I took Kade for a much needed haircut after school today. On the way in, Liv announced that she wanted a haircut too, and given her straggly-baby-fine mullet…I didn’t argue. However, I did not have a camera with me in order to chronicle my baby girl’s very first haircut.
She was a pro, sitting there with her cape on, all excited about being a “big girl…just like Kade.” Thinking back to the screaming fit that was Kade’s first haircut experience just made me smile, and I can’t even begin to tell you the flood of relief I got when I realized that now I don’t have to argue all morning with little miss “no pigtails today, mama.”
I pulled the camera out when we got home and managed some shots. And for some reason, it just hit me…my kids are big and grown up and so far from being babies that I feel almost panicked that it’s happened too fast and I’ve missed something.
You can look at those little faces every day, but I guess it takes a photo to really “see” them.
After two years of dealing with diabetes (more if you count the 3 months of injecting myself while pregnant with Liv), you would think I could handle the needles.
In reality, the only reason I am able to get my pump infusion sets in without a problem is because I use a rapid inserter that is primed and when I push the button the needle shoots into my skin with no thought on my part. I could never go back to injections. I would aim the needle over ten times before finally puncturing my skin, which I always did much too slowly because I would chicken out at the last second. It hurt. And my food was always cold by the time I finally could sit down to eat it.
I fought like crazy to get my glucose sensors covered by insurance, but inserting them makes me pass out so I haven’t used them in months and my control over fluctuating blood sugars is suffering because of it.
I have to have my blood drawn every three months in order to find out my A1c level, which is a measure of how “well” your blood sugar has been controlled. My dreaded visit to the lab was this morning and I still have to look away while the tech does their thing. I have been known to pass out, which almost happened this morning right in front of my two-year-old daughter…
Liv could tell I was having problems (she was unfazed by the needle in my arm collecting vials of blood) and gave me her pink teddy bear to hold on to. It worked. Looking at Liv centered me and the fuzzy blackness that was closing in started to clear, the sweating subsided, and I managed to stay conscious. Just barely.
When I was having my blood drawn to find out if we were pregnant with Kade, I dropped like a rock. Thank goodness Kyle was with me, but I was a mess. It was a hot day in July and I had on a tight pair of cotton pants. I had to ride the bus back to our apartment with sweat stains that outlined my ass…lovely.
Although I’ve always told myself and the world that I gave birth to both of my children without meds because I wanted the experience, I really think it’s because I was more afraid of the pain of the epidural than I was of the pain of childbirth.
Maybe two years isn’t enough? Maybe it’s a five year learning curve before I’m totally desensitized? Whatever the case, I’m looking forward to the day that needles don’t make me cringe in fear…and pass out…and cry like a baby.
Kade and Liv had a discussion about private parts during bathtime last night. I think it might be time to separate them, which means more work for me and more work for our hopeless hot water tank…frankly, I don’t think either of us can handle it right now.
Kade: “Don’t touch that. It’s my penis and it’s private.”
Me: “Liv Ellen. Hands to yourself.”
Liv: “Where’s mine?”
Kade: “You don’t have a penis. You have a vagina.”
Liv: “Ha ha ha. I have a bagina.”
They proceed to go about their splashing, giggling business until…
Kade: Leans in with his mouth open and says “Liv can I give you one true love’s kiss?”
Me: “For pete’s sake, Kade. Get off of your sister!” (Wondering if I should worry about his obvious attempt at open-mouthed kissing)
I spent an entire afternoon fighting with our phone company yesterday. I have spoken with them 9 times in the last two months in a desperate attempt to get something that seems so simple (yet for some reason is so completely impossible) straightened out. Each phone call has lasted from 30 minutes to 1.5 hours….no, I am not exaggerating. Kade and I built a pipe cleaner christmas tree and colored and cut out over 30 shrinky dink ornaments during that December marathon phone call.
Anyway, I finally got it worked out….I think.
I also scrubbed all the baseboards in my much-larger-than-I-ever-realized bedroom. Why, you ask? Because my freaking dog has decided that going outside in freezing, blowing snow and cold sucks and he’d much rather use my room as a toilet. Lovely. Nothing says romance like the lingering scent of dog urine…
I’m sporting ridiculously high blood sugars again (260 range) after changing out my infusion set this morning, but I am too cheap to switch it out again so I’m riding this out for a few hours to see if they start to come down (three boluses with no drop should be enough evidence, but these things are plated in gold and my $2500 deductible is looming over my head).
