Natives Growing (More) Restless (If That's Even Possible)

BOY:  Mommy still says she's "under the weather."  What does that mean?

CAT:  It means she's too focused on herself and won't go out and buy us treats, that's what it means!

BOY:  Do you think her illness has something to do with the patch of red, blotchy skin between her eyebrows?  Perhaps she was bitten by a spider or something!

CAT:  No, that's just from an eyebrow waxing gone wrong.  I told her to hit up the pricier salon but she wouldn't listen.  So now being sick and odd looking is her punishment.  

BOY:  Poor Mommy!

CAT:  Poor US!

I've Been Bugged

BOY:  Mommy isn't feeling well.

CAT:  She's been moaning and groaning all over the place.  

BOY:  You'd think she was stricken with typhoid fever with the way she's carrying on.

CAT:  If she doesn't start perking up by later today then she's gonna have to fake it 'til she makes it.  We're bored with this "I'm sick" schtick.  

BOY:  Agreed.  We have needs!  I need her to buy me more stickers, soymilk, diapers, crayons, and more stickers!  

CAT:  And I need more cans of food.  But only the seafood variety.  You know, the kind she has to make a special trip to Target to get because they don't sell it at the closer stores.  

BOY AND CAT:  Look alive, woman, look alive!

Piglet Money Shot

Market Day, folks!  Time for us to stock up on locally grown produce and celebrity sightings.

A whole lotta famous folks today.  Kids, kooky outfits and kale in tow--it was a lot.  I won't reveal their identities here though because after being used as camouflage by some fledgling paparazzi I felt badly for them.  I was watching The Boy, The Husband and The Father-In-Law as they enjoyed the petting zoo when two goofballs carrying serious camera equipment came up behind me.  One was clearly showing the other the paparazzi ropes.

"You gotta be stealth like, man.  You gotta have that camera ready at all times.  And you can't let them see you. You're gonna have to switch the settings on your lens so that it doesn't close, man.  At any given moment you gotta be ready to take that shot.  Alright, there she is!  Quick, take it!"

Now I'm pretty good at spotting celebrities.  And I had just discreetly pointed out two well known actresses to Mr. Jarcy moments before these guys arrived on the scene.  But those actresses were now long gone and headed home to get ready for the Emmys award show tonight.  I had no idea who they were trying to immortalize in a money shot.  Grandparents?  Stay-at-home moms?  The baby animal wrangler/poop patrol dude?  I'm not sure these guys have much of a career ahead of them if they mistook one of the grandmas for Betty White.

Speaking of Betty White, have we had enough of her yet?  I love her too but I think it's time to give the ol' gal a rest.

 

Not In The Valley Anymore, Toto

We did it!  We got to Long Beach and back.  It was a success on many levels.  Now I know where to go when my friends come to port (provided it's in Long Beach!) on their cruise ship.  And I got to venture out of my comfort zone in the Valley and see another part of my new(ish) state.  And most importantly, The Boy LOVED all the fish, sea stars, sharks, rays, etc!  He stood in front of the tanks and soaked it all in for lengths of time.  He was so happy.  That means his Mama and Daddy are happy.  

I know it sounds odd that I'm all excited about driving 40 miles from my home to an aquarium.  I used to travel all over the place!  But then I moved away from my comfort zone WITH A BABY!  40 miles might as well be 400.  And in some ways you need just as much stuff with you.  But we did it and now can do it more.  

I now have my sights set on that 400...

Mama Needs To Break Out Of The Valley

We're on our way to the aquarium.  It is 40 miles away.  The Boy has already had one meltdown.  I finally had to pull out the "Goodnight Chicago" book to show him a picture of a cartoon aquarium to explain why we needed to put clothes on.  "We're going there!" I said.  "We gotta get ready to go see the fishies!"  We're headed to the Long Beach aquarium--not Chicago-- but whatever works here.  He seemed to get it and succumbed to shorts, shirt and sandals.  Whew.  Then he managed to pee all over his clothes and we had to do the whole routine over again.

I have packed enough to keep us occupied for 40 hours.  Newly purchased portable dvd player, stickers, cars, letters, food, etc.  With any luck it will last for 40 minutes.

And away we go!

Rich Girl

Are you ever stressed?  

