and just like that

She's three.

Today this very day my firstborn achieves the elite status that is three. Not a girl, not yet a woman. 

I deeply doubt I'm the only mother ever that becomes a little introspective on the occasion of her child's birthday. I've been thinking a bit this week about what this year was to me, to us, to this family. How much much much Jordan changed; what/who we've added to our lives since her last birthday; how I've had to adapt as Jordan grows and tests and pushes and experiments with the circumambient boundaries of home life. 

This year. Hm. This was a tough one. It was gratifying too, and frequently punctuated with the hilarity that is the sibling dynamic, and a two year old's increasing vocabulary. But the newness of juggling what were, at the time, two difficult children (Jordan = terrible two's, Weston = colicky + what is sleep?), in addition to acclimating to stay-at-home-momhood...it was a strange few months there for awhile. All the while Jordan was keeping me sharp. She alternated fitz n the tantrums for the world to hear/see/sense deep within its soul with the most comic genius since Mitch Hedburg. I wasn't sure how to combat meltdowns that saw her hurling her entire body against a closed door, when the next sentence out of her mouth could be, "Why is your fo'head sad Mom?" (She thought the sweat produced from a Jillian Michaels workout was tears. The tears of my forehead. You guys...) And what to do, when she pinches Weston (hard!) for some offense that was probably not offensive, when a few minutes later it's: "it's okay buddy, I'm right here. I not gonna leave you. I not goin' anywhere."?

Ok I feel like I'm deviating from the traditional sing-the-good-stuff birthday post here. And there is so much good stuff. Jordan is this person who encompasses so many antonyms. She is unpredictable and yet steady. She is generous and loving and selfish in the same breath. She is a friend and a mother to her little brother - but watch carefully because that plastic saucepan could come smacking down on his skull should he overstep. She is frank, sincere, and devious and deceptive. She cares fiercely and rejects harshly. She does these, all of these, whimsically and seamlessly and in a toddler fashion that is also beyond her years.

As I laid in her bed last night and sang her the nightly lineup in my broken, harpy voice (Barney Song, Let It Go, "Mass One" (Glory to God), You're a Mean One Mr. Grinch, Winnie the Pooh - IN THAT ORDER DON'T SKIP A SONG MOM) the thought crossed my mind: it's you're last night to be two, girl. Which I promptly voiced to her and received, "Yeah....I'ne ahmost three..." in a deflated little voice that undoubtedly was meant to mirror my own. Of course her concept of the passage of time is close to nonexistent ("We're going to have Christmas tomowwow?") but there is an old soul wisdom about her that could just know that these are good years. These young innocent years where fun is an overheated park slide, and a splash pad fountain that unexpectedly shoots water up your nose, and a session of methodically emptying all 68 stuffed animals and puzzles from the toy box, and snapping an empty Pez dispenser repeatedly to hear the belly laugh your brother gives you. I want her to know that these are the good years. And I want me to know that too.

So happy day, to my Jordan Girl. You keep doing you - it's just really fun to watch.

a serving of brazen toddler with a side of emma stone

The other day I followed a weird spike in my blog traffic that landed me at GOMI on a forum where people were asked to link their favorite lesser known blogs. To my shock n' awe, someone had linked mine (*blush*). I followed the comment thread, and it garnered one response from someone who said something like, "I want to like this blog, but it's just another oversharing mom." (*blush again*)

It's SO TRUE though. My blog posts are rife with feelings caused by my children, stories featuring my children, pictures of my children. My sister Audrey of the Great State of Washington called me the other day to object to my blog desertion. And I know she mourns not the loss of content but of her niece/nephew photo fix. I simply told her, "I just don't really know what to write about right now." To which she advised, "Just write your thoughts."

My thoughts:

Emma Stone is my spirit animal.

Circa 2001 a young girl named Jessie stared at her 400 pound computer monitor, patiently sitting through the 12 minutes of cacophonous dial up that would eventually land her on AZ Lyrics, that she could repeatedly read chorus and verse to Blues Traveler's Hook until she could recite them without a hitch. I loved that song. And when Emma Stone got up there on the Jimmy Fallon stage I rapped transfixedly along with her. It just goes to show that sometimes following Buzz Feed LOL (on which I found above gem) isn't totally worthless. Even though most of their stuff is like, what Anime character are you? Well, the only Anime reference I even know is Pokemon. And only because Pokemon and pogs are the love language of my generation.

Jordan is simultaneously sage and sassy.

