when I leave to go to work, I kiss the kids and tell them, "Don't cause too much chaos and destruction."  They're incredibly smart... and devious... and have a terrible sweet tooth.  The last part is really my doing.  So a couple of weeks ago, the Great Cookie Heist of 2012 happened...  I can only imagine this is what went through their minds:

Owen: Mom gone out of country, Dad distracted by IPAD.  Check.

Anduin: I'll continue to lull Dad into a further sense of false security by playing nearby and making obnoxiously loud, happy baby sounds while playing noisily with my toys.

Owen: Hmm...  The only chair that can reach the upper cabinets where Dad's stashed the boxes of Girl Scout Cookies is the bar stool...

Owen moves one of the kitchen bar stools to the upper pantry.  He climbs on top and carefully opens the upper cabinet.  He then proceeds to search amongst the boxes of dry goods...

Owen: Hmm....  Tagalongs are in the red box...  That's just a box of oatmeal Mom keeps trying to feed me...  A-ha!  Samoas!  Chocolate drizzled, caramel coated coconut goodness in the purple box!  That's the one.

Owen grabs the box, proceeds to climb down the bar stool, and wanders over to the living room carpet where Anduin's playing loudly and happily.  He then proceeds to open the box, open the plastic wrapping, and dump the entire contents of the box of Girl Scout cookies in front of Anduin.  Anduin squeals happily as she and her brother hurriedly stuff as many Samoas as they can into their mouths before Dad notices.

Dad only notices after half the box is gone.

And now I know why there were no Samoas waiting for me when I got back...

At least the kids are sharing.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

It's All About the Environment, Baby

Coworker while in Korea: I used to think my son was so well-behaved until I took him to daycare.  He's a bad, bad boy!

I used to think that Anduin was the cutest, sweetest, best behaved baby...  And then she started actually growing up.  Turns out that she's the cutest, sweetest, most stubborn baby.  Cases in point:

When I first went back to work, she decided she would show her displeasure the only way she could: By refusing to eat while I was at work.  Others may think it was because she had never taken a bottle before, but she had.  And she wasn't at day care.  She was being cared for by her grandmothers and Dad, who have obviously taken care of her before.  She refused to eat though while I was at work so that when I came home, she was basically attached to me until she went to bed.  I figured that after a couple of days of this, she would give in due to hunger pangs.

I was wrong.

She kept it up for two full weeks.  At end of the first week, I called the pediatrician.  He referred us to a childhood behavioral specialist who saw us nearly everyday for a week.  I was a little embarrassed that my six week old required a behavioral specialist already.

And then at some point, she figured out this was how things were going to be.  She started taking bottles and never looked back.

Flash forward nine months later.   She and Owen are having their real first taste of daycare at the local Child Development Center on base.  Niles and I are trying it out to give him a break.  It is the afternoon during their first full day at the CDC when I receive the call...  "LT Armstrong, your daughter has refused to eat all day."  Her voice was full of concern.

Me, however, I knew Anduin's tricks by now and just shrugged it off.  We did, though, eat Dunkin's donuts and Baskin Robbins ice cream as soon as I picked them up.  Probably not the best way to reward stubborn behavior... but you know, the kid had to eat.  :)


 

Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Asian Genes Are Strong...

Though my kids get 50% of their genes from me and Niles, they don't appear that way.  As I've always said, the Asian genes are strong...  Dark hair and eyes beat the blond hair/blue eyes from Niles into submission.  Owen looks about 99.9999% Asian while Anduin might be 80% Asian.  Anyway, below are three true stories.  So if your kids are going to be hapa (mixed race) too, you might want to start preparing.

Story 1:
Niles is walking through Toys R Us with Owen, wondering when he can start buying Owen legos.  A well-intentioned woman comes up to him and asks, "Is that a boy or a girl?"
Niles answers, looking at Owen wearing khakis and an orange button down shirt, "A boy."
Well-intentioned woman:  He is so cute!  My daughter adopted a little girl from China.  Where is yours from?
Niles: My wife.  She's Asian... and somewhere around here...
Awkward silence ensues.

Story 2:
My mother-in-law is watching Owen for the weekend.  First off, she's got sandy blond hair and blue eyes.  While chasing Owen on the playground, another well-intentioned woman comes up to her and says, "Your son is so cute!"
My MIL: Thanks, but he's my grandson.
Well-intentioned woman: Oh, where did you get him from?
My MIL: My daughter-in-law's lady parts.
REALLY awkward silence ensues.

Story 3:
Niles is at our local polling center doing his civic duty with two young children.  One kind poll worker holds Anduin while Niles holds a sleeping Owen.  Another well-intentioned woman comes up to Niles.
Well-intentioned woman:  They're so cute!  Are they twins?
Niles: No, they're 13 months apart.
Well-intentioned woman: You're so lucky to have a boy! 
Niles: Well, you know, you've got a 50-50 chance.
Well-intentioned woman: My daughter adopted a baby from China, and they only offered her girls.
Niles: Oh!  He's my biological son, or at least that's what my wife says.  He just doesn't look anything like me.
Awkward silence before changing subjects and cooing over Anduin...

So in case you think the parent who doesn't look like they've contributed any genes to the baby gets all of the awkward child interactions...

Story 4:
Me at the Dunkin Donuts at base trying to feed two starving children a nutritous snack of donuts and ice cream.  Owen is pointing to the letters I ask him while we wait.  Another well-intentioned woman in front of me in line starts conversation.
Well-intentioned woman: Oh, they're so cute!
Me: Thanks.
Well-intentioned woman: And so smart!  Asian babies are always so smart!
Me: ...
Well-intentioned woman: My daughter adopted a baby from China, and she's so smart for her age.
Me: ...

Because in case you didn't know, all Asian babies are ninjas and super smart.  Which is good since the Asian genes are strong in hapa babies.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Because Everything's Better with Ears

Being TDY in Korea has actually given me the luxury to ponder the finite universe of baby clothes.  Having spent every available moment shopping here (in order to make up for the lack of shopping time once I return home), I've noticed a distinct clothing trend...

Everything's better with ears.

Think of all those cute hooded sweatshirts that have teddy bear ears that Carter's makes back in the US.  I know all of you parents have one out there because let's face it, we know that...

Everything's better with ears.

Here, nearly every single shirt has a hood... and if it has a hood, it has ears on it.  Those ears could be bear ears, cat ears, bunny ears.  It doesn't matter if it's a boy or girl, it will have ears on it.  And it's not just limited to baby or kids clothing either.  I found myself channeling my inner 12 year old Asian girl as I carefully studied a hooded sweatshirt with a picture of a bunny wearing glasses... and you guessed it, bunny ears on the hood.  I couldn't resist and ended up buying a blue knit hat with ears...  Why?

Everything's better with ears.

So next time you want something annoyingly, ridiculously cute for your child, you know what you have to do.  Buy something with ears.

Speaking of which, I think there's a hat or two calling Owen and Anduin's names...  Gotta run.


Friday, November 2, 2012

If I Ever End Up In a Korean Jail...

... this is why.

I abducted a baby or a toddler, spirited them back to my hotel room, and snuggled with them.  I may have also tickled them to hear them giggle.  And in the worst case, I would have fed them sugary treats.

I'm TDY in Korea.  This is my first time away from the kids longer than a couple of days.  I'm (mom)sick for my kids...  Don't get me wrong, the freedom to use the bathroom by myself, shop to my heart's content, get a massage/pedicure, go out to eat...  All of these are great.  But then I find myself watching small children and babies, wondering if they like to eat Oreos like mine...  I am afraid I look somewhat creepy watching small children like a hawk.  I really need to learn the Korean for, "I'm not a pedophile, but just miss my babies.  Can I hold yours?"

But here's the extra irony.  Since I'm staying in a hotel right outside a US military base in Korea, there are tons of little half-Korean kids and babies (hapa in Hawaiian) who bear an uncanny resemblance to my little hapa babies.  And I look like a local!  So maybe the Korean police will be kinder on me when they find me curled up in a hotel with a kidnapped infant.



