Hey! Ho! Let's go!

We're stuffed to the gills with crap (who knew you needed so much stuff to spend a week in the woods with a kid) and ready to head out to Ludington for a week of fun and camping and the BEACH! There will be sun, there will be waves, there will be good food and beer and friends, and we're bringing along some great tunes. Back after the 4th will tales from the camping-with-a-toddler front.

Traveling girls

Darling C. and I have had a busy week, starting with a quick trip to Chicago from Sunday night to Wednesday (yes, still driving like a crazed trucker in the middle of the night because it's the only time darling C. will tolerate the car). We were visiting my friend Crystal but also got to see my sis and her kids a bit AND meet the new guy my mom is dating. That's a lot for just a few days, but Clementine took it all in stride as usual. That girl is made to travel, and we had a few delightful mornings just hanging out in the city. As I'm sure I've said before, Crystal's place is gorgeous, and it's in a great neighborhood that we can walk around in a ton. I would almost never need a car if only I could find a way to live there (hello, lottery!), and Clementine really thrives in the city atmosphere. Every time we went out she was happy to see so much action and so many interesting people; she again assumed her role as the goodwill ambassador for the child-rearing set and charmed the running shorts off of all the hip youngsters who were wondering why in the hell I was blocking the bike path in order to let Clementine take in the views. They would scowl, but she would laugh and reach out to them. The one time I took her out in the stroller I kept thinking to myself damn, this is one friendly city, but I think all the smiles coming my way were because she rides in the stroller with her feet up on the edge and a little gangsta lean to the left while greeting the masses with smiles and giggles. She also loved chilling at home, where we enjoyed great views and made a friend of Crystal's sculpture Harold, which my niece Abby hates and makes me cover with a sheet when she's around.




Yeah, that's the life. Crystal's moving back to Portland soon, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't putting a voodoo curse on her real estate agent hoping she won't be able to sell the apartment right away, leaving it free for my family's further city adventures.

My sister's kids are a riot, especially my niece Eleanor. Have you met them? Eleanor is younger than darling C. but weighs about the same, sparking lots of comments from people everywhere who love and adore her big chub. It's lucky that K.C. has had a kid before or otherwise she might feel a little crazy at all the comments that get hurled her way. Eleanor seemed to develop a bulemia problem for a while there, earning her the nickname Ralph because she spit up so much, but she's doing better these days, despite crazy neighbors who coo "Fatty, fatty two by four" at her while squeezing her delicious cheeks. Clementine was way into Nora, too, though I'm not sure if the attention she was showering on her cousin was always the best intended. When they arrived at Crystal's one morning, it appeared that Clementine was kissing Nora, just climbing right into the baby bucket and laying some slobber on her. I thought it was cute, but then I noticed the teeth marks in Nora's forehead. Then Clementine started stealing Nora's pacifier, her blanket and anything else Nora had her eye on. Hmmm...is C too young to be jealous? Look how innocent she appears here:

I came back to D-town to find things at work ever more complicated because the young kid who works for me is backing out of his two-year commitment to us to take some ad job in Chicago. This screws me in so many ways, but I'm choosing to ignore it for now and enjoy my vacation. My what? My vacation. On Monday we leave for a week of camping at the Ludington State Park, and I'm so excited. No phones, no Internet (I will get over the anxiety about no email by the third day, I hope), and all sorts of fun outside. I think Clementine is going to have an amazing time, even if she's giving up most of Tastefest, one of my favorite Detroit summer activities. It features tons of bands, local and nation, on a bunch of stages. She was rocking out in my belly last year and will be sad to miss some of the fun on the outside this year. I think she'll also be sad to learn that camping means no phones. I know it's wrong to indulge temper tantrums, but I honestly couldn't handle one more instance of her losing her shit when I wouldn't let her have my cell phone, so I gave her an old one to play with, and she won't go anywhere without it. It's kind of unnerving when kids start aping you, isn't it? I wonder where my almost 10-month old learned to do this:

Not so good after all

Clementine's desire to put everything she can touch in her mouth finally caught up with her the other day. Know what doesn't tast so good? Dirt:

