Christina, Author at A Mommy Story

Sep 25, 2008

Raiders of the Lost Garage

September 25, 2008 By Christina

In an effort to simplify our surroundings and possibly make a little money on the side, we’re having a garage sale this Saturday. While I’ve always been willing to throw a few unwanted items in the garage sales of my relatives, I’ve never actually run my own sale.

The first monumental task of organizing a garage sale was to craft a garage out of the large two-car space that was completely covered in junk. We have a two-car garage that hasn’t seen a car in it since 2005 because the garage has always been the holding area for random shit, which had recently hit a saturation point when Aaron had trouble getting the trash can out of the garage via the little path we had carved for it.

Last week when we started this mission, I glanced into to gaping mouth of consumerism hell disguised as a garage and thought that maybe we should abandon all hope. One back corner of the garage was untouched by human hands for over three years. Surely this should be tackled by someone else, or at the very least we should have spelunking hats and tie a rope between us in case we got lost or had boxes cave in on us.

But we did begin ever so slowly, starting at the front where the light of the outside made the area in front of us less intimidating. Aaron and I quickly found that much of the space was taken up with empty boxes that had collected over the years. Breaking them down would free up a lot of space. We picked through yard work tools, camping supplies, and holiday decorations, setting them aside to organize as we dug deeper into the abyss.

I’ll admit I was surprised by some of the stuff we found. Boxes and user guides to cell phones we no longer own. A tub full of Lego blocks. An old-style gigantic computer monitor. Boxes of baby clothes that I forgot I had. (Lucky Mira – they’re her size!) A bag full of socks. My college diploma. Video tapes and cassettes from the 80’s and 90’s, including Madonna’s Like A Virgin album. My original 1985 Nintendo system with several games. I was starting to wonder if Jimmy Hoffa, Amelia Earhart, and the Ark of the Covenant would be found hiding amongst the boxes in the back corner as well, biding their time in a spot where they knew no one would find them.

The real surprise came yesterday, our second full day of cleaning. (Yes, it took a week to recover from the first half.) As we reached the furthest recesses of the garage, I opened a box and found bathroom items from our old apartment. Another box revealed small decorations from our apartment’s living room. For some perspective: that’s shit that hasn’t seen the light of day since we moved into our house – four and a half years ago!

(The downside to all of this is that we also found four and a half years of dust and dirt, requiring a crazy amount of cleaning. I think my broom gave up after forcing it through that much dust. And my sinuses are now clamped shut.)

Oh, the shame, to have a garage full of so much junk. Four bins worth of trash later, you can now see the garage floor, and could possibly get one car into the space. About one-fifth of the garage is currently filled with items to go into the garage sale, and anything that doesn’t sell will be hauled off to Goodwill on Monday morning. Then there will be ample space for one car, with only a quarter of the garage filled with stuff that belongs in the garage: camping gear, holiday decorations, and yard work supplies.

And the stuff from our old apartment was either put into the garage sale or thrown out. If we haven’t cared about it in over four years, I doubt we need it now.

I’m glad the garage is clean now. Ridding ourselves of all that junk feels great. Next challenge: going through the bedroom closet, which also has a floor that hasn’t been seen in at least a year. I wonder if I’ll find my Hypercolor shirt from the early 90’s? I mean, the 80’s are in fashion currently, right? 90’s fashion has to be right around the corner.

Filed Under: domestic zero

Sep 24, 2008

Signs of a Good Birthday Party

September 24, 2008 By Christina

A cake, designed by the birthday girl:

Ice cream to go with the cake (with Phat Mommy ice cream scoop):

Baby bird mouth:

Sugar highs:

Cool gifts:

Hanging with friends:

Per the birthday girl’s request, we didn’t sing Happy Birthday, making it the perfect day for her. And with an entire day without a single shriek, cry or meltdown, it was the perfect day for me as well.

Filed Under: Cordy, growing up

Sep 22, 2008

Forty Years Ago, I Would Have Starved

September 22, 2008 By Christina

There are times when I read food blogs and drool over the amazing looking food those bloggers prepare. I’ve even bookmarked a few recipes that looked too good to pass over.

But let’s be honest: will I ever make any of those dishes? Probably not. Because while the pictures on those blogs make me salivate, I know deep down that I would likely come close to burning the house down were I to attempt to make one of them. I suck as a cook. Seriously – domestic zero. There’s a reason that sandwiches are the most common lunch around here. They do not require heat from any kitchen appliance to be applied to them, meaning I can usually handle it.

