tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24733665499902530812024-02-18T21:52:52.742-05:00The Little Funky MonkeyA Wild Boar and a Very Silly Monkey fell in love and created a wonderful life together in the big crazy city. And then one day, all of a sudden and out of the blue and all those other cliches, the best surprise imaginable came into their lives......Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-77105333914686150102012-12-03T03:48:00.001-05:002012-12-03T03:51:26.402-05:00EvidenceWe do still exist. Here are the fall/winter holiday photos. Thank you new blogger app on my phone and agile thumbs. Now off to bed at the disgusting hour of 3:50am. I'm sure moon baby will wake me up in 5 minutes.<br />
<br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFujP6r7sz_bmId4TXsUjd9G19_V3qRN-CGTHbnGcasyRc6wLhpzfVAA0d_TUFG77FFN3Ld8_u7XFb44RQ1XOdm8uQfNEVhKMqnH5wxdX0QKGE8X5nlE4qtd4OnVKKlbCAwR6o6vejO8Jd/s640/blogger-image--1782004224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFujP6r7sz_bmId4TXsUjd9G19_V3qRN-CGTHbnGcasyRc6wLhpzfVAA0d_TUFG77FFN3Ld8_u7XFb44RQ1XOdm8uQfNEVhKMqnH5wxdX0QKGE8X5nlE4qtd4OnVKKlbCAwR6o6vejO8Jd/s640/blogger-image--1782004224.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjB7mvLZW_RA5rRP16Ri6z_wCVguBCU1QH02NOwEYE09Ip1CuxpBPFOOOdz9DwgVYgA-Er_KVivrsB7IBTig9qKaoDUMZDuNx6ompjwQHlY58-KIlhPUrAYQsSw66tHhBZYgSL1CeIFngh/s640/blogger-image-907065639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjB7mvLZW_RA5rRP16Ri6z_wCVguBCU1QH02NOwEYE09Ip1CuxpBPFOOOdz9DwgVYgA-Er_KVivrsB7IBTig9qKaoDUMZDuNx6ompjwQHlY58-KIlhPUrAYQsSw66tHhBZYgSL1CeIFngh/s640/blogger-image-907065639.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hBYbZ-qINpp7gB8nPquQlMvhUKg6JEo000zSi8xjcAvcmWM1TgWXR9pffb2uaukDaixlhET-hZJP2GUIcEalIBCmm7goq-zQ6BgnumHcHynvnGqlSeMZmj_Zn0L-_hDe8xmDE9aJ9_A1/s640/blogger-image-269045500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hBYbZ-qINpp7gB8nPquQlMvhUKg6JEo000zSi8xjcAvcmWM1TgWXR9pffb2uaukDaixlhET-hZJP2GUIcEalIBCmm7goq-zQ6BgnumHcHynvnGqlSeMZmj_Zn0L-_hDe8xmDE9aJ9_A1/s640/blogger-image-269045500.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTshSL-dpqp6v-tvOogtBqVHxJUGxixEEb9tr-oJEpahOxBLBCSFLOhLPHSi7cSqqB03DvrxJ17Ma1igPlqVE-A9XgE_I-hhwuwDH-_L6PWWaIQ8SsIBTrrLPg2IrWpLrLWAKwO1laC4rp/s640/blogger-image--836876282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTshSL-dpqp6v-tvOogtBqVHxJUGxixEEb9tr-oJEpahOxBLBCSFLOhLPHSi7cSqqB03DvrxJ17Ma1igPlqVE-A9XgE_I-hhwuwDH-_L6PWWaIQ8SsIBTrrLPg2IrWpLrLWAKwO1laC4rp/s640/blogger-image--836876282.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1iLo0nq34OjFyshGWYXMiVe_2ZeTIp6d1I4xK_VzDCLn87IILoNl8yfVOrlMqgwjIZ7SQXiIoumQwzNebBUxj8D7wZOJxLPFB6J91hItOj3sC1Gb0G7aY4k12HosWbKqzM5g341P4dfB/s640/blogger-image--1294334286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1iLo0nq34OjFyshGWYXMiVe_2ZeTIp6d1I4xK_VzDCLn87IILoNl8yfVOrlMqgwjIZ7SQXiIoumQwzNebBUxj8D7wZOJxLPFB6J91hItOj3sC1Gb0G7aY4k12HosWbKqzM5g341P4dfB/s640/blogger-image--1294334286.jpg" /></a></div>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-34917909053775689212012-12-03T02:16:00.002-05:002012-12-03T02:17:06.280-05:00SnapshotsSeeing as how its been almost 3 years, one wedding and another child since I last posted, I decided that perhaps it might be best to alter the format of this poorly neglected blog so that it may serve as the journal I originally intended it to be, but also be attainable to my severely sleep deprived overly addled fragment of a brain that remains (fried as it may be by 6pm, let alone whatever hour I attempt to scribble a word or two). To that end, I'm going to endeavor to at least post brief (ha! as if I'm capable of such a thing) snapshots of moments collected - little images or thoughts to provide a glimpse years later into the chaos that I exist in right now and sometimes call life. And I'm going to let it all hang out - snapshots in all their super messy expletive ridden glory. Please, oh 1 reader I may have left...don't call child protective services. I'm (hopefully. please oh god, hopefully...) not as bad as I may write myself to be.<br />
............<br />
<br />
Today J and I had a completely ridiculous fight over kefir. It was one of those rushing to get out of the house fights we seem to have pretty much every day. I could have easily poured him the kefir in less time than the struggle took, but as so often happens in these situations I suddenly became an asshole 4 year old myself, and dug my heels in. I had already made him a sandwhich, and we were in a hurry to get to a freaking birthday party so its not like I was taking him to the DMV or something equally boring...so we both dug in our heels and we both cried and yelled and it was a messy shitty clumsy exit from the house, which I of course instantly felt guilty about once the car was driving and we were on the way. Words uttered that I regret: Oh God! Just shut up about the kefir! (First time saying shut up - out loud at least - to my child. Another thing I swore I'd never do, crossed off the list.) Also regrettable (albeit not a first): Please. just. get. in. the god damn . car. Parent of the year I am not. At least I say please while being a complete asshole.<br />
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<br />
I somehow cobbled together a Luke Skywalker costume for he-who-dislikes-star-wars-but-desperately-wants-to-fit-in, figuring I'd rather he show up in costume and remove it later than not show up in costume and wish he had. I choose wisely, as other kids were envious of his button down belted shirt jedi whatever the fuck look. See, I'm not all shitty impatience. Just mostly. Watching him at the party, I was both worried by and proud of his hesitancy to rush in to collect the pinata candy. His holding back, his waiting to dive into things isn't bad, its just who he is. I love it about him and yet it also makes me worry is he happy? Is he having fun? Its candy, for fuck's sake - the holy grail of his mini existance! Why hold back?<br />
<br />
..............<br />
<br />
My moon baby always looks like she's smarter than everyone else in the room and maybe just barely tolerating us all. I'm pretty sure she was a cat in a former life. I fucking melt when she rocks her head coyishly (is that even a word? Its 2am, I've been with 2 kids all day through a fucking birthday party, visit with an out of town friend, and babysitting my schmister's son until 11pm while simultaneously trying to work and entertain my baby- I don't even know if I"m writing in English, Spanish or French at this point. I'm pretty sure its not a word, but now if I change it I will have to delete this explanation for nothing) from side to side in a combination of dancing and flirtation. I love that she knows I fucking melt and does it to get precisely that reaction. She's also been doing this ballet leg stance where she holds herself upright on whatever is enabling her to be on two legs at the moment, and extends her leg outward while then giving her captive audience the coyish head tilt (shut up, I had to use the word again to justify the long rant above). She's definitely got some of the performing genes somewhere in that DNA code.<br />
<br />
....................<br />
<br />
I don't have the energy to write an ending to this post. I'm suddenly feeling all the weight of this long day, and the weight of the immense to-do list facing me this week and all the relief that has come with finally writing a bit again has turned into regret over staying up so late writing when I still have work to finish for the job job. Expert juggler I am not. Frantic ball chaser? Why yes. Yes I am. Even if that sounds way saucier than it is.<br />
<br />
