all is bright

We celebrated Christmas early with Joshua's parents this past weekend, a tradition we started when they moved back to the area and we were all balancing family commitments and work over the actual holiday (hint: I was the only one with a work conflict). There was a time when I thought maybe we wouldn't be able to spend the weekend anymore after having kids, but as Matilda gets older I couldn't be more thankful for the memories we are making here and for the way she adores this place. Joshua's parents house is comfortable to the point of mild sedation - a grownup's lazy wonderland of freshly ground coffee, thick napping blankets, homemade treats, and other people who are making sure Matilda doesn't slam her fingers in doors or gleefully lunge for the stairs. And Matilda is currently just smitten with her grandparents (she stopped saying Gamma and Boppa a few days ago in favor of the oh so logical "Boppa" and "Other Boppa").

This weekend, being away from home and celebrating Christmas with our family also felt like an incredible privilege in light of the tragedy of yet another gun massacre last Friday. I have not stopped thinking about the families of the children and teachers who are now gone. The despair that I feel just imagining Matilda's life ending in a senseless, horrific way is so deep that I cannot comprehend the grief these parents and families are experiencing. I am so thankful that she is far too young to understand what kind of violent world we live in. Her biggest problems are parental blockades to both snacks on demand and unlimited access to Sesame Street, and I will fight to keep her life that way as long as possible.

This gem is the closest thing we got to a family picture this weekend, at least on our camera. And it's a few days later and I feel both grateful and selfish over my relief that the three of us are still here and living and breathing. I'm thankful for this fleeting, precious time on earth in ways that I wish I felt everyday, and not just in light of horrific news. For the big things like our faith and this season of Advent and for the little things like after-bathtime toddler curls and gifts wrapped up in glittery teal paper. We are praying desperately for all of those whose families are no longer complete and who are suffering instead of celebrating this week. 

 Donations to support the Newtown community can be directed here, through the United Way of Western CT, or here, through a fund set up by the community itself. Lastly, a group of artists on Etsy are donating a portion of their proceeds to that United Way fund - you purchase from them here.

Puppy Love

I had a little bit of a breakdown last Friday - I swear I'm typically a rational person despite what I write here - when I found a lump on my dog's neck. I sat down and promptly googled him into a painful bout of lymphoma that was certain to end in a tragic yet noble demise. By next week. At the latest.

I called Joshua to tell him that Helo was dying, per google, and in a move that I will remember with gratitude for the rest of my days, Joshua immediately left work and came home to take Helo to the vet with me. Because while Matilda may hog the limelight on our blog, our home is not only crazy because a certain seven month old would like to maintain eye contact with one of us at all times. We are also have our emotionally disturbed basement-only cat, whorish plump lap cat, and our handsome Helo to worry about:

I never had a dog growing up, but my grandfather had generations of hunting labs that I watched grow from clumsy puppies into gentle plodding old men. I remember the waver and huskiness in my grandfather's voice when he talked about his dogs that had passed on, the sense that suddenly he was lonely in a room full of family. And I completely panicked over this death lump because we love Helo in a similar way, in a way that does not allow Joshua or I to ever talk about his eventual journey to the beyond without choking up. In a way that turned Joshua into a heaving, gasping mess at the end of Marley and Me while I sat in the kitchen refusing to even look at the TV because my dog? My dog is going to live forever.

Helo was my idea, and Joshua gave in because a dog was sort of a consolation prize at a time when I was struggling through an isolated, dark place in my life. We walked into his room at our local posh little animal shelter (no really, the cats live in Pottery Barn baskets), Helo rolled right over for a belly rub, looked at me with his melty chocolate eyes, and I declared, "I want him!" I was signing adoption papers and handing over my debit card while Joshua was still slowly saying things like, "but..." and, "what if...", and I was all, "Yay! We have a dog! My new best friend!"

Aside from his long-standing feud with our mentally disturbed cat who has claimed the lower level of our condo as her domain (much to everyone's dismay) Helo has been nothing but sweetness and joy since we adopted him and he is now a patient, tolerant big brother to Matilda.

I'm not going to drag out the drama of this quick chapter in Helo's life, because he is just fine. (And I am crazy, but you knew that). Basically after a series of unfortunate events (the vet was closed for a staff meeting at 11:30am on a Friday - yes, that's great planning, I had to work at 7pm, Matilda didn't exactly appreciate the change in her afternoon plans), Helo got a lymph node biopsy, we waited on pins and needles all weekend for the pathology report, and despite the google death threats, he is cancer free. He has a reactive lymph node, probably from sort of little cold or maybe a scratch on the neck from his days giving swimming lessons and roughhousing at the beach.

Animals are tricky little creatures to love because your lifespan is so likely to exceed theirs, making those weepy ugly goodbyes almost inevitable. I don't think about it very often, because Helo is going to live forever I'm pretty good at denial, but oh when you are laying in bed trying to keep your rambunctious baby from swiping your pup's eyes out and suddenly you feel a big lump in their neck, it's hard not to let that cold sense of dread suddenly sweep over you. And I know there are far, far greater tragedies in life than losing an animal - I work with critically ill babies every day - but there is just something about a dog that makes your breath catch in your throat. Right? Dogs, and really all beloved animals, love us in the unconditional, unassuming, honest ways that we sometimes wish people would love us, and I don't take that for granted.

Maybe I will tone it down on the googling, and maybe I will try to avoid calling Joshua at work blathering about this being the end of Helo's days, but I can't really promise that either. I love this little mutt with all my crazed, emotional, overdramatic heart and I'm just so thankful that he is as healthy as can be.

