Parting Bullets

• We're leaving later today to spend Thanksgiving week with McMoose's family. Wait. Let me say that again. We're leaving later today TO DRIVE FOR 15 HOURS so we can spend Thanksgiving week with McMoose's family. With a Luke in the back seat. Whoo.
• Yesterday, we got to visit with McMoose's college roommate, which was fun. I know life is different now for all of us and that we're all grown-ups now, as opposed to the grown-ups-on-training-wheels that we were just a few short years ago, but the differences always amaze me when we get together with someone we haven't seen in a while.
• Baby related things from yesterday: (1) Other Baby rode Luke around like a horse. It was a fun game to watch, if only because I love to watch the two of them interact and play together more, rather than just wandering around and taking toys from each other. (2) Other Baby fits in a cabinet in our entertainment center. I know this because he very carefully folded himself into said cabinet, only to have Luke come by and shut the door. And hold it closed. And lick the outside of the glass door in a show of dominance and grossness. Other Baby promptly proceeded to freak out because after all that effort, he basically got to have a flashback of his time in the womb. I wonder if incidents like this is how claustrophobia gets its start.
• I hope everyone has a wonderful thanksgiving and we'll "see" you in a week!
  

Cousins

McMoose's mother, aunt, nephew, brother, and brother's girlfriend all visited us this past weekend and brought some crazy hot weather with them, but we got through the heat and had a great time, mostly at the pool. Our nephew, R, is two-and-a-half and dude, two-and-a-half-year-olds are INTENSE. I mean, on some level, I knew that, but I was thinking that one-year-olds are intense. As it turns out, one-year-olds are the dictionary definition of mellow when compared with two-year-olds because holy. cow.

I know the conventional term is "terrible two," but our nephew was just too sweet and funny to be called terrible, even at the height of his two-ness. I got to experience a whole lot of the hilarity because McMoose's car doesn't have room for a carseat, so both babies were in my car. Luke was completely thrilled with this arrangement and got so excited that he actually shook every time he realized that his cousin was going to be riding next to him again. The two of them sat back there and chattered away to each other, and here are some snippets from those conversations:

Conversation 1.
Luke: Yayayayaya. Blah.
R: Yayayayaya. Blah. Shark.
Luke: Blah.
R: No, Luke, it's a shark.
Luke: Booboo.
R: NO, LUKE! It's a shaaaaarrrrrkkkk!
Luke: Haha.
R: IT'S A SSSSHHHHAAAAAARRRRRKKKKK!!! Anisha? Luke said it's a whale. It's a shark.

(Um...okay....)

Conversation 2.
R: Go, Anisha, go! Fast!
Me: I can't go yet. The light's red.
R: Go!
Me: I have to wait for it to turn green.
R: Just. Pretend!

Conversation 3.
Luke: Nana. [As an aside, for Luke, "Nana" means banana, which really just means that he's hungry and could we please hurry up and feed him already. For R, "Nana" refers to his beloved grandmother, McMoose's mother, and he was absolutely not open to any suggestion that HIS Nana was also LUKE'S Nana.]
R: No, she's my Nana.
Luke, thrilled that someone understood his word: Yes! Nana!
R: No, she's MY Nana!
Luke: Nana-nana-nana.
R: NO! SHE'S MYYYYYY NANA!!!!
Luke: Ah-hahahaha. Nana.
R: Is not FUNNY, Luke! She's MY Nana.

(Meanwhile, I could not stop cracking up in the front seat.)

Twelve!

Here it is, the very last monthly post for Luke...and four days late, to boot. He had his 1-year doctor's visit yesterday, which went startlingly well (but then, I'm always startled by doctors who have any level of common sense). He weighed in at 23 lbs and 12 oz, so he has tripled his birth weight and he's 31 inches tall, which means he's 10.5 inches taller than when he was born. It doesn't seem like a lot, it's less than a foot, but the difference is amazing.

