The Most Adorable Husband, Ever!

Kris signed Rosie up for her first dance class, and every Saturday morning he skips and jumps with her. The sheer cuteness is overwhelming.

Rose

I admire that Rose is so sure who she is and her place in the world.

"I want to take off my jammies!" She says.
So I help her get her feet unstuck.
"Take off my shirt!"
So I take off her onesie. I know this process is heading towards the blue Cinderella nightgown she has been wearing since Monday. No other set of clothes has been acceptable.
"But then you'll be naked."
She runs down the hall to find her "Lady dress."
"Can't you see that you're naked?" I ask.
"No, I'm Rosie."

First object up the nose!

After playing together all morning, I stepped away from Rosie for just a moment to get a little work done this afternoon. When I heard her crying, I went to investigate and found her covered in ink. Her entire mouth and nose were completely saturated with black ink, so I thought she had sucked on the marker and drawn on her face a bit. I scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom where I pointed out her face in the mirror. Rosie was enthralled with her black teeth, and we laughed about how silly she looked. But when it came time to clean off her face, she screamed every time I wiped her nose. As if I were watching an instant replay on tv, my mind flashed back to the original scene of the crime. I remembered seeing the marker next to her, but it was somehow missing the tip. I was increasingly horrified as I realized that the felt tip of the marker was still in her nose.

I collected my thoughts for a moment, before completely losing my head. I tried to get a good look up her nose but all I could see was a cascade of black ink. Her ink stained spit and snot was draining out of both sides of her nose and her mouth. I tried my best to pull out the tip, but my tweezers weren't wide enough to get a hold of it, and I was quite sure how aggressively I could try to get it out without hurting Rose. I plugged up the other side of her nose and asked her to blow, but it didn't do any good. I was now imagining the tip of the marker stuck millimeters from her brain like on the Simpsons, and struggling to keep my cool.

I decided to call the doctor, but could not find my phone anywhere. I then remembered watching Rosie toddle away with it earlier. After searching the house for the dumb phone and swearing to get a land line when all of this was over, I was soon left with no other option but to ask Rose what she did with it. I stared her in the face and repeated over and over as calmly as I could, "where is mommy's phone?!" She can usually find things, but not this time.

I ran to the computer, hoping that anyone was logged into chat and could call my phone. Luckily Genevieve was there, and received the most random IM from me, ever.
With the phone located (it was between the books on the bottom shelf downstairs) I called the doctor and whisked her down the street. Kris met us there and we proceeded to be completely embarrassed by her face full of ink.

When our normal pediatrician failed to pull out the marker tip, I felt a little better about myself. I had really tried to take care of this myself, for fear of being that crazy first time mom. Our Pediatrician went to grab the expert Puller-of-objects-out-of-children's-noses-er and he broke down laughing as soon as he caught sight of Rosie's face. He devised a plan that included a crazy hook tool and three of us to hold down the child. When he finally pulled the marker out of Rosie's nose, he asked if we wanted to keep it. Seriously.
Note: this picture was taken after trying to clean off her face twice.

The Formal Livingroom

I totally get it now.

Just a few short hours ago I was informed that my husband was coming home early. I glanced around the house which had recently suffered a nuclear Rose attack, and panicked. Not that Kris would even care if the house was messy as long as Rosie is happy and healthy, but I still like to feel a little bit useful beyond the baby-playing.

So I started gathering the wet pull ups, and searching my brain for how they ended up on the couch in the first place. I gathered up the blast of alphabet cards and shoved them back in the diaper bag. I swooped up the dirty baby clothes, tiny mate-less shoes, stuffed penguins, blocks, and kitchen clutter. I vacuumed the dog hair from every corner, and off all the furniture. It was ridiculous, especially considering I do this EVERYDAY!

When I was a lass, several of my friends had fancy living rooms that we were not allowed to play in. I always thought it was silly to have a whole room full of things no one could touch and furniture no one could sit on. I can still remember their mother's exhausted, half crazed faces as they begged us to please, just leave one room alone.

