The Cheeks Swims !!

Today was a big day in the life of Eliza; she went swimming for the first time, in her grandma's pool!

I debated publishing this video because a). I look like bouncing jackknife in part of it, b). I'm making ridiculous sounds and saying daft things and c). I still haven't lost the 10 pounds I've been complaining about for 6 months now but hey in the end, YouTube was less effort than writing a full post.

Check out my very cute, very serious little girl as she umi-zoomis all over the pool, with a little help from her momma. I had to edit the video for reasons I will not disclose and unfortunately, her giggles were left on the cutting room floor, along with a few choice words muttered by my husband...

Purge

Today begins my whole house purge. I want everything in order for our "embrace our space" campaign, which kicks off next Thursday when Robert Jenny from Robert Jenny Designs comes to evaluate our needs. I'm really excited to see what he comes up with and hope that we can afford it... I'm pushing to blow out that back of our flat to extend our living area into the patio area but according to Matt, that will happen when hell freezes over.

Today is the start of another transformation that I am calling my "farewell to fat" campaign.  Although I put forth a lot of effort to lose the baby weight in the beginning, in the past month or so, the only progression I've made is moving further up the scale.  I'm not bothered, however: the three hour tapas and wine lunch I had on my last day in London (which I swear put three pounds on me) was totally worth it because it was spent with the best of friends who truly have their priorities straight: babies, friendship, food, and wine!  So, today starts a month of counting calories, except on the weekend when I'll allow myself two meals out, which will hopefully do the trick.  We'll see...

Ok, time to get back to work; stay cool - this weather blows!

Taking a Bite Out of It All

Hi, remember me?

I know, it's been a long time since I last posted and I apologize, particularly to my number one reader, Cort, who has been nudging me gently toward the keyboard with her Facebook inquiries. I've made a pact with myself to post at least twice a week and I intend to keep it.

My friend K*, who blogs here, warned me of the difficulties of juggling my momma self and my writing self and while I listened, I had no clue how it would play out. Obviously, I didn't foresee the wall I would hit until it was too late and here I am, six months later, just getting back into the swing of things.

In the past six months, I've done little more than tend to E, stare into space, watch trash TV, troll Hoboken Moms and Craigslist and eat. I've gained weight and lost brain cells but after a week spent on the River Thames with my Walking Girls, I feel refreshed and ready to return to a better version of my former self.

I'm looking forward to writing, running, working out, traveling, exploring, and organizing. I'm going to stop biting my nails (and fingers, knuckles, thumbs...) and start taking more satisfying bites out of life.

Matty and I have decided to fully embrace small space living; he's generously given me the green light to consult interior designers who specialize in urban spaces so hopefully by September, our flat will be transformed and each member of our family will have a room of one's own.

The sale of Ash Street fell through, so if you know anyone interested in a single family home in Watsontown, let me know. It needs more than just a little TLC but that house has great bones and could be a fine family home. And the price is just ba-na-nas - cheaper than a fully loaded Tahoe or Yukon...

Now that I'm pack on this side of the pond, I'm going to spend this week systematically going from one end of our flat to the other purging at least 50% of its contents; if you want to benefit from that purge, be at 413 Elm Street in the 17777 on Yard Sale Day at the end of September. Everything. Must. Go. We're morphing our style from shabby-chic/Country Living (think magazine, not Boyd's Bears) to Mid-Century Modern-meets-Fabulous Beekman Boys-meets baby friendly decor, so I'm embracing mimimalism.

I'll keep you posted!

* Ashley and Celine, you'll want to check out her blog - she's a true superhero: when she's not posing as mom to adorable twins, she's making huge strides as a professor of teacher education, specializing in literacy and the importance of infusing writing and 21st Century practices across curriculum at all levels. She's one of my professional role models.

Twenty Weeks In

Some days, it's all just a bit too much:

my nerve endings, a bit too raw and the

future, a bit too bleak. Luckily, it's 

just some days but honestly, why can't 

everyday bring porridge that is just about right?

Girls Day In

Little Eliza Skye has been keeping me company

today while I try to get this house back in order;

it's covered in dust from the front stoop and stairs

demolition/reconstruction, plus the laundry was 

piled up so high that Angelica Pinkerton got lost 

in it for a few hours.  So instead of joining my 

lunch group for the $10 salad and gourmet pizza

special at Bin 14, I chose to enjoy the world from

within and slung open the rear screen door to let 

the cool breeze blow while I make an attempt at

domesticity.  So far, so good - the bed's been

stripped and washed and re-made, which is a 

Herculean task in and of itself.  

While I cleaned, Eliza chilled in her Mamaroo

 and played with her Taggie ball.  Content, we both 

went about our business until I heard the bells of her 

ball signify its fall to the floor and lo and behold,

she was fast asleep and has been for the past two hours.

Naps are a rare thing for Miss E these days

but I don't ever complain since she sleeps

13 hour nights away in the fashion of her father.

Also, I usually have her on the go during the day,

lunching with the girls, picnicking by the pier,

and even listening to violin strings, as she did

yesterday at the 5th Street Philharmonic concert

hosted by our amazing friend Valerie, whose

own momma was the one delighting the wee

babes during her all request concert.

Some days, however, I feel it's best for E

spend the day at home, the place she knows 

best and where she feels most safe and secure.

I admit that now and again, a tinge of guilt

flares from making her adjust to my lifestyle

instead of me adjusting to hers so when it does,

we spend our version of a girls day out, in.

Before I go stuff pillows into cases, I want to 

share a few things with you that are on my 

mind today and I think I'll do it in list form:

A random email from my best bloggy friend 

in Alaska that put a huge smile on my face.

Kristin Hannah's latest, Night Road, that

I've been listening to while strolling with E.

An accepted offer on my house in PA that is so

 far below what I paid for it over a decade ago

that it pains me almost to the point of tears.

