The Maggie Chonricles

Mom. I mean Aimee....

2012-01-29T19:52:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to my baby "cry it out" for the last 45 minutes. And we're out of wine. This should give you some indication of my day. The high point was when my darling eight year told me that she hoped her dad would remarry so she could call that woman mom and call me Aimee. Apparently at that point I wouldn't be her real mom, just a crappy step-mom named Aimee. Serves me right for telling her to make her bed and pick up her room. And on that note screw the wine and bring me the vodka.

Skinny legs and all

2012-01-08T10:21:00.001-08:00

“Jeans?” Chance asks as he’s folding laundry. “Jeans,Maggie? Really?” This question is askedto the child who has refused to wear jeans her entire life. Jeans are not soft. Jeans are not comfortable.Jeans don’t fit like jammies. Never mindthe fact that they last 10 times longer than those damn leggings which requirereplacing after 5 wearings due something I like to call HKS (holey kneesyndrome). I clearly have a hard timelearning my lesson because I continued to buy jeans convinced at some point therewould be a turn around. (I am the proudowner of multiple pair of jeans size 2T through size 7 that have NEVER beenworn.) Yet, in the course of one day (yes,one day) Maggie became a jean wearer. Importantto note here is the fact that not only is Maggie wearing jeans but she is wearingskinny jeans. When she does somethingshe goes all in. Maggie could not figureout why there was such incredulity in Chance’s voice. “You hate jeans, Maggie.” “What are you talking about? No I don’t. I’venever hated jeans” replied the girl with the short term memory indignantly.

This one?

2012-01-07T11:44:00.000-08:00

We’re moving out of the haziness of the last 3.5 months (also known as life with a newborn) and tiptoeing into infant hood. The result is a little more sleep and clarity for us all, which means I finally have the wherewithal to put down some thoughts regarding Max’s first days. There was one particular thought which played over and over in my head. It went something like this….

My cousin Kelsey told a story at my grandmother’s funeral in March. When Grandma was born she was so very tiny and her mother was afraid for her health. She asked the doctor if Grandma would make it. “This one?” the doctor said jerking his head toward my grandmother. “Don’t worry about this one. She’s going to live to be an old lady.” My grandmother died a few weeks before her 99^th birthday.

I think of this story often. In fact I held on tightly this story during our stay in the NICU and made it my own. Max’s life was never in any real danger but the blood draws, the antibiotics, the heart echoes, the monitors, the oxygen, the IV in his head, foot and arm, and around the clock care certainly made it seem as though everything could collapse at any moment. During these times I would look at my fragile baby Max and think to myself, “This one? Don’t worry about this one. He’s going to live to be an old man.” Those words never failed to give me comfort and make me smile. In the midst of it all I like to think that maybe just maybe another tiny baby born 99 years ago was watching over Max and thinking the exact same thing.

Tongue Olympics

2011-12-06T09:09:00.000-08:00

Max has started to smile. A lot. He does have one problem though; he cant figure out what to do with his tongue when smiling. Sometimes he sticks it out (accompanied by a bit of drool). Sometimes he puts it under his bottom lip making him look like an 80 year old who is thinking hard. And sometimes he even gets it right. I am sure Max will figure it out in a blink of an eye but for now we love watching him practice.

HippoWhat?

2011-11-14T15:04:00.000-08:00

Leave it Maggie to come with the most creative (read difficult) costumer...a Hippogriff. I am sure you are scratching your head trying to picture what this is. And no it does not have anything to do with a hippopotamus. Thank you J.K. Rowling for creating Harry Potter and the mythical 1/2 eagle, 1/2 horse creature. You didn't think any kid would want to be this for Halloween, did you? Oh no, the stripped ties, broomsticks, robes and scar is too mundane for my child. Come on J.K. help the mother of a newborn out here. It's not like this costume can be bought; it's ANOTHER handmade costume. This is the year I wised up. Once I had an inkling of Maggie's costume of choice I asked Jack to make it. I mean I did make the lady bug and the poison dart frog. The costume was a perfect rendition.

Maggie was heartbroken that no one knew what she was. The eagle part was easy to discern, but the bottom 1/2, (the horse) was completely overshadowed by the talons and feathers. I tried to make her feel better by telling her Harry was a 6th grade book and she as only in 3rd grade. It didn't help and tears at the Halloween parade/party seemed imminent. Thank you Isabella for "getting" the costume.

After the hippogriff and the poison dart frog perhaps next year's costume should be a bit more mainstream. I don't want to discourage Maggie's creativity in any way, so on second thought maybe I should just delegate to Jack every year...