And with that weird non ending I leave you to ponder frantic ball chasing in all its non-glory.<br />
<br />Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-12950353703576806312010-01-21T19:05:00.007-05:002010-01-21T21:37:00.262-05:00A Stupid PostWB, the LFM and I just got back from visiting WB's family in Puerto Rico. It was a lovely time except for the fact that the LFM picked up a horrible word from a special feature on the <span style="font-style: italic;">Madagascar</span> DVD and spent the entire vacation calling his grandmother <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">stupid</span> every chance he got. It was horrible. We tried explaining that this was a word we don't say, that it hurts people's feelings- no dice, he kept saying it. We tried replacing the word with another woprd- so every time he said stupid we'd respond, "oh, you mean sube." (the spanish word for up, pronounced soo-bay, which sounds almost exactly like his pronunciation of stupid), which only made things worse because then he would say "no! <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">STUPID</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">!</span>", and <span style="font-style: italic;">over-enunciate</span> the word stupid- just to make sure we were 100% clear as to what he was saying. Finally, we started ignoring it, which is the tactic we're currently employing, as he has brought this delightful behavior home with him. He's clearly doing it for attention, because when I don't respond to his use of the word, he gets really upset, to the point of screaming it. Still, it feels weird just ignoring it- it feels like bad parenting, like shouldn't I be addressing this somehow? Yet the more I address it, the more the behavior is repeated.<br /><br />Boy, this parenting stuff ain't easy...and this is just the wee tiny head of a pin sized tip of the very large iceberg, I know.<br /><br />There were some really cute moments to the visit as well. Lest you think the LFM is all boundary testing and no joy, I'm including some really cute videos I took on this trip.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw5Es7h3Aau6LokB7duiAFfN8y8LcUKbEW828lqmhDh5iovAvavU5xtG7khzOT4VmihYqO_J-szvSxVEv0Gtw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />This is the LFM singing and being adorable to avoid sleeping. It worked. he's charming, that one. There's no visual, because we were ostensibly going to sleep, hence the darkness. Just enjoy the music.<br /><br /><object height="240" width="320"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/269020606471"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/269020606471" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="240" width="320"></embed></object><br /><br />This is the LFM playing the drums with his Grandfather and Great Uncle in an impromptu party.<br /><br /><object height="240" width="320"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/269016796471"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/269016796471" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="240" width="320"></embed></object><br /><br />This is the LFM searching for lizzards (legartijo) in the back garden at his grandparents' house. It rained half the time we were there, but at least the puddles were fun for one little monkey to play in.<br /><br /><object height="240" width="320"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/269011806471"><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/269011806471" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="240" width="320"></embed></object><br /><br />And lastly, this is the LFM rocking out at his grandparents' house. This kid LOVES to dance. And I personally love to watch him dance. He often shouts "Bailando, bailando!" (Spanish for I'm dancing, I'm dancing!) or "Shake your booty!" while he dances. The move about 3/4 of the way into it is awesome and I'm totally stealing it the next time that we (never) go dancing.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-8196163026601529542010-01-02T01:22:00.001-05:002010-01-02T01:22:58.550-05:00Happy New Year!<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j3kbR-KmceNm1wwFC4EtewiTWoIwofEKHjrS6xeJ3f55U18T9l7oIWCJT7iWu_VHIRCfaWYBM_iF9MwoGESqU_j6mJQi-pExPx1_kVpTAaINpWdAVZ-dPgh-oMAI8i_3O3f8mc5FQqP5/s1600-h/2009-12-31+19.35.53-778551.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6j3kbR-KmceNm1wwFC4EtewiTWoIwofEKHjrS6xeJ3f55U18T9l7oIWCJT7iWu_VHIRCfaWYBM_iF9MwoGESqU_j6mJQi-pExPx1_kVpTAaINpWdAVZ-dPgh-oMAI8i_3O3f8mc5FQqP5/s320/2009-12-31+19.35.53-778551.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422024174912485762" /></a></p><p>The champagne has been drunk, the collard greens (in a white wine sauce with challots and garlic, mmmm) and black eyed peas (with creole seasoning) have been eaten to ensure good luck in the new year, and suddenly, in a very quiet and simple way the future is here. In more ways than one. </p> <p>When I was little, the year 2000 seemed so unfothomable, and we were all sure we'd have individual rocket packs by 2010, at the very least. Well here we are, in the veritable future (as I post this on the INTERNET from my CELLULAR PHONE via a SATELLITE CONNECTION) and what wows me the most are the minute details of my own personal realized future. The one that looks nothing like what I'd imagined or planned, but fills me to overflowing with a sense of belonging and completion such as I'd never dared dream existed. The one where an ideal New Year's Eve is one where WB and I get a few precious hours of date time to ourselves and then are content to be in our cozy home, possibly dozing off while putting the LFM to bed (me- guilty as charged!), and then quietly ringing in the new year in our own beautiful way, leaving the champagne for new year's day and the firecrackers for, well, see above ringing in of new year.</p> <p>If the way you usher in the new year sets the tone for the entire year (and I am indeed superstitious enough to believe so), then 2010 will be a sweet little year full of quiet surprise and blessing and oh so much love. </p> <p>And the LFM will be very whiny.</p> <p>Let's hope superstition only goes so far....</p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-35972533196759599612009-12-28T13:03:00.001-05:002009-12-28T13:03:37.468-05:00More Coffee and Cartwheels<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgLDQV-23Sxoi7Oz3Qu5L2pighi7DnjwJWuR5lt4bBZveY7GzAElHPanxFzSkyZro4n2k6jkm0w36_gRIKO0U22T47_0D4OTvoti0Df4vrXhrzhMX5xS7upWQPiAnpRACa6zVyz79cBPcK/s1600-h/FxCam_1262022146716-717469.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgLDQV-23Sxoi7Oz3Qu5L2pighi7DnjwJWuR5lt4bBZveY7GzAElHPanxFzSkyZro4n2k6jkm0w36_gRIKO0U22T47_0D4OTvoti0Df4vrXhrzhMX5xS7upWQPiAnpRACa6zVyz79cBPcK/s320/FxCam_1262022146716-717469.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420349304773487842" /></a></p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-5912767870135965232009-12-28T13:02:00.001-05:002009-12-28T13:02:58.015-05:00Cartwheels and Coffee Play Area<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9fMfc875G-P42cd-0qkVum4Q229k3GiSVE11o35i_ixpn0icb9x4P-1giJoNNvbk7KQMbukxSy4mATr2DOMTrgOdfyGNohxGM3FiPniU5OxxXHuvhNe-bIjtf4qI9wOMEECNzm8n7KJy/s1600-h/FxCam_1262022339041-778016.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj9fMfc875G-P42cd-0qkVum4Q229k3GiSVE11o35i_ixpn0icb9x4P-1giJoNNvbk7KQMbukxSy4mATr2DOMTrgOdfyGNohxGM3FiPniU5OxxXHuvhNe-bIjtf4qI9wOMEECNzm8n7KJy/s320/FxCam_1262022339041-778016.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420349138981000162" /></a></p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-58163485916126337312009-12-27T18:24:00.001-05:002009-12-27T18:24:44.880-05:00Spanish!