He had to have his iron levels checked again because he was anemic last time and they're going (slowly) up: yay! Last Friday, he woke up with a fever and he was grouchy on Friday and Saturday and pulled on his ears a lot, so I suspected an ear infection. As it turns out, his ears are fine and all the discomfort was caused by the new TOOTH that came in yesterday morning. The first tooth must have lulled me into a false state of security because man, this second one was rough! And now, there's a third one lurking in his gums, probably waiting for an inopportune moment to poke on out.

Over the past two weeks, his walking skills have advanced by leaps and bounds. In fact, he's pretty much given up crawling now and is trying to master running (Gulp. Yikes.) His favorite game is putting things into boxes/buckets/anything with a hole and then pulling them back out. And of course, riling up the animals. And of course, climbing on Other Baby. And because he now knows how to walk, we've been trying to let him walk instead of riding the cart when we go to the store, which has been...trying. He seems to feel that he should be allowed to grab every. single. item off the shelves and when we don't let him indulge that particular desire, he lies down in the middle of the aisle and throws a kicking, screaming fit. Needless to say, we're trying to go at non-peak hours so as to expose as few people to the ridiculous tantrums as possible.

He had a great time at his birthday party, even though he wasn't feeling so great. A few of his baby friends came with their parents and his Paati (my mom) and Grandpa Ron (my stepdad) came from D.C. and his Papa (McMoose's dad) and KayKay (Papa's fiancee) came from Mississippi and brought his great-grandmother, Mimi with them. Luke loved being the center of attention, both during the party and for the rest of the weekend. I'm so grateful that our family members were able to travel to come to the party!

We didn't take any pictures of the party on our camera, so I won't be able to post any of those, but I'll post other pictures from this past month later this week.

Life on an Island

I feel like an island unto myself.

I'm not, of course. There's McMoose. There's Luke. There's Other Baby, whom I see every day and whose mom often stays and chats and hangs out when she comes to pick him up in the afternoons. There are friends whom I see often. There's my mom, whom I talk to a couple times a week and whom I see every couple of months. There's my dad, whom I talk to at least once a week and whom I text message and email at random moments. Clearly, I am not an island.

But the fact of the matter is that McMoose and Luke and I live far, far away from either of our families. The closest family members are my mom and step-dad, who live a good 5 hours away. And this was fine, in fact this was WHAT WE WANTED. Until Luke came along. And now, when I hear about how Other Baby sees his grandparents at least once a week, when I hear about friends getting together with their siblings for lunch, when I hear about people who can visit with their aunts and uncles and grandmothers at the drop of a hat, I get a little bit...wistful.

Because even though I may not be an island unto myself, there are many, many days when I feel like the three of us are an island unto ourselves. I think about how close I was to my grandparents and how much fun I had living close to my cousins and I do so wish that Luke could experience that, too. But since that isn't going to happen, we'll just have to make this a really big island, as I said to McMoose last night--we'll have to fill it up with friends and neighbors and kids and dogs and cats and frogs. And chickens. And maybe goats. (Because apparently, my island is also going to be a farm.)

First Thanksgiving: Mission Accomplished

I love, love, LOVE that McMoose takes the whole week of thanksgiving off from work because it means we can actually get in a decent visit with whichever family member is willing to house the three of us plus the Dog. This year, it was my mom. This was a rather momentous occasion actually, because the Dog lived with her for the first six misspent years of his life and when she delivered him to me, she told me that she loved him dearly but didn't want to ever see him in her house again. Fast forward four years and lots and LOTS of what can only be described as intensive rehabilitation for the miscreant of a Dog and he was finally welcomed back into her home. Her NEW (rented) home. Where he didn't pee on the carpets or eat the bed linens or steal the turkey. And that right there? My definition of a Most Successful Visit.