Monday, October 15, 2012

Babies - the next Urban Ninjas

Being a baby is the best time to train as an urban ninja.

The main reasons you should be training (or allowing) your baby as an urban ninja are:

1. Your baby can get away with just about murder.  Babies are just so gosh darn cute.  Reaching into a stranger's pockets, climbing store displays, or starting the car are so much cuter when babies and toddlers do it.  Owen stealing my car keys to try to start the car?  Cute.  Random teenager trying to do so, and I'd be calling the police. 

2. Your baby has built in padding.  Once babies reach past a certain age (say 15 minutes), they're pretty study little creatures, especially once they can hold their heads up.  Their adorable rolls of fat help cushion against most blows and that diaper is additional built in padding in case walking across the top of the railing didn't go so well.

3. Your baby can hide anywhere.  What more essential skill of a ninja is there than being able to hide/disappear anywhere?  Babies can fit into any tiny crevice: clothing racks, sales displays including a toy doghouse, cabinets, underneath furniture...

4. Your baby is more flexible than the entire Olympic gymnastics team.  Have you seen your baby lick their toes while simultaneously rolling across the floor?  I feel a muscle strain just watching my kids sometimes.

5. Your baby's "hard time" is being put back into a crib or play yard.  Come on, even if your baby's training is unsuccessful and Mom or Dad disapprove of the baby trying to remove stealthily every container of seasoning they own, they'll get a short time out. 

So next time you see my kids and wonder why they're dressed all in black... you'll know why and just let them get away with it because they're so gosh darn cute.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Just the facts, sir, just the facts (why lie to children already?)

I like to think of myself as a pretty laid back parent, but there is something that aggravates me to no end...  When educational children's programming (or reading materials) lie to our children.

First case in point:
Curious George.
I really like Curious George.  When he makes mistakes, even though everything seems to magically work out for him, he's pretty contrite about the mistakes he makes.  But this is my ongoing problem with the show, the books, and the entire concept: GEORGE IS NOT A MONKEY.  Come on, people, he doesn't have a tail!  Monkeys have tails.  In fact, George appears to be a chimpanzee.  So stop referring to him as a "monkey" over and over again.  The "Man in the Yellow Hat" who is George's best friend (owner?) is in fact some sort of wildlife biologist so he should know better.  It's not as if he's some random hardware store owner who happens to own a lovable, furry pet who gets into hilarious antics. 

Second case in point:
SuperWhy -- specifically The Boy Who Cried Wolf
This entire show premise is that the superheroes travel into a book, learn how to read, and then change the story.  Why are they changing the story?  When you change the story, you change the moral of the story.  In the Boy Who Cried Wolf, the boy in the show keeps seeing a wolf while setting up for his party but whenever he tries to tell his friends, the wolf disappears.  The "new" lesson is that the boy is sad that his friends don't believe him.  Come on, the original story is about how it's wrong to lie (another very important lesson, and less touchy feely) because otherwise WOLVES WILL EAT YOU. 

Third case in point:
Colors book - Seal v. Sea Lion
Owen has a whole series of books that are basically fancy flash cards in baby board book form.  One of them goes through "colors."  At the very end of the book to demonstrate the color "gray," it shows a picture of a dolphin and then one of a "seal."  Except, the "seal" is actually a sea lion.  It's easy to tell since the sea lion is in typical sea lion pose where his front flippers are holding his head up (like he's posed to balance a ball on his nose).  I hate to break the news to you people, but seals can't hold themselves up like that. They're essentially furry land slugs.  So why not just put "sea lion" under the picture? 

It's not as if these things are mindless, non-educational children's books or programming exclusively there for entertainment.  You're supposed to make me feel better about letting my child watch tv or encourage me to read to my child more to teach him things...  And despite small public programming budgets, you can take 5 minutes and Google to correct your mistakes.  All I want is just the facts.  So the next time you hear me growl while reading to my child, it's probably not me reading Where the Wild Things Are, it's probably me discovering another lie in an educational material.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

A Plea to Owen

Dear Owen,

I know that you love cheese.  You go through a 16 oz container of cottage cheese every week.  You eat two string cheese sticks every snack session.  Two weeks ago, you ate 75% of my expensive, artisan goat cheese.  Last week, you ate the rest of the bleu cheese crumbles... straight... like candy.  You added half the package of shredded cheddar to the mashed potatoes we made together.  You figured out how to open fridge door to get to the cheese drawer to feed yourself.  The final straw was that earlier this week, I walked into the kitchen to find you on the floor, eating cream cheese straight from the container.

Please...  You need help.  You have a cheese problem.

We, your parents, would like to actually eat some of the cheese in the house.  And when I give you hugs or kisses, I get semi-nauseous from the cheese aroma emanating from your pores, no matter how often I bathe you.

Love,
Mommy

Friday, July 13, 2012

Baby Foodies (with Pictures!)

Niles and I love food.  So it should be no surprise that our kids love food, even Anduin who's only five and a half months.  Someone asked me whether this was early, but we always figured our kids would let us know when they were ready to move beyond the completely liquid diet.  First, they watch you eat...  It's how I imagine a limping zebra feels in front of a pack of hyenas.  Second, they just took the food out of your hands.  For Owen, it was a banana.  For Anduin, it was a chocolate croissant.  She especially enjoyed licking the chocolate off her fingers.  And minutes later when I tried to kiss her chubby little cheeks, she licked my entire face, searching for chocolate croissant crumbs.  Now Anduin, my super happy baby, will cry if I am not shoveling food fast enough into her mouth.  Instead, she reaches for the bowl.

In fact, while most parents scold their children when food's tossed onto the floor because they're making a mess, we're more likely to say something like, "You're wasting really delicious, perfectly cooked bacon, Owen!" and then make him eat it off the floor.  Not only do I want his immune system to get stronger, but it physically pains me sometimes to see him waste fresh baked cookies or the mochiko chicken Niles made for dinner the other night.  Niles was personally repulsed the other night when I ate udon noodles out of Owen's cup -- they only had a little cranberry juice-water on them -- because they were the last udon noodles in the house.  And I LOVE udon noodles...

We did, unfortunately, turn Owen into a blueberry snob.  He'll only eat really sweet ones.  All the other ones, he'll actually take out of his mouth, half squished, and give you a look of complete betrayal for trying to serve him that "slop." 

First quick confession: With Owen, we weren't particularly diligent about following the rule where you introduce a single food to a baby and wait five days for an adverse reaction.  With Anduin, we just threw the rule out the window.  After all, despite our complete disregard for the rule, Owen's still alive. 

Second quick confession: Despite telling myself that I would make my own baby food (it's so easy, just put table food into a blender!), it's even easier to just feed your baby table food.  As long as it's not a choking hazard or honey.  This is our new rule.

This explains why at five and a half months,  Anduin's eaten poi, beef stew, curry, bananas, mangoes, rice porridge, toast, chocolate croissants, spicy pork, ahi poke, ramen, whipped cream, haupia, udon noodles, Chipotle...  Maybe it's impressive that she's still pretty slim for a baby after all this.

Oh, and stink bugs?  They're just extra protein.

Anduin eating her first Chipotle chicken burrito bowl
Owen enjoying an extra sharp, aged cheddar



Tuesday, July 3, 2012

We're Moving on Down... (or Hawaiian Hotel Accommodations)

Tell people you are spending three weeks TDY in Hawaii and NO ONE feels sorry for you.  I decided to take my family out with me so I spent a great deal of time searching for suitable accommodations.  First off, to all those people who tell themselves you can stay in a single hotel room with your two young children, you're deluded.  I don't care if you're only going to be there for a couple of days.  At some point during your stay, you're going to want to watch television, talk to your spouse, or other activities that could potentially wake the sleeping children that are five feet away from you!  (And that's being pretty generous in hotel room sizes.)  Trust me, people reach for the phone to call child services if they discover you're at the hotel bar with your hubby while your babies are asleep by themselves in that 30th floor hotel room.  So save yourself the time and energy and at least get a separate room for the kids to sleep in so you can do something/anything past 8:00 (or whatever your child's bedtime is).