So when I think of the one modern convenience I can’t live without, it would be my microwave oven. While I’m a disaster around a stovetop, I can work magic in a microwave. If it can be microwaved, I’ll make it.

And thankfully, microwaves have come a long way from frozen meals and popcorn. Need something steamed? My microwave steamer bowl can handle that. Want to cook corn or have a baked potato? I can wrap them in a moist paper towel and microwave them to perfection in under five minutes. Baked goods? Betty Crocker has an entire line of desserts designed to bake in the microwave. Child wants mac n cheese? No problem – Easy Mac is ready in three and a half minutes.

Hell, I’m even hard-boiling eggs in my microwave. (I always cracked them when I boiled them on the stove.)

Beyond food, I’ve sterilized silicone nipples and breast pump parts and melted down crayons in a microwave. As a child, I discovered why you don’t put metal in a microwave, too – an amazing lesson in physical science! I’ve also seen games played using a microwave. (If you’ve never participated in Peep Jousting, you really must.)

I need my microwave. It’s the primary cooking appliance in my kitchen. Without it, my family would be living on nothing but cold cuts and PB&J sandwiches.

What about you? What modern conveniences can’t you live without?

(Indoor plumbing was my second choice, but I thought a microwave was a little nicer to write about.)

This post is part of the PBN blog blast this weekend. Get your entry in before midnight for a chance to win a gift card, courtesy of Yoplait Kids.

Filed Under: domestic zero, me me me

Sep 21, 2008

Four

September 21, 2008 By Christina

Four years ago on this day, I woke up at 6am after a fitful night of sleep. I quickly got up, showered and took a long look around our house. I was 38 weeks pregnant, and had to be at the hospital by 8am to have my daughter.

I planned to go into labor naturally, but Cordelia had other ideas. After weeks and weeks of feeling something hard in my ribs, making it extremely hard to breathe, my doctor confirmed via ultrasound that indeed it was my baby girl’s large skull pressing on my diaphragm. She remained stubborn and refused to turn head down, bringing up the question of what to do. My doctor gave me several options, including attempting a breech birth, but since she was my first child, I was too afraid of something going wrong and hurting her. I decided on the scheduled c-section.

Sitting in the pre-op area, I listened to Cordy’s heartbeat coming from the monitor, galloping steadily, completely unaware that she was being born that day. Aaron sat beside me, holding my hand and trying to keep my mind off the upcoming surgery. I was excited to finally meet our daughter, and scared of what lie ahead – not just the surgery, but the entire idea of being a mother.

My spinal anesthesia was done by a resident, and amazingly she got it on the first try. As soon as the anesthesia hit my system, I immediately vomited. (I’m sensitive to those drugs.) As they prepped me for surgery, my doctor walked me through the procedure one more time. I asked if the drape could be lowered when they pulled her out so I could see it, but they told me no, due to keeping a sterile field. I asked if I could have a mirror set up – I swore that the gore wouldn’t bother me – but my doctor again refused, saying that seeing someone else cut open and seeing yourself cut open can cause very different reactions. I was disappointed that everyone else in the room would see my daughter before I would.

The surgery seemed to take forever. I kept asking, “Is she out yet?” My doctor was getting close and asked how big this baby was estimated to be. I said around 6 lbs. and she quickly replied, “I’m looking at her butt right now, and I can tell you this isn’t a 6 lb. baby butt!” Finally they told Aaron to stand up and peer over the curtain. I again asked, “Is she out yet?” and Aaron said yes. I then waited to hear that first cry, the confirmation that she was breathing.

That cry finally came, and it was one of a royally pissed off baby. She was truly offended to have been pulled out so roughly, and as a nurse quickly walked past me, holding the baby up to see as she moved her to the warmer, I saw a pale, chubby baby with a face so angry that her eyes nearly disappeared into her scrunched-up, screaming face. Aaron followed her to the warmer to take pictures while I strained my neck around, trying to catch a glimpse of her again.

After she was quickly dried off and weighed (8 lbs, 4 oz!), they swaddled her into a baby burrito and Aaron brought her over to me. Cordy was quiet by this point, stunned by what had just happened to her, and looking around with confused, uneasy eyes. Our family moment was short-lived, and soon they insisted on taking her to the nursery for a full evaluation because of fluid in her lungs. I wouldn’t see her again for over three hours.