It was successful in other ways too. We survived the drive there and back without too much crying or getting lost. We got to see one of my friends from college, which is always fun. We had thanksgiving with people I haven't seen in ages. I cooked two pies, one of which was entirely vegan (take THAT, Sara Lee.) And Luke? The baby who decided before we left that he resented all solid foods and was going to revert back to a milk-only diet? He spent the entire week eating EVERYTHING in sight. Avocado. Bananas. Sweet potatoes. Rice. Banana puffs. Peas. A (small) slice of apple pie. Indian things.

And since I fall on the lazy side of the parenting spectrum, most of these things were fed to him directly off my plate. After feeding him all this nonsense, it occurred to me that if he'd had an allergic reaction to something, we wouldn't have had the slightest clue what caused it, but luck was on our side. Of course, now, every time he sees me eating anything, he throws an unholy fit until I share with him, which is maybe not the best habit to be instilling in him, but...meh, what are you gonna do?

2 Months Old!

I decided to take a hiatus from posting last week because McMoose's mom, sister, and 18-month-old nephew had come for a visit. Hey, did you know 18-month-olds are AWESOME? They're possibly the most entertaining people on the planet. Also, possibly the most accident prone. On the plus side, we now know to get edge protectors for our coffee table before Luke starts walking because apparently, coffee tables act as magnets to small heads.

Today marks 2 months from the day Luke was born and to mark this momentous event, he has decided to revert back to his newborn ways. He has been more or less sleeping through the night lately and I've been very excited that I got one of those mythical "good sleepers." Last night, of course, he decided that it was absolutely imperative to wake up in a blind fury every 3 hours. Here's hoping that was a one-night thing because dude, I'm so not feeling a return to the bleary eyed days of serious sleep deprivation.

He has spent this month becoming less blob and more person, as evidenced by the smiling, the rolling over, the focusing on faces, and the tracking of toys and animals and 18-month-old cousins. He has also spent this month becoming much more savvy about How To Get His Way, as evidenced by the staring soulfully into people's eyes while crying RIVERS OF REAL TEARS and the smiling with extraordinary charm when I'm trying to get him to take a nap that he does not want to take. (Because apparently, naps are for babies, and he feels that he is quite grown up. I told him that if that's the case, perhaps he could learn to use a toilet like all the other grown-ups in the house. He responded by rolling his eyes, I'M NOT EVEN JOKING.)

In any case, here's the month in pictures...

We started the month in the blobby phase:
Then came the discovery that sleeping on a person is more comfy than sleeping on a bed...aka: the beginning of the end:
The end of the blobby phase began with the holding up of the massive head:
And continued with the advent of the smile:
And the reaching for the camera:
And the sticking out of the tongue:
There was grouchiness about meeting new people:
And the realization that new people might not be so bad after all:
Of course, this was all a lot of work and required massive amounts of time spent sitting, thinking, and chewing on one's own hand:

B.S. No Longer

I'll start with a warning that this will undoubtedly be a long post. It's only fitting that it should be long because it's a post about the past three years of my life, and about a document that took 14 months of writing and ended up being 119 pages long. It's a post about a promise to myself and a journey that began the first time I checked the box on a standardized test that said that my parents held Master's Degrees. It's a post about the sense of numbness and celebration and relief that is coursing through me at this moment because now, pending the submission of a few forms and perhaps a walk down an aisle in a few months, my child will be able to check that box, too.

When I graduated with a double Bachelor's degree three-and-a-half years ago, I never expected that it would take me this long to make it here. I also never expected that by the time I did make it here, I would be completely exhausted by the process and disillusioned about the world of academia, or that I would have learned how to advocate for myself in that world, or that I would be married and hugely pregnant, or perhaps most surprisingly of all, that I would finally be comfortable with public speaking. In other words, I never expected that I would be so different from the person I was just four short years ago.

For the past two weeks, ever since I submitted my thesis to my committee members, I have been calm when I should have been nervous. I have been anticipatory, rather than anxious. And I found that strange because it's in my nature to worry and fret and obsess about events such as this, but it finally occurred to me that I wasn't worried because I was ready. Not just prepared, like usual, but truly ready for the culmination of this process. When I left home this morning, I told the animals that when I returned, I would be able to claim a new set of initials behind my name. They were unimpressed. (Of course).