But here I am wishing that I had a place where I could sit down and relax without first having to sweep a layer of baby away. My hands are up and I'm dangerously close to declaring my bathroom a dog and baby free zone.

Vacation! All I Ever Wanted

We recently flew to Huntington Beach, California to visit Rosie's favorite uncle, Josh. We all decided to celebrate our anniversary with some moderately good Seaside Mexican food on the snazzy little HB main street. Rosie made eating out just as adventurous as ever with the screaming, the spills, and suddenly proclaiming "all done" before the beers were half gone. Kris and I have come to accept that for the next 18 years, we are essentially banned from restaurants which serve meals over $9.99, because it seems that fancy people don't appreciate the occasional lemonade bath for their Jimmy Choos. But since Josh is still childless and fancy free, this weekend has been a crash course in parenthood. If only we could be better stewards for his journey since being prepared takes 97.2% of the stress out of outings with children. But as it is, we rarely remember to bring snacks, sippy cups, or diaper wipes along with us.

Once we were back home from dinner we started the bed time dance where we insist that it's late, and Rose is tired, and she in turn assures us that she's fine and it's time to play. Being taller and slightly smarter, Kris and I eventually prevailed, but less than an hour later Rosie woke up screaming. I almost left her to work it out for herself, but I figured she probably didn't remember where she was, so I went up to comfort her.

Once I got the door open I heard gagging and coughing interspersed with the screaming, and instantly started panicking. Rosie started to throw up a little so I scooped her up, ran down the hall to the bathroom, and held her over the sink. "I need help! Rosie is choking!" I screamed.

Kris and Josh came bounding up the stairs. Kris assessed the growing pile of pink puke in the sink, and the pathetic gagging sound Rose was making. We watched her gag and cough and cry for a moment, feeling completely useless. When I could no longer take it I halfheartedly stuck my finger in her mouth to see what was in there. Finding nothing, I looked up at Kris with sheer panic on my face. He took Rosie from my arms, and one triumphant finger sweep later, the puke fountain flowed freely. Gobs of stinky pink and white goo filled the sink. I suddenly realized it shouldn't go down the drain so I tried to hold it back with one hand while picking up chunks to identify what could have made her sick. As the puke oozed through my fingers, I remembered that Josh was also standing there, and could go get some paper towel. I glanced through the doorway and saw Josh's wide-eyed face completely drained of color and washed in horror. Above all else, Josh was concerned for Rosie, but combine the puking with the crying all night, waking up at 5am, inconvenient napping and generally stickiness and it has become clear that we have set back any future Lander cousins another few years.

We'll Say "Hi" to The Compound For You, Somer :)

We're going to the beach! Kris, Rosie, and I will leave tomorrow evening for Huntington Beach to visit Josh. We couldn't be more excited! Here's a few pics from our trip to Newport last year. Rosie was just about ten months old and took her first wobbly steps at the beach house. She didn't walk on her own for a few more weeks, but it was fun that the whole fam was there to witness her genius.


Rosie in her Aunt Billie and Uncle Mike's pool in Vegas


Wearing our commemorative "Hot Sake" shirts to celebrate Ricki's line in Iron Man.


Swimming in the buff in her sombrero-shaped beer cooler. Ultimate embarrassing baby picture, right? I'm pulling this one out on prom night.


Practice.


So little!

Tonsils

My parents said that I was practically born with tonsillitis, but the doctors waited until I was four to take them out. Apparently, I would wake up at night gasping for air, my throat too swollen to breathe.

The first time I realized something bad was going to happen to me, my dad had taken me to a movie, and kept apologizing over and over. “I'm sorry you have to have a tonsillectomy,” he said. The lect-to-me part and all the guilt in his voice made me think it was his fault. I had no idea what it meant, but I thought about it for the whole movie. My mom apologized all the time too. I started to think my parents were plotting against me. If they were both so sorry, couldn't they just not lect-to-me my tonsils?

Most of my childhood was marked with constant confusion. My sister recently found a picture of me from when I was about five. “Look at your face!” she said. In the picture I was trying to smile, but my eyes were huge and radiating fear. It was enclosed in a frame made of cardboard and a few remnants of macaroni and gold spray paint. “I must have been at Sunday School. I never really understood Sunday School,” I said, peeling off a loose noodle. People should explain things to kids better.

