midnight wanderings

Fun with Dough

2009-11-13T06:01:00.000-08:00

Feeling especially crafty yesterday, Eowyn and I followed this recipe to make our own play dough. The result was pretty nice. Not too sticky, not too dry, and nice bright colors (until Eowyn blended them into a solid Army green). To make separate colors from the same batch of play dough, divide the finished dough into balls, make a divot with your finger, drop in some food coloring, then knead it carefully through the dough until the color is even.

starting out with nice, pretty colors...

and the final result.

What Halloween means to me...

2009-11-03T05:05:00.001-08:00

...hiding in the kitchen to eat your daughter's candy.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch

Hello again

2009-10-17T07:33:00.001-07:00

It's been quite a while since I've posted anything to this blog. Just about eight months--which coincides with the age of my son, Espen. Caring for two little ones has depleted any excess energy I used to employ at the end of the day to do such things as write blog posts.

However, on my sister's recommendation, I have recently embraced the usefulness of a caffeinated beverage in the afternoon. What a difference a drug makes!

The other main contributing factor to my bereft blog? The iPhone (and subsequently, the iPod Touch). These handy devices have almost entirely replaced the PC for me--whether I'm browsing the web, managing email, contacts, and calendars, or performing a host of other activities.

Yet until this point, I lacked a convenient, free app for writing and managing blogspot blogs, and so my blog sat desolate. Perhaps this recent discovery will allow me to post more regularly once again.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch

When he's good and ready

2009-02-13T13:35:00.000-08:00

Yes, I’ve been feeling anxious about Espen's arrival. I think a lot of it has to do with the notion of a “due date.” It’s hard for me to remember that I’m not technically overdue yet—and I won’t be overdue for a few more weeks! A true overdue pregnancy is one that goes beyond a full 42 weeks. My EDD (which stands for estimated due date) really is just an estimate, and the fact that I'm still nursing Eowyn (which can effect ovulation) means the EDD can be especially hard to pinpoint.

Still, I’m asked frequently by well-meaning, caring friends and family why the baby isn’t here yet. I ask myself that, too--especially since Eowyn came a week early! The fact that Meredith had her baby on Monday causes me to wonder even more.

This time around, I’m not that uncomfortable, and I know that babies are a lot easier to care for while they’re still inside your body. My main concern is for Espen’s health, but I also know that the risk of complications from a true overdue pregnancy is actually very low, and the chance of me going truly overdue is very low as well. I still feel Espen move plenty, and all the other vitals check out fine at my office visits.

Mostly, it’s that I’ve got to combat this expectation that he should have been here by now. You can pray that I trust the Lord for Espen, and that I will take this extra time as a gift. I’m also thankful that I’m seeing a midwife, who doesn’t pressure me at all about induction.

I need to cultivate patience in myself.

Dressed for Success

2009-02-09T07:03:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not, Eowyn started this morning with pants on, onesie buttoned, and socks on feet. She had other ideas, though.

Scooba Woes

2009-02-08T07:42:00.000-08:00

Way back in the beginning of this blog, I posted about my longing for the iRobot Scooba. I received one from Christian for Christmas, and it's been great. Our house felt cleaner than it ever did before. The single best thing about it was that it actually got Christian proactive about housecleaning. Mopping the floors became fun for him, because he was getting to play with a robot to do it. He inadvertently took charge of this realm of the housework. For this reason alone, I consider the machine nearly miraculous.

But, I must qualify my above statement. The iRobot Scooba has been great, but only while it lasted. You would think that a piece of electronic equipment which costs as much or more than an iPhone (the purchase of which Christian sweetly postponed in order to get this for me) would work reliably for more than two weeks. Alas, that is not the case. Within those first two weeks, strange beeping and flashing of indicator lights began. The Scooba would refuse to clean. Our internet research uncovered that it was getting stuck in 'diagnostic mode.' This problem came and went at first, but now no manner of prompting on our part will get it to clean again.

Fortunately, it's still under warranty, but we have to pay to ship the robot back to the company, then wait up to a month to receive a replacement. Just the matter of finding an appropriate box and packing the thing irks me. For such an expensive piece of equipment, I think this is colossaly lame.

Start planning the intervention

2009-02-07T04:22:00.000-08:00

Have you heard of the nasal decongestant, Afrin? I'm not sure how I ever missed this stuff. With my due date only days away, I'm suffering once more from the kind of cold and ensuing congestion that make you feel like you're about to suffocate if you ever close your mouth. At this point, I've lost my patience with "natural" remedies and self-hypnosis. My midwife would not be pleased to hear this. She advised me to consume copious amounts of garlic and Emergen-C. No, thanks. Espen's almost here. Let's bring on some drugs!

On the recommendation of friends, I picked up this little wonder spray. But with their recommendation came warnings--stories of people addicted to the stuff, unable to breathe clearly without it, continuing to use it even when it was tearing up their nasal cavity. 'And this is available over the counter?' I wondered incredulously. Somehow, yes. But even the package warns not to use for more than three days.

Well, I tried it, and it works so well, it's scary. Within five minutes, my monster congestion disappeared, and I was breathing clearer than when I have no cold at all (allergies also give me trouble at night). Sudafed used to be my go-to drug of choice for colds, but now I can see it has nothing on Afrin. I used to wait around for a half-hour for limited relief with that stuff. What a sucker I was!

I've used it two days in a row now. Only one more day before I have to lay off the drug. I'm afraid. Will I soon be sneaking around, hording stockpiles of Afrin, addicted and ashamed? I think Christian is already planning the intevention.

Recent Projects, Part 3: Hybrid Ring-Sling

2009-01-31T12:55:00.000-08:00

I'm a big fan of baby slings. When Eowyn was tiny, I used a ring sling. This type of sling, though it can be difficult and/or tedious to adjust, offers the most versatility in terms of positions you can wear your baby. Eowyn loved being curled upright against my chest in those early months, so this sling was quite a boon for those times when, for example, I wanted to use the bathroom or eat without incessant crying.