I drove to school looking forward to 11 o'clock, when the defense was scheduled to begin. I did not arrive an hour early, as is my custom, to fuss with the presentation "one last time." I did not worry at the last minute about whether my data was really okay or whether I had used the right statistical tests or whether it mattered that I wasn't wearing pantyhose under my pants. When I got there, I did not panic when the media center informed me that my reservation for a laptop and projector had been lost. (After a few minutes, they did find me another laptop and projector after all). I will admit to a moment of slight panic when I tried to roll the projector cart out of the elevator and suddenly, a wheel fell off and I couldn't do anything but stand there, half in the elevator and half out, trying to figure out how I was going to hold up the cart while simultaneously retrieving and fixing the wheel. As it turned out, a very nice janitor heard my half-hearted calls for help and came running. (Thank you, nice janitor. In the story of this day, you will remain my hero).

The two-hour defense was very informal and my committee members offered helpful advice and asked insightful questions, which I was able to answer with a relative degree of expertise. The oh-so-thoughtful executive assistant who had scheduled the room for me had made sure to book a room that had lots of space and lots of chairs and that was set up such that I was able to sit down through the presentation, rather than having to be on my feet for two hours. (Thank you, executive assistant. In the story of this day, you will remain my guardian angel).

And then, suddenly, after a brief stint of pacing the halls while the committee held a closed discussion about whether I had adequately defended my project, it was over. There were smiles, and assurances that I had done a good job, and some chatter about everyone's summer plans. It seemed almost anti-climactic that it should end like this, with a few handshakes and some signatures on a yellow piece of paper, a celebratory lunch and a hug from my advisor. And when I returned home and told the animals that I had kept my promise, that I had passed my defense and was now the proud soon-to-be recipient of a Master's Degree, they remained unimpressed. (Of course).

But the sense of calm that has so pervaded my world for the past two weeks is suddenly replaced by an almost giddy relief. I did it. It's done. Whatever went before and whatever comes next, this day has been a success and a celebration, the much anticipated fulfillment of a promise, the long-awaited end to this particular journey, and more importantly still, the starting point for my next set of adventures.

Back In The Saddle Again

First, Happy 2009!

Second, the past two weeks have been the fastest two weeks of my life. Here's a (very) abbreviated summary:
-Drove to Mississippi. Had lots of contractions, and therefore, lots of related panic. But 800 ounces of water later, all was well.
-Nephew had a first birthday party, where he looked warily at the people, but enjoyed his toys.
-We had a not-so-much surprise baby shower, where we looked warily at the people who participated in the Sniff The Diaper game, but enjoyed the toys. And the food.
-McMoose got to feel The Bug kick for the first time, which means that I no longer have to wonder if I'm just hallucinating the movements.
-The poor, sad Matrix now has TWO cracks on the windshield instead of one. On the plus side, this will probably encourage me to (finally) take it in to be fixed. And on the plus-er side, at least this happened BEFORE I got the first crack fixed.
-The Dog has spent the past two weeks having his nose and eyes poked, his tail pulled, and his feet stepped on by our one-year-old nephew. And at some point, the kid found out that if he whapped The Dog's head with hard toys, it makes a funny hollow sound. It was also at this point that The Dog began sighing dramatically every time the kid entered the room. However, any time the kid fell and hurt himself, The Dog was the first responder on the scene, so I'm hoping that once The Bug gets here, his protective instincts will win out over his eat-the-annoying-small-person instincts.
-The cats are alive and well and very curious about the hand-me-down baby things we brought back with us. I'm still trying to convince McMoose it would be fun to see if Yellow Cat will fit into a newborn outfit, but so far, no luck. Yellow Cat probably appreciates McMoose's stance on this issue.