It became clear to me that I would have to stay overnight at the hospital when my mom took me to K-Mart to pick out my own pair of hospital jammies. They had purple, pink, and orange tulips on them and ruffles at my feet like clown pants. I couldn't wait to wear them. I would lay them on my bed, straighten the tiny purple bows, and dream about the day that I would finally get to wear them. In retrospect I was clearly being manipulated.

When the big day finally came, I got to go on a tour of the hospital. I had my jammies in a bag over my shoulder and the promise of endless ice cream and popsicles filled my mind. The nurse gave each child on the tour a plastic medicine bag. In it was either that weird mirror thing doctors strap to their heads in movies, or a pointed nurses cap with a big red cross on it. All of the boys got to be doctors, and the girls were nurses. I handed my medicine bag back to the lady, once again confused about why she thought I wanted to be a nurse. “I want to be a doctor,” I informed her. I was thinking big and bucking stereotypical gender roles at age four. I often wonder what happened to that gumption. I had the surgery and felt pretty miserable for about a week. Soon I could breathe and swallow like a champ, but at the end of all of my suffering I learned the cruelest lesson of them all: life is not fair and when you're not paying attention your sister will eat all of your ice cream.



So about six months ago at one of Rosie's checkups, I was complaing that she was sick ALL THE TIME and wouldn't eat or sleep. Our doctor pried open Rosie's mouth and said, "Oh my!" as if she couldn't control herself. Once she had gathered her thoughts, she added in a much calmer voice, "Rosie's tonsils are simply huge."

They were swabbed for strep, but showed no infection. Her tonsils had just grown to be too large-- known as kissing tonsils. The Doctor explained that they were making it too hard for her to breathe at night, so she woke up all the time. And they were so big that she couldn't swallow enough food to nourish herself, which is why she hadn't gained any weight for almost six months. Feeling like THE WORST MOTHER, EVER, I promptly made an appointment with an ENT who droned on about having to wait to do the surgery until kids are at least two, so they can be reasoned with if they refuse to drink fluids. I thought in my head that we could be waiting for years, in Rosie's case, since she's as stubborn as the dykes are tall in her native Netherland home. But as soon as the doctor caught sight of the tonsils in question, he said, "my, that's an impressive presentation," and told us to schedule surgery immediately. He also said we could put tubes in her ears at the same time to help with her constant ear infections.

So I took my poor baby (who couldn't breathe, eat, or hear) home and waited nearly a month for the surgeon's schedule to clear up. It was agonizing. I spent most of the time playing out in my head what it would feel like to hand my baby over to a stranger and watch her get carried into an Operating Room where I couldn't comfort her.

When the day finally came, Kris's parents surprised us at the hospital, and waited through the whole morning with us. It was such a relief! Between the copious toys in every corner of Primary Children's Hospital, and the nurses who blew bubbles and sang, Rose was fascinated with the whole process. When the Surgeon came to take Rosie away he even let her take her monkey and her blankey with her, so somehow, it felt a little easier.

The surgery was over in just a half hour, so one of us got to go back to recovery sooner than we had ever imagined. Kris is the best dad, ever, so I knew he would be aching to comfort Rosie. He practically ran down the hall to go get her. I had to wait another 30 minutes before I got to see her. When I finally got to go back I expected to see a beautiful reunification of father and daughter, but instead Kris had a mix of heartache and terror on his face, and was covered in the blood that Rosie had coughed up. She was still choking on her sobs. Kris said that Rose was so mad she would focus very her on deliberately pinching him between all the screaming.

It got better from there, though, with only a few more traumatic moments. Once we figured out that the IV in her foot was making her miserable, and adjusted it for her, all was well again. We all got a little sleep, but Rosie woke up at about 3:00am convinced that it was time to play. Kris and I pulled her through the halls of the hospital in a wagon for hours. We watched Bambi, which only made her giggle and yell, "bunny!!" rather than lulling her back to sleep. By 5:00am, the nurse said we could just go home.