On a roll

As I continually dash "I'll nevers," today we stopped for a Father's Day ice cream treat, and I can add "I'll never give her refined sugar before her first birthday cake" to the trash heap. Because she is looking unusually cute and is gregarious with all those she meets, the woman at Shaker's couldn't help but give Clementine a little baby ice cream cone. Think she liked it? Ummm...although I can't keep her from throwing her sippy cup, her dinner, her toys or even her own precious lamby on the floor again and again, I had to pry the mess of mashed up cone from her vice-like grip and initiate a scream-fest, the likes of which we have never known. Nate's still trying to calm her down, and I imagine I'll never be able to drive past that ice cream stand again. Where's the camera when you need it? Nate snapped these with his camera phone, although they don't really do justice to the absolute bliss she fell into from the very first lick.

Working at home

Think multitasking is being on the phone while composing an email to your employees and IMing your boss while the photocopier runs off 100 of whatever so-and-so needs? That's so last year for me. Multitasking this morning has been emailing work, returning 6 messages (six! before 11 a.m.!) with the mute ON while people are talking and OFF when I'm talking so they aren't distracted by Clementine's lovely chatter or incessant song that emanates from her LeapFrog globe every time it's jostled, allowing her to rifle through my paid bills so I can finish posting reunion photos to the school's website and shoving ice cubes in her mouth to sooth her very sore gums (top two teeth on the way!) while trying to stay on top of my inbox. Know what would be better than working at home? Not working at all. Yup. I said it.

Yesterday I got to daycare to find Clementine in a too-big 1980s Garanimals Snoopy sweatshirt and too-small unmatching pants because she had pooped all over her other clothes. No big deal except we were off to a BBQ and it was at least 80 degrees outside. I stopped at TJ Maxx to get her something easy and cheap and cool but had to wait forever in a line of incompetence before trying to dress her in the trunk of my car. Then she fell asleep on the way and shat herself once again. I didn't have it in me to try to eat in my lap and keep her from jumping off the porch after the dogs at the BBQ, and since I didn't know anyone well enough to say "Here, watch my kid so I can jam some chow in my face," I went home early to eat with Nate. Today I have some odd pinched nerve in my neck that keeps me from being able to look to the left or pick up darling C. without totally wincing, and I'm trying desperately to pick up the slack from my boss' impending departure but still make it so I can be in Chicago on Monday and Tuesday as my friend recovers from surgery--I am her nursemaid. WTF?

Did I already say something about needing a summer break? Whatever happened to popsicles and flip flops, bike rides and picnics? Hell with wanting to be in college again--I want to be seven! Will someone pretty please make me a PB&J with the crusts cut off and bring it outside where I'll be practicing my penny drop on the bars?

School's out for the summer...and it don't mean a damn thing for me

The rush of the end-of-year school stuff is over for now (prom, graduation, reunoin, year-end meetings, etc), the faculty have left us the hell alone and we've launched our new intranet, so why do I still feel so damn busy? There are many things about adulthood that suck, and not living my life by a school schedule is certainly one of them. I need a summer vacation!! While it looked like my job was actually going to make good on a promise to be family friendly and give me summers off, that was just a lark--they can't follow through with any of their promises to make it easy for a working mom to both work and be a mom, so here I am in mid-June in my office and miserable. I'm not going to complain too much more, though. I've decided instead to drag this place kicking and screaming into the working mom's world. Clementine is only going to be in daycare 3 days a week tops, and I'm going to work from home the other 2-3 days if it kills me (and them). There ain't no way I'm gonna miss out on my walking, talking, smiling little honey's first summer. And that's it. I'm also taking all the vacation time off I can to hit the road and have some fun. We're going camping for a week at the end of June, and that's just the beginning of our adventures. Know who else is ready for summer?


Catch!

The weather has been beautiful, but it's about to get much hotter. We've been hanging out in the yard as much as possible, and we were finally able to introduce Clementine to the beloved Impala. Yes, this is the car in which Nate and I were married, the car which he built with his dad and family when he was a young teenager, the car which carried us across the country on the world's best road trip. I would love to say it's the car in which Clementine was conceived, but that happened in the winter time (the Impala don't know no snow), and I'm pretty sure neither of us should have been anywhere near the wheel of a car that night (if it's the night I think it was) anyway.


