An Ode the the Man

Ten things I love about you...

After writing my recent post about the youngest Boy, I was asked if I would be devoting a post to each family member. Seems fair enough.

The Man gets to go first. Because he's oldest (as he would point out though, not as old as me, by 77 ish days).

Note: These are in no particular order. Also I'm only doing 10. Because if I did them all I'd really be writing a book.

1. When we were newly pregnant (and I do mean we) and I said "I think we should think about having the baby at home" he didn't look at me like I was from Mars. He just said "If you've done your research and you think that's the best thing, I trust you. We should have the baby at home." Well ok. He did his research too. And sure enough we did it. And he was right there the whole time.

It was outstanding.

2. We met when we were 11. At the district spelling bee (I remember it better than him). No kidding. I'm not gonna lie, his blue eyes were the thing that I saw first. I love them. Now, I get to see them everyday. It's awesome. I hate to be focused on such things as this (and he may be embarrassed to read this) but he is a hot little number.

Mmhm.

Also, he won. He's a good speller (it's all about the brains man).

3. He loves to cook. No, seriously. He's good at it too. He makes a mean Kung Pao. Or fried rice with whatever is left over in fridge.

He also makes a mess of the kitchen, but he cleans up (see #8).

4. He loves my bigger post-pregnant body as much as he loved my little teeny pre-pregnant body (if not more). It's nice to not feel that Victoria's Secret skinny made-up augmented pressure from the man you love. He'd be downright mad if I even considered plastic surgery. He likes roundness. Wrinkles. Grey hair. My squishy belly.

Even if he liked my skinny body better, I sure can't tell.

5. He loves our little Ella. The way he calls her beautiful is ridiculously sweet. Like dripping with honey that's mixed with sugar that's on top of a twinkie and drizzled with syrup sweet.

If he's holding her it's all I can do to not cry.

6. And while we're on that... He loves the Big Kids. They aren't his biologically but you wouldn't know it to be around him. He helps with math, teaches drums, practices guitar. He takes them to lessons, shopping, comforts them when their fish die, rubs backs and feet, soothes nerves. It's exhausting but he is selfless with his time and energy.

Before he met me he had a cat.

Just a cat.

7. See #6: He plays guitar and drums. Both very well. I like that. A lot. We have a drum set smack in the middle of our living room. That is why. He plays sometimes when I am doing housework and I have to stop and wiggle a little bit.

He keeps me dancing.

8. He's no stranger to dishes. Or laundry. Or vacuuming. And he would do them totally unsolicited. If they haven't done a study on how men doing housework effects their romantic relationship, they really should.

I'll volunteer.

9. He's not pretentious. Or a hipster. Or a snob. Or an ass. He's a funny, intelligent, all around good guy. He's eco-aware and supports (if not pushes along) my efforts in living more green. He could get along with anyone... Except an opinionated, loudmouth, pushy conservative. If he runs into one of those, things are gonna get heated. But I love that too. If they're just conservative and not a jerk about it, he'll be delighted to share points of view rationally.

He is not apathetic.

10. When we got married in July we wrote our own vows. I listened very closely to his. And I'm pretty sure he carefully considered every word. In them he promised to rub my shoulders every night and to make me laugh every day and you know what, he really does it. I promised to be his lover and best friend.

And I totally am.

11. Bonus: He's a great kisser. You'll have to take my word for it.

(I know that's 11. It's my list.)

two weeks poo-free and... OCM

Well, in the spirit of honesty I'm going to honestly tell you what I think about being shampoo-free.

First let's review:

*Two weeks ago, I went poo-free (the Man followed shortly after)
*We did this in the interest of being more eco-aware and chemical free (and it's cheap, which is a nice feature)
*We also did this as an experiment because we like to use ourselves as subjects of research but you know, not the dangerous scientific kind where we might be scarred or permanently damaged
*We did this because shampoo is a detergent, much like tide, and washing your hair with tide sounds like a bad idea. Probably.
* I personally did this because I was intrigued by the idea that ceasing the use of the artificial things in shampoo would make my hair actually look better.

Yeah, so far, not so much.

Be ye not dismayed.

I will not go into the dark night (with shampoo).

My hair looks well... not HORRIBLE but not great, I'm not going to lie. The ends are dry, the scalp is... well let's just say not dry and there is about a 2 inch section in between that is perfect. Well crap. You should know I've been growing my hair out for what seems like about 13 years. In reality it's only been a couple but my hair grows that slow. For this reason I am abysmally bad at getting regular haircuts. I gave myself an ends trim last week in fact. But, despite the fact that I do very little to my hair, aside from washing and letting air dry (with the occasional use of a heated styling tool), it is bipolar. Which is to say the scalp is quite oily (ala my face) and the ends are quite dry. And the resulting attempt to balance these out often fails. Miserably. Even with the use of innumerable styling products. I refuse to cut my hair for this reason. Not happening.