But it's hard to find a place for three weeks in Hawaii during peak tourist season that had at least one bedroom, preferably two, and that would remain under the TDY government lodging costs.  As it was, I was able to string together three different accommodations.  And ironically, we started at the nicest place and worked our way down...

Place 1: Private cottage above someone's garage
Let's get something straight.  Telling people I stayed above someone's garage does not do this place justice.  It's like telling someone that our President happens to live in a historical house painted white, or that major defense decisions take place in an oddly shaped building.  When we first walked into this cottage, I immediately noticed how tastefully decorated it was -- limited edition prints, glass sculptures, large seashells, coral, light colored patio furniture on the large lanai, marble double sink in the bathroom, glass table top in the full sized kitchen with granite bench...  In short, it was gorgeous and ABSOLUTELY terrifying to me.  It was full of fragile, breakable things.  We spent the first half hour moving most everything to the top, top shelf and then having to move chairs around so that Owen wouldn't be able to use chairs to get to anything.  We counted ourselves lucky that the only casualty was a wineglass after a ten day stay.  And despite every fabric choice being made to show stains, they washed pretty cleanly, which was useful since Owen threw up the first night.  The owners were fabulous, and despite how they had decorated the cottage, were parents of an energetic three year old.  I also woke up every morning at 0430 to the sound of tropical birds and geckoes so loud you swore you were in the middle of a "soothing" rainforest ambient noise soundscape.

Place 2: Barbers Point Cottage, operated by MWR
After you've nearly turned around three times asking yourself, "Is this really the right way?  We're in the middle of NOWHERE," you will finally arrive at the Barbers Point cottages.  From the outside, they're not much to look at.  Cinder block walls on the duplexes with the same type of chairs you find at most public pools parked outside.  Inside, they had been renovated and redecorated quite nicely.  They even had a granite backsplash behind the stove.  Their bedding was also nice, though it was a lot more washable.  We found out since Owen also threw up the first night we stayed there.  About 50 yards away from the front door was a beach, so we fell asleep listening to the waves.  I know, tough life, right?  The first time I mentioned where we were staying to a local, his actual response was, "That's the beach with the shark and barracuda heads nailed to a post to warn you about what's in the water, right?"  No kidding.  I'm already sort of paranoid about swimming in the ocean, so this comment did not help at all.  Good thing that Owen is also terrified about swimming in the ocean because every time I took him down to that beach, he held tighter to me than a baby koala and contorted his body in unnatural ways so he wouldn't have to touch the water.  It's like he knew.   Oh, and in case you're wondering, yes, I am in the Navy and still don't like being in the water.  Let me explain, I'm a surface warfare officer-- that's right, I'm there to remain on the water.  When I'm in the water, it's a really bad day.  In addition to the beach, there was an outdoor shower, large yard, and a Coast Guard air station another 100 yards from the house, which Owen loved.  Every two minutes he was excitedly pointing at yet another plane in the sky.  In general, this place was nice though not nearly as nice as the first.

Place 3: Long term stay hotel in Pearl City
We had originally planned to stay with my brother, but upon further introspection, we decided to move to another hotel.  After all, I wanted to remain on speaking terms with him so invading his 3 bedroom house with me, my husband, my two kids, my mother, and my grandmother seemed a little cruel.  At the last minute, I managed to find a long term stay hotel just fifteen minutes from his house marketed especially to military families looking to spend just the TLA amount.  On paper, it met all of our needs: 2 bedrooms, full kitchen, air conditioning...  In person, my husband kept looking for the hourly rates.  The couches were upholstered with the same type of industrial vinyl you find on schoolbuses.  The floor of the bathroom had the same type of decking you actually found on board ships in berthing compartments (I felt right at home!), just a different color.  It certainly was not the marble like the first place or even the tile of the second place.  The table came out of the same 80s restaurant that the yellow "glasses" had come from.  The bed spreads were also from the same vintage.  Also only one of the two bedrooms were air conditioned, and because we do most anything to keep our children sleeping soundly, we gave it to them.  So Owen spent four nights sleeping blissfully by himself on a queen sized bed in an air conditioned room while Mom and Dad shared a full sized bed in an un-air conditioned room.  There were only two pictures hanging up in the entire place, none of which were numbered and looked to be about the same age as me.  In short... it was perfect!  There was nothing that Owen could destroy, despite his best efforts.  And of course, just when we finally have the industrial vinyl that could be wiped down instead of washed, he manages to not throw up on the first night.

So lessons learned:
When I used to travel with my husband, just the two of us, having the granite countertops and fancy kitchen with the beautiful accessories was a must.  Now traveling with two kids, I'm impressed by industrial grade vinyl.  That's right, you're moving on down...

Sunday, June 17, 2012

The Work for D-Day

First off, apologies for waiting to write this entry until a week after the actual D-Day (deployment day) for our family work/vacation to Hawaii.  Let's just say that I've spent more time in uniform while the rest of my family has been hanging out in board shorts...  Anyway, I wanted to give some advice to anyone else out there pondering the insanity of flying small children across the US and then an ocean...

D-2 months (2 months before deploying) or earlier:
1. Confirm that your work is actually sending you to Hawaii.
2. Begin compiling a list of people you can bribe to come with you so you have an extra set of arms, feet, etc. on the plane ride and waiting to assist you in Hawaii.
3. Start researching where you can stay...  Avoid hotels in Waikiki that don't even include a microwave in your room.
4. Purchase a blank notebook so you have enough paper to write down all the items you will need to travel with small children.

D-1 month:
1. Confirm that your work is actually sending you to Hawaii.
2. Buy Visine for your eyes.  Your eyes will blur as you attempt to match up your official flight reservation and the family's flight reservation.  This will require a minimum of at least four hours and two browser windows.  Oh, and you'll need that extra Visine because you'll think you're seeing things when you see the cost of the government flight and the commercial flight because they're nowhere near the same...  And don't even think of actually talking to an actual person to book your ticket.  There's a fee for that.
3. Consider refinancing your house to pay for the airfare.  A short note here: my sanity was definitely worth the $1200 cost for Owen to have his own seat.
4. Reserve place to stay.  Highly recommend looking into renting a condo or house with full kitchen and at least two bedrooms.  No vacation is actually a vacation if the small children stay in the room with you the entire time...  That'll limit you to whispering after your kids' bedtime every night.  Oh, and finding a place in Hawaii that is under the federal TDY amount that has two bedrooms during high tourist season...  You might need to reserve it the previous winter.
5. Exploit your status as an active duty military member and become best friends with your ITT office.  Who knew they offered vacation packages to Hawaii?  Or rental car deals?  Or would allow you to talk the Airman's Attic at Hickam into loaning you a pack and play for the baby so you don't have to pay for one?
6. Order copies of your children's birth certificate if you don't have them already.  Despite the fact that my infant (!) does not look anywhere near the age of 2 (unless of course you have a ticket agent with ZERO experience with small children and blurs all children under the age of 18 together...), you may still be asked to produce evidence they can travel for free on your lap.
7. Talk to your pediatrician for a drug recommendation for your child.  Pick up said drug and test.  Hope your child is not in the 25% that actually become more hyper on cold medicine.

D-2 weeks:
1. Confirm that your work is actually sending you to Hawaii.
2. Begin researching your airline's baggage policy as you figure out what you can bring with you.  Exploit your status as an active duty military member.  For example, as active duty traveling on orders on United, I could check up to 5 bags weighing up to 70 lbs a piece.  Oh, and car seats and strollers do not count against your baggage count.  You'll need every free checked bag you can get.