A second offer from the buyer who first insulted 

Matty and me (by offering $100,000 less than

what we paid and $69,000 below asking) 

that we have countered with a final offer -

take it, or leave it because we don't need to move.

An additional six months of maternity leave

that my husband has so graciously afforded me

because he can't imagine leaving E with anyone else.

Sunshine.  Glorious sunshine.

Mother's Day

Eliza Skye and her momma,
Mother's Day 2011


Mother's Day is a very strange holiday.

 No matter how hard everyone tries to make

the day all about you, the reality is this: your 

job as a mom does not allow for any breaks.

Not a second passes that the mind is not spinning

with thoughts of bottles (or breasts), bowel movements,

burps, drooly McDrools, or the three dividing

times of your baby's day: play, nap, and bed.

Matty was particularly generous for my first

Mother's Day; so much so that as he handed 

me the gift, he turned to Eliza and said, "Get 

ready for your mom to yell at us, Eliza", 

which I did but only briefly because although 

I don't believe in extravagance while

I'm not working, I do truly believe that I was 

not meant to be part of the working class and

will therefore enjoy the gift as though I am not.

I believe Father's Day may be my holiday 

of choice.  It is not in my nature to sit back

 and allow others to do for me; on Father's 

Day, I can embrace my Type A personality 

and relish in my comfort zone (i.e. I'll treat my 

husband like a king by doing everything myself 

 while claiming that I'm doing so because it's

 Father's Day and not because I'm a total 

control freak which, admittedly, I am).

Happy Mother's Day to all. 

A special shout out to my new friends 

and their baby boys and girls; I love ya.

To those of you with more than one child or a 

child and a dog, I salute you.  For those of you with 

multiple children AND a dog, I bow to you. For those 

of you who have a child or a dog or children and a dog AND

work too, well, I can't even begin to express how in awe of

you I am because let's face it: with one child and a cat, it's a full day.

Once I go back to work... well, let's hope there's Wi-Fi in the asylum. 

What's Up?

It's been an interesting few weeks,

that's for sure. My daughter stayed out 

past curfew at an Irish pub and I extended 

my maternity leave until February 2012,

survived a solo journey home to help 

out around the house while my mom

recovered from surgery resulting from 

Diverticulitis, had a bunch of girls and babies

over for a Royal Wedding Re-cap brunch,

drafted a floor plan that would turn a corner

of our living room into a proper nursery for

Eliza (one with heavily insulated walls

and a door!), and read a few books in between.

Oh, and my baby girl is now sleeping in the

crib unswaddled, like a big girl, and to reward

me for her hands free nights' sleep, she rolled

over today from back to tummy and then

straight up into Cobra position.

Atta girl, Cheeks!

Also, congratulations to my darling friend 

Abbie and her husband Jamie on the birth

of unnamed Baby Girl Holyer! I'm so 

excited that Abs and I both have little 

bambinas and that Lindsay's little one

 will make it three baby girls in August!

What else will summer have to offer?

You Can Do This

Knowing that your best friend -

the one you met when the two of

you were the age that her daughter is now -

has made it through not one, not two,

but three infancies alive (and now has three

happy, healthy, loving school age

children and an intact marriage, sense

of humor, and good hair to boot)

makes the prognosis of getting

through one (and possibly still having

some skin left on your fingers)

a heck of a lot more optimistic.

The Wall

China and Berlin did it.

And so did Mexico City, 

Quebec, and Bruges.

Perhaps it's time 

that the LaPointe's

build a wall, too.

I'm getting

tired of life with

baby in a 1 bedroom,

so perhaps we'll 

turn it into two.

Or, someone could just buy this place:

79monroestreet.blogspot.com

How does your garden grow?

After spending last summer working on an organic farm in Nova Scotia, one of my former students is now helping families live more sustainable lifestyles here in New Jersey by acquainting them with organic backyard farming/gardening.

Gabby specializes in introducing families to simple practices that can produce life changing results.  She and her team of like minded helpers will come to your home and completely transform your space into an organic garden that suits your needs, one that will afford you and your family fresh vegetables this summer and a healthy lifestyle moving forward.

Do you have a private backyard or shared common space?  Lack a yard but have a balcony?  Have no true outdoor space except a tiny spot that doubles as a fire escape?  Live in a 5th floor walk up with literally no outdoor space but have a sunny spot by a window? Have no space at all, but your neighbor does and might be willing to share?  

No worries- Gabby is experienced on all accounts and will build raised beds to your specifications, fill your window boxes with kitchen herb gardens, organize a container garden for those who lack soil, or help you bring the outdoors indoors if necessary!
After a free phone or email consultation, she and her team will arrive at your door with all tools, supplies and seedlings needed to transform your space.  

I've taught literally thousands of students and Gabby is, by far, the most passionate, dedicated and authentic girl I know.  She is so devoted to helping make the world a better place, one garden at a time, that she has deferred her acceptance to a prestigious college in order to follow her dream of making a modest living by helping others live sustainable lives.  

She is a very honest girl who is not out to get rich but who does need to make money since she is no longer supported by her parents.  In addition to a minimal delivery fee to cover gas and tolls and an agreed upon installation fee, you'll receive a bill itemizing the cost of materials and plantings.

If interested, you can contact me, Ali, at ali.k.lapointe@gmail.com for her contact information - call me old fashioned, but as her former teacher (who has her best interest in mind), I'm not comfortable posting her contact information in a public forum.

Hobomomma Theresa

In the beginning, this is about as much as you 

get out of a newborn and it can me a bit, um,

mind numbing, to say the least.  Those days 

are really, REALLY hard and seem to drag

out 'til eternity. Ugh, I remember them well...

But time passes and not only do you get 

better at taking photos, you start getting a

'lil something in return for your efforts. The

days start to move by quickly and you begin

to take baby steps back toward your old self.

Then one day you wake up to this and 

suddenly, life feels good again and in fact,

maybe even a little better than it used to feel.

