The Bama

Obama is in Los Angeles and staying near where I live.  For the past two days it’s been motorcades, blockades, flashing lights, and helicopters.  I’m glad to be moving with neighbors like these.  It took me 45 minutes yesterday just to get out of my driveway.  Michelle Obama was blocking the way with a photo shoot of her and some big donor planting a tree.  Earth Day?

Anyway, I can only thank my lucky stars that I’ve been getting an entire week of full-night sleep (yes, you heard correctly! King William is sleeping like a baby) or I might have been tempted to retaliate.  I’m not above asking the Bama just who he thinks he is blocking up my neighborhood.

And another five helicopters just flew by…

The Night My Child Slept

I hear angels singing.  Cartoon blue birds braid my hair with ribbons.  As I skip around, a zippity-do-dah soundtrack bounces from the soles of my feet.  The neighbors twirl and dance in the street wearing their night-clothes.  My child has slept through the night and the world is right again.

King William (my charge, his mother is in Nauru – don’t ask) is approximately 8 1/2 months olds and sleep has been something that has been missing in our household since the day he arrived.  Not that I hold it against him…much, but after 8 months of 3, maybe 4 hours of sleep at a time (if I’m really lucky), I’ve had enough.  You know the term beauty rest?  Let’s just say I’m not getting any.  People keep dropping their spare change in my coffee.

So a few weeks ago I was out to dinner with some friends (see blog re: stuffing face with crab) and we began talking about “sleep training.”  Not much different than say oh, basic training for the army, the premise is that one “teaches” her child how to sleep.  Now some children don’t need it; they figure out how to sleep and keep at it like champs.  Other children meanwhile, like King William, would much rather be partying in Monaco, skiing in Austria or just snuggling down between mom and dad in the big bed.  (Note: Well-rested parents of the former child should have better sense than to brag about it to sleep-deprived parents of the later child – I am still not sorry for hitting that woman with my purse.)

We were all set to begin training William about the magic of sleep, when Sam pulled his back lifting a slab of concrete…by himself…for no reason…and without using his knees or one of those back brace things movers wear.  Yeah, don’t get me started on that one.  So for 5 days (mas or menos) sleep training got put onto the back burner while Sam languished on the sofa with ice packs.  It was awesome.  But then when I saw him up and about and heading to the gym again, I knew it was time to remark the calendars.

We prepped William for what was happening and began this past Friday evening.  William was having none of it and I spent most of the evening, night, dawn, what-have-you on the floor beside his crib cheering him on.  Trust me, it’s easier said then done.  I think we all got about 30 minutes of sleep that night.  Even Kiki the Wonder Dog had dark circles under her big, brown eyes.

So when Saturday night came, Sam and I were ready.  It was going to be hell and we donned our waders for fire and brimstone.  True to our expectations, William woke up almost every hour crying.  Once again, I sat on the floor and told him how much I loved him and we spent most of the night playing the game: I would not pick William up and he would not stop wanting me to.  The only change between Friday and Saturday nights was that the length of the fussing got shorter.  Whereas on Friday, our house sounded as if it was involved with Satanic ritual, on Saturday night, we never maxed out the hour mark.

On Sunday evening, I was exhaustedly surprised to find that William, while still waking every 2-3 hours all night long, never cried more than 5 minutes each time.  As soon as he woke up and heard my voice telling him how great he was doing, how proud I was of him learning to sleep, how the capital of Vermont rhymed with couturier – well, he fell right back asleep.

And then Monday night he woke up only once at 3:30am, cried for 4 minutes and went back to sleep.  We were amazed, incredulous, curiously hopeful?  Which brings us to last night, Tuesday night, the night my child slept.  At 6:30pm we began our ritual of naked crawl-fest, bath time, a relaxing massage, and a bottle in the dark to the melodious sounds of a glowing starfish.  By 7pm, he was fast fast asleep and asleep and asleep and ASLEEP?  Yes, the little angel slept until 7 o’clock this morning and when he woke up, stood up, rattled his crib, and smiled at me.  No crying, no crying and guess what?  No crying!