I never like to assume anyone else experiences this mixture of toxic emotions like I do.  In fact, I'm really good at assuming everyone else is more put together, more "normal."  "Boy, that Mrs. Jarcy, she sure is a downer!  Always so anxious and worried.  What--like having a child, paying billions for COBRA and making it in Hollywood is difficult?  Such a complainer that one!"  But that said, you must struggle from time to time with some level of unpleasant feelings so I am going to share with you my latest cure-all in the battle against stress.  It's very simple--

The song "Rich Girl" by Hall & Oates

I know this is weird but hear me out.  One day recently and seemingly out of nowhere "Rich Girl" affixed itself to my brain (or was it my soul?) and I could not shake it.  Usually I fight the song because, well, it's really uncool.  But I'm already so darn uncool (using the word "darn" is an example) so I bought it on iTunes and listened.  And I really, really, really liked it.  I felt happy.  Upbeat.  Less stressed.  

The song "Rich Girl" by Hall & Oates combats stress.  

Then I bought "The Very Best Of Darryl Hall & John Oates" and my life has forever been changed as a result.  Why?  Because it is impossible to feel any form of negative emotion while listening to these songs.  IMPOSSIBLE!  Just try moping about on your couch while "You Make My Dreams" blasts in the background.  Go ahead, I dare you!  Those Hall & Oates boys will make you feel so light and airy with their magical melodies you'll wonder why they aren't recognized by mental health professionals for their therapeutic powers.  

Feeling stressed?  I get stressed.  Listen to the song "Rich Girl" by Darryl Hall & John Oates.  Do it over and over again until you know all the words by heart and recognize that a song about a rich girl who can't feel pain and lives off her daddy's money has nothing to do with you but, damn, it feels good to listen to it.  It will change your life.

* This is not a paid endorsement but I am always open to making money (refer to COBRA comment above).

Gymnastics In Our Future

"I wonder if anyone notices I've pushed the stool on it's side and up against the side table and couch?  The coast is clear I think.  Good."

"Oh, hi, Mommy.  Have you been standing there long?  Listen, pay no attention to what I'm doing here.  It doesn't concern you in the least.  Isn't there something on HGTV to keep you occupied?"

"Now if I can just leverage myself up while precariously balancing between the stool and the table..."

"Yes!  I'm in position.  Now, Mommy, you KNOW I'm gonna launch myself onto the couch now, right?  Just accept that sitting still is not in my DNA. "  

Urban Legend

I have encountered a creature more mythical and rare than the Lochness Monster, Bigfoot and a Chupacabra combined...

The Unfriendly Trader Joe's Employee

I had never even heard of an Unfriendly Trader Joe's Employee, that's how rare they are!  And to think she was living among us unhappily checking out goodies at our nearest store!

• She did not smile.  
• She did not ask asinine questions like, "What do you think of the Joe's O cereal? I've never tried it."  
• She not only demanded to see I.D. for the wine I was purchasing, she also studied my entire being for a full 30 seconds--with and without reading glasses-- to ensure that I did indeed look the part of a thirty cough-cough year old woman.
• She talked at great length with another Trader Joe's Employee about wanting to transfer to another Trader Joe's store.  A store far, far away from the Sherman Oaks one with all it's, "you know."

No, I didn't "you know!"  What the hell did that mean?  Was it me?  Did I unknowingly offend her with my pleasant demeanor or purchase of three half-gallon organic/unsweetened soymilks? Was it the store?  Was it deemed unsanitary by the health department?  What did this crabby lady mean?!

I applied to work at a Trader Joe's once back in Chicago.  I wasn't hired.  But if this woman has slipped through the cracks then there's still hope for making my grocery bagging dreams a reality.

Foot Sandwich

Some children will only drink milk.  Others refuse vegetables.  The Boy goes through phases in what he'll ingest as well, however, one thing remains constant and that is his left foot positioned up on the high chair's tray at meal time.  It's very odd and that foot sure gets sticky with food but now it doesn't bother me.  It'll bother me when he's 10 perhaps but not now.  

Who am I kidding--it probably won't bother me when he's 10 either.  As long as it stays funny we'll let him do it.

Moo? Alright, I Guess That Can Count

Boy all widdle and newborny.

The Boy is 18 months old.  He's not speaking.  Let me amend that by saying he is speaking CONSTANTLY only it his own language.  He looks at you while speaking, points at stuff while speaking and has even held his hands out and upside down while speaking as if to say, "I mean, am I right or am I right?  You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Well, no, we don't.  