Your energy has returned and even though 

your figure is still reluctant to come back, 

you're able to embrace each day with a smile.

But in those early days, it's impossible to see

through the milky haze of exhaustion. It's 

tough to logically rationalize your depression.

And you miss your old life, desperately and

feel as though perhaps you've made a big mistake.

That's why it's so important to connect with 

other women sharing your experience and 

perhaps more importantly, someone who has

just moved out of the stage you're currently in.

Someone for whom the experience is still raw

and fresh yet for whom it's finally in the past.  

I was really fortunate that I was able to turn

to my best friend from high school who gave

birth to her 4th the August before I gave 

birth to my 1st (and only). And that 

I was able to share my pregnancy

with another BFF who gave birth in October.

Luckily, when I blogged my feelings, many 

of you reached out to me with your experiences and 

support. Girls I haven't seen since high school, ones 

I became friends with through Matty, and even my 

bloggy friends shared their stories, sent gifts, and 

checked in on me regularly to remind me that

I (and what I was feeling) was absolutely normal.

And that made ALL of the difference.

I wouldn't have made it through those early days 

as well as I did without your support but many

new moms do not have the same network. A lot

of new moms feel isolated and crazed and,

well, that's just unacceptable and needs to change.

Hoboken is unique in that it's a walkable 

community brimming with new moms and

there are a multitude of ways to connect,

from the support group at the hospital to

baby yoga/music classes to restaurant

deals for new moms, etc. Unfortunately,

it's the exception whereas it should be the rule.

I feel so strongly about the necessity of 

bringing new moms together with one another

 (and with more seasoned moms whose babies 

have moved into the next stages) that I need to 

figure out a way to do just that nationwide.

Just call me the new moms Hobomomma Theresa!

I Caught a Wild Cat

This One's For Joan

, a photo by Life As We Blog It on Flickr.

The other weekend, Matty was the best man in a lifelong friend's wedding. Over the past few years, I've gotten to know the couple well; they are nicely paired so I was really looking forward to this event, despite having to seek out a formal dress that would fit my post-preggo body.

My friend Connie helped me out there; luckily, she had a to die for Nicole Miller that had just enough stretch in it to fit my heavily Spanxed bod. Dress taken care of, I turned to another friend to help me with my hair.

The morning of the wedding, I left Central PA and The Cheeks behind and drove back to Hoboken to prepare. I arrived back at my flat mid- afternoon, just as the ceremony was taking place in Hackensack, which meant that I had loads of time before the reception to make myself presentable.

You see, this was a big Jersey wedding at a fancy-shmancy reception hall and I wanted to look like I belonged there so of course, I pulled out my wedding hair extensions, hopped on my Huffy and pedaled over to 333 River where my friend Sarah (a very hot, English air hostess for Virgin Atlantic who once spent a weekend on Richard Branson's boat) was waiting to work her magic.

And she did. This is a pic of her handiwork; she did an amazing job twisting up all of the little bits of my short hair, securing them, and hiding them underneath the extensions so my long locks looked au naturale!

She just shook her head when I picked up my bike basket and left her place to hop back on my bike but I wasn't worried: I covered the extensions hanging down my back with my sweatshirt and pulled the hood tight around my neck to keep the top in place.

I was about to head home when I remembered an important detail: my borrowed shoes were open toe and I hadn't had a pedi since, well, before The Cheeks was born. Ugh. Luckily, I still had 3 hours before I was to meet Matty at the reception so I made my way to the nail salon and settled in for some treatments.

Along with the pedi, I was in desperate need of an eyebrow wax so I crawled onto the table where as she was slathering me with wax the, um, bold technician made this statement "ugh, you need upper lip waxed. You hairy".

Really? Did she just say that, because I've never had my lip waxed and had no clue that I was masquerading as the mustached woman. Needless to say, I was a bit taken back by this comment and, well, my body unfortunately started a bit.

I say unfortunately because while my body jerked up a tad from the table, her body was firmly pressed against it.

And against my extensions.

I won't state the obvious but I will say that I wasn't too stressed out at that point, I mean, how hard would it be to go home and re-attach a few extensions? After all, only two ripped out and there must have been 20 bound to my head.

(damn technician! I will say that she got her just desserts when I sat down to a pedicure with legs that hadn't been shaved since, well, um, when did I have the baby...)

I got back to Headquarters with 2 hours until go time and still wasn't stressed so I entered the bathroom and began what I thought was going to be a 15 minute fix. And from there, well, let's just say everything unraveled: my hair, the time, and my entire demeanor.

2.5 hours later, I was still in front of the mirror FREAKING OUT. My hair was an absolute terror, as I hadn't realized that when she ripped out the extensions, she had unraveled some of the short pieces Sarah had pinned up and therefore I had these weird, kinky bits that I couldn't manage. At that point, I had thought that if I took out all bobby pins and pulled everything into a ponytail, I might pull off a chic Academy Awards do.

Ha! Not. Even. Close.

Finally, I had to stop. It was only getting worse and I was now 45 minutes late and missing the entire cocktail hour which everyone knows in Jersey, is the BEST part of a wedding.

With no makeup and no time to find my evening bag, I barely managed to slip into the dress, pull out Aunt Babe's raccoon fur, grab my keys and get on the road.

En route, I sent (while stopped at a red light - not while driving) an SOS text to my friend Johnna who was at the wedding, told her I was in dire need and begged her to meet me in the ladies upon my arrival. After a few GPS miscalculations, I finally rolled up to the valet and parked underneath the five Hollywood style spotlights. By that time, I was approaching full blown panic attack mode. What were these lights? Was I at the wrong venue? Was the paparazzi here? Was someone going to snap a pic of this hot mess the minute I exited the car?

Once in the ladies lounge, I sat down and tried to do some damage control while I waited for Johnna. That's when the lovely attendant noticed me and came over.

"What is going on here, sistah?" She tisked tisked me in her lovely Caribbean accent and then answered her own question, "Ah, don't worry love, I have a weave, too," she declared, "just sit down and relax, relax and I'll take care of you."

