And next on the agenda, unfinished business...

There was a time in my life when I thought I was wicked-smart and that I could achieve anything, do any job, master any task, and chart any course. I had the whole world in the palm of my hand, to do with as I please, to conquer at whim. Ah, the folly of youth!

I think this overzealous self-importance is commonly called adolescence. We hit our stride in our teens, peek just before twenty, live through our 20s not quite so self-absorbed, but not until our 30s do we really get a sense of reality about the world and our small place in it. At least, this was my time line, adjust as you see fit.

Sometimes I think, having all that self-confidence was overwhelming. I felt like I could do anything, but what did I REALLY WANT to do? I felt like I was being pulled in fifteen different directions, all from the inside out. As time passed, I felt less like an all-conquering hero and more like a Jane-of-all-trades, mistress of none. There were so many things that interested me, so many different things I wanted to explore and try, yet I had trouble finishing things. I would get bored easily and want to be on to the next new and exciting thing, for at least as long as it stayed exciting. This pattern proved to be, at times, expensive, exhaustive, embarrassing, or erratic. Take your pick. As evidence I provide you with the following list:

• I tried to sell cosmetics and win a pink Cadillac, but now am blacklisted from their organization for selling back all the product I had mistakenly thought I could unload.
• I was 6 credits shy of a degree at one University, but moved back in with my parents and did an entire additional year at another University just to get the same degree.
• At different points in time, I've joined various and sundry weight loss programs and workout groups, yet here I sit, more overweight than ever before.
• I have an entire shelf in my bookcase filled with blank books and journals just waiting to be written in. Sadder yet, there's a box under my bed with journals that do contain writing, but over half of them have only been christened on the first 5 or 10 pages, then blank...
• I chose an occupation where you have to pass exams to progress and become a certified member of the profession. I've passed the first 2 of 6 exams and can't seem to make it any further despite multiple attempts.

I could offer up more examples, but I'm starting to get depressed. I know that the benevolent powers-that-be, gave us both reason and emotion to balance us out. In retrospect, I wish I had done a better job at knowing when to follow my head and when to follow my heart. It would have tipped the balance on many of those internal tug-of-wars playing themselves out inside my being. Depending on the circumstances, it's not always the head you should follow. And I've made a few mistakes both ways, causing both headache and heartache, some mistakes more painful than others.

Now, as a 30-something, I've made many of those so-called "adult" realizations, each one a psychological watershed, like:

• realizing my parents are only human, fallible and mortal like the rest of us.
• realizing that, while I probably could do any job, some jobs are WAY harder than others, and some I would NOT enjoy, and some I would be just plain awful at doing.
• realizing that, while I would still consider myself to be wicked-smart, there are people out there smarter than me, fortunately; and that there are also people out there much, much, much, much, much more wicked than I could ever be even at my worst moments, unfortunately.
• realizing that, as my own mother ceremoniously takes on her new role as a grandmother, the mantle has been passed and I'm now the one who will be answering to the call for "mom".
• realizing that being a parent helps you to better understand God.
• realizing very, very recently, that even as a 30-something, it's never to late to recreate yourself into the person you want to be.

So, I look at myself now as being back at the beginning. Remaking myself and soon to reemerge. Not like a delicate, beautiful butterfly breaking out of its cocoon. I was not a caterpillar before, and there's no way I could ever describe myself as delicate, in any sense of the word. But, I will soon be reborn, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a newer, stronger, brighter, more focused version of my same old self. I can't tell you where this new phoenix will fly (for her course has not yet been charted) or what her plumage will look like (for her feathers are still growing), but she's smoldering away and when the smoke clears... look out world!

The XYZ on XX and XY

A friend recently commented to me that my baby looks just like her daddy. And it's true, they both have long, beautiful eyelashes, the same mouth, and just about the same amount of hair (my daughter may actually have MORE hair than her daddy, but that's another post altogether). I think she may have my nose, but it's hard to tell yet. She sucks her fingers like her daddy did when he was little. Yep, I definitely see a lot of him in her. Myself, not so much.

Someone told me that babies tend to look more like their fathers at this early age. It is Mother Nature's way of assuring the father that this, indeed, is his progeny. The mother produces the baby from the fruit of her loins, so there's little doubt as to who is the mommy. But, when there is any question at all of "who's your daddy?" the little telltale traits can be an enormous relief to a Doubting Thomas. As the child gets older, supposedly, you'll be able to see more of the mother in their looks.