We went to the doctor earlier in the week-- as mentioned in this hilarious little story-- and she referred us to an agency that will assess his lack of speech.  Fortunately, I have two good friends here who have gone through this same experience with their little boys as well.  (Hmmm, if many boys this age aren't talking, perhaps that is normal...)

Sometimes I stress out over this (ah, let's just add this to the list!) but I also know I'll miss his made-up language when it goes extinct.  He's so cute talking his jibberish and signing "more" for more tickling, more books, more chasing after him, etc.  And it will be just another babyism soon thrown by the wayside to make room for growing boy status.  (BOOHOO!  How is it that all this parenting mumbo jumbo can be beyond stressful and difficult yet then those stressful and difficult phases pass and you miss them!  It's so insane.)

He has been saying some words this week though.  He's been saying MOO, MEOW and DADA.  When asked who I am I swear he said my first name instead of MAMA.  And sometimes he will use MOM when I'm prying him off other children or the tops of tables.  That's lovely, he'll refer to me when pissed off about me not letting him run the show.  Oy.

That Cow Is Laughing At Me

"Do you like my hair?  I was inspired by Motley Crue!"-- Maggie, old friend of Mrs. Jarcy's back in Chitown.  

I keep seeing this woman on Mini Babybel Cheese commercials who looks and acts a lot like me. Or at least a former version of me.  Or the version that lives in my head and only I think resembles her.

Well anyway, it could have been me in those ads instead of her.

After a two year hiatus from auditioning I had decided to resume and that was my first audition back.  This was in Chicago probably three years ago now.  I was convinced I had done horribly.  I had been incredibly nervous, unprepared and uncomfortable in front of the camera.  Not a winning combination when auditioning.  Then beyond all reason I got a callback.  It was more shocking than if I had been awarded a key to the city for paying off all my parking tickets.

Seeing the commercials now I understand it's because I LOOKED the part.

She looks younger though--a tad younger than I did back then and way younger than I do now (or is it that I FEEL so much older?).  In the more recent ad she looks cuter than the original, like someone gave her a Mini Babybel makeover.  She's not just cute, she's now groomed Girl Next Door.  The Girl looks good!  I can't help but compare myself to her even though this is not fair to either of us.  She's crawling towards 30 while I'm bum rushing 40.  Her hair is longer and darker while mine got butchered into the obligatory Mom Cut and continues the plight to reach past my chin.  

Girlfriends told me not to chop all my hair off post baby.

Girlfriends warned me this urge would envelop my entire being and me convinced that chopping it was the right thing to do.  It was gonna make me feel better about spending 200 hours a day nursing a newborn. The Girlfriends told me not to listen to the urge, the urge was a lying sack of sh*t and to let the urge pass and then see how I felt.  But of course, I gave in to the urge.  And then I gave into the urge even more when we got to California and lobbed most of it off.  The urge really ran the show.

Now please don't misunderstand and think I am opposed to cutting one's hair.

I am not.  My friends have chopped their hair off and they look stunning.  Stunning!  And I don't think I have looked all that bad with the short 'do either and I've done it plenty in life.  It's just that now that I'm feeling more like myself--a pre-mother version of myself-- I can't look in the mirror and recognize that woman.  Yes, she looks familiar but where's her hair?!  Maybe having that hair is my own security blanket.  Like the visual cue that I am still here amidst all the changes in life.  Ah, there she is, I could say.  Good to see you've made it to the party, after all!  Of course, if I hadn't cut my hair I'd probably be whining about that.  Why do I still look like that Mini Babybel Cheese Girl?  My life is so different now! 

I really can't win with myself sometimes.

Two Ladies Walk Into A Cafe...

I'm in my cafe.  It's mine because it's only 20 seconds of walking from my door to the cafe's.  I'm here to write and these two ladies are here as well.  They are chatting.  A lot.  One is very loud and adept at using her body to convey her thoughts with wildly exaggerated gestures.  The other is not as loud but just as skilled at talking very quickly.  At many points they are talking at the same time and it seems impossible one can understand the other's point of view while simultaneously yapping.

I know who these ladies are.  I know because I am now one of them.