Now, I remember the last time someone told me to "relax, relax" and his name was Jason and I think I punched him in the face for patronizing me but this time, the words soothed my tired soul and I melted into the chair.

A few moments, bobby pins, hair bands, sprays of gel and words of encouragement from Johnna later, I looked gorgeous but nothing like this picture and was able to make it to the bar and grab a martini - just before happy hour ended and my husband got up to give his speech.

All's well that ends well, I suppose, however I learned a major lesson for the next wedding I attend: You are not the bride, Ali. No one gives a care what you look like.

Except you.

The Bap Mobile

, a photo by Life As We Blog It on Flickr.

Eliza Skye likes to bap.

My kind friends with babies sweetly refer to her cries as "cute" whereas they cut through me like a razor on Joan Rivers' face. Her baps, on the other hand, do not make me clench my fingernails between my teeth because they are quite endearing.

Back in the early days, I scoffed at those who said that I would recognize her different cries because hell, they all sounded the same to me. Now that I'm past the 3 month mark (which my girlfriends and I decided at lunch today is the first true milestone for new moms), I must admit that although I can distinguish her hunger cry from the others, I have no clue what the other ones mean. I do, however, know which ones are going somewhere dark and evil and which ones will quickly subside.

The baps, if caught at just the right time, will most likely turn to smiles if I play my cards right.. or in baby terms, if I act like a clown and make ridiculous faces and sounds.

Which is fine with me because like all new moms, my main goal in life is to keep her happy... and, um, relatively quiet.

Now that she is 14 weeks old, she finally likes things that she used to hate and I'm not on pins and needles each time we leave the house. I took her in the car yesterday and not only did she sleep for the car ride to and fro and while we were at Barnes and Nobles, she didn't even do her usual 5 minutes of crying before passing out. Instead, she played with her toys and sucked on her bunnies ear.

Each morning, I've been forcing myself out of the house to get some much needed exercise for the mind and body and for the most part, she enjoys these strolls whereas just a few weeks ago, it was a real crap shoot.

Today, we strolled to the train station, then to Target, up to Anthony Davids on 9th and Bloomfield, over to Connie's on 9th and Hudson, and then back to our place in Southwest Hoboken.

And The Cheeks was a good little girl on each leg of the journey. She's starting to love her Bap Mobile and that makes me love her even more.

For Sale

Spring Cure 2010, a photo by Life As We Blog It on Flickr.
And yep, I took this bad pic.

This is where I spend my days but you need to imagine a play mat, bouncy seat, crib, changing table, and Mammaroo swing sharing the space with me.

Oh, and a 14 week old.

Today I got a call around noon from the real estate agency, asking if an agent could show our place from 2-3, which is feeding time. Of course I said yes, because I need to get the hell out of this one bedroom before I commit hari kari, or hari krishna or something else along those lines.

So, I went about de-babying the flat - snatching up bibs and bottles, blankets and teething toys, pacifiers and Poohs, cribs and play mats - and shoved everything in either the basement or the dishwasher. Then I stocked my Sportsac, adding more diapers, formula and bottles (because I have a bomb shelter mentality when it comes to my diaper bag), popped The Cheeks in her car seat, and went to Barnes and Nobles to buy my new friend's first novel and wait out the hour.

Luckily, The Cheeks slept the entire time so after buying the book, I pressed my luck and decided not to feed her and made my way home.

Having a newborn and a flat for sale at the same time is nerve wracking; I'm not sure which accounts more for my chewed nubby fingers, but together the combined pressure is tough stuff.

I want this place to sell; Sophia and I buried a statue of St. Joseph in the backyard this past weekend in hopes it will lead to success. If it works, well, the Catholic Church will get a new member and little Eliza Skye will wear a white dress on her communion day.

If it doesn't work, well, I'm open to many religions and will get to work burying their saints, sinners, and archetypes, too.

Bring on the Judgement

Day 23/365 Mother's Little Helper, a photo by texasgurl on Flickr.

It's confession time here at LaPointe of It All: my daughter is OBSESSED with television.

Yep, she's 14 weeks old and has already discovered the boob tube and all of its glories. We noticed that she was attracted to television when she was just a few weeks old: the little monkey couldn't tear herself away.

So, like any good mom, I made sure to turn her in the opposite direction when I watched quality programs like Shameless, Skins and Jersey Shore; I allow her to stay facing the tv during Teen Mom because hopefully the sorrowful lives it portrays will sink in and The Cheeks will think twice before giving up her goodies (no offense, Catelyn and Tyler - you know I heart you!).

No matter where Eliza is in the living room - on her play mat, in her Mammaroo (which she has FINALLY embraced!) or in her bouncy seat, she strains her neck toward the tv to see what's going on. Yes, I realize that I could solve this problem by turning off the tv but if you think that I'm giving up my television viewing, you have another thing coming. It's the only thing I can do that doesn't require one or two hands and without it, I would go insane.

When you're living in 700 sq feet and must spend 24/7 together with others, there's only so much you can do to maintain sanity and for me, watching tv is a mainstay for preserving my mental health.

So I try to make sure that what's on interests us both: we both enjoy Dinosaur Train (particularly the episode Good Mom), and Bethenny Ever After (she feels as though Bryn is her BFF). E and her dad have enjoyed watching baseball, golf, Mickey Mouse and Scooby Doo (don't worry, he changes the channel during the scary bits).

Yes, we are a television family and that's just how it's going to be. Feel free to judge me all you want but you won't change our ways. I grew up on television and so did my Matty and little Eliza is just another Kline-LaPointe who digs televised entertainment in a long family line.

I'm smart and active; Matt is smarter and active and Little Eliza Skye will be the smartest and most active, don't you worry.

Windows

Windows of Opportunity (2), a photo by lamar.francois on Flickr.

