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.