I’m so over winter. I’m dying for CityFresh to start up so I can stop subjecting my family to the weekly dinner rotation they’ve become so grudgingly accustomed to. I’d even smile at an entire share of greens and if you know me, you know just how much I love greens (I know, I know…they are good for you and when someone who knows what they are doing prepares them for me I actually like them, but when I cook them they just come out bitter and soggy).
Kyle’s going to bring home a little treat for us tonight since we live in Cleveland and it’s cold and grey and February. What better way to battle winter depression in Cleveland than spending a Friday night with single-malt scotch, guitar hero and the one you love?
Speaking of scotch and my undying love for it. Apparently, I’m an anomaly. Who’d have guessed?
1. I bite my nails.
2. My favorite foods always involve pig, but I can’t stand baked ham.
3. I miss Pittsburgh.
4. My children look nothing like me and it makes me sad.
5. I assume that everyone listens to college radio.
6. My husband really is my best friend (gag me…I know).
7. I could spend an entire day just reading.
8. I don’t think that I will ever run another marathon again (half-marathons, definitely).
9. I desperately miss my sister to the point that I nearly cry when I think about her. I always imagined us living close and raising our kids together.
10. I have been dealing with diabetes for over 2 years and I am still afraid of needles.
11. I never leave the house without mascara on.
12. I would love to go back to school, but don’t want to take out the loans to pay for it.
13. I have seen (and heard) ghosts.
14. I have a difficult time letting things go.
15. I love watching TV. In fact, I stopped playing guitar hero because it was interfering with all of my shows.
16. I fantasize about vampires.
17. I am a terrible driver.
18. I haven’t worn a bra *regularly* in over 5 years.
19. I am bored with my hair and am seriously considering bleaching it white.
20. I would like to write a children’s book.
21. I feel younger now than I did when I was 20, but I am still very emotional about turning 30 this year.
22. I drink 12-year Glenlivet neat. I love the look on male bartender’s faces when I order it.
23. I rode in an elevator with Alan Faneca and didn’t even have the nerve to say “Go, Steelers.” (of course this was when he played for them).
24. Thursday is my favorite day of the week.
25. I am not tagging anyone because everyone I know has already done this.
Over a week ago, I bought a potty seat for Liv that has pictures of Disney princesses on it. I also purchased a package of underwear with 7 pairs inside…one for each princess. I held on to my potty-training arsenal, giving Liv and myself a break with plans to whip out the goods this week, causing my daughter to shriek in delight and immediately shun all things diaper-related.
Well that was the plan until Sunday rolled around. I brought her new seat upstairs and she carried it around the house and even asked to use it. Score. She’d already seen the underpants because I had washed them and put them in her drawer, but she seemed pretty anxious for the chance to wear them. I told her that they were off limits until she started using the big potty (because everyone needs a little incentive). I noticed that she only had about 4 pull-ups in her cupboard so I made a note to pick up more at the store. And this is where the plan begins to unravel.
I got home on Sunday evening and opened the new box of pull-ups to find that they re-designed them. Inside were pink, over-priced diapers that had Cinderella, Ariel and Snow White on them with butterflies, flowers and hearts. Liv was beyond thrilled at the change. The novelty of her current purple, over-priced diapers that had Cinderella, Ariel and Jasmine on them with flowers and no hearts or butterflies had worn off. These training pants trumped everything. I was pissed.
Then I realized the genius that is Kimberly-Clark and Huggies. They don’t want your kid to move on to underwear. Diapers are money. They would love it if we all went crazy astronaut and started strapping on adult diapers for our long morning commutes, weekend road-trips and all night drinking binges. I’m not falling prey to their marketing tactics (okay…I’ve already fallen prey, but dammit I’m doing something about it). I’m going to go out and find the plainest, simplest, ugliest pair of training pants for my “everything must be pink and pretty” daughter. Then I’m going to dangle her adorable Ariel underpants in front of her and hope that she goes for the carrot.
Kade didn’t have school last Friday (teacher in-service day), so my mom offered to have the kids over for the weekend (it’s like she knows when I’m about to lose it and steps up to rescue me…must be a mom thing). She came up to spend the morning with us last Thursday. She helped me get the kids ready for school and came to the preschool with us. Kade was so excited to introduce his grandma to all his friends and teacher. I don’t think he was too thrilled with the idea that she was going to be across the hall with Liv and I at Liv’s Stay and Play class, though. Grandma got to meet some of my friends, participate in circle time and helped make a lantern with Liv to celebrate the Lunar New Year. We all went to lunch together and my mom loaded her car up with what looked like a week’s worth of stuff and drove off with both of my kids for the weekend.