One of the most frustrating parts of motherhood is waiting for a window of opportunity to open so that you can return to your former self for a moment. These windows rarely open for more than an hour or two, so when they do, it's crucial to take advantage.

My day is organized around Eliza's schedule. I wait for her to sleep so that I can shower, make the bed, clean the kitchen, do the laundry, blog, read, etc. If I want to leave the house, I must consult her feeding schedule to determine if it's worth going out at that particular time or if I should wait another hour until after she's had a bottle.

When I get together with my friends, we try to co-ordinate schedules in advance by aligning our morning feeds in hopes that the kids will stay on a similar schedule. This is particularly important when traveling together, as I have done twice in the past few months.

Right now, Matt doesn't know it, but he is missing out on his window of opportunity to go to the gym this morning by choosing to nap on the couch instead. Well, he probably knows it and is ignoring it because I made it clear that he should've left 40 minutes ago while she was napping. Once she wakes up, it will be bottle time again and the whole Groundhog Day life that we're living will once again commence.

My MIL came down Wednesday morning and I jumped right out of that window, onto my bike, and zipped up to Washington Street where I met our realtor (and dear friend) for lunch to talk strategy for getting us out of this one bedroom. Thank goodness I have a great MIL because I need to taste freedom once in a while.

I wish my family lived closer because then I would have a lot of help and could feel more like myself, more often. Having a baby has made me realize the value of communal living; if I win the lottery, I'm buying a massive spread of land somewhere beautiful and temperate, building gorgeous cottages, and I'm inviting all of my favorite people to join me in a shared experience.

And on that note, this window has come to a close, as my baby daughter is waking from her nap and it's time to feed The Cheeks.

Rookie Mistake

Girls' Thursday Night Out Sans Babies + 

Wine + Sushi + Dancing at Buskers to Katy Perry = 

One Miserable Mother and One Relentless Baby.

Lesson Learned.

The Goal

Alicakes Sleeping Baby Girl! Shhhh!, a photo by alicakescupcakery on Flickr.

Everything in my life revolves around one goal: a sleeping baby.
Eliza is a great sleeper but I live with the constant fear that she'll stop being one, so everything I do throughout my entire day is in hopes of a good night's sleep.

That's what my life has come down to.

Ugh. Welcome to Groundhog Day.

My Inner Skinnygirl

bethenny.jpg, a photo by caitlinoco on Flickr.

Ok - Eliza is 13 weeks old and I feel that it's about time that I make an active effort to lose the rest of the weight I gained eating Ben and Jerry's during my miserable pregnancy.

As you know from my post-delivery blogs, I swelled to the size of a small whale after she was ripped from my womb. Most women leave the hospital having lost AT LEAST the weight of their child. Not me; I left the hospital having gained the weight of a very large child: I entered at 161 and left at 172.

I am not bullshitting you: I gained 11 pounds of water and bloat after giving birth to 14 pounds of child and placenta. I lost 36 pounds in the first few weeks I was home without any effort (oh shut up - considering I should've left the hospital at around 146 pounds, the majority of those 36 pounds was water) but I have only lost 1.5 pounds since.

Yep, 1.5 pounds. That's it. I weighed 136 on January 13th and I weigh 134.5 now, which is really depressing since I've been starving myself 6 days a week, doing 100 push ups every other day, and walking miles a day pushing a pram.

But one day a week at the new moms lunch, I've been stuffing my face, in addition to drinking A LOT of wine... during the day and at night.* And I haven't been doing the Body By Bethenny workout that I bought to stream on Amazon. As a matter of fact, I'm just now watching it for the first time while writing this.

And I'm kinda inspired. Kinda.

It's hard to find time to work out and frankly, (or should I say Frankely.. lol) I think that for the most part, unless you're interested in increasing your cardio lung capacity, working out for weight loss is a myth, which is why I'm even more reluctant to start doing it.

But it's time. I need to tone and I need to lose 10 pounds if I ever want to fit back into any of my old clothes. And yes, I know that I look "fine" right now. That I even look "great" when I make an effort. But that is not good enough for me because I am 5'2 and ten extra pounds on my frame means that I'm up two dress sizes and that is not acceptable.

Stop - I don't want to hear it, so don't even bother commenting: I don't care how you think I look or what you think I should weigh or blah, blah, blah. I know what I want to look like and what I want to weigh and most importantly, that I don't want to buy an entire four season wardrobe. I realize that the body changes in permanent ways after having a baby and that some things may never fit again but my coats should. My shirts should. And most of my pants, jeans and dresses should if I tone up and lose these last ten pounds.

So that's what I plan to do and I'm going to start making a sincere effort tomorrow because it's too late to start today: The Cheeks is about to wake up from her afternoon nap and this is the last free moment I'm going to have until 7:30 tonight and at that point, Matty will be home and it will be the two of us stuck in one room for the rest of the night and I'm not about to torture him by making him sit and watch me embrace my inner Skinnygirl. Which is another lovely reality of having a baby in a one bedroom.

So tomorrow it is.

*No, I'm not a lush... not yet. When I say a lot of wine, I mean a few glasses every other day.

The Way He Sees It...

Matty: "So that was Connie, right? She's married to Brett? And she grew up near you in Lewisburg? The Greek girl?"

Me: "Yep."

Matty: "Ok, so we've got Sarah and James, Connie and Brett and... who's the other one? The Russian? European?"

Me: "You mean the other Brit? That's Laura."

Matty: "Yeah, ok, she's the one moving back, right?"

Me: "Yep."

Matty: "But that's not all, there's more, right? That other one, from White House Station?"

Me: "That's Tina. Actually, I met Connie through Tina.  The two of them met at prenatal baby yoga."

Matty: "At what?"

Me: "Prenatal baby yoga.  Man, I should've done that.  What the hell was I doing while I was pregnant?"