During that time, Aaron and his father watched Cordy through the nursery window, laying alone on a warmer. I was still downstairs in the recovery room, waiting to have feeling in my toes before they would move me upstairs. When we were finally reunited, I first vomited again (anesthesia) and then finally got to hold my daughter. I felt so disconnected from this child. She was crying and my first attempts to soothe her didn’t go so well. Could I really do this? Did she already hate me?

Our rough start was hard on all of us. Cordy was angry with the world, unwilling to breastfeed, shrill in her cries, and unable to eat without spitting part of it back up. I spent many nights during those first few weeks bouncing gently on an exercise ball while I held her, begging her to go to sleep while I softly cried and wondered if it would always be like this.

It did get better, of course. As we slowly got to know each other, and she accepted that she would never be able to go back to that warm, dark, wet place she liked so much before September 21, she began to enjoy the world around her, and I found myself completely in love with her. I can’t pinpoint when it happened – I know that when I left the hospital I worried about what kind of a mother I would be because I didn’t feel that instant bond with my daughter. But at some point we found that connection, and I ached to be away from her for even a moment.

Our rocky start was a learning curve for both of us – she is my first child, my trailblazer, and my only experience as a mother back then were my trials and errors with her. We’ve grown together, and my experience with her has been only a benefit for her sister, Mira.

Cordelia is no longer the angry baby. She purged years of anger from her in those early weeks, replacing it with a child who is full of love and happiness. On this day, her fourth birthday, she’s a beautiful girl who is smart, curious, and funny. She spins in circles until she falls down in giggles and will chase bubbles for as long as I can blow them. She insists on going to bed before 8pm, and always goes to her room with little complaint. (Although it guarantees she’ll be awake before 7am.)

She still challenges us every single day, but I now feel more comfortable handling those challenges.

Happy birthday, Cordelia. You’re still my Amazon warrior princess.

Filed Under: Cordy, growing up, memories

Sep 20, 2008

Memories of Dark, Sleepy Nights

September 20, 2008 By Christina

As we approach Cordelia’s fourth birthday, my mind often drifts back to when she was a baby. I can’t say she was the easiest baby, because she wasn’t. But slowly a lot of those hard times are being erased from my memory due to the effects of time. However, many of those good memories are slipping away, too, and I’m trying to hold tight to the ones I do still remember.

This weekend there is a virtual baby shower being held for Kristen and Rebecca to celebrate the upcoming births of their third and second child, respectively. (Amalah is also getting a virtual shower, too, with details here.) The hostesses asked for all those participating to share some of the good memories we have from those hazy infant days, and while they may be getting fuzzy, I do have one strong memory in mind.

Cordy co-slept until four months, at which point I was back to work and all attempts at breastfeeding had been completely abandoned. She woke generally one or two times a night, which wasn’t bad for a four month old. Being a first time mom, each night I jumped up at the first grumbles heard on the monitor and prepared her bottle.

I’d go into her room, dimly lit by her Beatrix Potter nightlight, and lift her out of her crib. We’d settle in together in my glider, and I’d give her a bottle while rocking her gently. Half of the time, she fell into a half-asleep state immediately (me too), only awake enough to eat and then fall into a deep slumber as soon as the bottle was finished.

But the other half of the time, she was still awake at the end of the bottle, looking up at me with wide eyes in the darkness. And it was on these occasions that I lifted her up to my shoulder, with her head nuzzled in the crook of my neck, and rock her to sleep.

Cordy was never a cuddly baby. She tolerated being held, but most attempts to snuggle her were met with protests. The only time I got to really cuddle my baby girl was when she needed a little help falling asleep after the bottle. This was our time together – in the stillness of the night, just the two of us rocking together to the sounds of the nighttime CD playing and her noisy breathing with the occasional contented sigh.

Sure, I wanted to get back to bed. I was still working full-time at that point, and knew I was facing a long day when the sun came up. That special moment of me holding her against me as we rocked, however, was worth more to me than the extra sleep. Even when I knew she was fully asleep, I’d often stay an extra ten minutes or more, just to enjoy the moment.

I specifically remember telling myself, “You must remember this. Of all the memories of her growing up, you must remember this moment when she is this small, asleep on your shoulder.” And I did. I burned the memory into my mind, making sure that time and age would not take it from me.

If you want to join in on the virtual baby shower, visit the shower post for the details. (Hint: there are prizes, too!) Good luck to Kristen, Rebecca and Amy – I wish you all easy births and babies who don’t have explosive poop or colic.