is it so wrong?

Today I practically kissed the babysitter when she walked through the door. The past two nights, Ed has worked until the wee hours which has also wreaked havoc on our morning routine -- the routine where mama gets to take a shower.

Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with Raisin like nobody's business. But I'd need a break from the most delicious chocolate in the world if I gorged on it for 12 hours straight. So why the guilt?

It's not like we're parents who crave time away from our child. Ed and I very rarely go out without the boy. I think it's just the consecutive hours of one-on-one time that do me in. I can only pull him away from the peril that is the Herman Miller Aeron chair so many times in a day. Then there are the expressions of displeasure brought on by any pause in the three-ring mama circus.

But now I've been away from him for a little over two hours. Apparently that's all I needed. Because now I miss him like mad.

save the drama for your mama

This Thanksgiving I have so much to be thankful for: My family -- that's obvious. Our home. The fact that I'm able to spend so much time with my son and have a nice balance of work too. All the amazing people in our lives. The list goes on.

It was Raisin's first Thanksgiving (and if they made a onesie for that, he'd have it). He had an awesome time with all his cousins. Sure, there were a few breakdowns when the stimulation got to be too much -- proving once again that he is indeed our child. Grandma Johnson taught him "so big" which he performs with such enthusiasm. We ate a lot of turkey. Saw Harry Potter. And there were a few glorious extra hours of sleep thanks to Shannon and Grandma Johnson. And what would the holidays be without a little family drama? There was some of that, too.

Which gets me thinking: What kind of disciplinarians will we be? And what kind of kid will Raisin turn into? I don't want to be the type of parent who deprives my child of everything. But there has to be a happy medium between deprivation and indulgence. I think certain privileges like expensive video games, cars, ski trips, cell phones, etc. should be earned, not handed out to kids who aren't interested in proving they are capable of some sort of responsibility. Call me crazy.

Oh, I know I won't be the perfect parent. God knows I'll make mistakes. But man, I hope I learn from them before it's too late.

for the love of god, would you please stop pooping?

Yesterday, I changed five, count 'em, five poopy diapers and I'm sure Ed changed a couple, too. Oh, I know, with baby comes poopy diapers. But c'mon. I thought by 9 mos., the poop was less frequent -- yes, I think I remember reading that somewhere. Didn't you get that book, Raisin?

And, just so you know, when you're stomach-down and crawling away, changing your diaper? Not so easy. I won't even get into the time I let you play with your used, wrapped diaper just to keep you face up during the wipe and re-diapering -- and you managed TO OPEN IT. I spent a good 45 seconds searching for the missing fecal contents. You're just lucky you're so cute.

some of the best. things. ever.

• When you stop what you're doing, we make eye contact, and you crawl across the room just to give me a kiss.
• Your old-man-with-emphysema laugh.
• Sharing my cereal with you in the morning. How you crawl over and brace yourself with your pudgy little hands on my leg. Even though you ate A MERE 15 MINUTES AGO, you pull my arm toward you because apparently, I'm not getting the spoon to your mouth fast enough. And you eat off the spoon like a baby bird with soy milk dripping down your chin.
• That rare moment when you fall asleep on your floor pillow, while drinking your morning bottle.
• The way you say "spoon."
• When you feed me Cheerios with the same hands that were, just moments before, in the dog's mouth.
• Watching Sesame Street with you. Okay, that's more for me than for you.
• When you put your forehead to mine and do your trademark squeal.
• Our private time together just before you go to bed.
• Hearing you say, "Mama."
• How, when you smile, you use every muscle in your face.

random thought #1

Okay, so I have what some might call a monkey mind. When you have a monkey mind, your brain doesn't stop. And while that sounds like that might be a good thing, I'm here to tell you, it's not.

My husband likes to call me "Brian Fellows" as in the character on SNL who daydreams about monkeys getting married or some such nonsense when he's supposed to be listening to the person he's interviewing on his show "Safari Planet." That's totally me. When I ask for directions, it goes something like this:

DIRECTION GIVER: Take a right at this stop sign, go three miles down Acme Street, at the second stop light you'll see a Burger King, then, take a left....