<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='400' height='326' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx8WeyArNINZBLPbxEE5QDUnr1OXw9q2Dx-JEAuDmoc5WSY12yxvLadKzfxJm2PhE9wMKa-bsvXggoLJcIhmQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><p>More video of the LFM, this time in Spanish!</p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-16025970582008890032009-12-27T18:21:00.001-05:002009-12-27T18:21:21.360-05:00Counting<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='400' height='326' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dywDufWkNHb0RPGVMAclrhNYcLqhZDJZm_xrgYwsLGa5OhOxsM0pMVaUGM6CinpFVe-IX2ueUnG-GloDJBNbg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><p>He can count to 10 in both English and Spanish but he doesn't like to perform for the camera so this was the best I could get.</p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-30770989819150195112009-12-27T15:39:00.001-05:002009-12-27T15:39:47.360-05:00Techno Fancypants Family<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7J8A52nXlL7-4zzlDZmuEcumQx2IY45Ftgh9SXg31ex6IC-igIfUK_7oXiF2yV5d34isybaqZeBEN9Wly8Iy-qntNlh_-tBHsXeDablFuv2SlorzJR6W-gCAQps-enKBaU5fhwX0UQSt/s1600-h/FxCam_1261930450352-787361.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7J8A52nXlL7-4zzlDZmuEcumQx2IY45Ftgh9SXg31ex6IC-igIfUK_7oXiF2yV5d34isybaqZeBEN9Wly8Iy-qntNlh_-tBHsXeDablFuv2SlorzJR6W-gCAQps-enKBaU5fhwX0UQSt/s320/FxCam_1261930450352-787361.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420018464331261362" /></a></p><p>So I've figured out how to post from my awesome new fancypants DROID phone (verizon's version of the iphone but with better cell phone service), which means I will probably start posting more frequently again, and my aunt in France will not have to abandon all hope of seeing current LFM photos (I'm a horrible neice, I know...). It also means the posts will be ostensibly shorter, so you will all be spared the excessive rambling I may have indulged in in the past. Then again...I am getting the hang of typing with my thumbs rather quickly on this miniscule keyboard. Rambling or not, I'm glad to be back. I missed you, you cute little blog, you. </p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-26777629504760856412009-12-27T15:29:00.001-05:002009-12-27T15:29:25.088-05:00Well rested Mama<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTVHhdlZ22rANHtoSSYZyGEYFQd7dtKullEAHyNQEc227dBymD5gQAJZc2QhvMMfAtRjDssQ3oviQxpNVC37Y4PSJfVghad_qfaZm2jxtplj9_qHVH-2GDPuAGQz1urXPVpEPzekNNlfJ/s1600-h/FxCam_1261887329084-765089.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTVHhdlZ22rANHtoSSYZyGEYFQd7dtKullEAHyNQEc227dBymD5gQAJZc2QhvMMfAtRjDssQ3oviQxpNVC37Y4PSJfVghad_qfaZm2jxtplj9_qHVH-2GDPuAGQz1urXPVpEPzekNNlfJ/s320/FxCam_1261887329084-765089.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420015793189327330" /></a></p><p>So we've started night weaning, which essentially means that for now, WB does all of the night time parenting and I, for the first time in over 2 years, get to sleep. Holy cow, batman! I never knew sleep could be so fantabulous! I feel like a completely different person! I'm actually nice! And sometimes funny! And can complete a full thought or maybe even two! </p> <p>I had no idea I was in such dire sleep straights. Thank you, WB, you have saved us all. Your superhero status is now official. Also, I love you.</p> <p>The LFM, luckily, does not seem to be showing any daytime stress or behavioral effects from this major change, and its been 3 nights now. We'll break open the champagne once I stop hiding in the guest bedroom and all still goes well.</p> Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-42336785808919829372009-08-10T01:46:00.006-04:002009-08-10T02:23:18.988-04:00Summer Loving and Loving Summer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtc4vqNiL9Vp_C4E6uc46ok6Zb6HdSQHnnCk_QUWVJEoeeW48ulq1UxIAC_WXp4wcYqBzoFS2ngywnfXDCY7W2qJSXFq_s-iB_7YT7HOYRlLWCifTzmyp5dwWTRvXqM378kKRPqjBhAaRl/s1600-h/blog+pic.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtc4vqNiL9Vp_C4E6uc46ok6Zb6HdSQHnnCk_QUWVJEoeeW48ulq1UxIAC_WXp4wcYqBzoFS2ngywnfXDCY7W2qJSXFq_s-iB_7YT7HOYRlLWCifTzmyp5dwWTRvXqM378kKRPqjBhAaRl/s400/blog+pic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368216339547723442" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMt14HE9ixehHeJekhIPqTfX4rrjxlavSojHdVNkJzXqB_-izZBXbzHYA-p12QDwy5OnlfuGmlDSvwp6gWJzcMvwTm7MhzQNwUIKh29dHgqdz6yOdh-EfvijL9OyWfglcAhVb-rxpihLL0/s1600-h/IMG_2533.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMt14HE9ixehHeJekhIPqTfX4rrjxlavSojHdVNkJzXqB_-izZBXbzHYA-p12QDwy5OnlfuGmlDSvwp6gWJzcMvwTm7MhzQNwUIKh29dHgqdz6yOdh-EfvijL9OyWfglcAhVb-rxpihLL0/s400/IMG_2533.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368216349300954498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtojymWFGpN_AKmQa04to5pVIoTq8MDuTbFKiBJWk6ohhLJyujLALjT9bMBZtpNFwkXplAvnsVmBfwzvK8di9vvlTGQsC5JmBZPUazdXInt0JiQiw0J7jkDmq1owW8PBvPT-ylcpz07eVM/s1600-h/IMG_2530.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtojymWFGpN_AKmQa04to5pVIoTq8MDuTbFKiBJWk6ohhLJyujLALjT9bMBZtpNFwkXplAvnsVmBfwzvK8di9vvlTGQsC5JmBZPUazdXInt0JiQiw0J7jkDmq1owW8PBvPT-ylcpz07eVM/s400/IMG_2530.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368216343979511762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfN3FtGy-2SPgE5o9qvk1YaB_ACFYTqvo-8AMQBQmgjmkfwHkjn9ZM7a1G_J0JIcy8zoPX8OKBUdhAomwwEN54cuukCrsKAAdk8HQPP1psc1ymPFWnBykRrnu1T1EK8-jKFFesnxTeD4P/s1600-h/IMG_2489.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfN3FtGy-2SPgE5o9qvk1YaB_ACFYTqvo-8AMQBQmgjmkfwHkjn9ZM7a1G_J0JIcy8zoPX8OKBUdhAomwwEN54cuukCrsKAAdk8HQPP1psc1ymPFWnBykRrnu1T1EK8-jKFFesnxTeD4P/s400/IMG_2489.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368216356336136402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2ofd26v5sbJpldXCWgibMVD-gTATgDydDWWPF1KE0B2k3cnWKVHFE9W5VtdRoV0-B3_jdX5U8CqzO5Ic-YMoWhqyCsbXMyGjZgMHl9DnUWjtDwhe3Tve84fvtUeHJR6-nKTnHLc8G5Sw/s1600-h/IMG_2300.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2ofd26v5sbJpldXCWgibMVD-gTATgDydDWWPF1KE0B2k3cnWKVHFE9W5VtdRoV0-B3_jdX5U8CqzO5Ic-YMoWhqyCsbXMyGjZgMHl9DnUWjtDwhe3Tve84fvtUeHJR6-nKTnHLc8G5Sw/s400/IMG_2300.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368208027597832242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGT4tue5KAQubIe86xdMDPbnaunnBXlBWz4T9HGP0bjm6JJEVUAMYuZFk_Yd5Wfz-nnN-wfxN23gCBVRQf_c54fZJdWATfTmSYOBgdM-eG_cSnn7AYnjMHYko5vRZO03ID-wSMKCcGEr3/s1600-h/IMG_2297.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGT4tue5KAQubIe86xdMDPbnaunnBXlBWz4T9HGP0bjm6JJEVUAMYuZFk_Yd5Wfz-nnN-wfxN23gCBVRQf_c54fZJdWATfTmSYOBgdM-eG_cSnn7AYnjMHYko5vRZO03ID-wSMKCcGEr3/s400/IMG_2297.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368208018241157282" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWcqjKnq57m4TG9_lnvi5o6Rm069isdb6r3unXKIR32hDGmGzxU_S9xOYq4lkQlP55pm0wK94SE9pcEjp2bDY-MexbEmkdITdwqlSADiDVYIkOYYykY7RaNH8p51HQrAzj0nRItVYvGmf/s1600-h/IMG_2271.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWcqjKnq57m4TG9_lnvi5o6Rm069isdb6r3unXKIR32hDGmGzxU_S9xOYq4lkQlP55pm0wK94SE9pcEjp2bDY-MexbEmkdITdwqlSADiDVYIkOYYykY7RaNH8p51HQrAzj0nRItVYvGmf/s400/IMG_2271.