Dear Teething:

You suck.

Love,
Mórag

Dear Sleep:

I miss you. Come back?

Love,
Mórag

Dear Bed:

I miss you, too. The glider chair is not as comfortable as you. I can’t sleep there, though I did try, since Baba couldn’t sleep if I wasn’t holding him.

Soon we’ll be together,
Mórag

Dear Baba:

Teething does indeed suck, doesn’t it? I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry I couldn’t either. Soon you’ll have teeth. Then you’ll cut some more. And we’ll do this all again until you’re about 3. Ask your brother - it sucks no matter where the teeth come in. But I’m ready. With Tylenol. And bourbon (for me).

Love you,
Mama

Dear Freebird:

Thank you from the bottom of my tired, tired heart for sleeping through ALL of your brother’s all-night crying, cooing, moaning, and grunting. I hope you slept well. And I hope you’re not teething.

Love you,
Mama

Dear Hubby:

That sucked. We’ll sleep eventually. Like, when our boys are teenagers that sleep till noon and we wonder why they sleep so damn much and eat the rest of the time.

Love you,
Mórag

Dear coffee:

I love you. I love you. I love you I love you. More, please?

Love,
Mórag

Yet Another entry Where agaiN I’m tired.

1. Stayed up until the memoriam part of the Oscars. God that was stupid. Heath Ledger is still dead, as are some other people I didn’t realize had died, and Baba O’Riley woke up at 3am for a brief cooing party that lasted until I changed his diaper, permitted him some time to chew on his bare feet before I put his jammies back on, and then rocked him to sleep while stroking his cheek. If it weren’t for the part where I was so exhausted it was painful to be awake, I would have enjoyed it A Lot.

2. Pass the coffee. Pass more. Thanks.

3. I hadn’t seen a single one of the movies nominated. There were some I hadn’t heard of. It was like watching the Grammies, except I knew who most of the people were, even if the movies themselves were a mystery to me.

4. Javier Bardem is from Canarias, aka the Canary Islands, and as such speaks Castillian Spanish, complete with lisp. I hate to sound like a language snob, but I was so excited and relieved to find that I understood 90% of what he was saying in Spanish to his mother (he dedicated his award to her, his grandparents, her grandparents, and all the people of Spain) because when I speak in Spanish nowadays, it’s usually to folks from South America or Central America. The accent and even the lexicon are so different, I have a very hard time understanding folks speaking at full speed when they are from Ecuador, Colombia, or Brazil. The folks I have the easiest time understanding are Cuban, not that I meet many of them. But to hear Javier (not “Xavier,” Regis, you putz) Bardem bust out with the Castellano made me a very happy Morag indeed. I haven’t forgotten as much as I thought I had.

5. Alert! I shall now break one of Morag’s Laws and speak of The Family. Enjoy.

6. Hubby’s aunt said something so stunning to me, there’s a part of my brain that’s still reeling that the words hit the air and were therefore spoken aloud. To me. While discussing that is is sometimes a challenge to parent a toddler, she said, “Oh, but this age is so much fun. But I had it better than you because I was home with my children full time and could enjoy them more.”

7. My immediate reaction: Laugh. So outrageous I can’t believe those words hit air for public enjoyment. Now? My inner child is busy consoling my inner mommy, who is very upset.

8. Reminds me of that song from 1997: “Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.”

9. It wasn’t so much advice as it was thoughtless heartlessness, but still, I’m sure there were moments of parenting in the past that might have made her want to tear her hair out. But 30+ years later, you remember the good parts.

10. Here’s a good part: we do Friday sabbath dinners together as a family (Jewish sabbath starts Friday at sundown) and this week we all huddled around the coffee table in the living room, since the kitchen is demolished and the dining room is now the kitchen. After saying the blessing over the candles, which signals the start of Shabbat (the sabbath), Hubby and I usually kiss both boys and wish them “Shabbat shalom” (Peaceful sabbath). This week, after I said the blessing, Freebird stood up and yelled, “Shabbat shalom!” and gave both of us kisses, then blew a kiss to Baba O’Riley. This is a very long story to say, “Freebird gave us both a kiss!” but the fact that he enjoys our Friday night dinners and likes to do the steps of making that dinner special meant a lot to me.