This skill of rapid fire speech is honed in settings like playgroups, playgrounds, birthday parties, dinners out...etc.  Rapid fire speaking is a talent that having young children around you will improve greatly.  You want so desperately to engage with another human being who doesn't require you to change his dirty diapers and read "Pat The Bunny" twenty times in a row.  So when you're faced with the opportunity to engage another adult you do it and you do it quickly.  That's the only way you'll get all your thoughts, feelings and neurosis out in the alloted time.  Then you can plow through another twenty reads of "Pat The Bunny" feeling heard yourself.  

Well now one of the ladies has answered her phone and appears to be talking with someone about speech therapy.  Loud Lady is the expert it seems.  "Have you tried keeping the statements to two words only?  You gotta keep it simple and easy for him to follow and mimic." Hmmm, you know The Boy is not really speaking any words yet...I'm wondering if I should jump in on this caffeine-infused and time-crunched conversation they're having and get some free guidance.  Like I said, I'm now fluent in their language.

But Don't My Eyes Look Less Tired?

I pre-ordered an expensive eye cream from a cosmetics counter last week and then picked it up yesterday.  This week is "bonus days" which means you get this whole booty of cosmetic and skin care goodies when you purchase during that time.  I didn't just wait until this week, I pre-ordered last week.  I'm a planner (now).


You guys are supplementing your income with savings to get by, is that right?

Yes, correct.

And you're blowing cash on pricey cosmetics?


But it's really good eye cream.  It has an SPF 28 in there!


PAUSE FOR JUDGEY SILENCE AND EYE ROLL

Well it does!  And it makes me feel better about the fact my thighs are so squishy!


Wouldn't it be wiser to NOT buy the eye cream and instead take more walks?

Oh, Zip it!!!

Fairy Tail (Yes, I Meant Tail Not Tale)

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Los Angeles, there lived a Boy and Cat...

The Boy loved hanging on/with/around Cat.  Cat loved The Boy in return and expressed this love by letting The Boy hang on/with/around her many times throughout the day.   

But Cat would grow weary of The Boy and move to a location in the apartment where The Boy was not.  She would love The Boy from a distance, she thought.  But The Boy would follow.  He again would hang on/with/around Cat and Cat would kindly allow.  Because when you love som--

"Alright, now I'm ready to stop allowing and your 'fairy tail' is stupid.  Put the camera phone down and release me from his incredibly strong grip, Woman!"

I Routinely Contemplate Xanax

"This stool is to be sat ON but if you turn it upside down it can be sat IN!  I'm ingenious."

The Boy has had his fill of medical care in the last few days.  We have too.  Especially Mr. Jarcy, poor man...

Like a good mother, I procrastinated getting The Boy's required blood work done until the day before I figured his physician would begin to question my role as a responsible parent.  "What do you mean you haven't gotten the blood drawn?  What kind of parent are you?  I'm calling DCFS on your lazy ass, lady!"  So fine, I pushed through the dread and made the appointment for yesterday morning.  Then I forced Mr. Jarcy to take him because I'm a wuss with blood getting drawn.

As you can imagine, it didn't go so smoothly.

The Boy was most unhappy.  To really torture my husband, I made him take The Now Very Unhappy Boy to a toddler gym class immediately following the procedure.  As you can imagine, that didn't go so smoothly either.  The Boy may have decided it was the fault of the other children for his earlier blood work and may have expressed his unhappiness by hitting them.  Sigh...

Now we come to today.

This morning we whisked The Boy off to his checkup (yes, I was a big girl and went as well).  Calm prevailed until we hit the exam room.  That's when medical professionals and The Boy's parents banded together to commit such heinous crimes as checking his head circumference (still massively huge), weight (pushing 30 lbs.) and height (2 inches taller than 3 months ago).  I kept doling out "all done" in sign language after each test until Mr. Jarcy snapped under his breath, "Stop doing that!"  Yes, that was probably confusing, as the tests were clearly not all done.  Note taken.

Then came the question and answer portion of our visit, simultaneously wrangling the traumatized Boy while also discerning what exactly was being asked through the nurse's thick accent--

NURSE:  Do you leeve in a home or apartment?

ME:  An apartment.

NURSE:  Do you have somespeter?

MR. JARCY:  No.

ME:  We don't?!  What about Creepy the cat?

MR. JARCY:  She asked us if we have a smoker in the house, Mrs. Jarcy.  Does Creepy smoke?