Matty: "Eh, drinking. Popping pills."

silence

I'm Not the Only One

The Cheeks just went down for her morning nap, so

I thought I would spend some time catching up on 

some blog reading.  While I was trolling the internet, 

I found this article; wow. I guess I'm just one of 

many obsessed with Mormon housewife blogs.  

Me and E

The weather has finally turned a corner, 

so it makes sense that E and I get out and

about as much as possible while the getting

is good! Yesterday we lunched at The Turtle Club

with the usual Wednesday afternoon crew.  On 

our way home, I got really ambitious and decided

to walk to the bank; that wasn't the best idea, as

E screamed her little head off and I had to duck

 into CVS and purchase an over priced carton 

of ready to feed bottles.  I need to pay closer 

attention to the clock when we're out because

 my little girl certainly sticks to her schedule!

We arrived home around 5pm and she played

a bit on her play mat; within the hour, fussy

time commenced.  Luckily, it coincided with

a text from Matty saying he was heading home

so I popped her in the carrier and we walked

over to the light rail station to greet him.  The

weather was so nice that after Matt changed

out of his work clothes, we headed back

out and walked to Washington for pizza.

Good times. Let the fair weather continue!

Ouch

My thumb, my nose, and my lip are 

all slightly split open and all three more

 than slightly hurt. That's all, folks. 

Quote of the Day

Something new to Read a photo by Violet Kashi on Flickr.

Jonathan Franzen on one of his character's emigration:

"He became another data point in the American experiment of self- government, an experiment statistically skewed from the outset, because it wasn't the people with sociable genes who fled the crowded Old World for the new continent; it was the people who didn't get along well with others."

Brilliantly stated; that quote identifies a significant root of today's culture and makes it easier to understand from where many of today's unfortunate core values stem...

Stylish Send Off

Today we got another peek at what's to come,

and it finally hit me that winter won't last forever.

Spring will spring - it's inevitable - but that's been

really hard to believe these last icy months.

I'm ready for winter to end before I completely 

turn against all things cold and snow; as it is 

now, I'm hanging on to what little appreciation

I've spent years mustering up for it by a thread.

I'm definitely a warm weather gal but I've 

always enjoyed the first snowfall - felt it was

magical - but I've come to despise winter this year

for obvious reasons and I don't want that hatred

to become permanent since I'm not moving

south anytime soon.  Now that I've seen the sun

and felt a bit of warmth, now that I've smelled

a bit of spring in the air, I think I'll make it through.

So to celebrate winter and its end, today I decided

 to dress The Cheeks in the cutest of all winter 

outfits and as you can see below, in turn I found

one positive thing about winter: my daughter

is one damn cute Nordic snow bunny!

That's right, girl - here's to the end of winter; 

it's totally worth celebrating with a double fist pump!

Happy Birthday, Eliza Skye!

I can't believe that two months have

 passed since my abdomen was sliced 

open and this little lump was pulled out!

Little Miss Eliza Skye spent her two 

month birthday lounging in her bouncy

chair, sucking down bottles of formula,

and sleeping on her tummy in her crib;

according to her happy disposition, it 

was time well spent.  At this stage, she is 

smiling a lot, gurgling, and yes, bapping 

like crazy while doing leg lifts at night.

I'm pleased that we have managed to keep 

her alive and kicking; we will find out 

tomorrow just how good of a job we've 

done when the doctor tells us how much

 she has grown in the past month. 

Happy Birthday, Cheeks!  

Public Service Announcement

In between moments spent loving and caring for little Eliza, I will be spending today attempting to catch up on correspondence: emails, thank you notes, FB message and comment returns, voicemails, etc.

If there's time, I may even have a blog in me...

Unplanned Hiatus

On Monday afternoon, my bff from high school called and asked if I was interested in road tripping back home to PA with her.  This is something the two of us have done since I moved to NJ a decade ago: if one of us is heading west, we invite the other along to lighten the misery of Route 80. 

However this trip was to be a first. It wasn't going to be just the two of us this time, or the two of us and one or two of her kids... no, this trip was the real deal: two adults, a nine year old, a six year old, a five year old, a five month old, and of course, my eight week old darling of the blogosphere!

Yep - Tuesday morning, after pumping our newborns full of formula in hopes that they would sleep the ride away, we installed my car seat base next to hers and the seven of us piled into the minivan to begin the trek.

Now, driving from her house in Basking Ridge to our hometown in PA can take anywhere from 2.5 hours if you ignore all posted speed limits to 7 hours if you get stuck in miserable Poconos traffic and there's construction on 80; one never knows what's in store, which is why we don't come home more often.  Needless to say, we both began the journey with a slight stomach ache and crossed fingers.

The Cheeks usually sleeps during car trips; I have a cloth cover for her car seat that turns it from a room with a view to a sensory deprivation chamber and when we travel, I opt for the latter.  Since she cried halfway from Hoboken to Basking Ridge (note to self: NEVER take the Pulaski Highway after 9 am on a weekday), I was pretty sure she would be good to go for the long haul and she was: she slept the entire trip to PA, even through the Wendy's burger run!

Jen's kids were awesome, as always.  The three older ones sat in the back row of the van like three little ducks and happily wiled the time away watching movies and playing Angry Birds on our iPhones (Lillian, age 6, got me through the level I've been stuck on for weeks!).  Spence, Jen's five month old, bapped happily from his car seat and only needed me to wrench my body around and feed him a bit of a bottle once.  Jen and I gossiped about everything from our Facebook friend request queues to tougher stuff, like the reason she had to make the trip home.

I'll admit that I was scared to make the trip at first.  Going out of my comfort zone with E hasn't been as easy as I had thought it would be before she was born; the anticipation of road trips and crying fits does paralyze me a bit however I knew I had to make this trip because it gave me the perfect opportunity to surprise my mom with a visit with the light of her life.  You see, my mom had been in Arizona visiting my aunt and was returning late Wednesday night.  What better thrill than to find me waiting for her at the Williamsport airport instead of my dad?  The trip from my aunt's home, door to door, is about 17 hours but you wouldn't have known how exhausted she was because after one look at me, it registered that where there's daughter, there's granddaughter and her face lit up like an electric light orchestra.