A Cat Peed On This

This is a post that approximately three of you have been waiting for. Wherein, my baby does absolutely nothing cute, and I keep it real. I do not keep it short, so just be warned.

This is really for a few of my work girls, who accosted me in an isolation room informed me nicely me that my blog is bringing everyone down due to the excessive positive content. Apparently there is way too much chunky baby sentimental sweetness in my posts and people are starting to think our lives are all precious moments and butterfly kisses and bedtime stories.


I can see how I've led you astray.

I told Joshua about this workplace harrassment friendly reminder the next night, and he stared at me for a second to see how serious I was and then I think he busted a gut laughing. Literally, we looked around at the dirty dishes and unfolded laundry and mournful, underappreciated animals and whiny Matilda with carrots in her hair and we just laughed for a solid minute because people! Our lives are a hot mess.

Before we scampered off to the lake every day last weekend, we had a long string of incredibly crappy days. As I was leaving for work on last Tuesday, Joshua told me that it was going to be eighty degrees and sunny on Friday and I burst into tears. To clarify: I started crying because the weather was going to be gorgeous on my day off. That is a place you arrive at when you are wretchedly sleep deprived and overwhelmed, and I was both of those things.

During that stretch of crappy days, I had to take a cab home from work at 12:30am because Joshua left his phone on silent during my evening shift and slept right through the whole part where he was supposed to come pick me up. So I fumed all the way home while sending him passive aggressive texts with the cab number and the driver's description just in case I was murdered instead of driven to my destination (have I watched too many crime dramas? I think yes).

That was Thursday. Then I only slept roughly 13 hours from Friday morning to Monday morning. I will go ahead and do the math for you - the recommended amount of sleep an adult should be getting between a Friday and a Monday is about 24 hours. It's all fine and good to have a baby who sleeps through the night when you are a parent who sleeps through the night but what if you are the odd night-shift working, breastfeeding mother who has to sleep in the day? You. are. screwed.

And you are even more screwed if during your work weekend your typically sweet-as-pie daughter is wanting to eat more frequently than usual due to The Teething. Matilda's first tooth actually broke through her gums a day or two later, and while I feel absolutely terrible for the little munchkin's misery, can I just ask what is the deal with teething? Was there a reason those chompers could not be part of prenatal development? Like when you are busy growing your bones and organs painlessly? I realize a baby with a full grill would be a little terrifying, but we'd all get used to it. Right?

Anyways, there was a lot of woe from Matilda's end, and a lot of frustration from Joshua who was the sole caregiver except for when she briefly stopped whining to eat, and a lot of desperation from me and by Monday afternoon, with only 4 more hours of sleep added to that 13 from the weekend, I was a complete wreck. There was this hour right before Joshua got home where Matilda just groaned and rubbed her hands on her gums and I sat on the couch holding her while she tried to throw herself and all her teether items onto the floor repeatedly. I would like to say that we were both crying, but I honestly can't remember if I had enough energy for that outpouring of emotion. I may have just stared at the wall and thought about crying.

Tuesday I had to work overnight again (this is when I ruined my makeup over the weather forecast) and when my poor baby woke up from her afternoon nap on Wednesday she promptly lost her little tooth-cutting mind. So being the calm and rational working mother that I am, I went ahead and lost my mind as well.

I had been in Matilda's room organizing some laundry while she napped and trying to pick up the disaster that is our house after I've worked five out of six nights in a row (not Joshua's fault! Hi, Joshua! You are a wonderful dad!) Maybe I could have kept it together were it not for this stench that had been wafting around in her room. It's a very long story but basically her room had not smelled good for a few weeks, and since our building needs new tuckpointing we were convinced there was mold and must from water damage in the brickwork.

So here I am, literally days behind on sleep, clutching an angry, thrashing child as I run around from corner to corner in her room attempting to finally pin down where the smell was the strongest. I had to stop my desperate quest in order to pick up Joshua from a meeting, and I will say that our ride home was not my finest hour. It was a lot of ranting and whining and words that will have to be edited out of our conversations once Matilda is about ten minutes older than she is now, and at one point I hollered, "I cannot live somewhere that smells! I hate our condo! We are going to lose all our money because it's molding and we are going to have to live there forever because no one will ever buy it!" (see, I edited the swearing) at which point I began crying. Again. AGAIN.

We got home and Joshua wisely took Matilda away from me (naturally, she was all sweetness upon being reunited with the sane parent) while I resumed my wild-animal-style sniffing around her room. I managed to get to this one corner that smelled the slightest bit stronger than anywhere else and when I made Joshua check it for me, he moved her curtain the slightest bit and then said,

"Oh. Oh my god. A cat peed on this."

A CAT PEED ON THIS.

I had written multiple huffy emails to our condo association about the unacceptable 'mold' smell in my daughter's room, demanding quicker action on the brickwork and after weeks of going crazy over this 'undefinable' musty smell, as it turns out A CAT PEED ON THIS.

Do I even have to tell you that I cried again?

So yes. Our most recent weekend was filled with trips to the lake and mimosas at brunch (which a certain nameless six month old may have dumped right into my lap, thanks) and playing on the rug in the middle of a sweet-smelling baby girl's room. But if you start thinking that we are all fun, all the time, please just picture me shaking with the overtired caffeine jitters weeping into a pack'n'play while my lovely daughter refuses to nap and I have to work again. And I love my job and my life and my family but it was a little painful to realize I have been walking around in a fog for weeks, composing nasty emails about mold in our walls and sobbing about losing our life savings over it when really, oh hell it was actually the stench of cat pee that nearly pushed me over the edge.

A CAT PEED ON THIS.