11. I’m tired. Have I mentioned?

The Bad:

I got home late with horrendous traffic as usual (WTF who ARE these people? Aren’t most people on vacation?) and found that the post man had totally blown off my pickup request for my packages to go out for the holidays, and they were still sitting on the porch. On a whim I picked up the phone, found we had a message (WTF is with phones with no blinking lights that let you know you have a voicemail?) and listened. The IUD people STILL hadn’t received the prescription because the fax number I had was not working (GAH) and my appointment for the procedure is scheduled for 31 December - that would be insurance year 2007, where, thanks to a Cesarean section, I made my deductible and then some holy shit, as opposed to insurance year 2008. So while I fed the zoo, changed out of my work clothing (can’t feed the baby wearing corporate nicewear, because he spits up like damn) I called the doctor, the IUD company, the doctor again, the IUD folks again, and THEN ran out the door.

Stopped at the UPS store and begged them to please take my packages even though they were already postage paid (I printed out the postage online, though the USPS totally couldn’t bother to honor the pickup I also scheduled) and NOT being shipped through them. The nice man behind the counter was kind enough to do me a favor, so off my packages went. I hope they don’t sit under the counter, forgotten and sad.

Then arrived at daycare only to find… Freebird’s ulna was out of socket again and he wasn’t using his arm. He had been using it off and on all afternoon but music class at the end of the day made it obvious. Freebird can tell you the sound of one cymbal clapping, should you be studying up on your Zen music theory. 

So, gently I put on the jacket, convinced that they were going to call DSS on me as an abusive parent, and took his good arm and went to go pickup Baba. We got home, Hubby arrived, I reset Freebird’s arm - which he HATES because it does hurt, though I did get it back in joint on the first try - and we had a good dinner.

The Good

We’d been trying to give the boys their baths on alternating nights, but that means someone is always in the tub and that’s just exhausting for me. So I figured, Freebird could have his bath, then we’d put Baba in the tub with him, and let him help us wash Baba’s feet and hands. Freebird was SO excited to have his baby brother in the tub. “Lookit the teeny little toes!” he said. “Look! Little fingers!” And he took his washcloth and gently helped us bathe Baba, who LOVED being in the tub with his big brother.

The Merry

While I don’t personally celebrate Christmas, I used to, and I have to say, I love wishing people a Merry Christmas. Most holidays are “happy” something, but “merry” just sounds so especially joyous. More than happy - downright jovial! And “merry” isn’t often used with any of the Jewish holidays. I can’t say that most Jewish holidays and festivals inspire much merriment. Most holidays revolve around a theme of “They tried to kill us. We won. Let’s eat. “ Or, in the case of Yom Kippur, “Time to atone. No eating.”

But since I can easily get behind any wish for merriment and joy, I wish all of you a very Merry holiday, and an equally merry New Year. 

So yesterday when I got home with both boys, I was aching to hold Baba. Just hold him and smell his head and talk to him and listen to him coo at me.

And I realized that the reason I was so cranky yesterday and so glum was that I really, really missed my dude. I am used to not seeing Freebird all day, and I know he loves school. But I missed Baba O’Riley so badly, all I wanted to do was hug him and rock him and listen to him burp.

When I went back to work after Freebird was born, the 2nd day was the hardest. This time, it was the third day. This weekend Hubby and I are going far north to go look at cabinetry and countertops for the kitchen renovation, and we’re bringing Baba with us, because he’s portable for the most part. I’m going to have a hard time not carrying him every minute, because my arms miss holding him, my nose misses the smell of his hair, and my whole body misses the feeling of taking a nap with him sleeping on my shoulder. 