This said, babies' looks do vary widely. Of course, every parent believes their child is beautiful. And in their parents' eyes, every child IS beautiful. But as an objective viewer, be honest, you've seen some homely babies, haven't you? Many babies look particularly unattractive immediately after delivery, that trip out of the womb having been a rough one. Luckily, most babies plump out in a couple of days and look all cute and babyish. Some poor kids though, they continue to look like they were beat with the ugly stick while still in utero. I've seen a couple of babies that wouldn't be able to get a dog to lick their face if they tied a pork chop around their neck. Poor kids, but their parents believe they are beautiful, because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and nobody "be-holding" a new baby mo' than its moms and pops. And that belief, that's what is beautiful.

As for me, I've been told by numerous parties (that swear to being impartial) that our daughter is just adorable. And I won't comment because I'm completely and utterly biased. When I sit with her, particularly when I'm holding her as she sleeps, I am in awe of her little features. I'm cocooned in a little sanctuary of mother-daughter love that transcends whose nose she has and whose ears are most like hers. That, my friends, is a moment of true beauty.

You spin me right round baby, right round...

... like a record baby, right round, round, round...

So do you think there will be a significant difference between a 1000 RPM front loading washer and a 1200 RPM model? I mean how fast do your clothes really need to spin? Just fast enough to force most of the water out of them, not fast enough to make them turn green & throw up.

After weeks of research and household discussion, we finally went appliance shopping this past weekend. I'd decided what KIND of washer and dryer I wanted, now it was just pricing different brands and different stores. We spent a better part of Saturday going from the local Hardware Megacenter to the Electronics Superstore to the Softer Sided Department Store and finally we ended up at the eNormous Furniture Megastore, where the prices couldn't be beat. So we ended up with this New Washer and New Dryer. I can't begin to tell you how excited I am about these new appliances! It's sad really.

The pair should be delivered on Thursday and I will not miss our old machines AT ALL. Although they are fully functional, there is this minor quirk that if you use the large load water setting but fail to stuff the washer tub jammed full of clothes, it tends to leak all over the floor. My dear husband kept attributing this to "user error", but a washing machine shouldn't flood your laundry room if it is in good working order.

Anyway, new frontloading machines are on their way and I'm looking forward to doing laundry this weekend. (Sad, really pathetic and sad...)

: )

Paging Dr. Higgins, Dr. Henry Higgins

We think perhaps our baby girl may have been switched at birth. In reality, she is not our darling little girl, but the daughter of some displaced African bushmen who were inadvertently in our Midwestern town to give birth. And, WHY on earth would we suspect this? Because she's already practicing their native tongue.

OK, I may be exaggerating. Actually, she's just a budding dialectician. This week's language dujour is the Khoikhoi language of Africa, replete with various tongue clicks. It's the tongue clicks that she is practicing diligently. Go ahead, click your tongue at her, she'll click back.

Last week, she was a drama queen. She was practicing for her upcoming role of a young child suffering from consumption and she had the cough down. Cough, cough. Smile, break your heart, cough, cough, tongue thrust out, cough, cough. Someone call Scorsese and hold the Oscars... Mr. DeMille, she's preparing for her close up.

Actually, she's just learning to make new sounds. And each new thing requires LOTS of practice. In addition to sounds, she's learning different physical actions too. She's been rolling over for a couple of weeks now (budding gymnast), she can put her toes in her mouth (budding contortionist), and she's tried to stuff her entire little fist in her mouth (budding... OK let's not go there... she's just a baby!).

Why is it that the most mundane things are astounding when your child does them for the first time?

Loaded Questions

Poopwatch 2005 is officially over! I knew that adding solids (rice cereal, oatmeal, and now sweet potatoes) to our daughters diet would change the consistency of her output, but I had NO idea that it would so drastically impact the frequency, or more accurately, the infrequency. You see, our girl had not pooped since Tuesday. It's now Saturday morning and we finally have poop! That's 24.. 48.. 72.. 96 hours since the prior occurrence.

I went in to get her this morning and there was a certain aroma clinging to the air around the crib. She was laying there happy and smiley as ever. (Where did this child inherit her happy morning disposition from?? It wasn't me!) I asked her, "Did you finally deliver a package in your panties?" She merely grinned in response... talk about a loaded question.