ME:  Oh, I thought she asked if we had some pets, I'm sorry.

NURSE:  Do you have feerarms in dee house?

MR. JARCY:  Fire ants?  No, no fire ants in our home.

ME:  Mr. Jarcy, she's said fire arms!

MR. JARCY:  Oh, well we don't have those either.

That interesting exchange under our belt, we next tackled a doctor's exam, more questions and answers followed by two vaccinations.  Then I signed "all done" to my heart's content which was of no help in soothing The Boy as The Boy was now past the point of no return.  His toy cars and a sampling of newly earned stickers helped a little but not until he was securely fastened into his car seat could he rest easy.

Exhausted from crying and carrying on, he fell asleep on the ride home resulting in just a ten minute nap for today.  Those adorable little eyes won't shut after the initial shutting regardless of duration.  I'm pretty sure that move was calculated on his part--  "You're gonna poke and prod me two days in a row?  No rest for you, my friends, no rest!  Take me to the park now, please, it's payback."

I can't wait for the pediatric dental visit we've been ordered to arrange!  The doctor gave us pointers on how to prepare him for the visit-- "You know, play dentist with the stuffed animals and stuff, okay?"--however, I don't think the power of the pointers will work beyond the friendly confines of the waiting room.

This Chapter Is Done

The Book-In-A-Week challenge is done.

You wrote an entire book in a week, Mrs. Jarcy?!  Congratulations!

Uh, no, I didn't finish writing an entire book.  I didn't even come close.  I did, however, write 52 pages of stuff.

PAUSE FOR JUDGEY SILENCE

Stuff?

Yeah, all kinds of stories from my life I guess.  I wrote them out.  It was kind of like hardcore journaling for a week straight.

PAUSE FOR JUDGEY SILENCE

I see.

PAUSE FOR INNER TURMOIL OVER JUDGEY SILENCE

Hey!  Don't be disappointed in me, I did a lot of writing!  Maybe that was the whole point--simply spending time on myself and purging lingering resentments and pains so I can move on and create the next best novel/self-help book/screenplay!  Don't judge it.  You gotta start somewhere.  So I'm gonna be proud of my week and now just keep building on it!

Tell that to yourself, Mrs. Jarcy, you're the one who I really am, after all.

I just did.

Pooped Toddler

Oh joy!  I've just put The Boy down for an afternoon nap (yes, he's napping!) and upon my routine checking in (the monitor doesn't tell me if he's dead or merely sleeping) I find out he has pooped his pants.

He has pooped and is asleep.  What to do, what to do?!

I hate when this happens!  I try to prevent this scenario at all costs.  Even though he was rubbing his eyes and begging for a nap behaviorally (in the form of being a complete maniac) he also needed to poop and I didn't pick up on that part.  If he would SAY the word "poop" or anything remotely similar to tip me off we could avoid this in the future.  Or even summon me with a "mama!"  I could attempt to teach him how to sign the word "poop" but then I'd have to watch the monitor even more closely than I do already to spy him doing it.  Was that the sign for poop or the sign for milk?  Oh wait, I think he just had an itch on his chin.  AH!            

Whatever you are doing right now (meaning before and/or after reading this post) I'm guessing it is in no way similar to what I've written about here.

This Writing Sure Takes Time, Huh?

Mrs. Jarcy, where's today's post?  It seems to be missing!

I don't have a post for today.

But you've been posting consistently over the last few weeks!  What gives?

Been busy.

With what?  You're the one who hasn't needed a planner for years.  What are YOU so busy doing?

Tending to The Boy.  Buying groceries.  Buying and renting books.  Writing a book with this online group.  Reading "Bridget Jones' Diary."  Reading "Eat Pray Love."  Reading the side of a Yerba Mate tea box.  Like I said, busy.

Do you plan on sharing any of these "busy" things with your readers in the near future?

Sure thing!  I've got a good story regarding groceries, books and even the Yerba Mate tea.  But not until tomorrow afternoon.  I'm gonna be busy.  TTFN*!

*=Ta ta for now

Things I Should Feel Guilty Over But Don't Because There's Already Too Much Guilt And I Have Needs To Address As Well So There You Have It

Our good friends are moving here in just a few weeks.  I'm so excited for their arrival my heart might explode.  The Boys are so close in age you'd think we had planned it (we did not...or did we?).  Here are The Boys enjoying the movie Cars "together."  Sometimes (most as of late) this is a guaranteed way to ensure The Boy (our boy) won't go crazy staking claim on his toys.  With older kids this isn't so much a problem but ones just weeks or months apart in age should be equipped with a full football uniform in the event he decides to tackle.