I sat down on the couch, noticed how absolutely quiet it was, and immediately had to turn on some music because it was freaking me out. Of course, my borderline-medication-worthy anxiety prevented me from relaxing until I got the phone call they were safely in Sandusky. Then I took a BATH. Truthfully, it wasn’t a great idea because I just sat there thinking about how much it needed to be cleaned, but the glass of wine that followed quickly mellowed me out.
I had the brilliant idea to wear heels since a) I wanted to wear some really cute jeans that only fit if I’m 3 inches off the ground (they were hand me downs) b) I wanted to feel sexy and c) I never have a reason to put anything other than “sensible” shoes on my feet (heels and playdates just don’t go well together). Kyle came home and whisked me out the door for our “date.” I took one step outside and fell flat on my face. Seriously.
After limping to the car, we were off to Shaker Square with no plans other than a need to eat. A new Moroccan restaurant, Darna, looked warm and inviting and reminded me of our old Pittsburgh days at “The Road to Karakesh,” which was one of our favorite dining spots and had the yummiest tagines. Darna didn’t quite have the selection of tagine I was hoping for, but everything we ate was very good (see below for example of slow-cooked goodness).
Actually, their braised vegetables ranked just as highly as the appetizers, entrees, and desserts we sampled. And if we had been there on a Saturday, we would have been entertained by belly-dancers…boo that we went on a boring Thursday.
We woke ourselves up with some Moroccan coffee and stopped at the brand-spanking new wine bar, Grotto, before making it home. No review yet because it had literally just opened so I’ll give it another shot before judging the place.
On Friday I was at the preschool all morning doing some busy work to prepare for the upcoming open house, so I spent the entire afternoon running errands in record time given that I didn’t have to unstrap a 2-year-old in and out of a car every stop I made. By the time Kyle got home from work and I got home from big-box hell, we were both in the mood for a burger and scotch beer.
I have memories of the best burger I’ve ever eaten, which happens to have been almost a year ago, from the Tremont Taphouse. However, it was devoured after running a half-marathon in Pittsburgh, shopping for hours at Ikea, and driving the two hours there and back all in the same day. So, I’ve been nervous to try it again in fear that the memory of the most-delicious-burger-ever would be tainted in some way.
It came and yes, there is an egg on top of it, and yes, I knew I was in heaven, and yes, despite a rather messy eating experience, it lived up to the memory and I was happy and content until….
The mussels with homemade fries, gorgonzola and bacon came along and my heart was forever changed. Honestly, I wanted to pick up the bowl and drink the broth after Kyle and I had inhaled the nearly 2 pounds of mussels. Now I dream of mollusks when I close my eyes at night…
In our fog of bliss, we stopped at the Purple Shamrock on the way home and enjoyed cheap drinks, good company, and even better music (gotta love a place with MGMT on the jukebox).
I felt like Kyle and I were dating again. We talked, listened to each other, and realized just how much we love to be together.
Saturday morning I dined on Tommy’s while catching up with a friend I haven’t seen since Thanksgiving. She acted as my pseudo-therapist as I blubbered about the mess in my head. I’m thinking she should consider a second career since she managed to leave me with some really good advice about how to re-focus.
Kyle and I bummed around doing things that the kids always hate…like window-shopping, and anticipated our upcoming night of fun.
Our evening began with a mind-numbingly delicious dinner at L’Albatros (Kyle did the website). We’ve eaten at the bar once, but it was only a sampling of appetizers and pizza so I was really looking forward to an entire meal. It started with these…
I could have drunk the mignonette sauce by the glass…it was that good.
Then we moved on to these little beauties…
I’ve always shunned escargot served without their shells, but this presentation is now my new favorite.
I stole Kyle’s pied de cochon (which translates into pig’s feet, but it’s so much nicer to refer to it in the French form) and it was one of the most complex, rich, delicious things I have ever eaten. The pigs feet were pulled from the bone and prepared in sausage form with spices, etc.
Needless to say, I was punch-drunk from the fabulous meal and could have easily gone home a happy woman.
But the night was still young and we had a date to rock out with the Black Keys at the Agora.
I’ll let Kyle review the concert because he did such a masterful job of it on his blog. Their sound haunts me and always leaves me wanting more. It was an experience I won’t soon forget.
I don’t think we could imagine a more perfect day. That is until Sunday came along…
The Steelers then went on to make history and win, which was like the cherry on the sundae. I’m not sure if the victory champagne tasted better than the toast we had for President Obama a few months ago, but it’s nice to have reasons to celebrate.
Life is good…very, very good. Sometimes it takes a recap, some pictures, and a video to bring it all into perspective.
A big thank you to anyone who managed to bear with me to the end of this post. It is marathon in proportion…but so was the weekend.