A Most Woeful Dilemma

A couple of weeks ago, when we had gone to visit my mom and stepdad, we brought back a dresser that used to be mine about a decade ago. For about two years now, my mom has been threatening to throw it out and I have said "No, don't do that...I'll get it the next time I visit." And for two years, I kept forgetting that promise. But then! I began making the mental list of all the baby stuff we need and it occurred to me that hey! The dresser is still around! And in reasonably good condition (i.e.- still standing). And it has a carved in design of Winnie-the-Pooh and all of his little friends. And best of all? IT'S FREE!

So we picked it up and brought it home and looked at it and I realized that it didn't look QUITE the same as I had remembered. It had some water stains and some burn marks and the handles on the drawers left a lot to be desired. But no problem, because I had planned to refinish it anyway, so that it would match other things in our apartment. And that, right there? That's where this whole plan starts to fall apart. Because as it turns out, refinishing old furniture? Not as easy as it looks on HGTV.

So we went out and bought sandpaper and the right color of stain and some staining brush-pad things and thought we were all set. And we came home and we sanded. And sanded. And sanded. And after a while, I decided that I HATE sanding and passed that task on to McMoose so that I could begin staining the drawers that had already been sanded. At which point, we realized that sanding ALL the previous stain off the drawers? Not a good plan. Apparently, you're only supposed to sand the varnish off. Who knew! So the next bout of sanding went by much, much faster and we got everything stained a beautiful mahogany color and I thought "Feh. This was eeeeaaasy."

And then, we bought the finish. The clear-coat finish. Which was made to go on top of stained furniture. And there was some warning about "This product might irrevocably damage the stain on your furniture," which I promptly disregarded because this product, as I already mentioned, was MADE to go on top of stained furniture. That's the entire PURPOSE of this product. So why in the world would it damage the stain? I still can't answer the why part of that question, but what I can tell you is this: NEVER DISREGARD WARNING LABELS. EVER. Because as soon as I put the finish on, it began blistering my previously beautiful stain, until it looked like the entire dresser had a horrible skin disease.

Which means that we are now back at the sanding phase. And when I say "we," I mean McMoose. And this weekend is colder than last weekend, which means that I am going to be that much grumpier when I'm out on the balcony re-staining everything. And furthermore? What am I supposed to use to finish this project after I stain it? I mean, if I can't use the product that was INTENDED for this use, what am I supposed to use instead? Cling wrap? Clear Elmer's glue? WHAT?

Doggy Daycare, Part 2

We were in New Jersey visiting my mom and step-dad this past weekend, which was fun and exhausting all at the same time. I always like driving up north this time of year because even though it's still very much summer here in North Carolina, the trees change from green to yellow and red to brown to halfway bare by the time we're in New Jersey and it kind of feels like traveling through time. Plus, this time McMoose went with me, which was a nice change because I had someone to split the driving with and also, someone to help me find my way back to the interstate when I got lost. Because the GPS system? It kinda sucks at that job.

But this trip was also a little bit nerve wracking because of the whole having to put the Dog in a kennel for the first time in a couple of years thing. We did the research. We found a kennel. We made the reservations and made sure he was up to date on his shots and packed his favorite toys. And we left him with the intimidating looking man at the kennel and hoped that when we returned in three days, he'd still be alive. Luckily for us, not only was he alive when he returned, but he was also freshly bathed and dressed in a very nice, green and blue plaid bandanna. He looked very dapper.

So it's a good kennel, right? They didn't kill the dog. Presumably, the fed him because he wasn't acting like a ravenous wolf when we picked him up. And hopefully, they walked him. But. Whenever I take him out of town or leave him with anyone, I always, ALWAYS pack at least 1-2 days worth of extra food. And this time was no exception. Plus, we picked him up an entire day early. And yet, his food supply was completely gone when we got him. Which means that (a) they fed him twice as much as they should have, (b) they fed his food to other dogs, or (c) they took the remainder of his food. Ok. Fine. I can deal with that. But. They ALSO took his rawhide bone. His BRAND NEW rawhide bone. Which means that I now have to buy not only a new bag of food, but also a new bag of bones. So I saved money on boarding him, but then spent MORE than I saved on his bath, his walks, and the food and bones. Super.