Although I love seeing her play in the Impala, I'm not so sure about taking her for a ride in it. It's a 1965, so the whole seatbelt thing was an option. There are 2 in the front and none in the back. Since there is no airbag, I think that means I can put her babyseat in the front, but I feel so hyper-programmed not to ever ever do that. Anyone have knowledge of how babies and classic cars can get along? Needless to say, I can't even think about the day she decides to learn to drive the thing.


I guess it's back to work for now. That or I need to haul my cookies outside and go for a run before the day turns into a scorcher. I haven't mentioned my lofty goals here for fear of feeling trapped and unable to back out, but I'm training to run a half marathon, emphasis on the HALF. I know 13 miles isn't such a big deal (especially compared to the 26 that constitute the whole thing), but I have been feeling like I need a new goal. When I was knocked up, I was at the gym almost 5 times a week sweating, running (until almost 8 months!) and chanting "easy and comfortable labor" to get through it. Know what? It totally worked! But since Clementine came along I haven't been as good as I want to be about being in shape. My training is pretty low key, but I'm amazed at how easy running can be if you do it enough. I could give a shit about speed--I'm much more interested in distance, and a long run isn't nearly as awful as it used to be. I ran a 10K a few weeks ago and struggled to finish; now I can run about as far and talk and laugh the whole time--with someone, that is, not just crazy by myself.

But I digress. The sooner I'm outta here, the sooner I'm rollin' with my girl. Look at the attitude:

Christmas in June: another "I'll never" shot to hell

I have long bandied about the idea that I'll NEVER fill my house and my yard with that brightly colored plastic Little Tykes shit that seems to be rotting under a film of dust and pine needles in every backyard in suburbia. My objections are many--the aesthetics, the lack of durability and subsequent recycling, the ubiquity, etc. etc. Sure, I knew I'd incorporate a few big plastic toys here and there, but I was plannig on doing so thoughtfully and placing them among the wooden kitchen set from Land of Nod that I so covet or the handmade swingset I imagined Nate and I constructing outside.

In the great big book of things I thought I'd never do, yesterday I loaded up my car with all sorts of plastic goodies for inside and out that my boss is getting rid of before his big move to Ohio. We got a slide, a few things with wheels, all sorts of toys that sing and ring and pop and hop and all that stuff. I was sheepish as I pulled into my driveway, thinking Nate might lose his shit as seeing so much plastic, but as we were pulling it out of the car and Clementine was shrieking in delight, we couldn't deny what a good idea it all is. OK, maybe not ALL of it, but she was so damn happy pushing the little cart around and riding on a little sit-down scooter that my heart melted. Seriously, I had to restrain myself from going to Targt to buy even more. There we sat on the driveway, these little drab blobs of flesh amid a sea of primary plastic colors, and Clementine could hardly handle so much fun. In fact, she had her first big tears and all tempet tantrum over toys when Nate pulled her off of one of the wheelie things to take her inside to eat. Oh what joy.

In my alternative baby book, this is really only #94 of the "I'll nevers" I've broken, right behind I'll never feed my kid jarred baby food and I'll never have a babysitter I haven't known for at least a year. Stay tuned for more...

Rock out with your tot out

One of my favorite things about living in Detroit: all the free concerts and festivals outdoors in the summer. It's the way I'm hoping to get to see some of my favorite bands without having to give a small ransom to a sitter and feel like I can't stay for the second encore because her mom will be wondering why the hell we keep her out so late. It's also the way we will be able to get Clementine to shows without having her ingest all the second-hand smoke and develop hearning problems and be otherwise scarred from being dragged from bar to bar as an infant so her parents can maintain their sense of themselves as hip, music-loving city folk. We've let go of the delusion, but we still want to go to shows when we can! This weekend is the Detroit Festival of the Arts, and on Friday night one of my all-time favorite local bands, Blanche, played a great set. We had Clementine with us, we all rocked out a little, she danced and we dodged all the hipsters in their tight Levi's, messy shags and white leather shoes who were wondering why the hell there were so many f-ing kids at the show (it's an arts fest, morons, and parents can be cool people, too!).