So that's what I've been up to; I didn't want to blog or Facebook until my mom was home and had had her big surprise.  My parents laptop is usually in use by my Ebay addicted dad, and since I didn't bring my Mac home and I hate blogging via iPhone, I've been MIA in my online life.

We head back to Hoboken tomorrow morning and I'm REALLY looking forward to seeing my Matty and so is Eliza... she'll remember him, right? hee hee.

Lunch Club

The Cheeks before heading out to lunch,

 dressed in her velour NJ Housewife track suit 

that Aunt Alina bought her. It has bell sleeves 

and is utterly adorable, just like her expression.

Wednesday lunches with my new friends (who just so happen to have babies) have become my weeks' highlight.  It not only forces me to get out of the house with The Cheeks, but I've also tried three new restaurants, six new wines, and a grapefruitini (which, I'm sad to report, did not meet my expectations).

Best of all, of course, are the friendships I'm forming with like minded souls... ones who also enjoy a drink at lunch! hee hee...

Seriously though, when I was pregnant, I snubbed my nose at "mommy groups": the idea of getting together with a bunch of strangers to talk about our "feelings" made me want to vomit pacifiers. More than once during my pregnancy, I climbed up on my soapbox and delivered the following rant:

"I mean, like, come on - I have, like, so many friends as it is and, like, most of them are moms.  If I need a "mommy friend", hell, I'll call one of them.  Seriously, (insert Matt or Laura's name here), you're not going to find me at one of those, like, "Mommy and Me" bullshit support groups. No way.  I'll be, like, way too busy bustling the baby into the MOMA on my own, or, like, driving to Philly to see Jen and Mose, or flying off to London to spend the weekend with the girls - you know, I'll be too busy spending time with my REAL friends!"

I know, I can be awful, right?  Well, I really thought that was how it would be... ha! We all know how that turned out, considering I spent weeks one and two crying on the phone to Erica and the Jens, texting morose paragraphs to everyone I knew, and blogging the real deal.  Thank god for my friend Michelle up in The Heights (who is, by far, one of the most positive, inspirational people I have in my life and a freakin' terrific friend).  She sent me cheery, supportive texts encouraging me to check out the Hoboken Hospital support group.  Texts that were written in just the right tone, one that intrigued instead of putting me off.

Don't get me wrong - as I wrote here, that meeting was not my cup of tea and I haven't gone back but that's because I met these girls that first day.  It served its purpose and served it well; if I hadn't met these gals, I absolutely would have gone back with the sole purpose of stalking the room for others.  

Today, two of the girls each invited a friend to join our Wednesday lunch club.  Each of those girls has a little girl, so now the count is even: three girls, three boys.  It also means that The Cheeks now has adorable competition because they are beautiful baby girls, were dressed to the nines, and have fabulous names: Addison and Beatrice... this means I need to step up Eliza's game since I'm used to her being the prettiest, best dressed, and best named girly).

I mean, does it get cuter than this?  Maybe baby

Evelyn, but come on! She's 7 weeks and practically

holding the teddy that her daddy got her for Valentines!

Ever read The Alchemist? It's a simple fable that delivers a strong message I believe and have passed on to others (the most interesting being a cute gypsy boy from the South of England who played the tambourine).  Coelho writes that if you want something, all the universe will conspire to make it happen, that it's a small world, and blah blah blah.

But it's true: after I had my baby, all I wanted was to feel like me again.  I spoke of wanting her not to cry, of wanting my swelling to go down, of wanting time to spend with my husband, of wanting to be closer to my family but what I really wanted was to recognize myself once more.

It's been a long road, traveled over a little under two months, but I've managed to make my way back toward myself.  Not completely, but I'm almost there and this group of girls has been instrumental along the way.

And here's the Coelho kicker:  one of the new girls is from Lewisburg, which is my college town (that is 8 miles from my hometown).  That's in itself is crazy, but what really blew my mind is that her stepmother is from W-town AND is the mother of one of my high school friends*!  How's that for it's a small world?  Just when I was feeling so far from home, home presented itself in the form of a brown eyed girl with a girl of her own! Woo hoo! Another townie in town!

Some people collect pottery, some wine corks.  I suppose I collect friendships.

I got lucky - what makes this group of "mommy friends" work is that they feel like friends, not like "mommies". These girls are my type of girls; each is unique in her own way and whereas we share many qualities, we are worlds apart in other aspects.  As a group, however, we complement one another and the dynamic works. 

But most importantly, when I'm with them, surrounded by a sea of strollers, burp cloths, diaper bags, and breast feeding cover-ups, I don't feel like a mom: I just feel like me.

*For my hometown readers, I'll give you a few hints: this girl graduated in 1990, played field hockey, and was the only one in school who called her boyfriend Mike, "Miicchhaaeell".  She also has an older brother that most of us girls had a crush on at one time or another.

Motivation

I need to get my act together and finish writing my novel instead of spending my time watching foreign films, doing laundry, and thinking about finishing my novel.  To be honest, whenever I sit down to work on it, instead of writing toward its end, I spend hours re-reading and editing the 189 pages I've completed.

Which is an exercise in futility.

I need to stop obsessing over sentence structure, grammar and mechanics and focus on getting the words on the page.  I know where it's going, I know where it's been so why do I keep starting at the Prologue? I shouldn't line edit until it's finished - as a writer and as an English teacher, I know that.  I preach that to my own creative writing students but I fail to follow my own advice.

Let's face it - when I finally finish it, it's probably going to need heavy editing regardless if I spend hours line editing it as I go.  When I pass it on to friends for their first beginning-to-end read, because most of my friends are English teachers, they will no doubt take editing notes.  Those notes will feel like brutal attacks the first time I read them but will make the work better in the end - I know this.  And if the work ever makes it past the slush pile, a professional editor will make even more brutal edits; this is a fact.