After Eowyn gained head, neck, and back control, I began using a pouch sling.The pouch sling accommodates fewer positions, but there's no adjusting so it's easy to slip on and off quickly. Eowyn sat in the forward-facing hold (also called the kangaroo carry) and then spent months on my hip with this sling.

But, I discovered such a thing as a hybrid ring sling. Like a normal ring sling, you can use it in all kinds of different positions. But, it has a curved seam sewn into it like a pouch does, so theoretically it takes less time to adjust than a regular ring sling. Rather than paying a gazillion dollars to buy one, I decided to make one myself. The UpMama site provides instructions on how to make one yourself. Online, I purchased three yards of bottom weight cotton sateen fabric and some sling rings. One length of fabric yields enough for two slings.

The most time-consuming part of the project, for me, was cutting the three yards of fabric evenly, and hemming it. It's a lot of hemming! On the first one I made, I rather obsessively ironed a half-inch hem on the entire length of the sling (that's six yards total) before sewing. The second time, I just rolled the hem in my fingers as I sewed. It saved a bunch of time, and the results are practically the same. As far as saving time on cutting goes, I think I just need more experience in that area to accomplish accurate and quick cuts. Does anyone have any cutting tips? I use a cutting mat and a rotary blade, and I still have problems with the fabric shifting.

One more tip, if you attempt to make this sling, is to make sure to take the extra few minutes to hand-baste and then machine-baste the fabric folded over the rings before putting in the permanent stitch. There's so much fabric sewn down in such a small area, that it's almost impossible to keep it lined up evenly otherwise.

The finished hybrid sling hasn't seen any action yet. I'll report back on its usefulness after Espen's been born and I've had opportunity to use it with him.

The finished sling

Recent Projects, Part 2: Upholstered Headboard

2009-01-30T02:34:00.000-08:00

In the course of redecorating Espen's room, I decided to reuse the decades-old headboard instead of simply throwing it out as I was tempted. Christian helped me reupholster it, and I'm quite happy with the transformation.

I started off by buying a few yards of cheap cotton duck cloth at Walmart, and a quarter yard of duck cloth in a contrasting color for the buttons. I also purchased a package of queen-size quilt batting there, and some button-making sets (here are some sold at Joann's). At Joann's, I purchased some florist's wire (I think around 22 gauge) to attach the buttons. We tried to use jewelry wire (also from Walmart) at first, but it was too thin and kept snapping. We already owned a heavy-duty stapler and staples.

We stapled two layers of quilt batting over the headboard, pulling it tight (but not too tight) all around. We experimented with just one layer at first, but it wasn't fluffy enough. Then, we stapled the duck cloth over. It took some trial and error to get it to lie mostly right, as the headboard has a lot of curves on top that cause the fabric to wrinkle when it's pulled over. We covered the buttons with fabric, which was very easy to do, then attached them with florist's wire to staples we put on the front of the headboard.

In all, this project cost about $20. It could cost more or less depending on the quality of the fabric you use and how many buttons (if any) you decide to make. If you don't have an old headboard to start with, you can cut a shape out of plywood, attach legs, and cover that.

Happy Little Chef

2009-01-29T03:52:00.000-08:00

For Christmas, Eowyn received a play kitchen. At first, I was a little concerned about purchasing such a large and fairly pricey gift for my not-yet-two-year-old daughter. However, it's been wonderful. I'm so glad we got it!

Eowyn will play with it for hours. That's saying a lot, considering her age. On mornings when we don't have errands to run or places to be, it keeps her occupied from almost the time she wakes up until lunch. It's also been quite helpful in that, while I'm finishing up dinner, she will "cook" at her own kitchen too. This doesn't usually last the entire time I'm cooking, but any respite from a screaming toddler hanging on your ankles while you are working with hot pans is welcome.

Below are some pictures of Eowyn at her kitchen. Upon taking these pictures, I learned that she knows to say "cheese" when a camera is pointed at her (that accounts for the grimace on her face). I didn't teach her that, but it's awfully cute!

Recent Projects, Part 1: Charging Station

2009-01-28T02:40:00.000-08:00

Perhaps there's some truth to the so-called "nesting instinct" in the final stages of pregnancy, because I've been very uncharacteristically motivated to organize, de-clutter, decorate, and craft in anticipation of the baby's arrival. Since Christmas, every weekend has been taken up with such activities.

Christian has been enthusiastic about helping me in these endeavors, which is a notable occurence in itself. For those who know him well, his enthusiasm usually doesn't extend beyond the couch or the computer.

The first crafty project I feel proud to share is the charging station we made. Over Christmas, I looked for one in stores but found them to be too large, too tacky-looking, too small, or sold-out. That's when I decided to make one myself, because my agitation at seeing masses of unkempt power cord on the counter would not abate.

I found a decorative photo box on clearance at Target (sort of like this one, but brown). It consisted of a slot for a photo album, which I removed, and a lidded compartment on top. We coiled our cell phone power cords and connected them to a small brown extension cord we happened to have lying around. All of this was placed in the lower slot of the photo box. In the lidded compartment, Christian cut two small holes to thread the cell phone plugs through, and attached two decorative scrapbooking "bookplates" to the holes to give it a finished look. I placed some decorative paper in the photo cutout on the top of the box. Presto! An attractive charging station that's just the right size for about $10.

If you can't find a photo box like this one, you could use any fairly deep, decorative box with a lid. Just cut a platform to fit the box out of sturdy cardboard or wood. Use spray adhesive to cover the platform with decorative scrapbooking paper or fabric. Glue pieces of a dowel (which you can pick up at Wal-mart for less than a dollar) in the corners of the box and put the platform on top. Cut holes in the platform for gadget plugs, and a hole in the bottom half of the box for the extension cord.