D-1 week:
1. Confirm that your work is actually sending you to Hawaii.  True story, the week before I was scheduled to leave, there was a decent possibility the trip was going to be cancelled.  I nearly had a heart attack.
2. Print off copies of everything: flight itinerary, rental car reservations, baggage policies, TSA policy, directions to where you're staying...  Oh, and any actual work related items you might need.  Oh, and thanks to the US government, the TSA allows you to carry juice for your toddler through security but not cow milk...  Huh? 
3. Stockpile enough snacks and food to get you through a day's worth of traveling or a category 2 hurricane, whatever may come first.  On an 8 hour flight, we were offered zero food for free.  And I could only feel sorry for the little girl who begged her dad incessantly for a $30 (!) cheese plate. 
4. Pack your bags.  Let the neighbors think you're moving out with the amount of luggage piled up in the hallway.  Make sure to mark your bags with crazy ribbon to distinguish them from everyone else's.  And definitely distribute everything you may need throughout bags. 

D-1:
1. Confirm that your work is actually sending you to Hawaii.
2. Dress kids in clothes they will travel in so when you wake up at 0230 in the morning for a 0600 flight departure, at least one of you will sleep.
3. Give your kids a bath too so they will smell nice, giving the people around you one less thing to complain about, and so that they will have bedhead.

This is just a quick overview of the amount of work that went into planning for this trip.  The actual planning took a lot more stress and heartache than actually can be pushed through a blog.



Monday, June 4, 2012

Thank heavens for 24 hr children's programming!

Okay, so people will realize that I'm not a paragon of great parenting decisions, particularly in the moment.  If I have time to muster all of the parental knowledge I've consumed by reading paranoid parenting news postings, blog entries, or magazine articles, then I tend to make good decisions.  But faced with the squirming toddler in my lap while out at food tasting with friends... Sure, Mountain Dew seemed like a great idea!

First off, Owen has a major sweet tooth.  He's learned that the best way to avoid having sugary treats confiscated from him is to go into feast-or-famine mode and vacuum up as much as he can.  He'll stuff his cheeks full of marsh mellows so that he resembles a little, half-Asian squirrel preparing for winter.  What this meant during this fateful food tasting was that he sucked up more than a quarter of a can of Mountain Dew before I realized how much he had consumed.  To put things in perspective...  There are 55 mg of caffeine in one soda can.  He probably took in at least 14 mg of caffeine over the course of five minutes.  The effects were not immediately apparent, at least not to me.  He was still as energetic as ever as any little toddler was.

And then... it was 2000, and he was still bouncing off the walls.

And then... it was 2100, and he was still bouncing off the walls.  He refused to lay down to go to sleep.

And then... it was 2200, and though he had now consumed over 10 oz of whole, full-fat, delicious, fresh from the dairy milk, he was still bouncing off the walls.  Normally 4 oz of milk knocks him out.

And then... it was 2230, and he was still running strong.  My husband at this point had given up trying to put him to sleep.  He even had given up staying up late sympathetically with me.  As he said, "It was your decision to give him Mountain Dew so now you have to pay."

And then... it was 2300, and he was still awake.  By this time, he was finally tired, but there was so much caffeine coursing through his system that he couldn't sleep.  I also belatedly realized he had never taken a nap.  All he could do was make this sad sort of whine/cry every fifteen minutes.  He had been up since 0630 in the morning.  It was the toddler equivalent of pulling the Ironman in watches (standing the 0200-0700 and then staying up and standing the 2200-0200 watch as well).  But I was also exhausted.  I had also been up since 0630 without a nap.  So I desperately decided to turn to that favorite electronic babysitter, the television.  I was afraid I would only find adults-only entertainment, the sort of normal fare you find on HBO only, since I hadn't been up this late watching television in a very long time. 

And then... I found it.  The beautiful world of 24 hour children's programming on WETA Kids.  Thank heavens for public programming!  There was something educational, something that wouldn't prove traumatic to my toddler's already fragile state of mind.  We watched Thomas the Tank Engine, which seemed really strange from when I used to watch it as kid.  In retrospect, the fact that trains have faces where only their eyes move seems really creepy... 

And then... by 2355, thanks to the slightly creepy Thomas the Tank Engine and a bottle of milk, Owen was finally blissfully asleep. 

I used to wonder why they would make 24 hour children's programming since you know, some of my tax money goes to fund this channel.  Kids shouldn't be up that late.  Now I know.  It's designed for those poor souls who are still awake with their children suffering because they made the terrible parenting decision to let their child have Mountain Dew.  So for the next year or so, I am going to promise to not give my toddler Mountain Dew.  We'll stick to ginger ale, which at least is caffeine free.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

The New Luxury

To all of my friends and family out there who currently don't have kids but plan on having one (some?) someday...  Please take the time to enjoy your kid-free life.  As soon as the kids hit, these will be considered luxuries:

1. Using the bathroom by yourself. 

This started off as a paranoid parent thing where you're freaked out that somehow your infant will miraculously figure out how to move, turn suicidal, and then suffocate on the closest, remotely soft thing.  I blame all the same folks who tell you that having anything in the crib will kill your child.  Soon, we won't be able to put sheets in the cribs.  Then baby started getting mobile, and you were genuinely worried about letting him out of sight because he would manage to choke on whatever non-baby-proofed item you have and die.  And then baby started walking and figured out how to open doors, and now you're doomed because he's used to being in the bathroom with you.

2. Sleeping in. 

To put things in perspective...  Sleeping in until 0730 is equivalent to how I used to feel sleeping in until 1000.  Now if we are still in bed at 0800, it's like how I used to sleep in until 1100.  And if we happen to still be in bed at 0800, the first thing I do is jump out of bed to make sure the kids are still breathing.  Because you never know, those crib sheets might just have suffocated them.

3. Staying up late... by choice.

Sure, you'll be up at 0200 in the morning, but it'll be because a small child wanted/needed you to be up, not because there was a cool concert or a late evening with friends at a bar.  Oh, and in case you haven't heard, giving a toddler any Mountain Dew is a terrible (really, really terrible!) idea which will guarantee you to be up much later than you desire.  That stuff just lives in their system for hours.

4. Going most anywhere spontaneously.

Need to go to the grocery store to pick up the eggs you forgot you needed for a recipe?  Not so easy anymore.  It now takes me ten minutes to even review the items I need for the kids to go to the grocery store.  That doesn't even include the time it takes for me to wrestle kids into car seats or to actually gather up the items on said list.  I'm convinced my child will be an Olympic wrestler.  And that's just a trip to a grocery store.  The efforts involved in planning an overnight trip or (gasp!) a plane ride only increase exponentially.  We have a plane trip scheduled for June that I've been planning since January.  No kidding.

5. Eating a meal leisurely.

I don't think I need to amplify anymore on this if you've read my post on how to lose weight. 

6. Having a coherent conversation with another human being in the presence of small children.

There's more back and forth when talking to other adults in the presence of your children than championship tennis matches.  You're lucky to squeeze out a sentence or two before your child wanders off and tries to kill himself on a stuffed animal, concrete sidewalk, or whatever previously innocuous item is nearby.  If your friend happens to be patient, you'll realize they've been staring at you... waiting for you to answer the question they asked.... fifteen minutes ago.  By the time you've finished "small" talk with your friends, it will be just about time for you to leave. 

7. Having no constraints on your clothing choices/purchases.

I look forward to the day when I can even think about purchasing something lovely that requires dry cleaning or something that I don't have to wonder whether I can breastfeed in it.  Since Anduin doesn't spit up often, I'm at least past the stage of worrying about whether baby spit up will blend in.  And I've given up on wearing "real" shoes that require heels.  I'm barely able to walk around in them by myself, let alone toting a toddler and infant while wearing them.