As per Maggie, the best part of the costume was taking off the Eagle 1/2 and trick or treating AGAIN with her friends just as a horse. Without the eagle mask none of the neighbors were the wiser and I turned a blind eye.

And Max? Max went as a monkey and slept through the entire process. I harbor a secret desire for them to go as M&M's next year.

The Lounge Lizard

2011-10-26T20:38:00.000-07:00

Something wonderful happens every time Max takes a bath; he turns into a absolute and utter piece of mush. With one leg draped over the bath sling and his arms are raised above his head, he's the eptiome of relaxed. In fact, he's so relaxed that he pees on himself. Every time.

Max's bath positions make me think of the phrase "lounge lizard". What this actually is I'm not exactly sure. However, I always conjure up an image of a sleazy John Travolta-esque man in a velour leisure suit at a skate rink, complete with a hairy chest and a moose knuckle. Not really an image I want to associate with my pure, innocent newborn son.

Introducing Mad Max

2011-10-25T20:23:00.000-07:00

I am officially changing the name of the blog to the M & M chronicles. I'm sleep deprived and cranky since the arrival of my other M, so forgive the lack of wittiness on my first entry. My wit will return or at least I hope it will....just like I hope my waistline, energy and sex drive (sorry mom) all return before 2013. Stay tuned for the updates regarding Max's flatulence which rivals that of a grown 300 pound man who has been eating greasy chicken wings and drinking Busch.

Mini Me

2009-04-22T20:02:00.000-07:00

So M and I are sitting on a plane as per usual. Of course we have to be that family that boards first because Maggie must get her 15 stuffed animals arranged before we take off. Suddenly M is mesmerized by the boarding process. A midget passes our row and my sweet little girl says.."mommy she's mini, just like you." Thanks, I think?

When we arrive at our destination airport, M must test every chair on the way to baggage claim. I'm at this airport monthly and I have never noticed the chairs, or the even that there were different types of chairs. Seeing the world through the eyes of Maggie reminds me how beautiful and exciting life is.

Bubbilicious

2009-04-22T19:19:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was the mother of all soccer games....well if one is five years old anyway. There should have been 4 games but rain and snow and wind and sleet and just overall crappy weather reduced the season to a mere 2 games. These children had practiced for 4 weeks without a game; they were ready. This game was quite the educational experience for me. In fact, everything I need to know I learned at a soccer game.....

It really doesn't matter which team one is on and it certainly doesn't matter who scores a goal. Everybody celebrates.

Scoring on one's own goal is celebrated just as much by the kids. (The parents can't stop laughing.)

Bubbles will cause an entire field of children to abandon the game and chase them off the field.

Snack time is infinitely more important than the game.

It's OK to touch the ball...it's easier to kick the ball if it's not moving.

The kid who brings the best snack wins.

Oranges slice smiles will make 5 year olds laugh so hard they pee their pants

Dandelions will be picked and given to mothers mid-game

These games make my weekend. I can't stop smiling.

Maggie No Poo

2009-02-03T18:38:00.000-08:00

What do you do if you get swallowed by an elephant? Run around until you get pooped out.

And herein started our week....My little Maggie Moo turned into my little Maggie No Poo. (This might have to be her Indian name.) I can only imagine that the antibiotics killed her gut flora and everything went downhill after this. Picture if you will, a 35 year old begging and pleading a 5 year old to poop.....sitting on the potty with her, reading her books and holding her hand all to no avail. Finally, ol' mom smartened up and put No Poo in a warm tub. Bingo....I got the outcome I was hoping for but not WHERE I was hoping for it. A little bleach kills everything, right?

I must admit, Jack was smarter than I, and and literally bribed the poo out of M. Really? I kinda thought we were anit-bribing. Screw logic and sweet talk, a Webkin cures all things. I feel the same way about jewelry.

What the Blank

2009-01-28T19:51:00.000-08:00

M and I moved into a charming (if I do say so myself) little bungalow in a neighborhood teaming with kids. Much to M's delight and for the first time ever, there are children mere steps from our front door. Maggie eyes glaze over at the sight of eight year old Lilly playing across the street. When the weather is nice they roam the yards like a pack of wild dogs, going from house to house depending on who has the best snacks. (No one ever comes to our house.....apple slices?!)

For days Maggie had been talking about Blank. Blank this and Blank that, I thought it was some cute pseudo swear word that Jack had taught her. Finally, finally Maggie referred to Blank's cats. You mean Blake's cats? The 5 year old neighbor BLAKE? She nods her head in that exasperated didn't you hear what I said manner.