We moved over to the changing table and great-googly-moogly was there a lot of poop! Amazingly all still contained in the diaper (gotta love Pampers). I'll spare you the intimate details of the change in consistency, but her diet has changed from 100% liquid breast-milk to a mix of solid and liquid, so I'll leave you to do the math on that front.

Anyway, all in our household are greatly relieved (some physically, some psychologically) and life goes on. I used to wonder about those stories that claim new parents always talk about baby poop... well, they do say to write what you know. And this I know... if you're a parent, you can't help but become obsessed with your children's output, in all formats, including... poop!

Somehow, I feel more official as a parent now that I have a written about this loaded topic.

Fears and Confidences

I am afraid of ...
... missing something wonderful that my daughter does while I'm away at work part-time.
... ruining my own mother's experience as a grandmother by depending on her for daycare.
... what might happen to my daughter if she was in a daycare for profit, instead of being cared for by a person that loves her unconditionally.
... losing myself to being a mom.
... never being able to lose the weight.
... going through life without ever really pursuing my passions.

I am confident of ...
... the love of my family and my love for them.
... my ability to improvise in this great comedic production called parenthood.
... my sufficient supply of common sense.
... the fact that my daughter will grow up healthy, wealthy in friendships, and wise because she has two parents who want nothing more than that for her future.
... the sun rising tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, even when the clouds obscure my vision.
... myself as a creative force, occasionally let loose upon the world to wreak mayhem and merriment.

Messy Combinations

Barbecue ribs and paper napkins...
Furry, wet dog and clean hardwood floors...
Drew Barrymore and Tom Green...

and my recent favorite...

Oatmeal and Raspberries...

...pbbbbbbbbttttttt to you too!
(You can't see it in this picture, but she even managed to get some on her eyelid!)

Mom Hair

I refuse. I simply refuse to be one of those mothers who gets the sensible, low-maintenance, short & perky hair cut. I refuse for several reasons:

1. I have issues with my neck: the skin there has some dryness issues and is best left hidden under long hair.
2. I am not perky. I have a 5 month old, I do not have the energy to even think perky thoughts.
3. While I am low maintenance, in the past, I've always found that shorter haircuts on my head require more styling and general fotzing-with in the mornings to look half-way decent. For me, long hair means comb through with detangler, blow dry, and put back with either a pony-tail holder, headband, or clips. Easy-peasy.
4. I was warned by the pregnancy books, as well as by my own mother, that my hair would fall out after the baby. Nobody bothered to explain that it would be about 5 months after the birth. I kept thinking I'd lucked out... but then, last week, the fallout began. Yesterday I cleaned up enough hair off my bathroom counter and sink to make a nice wig for a balding barbie doll. If I get my hair cut short, I might as well go bald myself.

All these reasons withstanding, I do need a haircut. Desperately. I haven't had it cut in nearly a year! I have split ends out the ying-yang. My daughter is starting to grab my hair and put great gobs of it into her mouth (mmmm, I know Shaper Hairspray smells nice, but it can't possibly taste good). I've been procrastinating, using that "I'm a new mom, I just don't have time..." excuse. But I just can't put it off any longer.

Also, I had a realization the other day, seemingly out of nowhere. I've always been disappointed in hair cuts. No matter how talented the stylist is, I never seem satisfied with the cut. But I realized that I was going into each haircut with totally unrealistic expectations. I kept thinking a hair cut was going to magically make me look thinner, and guess what? It's not going to happen. Wanna know why? Because I'm fat, and no haircut is going to change that fact.

So, now that I've scaled back my expectations, all I need to do is schedule an appointment. Maybe tomorrow the gods of procrastination and lame excuses will be off on holiday and I'll actually make that call!

New Blog

I've decided to move my weblog and refocus it a bit... for all the news that's fit to print about my life as a wife, mother, writer, and all the other 1,000 faces that I wear...
Check out: http://tacey.blogspot.com/

A new one for Webster's: puerose

This is my new word. It is constructed of two syllables: puer- which is latin for child, and -ose which is a well known suffix for sugars (sucrose, glucose, lactose, etc.). I will define it as that indescribable sweetness possessed only by an adorable infant who is so cute that even complete strangers are compelled to say things like "you're so sweet, I could just eat you with a spoon!"

My word could also be used in place of the common phrase "sugar & spice & everything nice" of which little girls are made.