So next time, you kid free people use the bathroom (by yourself!) or sleep in late, having a nice breakfast in bed, dressed in your dry-clean only silk pajamas, and discuss the latest events with someone you love at that cute bed and breakfast you're visiting for a surprise weekend away... Enjoy it.  You won't fully be able to appreciate what you have until it's gone.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Let Sleeping Babies Lie

Most of our conversation after 2000 usually ends with, "... and don't wake the baby."  As any parent will tell you, especially parents of young children, you do most anything to not wake the baby.  Want to watch me perform more acrobatic moves than the Olympic gymnastics team?  Watch me try to move from a lounging position on the couch with baby sleeping on my chest to angling baby into her crib without waking her.  Niles and I transfer the baby more carefully than some explosive ordnance teams disarm IEDs.  Television volumes are adjusted accordingly.  We tiptoe around the hallway.  In short, we do everything to let sleeping babies lie.

Recently, we have moved Anduin to sleep in the nursery with her big brother, Owen.  The problem is that Anduin is a great little sleeper (usually averages 6 hours of continuous sleep at a go) while her big brother is not.  When Owen wakes up screaming or crying from a night terror, Niles and/or I swoop into the nursery to try to quiet him down to make sure he doesn't wake up his sister.  If there's anything worse than one baby waking up crying in the middle of the night, it's two.  And trust me, any parent woken up from a sound sleep to a crying baby will do most anything to get the baby to go back to sleep.  That rule about not letting baby sleep in your bed?  Broken as soon as you realize it might buy you another hour of uninterrupted sleep.  That rule about not giving the baby a bottle of milk because it could cause cavities?  Broken because it's easier to use the bottle than to listen to him cry for half an hour.  That rule that you won't rock him back to sleep because you're creating sleep crutches?  Broken because you would just like to spend the night in your own bed, thank you very much.  I have at one point contemplated giving Owen a nip of beer if it would get him to sleep for more than three hours.  I didn't since milk's cheaper, but the thought crossed my sleep-deprived mind.

The craziest part of it all is when you finally get that baby back to sleep, and you stare down at him, noticing how his arms are flung in all directions, the little smile tugging at his lips while he breathes deeply, you think, (if you are still capable of coherent thought), "He's just so gosh darn cute and peaceful."  The entire process of putting the baby to sleep and keeping him asleep is completely forgotten.  People begin to want to see more sleeping babies, which is really how some of us got in this situation in the first place.

And that's the insidious truth.  Sleeping babies lead to more babies.  Don't do it.  At least not yet.  Babies will wake up.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

An Apology to Owen

Owen,
You're my first child so you're sort of a guinea pig when it comes to my parenting attempts.  I just want to say..
I'm sorry...

that you spent most of the winter, spring, summer, fall, winter, and then spring again with a cold since I let you lick the equipment in the mall play area and eat food off the floor (even public ones)

that you were exposed to Criminal Minds, Game of Thrones, Law and Order, and other violent television shows since you were born and only recently stopped letting you watch them.  I hope they did not cause your nightmares

that you inherited my love-hate relationship with most vegetables, meaning we love only about four vegetables unconditionally (sugar peas, carrots, asparagus, and broccoli) while disdaining everything else your dad tries to feed us

that I have let you get overly tired often because I'm too lazy to really instill a proper bedtime routine that every parenting book, website, television special talks about

that I never bothered to childproof anything so that containers of bleach and other potentially dangerous items become your play things

and that I let you climb on most anything (rocking horse, couch, cars), risking your life and limb.

Perhaps your visit to the emergency room on Tuesday was just my penance.  After all of the dangerous or semi-dangerous mistakes I've made, you end up hurting yourself by tripping over a toy... and catching the lid of your toy drum (which is not sharp at all!) in such a manner to create a half inch gash over your eye. 

Oh, and I'm really sorry that I doubted we needed to take you to the emergency room.  I'll confess, I was just going to apply pressure and ice until it stopped bleeding.  And maybe some neosoporin.  But your dad's much better about this sort of thing and insisted that we at least take you to your pediatrician to evaluate whether you needed to go to the emergency room.

And I'm really, really sorry that we subjected you to some medicine that stung when applied to your cut and had to use a head wrap to keep the medicine in place.  And that you can't understand why the doctor kept blocking your view of Elmo's World with sharp scissor things and a long string.  And if it becomes a really nasty scar (like your dad is absolutely convinced it will) because I don't remember to apply sunblock to it when we're out in Hawaii...

I'm really, really, really sorry, Owen.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Experiments in Child Labor

Owen is about fifteen months old.  This is a wonderful age because he wants to imitate everything we do.  He likes to pretend almost anything (banana, book, toy, shoe) is a cell phone and holds conversations in baby babble.  This innate desire to copy you should be exploited as child labor.

And here is how.

Complete household chores in front of the toddler with a gigantic smile on your face.  Sound effects are bonus.  Encourage your toddler to try.  Purchase child sized items for toddler to complete chores more effectively once interest is locked in. 

The most successful household chore Owen helps with is the laundry.  Between my mother and I, we have taught Owen to empty the lint trap (his job specifically), put dirty clothes down the laundry chute, put dirty laundry into the washer, put wet clothes into the dryer, and push the laundry basket from the laundry room to the living room where I fold the laundry while he watches television.

We're working on the sweeping.  He has a child sized broom, but I can't seem to target his sweeping.  My goal is for him to sweep up the food on the floor he dropped.  The other day, I caught him sweeping things under our rug.  No kidding, he picked up the corner of the rug, turned it over, swept some dust to that area, and then turned the corner back.  And I could have sworn he wasn't there the couple of times I did this.

He'd probably vacuum since he knows how to unwind the cord, plug it in, turn it on, and generally how to push it.  The problem is that it is much larger than him, and I imagine the worst if I were give him a hand held.  The toddler curiosity plus suction power seems like too dangerous of a combination.

And when we're all done "playing" at household chores, he opens the freezer to fill our cups with ice while I pour the juice.

Lessons learned:
1. The earlier, the better.
2. Even if you don't think he's watching, don't sweep things under the rug.
3. If I had better habits of picking up after myself, he'd probably know how to put away his own toys.
4. Enjoy the cleaning is playing stage and exploit the child labor while you can.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Why did I think it was a good idea to...

Hindsight is 20/20.  Often times, I, my husband, or both of us, do things that we later come to regret, even if momentarily.  I literally begin several thoughts a day with the phrase "Why did I think it was a good idea to..."  Below are some of the more memorable moments I've voiced this thought:

1. Have two children in two years.  Especially in the middle of the night as both children are crying.  Or during the morning when both children are crying.  Or during the afternoon when both children are crying.  See the theme?

2. Work on my master's while still maintaining a full time job on shore duty.  Nothing like coming home on a Wednesday just long enough to nurse Anduin and then give Owen a teaser before running out again.  My half hour between work and class manages to set them both off.  Which then leads us to Situation 1.

3. To leave only two and a half days to write a 20 page paper for a class for the above master's.  Sad but true.  You'd think after the first paper I'd learn not to procrasinate.  Unfortunately, I've repeated the rushed scenario of flinging my children on the good graces of my husband, mother, and mother-in-law while I frantically research and write a paper numerous times.

4. Feed Owen chocolate twenty minutes before his bed time.  I don't think this requires any explanation.  And yet, Niles and I do this often.  Or if not chocolate, maybe cupcakes or gummy worms or something else we probably shouldn't be feeding a baby, and definitely not feeding him so closely to his bedtime.

5. Feed Owen cheese curls immediately after changing him into a clean white shirt.  That cheese powder gets everywhere.  Yet, his excited face when he sees and eats cheese curls almost makes it worth it.

6. To purchase white shirts for Owen.  And speaking of which, own a white couch.  For a parent who feeds their toddler cheese curls in the living room, you'd think I would at least have child friendly furniture.  My version of child friendly furniture is a white couch that has removable covers and a wonderful mother-in-law who takes the time to remove them and wash them for me.

7. To leave the cutting board with the extra large chef's knife within reach of the high chair.  This actually happened.  Turned around and saw a scene out of a horror movie: toddler in high chair holding a large carving knife.  Fortunately, it didn't actually turn into any more of a horror movie.  Knife was secured and toddler thought it was a game.