Yesterday we went back, even though the music wasn't the greatest, to walk around, drink beer in the sunshine and hang out with friends. Clementine decided to go on a sleep strike and declined all her napping opportunities. Did this make for a cranky, irritable baby who slept terribly when at last we took her home for the night? NO. In fact, I am beginning to suspect she may thrive on no sleep whatsoever. She was gregarious, charming the masses from her stroller so that all we could see in the throngs passing through the art fair were these dumb grins down at her. She got to hang out with her boyfriend Hudson and had a grand old time crawling around in the grass, grabbing his pacifier (thank heavens that's all 'cuz last time she was reaching for third base) and shouting and smiling at all the passers-by. We took her to a party later for our friend Rich and took separate cars in anticipation of a total meltdown that would lead to one of us rushing home to spare revelers her tears and antics. Know what? No such meltdown came. She was clearly overtired, but that manifest itself in adorable smiles and nonsense conversations, dancing on her knees and twice taking half a dozen steps totally on her own. She was the belle of the ball, though I was pretty sure her head would start spinning around if we stayed much past 8:30. Lest you think that's where the story of her sleepless delight ends, hold on to your seats. Once I got her down (which took almost and hour because she was so wound up) she slept THE WHOLE NIGHT. Until 6, when she just needed a minute or two of cuddling before she slept until 8. Yes, 8. I am speechless. I know this is what most 9-month-old babies already do, so I'm not expecting applause and oh my goodness how do you do it, wonder-parent? But for her this is a big deal.

So today the plan is to maybe hit a few more bands but also pay attention to our crumbling house. Our big dilemma, though, is whether or not to deprive her sleep and hope for a repeat of yesterday, or to recognize it was a fluke and get back to business. I feel like the good parent thing to do is demand she nap before she gets to rock out, but am I really argue with a near perfect day? And what the hell am I doing blogging on such a beautiful morning anyway? She's got her "Be Loud" t-shirt on and is taking that as a literal commandment, singing and laughing while rolling around with Nate. I think it's time for a pig pile!

zzzzzzzz

My darling, wonderful, sparkling little girl decided to share her sunshine with the world this morning at 6 a.m. I know for a kid this isn't really THAT early, but when you're living on a tight margin, a carefully balanced system based on a specific bed time and the subsequent ability to sleep until 7:15 a.m., the hour and a half you lose (even if it is to watch your impossibly cute daughter play) takes its toll almost instantly. I cannot keep my eyes open. Not even when driving. Especially not when working. I suspect not even while pumping. Why on earth doesn't Starbucks deliver in emergency situations such as this?

9 months

Dear Clementine:

So you’re looking at the hole in this collection that comes between 7 months and 9. It’s true: I forgot to do an 8-month letter. Not forgot, really…I just got busy. It’s crazy hard work to enjoy you every minute I can AND hold down a job, and sometimes I have to let some things go in order to spend as much time with you as possible. This whole working mom thing is all about balance, and I can’t tell you how strange it is to make decisions these days. I don’t want to do anything but hang out with you when you’re awake, so even when I have the chance to jump ship for a few hours, I rarely do. After 9 pm it’s another story, although I’m usually too busy trying to keep up with house stuff do much more than hang out with your awesome dad. I hardly ever blog from home at night, so I missed a lot of the play-by-play of your 8^th month. Sorry—living it was way more fun.