1. Freebird and I went grocery shopping tonight, and then went to “look at all the lights.” I posted a query to a local group asking where good houses with great light displays were, and one woman gave me a street in the next town over, and said it would be worth our while to get over there.

Oh my ever lovin’ electric bill. The whole house, the roof, the side yard - covered with lights. There were stars on the chimney and two nativity scenes on the lawn, light up reindeer, angels, stars and trees, and THEN their garage was open so you could walk in. Music! More light! An entire village of head-bobbing snowmen, and a big train going through a miniature town lit up with tiny lights, complete with big waterfall in the middle. Elves making toys, and going fishing in ANOTHER pond in the garage - I’m not even kidding. Freebird and I were staring at everything. He was SO stunned. I was too. It must have taken hours to set that up.

Then as we were leaving, Freebird saw a house with a few rows of blue lights outlining the windows, and he said in a really loud voice, “OH, look at THAT! BLUE lights! Go Mommy! Go see the blue lights!” So, want to impress my son with your electric holiday dazzle? Blue. It’s all about the blue.

And a giant inflatable Pooh bear will give him great joy, too.

2. Tomorrow I’m going back to work. I’ve decided not to think about it. Wonder how long I can get away with that. 

I’m in the living room listening to Hubby get both boys ready. Normally, like, say, Monday (*sigh*) I will be gone by now, on a bus into Manhattan. So I’m listening to the sounds of Hubby waking up, dressing, feeding, and talking to both Baba and Freebird, which normally I won’t hear.

It’s a weird feeling. Also sad. I don’t really want to think about Monday, but there it is, first in line on the next page of my weekly agenda. Hi there, Monday. I’m not terribly looking forward to you.

Time for coffee. Caffeine makes it better.

With Baba, I battle many common enemies. We battle his reflux, which is breathtaking. If it’s bad, he burps, he spits up, he hiccups, and he SCREAMS. And he doesn’t cry a lot as a rule. He grunts like crazy, but he doesn’t screech like that unless his stomach acid is trying to say hello to painful parts of his esophagus. We have infant pepcid, thank you to our pediatrician, and we have inclined surfaces for him to sleep and rest on, and we have bibs everywhere, to say nothing of spit up rags and flannel blankets to catch it all. But the battle wages on, Baba and I on one side, and acid reflux on the other.

But this is not the worst enemy he and I face down each day. The reflux is bad, but I can control it. I can use medication and frequent burping, and I can hold him upright as long as he needs. No problem. No, our most offensive enemy is simple.

The Booger.

Baba and I, we battle his boogers. Big honking sticky scratchy ones that started forming when we turned the heat on and it became dry as desert plains in our house. We have an older home with steam heated radiators, and we run humidifiers all over the place, but still, the boogers, they creep up on him. We can hear them, whistling and wheezing in his wee baby nose, and when they get really difficult for him to breathe through, he wakes up and grunts and cries. There’s even a “MOM! I have a BOOGER!” cry that means a big crusty snotwad is keeping my man from his peaceful nap.

How do I battle the booger? The humidifier is my first line of defense, but it doesn’t always do the job. There’s the nose sucker thing, but that isn’t always effective, though sometimes I can move a booger closer to the daylight so I can vanquish it once and for all. But the most sultry and crafty tool in my booger battle arsenal? My pinky nail.

As a rule I keep my fingernails short, because I type a lot and because they’re weak and split anyway if they grow even a little bit. But my pinky nail is nice and long, since my fingers are small, as are my nails, and it’s the perfect size to go after the deeply lodged whistle booger that keeps Baba from his nap. At this moment, I look like I have a cocaine habit, but no. It’s not coke. It’s boogers. I can wiggle the snot, sometimes drag it out to flush it to its doom, or I can irritate Baba’s nose enough that he makes a mighty sneeze and I can standby and intercept.

But either way, the battle wages on - usually one or two boogers a day face our tactical battle plans. And between Baba, me, and my pinky nail, we usually come out clean.