8. To not baby-proof anything.  Sad confession: Niles and I have not babyproofed a single item in our house.  Our children have managed to survive on sheer parental vigilance alone.  We don't have baby gates, cabinet locks, oven locks, corner paddings...  The one time I tried to install cabinet locks, Owen ripped through them.  We do occasionally find Owen playing with the container of bleach or our entire set of pots and pans on the floor.  Owen also has taken his share of tumbles down the stairs, but it just toughens him up.

9. To teach Owen how to use the step stool so he could wash his hands.  It was cute to see him wash his own hands in the bathroom sink: turn on the water, dispense some soap, rinse them off under the water...  But what I completely failed to take into account was the fact that Owen loves water.  He could wash his hands for hours, completely drenching the sink.  I also didn't account for him to quickly figure out he could move the step stool and now reach just about everything everywhere.  This leads to repeats of Situation 7.

10. To let Owen lick anything he wanted to at the play area at the mall.  Since Owen doesn't go to daycare, I had to figure out a way to strengthen his immune system by exposing it to all sorts of germs.  So far nothing's killed him, but we have had to deal with a lot of colds this winter and spring.  At some point in the foreseeable future, we'll reap the benefits of a strengthened immune system.  Until then, I've stocked up on tissues.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Prayer to SWO Gods

SWO Gods,

I used to think you so sadistic as I learned to sleep standing up, sleep on the floor of my stateroom, sleep during thirty degree rolls outrunning a typhoon, or sleep across my desk, earning keyboard marks on my cheeks.  I discovered that long blinks could somehow turn into fifteen minute catnaps without notice.  I used to find myself overly consumed by sleep, or more specifically a lack thereof.  I used to see this all as a sort of torture.

And then, I became a mom.

And now I thank you for all the training and initiation into a world without consistent sleep.  You taught me well how to be appreciative of a ten minute catnap.  The ability to fall asleep on a moment's notice was perfect during impromptu offers by my mother and mother in law to watch the children.  At least now when I am woken from a perfectly sound sleep in the middle of the night, I am not expected to be alert, coherent, and vigilant.  I just have to be able to feed a baby, not drive a ship.

Very Respectfully,
Alyssa

Saturday, April 7, 2012

How to Fit Back Into My Uniform 10 Days After Giving Birth

I consider myself fairly lucky in the post-baby body continuum.  Don't get me wrong or anything, I'm not Beyonce and ready to share post-baby bikini wearing photos to the world.  (Note to self: Need to make sure tankini still fits for this summer).  But I was able to fit back into my uniforms, for the most part, ten days after giving birth to Anduin.  How do I know this?  Because I was called in from my maternity leave to take official photos as part of an award package submission.

And how did I do this and continue to lose weight to the point that I am back at my pre-pre-pregnancy weight (that's weight before Owen) less than three months after the birth of my second child?  Let me tell you my secret.  It's called the Having Two Children in Two Years Diet and Exercise Plan.  It works something like this:

1. You can eat whatever you'd like, as long as you can eat it with one hand AND/OR in five minute spurts over the course of two and a half hours.
  • This limits a lot of the food you're willing to eat.  Ribs for example?  People tend to frown on infants covered in BBQ fingerprints.  Burgers?  Off the plate. (Yes, pun is intended.)  Pasta carbonara?  Gets less than appetizing when it's been sitting there, getting cold and solidifying, for the past couple of hours.  And no more leisurely snacking for you!  Oh, and those expensive restaurant trips where you could eat course after course of delicious and potentially fattening foods...  You now have a 30 minute limit before the restaurant staff makes you and your squirming toddler feel very uncomfortable.
2. No more alcoholic beverages of any sort. 
  • After all, you're either pregnant or breast feeding.  But don't worry, think of all those calories you've saved.
3. Even caffeinated beverages are severely limited to one serving a day.
  •  And when they say one serving, they mean like a "small", excuse me "tall" order from Starbucks.  Not like a grande.  So think of all those calories you save by not getting a grande iced frappe anymore.
4. Be willing only to drink water from the water dispenser from your fridge, which you cannot manage to use with only hand.
  • Worried about bloating?  Not so much if you can barely get enough water to keep yourself alive, let alone give your body something to bloat.
5. Breastfeed... constantly... as in every 2-3 hours... everywhere.
  • Breastfeeding burns something like 600-1000 calories a day.  It takes a lot of energy to feed that little bundle of joy.  And if yours happens to be like Anduin, who goes on binge breastfeeding sessions, not only will she manage to take in the upper end of that caloric estimate, but she also manages to take away any chance for me to eat and/or drink anything.  No exaggeration: From the hours of 5 to 10, she eats literally every hour.  I spend more time with her attached to me than not.  If I didn't have a caring husband and a supportive mother/mother-in-law bringing me food and drinks, I probably would have been checked into the hospital by now due to malnutrition and dehydration.
6. Soothe your young children by carrying them around the house, attempting to see how many household tasks you can complete with only the partial use of one arm.
  • As a toddler, Owen now weighs in at over twenty pounds.  Imagine carrying a twenty pound weight in your non-dominant arm as you attempt to vacuum, put away groceries, eat, or even use the bathroom with one arm.  It's amazing how quickly you can build up muscle, which will just burn extra calories.  And if I'm extra lucky, I get to carry both of them at once!  So that's a total of thirty pounds I can carry up and down the stairs of my house.
7. Get really bad cabin fever so that you want to take your children out often.  Even if it's just to the mall to drool over clothes you will not fit into ever the same way again.
  • Even traveling "light" with children is an ordeal.  There's the mandatory diapers, wipes, bottles, snacks, and blankets I bring.  And Anduin in a carseat (even the among the lightest I could find) still weighs twenty pounds.  And the behemoth of my double stroller weighs 40 pounds alone.  Lift that into and out of your car several times over a three hour long trip outside of the house.  Wrestle a toddler into the seat.  Attach your now 20 pound infant into the carseat attachment.  And don't forget the rest of the baby stuff you are now lugging.
Follow these simple rules and you too can shed those pounds easily!

The Long Thursday of a Devoted Mom

March 29th was the first Thursday I had been back at work after taking a 2 month long maternity leave.  It was also the day of a major awards ceremony at my shore command.  Previously that week, I had tried to persuade my coworkers that the ambiguous phrasing at my joint command of the required uniform for the award ceremony could be interpreted as something OTHER than service dress blues.  Unfortunately, no one believed me.  So like a dutiful officer, I woke up Thursday and dressed in my service dress blues.

Let me put this in perspective.  The last time I had worn my service dress blues was in 2009... on deployment... in France... long before I had two children.  As it was, I was not one of those people who feel overly excited to wear their service dress uniform at the slightest provocation.  My jacket is actually the same jacket I was issued when I was 17 at my ROTC (reserve officer training corps) unit.  I'm sure I've mentioned this, but I'm sort of cheap about Navy uniforms. 

Back to last Thursday.  I've dutifully donned my service dress blue, carefully not stretching to reach for anything since my buttons will likely fly off and take out someone's eye, when I realize that Owen is eating yogurt for breakfast.  And of course, he wants to give me a nice big hug and sloppy face nuzzle before I leave for work.  I maneuver in to give him a quick kiss while simultaneously telling him, "Don't touch me!  This is dry clean only!"

The workday flies by quickly.  Coincidentally, I am in meetings nonstop until 1240, twenty minutes before the awards ceremony.  I stop by my boss's office to ask her whether I really need to attend the ceremony because of two important facts: 1) I had not had a chance to eat lunch and 2) I had not had a chance to pump milk.  Now if you were really unlucky, I could launch a button at you and spray you in the face with breast milk.  She told me to go ahead and skip actually attending the awards ceremony and just watch it as it was being broadcast.