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368208015867027938" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Whoever invented the camping tent, I love you. No, seriously, I LOVE YOU. You and <a href="http://www.nps.gov/shen">Shenandoah National Park</a> have saved my sanity and my relationship and probably my suddenly tantrum-prone toddler's life. This has been the summer of the mini-vacay, and we've been running away as many weekends as we possibly can. Somehow, even with all the work of setting up camp, cooking, cleaning, making sure the LFM doesn't attract bears when he throws his food all over the ground, etc, its still ultimately so incredibly peaceful at the end of the night sitting by the campfire with the man I love that its worth the rough car ride and the challenge of putting up a tent with a toddler strapped to my back. We get to speak to eachother in complete sentences! With no housework, no working from home, no to-do list looming over our heads! We are allowed to simply be. In a place where I feel the most whole, the most myself, the most connected and grounded and at peace. And of course the LFM <span style="font-style: italic;">loves</span> getting to run around and see all the wildlife. Now whenever we see woods, he asks excitedly "bunny? bunny? bunny?". I am so passionately in love with these stolen weekends, with this us time. I feel like our little family is pure love in these moments.<br /><br />The LFM and I have also been taken full advantage of the beautiful mild summer we've been having and trying our best to spend every possible second outside. Between playdates at various parks, the botanical gardens (where they have an awesome little water park for kids to play in), and mooching off of everyone else's pool memberships (the joining fees alone for most outdoor pools are astronomical!) we spend far more time away from home than we do at home. I think that's the way summer <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> be, don't you?<br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span></span>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-18912058651207272042009-06-22T01:04:00.007-04:002009-06-22T01:41:26.077-04:00Once Upon a Time I Could Write Complete Sentences. Soon the LFM Will Be Speaking in Them.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdp-eMzqj5CjVm5EDDI6Dk0FbS3jy1ZIsa7Fq0D1eZax2V6_JId2EpBRX3NQJtlp-ibFkuunhgEd9FSmsv90OheLTq9NZu8T4xsAckQ2lQPuapElRNLBiSLJp0dAyFSoB6NINjy5X8bALa/s1600-h/IMG_2155.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdp-eMzqj5CjVm5EDDI6Dk0FbS3jy1ZIsa7Fq0D1eZax2V6_JId2EpBRX3NQJtlp-ibFkuunhgEd9FSmsv90OheLTq9NZu8T4xsAckQ2lQPuapElRNLBiSLJp0dAyFSoB6NINjy5X8bALa/s400/IMG_2155.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350022647282682402" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOi3-QjzGhZJ6-qJC7lLJlXcgZnf1rzZ6UnICSIDtnG3X-9awGpPNEMA0-_xxukMhO_kiCCgFBN8vk54st3JFz5-1AXy7U9CvFlOy8p9St22McshuTs7e5jz-bfERpl8h-AlhNYzGoUrl/s1600-h/IMG_2139.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqOi3-QjzGhZJ6-qJC7lLJlXcgZnf1rzZ6UnICSIDtnG3X-9awGpPNEMA0-_xxukMhO_kiCCgFBN8vk54st3JFz5-1AXy7U9CvFlOy8p9St22McshuTs7e5jz-bfERpl8h-AlhNYzGoUrl/s400/IMG_2139.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350022637475372594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eu8aPRSwsarkiiSFurAUfqidSALc_Jt81L323fELvQkspJzhmbr1Zfojhd8L469MUP_9sAhdxEPdRzlmCYy4RXdR6-mFLWltkUE1AyLEnmAKKYKva7yCyIUy1HheoOPo9Br9lQdUOnGj/s1600-h/IMG_2136.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6eu8aPRSwsarkiiSFurAUfqidSALc_Jt81L323fELvQkspJzhmbr1Zfojhd8L469MUP_9sAhdxEPdRzlmCYy4RXdR6-mFLWltkUE1AyLEnmAKKYKva7yCyIUy1HheoOPo9Br9lQdUOnGj/s400/IMG_2136.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350022638310067810" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUE-ZCPNWKI1hAFcgw0m-b1ElLX8VSMDJvRBKEIpNaPaZcvUenL6VhAr3SOXzHR2i8aaF2FJ_T13gYoSk0uRnFQSTqokEXSe1bCyxofcRiVFpzAemuzhYbMgD5ALbBnHk3B8pLVjutnZOw/s1600-h/IMG_2056.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUE-ZCPNWKI1hAFcgw0m-b1ElLX8VSMDJvRBKEIpNaPaZcvUenL6VhAr3SOXzHR2i8aaF2FJ_T13gYoSk0uRnFQSTqokEXSe1bCyxofcRiVFpzAemuzhYbMgD5ALbBnHk3B8pLVjutnZOw/s400/IMG_2056.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350022630951302194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL45tZQc9mfVeHufr1BA7A0PAMuGZasLOKeSahf4E02L-UnkVFg9T7rdW_VWhaMAnCpp_rDqER7iAE3bL8T4abublwjx1R47Pg0F6UVfFPoLWE_rF74m1sVt2ZZYq4dz_Aae29QM3mTgz/s1600-h/IMG_2052.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL45tZQc9mfVeHufr1BA7A0PAMuGZasLOKeSahf4E02L-UnkVFg9T7rdW_VWhaMAnCpp_rDqER7iAE3bL8T4abublwjx1R47Pg0F6UVfFPoLWE_rF74m1sVt2ZZYq4dz_Aae29QM3mTgz/s400/IMG_2052.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350022631290600962" border="0" /></a><br />Once Upon a Time I used to write. In complete sentences. I had a blog that I updated religiously, not one that I neglected and only popped in on from time to time. And I can't really blame the LFM, because there are no less than 5 million other mommy bloggers out there who manage to write in complete coherent sentences...and many are even witty. Maybe its the pressure of the whole blog-as-baby-book thing...feeling like I must record everything, and so I just end up recording nothing.<br /><br />Maybe I'm lazy.<br /><br />I'm certainly exhausted.<br /><br />Jonah is teething again...he's a very slow teether, so we get like 3 weeks of fussiness and then voila! Here's one measly little tooth. It seems so unfair. Its definitely unfair to my boobs and my sleep, but hey I'm sure its much rougher on him, so I shouldn't complain.<br /><br />Here's the 10 second recap since I last wrote:<br /><br />At age 15 months Jonah started walking. As with every development thus far, the lines are blurry and I can't pinpoint the precise moment he really began walking. So in the absence of the definitive, I like to say that its the weekend we went to visit his godmother, Chanteuse, in Maryland. I picked that weekend because he was walking a bit that weekend, and I like to think that Chanteuse is somehow tied to his destiny. When she was down for Mimi's funeral she said "wouldn't it be cool if he was born now while I'm here?" and of course, he was. So when we saw her in Maryland and she said "wouldn't it be cool if he started walking while I'm here?", well, we stretched things a bit to say he did. It makes for a cute story, at least.<br /><br />WB's parents came for a visit from Puerto Rico. Jonah was in love with them, they were in love with Jonah, and I discovered that I can speak more Spanish than I thought. I also discovered that strep throat and family visits do not mix well.<br /><br />Jonah is a super verbal child...sometimes I catch him just blabbering away in his car seat while we're driving, and its just the cutest thing I've ever heard. he has this sweet tiny little voice...almost too thin and tiny for his often boisterous ways. He's a bulldozer with his body as he crashes about, but he's a nightingale with his sweet little sing songy voice. Here is a partial list of the words he says now on a regular basis (partial list because its almost 1:30am and I'm exhausted and sure to forget half of them):<br />Mama<br />Papa<br />Na-na (night night- this is how he asks 5 million times a day to nurse)<br />Ca-ca (this is both cracker and canard, the french word for duck)<br />Pwa (poisson- the french word for fish)<br />Mono (the spanish word for monkey)<br />Hi<br />Bye bye<br />no (he currently LOVES this one)<br />Ah-Duh (all done)<br />Moo-ah (more)<br />Shah (this is both chien, the french word for dog, and chat, the french word for cat...the intonation is slightly different for each one)<br />Ha-bmm (Abu- short for abuelo and abuela, grandfather and grandmother in Spanish)<br />Shhhss (shoes or chaussures, the french word for shoes)<br />Pah (potty...american slang for toilet)<br />Pah-pee (Papy, what he calls my father)<br />Too-too (Choo-choo, what he calls a train)<br />Brum-brum (vroom vroom, what he calls a car)<br />Buh (bird)<br />Ah-buh (Arbol, tree in Spanish, or Arbre, tree in French)<br />Our genius boy can also correctly identify all facial features in French and most in Spanish and a few in English, and is learning more body parts in French as we speak.