You mean you plop your 18-month old child in front of the television, essentially rendering him a zombie?  

Yes.  You don't?  It works!  See how well they're "playing" together up above?  They're loving it "together!"  We'll pull out these tactics for as long as it takes.  Parents survival skills, baby!  I got to eat dinner AND enjoy a brief conversation as a result.  Priceless.

Cherub

"This jelly and carpet fiber patch on the right side of my face resembles a five o'clock shadow up close.  No clothes and I'm still gonna get dirty, Silly Mama!"

"That kid never has clothes on," my mother has said to me on multiple occasions.  Yes, she's right (about many things but we'll stick with The Boy's lack of clothing here).  He's always getting dirt/sand/food/drink/crayon/godknowswhat all over his clothes.  Many times throughout the day he is only in a diaper.  We are not the best at covering his little cherubic body at times.  But clothes or not, he sure does look happy.  I gotta hold on to that.  I gotta.

Feng Shui Toddler Tips

"Listen, Mommy, I decided to do some 'rearranging' in my room.  These clothes would look much better in a heap on the floor.  See?  It's already a vast improvement.  Kinda like the way you've showcased the empty diaper boxes behind me.  Now let's work on your room..."

"Ah, yes, you see you need to get all these clothes OUT of the closet and onto the floor.   Kinda like the way you've showcased that Zappos box on the floor behind me.  Here, lemme get out of the way and we can see better..."

"Yes! Perfection!  Now on to Daddy... typically he doesn't need my help in 'rearranging' but let's journey to his side of the bed just to be safe."   

Naps Begin Wavering. Sanity Follows Suit.

The Boy is such a good boy for a variety of reasons.  First off, he's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on.  Secondly, his budding comedy routine is to die for.  If you ask him where his mouth is located he'll pretend to take a bite, sound effect and all.  Then out of nowhere he'll callback this gag like when he pretends to eat your foot.  He also can be very patient, calm and kind (in spite of contradicting tendencies to beat up fellow playgroup attendees from time to time).

Perhaps the most patient and calm time for him is in his crib when we put him down for a nap or bedtime.  You see, he's not tired.  We can spend the morning running all over an open field and he won't get tired.  We'll follow it up with some play time in the apartment and he won't get tired.  Countless book readings and he won't be tired.  Vast explorations of the building's hallways, stairwells and landscaping later he won't be tired.  So he'll sit in his crib for an hour--sometimes longer--just playing by himself perfectly content.  It's like, "Okay Mommy, I'll sit here and take it easy.  Clearly you need a rest.  I do not.  Please come get me when you've regained balance."

At age 18 months of age it seems we are starting the Gradual Great Nap Phase Out.  (Lone tear slowly plummets from corner of eye.)

But Mrs. Jarcy, children under the age of 4 NEED naps.  They really do.  The books written by the experts say so.  Your toddler needs at least an hour but more like two to nap each and every day.  Then they'll go down for bed around 7PM and stay there for 12 hours, typically longer.  THE BOOKS say so.  Please adhere to the parenting rules.  Right now you're breaking them and your child will suffer.   

I've consulted books.  I've consulted other moms.  I've gone so far as to consult the higher powers above and a psychic.  It's now time to face the music... he doesn't need that much sleep.  He's a supreme being.  He can sleep for less than 12 hours for the night with no day time nap some days!  If he does nap then he's up past the time most adults are and then will be in bed for maybe 10 hours.  The writing is on the wall--he's like his Grandoze (my father) and needs less sleep than most creatures.  By the time he's my father's age he too will only require 45 minutes of nightly rest.

If you don't have kids and are reading this you're probably thinking, "What's the big deal?  10 hours sounds like a lot!"  If you do have kids and are reading this you're probably thinking, "Only 10 hours and no nap?  You poor woman! You must be doing something wrong."

Both Mr. Jarcy and I were not big nappers as small children.  It's only (un)fair our offspring follows down the same, sleepless path.

*Shortly after composing this post, The Boy took a two-hour nap.  Mama's sanity thanks you, Boy.  And then was up until 10:30pm.  Mama's sanity needs to stop being directly linked to your sleep patterns.   