It’s a shame I didn’t get to it, though, because these last two months have been so full of change! You went from hardly crawling to pulling yourself up to racing around the house on your hands and knees to standing on your own to, yesterday, taking your first tentative step without any support (OK, it was like half a step, but it is simply the beginning!). And all that doesn’t even get into the ways you have become more interactive with us—your sparkling and sometimes challenging personality is showing in so many neat ways. You certainly associate me with a long string of “mamamamamama” noises you make, and from time to time you aim your “dada” at your dad. You also say something that sounds an awful lot like duck when we are in the bathtub playing with them, and you say “gook” as we play with your many books (you still won’t sit still for us to read them to you, but you do like to turn the pages). You want to play with us and have us chase you around the house, you are fascinated by other people (though sometimes a little afraid and clingy, too) and always quick to smile at the world. You have the best smile ever, kid. And that’s not just because I’m your mama. You are also eating better than ever (chicken curry an Thai food—we’re so proud!) and have overcome your fear of being spoon-fed, though most of the time you’d still rather do it yourself. That’s your independence showing. You also like to flex that sweet little muscle when we won’t let you have our cell phones or the remote control. You can’t be kept from what you really want, and we’ve seen more than one temper tantrum, which has us nervous for what’s to come. The stairs also make us nervous. You’ve taken to climbing them at warp speed (and fuss if I hol you around the waist for support) and are extremely happy with yourself once you’ve made it all the way to the top. Yeah, it’s totally time to get those baby gates up. You're a busy girl.

I continue to discover things about myself that have changed because of you and your amazing presence in my life. Most recently I’ve been looking at my career and wondering how the hell I’ve ended up where I am. It has been hard for me to be back at this demanding job at a time when I feel like I should be focusing almost entirely on raising you, but I’ve been proud to find a balance between parenting and work that gives us all a lot of great things. As that has evened out, however, the writer in me has started to wonder when it’s her turn to be important. Poetry used to be the center of my life, but while I was trying to figure out how to live (and I mean literally live—like eat and clothe myself and have a place to live), I got a little sidetracked. Then you came along and I got a lot sidetracked and found myself happier than I’d ever been in my life. Some poets would roll their eyes to hear me say it, but happiness like this doesn’t necessarily breed or nurture the best poetry. I write when I’m puzzling something out, when I’m angry, confused, hurt, confident, assertive. Not when I’m blindly happy watching a baby roll around in front of me. Then, my mind just turns to mush. Happy mush, but mush nonetheless.

But I’m eager to get back to writing, to do something about which I feel passionate. I think it’s important that you see me working with passion, interest and direction so you know why I’m not there to wipe your nose every single time, or care for you every single second. I want you to see me as a vital, inquisitive, independent person, and I don’t want you to think of me trudging off to work at a job I do just to get a paycheck or to meet an end. I don’t know what all this means right now (I’m just babbling, aren’t I?), but I do want you to know that I consider my own happiness and success a big part of my job as a parent. Maybe not right now as you’re learning to walk, but as you form your idea of yourself and begin to form your goals, I want you to take risks, to seek happiness, to be reckless and go after what you want. I don’t know why I’m going on and on, but I just want you to know that from the very beginning I’ve been thinking about how every aspect of parenting is something I want to do well for you.

OK, one last story. An image, really. This morning as I was peeling myself out of bed way too early in order to get some stuff done, I looked back to see you all curled up with your dad. I’ll always regret not running to find the camera because you and he were both turned toward my side of the bed, your hands folded in the exact same way and your little mouths slightly open in your deep sleep. It made me think of this Japanese movie I once saw called After Life. I don’t remember it well, but I do recall that the movie was about people who had died and could choose one moment of their life to live in for eternity. I’ve had a lot of those moments in the last nine months, starting from the very first minute I held you in my arms. But for now, this morning is the moment I want to curl up in, the moment I want to suspend myself in forever. I want to go back and curl right up beside you both—my two favorite people in all the world—and just watch you sleep.

I love you,

Mama

Windy City withdrawl

I wrote this on Friday night but forgot to post it until this morning. Duh!

No, I didn't extend Memorial Day weekend into Memorial Day week. My lack of posting is (sadly) not because I'm packing my bags and moving to my friend Crystal's place on Lake Shore Drive, buying a Bugaboo and living a sleek, urban existence. I'm just lazy. We had an excellent time out and about in Chicago, and coming back to the reality of work (a lot of it), a dirty house and lots of shit to do has made blogging impossible. Never fear--that's what Friday nights are for now that I'm a parent. Who wants to go to the movies or happy hour when they can be in jammies in front of a computer by 8 p.m.?