<br /><br />Our genuis boy is also waking up and in dire need of a breast, so I'd better go oblige.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-50546121939609497162009-04-17T01:18:00.007-04:002009-04-17T01:46:29.129-04:00Moving Images are Far Better Than Incoherent RamblingsI'm way overdue for a new post, but its 1am, I just finished working from home at my office job, and I'm beyond pooped. I'd love to be able to sleep a teensy bit before the LFM begins waking up every 10 minutes to use my breasts as a pacifier. So I'll leave you with this...its much better anyway, right? Who wants to <span style="font-style: italic;">read</span> about the LFM when you can see him? Mica, the awesome, gave us a <a href="http://www3.hoongle.org/results.php?cx=017735391276163876041:daknvgbbgku&cof=FORID:10&ie=UTF-8&q=flip+video">flip</a> (did I mention how awesome she is?) so hopefully you'll be seeing a lot more video in the future. Mica, my aunt in France (my only reader) now loves you forever and ever.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyO0FPkAfb0tW2jyg7VSgnFkarP47VyZ0aGfLaIvki8kX0-IQr9WgBr_qqNf-A-7VK0YjedSXinow7-GF3CGw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dye-H2KXeNliJjv7nXrAjTF5RYONv5erdQiV4v4xBhLK0PTjoBUk2n3DGR5nJrfbcLdbZgiwSXAYKCbEwX6Sw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-29976808797413864542009-03-12T13:17:00.003-04:002009-03-12T13:49:54.309-04:00Self LoveThis morning's breakfast consisted of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">LFM</span> screeching like a banshee and flinging oatmeal and waffle pieces all over the room.<br />Ah, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">toddlerhood</span>.<br /><br />As I write this he is systematically emptying the kitchen cabinets and placing everything he can pick up and move into different cabinets, so that Mama can then blame Papa for putting everything away in the wrong place. But hey, if its not dangerous and he's having fun and it gives Mama just a few seconds of peace...right? Anything is worth a few seconds of peace.<br /><br />In a totally unrelated vein, lately I've been feeling so very uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm much bigger than I've ever been in my entire life and I feel old, fat, ugly, boring, and definitely as far from centered as you can get. So rather than continually beat myself up about these things (and believe me, I can be quite cruel to myself) I've decided to do something about it. Here's my plan of self love:<br /><br />1. I started a wonderful yoga class this past Tuesday..not <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hatha</span> yoga (the physical practice that most people think of when they think about yoga), but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Raja</span> yoga, which is more the spiritual side of things. This class specifically deals with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Yamas</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Niyamas</span> of the Yoga <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Sutras</span>. This was a path I began while we were in New York, and something I've greatly missed since moving here. Tuesday was like a huge warm hug from the universe. I'm really excited about reembarking on this journey for myself.<br /><br />2. I'm meeting with a good friend of mine tonight to start doing weight watchers, because I do need a regimented program and accountability in order to stick to this. Also, they're really good about nutrition and they give extra points to nursing Moms (which I most definitely still am). I think I'll really feel better about myself just to know I am doing something...I am actively trying to change my weight. Just writing that feels like a relief already. I'm getting out of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">mindset</span> that its impossible and too big to tackle.<br /><br />3. I have an appointment for a haircut next Wed. Since I'm not ac4. ting at the moment, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that I can do any crazy thing I want to with my hair. I might cut it short and funky or I might get a purple streak put in. Who knows? But I always feel much prettier after getting a haircut, so I'm really looking forward to this.<br /><br />4. I bought a dress. I haven't worn a dress since Jonah was born, because of the whole nursing thing. This is not only a dress I can nurse in, it also shows off the parts of my body that look good right now (boobs), and hides the parts that don't (everything else). While we definitely don't have an extra money lying around (we don't have enough room in the budget to get a pizza, much less a $25 dress), I think it is so very worth it. I already feel prettier. Something tells me I'm going to <span style="font-style: italic;">live</span> in that dress the entire spring and summer!<br /><br />So <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">yay</span> for self love...a little bit goes a long way, and it most definitely spills over to my family who reap the rewards of a new spring in my step and lightness of heart.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-48893328131330838022009-03-04T17:20:00.006-05:002009-03-04T17:58:12.758-05:00My Hodge Podge PostWhen you haven't written in such a long time, the pressure of writing a catch-up post becomes monumental...so much so that you end up procrastinating the catch-up post and the cycle keeps self perpetuating. So I'm just going to throw a bunch of stuff out there, in a completely random and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">uneloquent</span> fashion just to get <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span> on this blog and loosen the self-imposed pressure a little bit.<br /><br />It snowed buckets and buckets in our little southern city, which means it snowed a completely reasonable amount for any northern city but we were completely paralyzed as the entire city shut down here. I think it was less than a foot, actually, but since there just isn't enough equipment to clear it, we were a bit stranded. Thankfully we live in the city, 2.5 blocks from the grocery store, so we made a trek <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">through</span> the "blizzard" to buy some essentials (and by essentials I mean hot sake) and I must say the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">LFM</span> was completely nonplussed by the fact that everything in the vicinity was covered in white and the sky was suddenly full of falling white polka dots. You would have thought this was completely normal to him. He was all "Yeah yeah, falling white shit...how boring. But are there any dogs around? Now <span style="font-style: italic;">those</span> are exciting!"<br /><br />Which brings me to my next little tidbit...the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">LFM</span> is now talking! He says about 4 words: Mama, Papa, chat (French for cat), and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">chien</span> (French for dog). Chat and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">chien</span> sound pretty much almost exactly alike, though he seems to know the specific animals they relate to. However every other animal he sees at all, be it in person or in pictures, is officially a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">chien</span>. We pretty much pass each day with him pointing to every person he sees and saying "Papa!" and pointing to every animal and/or window and joyously calling out "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">chien</span>? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">chien</span>? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">chien</span>?". The neighbors in the house behind us have a dog that often stands on the deck railing, so the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">LFM</span> is constantly asking (and by asking I mean pointing and whining or shrieking) to be lifted up to look out of the window or have me open the back door so that he can perhaps catch a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">glimpse</span> of this godly creature. He has serious <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">chien</span> worship. And Papa worship. Mama, however, she's just chopped liver.<br /><br />Our sweet little baby is becoming quite the headstrong toddler. Meaning we love him dearly, but we don't always <span style="font-style: italic;">like</span> him very much. Particularly when he's flinging his body on the floor and shrieking like a pterodactyl. I'm trying really hard to remember to let it go once each episode is over and not hold any residual frustration towards him, which in some instances can be a challenge. But toddlers exist in the moment and so our interactions with them need to be the same. I also try to always be sure I parent from the child's perspective and not the parent's perspective. This means I look at the fact that maybe the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">LFM</span> is really frustrated by his limited ability to communicate instead of merely seeing that he keeps pointing at things and screaming maniacally.<br /><br />I don't mean to sound like he's only a challenge, because that's not at all the way it is. In fact, I'd still say that he is an incredibly sweet and mild mannered child, and he's an absolute joy <span style="font-style: italic;">most</span> of the time. I'm only being honest about the other times and admitting that parenting has become more challenging and complex. I'm sure this is just the tip of the iceberg, and I'm definitely sure that I'm not the first Mama to go through this...I know its all part of the glorious package of parenthood.<br /><br />And now my sweet boy has just woken up from his nap, so this will have to suffice for now. At least I wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span>.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-13736059776796928682009-01-22T23:38:00.011-05:002009-01-23T12:57:33.408-05:00One Year Ago Today<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCs2nx47Wp2w7qAhDSfgsh_iiVfkos3Ic8AL4jAyJKzaXwFRXYmGbF9QMb8PXFvIS_TyuA6cKon6ED2Tv9jDzoSKQ2JEkbn9QXBjZzJddfkzODa8PjNhjJRHZhfMsOgZbou2Hf6Bih4JL/s1600-h/HPIM0279.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCs2nx47Wp2w7qAhDSfgsh_iiVfkos3Ic8AL4jAyJKzaXwFRXYmGbF9QMb8PXFvIS_TyuA6cKon6ED2Tv9jDzoSKQ2JEkbn9QXBjZzJddfkzODa8PjNhjJRHZhfMsOgZbou2Hf6Bih4JL/s400/HPIM0279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294372099943597250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoVRVbFidM_dUpQlkQX4__kl-ks2IiHiAYvSN9xRC6tAuBK5jsdIc-FVbaDk4JLUOZwxQVADMs9JOJbDs98kn0sou2wFG0jbE3imyBpnQs53RrqErrSOPUNujFAFzFmZr20nmceQbQEDA/s1600-h/HPIM0280.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoVRVbFidM_dUpQlkQX4__kl-ks2IiHiAYvSN9xRC6tAuBK5jsdIc-FVbaDk4JLUOZwxQVADMs9JOJbDs98kn0sou2wFG0jbE3imyBpnQs53RrqErrSOPUNujFAFzFmZr20nmceQbQEDA/s400/HPIM0280.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294372099597234386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FIMesOTE__5YnXSQxoUoZclJUF97fzklKvj8xb19FCjPuWV66U3gxqwmErK5xf4ugrrd_oBqxu8brIz5XIXnblcMgXInHXRK8XeMINZqIpyC5ZYV390Yg12vmMLXbcx5ks_XAsoxsw_K/s1600-h/HPIM0282.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FIMesOTE__5YnXSQxoUoZclJUF97fzklKvj8xb19FCjPuWV66U3gxqwmErK5xf4ugrrd_oBqxu8brIz5XIXnblcMgXInHXRK8XeMINZqIpyC5ZYV390Yg12vmMLXbcx5ks_XAsoxsw_K/s400/HPIM0282.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294372098398340018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhZ5z9_hYWBGJ50N6KqN3ppSjSqEtxfm03dqUFYuLjESw-9OsTdahpnL4krCSINlHm8-s9JaoCrQsAlqXIqP9wZGad7qXBRSGdsVCLOuoYXIYEHAWo9VT0f8vqHL2UZW5Y6dQFvrAcyBN/s1600-h/HPIM0303.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 354px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrhZ5z9_hYWBGJ50N6KqN3ppSjSqEtxfm03dqUFYuLjESw-9OsTdahpnL4krCSINlHm8-s9JaoCrQsAlqXIqP9wZGad7qXBRSGdsVCLOuoYXIYEHAWo9VT0f8vqHL2UZW5Y6dQFvrAcyBN/s400/HPIM0303.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294372092873544290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYg5qWoKGdiBeVGobOd4GS_N9yECwvu1gQwahBns9kDu8lf1MyOZ9dU1NNu712bdNRpItfK0UTY8dPmwPFwRC5NbDJYaZGmwJ6rb2M9bX5Mrd7shugu5YKCy2qcuj8_DHGJLN5g1ZkZYn9/s1600-h/HPIM0313.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYg5qWoKGdiBeVGobOd4GS_N9yECwvu1gQwahBns9kDu8lf1MyOZ9dU1NNu712bdNRpItfK0UTY8dPmwPFwRC5NbDJYaZGmwJ6rb2M9bX5Mrd7shugu5YKCy2qcuj8_DHGJLN5g1ZkZYn9/s400/HPIM0313.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294372092824368178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />My sweet monkey,<br /><br />One year ago today I woke up at 5:30am and knew that your journey from the dark <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ethereal</span></span> comfort of the womb had begun.<br />One year ago today I began my own journey to say goodbye to my mother, your Mimi.<br />One year ago today I called the midwife, worried that I would have to miss my mother's funeral and wept as she assured me that Mimi was holding you in her arms and wouldn't let you go until the time was right.<br />One year ago today your father stood behind me in support and love and held my hand as I spoke at Mimi's funeral.<br />One year ago today the contractions were stronger in the car, and weaker during the hardest parts of the day. Thank you for that.<br />One year ago today my mother's sister, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Tati</span></span> Jo, stood in for my mother, anxiously holding my hand and simply asking every once in a while how I was doing, knowing in the way that only another mother that has traveled this path knows.<br />One year ago today in completely synchronicity my mother's body began its journey down into the arms of mother earth at the very same time you were making your journey into the arms of your mother.<br />One year ago today I drank wine and did polar bear exercises to slow the labor as friends and family gathered around in a protective loving circle, oblivious to the work you and I were doing.<br />One year ago tonight I celebrated my mother's life, knowing yours was about to begin in earnest.<br />One year ago tonight your father and I drove home with Maren Julia to our sweet little apartment, still decorated for the holidays with soft lights and a lovely coziness.<br />One year ago tonight I took a bath and tried to sleep in preparation for the hard work of your arrival, but that's when the contractions took off at warp speed and we were on the ride, you and I, whether we liked it or not.<br />One year ago tonight your father made a sweet safe <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">cocoon</span> of us, filled with yogic chants and shared breath, and so much love the room seemed the vibrate with it.<br />One year ago tonight I slow danced with your father, spiraling my hips to the ebb and flow of each seemingly endless contraction.<br />One year ago tonight in an endless night I was "working hard!".<br />One year ago tonight the midwife entered the room in a perceptible energy shift and a calm ocean descended over the room.<br />One year ago tonight I was 7 centimeters when the midwife checked me, and I was so proud that we had worked so hard and accomplished so much together, you and I!