The idea for this word germinated over the weekend, whilst shopping at the local mall with my husband and baby girl. It was suggested that we stop by the cookie place, whereupon my husband commented that our daughter was so sweet (puerose, if you will) that I should never need to buy cookies ever again. Now, while it was all good and well to compliment our girl on being the sweetest thing we can imagine, one does not use goofy logic like that to stand between a woman and her chocolate chip cookie craving. If he had made such a statement at the REALLY good cookie place, he probably would have sustained injury!

Take a Chance on Mia

Last night my best friend and I went to see Mamma Mia at the Music Hall. As KC Theater League members and Starlight Season ticketholders for the past several years, we have seen our fair share of musicals. I personally think last night was the MOST FUN we've had since we embarked on our little journey of cultural enlightenment! We've seen good shows before, of course. We loved The Producers (so witty), the clever and sarcastic Urinetown, and the wildly popular Rent. We're also suckers for well done revivals of light-hearted classics like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers or Thoroughly Modern Millie (probably because were both old movie junkies, gotta have that AMC or TCM fix regularly or we start to twitch and hallucinate, visions of the RKO radio tower striking us down with a bolt of lightning).

We've seen some stinkers too. We saw a production of the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas starring Ann-Margret that was abysmal. The star seemed to be sleepwalking through her entire performance, YAWN. We left during intermission of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Starlight Express (please... the life and times of roller-skating toys set to incredibly over-synthesized music, gag). Overall, I'm pretty much NOT a fan of ALW, although my friend doesn't mind his work so much.

In any event, this Abba musical was really clever. It wasn't really about Abba, at all. It was a comedic plot about a single mother and her daughter who's getting married and the men who may or may not have fathered the girl. Just like any other musical, at key points in the play, the characters break into song, some ditty relevant to the plot or the current emotions of the characters. Unlike any other musical, every song is an Abba tune. As our program described, it was written "backwards", start with the tunes and work a story around it. I thought the whole thing was FUN and tremendously entertaining. (Of course, my friend and I have a little thing for Abba, but that story is for another day.) After the final bows, the cast led a dance number/sing-a-long with the whole audience on their feet!

I think you could create a musical based on the music of any well-rounded band or artist that has a large catalog of work from which to draw (The Beatles, Elvis, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, etc.) Maybe this is what I'll start working on in my spare time... oh yeah, I'm a working mom now, I don't have spare time any more... I keep forgetting!

I Will

This is one of my favorite Beatles tunes. It's a lesser known ditty off the White Album that has always made me smile. It's a romantic little love song, but I sing it to my daughter when I'm trying to soothe or calm her. Speaking of the Beatles, our whole household enjoyed the halftime show with Sir Paul McCartney performing a few beloved standards. (I've added Hey Jude to my soothing-tunes-to-hum repertoire.)

I hope my daughter will grow up to love music as much as I do. Towards that end, I'm introducing her to all kinds of music. She will grow up knowing the kiddy standards like The Wheels on the Bus and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star so that the other children on the playground won't laugh and point if she doesn't know the words. But I'm hoping she'll prefer Vivaldi or Simon & Garfunkel, They Might Be Giants or The Eagles, Ray Charles or Brave Combo, Aerosmith or Dave Brubeck, Barenaked Ladies or The Gypsy Kings, Jimmy Buffett or Chopin. Or maybe she'll like musicals & showtunes... I'm currently singing her selections from The Wizard of Oz, The Sound of Music, and Grease. Later this week, I'll be seeing Mamma Mia! so a medley of Abba tunes is right around the corner.

Music soothes the savage baby; it will calm my daughter when she is fussy for no apparent reason (in other words, she's not wet, hungry, or tired). Not that this happens too often, but on the occasions when it does, music is our savior.

Streamlined Thoughts

For over a year, I've toyed with several blogs. There was an abortive attempt at a weight loss blog, a pregnancy/baby blog that pretty much fell dormant way before I even had the excuse of being busy with a baby, and a writing blog that never made it past the conceptual stage.

Rather than trying to compartmentalize my life, I've decided to just let it be. Let it be the thousand different things that float through my head on any given day. Some days, I seem obsessed with food. Some days, it's all about my daughter and the wonderful and mundane new thing she has amazed me with that day. Some days, it's about feeling like I should be contributing something, anything, to the world at large.

So, this is it. This will be all of it. The good, the bad, the ugly underbelly of my life. Buckle up, keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times, and scream occassionally (because it irritates the people around you). Don't say I didn't warn you!