Case #1: I had a slight - read VERY SLIGHT - case of road rage the other day during which I berated my fellow driver to "come onnnnnn get overrrrrr." Backseat driver numero uno chimed her two year old cents in with a decided "Mom. Calm down. Don' be mad. Take a walk."

Um, ok.

Case #2: A few weeks ago, the totally old man car that I drive around suffered a slight case of vandalism. Overnight, the license plate was stripped from it's poor little old man bumper and the gas cap was mysteriously clipped off for some unfathomable reason. We had the car fully checked out to make sure nothing sinister was afoot, but I blame adolescence and the mostly empty bottle of pomegranate vodka I found under the car. Anyway, Sean replaced the gas cap with a locking one. It is super impossible to unlock it. Utterly. Post gas cap wrestle, I informed Sean as much. He explained the complicated and innumerable steps (...one step...) that must be utilized to prise away said cap, and I was indignant that he hadn't explained as much before. He said, rather quietly, "I guess I thought it was obvious." From the backseat (again) Jordan let the tension settle in before all too sarcastically claiming, "It's ozzious, Mom."

Go to your room Jordan.

Weston is weaning.

Which is nice because, freedom. But also not nice because breastfeeding has been my lone form of exercise. I've been eating just the same as I have the last 8 months but my muffin top reached Panera status in the last week. I guess it's time for that double jogger now. Because unlike Grace, I like to nurse my recovery (yes, pun intended, what do you think?) for about 8 months longer than she. Weston is 8 months and 5 days so once you crunch the numbers I think you should give her like a hundred clappy emojis.

Ok the kids have been sleeping a suspiciously long time now. I'm not complaining but I think I should check on their welfare. 

But to recap: I've had three whole blogthoughts in about a month's time. Oversharing mom FTW.

case study

I was talking to one of my sisters recently, who is currently taking a child psychology class. I don't know why I never thought to take one back in my college hopping days. (I attended one..two..three colleges total. Not for extra degrees either. No doctorates here.) Psychology is fairly fascinating to me. Child psychology would be even more so, I think.

Anyway, my sister was telling me that personality formation generally takes place within the first three years of life. In other words, you can tell what kind of person a child will be - independent, generous, controlling, et cetera - by the time they're about three. Nurture notwithstanding, of course; traits can be attained through example and instruction and reinforcement, just as manners or reverence or whathaveyou can be learned and taught.

I had never heard of this three-year statistic, but danged if it doesn't make total sense. Jordan-girl, for instance: 100% who she is today as she was from hour one. She appeared physically fragile at birth

but it seemed as if she would never suffer an ounce of dependence in her life. She was alert, loud, willful and wonderful. Brown eyes that bored right to your soul, she had - and has.

Jordan of yesteryear has seemingly only changed physically. Oh I know, we've hit a lot of milestones since then. She converses, skips, hops, jumps and sleeps in a big girl bed. But she

is still she

And West-O. You want to know my first encounter with ex-utero Weston? They laid him atop me in Recovery after my c-section, and he LATCHED. Like, hard. He found what he wanted with no direction and just knew he was home.

6 months later, if he's not within a couple of feet of me, he's fretful. The boy is a sweet, good-natured, dependent lover of his mama.

But more fascinating to examine is the sibling dynamic. Would their relationship be so totally different if they were both boys or both girls? Or if Jordan had been a boy and Weston a girl? I look at Jordan, maternal and concerned, but SO in charge and sometimes controlling nearly to the point of bullying. Every morning Jordan asks if Weston can play with her in her room. She pulls out the kitchen set for him and sits next to him and flips through her books. But if he grabs something that "belongs" to her, watch out boyfriend. I've seen many a (minor) abuse delivered that Jordan has had to answer for. Meanwhile, Weston looks on adoringly and confusedly while Jordan plucks a hair from his head or pinches a fingerful of his fat. He loves unconditionally, as does she, but she is the Alpha in the relationship.

*Somehow Jordan has become hilariously honest. If I don't happen to see something mean that she's done, but I hear Wes whimper, I ask her pointblank and she answers with soulful browns: "I pinch him." or "I pull his hair." Even though she gets punished, she never fails to deliver the truth.*

Occasionally their relationship reminds me of one in my previous life....

Fortunately, my brother Luke is a happy exception to the "your personality at three is your personality forever" rule because he was a BEAST. And I was definitely a Weston. I just sat there smiling like a three month old idiot as he sat on me and watched my face turn red to purple in consternation. Ok Jordan's not quite like how Luke was, thankfully, but she does like to exercise power and authority, as he did. Mostly they're in love with each other and there's minimal refereeing involved but we'll see how it goes once Weston discovers how to use his significant weight to his advantage. Unless he just turns out to be a gentle giant, which is entirely likely considering his passive personality.