<br />One year ago tonight I stepped into the heavenly warm waters of the birthing tub and thought "there's no way <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">any one's</span> getting me out of here!"<br />One year ago tonight I had to have silence and journey so deep within my self in order to do the work I needed to do to birth you.<br />One year ago tonight I was so utterly focused, and all that existed in the world was the grand triumvirate of you, your father, and I, working together in common purpose.<br />One year ago tonight Maren Julia boiled water, Tati Jun Jun massaged my back (well, tried to at least...sorry Jun Jun.), and Doula Sara took pictures as Nancy the midwife guided us with love and such gentle nurturing, saying exactly the right thing at just the right moment.<br />One year ago tonight, whenever I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw a circle of women holding me up with their supportive energy. Whenever I looked within I saw such love and light, as it was only the three of us, so intertwined, so connected, moving and working together in complete wholeness.<br />One year ago tonight I fell even more impossibly deeply in love with your father.<br />One year ago tonight we protected each other as a family, even before we knew your huge brown eyes with their sweeping lashes.<br />One year ago tonight the waters broke and I cried out in great surprise (and maybe a little relief) "I'm pushing!"<br />One year ago tonight I withstood the ring of fire 4 times.<br />One year ago tonight in the wee early hours of the morning, with calm breath and while being held by the strong arms of your father, I pushed you out into the warm water, first your head and then the great slippery surprise of your body.<br />One year ago tonight you floated up out of the water and into my waiting arms as the midwife uttered the most beautiful phrase I've ever heard: "Reach down and pick up your baby!"<br />One year ago tonight I held you to my breast and cried tears of pure joy.<br />One year ago tonight, the greatest love story every written was begun, between you, your father, and I.<br /><br />We love you, sweet Jonah Niquen. You are such light, such blessing in our lives.<br /><br />Love,<br />Maman and PapaLe Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-41451414485619197432008-11-28T23:50:00.003-05:002008-11-29T00:15:32.416-05:00HomeI just found out that my family in France reads this blog to keep up to date with the comings and goings of our little funky monkey, and my poor aunt keeps checking in only to find that this blog has been woefully neglected time and time again. I'm hoping to be able to rectify this, and to post at least more frequently than once a month. I'm sure by now my aunt is the only reader left, considering the long blog silences.<br /><br />Hopefully now we are entering what I'd like to refer to as the era of peace (and prosperity would be nice to, but I won't push my luck here) in our little life we're building here. We have finally bought the house, after a very frustrating month on pins and needles in which we were homeless (staying at my father's house) and being promised entry every day, only to find more red tape at the end of the day. Yes, internets, we are homeowners. We own a home. Excuse me while I go hide under the covers and quake with fear over what we have done. Yikes! Its terrifying and incredibly exciting all at once. And I don't even think its sunk in yet that we really own it. I'm sure it will sink in the first time something goes wrong and we have no landlords to call!<br /><br />A day and a half after we closed we ran away to a tropical paradise. Yes, the trip to Puerto Rico had been planned for months, but it just sounds so romantic and jet setting to say that we ran away to a tropical paradise. And it was, in however much of a way it could be with the trip being all about visiting the in laws and such. (editor's note: no. WB and I have not secretly tied the knot or anything, I just refer to them as my in laws for lack of a better word) We had a lovely week, and my grisly fears of nitpicking critical in laws could not have been more off the mark. They were absolutely lovely, and welcomed us into their home with love and open arms. The LFM went directly to them with no hesitation, as if he saw them every weekend. I was astounded (and relieved) by how comfortable he was at their house. And they were in love with every move, every sound, every breath he took. He was so spoiled by the attention that when we got on the last flight home and no one was cooing over him he became hurt and distraught that no one was melting over his charms.<br /><br />As for me, I enjoyed getting to know them without the shadow of grief and weight of new motherhood clouding the waters between us, and it was more the visit I would have liked to have had when they came for the LFM's birth. Timing really is everything, I suppose, and this time we finally got it right. It was nice to relax after so much stress of moving and closing on the house...to be somewhere without boxes waiting to be unpacked, forced to relax and enjoy ourselves. And the food...oh god, I can't believe I haven't mentioned the food yet! WB's mother is an excellent cook and the food was just to die for. My stomach just piped up in enthusiastic agreement at the mere writing of this. Mmmmmm.....pasteles, I'm dreaming of you....wait for me, oh delicous pasteles. I'll be back for you.<br /><br />We came back last Saturday, to be greeted once again with a house completely full of a million boxes waiting to be unpacked...but its <span style="font-style: italic;">our</span> house<span style="font-style: italic;">. Our</span> crazy discombobulated house of boxes.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Our home.</span>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-78286454236833481902008-11-02T00:02:00.004-04:002008-11-02T00:28:49.884-04:00First Halloween<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRltQr0BIHEMWpSp82E_XXes5firejeRbtk3UzlCCEAjZNb9KbUJpV7fgcQD2AJTtUKBed7wSmLYcFWYJFu6OAGNs-V1y3kitAdYEj_W2b6gJ9WI-Z1lP56XUtWUEupFZzloDrdWxQINH8/s1600-h/IMG_4707.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRltQr0BIHEMWpSp82E_XXes5firejeRbtk3UzlCCEAjZNb9KbUJpV7fgcQD2AJTtUKBed7wSmLYcFWYJFu6OAGNs-V1y3kitAdYEj_W2b6gJ9WI-Z1lP56XUtWUEupFZzloDrdWxQINH8/s400/IMG_4707.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263907283005073154" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmG27oJLIMJ1JUu7MAuV9ysOVFVYW7sMKP5JImg-0-7SkWFJdxtBIqJv2b5PvDY0blK0Y8K9p2RTdrca2sw1xuExr4HGqZtDVu-EMjAwXXC3tSBPPuSmNeWcWajT71kOWTXjH6s1WHLk-1/s1600-h/IMG_4705.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmG27oJLIMJ1JUu7MAuV9ysOVFVYW7sMKP5JImg-0-7SkWFJdxtBIqJv2b5PvDY0blK0Y8K9p2RTdrca2sw1xuExr4HGqZtDVu-EMjAwXXC3tSBPPuSmNeWcWajT71kOWTXjH6s1WHLk-1/s400/IMG_4705.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263907271973708466" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lXjxjBC8gS80KY7FKOkReZa8glGhiL1HsP8FdKIpyChTLqOQRj7_E4_s71OtzrWMNEuw5xzdtMNtNb8j9sEQZGWXXUr7S7BSyE6iS_lfgFttyu0xiJiMuZQNY1KO342aY0Scz41Nv1f0/s1600-h/IMG_4715.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3lXjxjBC8gS80KY7FKOkReZa8glGhiL1HsP8FdKIpyChTLqOQRj7_E4_s71OtzrWMNEuw5xzdtMNtNb8j9sEQZGWXXUr7S7BSyE6iS_lfgFttyu0xiJiMuZQNY1KO342aY0Scz41Nv1f0/s400/IMG_4715.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263907288139854386" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5eGT26nxp62AOFD5pzm0cg9TIK7Xh9U_Glsrr2KbSqa87WpIb0FmAW6H0606GoFC5-rt8wN78B2Y2-9kz7wH-AWCfpenyDchUVp_aIsVvHmxf_AehMMjVRGpBU8e-vSQZnrmDpUX-fwI/s1600-h/IMG_4728.