We left a day early for the weekend so I could absolve my guilt, confess to my mother that I was coming in for the weekend and offer her a day in the suburbs so she wouldn't feel left out. It's not that I don't want to see her. We go to Chicago a few times a year to see family and friends, but we never get to see the city. A glimpse here and there on the way in or out of town, but I have been hankering for some adventure. And let me tell you, nothing says adventure like taking a stroller out on city streets. But I digress. We spent Friday with my mom and her friend Judy, who makes Clementine all sorts of fabulous clothes. It's true that some of the clothes ride on the tricky side of cute, but for the most part they are fabulous. I'm particularly in love with this impractical bonnet because Clementine really looks way too cute in it:



OK, so she also looks a little worried, like is she really going to make me go out in this?, but she really grew to like it as I kept forcing it on her head, wondering why I find it so fascinating.

We headed downtown Friday afternoon to stay at my friend Crystal's amazing place right on the lake. She's in Europe, so we got to pretend like we owned the place, which in our world means trashing it. We walked around her neighborhood a ton, found all sorts of great restaurants and shops and hit it all hard. I know Mama C-ta is thinking I went to Psychobaby to spend all my cash, but I was determined to find new frontiers. On Saturday we went to Roscoe Village (a 2 mile hike from Crystal's, but I wasn't yet ready to face taking a cab with a stroller). There is a cute restaurant there called the Kitsch-n on Roscoe that had a huge outdoor table for my brood and my sister's brood, and after we stuffed ourselves on fabulous brunch, we hit the shopping. There were lots of shops, and almost all of them were baby-oriented. I can't remember all the names, but there were children's clothing stores, a toy store, a gallery that sold stuff by local independent artisits (including some neat onesies), boutiques, denim shops, etc. etc. Some of the stuff was outrageous, but I skipped past the $113 jeans and found a few good deals. The best part was just walking around witheveryone.

Some Detroit friends joined us in the city later that day, and we spent some time wandering through vintage clothing stores and down city streets. Yes, I live in a city (Detroit), but it is nothing like Chicago with all its neighborhoods and spirit. I'm sure if I were more articulate I could put my finger on what it is that makes it such a damn fine city, but we had a great time just breathing it in. We braved the "L" with our stroller (no elevators in most stations, and it is no easy task to get the damn thing, even folded up, through the turnstiles) becasue it was waaay too hot to wear Clementine in one of our many baby carrying contraptions, and she was such a trooper that anyone we inconvenienced didn't mind. I'm not kidding. She was like to Goodwill Ambassador of the child-rearing set, waving and smiling at the world while we cut in front of them and did other things with the stroller that used to totally piss me off as a pedestrian. We hit the chic Armitage shopping district, went back and forth on Broadway for ice cream, shopping and sights and even dined in a Thai restaurant and creperie, all with the World's Best-Behaved Baby. I'm not just bragging here--travel is definitely this kid's thing.

But don't take my word for it. I have photographic proof:

Hanging out in Lincoln Park, swinging, cruising and charming joggers by the dozen

Pondering Lake Michigan, which was 60 degrees and way too cold to dip her toes in

Hitting the city streets even after bedtime because her parents still had more they wanted to see

Did I mention Crystal has a pool? This is Clementine's first real swim, and she loved it

So although the weekend felt epic and life-changing--I could really see how different my whole groove would be if I could actually WALK to a store or restaurant that doesn't sell Lotto and Liquor (the only destinations in my lovely vicinity)--this post can't really capture it. I just loved the feel of being someplace new, of really getting into it and not worrying too much about my tourist checklist.

But now we're back to reality and doing our best to make it work. And by work I mean I'm cruising the web at all hours trying to figure out how we can visit all sorts of new cities this summer on our very limited budget. Any suggestions?

Mother of the year

Dear judges:

I hereby submit these photos as further evidence that I deserve the title "Mother of the Year" for 2006. While the sunburn and hungover trampoline stunts were impressive, I think you will agree they pale in comparison to my new method of keeping my child contained:

She also appears to be having a nutritious snack here, no doubt something delicious left behind by the dog. Lest you think we are overly cruel, I assure you we do let her out from time to time:

Click on the above photos if you still need more convincing.

Yours,
Punk Rock Mama