The Great Name Debate

2009-01-27T01:48:00.001-08:00

The name of our son, whose arrival is imminent, has been decided: Esp*n Joshua Buhl.The only problem is that one small detail that we cannot agree on: the last vowel in his first name. I'm pushing for Espen, but Christian is adamant about Espyn.

I first encountered the name Espen in graduate school. A fellow classmate, married to a Norwegian, named her son this. The name struck me, and I've liked it ever since. I like how it's unusual, but not totally unheard of (at least, not unheard of in Scandinavian countries). For me, it evokes the trendiness of names like Ethan and Aiden while maintaining originality.

It also brings to mind the word aspen, a tree (and a city) found in the western United States, which will always carry special significance for me since I spent the first several years of my marriage beyond the continental divide. The meaning, "bear of God," seems pretty cool, too. I didn't think much about the similarity to the sports network ESPN until Christian told me that's what all his coworkers mentioned when they heard it. Granted, Christian works on a college football video game, so a sports link is unavoidable.

My reasons for wanting to keep the original spelling, Espen:

Names with alternate spellings have always bothered me.
The name Espen is already fairly unusual. Why make it more so by changing the spelling?
The "-yn" ending is often found on feminine names.
Googling espen yields actual men with this name. Googling espyn yields girl's myspace pages and the like.

Christian's reasons, as far as I can discern, for wanting to use the alternate spelling, Espyn:

For Christian, the more unusual and unique, the better (hence the name of our daughter, Eowyn).
Using "-yn" links it to Eowyn's name, which Christian thinks would be cool.

When I was shopping for wooden letters to paint and hang in Esp*n's room, Wal-mart had only one "E" available. They've been sold out ever since (that was a month and a half ago). Christian takes this as a sign of fate. As for me, I don't want to name our son based on Wal-mart's inventory, or because we're too lazy to buy another "E" and paint it.

We're both standing our ground on this. But the moment is fast approaching when we must finally decide.

Post-Christmas, Post-Cheer

2009-01-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

Having listened to many, many holiday carols this past Christmas season, I can tell you my all-time least favorite song: "The Christmas Shoes" by Newsong.

Picture this: a group of down-on-their luck holiday carol writers, giddy from an excess of spiked egg nog, lament their lack of a holiday hit. "We've lost too much market share to songs with actual meaning!" says one. "How about this idea?" offers another. "Let's create a song that pulls together every sentimental cliche we can think of. It will be so emotionally manipulative, it's sure to reel 'em in!" And lo, "The Christmas Shoes" was born.

This song features a young, penniless, soon-to-be orphaned boy trying to buy a Christmas gift for his mother, who lies on her deathbed and is sure to "meet Jesus tonight." And what does the boy want to buy for his mother, you ask? Why, a pair of shoes, of course! Having pretty shoes is important to Jesus, apparently. Naturally, the singer offers to pay for the boy's purchase, teaching us all an important lesson about the true meaning of Christmas...which is what, exactly? I certainly hope it's not "leave your dying mother alone so you can beg others to buy stuff she doesn't need."

In case your heartstrings are not sufficiently tugged by the song, be sure to check out the novelization and the made-for-TV movie.

You may ask, what is my favorite Christmas song? Well, near the top of the list is "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch."

Hypnobirthing (or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb)

2009-01-04T02:30:00.000-08:00

All glory to the hypnotoad

Lesson learned: don't knock that hippie stuff 'till you've tried it! Actually, go ahead and knock much of it. But this new-age sounding 'birthing' technique (which eschews negative terms such as 'labor', by the way) has already helped me, and I've not even had any contractions yet--erm, I mean uterine surges.

Yes, I'm already a believer. Even Christian, and that's saying a lot! We've both had occasion to use the self-hypnosis techniques when we've suffered from sinus pain and congestion that refused to yield to any amount of drugs, nose-blowing, or flushing with saline spray gadgetry. At his wit's end late one night, Christian resigned himself to sitting up in the living room until utter exhaustion took him. "Wait!" I said. "Let me try that light-touch massage we just learned about in class tonight!" I wasn't expecting much, but it worked. Christian was amazed that the sensation of the massage overwhelmed his pain and he was able to fall asleep.

A few hours after midnight last night, I laid awake in misery. The Sudafed that I risked Espen's well-being to take before bed had done nothing. Neither had Tylenol or saline. Rising to go to the couch and wallow in self-pity, a thought occurred to me--what if I try that relaxation CD from the Hypnobirthing class, the one I've been putting off listening to? Again, not expecting much, I turned it on. And to my surprise, I soon found that listening, deep breathing and relaxing had supplanted my pain, and I could even breathe through my nose again.

I've been asked many times: what is Hypnobirthing? Am I going to cluck like a chicken during labor? Will I be unconscious or in some weird trance? No--the bulk of what I've learned boils down to deep relaxation techniques. You learn methods of self-relaxation, mainly slow breathing and visualization, that allow you to birth with more control and more comfort. You are always aware of your surroundings. Supposedly, self-hypnosis is similar to the sort of focus one slips into while engrossed in a book, watching a movie, or driving a familiar route.

One of the first benefits I gleaned from the course is that I no longer look forward to Espen's birth with fear and anxiety. With Eowyn, that was a big issue for me. The closer I got to the due date, the more I anticipated with dread that she needed to emerge from my body somehow, and it wasn't going to be pleasant. Now, I'm actually anticipating Espen's birth with excitement. The absence of drugs makes me happy.

According to Hypnobirthers, our pain during labor is the product of cultural misinformation and fear, developed over centuries of Western society's mistreatment of childbirth. They point to women in non-Western cultures who labor without fear or agonizing pain. Not that labor isn't intense and hard work, but it doesn't necessitate anesthesia or terror. This whole spiel had me skeptical. So, the main thing causing pain in labor is a cycle of fear, tension, and pain? Yeah, right.