In Which Introductions Are Made

I'd like to introduce the reason why, for the past two months, I've been both ravenous and nauseous, tired but unable to stay asleep for any length of time, and bouncing back and forth between grouchy and completely thrilled with the world:

Yes, I know it looks like a fuzzy jelly bean. I have great hopes that it will grow out of that phase within the next 7 months. Just as a reference, the head's on the right of the screen and if you look very, VERY closely, you can see toes on the left. Why exactly do fetuses grow fingers and toes before they grow arms and legs???

They'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain

I always bemoan the fact that I'm quite possibly the most distract-able human being on the planet. I would rather be doing anything other than the thing that I'm actually supposed to be doing. Playing sudoku? Far better than reading an article or writing a paper. Knitting--much more enjoyable than doing the laundry or cleaning out the fridge. And anything, anything, ANYTHING is better than washing my car or walking the dog.

But today marks a victory for me. I went to work. I did not check my email. I did not read the news or do a crossword or play solitaire. I WORKED. Imagine that. Working. At work. And I didn't take any vending machine breaks or talking to my co-worker breaks or picking at my toenail breaks. And the task that usually takes me 5 hours to do took all of 90 minutes. Which means that today? I am the most productive human being ON THE PLANET.

And this burst of productivity couldn't have come at a better time because McMoose informed me yesterday that his aunt and uncle would be coming for a visit. Today. For those of you who are counting, that's 24 HOURS OF NOTICE. While we're in the midst of moving. In his defense, he did unpack a lot of stuff last night. In his not-so-much defense, he informed me that they might get here a few hours before he gets home from work and that I should keep them entertained with "chit-chat." Which in reality will translate to "sitting there and staring at each other for two. full. hours."

Why I Shop at the Dollar Store

While in India, my uncle bought me a new watch and a pair of sunglasses. They're both very nice, and both more expensive than I was comfortable with, but that whole not looking a gift horse in the mouth thing? Yeah, I'm a firm believer. Of course, now that it's a week later, I'm remembering why I'm so uncomfortable with anything that costs more than twenty dollars.

The sunglasses? I really, really thought I packed them. I mean, I checked the ENTIRE ROOM before we left, and there was NOTHING left. Except that when we were unpacking, they were nowhere to be found. So my theory is that I packed them, but then a burglar hid in the cargo hold of the plane, unlocked my suitcase, carefully extracted the sunglasses and left everything else untouched, and then re-locked the suitcase so that no one would ever suspect what had happened. It's possible, right?

But at least I know where the watch is: on my left wrist, where it's supposed to be. It keeps time masterfully and looks very cool. Just one thing: I can't figure out how to make it tell me the right date. I've set it approximately 14 times in the past two days, and still, it finds a way to jump to some strange date. So this morning, I decided to just let it do its thing, and what I have figured out is that apparently, this watch changes dates about every four hours. Super. Now all I have to do is move to Jupiter, and I'll be set.

The Intricacies of Good-bye

It's considered bad luck to say "Good-bye" in India. My grandmother, in particular, disliked it when I would say good-bye to her. "Never say good-bye," she would chide gently, "it's too permanent. Always say 'I'll see you later.'"

When I visited her this time, it was almost impossible to believe that the woman who corrected my when I said good-bye was barely capable of saying hello. The woman who used to spend hours telling her grandchildren stories and who knew all her family members' favorite foods couldn't speak without being instructed to do so, couldn't recognize her own children. And although I used to spend my weekends at a nursing home visiting with Alzheimer's patients who didn't know me from one week to the next, this was different. This was ridiculous. The grandmother who had helped name me couldn't remember my name.

She would be proud that I remembered to say "I'll see you later" at the end of the visit, but this time, it felt like "Good-bye."