It's been heard........

2009-01-28T19:29:00.000-08:00

"It's been heard that the Easter bunny has never been seen by anyone. What do you think of that?"

I think at 6:30 am in January that is a hard question to process. "Hmmm....."I say to Maggie "why do you think that is?" She shrugs her shoulders and runs off to make a dog sled team out of her stuffed animals. (I couldn't make this stuff up.) And herein lies the reason I love being Maggie's Mom; the random questions followed complete disinterest in the answers. Or how about the sudden attack of kisses followed by a sudden attack of surliness, all for completely inexplicable reasons. Oh, how lucky I am.

Be still my beating heart.

2009-01-11T07:09:00.000-08:00

Maggie has become adept at the house shuffling. I call her and she can't be bothered to come to the phone. Jack must drag her to the phone, put her on speaker and force her to talk to me. This also holds true in the opposite situation; she can't be bothered to talk to Jack either. I tell myself this is a sign of a happy child. I'll keep repeating the mantra until I believe it.

Last week, I called the little monkey from New York and the above paragraph held true as per usual. If all is right with Maggie, then all is right in my world too, so I went to Bryan and Doreen's for dinner. Bryan and Doreen live in the middle of nowhere, about a 5 minute drive to any type of cell phone reception. This would be considered the middle of nowhere in 2009, right? I check my messages on the way home and lo and behold there is a message from Maggie, " I miss you Mommy, I love you so much. I hate Daddy, he's mean. I just want you, Mommy, where are yooouuuuuuu?" The message was left no later than 30 minutes after I called her the FIRST time. It ripped my heart out. This kid has my number dialed and I'm afraid I'll be powerless to resist her for the next 20 years or so.

The pig stays

2009-01-11T06:53:00.000-08:00

When asked what is the difference between a guinea pig and a hamster, Maggie irritated by such a pedestrian question, replied "hamsters have wheels in their cages." Clearly. The guinea pig, Calypso, is the love of M's life, except when it comes time to change the bedding. I think the name Calypso sounds more like an entertainer at an adult club, but I've grown to love the pig too. Whenever someone enters the room she squeals, well like a pig.

The thing is we have pet "issues" at our house. We tend to kill fish and tadpoles. I did find Maggie with the last fish in her hand trying to pet it, perhaps that has something to do with the high death toll. Tadpoles never seem to make it anywhere close to adulthood. I'm allergic to cats and my travel schedule doesn't warrant a dog. So Calypso is staying and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she'll survive the frequent baths and the parade of neighborhood children.

Pass me the smokes old lady.

2009-01-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

Poor Maggie has been sick for weeks. This week she sounds like a 60 year old male smoker. When she talks to me it's a little bit freaky. That voice just shouldn't come out of that little mouth. Next thing I know she'll be calling me Mel and telling me to pass the smokes.

As a product of parents who were lax in the affection department, I tend to go overboard. I'm always telling M how much I love her. Lately my affections have not gone unnoticed. Last night M told me that her favorite body part was "my love." While this is sweet, everyone who knows us can confirm that her true favorite body is my boobs. This is what I get for popping my slow to gain baby on my breasts every time she cried; I didn't want the little peanut starve. She clearly did not starve and in the process I created a boob monster. We actually have a rule in our house..."no touching mommy's boobies." I mean, really!! I keep telling her that she needs a girlfriend. I even tried to pass Aunt Eileen's clearly superior breasts off to her, but neither party was interested.

2008-12-24T08:03:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning to find the triplets and Maggie stacking and counting their presents under the tree. I should first mention that these 5 year olds can't even read cursive. In fact, I noticed that the small batch whiskey that I bought for Dad somehow ended up in the Josie pile.

I introduce myself to Maggie at the end of every evening. "Nice to meet you Maggie, I'm your mother. I'll be in charge of bathing, feeding, and clothing you for the next 20 years. " She can't be separated from her cousins for even mere seconds or she'll go in to withdraw. You know the symptoms; curling up in the fetal position and banging her head against the wall. I find small comfort in the fact that they're all like this....in fact some of her cousins can't even pull themselves away from each other to go to the bathroom. Accidents abound...I can't imagine being so engrossed making clothespin ornaments that I forget to go to the bathroom. Now Facebook that's another thing entirely.

Last night we went to the annual Lights Before Christmas at the Toledo zoo. As per usual, it was freezing, but it's tradition dammit. The kids took a carousal ride (Maggie on the cheetah, of course) which is a mere 300 feet from the entrance. We took the token picture and left....all of this took over an hour.