To quote Yente: "Of course right!" (Check back in a month or so and we'll see if all this confidence in hypnobirthing has truly paid off).

Death by Chocolate

2008-12-04T10:12:00.000-08:00

In the last week I've consumed more sweets than in the past several months combined. I have attended two separate Thanksgiving dinners, one UCF football game, one birthday/anniversary party, one baptism brunch and one book club meeting, where I've eaten pumpkin pie, pecan pie, trifle, pumpkin cake, red velvet cake, vanilla cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, egg nog ice cream, a vanilla ice cream bar, berry tart, chocolate drop cookies and shortbread. Usually I've taken much more than a moderate serving, and had leftovers on other days besides.

I expected that the holidays would introduce more than the usual calories and sugar to my diet; what I didn't anticipate was just how many desserts would be available, and how low my threshold of self-control would be. Being pregnant, I'm hungry constantly, and dessert beckons at every turn. My pregnancy weight gain so far has been on a healthy track, but the week-long binge does not bode well for my next appointment on Monday. I'm not particularly looking forward to stepping on the scale.

Last night I laid awake, guilt-ridden and vowing to throw out the remaining ice cream, pie and cookies and replace them with fresh fruit and vegetables. During this time of year, and with the abundance we have at our disposal, it seems there's always a reason to celebrate something with a sugary confection. Most of the year, I don't allow myself to purchase ice cream or cookies, and I rarely bake desserts. It should be clear why these measures are necessary for me, given this past week's track record.

No, I haven't yet thrown out the remaining desserts in the house.

More volatile than the stock market

2008-11-24T03:10:00.000-08:00

There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.
--Longfellow

The range of Eowyn's mood swings has been taking its toll on me. It's been difficult to keep perspective on it. On days when she wakes up from her nap cheerful and easygoing, all is right with the world and I feel blissfully happy to be a mother. We laugh and sing while we pretend with her baby dolls, read books, and play on the swings. I cook dinner without incident while she pretends to cook, too.

But--it feels more often than not--other days she wakes up in a delicate temper. Tickling might make her scowl, or she'll throw her books in frustration. She cries to be in her swing, then cries to be out. She clings, screaming, to my leg as I attempt to provide our dinner. She clamors to be held, then protests to be put down again. Those days, I count the minutes until her bedtime, when I can have respite from the emotional energy it takes to handle her.

After she's in bed (and often through the long afternoon) the self-doubt and finger-pointing begin. What am I doing wrong as a mother, that she is like this? Why can't Christian be home before 8:00 to help me? Is it because he just doesn't care enough about us? The evening often plays out with fits of crying and venting of anger and frustration on an unsuspecting husband.

At this moment, I can see clearly the ridiculousness of the situation. Eowyn is like a prairie field, covered in bright sunlight one minute, the next minute tossed by a tempest which leaves as quickly as it came. But when I'm in the middle of the storm, it is just so difficult for me to remember that there is ever a beginning or an end to it.

I'm praying for perspective and grace.

One of the reasons I'm looking forward to Christmas

2008-11-22T03:02:00.000-08:00

In these pictures, Eowyn is playing at the stove, complete with oven mitt. She has become very intent on pretend play, and can occupy herself with such play for long stretches of time. This is quite remarkable, from my perspective as a mom who had taken her daughter for a mini-shadow. I'm excited for Christmas, as I'm hoping to give her a play kitchen and perhaps a little grocery cart she can push (you may notice in the background a laundry basket--it has various objects inside--because she loves to push her toys around the house).

In the bottom picture you may also notice that Eowyn's face is in less than pristine condition. Over the course of a week, she fell into the corner of the coffee table, tripped and splat on the sidewalk twice, and antagonized Rizzo into snapping at her cheek. Her face is now the worse for wear.

A dog's life

2008-10-14T11:44:00.000-07:00

Poor, poor Rizzo. Since the birth of Eowyn, she has moved far down the totem pole of my attention and affection. And as she ages, she has grown more...incontinent. Let's just say I'm looking forward to a time when I can have rugs in the house without them getting peed all over. When I can lay a clean bath mat on the floor, reach to grab a towel, and turn back without discovering fresh pee on it. When the smell of dog urine doesn't threaten to assail my nostrils at unexpected moments.

I used to be quite the dog person. I could identify many of the different breeds, and even what kind of breed it was--toy dog, working dog, etc. Rizzo herself was treated tantamount to my own offspring.

The night Eowyn came home, that all changed. Rizzo's spot by my side in the bed was forfeited without mercy, since Eowyn slept best those first few months by nursing in bed at night. So often ignored or pushed away, Rizzo ceased following me from room to room or curling up next to me on the couch.

I can see, intellectually, that this is sad, yet I'm not sad about it. My love for Eowyn and the priority of her needs are just so much greater to me. Rizzo is now a creature to be tolerated, cared for adequately, and shown moderate affection when I'm not too tired to do so.

Christian, or course, thinks this is monstrous. Rizzo will always be the original princess to him.

Her spot in the sun grows smaller

And they call it a "game"

2008-10-10T11:16:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you've seen Penny Arcade's comic on the subject. Apparently, Mega Man 9 has an old-school draw that I simply can't relate to. I can understand the nostalgic pull of Mario, of course, and ancient RPG's make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Heck, I even get the pull of Kirby and Sonic. But Mega Man was not a game I ever witnessed as I peeked around the doorjamb to watch my brother play (if he caught me watching him play video games, he'd beat me up, since he sought to extinguish any bit of my happiness that he could). It was not a game I played myself.