We interrupt this week of regularly scheduled blog posts to share something...

I'm writing a book this week.

I'm sorry, did you say you're writing a book this week?!  Who are you???  Perhaps you meant to say you're reading a few chapters from a book when you have time and those chapters are intended for one who reads at a third grade level.  Is that what you meant?

Nope.  I'm writing a book.  In a week.  It's a challenge.

I gave $3 to an online writing group and committed myself to write ten pages of a book.  You have to write at least ten pages but there are many who write almost two hundred.  I only pledged to writing ten pages for the sake of the challenge but secretly I want to write an entire book.  I guess now its not such a secret.  Don't tell anyone and maybe it will stay a secret.  Besides, nobody will care anyway.  HAHA, suckers*!  Try selling THAT secret to Perez Hilton!  

I can say with pride that at 1:43 PM today--the first day of the challenge-- I have just completed 10.3 pages.  I did it.  I met my goal for the week in just half a day.  It's amazing what one can accomplish when one is not toiling away the hours at Target.

So that's it.  I'm very busy this week.  Writing a book.  We'll see what it's about some time next Monday morning.  Until then, you'll have pics of The Boy posted which is really all you suckers* care about anyway.

*Suckers = folks I love dearly even if by chance we've yet to meet.

The Eyeliner Was Earning Her Keep

Today I did something I rarely do.

You took The Boy to the park?

No way, I just did that last Sunday!  What do you want from me already?!

I did something even more uncommon-- I spruced myself up.  Usually I'm sporting a Target Champion t-shirt and capris.  HELLO, BORING CLOTHES WOMAN RIGHT HERE!  Today, however, I wore a Target Mossimo t-shirt, Target black skirt, long, dangly earrings and dark eyeliner.  HELLO BORING CLOTHES WOMAN DOING HER BEST TO DISGUISE HERSELF AS SOMEONE LESS BORING RIGHT HERE!

I'll be at Target acquiring more t-shirts if Gwen Stefani calls needing fashion advice...

BIC HOK TAM*

I'm mulling over the decision to join an online writing group.  The group writes a book in a week once a month.  I have already found two typos or grammatical errors on the website and only been perusing it for three minutes.  I hate that!  I know their main purpose is "quantity over quality" but come on.  Proofread, proofread!  What can I say, I have a knack for finding these errors.

I hate to tell you, Mrs. Jarcy, but I have found a number of typos and grammatical errors on your blog as well.  You are not immune to this common occurrence.

Zip it.

*Butt in chair, hands on keyboard, typing away madly.

A Smaller TV And Much Taller Stand For That TV Is In Order

Daddy says  my eyes will melt sitting this close to the TV.  I don't believe him.    

What is it about a child's desire to be as close to the television as physically possible? Even at 18 months we've got to worry about his retinas burning out of his head?  If this is a ploy to get outside more it's working beautifully.   

Entourage? Is That...You?

Something rather amazing has happened.

You lost 10 pounds?!

No, not that.  (Insert heavy sigh here.)  I wrote tasks in my calendar!

Huh?

It's been awhile since I've had tasks to keep track of beyond "Go to target for baby wash" or "schedule doctor visit for Boy."  Those things made the list too but I had enough little project tasks to complete that I needed to bring up my computer's scheduler to remind me of all these things!

You are expected to do so little from day to day that you haven't needed a calendar?  Who are you???

I've needed a calendar but not a personal project-based calendar.  See the difference?

Not really. 


Look, the point is I'm doing something with my life beyond entering Pampers rewards points on the stupid Pampers website.  It's all very exciting!

Uh huh.

Oh, whatever.  If anyone needs me I'll be eating the last piece of apple pie taking a vigorous 40-minute walk.  (Insert heavy sigh here.)

Budget Cut Booking

If you are a book in the Studio City branch of L.A.'s Public Library then you are enjoying A LOT of downtime.  You see, the library is never open.  And by never I mean never.

Mrs. Jarcy, surely the library is open regardless of budget constraints!  You must mean it's not open in the early mornings or late evenings.

No, I mean it is not open on Mondays.  Ever.  Some days it doesn't open until the afternoon and, apparently, is never open on weekends.  If you do arrive during the designated hours you better hope it's not an obscure holiday because it won't be open then either.  I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it might be closed when the school year hits.  It seems to be headed in that direction.  You know, the direction of extinction.  