Meanwhile, I’ve found earplugs, earmuffs, and hats with thick earflaps on my doorstep.  I think the neighbors are trying the tell us something.

Fast Food for Moms

Yesterday, on my way to Baby Group with my son, King William my stomach started growling.  I had packed a hard-boiled egg, some mango, and a protein bar, but none of these healthy choices was doing the job.  William, asleep in the backseat, was no help and so I drove around, keeping my eyes peeled for a drive-thru.  Note to shop owners everywhere: install more drive-thrus!  You’d make a killing in the mom market.  In fact, in my next life, I’m going to have a drive-thru at every corner.  It’s going to be called “Whatchoowant” and it’s going to have everything a modern mom on the go needs.  Non-mothers can use the service as well, but there will be a small surcharge if you pull up without a baby in the backseat.

Anyway, my options were limited and I had to choose between McDonald’s and the one with the bobble-head guy.  I chose McDonald’s and was surprised to see a woman with a pen and pad of paper chasing after me through the drive-thru lane.  Curious, I slowed down to see what she wanted.  She was in a McDonald’s uniform and lovely though those things are, I didn’t think she’d be wearing one if she didn’t work there.  Just in case though I grabbed a bottle of milk to squirt her in the eyes if she tried anything crazy.  Fortunately for both of us, she just wanted to take my order (new customer service initiative?).

I ordered a small fries and a hot cocoa.  The fries were okay, but the hot cocoa tasted like something you get by accident at a Mobil-mart on a road trip.  Which brings me back to my original argument – we need more fast food options that are fast, but still food.  I’m not sure that the stuff that comes out of many fast food restaurants qualifies in that department.  So hear me all you delicious french bistros and fancy, gourmet sandwich shops…you need drive thrus and you need them fast.  There’s an army of hungry women out there and we don’t want crappy cocoa anymore.

Yo!

I know, I know…it’s been ages.  Good to see you too.

Life has been hectic with King William, my adopted son now on the verge of turning 8 months old.  (his mother is currently somewhere doing something with someplace that somehow has someone…at least that’s what she told us)  William has 4 teeth, loves to crawl, loves to stand, and loves to eat feathers.  We’re working on that one.

In my free time between kill-me-now and I-need-some-sleep-or-I’m-going-to-stab-myself-with-a-shrimp-fork, I saw a great play starring Brooke Shields.  It’s called Girls Talk and it’s happening at the famous Lee Strasberg Theatre in Los Angeles.  I got to talk to Brooke after the show and tell her how much I enjoyed it.  She seemed pleased, especially when I admitted that I cried.  Or maybe she was just afraid of me.  I do look scary these days what with the purple circles under my eyes and the greasy hair.

In other news and world reports, ice cream is good for you and the more you eat, the better you feel.  My doctor told me so.

This past weekend my husband and I went out with two of our dear friends (see Home Is Where the Heart Is – link at right) to the The Boiling Crab in Koreatown.  First of all, Koreans like to party.  That place is like a tank of full-speed, high-octane with a side of cigarette smoke.  We ate at 10pm and people were just starting to get their eat on.  An 18-month old at the table next to us told me I was lame when I remarked that she was up way past her bedtime.  I guess bedtimes are for sissies.  All I can tell you is that after 2lbs of king crab, 2lbs of crawfish, 2 baskets of spicy cajun fries, and a half an ear of corn, I slept like a baby (who doesn’t live in Koreatown).

And finally, to wrap up why I haven’t been writing, I’ve discovered a rare strain of disease that makes your days turn into seconds.  One minute you wake up, the next minute you’re crawling into bed only to wake up again mere moments later.  Nothing ever gets done.  No one ever gets called.  And you can forget about reading the paper or folding laundry.  It leads to crazy, erratic behavior and it is highly contagious so be warned.  My only advice in avoiding this mysterious malady is to live alone, not date, and whatever you do, don’t procreate or adopt someone else’s progeny.  I’m almost certain that’s the key ingredient in catching this time-twisting disease.