Christian recently downloaded it on the Wii, and is enjoying it immensely, or so he assures me. At first glance, it seems to me to be a cross between Metroid and Mario, but far more difficult and far less forgiving. I sit by him and watch as he dies over and over. Much sighing and cursing can be heard. Rows of spikes, which inflict death at a mere touch, loom everywhere. Gaping holes of death must be crossed via blocks that appear and reappear according to some infernal pattern. Checkpoints, and extra lives, are few and far between. When you die, you must start all the way back at the beginning.

In order to progress, you must memorize the layout of each level with agonizing precision, from the firing patterns of the enemies to the timing of the swinging platforms. If you manage to make it to a checkpoint, you likely have only one life left, meaning you will very soon be going back to the beginning again. Progression, as you may guess, is maddeningly slow, especially compared the quick pace of most current-gen fare.

Clearly, there's an appeal to this game that I'm missing. If I'm playing a game, it's for escapism and stress-relief. This game would have me pull out my hair in frustration. It's the kind of game I expect to be forced to play as punishment in a POW camp. "And you're sure you're having fun, Christian?" I ask repeatedly. "Definitely!" he replies immediately.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

2008-10-08T12:29:00.000-07:00

The weekend before last, I attended the UPC women's retreat. This was my first time away from Eowyn overnight, and I was struck by a surprising sadness in the days leading up to the retreat. I was startled to realize just how much I would miss her, and how much I worried whether Christian would feed her well, change her diaper enough, pay her enough attention and get her to sleep without too much trouble. I cried a fair amount! When it came time to leave, I choked up again. Fortunately, gabbing with the other girls in the carpool helped distract me quickly.

I was under the misconception I would get more sleep while on the retreat. Instead, I struggled with a bout of insomnia and found myself listening for Eowyn's cry in my sleep even though she was nowhere near. Still, spending time away, completely free of responsibility for her, was quite nice. Chatting with other adult women without distractions was amazingly refreshing.

As it turns out, Eowyn survived just fine without me. I'm not as indispensable as I believed. She ate and slept peachy for Christian. She didn't mope or otherwise appear to notice much that I was gone. And that's...really...great...hmph.

A guest post

2008-10-06T11:55:00.000-07:00

Since my mom writes about me so frequently, I thought I should take the time to share a little bit about myself, too. First off, there's my name, Eowyn. I'm cool with it. My mom and dad mostly use it when they want me to quit wandering off into the neighbor's yard. I usually take it as a signal to run faster. Otherwise, mom calls me 'baby', though she often uses 'sweetie' in a strange, strained manner, as in, 'oh, sweetie, please don't dump your milk on the floor!' Now, dad calls me 'sunshine' in the morning, even when I'm screaming and refusing to get my diaper changed. Dad's great!

washing my face with lots of soap

I would say that my greatest talent is creating incredible messes. My favorite media for these creations are cereal, copious amounts of water, soap, sometimes even my own pee. My common activities include yelling at the top of my lungs just because I can, refusing to eat food that I wolfed down eagerly the day before, and pooping when I really ought to be napping. I love to try and dress myself, though I must admit that I often get so angry at my pants I start screaming. Those things just won't cooperate!

attack of the pants

I love to read books with Mom and play in the sink. I like to pretend to cook things, and I like to use my crayons to write on things I shouldn't. My favorite words are 'uh oh' and 'oh no.' Dancing is another favorite activity. I like to change stations on the radio until I find music I like, and I insist that Mom dance along with me. Hey, it's good exercise, and just plain fun!

Fashionista

2008-09-07T19:28:00.000-07:00

Having just stepped out of the bath, Eowyn models this fall's newest fashion trend (an EB original, of course). She calls it, 'Mother's shirt worn sideways. Sort of.' Get in on this style before it's soooo 5-minutes-ago!

Dressing is a new favorite realm of discovery, as you can see.

Cuddle time

2008-08-25T09:58:00.000-07:00

Eowyn's not much of a cuddler. It's not so much that she doesn't like to be held; she just rarely stops moving long enough to actually lay her head against you and hug you. We cherish each kiss and hug, which she rations out meagerly. Christian gets even fewer than I do, since she is such a momma's girl. Her willingness to stop and hold onto Daddy the other morning therefore merited documentation. That Christian was actually wearing a shirt at the time was another factor. I think he is wearing a shirt in less than 10% of our pictures of him. He wears a shirt perhaps less than 10% of the time that he is home. You may surmise that, to my chagrin, Christian is averse to non-necessary clothing when not at work.

Price Reduced

2008-08-23T02:30:00.000-07:00

So, our slipping home value is another worry that keeps me up at night. How much has it slipped? Let's say, close to 30%. That's a whole lotta money.

Some of my poor friends and family (sorry, Anna! sorry, Mom!) hear me lament this nearly every time we're together. It's one of those things that forms a cold, hard lump in the pit of your stomach and won't budge. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, yada yada. But I wish we had been just a teensy bit more patient when buying a home. As it was, we broke a lease just to get into this place. Having just moved from California, where home prices were mind-blowingly out of whack, this house felt like a steal at the time. We wanted to 'get in on the market' before it was too late. Result: overpaying, even at the peak of the bubble.

Things like our recent re-pipe escapade lead me to fantasize about the brand new home we could have bought now, complete with brand new pipes and a shower that doesn't leak into my daughter's bedroom. The impending sale of my parent's home, the home I grew up in and which my mom would wish upon me if she could, also makes me wistful for what could have been (more room, stunning neighborhood, etc....).

I try to remind myself about the good things we do have, and I am grateful for them, really! We have a good home with adequate space in a good neighborhood, the one where Christian grew up. Things could be much worse. Unfortunately, the lump in my stomach won't listen to reason.

One-Stop Folk Harp Shop

2008-08-22T13:17:00.000-07:00

Though I rarely play anymore, folk harps, and folk harp music, remain one of my keen interests. I thought I'd share some of my personal highlights from this musical subculture.