However, I have hope. For I have been told there is an 'adjustment' period of a couple of weeks to a couple of months. I do not know what this means. I hope it doesn't mean my hair is going to look like this for two months because I. Would. Cry. Since the Man is gone to the bay I'm experimenting this week. Today: Less baking soda. More vinegar. So far it's looking pretty good. I think.

I'll keep you posted.

The other thing I'm starting this week is the oil cleansing method (for faces).

These are the oil cleansing essentials.

I am doing this because it seems logical. Oil dissolves oil. Also oil is a moisturizer. And oil doesn't cause acne, dirt causes acne. And acne is why most people obsess over their face. Also oil contains no chemicals. Which is what all this business was about in the first place.

But don't trust me to tell you about it. Read about it here. I'm doing this on a week when the Man is gone because, despite what I have read in like 87 internet sources, I am terrified that my face is going to break out like a teenager. Which it has at least once a month since I became one so many many years ago. My face is that oily. Like really oily. Monumentally oily. Epically oily.

It's oily.

Anyway, oils vary in their comedogenic-ness (that is the pore clogging likeliness) so I chose one low on that scale. Sunflower, mixed with castor, in about a 70/30 ratio respectively (purchased at Whole Foods). I added a few drops of peppermint oil because I like it. I have heard of some using just plain oil without the castor but again this makes me fear a breakout as the castor acts as a cleansing agent. So that's what I'm doing. You can use extra virgin olive oil if you can't find sunflower (which is not always readily available). I also have some tea-tree oil which I may add because it is a great antiseptic. Not yet though. So I started with this yesterday. Rubbed it all over my face before bed (trying to enjoy the massage while the Man bounced the crying baby, not very effective). Got a washrag nice and steamy hot and washed it off (like 3 times) and... My face is absolutely not oily. At. All.

I'm freaking out.

Don't worry I'll be ok.

So what about skin in general...

Again in the spirit of complete honesty you can't count on me to tell you what I really think. I have always had an oily face. The hormonal breakouts I suffered as a teen I typically tried to cover with various makeup (to no avail). My father, in his hippie-like spirit, begged me to cease the use of all products but I refused.

Adamantly.

Turns out he might have on to something. Despite mineral makeup (and every other kind of makeup) saying that they won't clog your pores, I think they probably do. In fact, I think all the cosmetic companies may actually be working together to take your money.

Wear makeup to look beautiful.

Uh oh. Now your pores are a clogged up mess and you have acne.

OK. Use this product to cure your acne.

Uh oh too dry? Use this product as a moisturizer.

Etc. etc. etc.

Makeup made my face look worse. It's a cycle. It makes you feel like you look better but it is damaging your skin and thus making your skin look worse? That's my theory. I'm no expert (except on pie).

As an adult my acne did not improve to my dismay. In fact in some ways it got worse. I began having some cystic type acne in the typical hormonal areas (cheeks and chin). I was seeking solutions. Around three or so years ago I began wearing less makeup, and then less makeup, and around two years ago makeup for special occasions (like date night kind of special) and then zero (except for our wedding). I pay attention to my skin, but in a different way. And here's what I noticed, I apologize if you don't like this answer.

My dad was right.

Dangit.

Motherhood: The good. The bad. The what the hell did i do?

Not long ago I shared with you, fair reader, my thoughts on motherhood. This post was mostly in light of my becoming a mother for the fourth time (with a fair space between babes) and the things that I wish I'd known before I ever considered having children in the first place. As a part two to that piece, and in light of my willingness to share the secrets I keep, and my desire for a world that is honest and true, I give you this post:

What it's *really* like to have four kids. Not the sunshine and rainbows and pooping butterflies motherhood but rather the gray skies, clouds and vomit on your shoes kind of motherhood.

Before you proceed, and lest I be flamed for my disrespect of the institution that is motherhood, let me say this: Being a mother is the best thing I ever did. Ever. My life would be reading a pathophysiology textbook level of boring without my kids.

Read on:

1. Baby #1, who is now a sassy, beautiful 15 year old, was a Fussy Mc Fusserton. Not like "wah wah hold me" fussy. Like screaming from 5 pm until the end of David Letterman's monologue (which is 11:45 for you non-Americans) kind of fussy. Every. Single. Day. For like 6 months. There were times during her infancy where I wasn't sure which one of us, if either, was going to survive to see her adulthood.

So far so good.

2. Also she wouldn't sleep. Ever.

She does now.

3. Baby #2 wouldn't latch on correctly to save my life. I had mastitis like a 157 times when he was a baby. I should have known...

This was only the beginning.

4. He was also a really 'high-needs' toddler. And, let's keep it real folks, by high needs I mean pain in the ass. My god I love this kid like you wouldn't believe, but I'm not going to lie to you. He threw tantrums. He screamed incessantly. He wouldn't go to sleep without me. Ever. He woke up at 5 am for chocolate milk. Every. Single. Day. I thought I was going to die. Remember when your mom said, "When you grow up I hope you have a kid JUST LIKE YOU." Well, yeah.