After another day of rest and occasional bouts of the grumps, Rosie was a new woman! Now she can breathe, eat and is starting to put some chub back on her tiny bones. I feel so lucky that one of the best children's hospitals in the country is just up the street from my house. This whole experience could have been so much worse than it was.

While I'm very excited to stop explaining why my 21 month old baby is barely the size of an average one year old, the best result of the whole experience is that Rosie giggles all the time now. A laugh from Rose used to be a very rare treat. She was always pretty happy, just doing the best with what she had, but I think she felt too sick to giggle and play like a normal kid. I just hope we can get the next kid's inevitable case of Tonsillitis nipped in the bud even sooner.

Caution: poop story (it had to happen eventually... this is 33.3% mommy blog)

"Did you poop?" I asked Rosie.

"No!" scamper scamper scamper.

But she totally did. She went in the bathroom and shut the door and everything. If only she would sit on the potty instead of costing me .30 cents every time she craps life would be easier to deal with right now. I have always been afraid of potty training, but much like a 42 week pregnant lady who may have once been afraid to give birth, I say - let's do this now!!

Anywho, there I am holding Rosie's feet in one hand, and wiping her poopy bum with the other. I was mentally chanting, "don't puke, don't puke," since I wouldn't have a hand free to catch it and would have ended up with a much bigger mess. I glanced at the wall cube which holds the world's Most Random Collection of Stuff, but occasionally also holds diapers, to find that it was bare. There were none in the drawer. The diaper bag. The stroller. No. Diapers.

It was then that the poo smell overwhelmed my tender gag reflex. I didn't actually puke since my teeth hurt too much to chew food, so there was nothing to come up, but yucky heaves shook my body.

Rosie said, "bwess you mommy."

Feeling (almost) instantly better I snatched a swim diaper from the closet and declared the problem solved.

Rosie with her friends Eli and Emerson Ashton

A Baby Story

Yesterday I was listening to Rosie and her dad playing in the basement. He was trying to fix a computer for a friend, and just as he was downloading the last update, Rosie pushed the power button. He was understandably irritated, and told her "NO!"

She crawled her way upstairs and found me hard at work on my rewrites. Her face was very serious and she proceeded to tell me the story. "Dada. Button. No."

Rosie dances with Mr. Xavier

MVI_1265
Originally uploaded by lissabird

Rosie is Cooler Than Me

My 1 1/2 year old daughter, Rosie, gets just about anything she wants from strangers because she is beautiful. Free balloons, trinkets, adventurous rides with the Jazz bear, and an introduction to the team. She is so brave and in command of her scene, where ever she is. I just know she could be an it girl when she grows up if she wants to.

Now, I'm positive that I am the first mother to worry about what my daughter is going to think of me when she grows up. I was never a part of that queen bee, alpha-girl crowd, nor did I want to be. But what if Rosie finds her place in that society and she is not at all amused by her wanna-be-artist-bohemian mother?

The only thing I'm sure of is that I am officially grounded from watching Gossip Girl.

Princess Rosabella Eliza Alice

Halloween 2007

I had just had this beautiful baby girl six weeks before Halloween, and of course I wanted to dress her up in pink from head to toe. Her dad wanted her to be something hard core like a ninja or a Volcan (since she already had the right hairstyle.) Of course we did nothing about finding a costume until Oct 30th. That morning as Lander was leaving for work he kissed my forehead and said, "Rosie can be a princess if you want." Hooray!

I rallied my sister and the three of us set off to find a costume. If you wait until the absolute last minute, costumes are 75% off at Toys R Us. Amy and I found this cute pink princess dress that was clearly marked 3-6 months for $6.89. After we wrangled it over Rosie's floppy new baby frame in the store, we realized that it was a bit big, but would probably be fine with some strategic safety pins.

No one has accused Rose of being a large child, or even regularly sized, but I thought she was getting so much bigger lately, thanks to her mac & cheese diet. I was positive that her princess dress would be too small this year, but I dug it out of the disaster area- I mean storage closet just to check. It's actually still a little big.