So tell me of your children's relationships with each other. Or your sibling relationships. I just think it's so funny the similarities and dissimilarities depending on age gap, sex, which sex came first, and all that. Am I the only one?

ferberize shmerberize

Really and truly, I meant to state my noble intentions and resolutions for 2014. Since one of them was stop procrastinating, I'll let you judge how things are progressing. Another was to eat healthier and whole, which is my explanation for the speed-eating of Christmas treats as efficiently as possible the last couple of weeks. The sooner I eat all the junk, the sooner I can begin a cleanse. My logic is sound.

I did make rather a cliché list of 2014 to-do's, but it really kind of annoys me to think about them because they're almost exactly last year's, which remain mostly unaccomplished. I'll go ahead and blame it on pregnancy and newborn and what have you, but honestly I just need to be a big girl and get shiz done. I'm not going to bore you with my resolutions of body improvement, home improvement, and potty training. They're old news and they're not going anywhere. I am, however, smack dab in a new addition to the list: sleep training. It's not going well, friends. It's not going well.

Jordan was something of a professional sleeper at 4 1/2 months, which is Weston's current age. It took less than a week of crying it out before she was rocking 10 hours a night, and thus my back was sporting a bright shade of pink from all the prideful self-pats. I set out to do the same for Weston a couple of weeks ago because, well, boy just don't sleep.


nor does his tongue know where it's proper home is

 

Here's the deal: we live in a small 2-bedroom apartment whose master bedroom shares walls with two neighboring master bedrooms. I've had no problem letting Wes cry out during his naptimes - which he does in ten minutes or so - because, hey, who else is home at 1 in the afternoon? At night though, the ungodly hours that Wes deigns meal hours (read: all the hours, beginning with elevensies in p.m.-sies, fat hobbit that he is) amplify the ferberizing such that 10-15 minutes feels more like 10-15 heart attacks. I know I would be quite displeased to be awoken 5 times a night by Not-Skinnie the Pooh entreating his mother to satiate his rumbly tumbly, and I'm not here to piss anyone off. On the other hand, Weston is becoming increasingly demanding and I increasingly tired and the whole nightly ordeal is just not working out.

 

I know the problem; I know the difference between Jordan and Weston. Jordan loved, idolized, craved a pacifier nearly from minute one. With Weston, you might as well have offered him his diaper to snack on, the way he reacts to the binky. He spits and chokes and looks mortally offended. I know the reason here too. He recognizes the binky for what it really is: a boob imposter. This boy won't even take a bottle brimming with mother's milk; he buys only the real deal. My sister calls him Oedipus Wes, such is his glaringly obvious adoration for me and my feeding powers. It's flattering!, his ready, half moon smile and bright, admiring eyes that light as soon as I enter his peripheral. But it is exhausting too and this new year will WILL bring me at least four hour stretches of sleep, lest my foggy days continue to go to hell in a handbasket woven of tears and caffeine capsules.

 

Tips? Advice? Routines? Witchcraft? Leave me what you have and I'll desperately employ your tactics.

 

***

 

Meanwhile, on the Jordan front

 



 

We are actively potty training and she is actively progressing even if only to summon all her energy and circulation for the equivalent of a cocoa pebble, that she might put a sticker on her potty chart.

 

We enjoy full conversations now and she has taken to telling me to "be caresul!" multiple times per car ride (not sure why since we've never been in an accident?), and advising me to "doh worry" as she pats my face (usually a defense mechanism should she sense she may be in trouble). If she encounters a locked bathroom door, she stands outside shouting "you POOPIN? you NAKED?" until the door be opened unto her.

 

She is only the best big sister I could've imagined, and is confident that Weston already possesses conversational skills as she sits next to him and inquires "you want toys Wesson? Yeah? Ok!" (sprints to her room for an armload.) She is - not altogether misguidedly - concerned that Weston will reach into his or her own dirty diaper (I usually change them together and side by side) and holds his frantically roving hands while chiding "you can't touch poopy, Wesson. No touching poopy, Wesson."

