"i sound my barbaric YAWP"

"...over the rooftops of the world."

i am not a fan of the first trimester.

some people might say i have nothing to complain about. that may be true. nevertheless, i will complain and i will like it.

saturday was pukesville. highlight: forcing down soup at panera because i couldn't bear to be in our kitchen, even after hubs cleaned it up while tending Little while doing his own work from home while i lay sprawled alternately on the couch, the bed, and the hardwood floor.

my dear hubs, ever speedy with help, saw me start to throw up and grabbed the first thing he could find to put under me: the diaper pail. to provide more detail would be unkind to us all.

(see next post if you're the type who insists on a happy ending.)

the daily Little

"the child who is loved has many names." - danish proverb

here are a few of Little's many monikers:

Olivia Newton Little

gettin' physical

Little Richard-son:

Aieeeee!

Cleanest Little Hands in the West (latest favorite activity: "washans?!")


also i would have accepted: Als, Alzacious, just plain 'Zacious, Little Sister, Bonzo Bare-nakes, Christmas Goose, and Alfonzo Bare Bonzo.

odd but true

i googled myself (don't pretend you haven't done it) and found a faker. apparently that other krista richardson is an actress, although not a very popular one. her one film credit, back in 1984, is for a movie called -- i am not making this up -- the bimini code.

her co-star was hulk hogan.

i AM perfect?!

no.

and yet, i indulge in a couple of offhand, self-deprecating admissions and my ladies all jump to my defense! you all gave such great advice. i especially liked the parts where you congratulated me for (or despite) my sloth.

these are true friends. thank you for your encouragement and inspiration. i love you! and now, back to Little (updates to come).

dull women have immaculate homes

you mean i have to keep cleaning my house over and over again? that's boring. i'm bored now.

there are so many disadvantages to keeping a clean house, not the least of which is that a good housekeeper is far less likely to happen upon this sweet scene in her hall closet, or perhaps in a nice pile of musty laundry:
it hasn't happened yet, but i'd have to be crazy to give up the dream.

old crutch

it occurred to me recently that calling myself "absent-minded" is basically a nice way of saying, i am too busy attending to my own needs to give respectful attention to yours.

ironically, i have a vague recollection of having realized this before.... like one of my roommates used to say, it's really hard to be me.

nonetheless, it's time for me to stop leaning on an old excuse to justify my: lack of organization; forgetfulness of all things event and detail related; cluelessness about others' feelings...

now i am a mom and my lack of diligent attention could have serious consequences. so, in the spirit of honest confession (vulgar and public tho' it may be), i am going to try to change.

pretty soon you will all (i hope, i hope) be referring to me as a wizard of details, a master of responsibility, and a sparkling paragon of social virtues. when i lapse, you all have permission to punch me in the face. let the betterment begin.

good mom days...and other

there are good mom days and "other" days. good mom days go something like this (refer to photos above):

A.M.: Little bursts into my room with bim at 7:00. she is joyous and fresh as the morning dew, having just had her diaper changed by someone other than me. i get up, refreshed after a long and well earned sleep, and we go to the back door to send daddy off to the mines with a cheerful, 'bye-bye, daddy,' and maybe go down the slide in the backyard a couple of times in our pajamas. then we rush to get dressed and get in the car to go meet Little's best friend, Max, with his mom and sisters at the zoo, or the park, or the library, or the gardens. we collect pine cones and neat leaves and books. we play and eat each other's snacks and come home tired and ready for a beautiful nap. we sleep for 2 hours.

P.M.: we get up and play in the house and the mom (me) cleans up a bit while the little (Little) reaches for things high above her and pulls them down onto the floor. we laugh and read and dance and jump. i have time to read and write and sign off on a work project. we cook dinner (wow, this is a great mom day!) and are playing on the front lawn in the friscalating dusklight as the dad (bim) drives up. we share a nutritious meal and Little romps some more with bim before she takes her bath and snuggles down with blankie and sassy. (i mean it, who is this amazing mom??? will she adopt me?)

like i said, sometimes it goes like that. other days, like today, start out very much the same. deceptively similar, in fact. so similar that you might think, as the morning wanes and the nap looms, that THIS TOO might be a good mom day. but one small brick is loose in the foundation. Little doesn't feel that tired. she thinks it would be a good idea to continue playing. and that's when the walls come down.

oh sweet mother of all that's holy don't argue with me about this just take your nap for the love of fish sticks and grilled cheese sandwiches just take your nap just take your nap if you don't we'll all be sorry sob sorry sorry sorry.

most illustrious lord father

that's how galileo's illegitimate nun-daughter used to address the old man in her letters to him from the convent.

i am neither a nun nor illegitimate (yes!), but i feel the same pride and respect for my dad that i hear she did for hers. and today is his birfday!

here he is! (this virtual likeness will have to stand in for the real thing on this day of celebration because he's in...wait for it...thailand.)and now for a few special qualities that make him my and your favorite:

:: he knows all the best music.