So I ran down to eat lunch, watching on the televisions on the cafeteria as other members in my office receive an award, before dashing off to the nurse's station to pump milk.  About twenty minutes later and significantly more comfortable, I return to my cubicle.  Just as I am about to log in to watch the awards ceremony -- did I mention this was a big enough deal they broadcast it not only on every television in the complex but also live over the internet and had flown in nominees and winners from all over the globe-- one of my coworkers yells at me, "Where were you?"

Now I go on high alert and demand back, "What do you mean?"

She explains -- as does everyone else who now realizes I'm on the floor -- "They called your name!  You were supposed to go on the stage to be recognized.  You were nominated for an award."

 "What?  I thought they said at the beginning they weren't going to name the nominees since they were in the program.  I was down in the nurse's office pumping milk since I hadn't had a chance all day."

"At least none of the other nominees could say that.  They were all men.  And by the way, you were the only Naval officer nominated."

So to end my story, I continued the tradition of proudly representing the Navy by blowing off the Director of my agency, a 3 star General, and everyone else in my chain of command by not attending the awards ceremony after they had nominated me.  But at least you know I'm a devoted mom since I chose feeding Anduin over the 3 star general.  Now if only she would actually drink the milk I take the time to pump...

Lessons learned:
1. If you bother to actually wear the dress uniform, you should make sure to actually show up at said event.
2. Telling people you were pumping milk automatically gives you a pass for missing major events.  Either it makes them super uncomfortable, or thanks to an aggressive breastfeeding campaign, makes them nod approvingly.
3. No one can tell if your skirt is nearly under your rib cage because that's how high you have to wear it in order to zip it up as long as you always wear your jacket or sweater.

That is Not My Baby... Or the Wonders of the Epidural

Unlike some women, I was not one of those eternally happy, glowing pregnant women.  Near the end of my second pregnancy especially, I began to have daily fantasies of seeing my toes again, wearing clothes that had actual waistbands, ditching the maternity uniform, being able to button my wool bridge coat that I had to wear with my uniform as I made the 15 minute trek across my work parking lot, or being able to actually submerge my stomach in the jacuzzi tub.  What did not help was that Owen had arrived three and a half weeks early so I was not really mentally prepared to be pregnant beyond the 37 week mark.  Unfortunately, Anduin proved the doctors right -- having one baby early does not mean the second one will arrive early.  Snug in her watery haven, she'd occasionally cause me to lose feeling in my leg or struggle to walk up a flight of stairs, just in case I could somehow still forget I was still pregnant.

As I approached the dreaded 40 week mark, my attempts to schedule an induction became more desperate.  Eventually, the doctors gave in and scheduled one for me.  It might have something to do with the fact that not only was I now heavily pregnant but -- wait for it -- I was on crutches.  One night while trying to lower my less than gazelle like body onto the couch, I twisted my knee.

Everyone had assumed Anduin would arrive early: my boss who had planned a surprise baby shower for me at work a solid month and a half prior, my husband who had packed hospital bags by the New Year, and my friend M* whose due date was the day after mine.

Just as I was resigned that I would be induced on my due date (Jan 30th), I received a text message from M* who had also scheduled an induction.  Her text on Jan 26th told me she was at the hospital in labor and that I needed to tell Anduin to hurry.  After all, we were going to deliver at the same hospital.  I didn't realize until I read that text that it was actually possible to be VERY envious of another woman experiencing massive amounts of pain and discomfort because at the very least, her baby would escape.

I started to experience contractions later that night, but Anduin, darling prankster that she was, had already sent me to the hospital for bouts of false labor.  I figured that this time, if the contractions were strong enough to wake me up from a sound sleep, I'd actually make the trip to the hospital. 

At 3 am, January 27th, they were.  This time, however, we were much better prepared.  I had downloaded a contractions counter app to my Kindle Fire.  Our bags were packed.  My husband ignored any urges to suddenly clean the house.  We had received permission from Tricare to deliver at a civilian hospital five minutes from our house.  (Funny what happens when you tell them you had a baby in the bathroom...  Suddenly, a referral to a civilian doctor was so much easier!)  We basically moseyed down to the hospital with me being in significantly more discomfort than I had been during my first delivery.

I was checked into a hospital room right away -- having felt me dilate to 5 cm -- and prepared for the long night ahead of us.

And then it happened...  The anesthesiologist came to give me my epidural.  It was now almost 6 in the morning.  The anesthesiologist was exactly the type of doctor you hope to receive: just enough white hair to exude experience and wisdom but spry enough to make you not wonder whether his hands would shake while inserting a wickedly long needle into your spinal cord.  By this point, I wasn't exactly Bridezilla mean.  Niles would tell you that I wasn't exactly pleasant either.  We had a student nurse whose excitement/wonder at my impending delivery more than made up for my lack of enthusiasm, but I couldn't manage more than monosyllabic answers to her questions.  After I had the epidural, it literally felt as if the clouds had opened and angels sang down from the heavens.  I probably said to Niles no less than twenty times as he tried to find a remotely comfortable position on a chair to take a quick nap, "I don't know why everyone doesn't get an epidural.  They're wonderful!"

Yes, I did manage to sneak in a little nap while I waited for my doctor to finish up someone else's C-section.  When I woke up, my nurse checked my dilation and told me that I was 9 cm dilated and could expect to start pushing soon.  She called the doctor to come down and prepare for delivery.

Now my doctor was one of the many at the civilian practice I had received all of my prenatal care.  She was one of two that I had hoped to not be at my delivery, not because she wasn't competent but more because she had the bedside manner of a houseplant.  Then again, I generally warm up to houseplants more...  After checking me, she declared that I was only 7 cm dilated. 

I was ready to throttle her.  My nurse had been on the labor/delivery floor significantly longer than the doctor had.  I doubted that I could have shrunk two centimeters.  And by this point, I was starting to feel pretty uncomfortable.  Just as I pondered letting the doctor know what I thought of her measurement, the nurse told me those magic words, "You know, if you are feeling uncomfortable, you can just push the button to increase the amount of medicine in your epidural."

Oh yeah...  Drugs on demand!  What more could I have asked for?

With more drugs flowing through my system, I did feel a lot better.  There was still a lot of pressure so another hour or so later, I demanded my doctor to come down and check me again.  She told me that I was now at 8 cm, but I wouldn't be allowed to start pushing until I was at least 9 cm.

Another hour later, closer to 9 am, I demanded my doctor to check me again.  She told me I was still at 8 cm and then rushed off to take care of some "paperwork".  I had a nagging suspicion she was probably in the doctor's lounge playing Angry Birds.

By about 10:40, I had reached my breaking point.  The pressure I felt made me feel like I needed to start pushing or risk exploding.  This time, I told the nurse, "I'm going to start pushing whether the doctor's here or not."

The nurse, bless her calm and experience, excused herself politely to the hallway to call the doctor.  I had already started pushing.  I figured that in the worst case, I was already at the hospital surrounded by fully trained staff.  Heck, my labor and delivery nurse could probably have delivered my baby herself.  I'm pretty sure the nurse made it amply clear to the doctor that she needed to get there. Immediately.  The doctor made it there in time for Anduin's head to crown and to tell me to stop pushing since the umblical cord was wrapped around her neck.  I paused only momentarily to free the cord.  And then I continued pushing so hard and so quickly that it only took about five pushes before Anduin was free at 10:53 am.

The staff cleaned her off marginally and laid her across my stomach.  I glanced down at her and only had the time to think, "That's not my baby.  She's gigantic!" before they risked her off to take measurements and check her Apgar score.

She still hadn't cried yet.  I probably would have been more concerned except that I had to still deliver the placenta... and then the doctor took that very moment to dig into my flesh and cut away a suspicious looking mole.  As if my body hadn't gone through enough.

Anduin cried momentarily and was declared healthy.  When they finally gave her back to me, I looked down at her, wrapped in her baby burrito blanket (aka swaddled) and thought,

"Wow, she's not very cute.  In fact, she's a pretty ugly baby.  And she's huge."