I nod my head along in agreement as if I'm following everything Mr. Direction Giver is telling me. But here's what follows:

ME IN CAR: "Hmmm, okay, take a right at the stop sign... um, now what?"

I like to think of myself as an "idea person." Because when it comes to ideas, I have lots of 'em. But rarely do I anything about said ideas. Sometimes they're not really ideas, per se -- more like random thoughts, like this one. Ladies and gentlemen (or Ed), I present you Random Thought #1 (cue music, enter dancing girls stage left):

You know when you see gang graffitti on stuff? This is what I wonder: How do all gangsters learn the gang-style penmanship? It's always in the same gangy-style font. It doesn't look like an easy style to replicate freehand -- must take lots of practice. Is there some kind of gangsta-writing class members must attend to learn this style? Is learning it part of the initiation?

That's all. Stay tuned for Random Thought #2....

how can something smell so disgusting and so awesome at the same time?

Before he was born, we bought little e an Uglidoll named Target. We used to amuse ourselves by imagining that this would become his favorite thing -- the thing that he couldn't sleep without -- his lovey. As it turns out, we think that it has and we are in fact, amused. See, this doll is indeed ugly. It has one eye, fangy teeth, malformed limbs and hairs growing out of its chest -- not the kind of hairs you'd find on an actual hairy chest, mind you, but the kind you find growing out of a mole.

The boy took a shine to Target almost immediately. Maybe it was the fact that we rubbed him all over my body to get my scent on him or perhaps it's that his horn-like ears are conveniently sized approximately to that of a nipple. When he's ready to sleep, Little e simultaneously clutches Target in his arms and rolls over ear-in-mouth and begins to suck. Poor Target's ears have already become quite crusty from this nightly ritual, so I decided to buy another: Target II Redeye. Target II Redeye spends the nights in our bed. Target Originale spends the nights in little e's bed. Then, when he wakes up for his early morning feeding, he gets a little Target time in our bed too.

Now, both Targets have had their fair-share of mouth time. And after a good number of nights in mouth, you can just imagine what their little ears smell like. Not so good. In fact, pretty putrid. Yet, every night, I still find myself pulling Target II close to me, sniffing his ears. And while the smell would probably cause others to wince, I can't imagine a more perfect scent to send me most peacefully and happily off to sleep.

pointing out inconsistencies

A while back, it was brought to our attention that it is the job of a mother to point out her child's inconsistencies. "What? You don't like it?? I thought you LOVED taco pie..." "What are you doing wearing red? I thought GREEN was your favorite color?!?!?"

While it can be most annoying for the person whose inconsistencies are being pointed out, it is nonetheless, quite necessary for a mother to do. I know because our little boy has been nothing short of a string of inconsistencies lately. And it is now my job to point them out:

"Why are you crying? You LOVE taking baths!!"

"You used to sleep until 5 a.m. What are you doing waking up at 3 a.m.???"


And just to make matters more fun for the husband, not only do I point out the inconsistencies, I have to FIGURE them out. So far I've developed the following hypotheses regarding his erratic sleep:
1. It's the new cd
2. It's his lack of fresh air (given the crazy turn in weather, he hasn't gotten his normal walks in with the dog)
3. He's a) too hot b) too cold or c) too hungry
4. All of the above
5. None of the above

Guess you could say motherhood has really made me an over-achiever in the OCD department.

grumpmaster funk

We're going on a week now that the little boy is uncharacteristically grumpy. What is it? A new tooth? Tight diapers? Something we said? What gives with all this crank? All I know is this. The Happiest Boy on Earth™ is now the not-so-happiest boy on earth and we're hoping it's not his new personality brought on by the fact that he's now crawling. Now he's got places to go, balls to throw and noses to buzz. And he can get little frustrated when he doesn't get there fast enough -- or HE'S NOT DELIVERED THERE fast enough.