 

So yeah, 2014, I expect some changes from you. Expect some from me, as well. But don't change everything. There's some stuff I'd like to stay the same. For like, ever.





milestones, or something

My inner monologue since my last post has been something along the lines of "the pillows lining my under-eyes have gotten so that if I smile they threaten to block out my pupils completely, but at least some pillows are being put to use around here." or "I recently discovered chocolate milk + Bailey's and it's changed my mornings delicate after-dinner drinking, but I need to be make sure I'm heavy-handed with the Bailey's rather than the milk because Weston doesn't like lactose."

And also, this morning I sported the baggiest sweatshirt I have with the comfiest sweats I own and my faux-fur lined slippers...to Target. For all intents and purposes, I was in my jam-jams. I supplemented this showstopping look with sopping shower hair run through with some gel that promised beachy waves, and nary a stroke of make-up on my face canvas. Public meltdowns (compliments of mainly the toddler but occasionally the infant) have accustomed me to stares from fellow shoppers, so it was actually a welcome change of pace to get side glances caused by my outfit rather than my young. Further, I answered the door in this getup and chatted up the magazine subscription solicitors for a good fifteen minutes. Social interaction much?

Anyway, I can't say that these, my recent happenings, have made for good blog fodder. But during my blogging sabbatical I missed a couple of milestones, so I'm here to impart them for posterity.

1// Blogaversary (blogiversary? blogoversary? not a real word so why do I care about correct spelling?)

October 26 marked my one year of blogging. Here's my first post, replete with tiny thumbnail pics of my tiny thumbnail Jordan. What a difference a year makes:

2// I didn't do a Halloween post to show you the costuming and gallivanting! Because lazy. Here's last year when Jo went as Little Red Riding Hood and Weston went as Not Even Conceived Yet. And below are this year when a theme is (hopefully) apparent:

 "tit-a-teating" (yes, I'm aware. totally inappropriate.)

 Toto is the basket's only occupant. Dorkthy already downed the first few houses' candies.

 "this is so not Kansas"

"If I only had a brain" and his heartless mother Tin Man

I feel I should also mention, because it's part of "recent," that this guy

he slays me. He can (and often does) cry for interminable periods; he can be the neediest, pansiest little mama's boy; he can request to be nursed for what seems like it must be hours and hours. Then he slips me his James Franco-esque squint-eye smile, like so

and all is forgiven. He is my 15 pound bucket of colic, with a side of the sweetest personality this side of the no-sleep zone. Oh you read that right. The fat, fat, fat child is clear through his wardrobe up to 6 months. He only wears 6-9 monthers or above, and it's increasingly hard to feed him on the papasan chair because he stretches from one side to the next. Jordan was so dainty until she was at least a year (when her stomach discovered its ability to rival Charles Laughton's), so raising Sasquatch is a little unnerving. And I love it.

Jordan in all of this? Smack dab in the middle, being a shockingly excellent sister. She constantly wants to "pay Wesson" (play with Weston), or "song on, dancey Wesson" - a form of entertainment involving many many uncoordinated toddler dance moves performed before the very very perplexed infant while he sits in his bouncy musical chair. She is also very savvy regarding my wits-end levels, as evidenced by her encouraging Wes to "knock i'off" in the car, where he is at his screamingest worst.

There's the mishmosh that is my brain. I'd say you asked for it, but you did not. Thanks for stopping along the way anyway. Now go and marvel that it is November - NOVEMBER. I'm still stuck in summer so I'm a little in awe that I can get peppermint mochas at Starbucks right now. (ooooo... peppermint mochas.)

how i wish

how I wish you were here.
you're just one small soul swimmin' in a fish bowl
month after month

Ok, not one of the better interpretative lyrical riffs on the best Floyd song that there is, but this tune has been in my head everyday for the last few simply because...I kinda wish this baby were here already. And my belly does a dead-on impression of a large fish bowl so - you can see how my mind arrived at this juncture. No? Go with it. It's a good song.

Tell me if this is a common SAHM problem: I feel like I'm kinda slammed all day long. I feel like there's always something that needs to be done. I'm going and going, and find myself hitting the mattress at the end of it all in a state of mental and physical collapse. But also, I feel a little bit like I have nothing to do? I'm thinking it's because I associate having "something to do" with having interaction with articulate humans, whereas most of the last couple of weeks have seen me milling around the apartment or attending the odd soiree at Target for the sole purpose of a change in venue and a toilet paper run. And while Jordan's vernac is increasing by leaps and bounds, to qualify her as "articulate" may be an overstepping.