If you'd like to see folk harps which are stunning works of art, check out Thormahlen Harps. Unlike pedal harps--the kind of harp you may be familiar seeing in large orchestras and which is usually built from maple--folk harps are crafted from all kinds of luscious-sounding woods. Cherry, walnut, mahogany, bubinga, koa--and maple, too. The wood and craftsmanship in Thormahlen harps is beautiful to behold. Koa is my personal favorite. It's also the most rare and expensive.

Likely one of the most popular folk harp makers is Dusty Strings. I never had a thing for them, but I mention them for completeness.

My own harp is a Blevins Encore in walnut. Blevins are plain but good quality. Their no-nonsense construction makes them half the price of other quality folk harps, though we're still talking a couple grand for one. Blevins makes a boggling 66 different models of harp.

If you'd like to check out some Celtic harp music but don't know where to start, I highly recommend Kim Robertson's work. Unlike some folk harp music, which can tend quickly towards the monotonous (due in part to the harmonic nature of the instrument), Kim's music always provides variety. On Searching for Lambs, she ranges from exotic contemporary compositions (like Maya's Return, a personal favorite) to sweet love songs, cheerful dances and sad laments.

Insomnia

2008-08-21T01:57:00.000-07:00

It's one of those nights. In the light of the street lamp, the leaves of the trees shine with water and heave sickly in the howling wind. Something about the design of our eaves in particular make each gust sound like the ghost train is pulling into the station. The restless moaning keeps conjuring the same fear to my mind: flooding. Is it an irrational fear? Probably. But I just picture the radar images of Fay, parked over the state and dumping endless bucketfuls of water on us. Christian tried to reassure me that the little lake behind our house makes it less likely that we will flood, since the excess water has somewhere other than the foundation of our house to flow into. When you're lying awake at 4:30 at the morning, those reassurances fade.

My night started out well enough. I fell right to sleep, but was awoken a few minutes later by Christian's elbow, which was repeatedly knocking me in the head. Yeah, he tends to fidget in his sleep. I eventually fell back to sleep, but it took me a while. And now I'm up, 5 hours later. At least I can pass some time by writing aimless blog posts...

And the 2008 Curmudgeon Award goes to....

2008-08-16T03:21:00.000-07:00

....my neighbor, an older gentleman whose car gained this recent addition to the bumper:
At first, I wasn't quite sure what this message was supposed to mean. As far as I can interpret it, he really doesn't like tailgaters. So much so, that he felt it necessary to plaster this sentiment in large white letters across his entire rear bumper. I suppose if you're determined to be cranky, a small yet rude bumper sticker just won't cut it. There's no sense in doing things half-way, right?

It's either that, or a lot of people have been pestering him about air travel.

Solid Food Adventures

2008-08-15T03:10:00.000-07:00

My approach to Eowyn's eating has always been a bit unorthodox. Even now, she eats more food than I care to admit while running about the house. Often I'm just glad if she comes back to me for a bite or two before she's off running again.

This situation evolved out of a desire not to push food on her. I wanted eating to be a generally pressure-free, pleasant experience. Perhaps I was afraid of becoming a parent who must engage in all kinds of theatrical antics, cajoling and sighing in order to get her little one to eat. This fear, along with my initial participation in La Leche League meetings, led me to a "baby-led feeding" approach.

I started Eowyn on solids fairly late for our culture (around 7 months). From the beginning, I gave her finger foods that were firm enough for her to pick up and feed herself, but soft enough to mash easily between her gums, like strips of banana, avocado, sweet potato and very ripe peach. I never really did baby cereal with her, though I would make her oatmeal and cream of wheat later on. In all, I was happy with how this approach worked out. I never bought any baby food; I would just give her fresh fruit and soft cooked veggies that we had on hand and which she could feed herself. I also gave her very soft cooked meat, like chicken and pork, fairly early on. As a result, she became proficient at feeding herself, and didn't reject chunky textures as some babies do who are used to the smooth puree of jarred baby food. She progressed at her own pace, and I didn' t feel I was forcing anything on her (though I must admit that I did worry alternately that she was getting too much or not enough solid food).

Here are the websites I consulted the most for starting solids:
La Leche League: Starting Solids
Kellymom: Starting Solids

Of course, this approach is just one of many. Ultimately, you must do what feels right and healthy for you and your child.

Eowyn eating avocado at 7 months old

A beautiful performance, tarnished

2008-08-14T03:11:00.000-07:00

Did you happen to see the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games? I hadn't given much thought to watching it until my mother-in-law turned it on. Immediately, the performance was riveting. What looked like hundreds of boxes, representing the invention of movable type, flowed up and down into patterns, shapes, and the Chinese character for 'harmony'. At first I marveled at the discipline of the men who must certainly be lifting the boxes in precise rhythm. But as the segment wore on, I became convinced that only machines could be moving the boxes at such length and speed. When, at the end, men appeared from the boxes waving enthusiastically, I was amazed. I nearly cried from the beauty of it.

Then the rest of my dear family joined us. At the end I still felt like crying, but for a completely different reason. Christian and Josh took every opportunity to rant maniacally about the evils of communism and its manifestation in the ceremony. Each flourish of a dancer or measured movement of a Tai Chi master became a subversive message about the 'motherland'. The music and commentary were drowned out by the din of their ranting and our loud pleas for them to be quiet--pleas which were completely unheeded, as you might have guessed. I suppose they enjoyed the irritation they caused us more than anything.

There's a time and a place for anti-communist ranting, don't get me wrong. I just didn't think it was right then.

Mrs. Hyde

2008-08-12T17:48:00.000-07:00

Pregnancy has made a certain problem of mine much worse. Namely, my tendency to morph into a volatile monster when hunger hits. Acquiring food becomes my singular goal. My hands shake; I get lightheaded and weak. I snap at Christian for any perceived slight and simmer with anger at the world.