I have never seen the inside of this library in spite of attempting to on four different occasions.  As a result, I am very familiar with the nearest Barnes & Noble.    

T-Shirts Handled With Care

Every now and then Mr. Jarcy will do the most interesting things with our laundry.  Case in point below...

Which one of these is not like the other?

ME:  Honey, why did you air dry these ratty old t-shirts?

MR J:  You like your nice clothes to be hung to dry. Like that purple dress.

ME:  But that's a dress.  And it's nice.  These t-shirts are old.  And t-shirts.  One, in fact, is yours.

MR J:  Well I've seen you wear this Minden Valley Inn one before.

ME:  You've seen me wear it to bed.  Or to clean the bathroom.

MR J:  Hmm, I see your point.

Short pause as Mr. and Mrs. Jarcy both ponder what to say next.

MR J:  Is this further evidence of my deteriorating mental health?

ME:  Now that you mention it...

Park Revisted

Yesterday I did the unthinkable...I took my son to the park.

I have enjoyed a lovely park sabbatical over the last few weeks but Mom Guilt set in and I had to take him.  Parks are interesting--sometimes you have an amazingly fun time and wonder why you don't go more often.  Other times you have a horrible time and wonder why you have to go ever.  This outing was one of those wonderful times, thankfully.  Just me and The Boy... and this concrete something that he's straddling.  

We also stumbled upon this abandoned bike/big wheel hybrid.  The Boy got a kick out of it for sure and I was thankful no bratty kid ran over to reclaim it.  It's safe to say a run-in with a bratty kid or uppity parent is directly linked to a park outing's success or failure.  Yes to success!  Unbelievably, I had nothing to complain about.     

Without one tantrum and but a brief pushing of a little girl (it was a tap really), we moved on and walked along some of the houses across from the park.  We explored sprinkler heads and tiny flowers and grass and an entire lawn decorated in colored glass pieces.  Yes, fun was had by Boy and Mama.  We even left without someone stealing the replacement sand toys.  It was as if the park knew we had been staying away and was doing it's best to lure us back.  Okay park, fine, we'll be back sooner rather than later next time.  Now if a coffee cart began showing up as well we'd really be in business.  

Screaming Head Baby

I've been dealing with my internal Screaming Head Baby lately. It's not fun when this happens.  Is maddening the opposite of fun? That's what it is, maddening.

Mrs. Jarcy, you have a baby screaming in your head?  Since when?

Yes, I do.  You do not, I take it?  I've had this Screaming Head Baby for as long as I can remember which is roughly for the last year and a half.  Come to think of it, I've had the Screaming Head Baby for as long as I've had the real screaming baby.  Interesting...

Well I can't recall if I've mentioned him before but I have a baby who screams bloody murder in my head.

 It started early on when The Boy was a colicky hot mess newborn and refused to be soothed by anything but my boobs. If my boobs were not in his mouth then he was screaming.  Once I had to spend a visit with a very dear guy friend (you know who you are) with my boobs out every 4 minutes so that The Boy would stop his incessant crying for but a few precious moments.  Hours, days, months I lived like this.  It was hell and the experience will haunt me for the rest of my life and quite possibly well into whatever happens after my death. What made matters worse, however, was when The Boy actually was quiet, I, unfortunately, wasn't able to turn off the screaming in my head. I'd spring out of bed convinced he was wailing away only to find him all cuddled up against his father.  The Screaming Head Baby and The Actual Baby have really done a fabulous job at conveying their needs with that screaming feature.  Is there an award given out to babies for most effective screaming?  If so, this duo is a shoo-in.  

The Boy is much much older now-- 18 months today!-- and mostly sleeps through the night (knock on wood, I'm so paranoid of jinxing it). But then we'll go through a rough patch of restless nights or some pretty wild tantrums and Screaming Head Baby swoops back into the fold.  Just like a pavlovian dog I jump out of bed to see which baby is in distress.  I'll do this at least a couple of times before being able to re-settle myself.  And the next day I'm usually pretty tired from sleeping on the edge.

It's safe to say that Screaming Head Baby could retire anytime now and I would be much happier, healthier and saner.  Perhaps I could go down to drinking just one cup of chamomile tea a night!  A girl can dream...