Tonight, I'll share this at ECFE class. Maybe someone will have a suggestion to fix him and he'll be the happy boy we knew and loved. Bring him back. Please.

life with a pointer

"What, you wanna go buzz Conan O'Brien's nose? Okay, here we go..."

"You wanna see the thermostat? Well, alright..."

"What's that? The Cookie Monster magnet for the 400th time? Sure, coming right up..."

DAH!

At nine months little e has developed quite a vocabulary. His favorite word? Dah.! Yes, it's true, our boy is one letter away from being Homer Simpson.

Dah can be a very expressive word, used in many contexts. He clenches his fist and belts out a big "dah" for emphasis. The other day he exclaimed, "Dah!" and then punctuated it with a fluffer for effect. We often engage in dah-offs that go something like this:

Big E: Dah!
Little e: Dah!

Big E: (in whisper) dah
Little e: (in whisper) dah

Big E: (long pause) DAH!
Little e: (long pause) DAH!


You get the idea. Some of his other "words" include:

"Word": Bhuuhhh
Translation: Blue

"Word": Spuooghhhhh
Translation: Spoon

"Word": tzzzzzzzz
Translation: Lights

"Word": tzzzzzzz
Translation: Star

"Word": Boughghb
Translation: Boob

jumping on the blogwagon

Okay, so it appears I've started a blog -- me and everyone else and their grandma. Why did I start one?
a. I don't expect to keep it going very long. (That's right, set those expectations low and you, too, can lead a life of pleasant surprises when things turn out okay.)
b. I don't expect anyone besides the husband to read it -- and he'll only read it when he's bored at work.
c. I don't have a very interesting life that makes for good writing fodder.
d. It's not like I have surplus of time to kill.

I guess I decided to do this because I always thought it would be cool to keep a little journal of little e's milestones and funny things that he does. Cause man, the kid does some funny shit. And with a memory like mine, I'll be lucky if I remember what he does past tomorrow. Then there's the fact that I'm not really the scrapbook-making, journal-keeping kind and this is a great work procrastination device (like I need one).

So here I go. Look at me, I'm a blogger. And these here are my blogging rules:

1. Don't talk about the blog. (You know, it's like the minute after you tell people you're on a diet when you find your face in a big-ass bag full of Doritos.)
2. Don't delve too deeply into private life. Sure there are bloggers out there who do that with finnesse -- and that's why they have lots of readers. I don't want to reveal too much about myself in the event that I ever have a reader. I'm a woman of mystery.
3. Don't stress too much about writing. I want this to be fun, not a writing assignment that invites critique.

That's all I have for now. Now back to work.

l'air du hope

Last night as the family Hernandez made our way to the polls, there was something familiar in the air. Smell that? What is it? Maybe it's hope.

At about this same time last year, we were hoping to change the scary course of our country -- I don't know, when so many other countries hate you, don't you have to take a step back and ask yourself why? Alas, turns out there was a good number of people out there who were actually okay with our president's first-term performance -- so much okay with it they said to themselves, "Ah, hell, that wasn't so bad, let's give him another four years." Go figure.

This won't be a place for regular political commentary -- there are so many people who can do a better job of that than I ever could. But sometimes I can't stop myself. I'm crazy that way.

rubber ball convulsions

Today at Target we picked up a four-pack of mini rubber playground balls. After spotting them, little e went into something resembling little convulsions of happiness. He clutched them in his pudgy paws for the remainder of the errand, staring at them in disbelief. Afterall, what's not to love about mini blue, orange, red and yellow playground balls? We truly hit the motherload.

next stop: mensa

Yesterday at little e's class, we wowed them with tales of pointing. According to the teacher, pointing is a milestone that doesn't usually happen until much later. Pointing at 9 months? Incredible. Apparently we have a boy genius on our hands. Somebody call Guiness.

Blog: Day 1

Nothing to say.

Do you have to have something to say to have a blog?