I'm always surprised at how quickly my foul temper abates after I've eaten something. Within minutes of ingesting a high-protein snack, I feel like a new person. The sun shines again and I realize there's more to life than a turkey sandwich (though it may be a yummy, well-crafted sandwich with spinach, tomato, and red onion....mmmm).

During pregnancy, I find that I must eat at least every two hours or risk the perils of low blood-sugar. When I was pregnant with Eowyn and still working in an office, my schedule was thus: wake up and eat breakfast; eat snack on the way to work; eat snack upon arrival to work; eat snack before lunch; dream about lunch; eat lunch, etc. There were a few morning meetings which disrupted this precarious schedule and which almost resulted in me passed out on the floor. My coworkers quickly learned to hand off any extra food to me. Approach me in my cubicle at any point in the day and I invariably had crumbs on my shirt. One of my newly hired coworkers asked if I was always so obsessed about food. Though I felt a little ashamed, she became pregnant herself later on, so I'm sure she understands in hindsight.

At home with Eowyn, the situation is both better and worse. I have easier access to food, but I'm often too busy taking care of Eowyn to remember to eat it.

Fans, glorious fans!

2008-08-10T03:11:00.000-07:00

This post by Erin M. really made me laugh! It also made me think of my sister's son, Seth. He too developed a keen interest in fans, starting around Simon's age. Meredith would call it an obsession. There was a time when, wherever he went, he needed to have every fan in the place turned on as high as possible, asking, 'can't they go any faster than that?' He loved looking for fans on outings. His favorite store was the fan store, also known as the fan department of Home Depot. He would regale you at length about fans he had seen at Grandma's house and friends houses. Meredith made him a little book filled with pictures of fans. One day, the arrival of a home improvement catalog advertising fans kept him occupied for (seeming) hours.

Meredith grew concerned that his love of fans would interfere with other aspects of his social development. Over time, his interest grew to include anything that spins, like wheels and tops. And eventually, he moved on to obsess over other things, like pop-up sprinklers. So it worked out in the end--he's an intense little kid, and you just gotta love his tenacity!

Thanks for sharing your fan story, Erin.

Let the games begin

2008-08-09T03:58:00.000-07:00

There's several video games I'm looking forward to very much this year. Of course, since Blizzard is developing two of these games, I may not actually get to play them until Eowyn has grandchildren. It's hard to complain too much when Blizzard has such a great track record of releasing games with precision-tuned gameplay.

Diablo III is top on my list. It will be great fun to play this one co-op with Christian, as soon as we put our second computer back into working order, that is. I still have fond memories of watching Christian play the Diablo II beta.

Next, I'm looking forward to Final Fantasy XIII. Hearing that this game will no longer be a PS3 exclusive is a big relief--I wasn't especially looking forward to purchasing that doomed ship just to play this game.

The last game I'm excited about is Starcraft II. But who isn't? That one speaks for itself.

Sea Baby

2008-08-08T03:28:00.000-07:00

One day when Eowyn was 7 months old, I wrote this poem about her as I nursed her to sleep. I'm not claiming it's any good, but it came from the heart.

Sea Baby

Skin of crushed pearls and soft rolling sand
Dimple dunes, driftwood-smooth
Golden sea-grass hair
Blue nautilus eyes and pink coral ears,
each chamber opalescent
Your feet are the plump, round velvet of a sandpiper's belly
Brown feather eyelashes rest on speckle-egg cheeks
I am the wave that rocks you to sleep, the wind that whispers 'I love you'
Dream sweet sea dreams
Until morning rays stir still waters
My little sea horse, drift away

Eowyn at the beach when she was 7 months old

Pregnancy Woes

2008-08-07T03:27:00.000-07:00

Babies are wonderful, and I'm looking forward to the new little one who will join our family next year. It's just the matter of growing the baby inside my body that bothers me. Oh, and then somehow moving the baby from inside my body to the outside world--that's another small hurdle, but I'll worry about that later. During this first trimester, my main problem symptoms have been ridiculous amounts of fatigue, the constant vague feeling that I might vomit, and needing to pee in the middle of the night. Insomnia has also been a recurring problem, hence the creation of this blog. I know that as pregnancies go, I could have it far worse (such as constant severe nausea for all nine months), so I am quite grateful for the relative health and ease with which I have carried this babe so far.

At my last dentist's appointment, my hygienist told me that she had discovered she was pregnant after being married to her husband for 20 years. She had always been told that she was unable to have children, but now she has a 6-month old baby girl. Now, even if she had gotten married at the age I did, she would still be 40 when her babe was born. She asked me to imagine the kind of lifestyle change that entails after being married without children for so long...I know that I can't.

I was that mom

2008-08-06T00:38:00.000-07:00

Yes, I was that mom. The one who bought her daughter a sack full of popcorn on her way into Target, banking on the salty morsels to keep the babe busy as she browsed leisurely in the aisles. I was the one whose child dropped a trail of popcorn kernels wherever they went, as if they were rehearsing a joint audition for the lead roles in the next production of Hansel & Gretel. I was the one who gasped in alarm when her daughter overturned her cup of popcorn on the floor in close proximity to several Target red-shirts, the mom who glanced furtively over her shoulder and then attempted to walk casually down the next aisle as Red Shirt Girl told Red Shirt Boy with a sigh, 'Don't worry, I'll get it.'

I'm not proud of what I did. I'd like to say that I'm sorry, Target red-shirts, for the extra work I caused you that day.

I completed a shopping trip in relative peace, my little girl's appetite ruined for the rest of the day by ingesting nearly half a bag of popcorn, her sweet little lips puffy from salt. Was it worth it? Hmmm.....

Good Morning, Mom!

2008-08-05T12:23:00.000-07:00

You know it's an inauspicious start to your day when you go to retrieve your daughter from her crib in the morning and the first thing she does is hand you some of her own poop.

Yes, you read that right. Gross! Still, I found my self saying, 'um, thank you, sweetie.' (It's an instinct for me to reinforce her any time she hands me something willingly).