All that said, Jordan and I have been casting around the county, coming up with sundry errands that are mostly inventive excuses to hit up a more hipster coffee shop than Starbucks and to frolic seaside in only a diaper:

^ the original purpose of this errand was to donate some duplicates I've accrued of baby clothes and blankies and things to our local Life Center, buuuut we might have detoured ten miles or so for a spicy mocha latte and a pier jaunt. ^

^ and here we have "seek out a competitively priced pair of Grecians which are hopefully swank enough for a black tie wedding, because a Haagen Dazs ice cream bar has better survival odds in Jessie's hands than those of her donning heels for 2+ minutes" with a slight deviation down the LMFAO aisle ^

Yes, yes. We've been wearing many hats these last couple weeks.

Not figuratively.

The news of my life is that I instagrammed that bottom photo and shouted out to Natalie... and she answered me. Would you like a sound effect from that moment? "Eeeeep!!"

actual caption recap - 

jessiemariepope: J-Liz with an adventurous hat a la @natthefatrat

natthefatrat: she's working it!

So that happened.

Other than that, our lives have been uneventful with a side of sister thrifting

(try and tell me you don't want that two dolla turkey on your bounteous table of thanks this year)

and a hint of fountain park shenans

for the life of her she couldn't pick up on the fact that the water was shooting out of those metal discs, 

and therefore she kept stepping directly on to the geysers and getting waterboarded

I'm pretty positive you weren't looking for a photo dump but regrettably, that's all I have. It's either that or a crap ton of Pinterest recipes. I am making an effort to gather as many as f-i-v-e favorites for Hallie's tomorrow because it's been awhile, and so far I've come up with...none favorites. Stay tuned for that riveter. 

how life is like a zoo

Here's the thing. I'm on maternity leave now. I thought that this meant I'd have more time to sit down for a second and write a flippin blog post. I thought this meant that maybe there would be a micrometer or more relaxation involved. Cue crazy Matt Damon laugh. Starting with Saturday, there has been a new project, a different undertaking, a fresh piece of crazy bubbling to the surface of my nesting soul. Actually, you should see what we've done to this place - and you will - but we got rid of the couch (praise be and hallelujah) before the new one arrived from eBay and I'm currently sitting on the papasan chair, which holds the distinguished position of the only piece of sitting furniture in the room.

The point is, I'm busier now than one week ago, when I was gainfully employed. I've been spray painting wicker baskets (don't ask), potting succulents on the patio (I'm still going to show you the patio before/after photos, cross my heart), displacing every piece of furniture in Jordan's room trying to make room for another child (proving to be slightly impossible), Goodwilling the crap out of this apartment, making real food from real scratch, and trying to slip in some quality play time with Jordan. I'm finding out that stay-at-home moms work their bums off - not that I didn't think so before! but now I know firsthand.

As you may know, my first day of actual maternity leave was Jordan's2nd  birthday. Therefore my first stay-at-home mothering enterprise was a birthday trip to the zoo. I brought my mom, two sisters and a cousin as backup because you just never know how dangerous an outing can be with a 2 year old right? Well Jordan pulled a Disneyland and was totally unimpressed with the all of the wonderment of exotic animals.

Ok well first we had birthday doughnuts at my sister's apartment. We cared about that part

"I only require the chocolate frosting of the doughnut thanks. The rest is stuff and nonsense."

So now that the important task has been accomplished, it was time to don her could-care-less face.

 oh, not only giraffes but baby giraffes too?

yeah, ok mom.

is that gorilla sunbathing?

I don't care

 an Asian elephant you say?

yeah mom, but I see you everyday

Jordan showed most enthusiasm by far in this animal that basically just looked like a cat with fox ears. It probably weighed 8 pounds and you could probably find it on a local hiking trail around here. (Alright it's probably actually some rare species and I'm projecting my bitterness onto its unimpressive stature.)

We also may have forced Jordan to pose with her kind:

it's funny because she looks like a monkey

On the upside, she discovered a new activity that sucked all of her time, devotion and enthusiasm:

pushing her own stroller

These were my favorites, but my sister had to ruin it for me:

Peruvian penguins

Jessie: "it's cute when they swim, but I kind of like to watch them walk around."

Audrey: "oh, because you can relate?"

(that's a shot at my waddling. in case that wasn't clear.)

We followed up our zoo foray with The Spot Burger in Carpinteria, which is only the.best. burger in the land. And the.best. shakes in the land.

and the.best. ketchup in the land.

And then all of that boredom caused this on the way home:

So. Happy 2nd birthday to thee, Jordan. I'm so glad I could oblige with something truly special and memorable.