That's right.  Those were my thoughts.  I'd like to blame the epidural still, but let's face it, newborns are not attractive creatures.  Thanks to an aggressive PR campaign, the fact that most women have just endured one of the most traumatic experiences ever, and the surging amounts of oxytocin in their bodies, most women manage to overlook their newborn's looks and declare them to be the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.  Anduin, like most newborns, looked more alien than Gerber baby.  It probably didn't help that the bruising on her face and her pointy head came from me pushing her rather hard through a tiny tunnel.  Owen, my first, managed to avoid both of these features by being tiny at 6 lbs.  Anduin, on the other hand, was a very healthy 8 lbs 1 oz and an inch and a half longer than her brother.

It was the student nurse, not me, who gushed, "She's beautiful!"

Then again, it was also the student nurse who later said while checking my uterus as it shrunk in size, "You have a beautiful uterus!"  So I should probably take those compliments with a grain of salt.

But here's the happy ending: Fortunately babies generally get significantly cuter with time.  Oh, and that oxytocin really builds up in your system so that even if yours doesn't, your hormones have bonded you to your baby anyway.  And M* and I recovered in the same ward so our hours old babies had playdates.


Lessons learned:
1. Your pregnancies -- and the resulting deliveries -- can be incredibly different.
2. Newborns are not attractive creatures.  Strongly suggest making it clear to your spouse or support person that even if you and they have this thought, they need to lie to you and tell you that that tiny human being you just spent 10 months carrying and hours laboring to deliver is the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
3. Epidurals are wonderful.  Your husband/support person will likely appreciate the personality change they evoke.
4. Drugs on command are wonderful.  Sorry to repeat, but this is incredibly important.
5. Don't be afraid to tell your doctor to put down the Angry Birds and get back to what's really important: ending your misery by delivering your baby.  

Friday, April 6, 2012

Introducing... Owen the New Year's Day Toilet Baby

There's a lot you don't know as a first time mom and nothing showed how unprepared I was than Owen's actual arrival.  Because the story's so outrageous, it needs to be told in its entirety.  So please sit back and prepare to think, "No way, she didn't actually do that."

New Year's Eve (December 31, 2010)
Niles and I drove down to Gaithersburg, Maryland to meet up with some good friends of ours for New Year's Eve dinner.  Along the way, I stopped at my mom's house where I accidentally mixed up my phone for her phone since we had exactly the same free phone offered by AT&T.  I ate an entire appetizer, entree, and dessert from Macaroni Grill that night.  In retrospect, this should have been a clue of impending labor/delivery since before this, I struggled to finish half an entree since Owen took up so much room in my stomach.  Niles had become accustomed to only ordering an appetizer since he knew he would have to finish my dinner.  Later that night, I realized I had swapped phones with my mom.  I shot her an email assuring that I'd drive back down later that week to pick it up.  Then Niles and I went off to see the fireworks over Annapolis.

Approximately 4:30 am New Year's Day (January 1, 2011)
I wander out of bed to use the bathroom.  I've become accustomed to needing to pee at least three times a night.  Just as I enter our bathroom, I feel a gush of water exit.  I look down at the floor and think, "Hmm...  Either I really lost control of my bladder or... my water just broke." 

Me to Niles: Wake up!  My water just broke.
Niles (still in bed): Haha.  Your water just broke. 
(He then proceeds to roll over and go back to sleep.)
Me: No, I mean it!  My water just broke!!!
Niles: What?  You're not due for another month!  Our hospital bags aren't even packed!  The house is a mess!  People are going to come over to see the baby.

Niles was too freaked out to talk to the labor and delivery people so I got to tell them calmly that my water broke but had no contractions.  I knew I had to deliver within the next 24 hours.

I went to call my mom to tell her... until I remembered I had her phone.  It took calling my sister to get the name of my mom's friend who lived in her neighborhood, calling said friend who turned out to be North Carolina visiting her daughter, and finally waking up another of my mom's friends to convince to drive over to my mom's house to wake her up and let her know I was in labor.

Niles called his parents to tell them I was in labor.  His father, no kidding, did EXACTLY the same thing Niles did: laugh and try to fall back asleep before saying sleepily "Talk to your mother."  My mother-in-law's sleepy response to Niles (no kidding) was, "What do you mean Alyssa's in labor?  We're in Delaware!  If we had known she was going to be in labor, we would never have gone to Delaware!"

Approximately 6:30 am at our house
Me to Niles: Sweetheart, it's been about two hours.  We've showered, you started the laundry, picked up the living room, packed our bags...  It's probably time for us to get to the hospital.  It's at least a half hour drive to the hospital.
Niles: I want to get a load of dishes in the dishwasher first.

Approximately 7:00 am at the hospital (finally)
Intake staff member: You're the woman who called us at 4:30 this morning?  When we said to take your time, we meant to not speed on the way here.  We didn't mean come in here two and a half hours later.
Me: My husband had a last minute nesting phase.

Approximately 7:15 am in the triage room
Triage doctor: On a scale of 1 to 10, what's your pain level?
Me: Oh, I don't know... a 2 maybe.  I'm a bit uncomfortable.
(Triage doctor proceeds to check how far I'm dilated.)
Triage doctor: Well, you're 5 centimeters.  I can see the baby's hair.  You need to get into a room.

Approximately 8:30 am in my delivery room
Me to my mom: I want an epidural now!
Nurse: He's with another patient.  He'll be along shortly.

Approximately 9:00 am in my delivery room
Me to the nurse: I really need to use the bathroom.
Nurse: I don't know...  You really shouldn't.
Me (still without an epidural): I REALLY NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM!!!
Nurse: Okay.  Just let us know if you need help.

Approximately 9:15 am in the attached bathroom to my delivery room
Nurse (from outside): How are you doing?
Me: I'm fine.

Approximately 9:30 am still in the attached bathroom to my delivery room
Nurse (from outside): How are you doing?
Me: Still fine.

Approximately 9:35 am in my delivery room

Anesthesiologist (to Niles):  Where is the patient?  I'm here for the epidural.
Niles: She's in the bathroom. 
Anesthesiologist: No problem.  I'll be back in five minutes.
  
Approximately 9:40 am still in the attached bathroom to my delivery room
Me (thinking): Either that is a huge poop... or that's the baby's head.  That burning sensation was exactly like what the book said it would feel like when the baby's head...
Niles (from outside): Are you okay?
Me: Not okay this time.
(Niles bursts in to see me standing above the toilet with a baby's head fully clear out of me. )  He then shouts something unintelligible involving the words "Baby" and "toilet." The nurse runs in, pulls the emergency chord they keep in bathrooms for exactly reasons like this, and when I look up next, there's an entire medical team (like 8 or 9 people) in there with me.  Luckily, it's a large bathroom.

Random doctor/nurse: Is there time to get her to the bed?
Doctor/nurse in charge: No!  Set up a sterile area in here!

(I take two steps and Owen literally falls out of me.  Like a good baby, he cries right away.)

My mother-in-law (outside in the room): Is that a baby crying?  That can't be coming from in here.

I made it to the bed to deliver the afterbirth.  Owen was born 3.5 weeks early, healthy, 6 lbs 1 oz and 19 inches long at 9:43 am.  He was not the first baby for the New Year, but he was the only one to be delivered
perilously close to the toilet. 

Lessons learned:
1. The whole due date thing?  Really more of a guidance.  I should have packed those hospital bags earlier.
2. If you want an epidural, you need to make sure you're actually in the room to receive it.
3. If you can suddenly eat three times as much food as previously, you should consider that a potential sign of impending delivery.
4. Don't allow husband to suddenly demonstrate nesting instincts after your water breaks if you want to make it to the hospital in a reasonable amount of time.
5. Most important of all...  That feeling of needing to poop is an actual symptom of delivery.  That's baby's way of letting you know he wants out.  You should not actually go to the bathroom unless you want your baby to be known as the "Toilet Baby" during your entire stay at the hospital.