He's exactly like me. And he is outstanding.

5. There was a year, I think 1999, that we never managed to all be well simultaneously. I exclusively breastfed and yet... Baby #1 (a toddler by this point) had ear infection after ear infection after ear infection after... you get the point. Baby #2: Oh he had pneumonia. At 7 months of age. And every other ailment known to man. I slept sitting up in a wooden rocking chair (Wooden. No padding. At. All.) for a week straight. Everyone threw up. Except me. But instead of throwing up, I had a case of incurable non-viral pink eye that literally made me blind. I bled from my eyes for a week. I parented, while their dad worked, with my eyes closed. Literally. Closed. I was physically unable to open them. The 17 year old doctor at the after hours clinic almost lost his lunch in the trash can when I walked in. I wanted to die.

I didn't.

6. Baby #3 wasn't *exactly* conceived on purpose. I was absolutely not ready. I had a 3 year old. And a one year old. Once he arrived it was clear that I was outnumbered. I had two hands and three children age 4 and under. And a migraine. And I wanted a bottle of wine. Or beer. Or vodka. But I wasn't drinking at the time. Which is probably a good thing. It wasn't always bad but there were days I thought I was so far in over my head I was destroying everyone's life, including my own.

I wasn't.

6. Also I was depressed. Like really REALLY depressed. Not taking a shower for like 7 months can do that too a woman.

I'm not now.

7. Also I was fat. Eating children's leftover food every single meal and never leaving your house because you can't figure out how to take out 3 small children without losing one can do that to a person.

I never did lose anyone. Wait, let me check....

Yep. They're all still here.

8. Baby #3 was thankfully a good sleeper, eater, nurser and overall person. He must have known...

I was at my wits end.

9. At some point I decided I'd better get my arse back in school. So I went to nursing school while raising 3 little kids. Also I worked during that time. A lot.

I'd rather not discuss it. It was a dark dark time.

10. I forgot what it was like to have hobbies, interests or any free time. I forgot how to work my sewing machine, how to use scissors and how to spell. I felt like my brain had completely atrophied.

It comes back.

11. They got older and I got hobbies again. And interests. And I got to read some books that weren't text in nature. I gave kids chores and I stopped making everyone's bed.

Then I had another baby.

12. Now I don't sleep. I don't sew. My hamper is never empty. Going to the store is an Olympic event. Some days I don't even wear a shirt. I can't seem to find time to exercise. My breasts are huge and leaky and making it so no shirt made for a human being fits me. My nights are spent bouncing a baby to sleep. Then trying to transfer her to bed without waking her. Then laying by her to get her back to sleep after I wake her. Then sneaking out of the bed to try to see if I still have a husband. Then getting to the bottom of the stairs only to hear her crying.

I am a mother.

And I love it.

Phew.

on eleven year old boys

Thank heavens for failed birth control.

No, really.

Thanks, heaven (or you know, whoever).

My son, the littlest one, turned 11 yesterday.

I found out I was pregnant with him after about 9 weeks of feeling 'not quite right' and attributing it to the heat, the move, the exhaustion of having a 3 and 1 year old. Anything but the little person growing inside.

I had no period. I was nursing his brother. I was on the pill. I wasn't trying to have another baby.

I had no idea I was pregnant.

It was hot. We had no air conditioning. We had a swamp cooler. It doesn't count. If you've ever had one, you know what I mean. I was doing dishes one night and found myself hunched over the kitchen sink in a gut wrenching hurl.

I don't vomit. Like ever.

This is the exact moment I knew that the birth control pill had betrayed me. The next day my suspicions were confirmed. The week after that the poor poor radiologist had to be privy to my near breakdown when I saw that the presumed baby had fingers and toes.

I know what that means. You aren't a little pregnant ma'am. You are, in fact, a lot pregnant.

I wasn't ready but he was coming. And sure enough on January 29, 2000 at 8:40 pm this little guy joined us earthside.

I hope this photo conveys the awesome-ness that is this kid.

He loves bugs. Of all kinds. And animals. And mud. And blueberries. And his baby sister.

He plays sax. And drums. And the strings of my heart

He cries when he gets in trouble. And not the "please don't punish me" kind of cry but the truly sorry kind. Because he is.

He was there when his baby sister was born. And by there I mean THERE. In the room. And by in the room I mean standing right beside me the entire time. The. Entire. Time.

He blew me bubbles.

He sat on the ball (OK he had a PSP but he was sitting there for like 6 hours).

And as Ella was literally coming out of me, he stood behind me and held my shoulders telling me I could do it. Gently encouraging me and saying "you're DOING IT mom."

(I cut the bottom off. Because this is a PG site. Also, I'm literally giving birth in this photo. There is a human being coming out of my body. Please forgive my hair.)

OK he used the thermometer like a gun too. I mean, come on, he was 10.

That is my boy.

Damn am I glad that birth control pill failed.