So why am I wasting my time editing now?  Am I procrastinating?  Is it part of my obsessive compulsiveness?  Is it the curse of an English teacher who has spent the past 16 years editing student work for grammar and mechanics?

Who am I kidding - it's all of the above and therefore it's clear that I need a new approach.  And a  simple one, at that: from now on, when I sit down to work, I'm not going to open any documents labeled with its title.  Instead, I'm going to pick up right where I left off in the story and continue moving forward until I reach the end.

Sounds pretty easy, right?

Ha! It's been so long since I've written any new material, I'm not even sure where I left off.

Which means that I need to break my newly created rule and go back into my files to figure out where to begin again... but I promise to stay away from the Prologue! I'll just re-read Chapter 11 and I won't change a word!

Well, maybe one or two...

Valentine's Day

Eliza Skye spent her first Valentine's Day

 breaking all of the rules by napping on

her tummy, just like she did all weekend

 at Grammy Kline's house, except there 

she was covered in multiple blankets, too.

I couldn't wait for Matty to get home to

present her with my Valentine, so I gave it

 to her early; she didn't really understand 

but seemed to appreciate the thought. 

When her daddy arrived home from work,

 there was a flurry of excitement as she 

gave and received many Valentines.

Her daddy got her the sweetest card

and a little stuffed bear that makes

it very clear how he feels about her.

She got her momma some flowers 

and her daddy a Hoboken mug, plus his 

favorite chocolate peanut butter treat.

Right before her nightly Bedtime for Bonzo

ritual, a parcel arrived on the front stoop.

It was from her Auntie Babe and contained

a gorgeous silver spoon, perhaps since 

she wasn't born with one in her mouth.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Stream of Consciousness

First, a confession: I copied and pasted the title of this post.

Yep, I went to Google and typed in "Stream of", knowing 

exactly what I wanted would pop up.  Let's face it - that

C word is a tough one for me to spell and I'm really lazy.

Moving on.

Today was a good day.  I met up with my new friends

(and Eliza's suitors) for lunch at Bin 14.  They run a 

pretty sweet deal for "moms". I wish they called it the

"People Who Need To Get Out and Socialize and 

Just So Happen to Have Babies" special but hell,

I would take advantage of it even if they called it 

"Cheap Eats for Gals Who Should Be Exercising".

We may have gotten screwed, however, because 

whereas we were told that the special was any pizza 

for $10, another chick wrote on an email chain that 

the special is ten bucks for anything on the menu.  Grr. 

Oh well, it probably worked out for the best,

considering that I have severe issues with options: 

I can NEVER decide when faced with many and 

once I do, I'm convinced that I made the wrong choice.

I navigate life best when operating within parameters.

How does this post relate to its title?  Well, it wasn't

meant to be a digression from my original thought, 

although that's what it's turned into.  No, I sat down

to write about something that streamed from thoughts

I had while reading my bloggy BFF's post today but

now I'm kinda written out and don't have the motivation

to fulfill that objective.  Plus, The Cheeks is making

little bappy sounds, which means she could start howling.

That's part of her new bedtime routine: we put her down 

around 7:30 (ok, so it's been more like 8:00 lately since I've 

been super lazy in the mornings and have pushed back 

her first feed in exchange for an extra hour of sleep. Yeah, 

yeah, before you go getting all "that's Babywiseabuse!" on 

me, just know that I still have to wake her for that feed

because my girl, like her father, enjoys a morning lie-in) 

and then within 30 minutes, she starts making bapping 

sounds (I love that word. I stole it from this and yes, you

must listen to Josh Ferris read it for full affect and yes, 

I tweaked its meaning to suit my needs). Her baps may

or may not lead to howls and the howls may or may not

lead to Matty stuffing her cheeks with a two ouncer.  

You never know with these little martians, do ya? It's 

"one of the many defects of their kind. Also, weak arms."

(anyone know where I stole that quote?) 

Crap. I keep digressing from my original idea, which

streamed from reading that Ash just read The Outsiders

for the first time. Now, I don't care what any of the

literati say - I freakin' love The Outsiders. Ponyboy and

I, well, we go way, way back.  I even dated Dally for a 

while, back in the day and hell, through them I met M&M ,

Mark and Bryon and yeah, it's real shitty what happened

to those boys, too (you can read about that here). 

During my early teaching years, I taught my own group 

of outsiders that, in an eerie way, paralleled the one Hinton 

created when she was 16, right down to a Socs-vs-Greasers 

style rumble (Varsity Jackets vs. Carharts) and the tragic

death of the group's "pet", who also died heroically in a 

horrific fire while trying to save the life of a girl whom he 

barely knew (who, sadly but not surprisingly, died, too). 

That's what I was thinking about writing about today

because that kid meant a hell of a lot to me. He would

appear in the doorway of my classroom after school

sometimes and I would invite him in, knowing he was

just going to sit there and silently shake his head yes

or no in response to my litany of questions meant

to verbally engage him.  One year at Christmastime,

we were dismissed early for snow and man, I can 

still remember how that day felt, like there was the 

light of promise in the sky. Anyway, I walked out

to my car that day and found a snow covered envelope 

scribbled with his handwriting placed on my windshield.

It was stuffed with a Currier and Ives style card and 

a homemade ceramic reindeer ornament that will 

always have a place of honor on my tree.

I think about him all the time, and about another boy

from that group, too, but their stories are for another

time because to tell them in winter when it's already

so dark and drab would be to do a disservice to my

own mental state and no doubt, to yours as well.

I'm not sure if I met my objective for this post but

if nothing else, I'll let its title serve as an introduction

 to an exercise in form and function. And on that note,

The Cheeks has stopped bapping so I'm going to 

go pour myself a glass of wine and enjoy some 

couch time with my husband, who has probably

been waiting, patiently, for me to move away 

from the Mac so he can get his hands on it.