:: he speaks thai. for crying out loud.

:: he looks deadly handsome in a tux (see my wedding photos for proof). all the rest of the time too.

:: he's Little's favorite person ever.

:: he insists on being happy, even when all events conspire to make him otherwise. he makes us happy too.

:: he can fix anything. i didn't always realize that not all dads can do this.

:: he finds the fun things to do and eat everywhere we go. except maybe while traveling in europe when he makes us eat at mcdonalds.

:: he might like chocolate ice cream more than anyone you know. but he's still in better shape than, well, me, for one, and he rides mad miles on his tricked-out bike. (the non-motorized kind.)

:: if you need someone to brag about you and make you feel like you're the bee's knees, he's your man.

and now, a memory:

once when i was a lone girl living a dreamy life in the northwest, i went through a bad, sad breakup and became seriously bummed out for about a month. i don't remember what i told him on the phone, but he drove to seattle to get me. we must have talked, but what i remember is that we went out to dinner and watched movies and, by the time he left, i felt like i might be okay. no friend, or even mom, could have done better.

and now, another memory:

my dad is one of those dads who can point to a spot way out on the horizon, then throw a baseball up in the air and hit it REALLY FAR, just where he said he would. beat that.

pretend i didn't tell you this

i hoped to be idolized by my Little for just a few bright, delightful years, but my image has already been tarnished in a most tragical way. you be the judge, but i say this qualifies for the category of embarrassing family secrets (welcome to the inner circle of trust):

Little got her hands on my tweezers not too long ago. i just hoped she wouldn't poke them in her eye, but what actually happened was worse. before i could wrest them from her grubby little fingers, she ended all my illusions of winning any glamorous Mom pageants; that is, she started gently touching them to her chin. first here, then there... yeah, gotta get all those stubborn beard hairs out before anyone realizes i'm not all girl. i thought it was my secret, but i guess it's out there now, so you might as well hear it from me first.

my humiliation is complete.

driving at night

it's not really night. by the time our lawn is dark, i have a tired bod and every part of me, from the brain down, reclines toward sleep. i'm not much use to anyone then, and i would probably be a menace on the road. but in the early evening, if bim gets home in time and Little submits to her bed, i sometimes go driving.

tonight i went to our little local library and wandered for as long as i could, needing to use the little girls' room but wanting to find the right book before giving in. on the drive home i was rewarded by those killer san gabriel mountains.

mmm, boy. it's that time of evening when the mountains turn in profile, pull on their night wraps--the most delicate purple layers--and smoke quietly against the auburn sky of the city's outer urbs. can mountains be delicate? yeah, they can. add that to the list of things-i-didn't-know-i-needed-till-i-saw-em.

i'm not sleeping too well. already i'm getting uncomfortable in my skin, to the point that exhaustion isn't enough to throw me over the wall. in that sleepy-but-not-sleeping stage of the evening, when i'm too far gone to read or talk, i turn on the telebee. last night i think i watched 3 straight hours. i guess i sort of look to the tv as that boat (you know the one, from mythology and yore) that carries me across the river styx to the underworld or, in this less morbid case, to sleep. once you've boarded that boat, you're not so interested in the journey as you are in the destination, not knowing what the he** to expect, but not in the least motivated to avoid it. and so you end up watching farmer wants a wife.

come to think of it, pregnancy is kind of that way for me--like the riverboat, i mean, not reality television (which i still think is stupid, stupid, stupid). at its best and worst, pregnancy and childbirth are a necessary journey for me to travel before i can receive my darling bundle of kicks and spit. does this mean i must confront death to approach birth? hm. either way, it's not a time when i am fully aware of what's going on around me except to notice that the boat won't stop rocking and i'm about to heave-ho.

this time around i am going to try to document the experience more carefully. i'm bound to say some stupid things (see above). but, i ask you, how can it be otherwise when i'm always half asleep?

she

Lately in Little Land:

:: she learns about taking turns.

:: she tries on shoes. everyone's. everywhere we go.

:: she massacres her first hot dog at the stake fair.

:: she practices sitting on the potty after dragging it into the living room.