Her BM was so profuse and powerful that it managed to come up the front of her diaper. It was on her sheets, it covered her blankie, it defiled her stuffed animals. She had it smeared on her face, her clothes, her hands and her feet.

Cleaning her up was a team effort for Christian and me. And yet, it didn't really bother me. Not that I enjoyed it, but if you had told me two years ago that I would one day be cleaning up a poo-covered toddler and assorted poo-covered accessories with nothing more than feelings of mild inconvenience, I probably wouldn't believe you.

Ah, the blinding power of love.

Learnin', Disney-Style

2008-08-05T01:10:00.000-07:00

Eowyn has recently reached a point where TV fascinates her. Before, she was mostly oblivious to it. I naively hoped this was a more permanent trait. Now, the TV exerts an irresistible compulsion on her. When it's on, her eyes glaze over and she stands transfixed next to her Cheerios depository (formerly known as the coffee table). Fortunately this only lasts for about 15-20 minutes at a time, though I know it will only increase as she gets older. I have discovered it's both a good and a bad thing. There are times when a 15-20 minute respite from her role as my shadow is quite useful, such as when I'm cooking dinner. Still, it's all too easy to turn on the TV when I'm too tired to engage her full attention.

Even so, there's been a few things I've learned from watching children's television with her, largely from the Disney Channel offering Little Einsteins. Here's a sampling:

Animals of all kinds communicate through sounds like orchestral instruments
Rockets may be powered by patting your lap vigorously
One may open a secret door in Egypt's Sphinx by playing a selection of Mozart on a harp
The moon likes to hang out at the peak of the Matterhorn in Switzerland
The top of the Space Needle in Seattle is razor-sharp (dangerous for runaway balloons)

In a perfect world...

2008-08-04T07:35:00.000-07:00

...my sister, Meredith, and I would live down the street from each other, and my sister-in-law Christy would be in the same neighborhood, too. We'd watch each other's kids and share meals. We'd go to our respective homes when we started to get tired of each other. We'd hang out for no good reason.

In the real world, I've just recently become on "hello" terms with one (1) of my neighbors, after living in this house for three years.

Anyone else longing for village life?

My little neat freak

2008-08-04T06:18:00.000-07:00

Eowyn, at 17 months old, has discovered the appeal of orderliness. Sort of.
Her recent activities include:

taking cornflake remnants off of the coffee table (left there by daddy, si claro) and placing them in the trash.
eagerly emptying her snack bowl onto the floor, running to the dishwasher, opening it, pulling out the top rack, placing her bowl inside, closing the dishwasher door.
ferrying the clean silverware from the dishwasher to the drawer. Doing the same for dirty silverware.
putting dirty clothes in the hamper. Putting clean clothes in the hamper.
helping me put wet clothes in the dryer. 'Helping' me put dry, dirty clothes in the dryer.
fighting with mommy over the broom and the swiffer (her new favorite toy is a child sized broom. The swiffer has also been permanently reduced to mini-height).
running away with my rubber gloves and dish towels.

Believe it

2008-08-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

My house is immaculately clean--you won't find weeks-old mystery spots on my floors. No dust blankets my shelves, and there are no decrepit food crumbs attracting bugs in cracks and corners. Each one of my closets, cabinets and drawers is scrupulously organized. The paint colors in my house work perfectly with my carefully chosen furnishings and wall-hangings. I maintain a full-fledged vegetable and herb garden, from which I regularly prepare delicious, healthy meals. I never eat half a pepperoni pizza in one sitting. I love all of the clothes in my closet. I regularly get pedicures. I never have Eowyn watch TV for an afternoon because I'm too tired to give her my full attention.

None of the above statements are true. (*sigh*)

Must-have

2008-08-03T03:39:00.000-07:00

Unable to sleep in the middle of the night, I turned to internet surfing. By and by I stumbled across the very thing that will solve all my problems, if only I can acquire one. Oh yes, say goodbye to my endless inner laments about dirty floors: It's the iRobot Scooba! This is my gift wish.

Not cut out for the "corporate world"

2008-08-02T03:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder how my life would have turned out if I'd made different choices. Like if I hadn't gotten married at twenty. Or if I had decided to pursue that study-abroad program in Spain instead of getting engaged. If I had actually submitted that application to University of Florida instead of just thinking I had. If I had somehow stayed in California and actually found a job related to the graduate degree I spent forever acquiring. If I had not had a baby.

I don't regret my life. I love my husband dearly, and my daughter is more precious and beautiful to me than I would have ever thought possible. I'm thankful for the many things I have--a nice home to live in and the valuable opportunity to be home with Eowyn and help her grow every day. I'm grateful that I've been lucky enough not to make too many stupid choices. I'm grateful that Christian is such a funny, rational, loving person. I'm grateful that we're have a modicum of financial stability, and so many choices for our personal entertainment that it's staggering.

All that doesn't keep me from wondering about 'what-ifs'. Meredith and I have talked about this and both agree that we're just not cut out for the 'corporate world'. I think it's because the two main characteristics of my life over the years have been timidity and laziness (call it lack of self-discipline, to be more gentle). Also, a fear of being alone and a need to feel loved. I'm not a driven person. I just want someone to hug, who will hug me back. That doesn't keep me from wondering about all my lost potential.

I'm 27 and having a mid-life crisis.

Now, I'm a blogger

2008-08-02T03:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I've succumbed to the urge to blog, finally shuffling into line along with the rest of America. I've resisted for a while. It's seemed an... interesting... past-time: sharing one's random thoughts with a random public, and assuming (hoping?) someone cares. Both voyeuristic and vain. Yet I wake up too often at night with thoughts that won't let me sleep, often wishing I could just write them down, get them out of my head, and get on with my precious slumber. I hope this blog will help. Probably, it won't.