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5eGT26nxp62AOFD5pzm0cg9TIK7Xh9U_Glsrr2KbSqa87WpIb0FmAW6H0606GoFC5-rt8wN78B2Y2-9kz7wH-AWCfpenyDchUVp_aIsVvHmxf_AehMMjVRGpBU8e-vSQZnrmDpUX-fwI/s400/IMG_4728.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263908124109256802" border="0" /></a><br />Here is our little stinky man on his first Halloween- no, we didn't dress him as a monkey, we went with whatever the local Goodwill had, and luckily it was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">freakin</span> adorable skunk costume! We went with Uncle Noah, Chelsea, and met up with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mim</span> and Chuck and checked out the Halloween craziness on a local street in the artsy neighborhood that is renowned for their Halloween festivities. The street was blocked off, there were hundreds of people milling about and some of the houses were spectacularly done up...they were costumes in and of themselves. Jonah had a great time, although he was a little intimidated by all the people and costumes. People stopped us about every 2 feet to tell us how adorable he was, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">WB</span> and I were probably glowing we were beaming with such pride at our sweet stinker. After making the full tour, we went back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mim</span> and Chuck's for pizza. It was just the perfect speed for us on our first Halloween, and Jonah even met and flirted with a fellow skunk! (although everyone agreed he was the cutest by far)<br /><br />His new nickname is now Pepe. As in the famous skunk. He seems to love it a lot.<br /><br />On a side note, I'm exhausted and fried. We're still waiting to be able to close on the new house, although we were able to move all of our furniture in last weekend. The builders seem to be either grossly inept, or they're totally blowing smoke up our asses. It might very well be a combination of both, but I'm at the end of my rope. We're homeless, staying at my Dad's house, and the poor <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">LFM</span> has been so freaked out by these major changes that its like having a newborn again- he only wants to be in my arms and except when he's on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">playdates</span> or at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Mim</span> and Chuck's house, he hasn't been letting me put him down. I think the tide is turning though, and he's starting to adjust to his new surroundings...unfortunately he'll be uprooted again when we move, and then again when we go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Puerto</span> Rico in a couple of weeks. Poor little monkey! Mama's feeling pretty lost too. (not to mention stressed beyond belief) Keep your fingers crossed that we can move in soon...this limbo-land is not for me.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-88182785961259164962008-10-13T14:30:00.002-04:002008-10-13T14:59:41.683-04:00By Way of An Explanation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrAQKGxyEdhof76HuvyCpOCsd3Vkb44aTW5yCAS4Du4zXUGBO36dz8leGql08Vi71-T4ZqzcItIId7V7NyfM6YnPvQFj9BH1UkEekxVRTQZSbRPmyDD8uQwhwYcIw_W1Vn-7wLtgXOl5ry/s1600-h/HPIM0301.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrAQKGxyEdhof76HuvyCpOCsd3Vkb44aTW5yCAS4Du4zXUGBO36dz8leGql08Vi71-T4ZqzcItIId7V7NyfM6YnPvQFj9BH1UkEekxVRTQZSbRPmyDD8uQwhwYcIw_W1Vn-7wLtgXOl5ry/s400/HPIM0301.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256708327289274194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5n0EbcCETnTbZZ1uC-mjJkn3pqgF27ADkm7eEhmKHDuNp7__phSry2jcfIn4VHPAxtaf78bOlAA7Ppp3LlJ5NsPAffjcbamm_r3lDCyK3RMmmVu1sfDckcM-fF7HPooazTD4h0v67LZZN/s1600-h/HPIM0307.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5n0EbcCETnTbZZ1uC-mjJkn3pqgF27ADkm7eEhmKHDuNp7__phSry2jcfIn4VHPAxtaf78bOlAA7Ppp3LlJ5NsPAffjcbamm_r3lDCyK3RMmmVu1sfDckcM-fF7HPooazTD4h0v67LZZN/s400/HPIM0307.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256708326513423826" border="0" /></a>I kind of neglected to mention this gigantically huge major life changing event that has kind of taken over our lives for the past few months...no, its not another baby, not yet, but we are giving birth in a way...to a new house. We signed a contract on the house when it was barely a shell and some architect's plans, oh it seems like 7 years ago now, though I believe it was probably in June or the beginning of July maybe? And after several months of a lot of running around like headless chickens for the mortgage people, and picking out all the various features in the house like flooring and lighting and bathroom fixtures (and mind you I am making this sound far less stressful than it actually has been), we are finally approaching the end of the tunnel, and we're set to close on the 24th. Yes, as in less than 2 weeks away. I think I just had a mini heart attack while typing that. Please don't ask how much packing we still have left to do, or I just might cry. Its not fair to make a heart attack victim cry.<br /><br />I'm hoping that after we finally get settled in, we get to relax a little and that's it with the huge major life events...I think we're ready for a break after 2.5 years of relentless stress and change. Of course I fully realize that the Universe is now laughing hysterically at me for having the gall to write that and fate has now been duly tempted. But maybe, just maybe, we can settle in, breathe, and just enjoy being for a little while.<br /><br />The new house (I totally think she needs to be named) is an eco-friendly house with a <a href="http://www.liveroof.net/">live roof</a> (if you click on the 2nd picture of the rear of the house you can kind of see a hint of it), which means we have plants growing on our roof insulating the house like 50% more. Yes, we will have to mow our roof like once a year. We have a tankless hot water heater, low water consumption toilets, energy efficient fixtures, bamboo flooring, concrete and recycled glass counters, recycled glass shower tiles, and other stuff that I'm probably forgetting. The point is, its a house that meshes with our values and will be easier on the pocketbook in terms of utilities too. Plus its in the city, within walking distance of a number of things (still being a New Yorker at heart, this was incredibly important to me), although it is strange that I will be living about 5 blocks from the apartment where I lived through most of college. The neighborhood is transitional, so I think its a really good investment, and hey, considering we almost put all of Mimi's money (which is how we're buying a house in the first place) in the stock market...its an excellent investment.<br /><br />Now I just have to survive trying to move with a very curious, very mischevious baby!Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-19686690064207019552008-08-22T15:58:00.004-04:002008-08-22T16:07:19.475-04:00Dental OverachieverErr, upon further examination, make that now TWO teeth coming in. TWO! No wonder things have been a little wonky here in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Funkymonkeyland</span>. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">LFM</span> has been stuck to me like sushi on rice. And if course all this coincides with my first postpartum foray back into theatre, so <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">WB's</span> been doing a bang up job of holding the fort down the 3 nights a week that I have rehearsal. And me? Well I've been discovering that I just may be able to hold a conversation not involving poop. I think there is indeed a person within the Mama, and its been really nice rediscovering her.<br /><br />Wow, I'm still in shock...my little boy now has TWO teeth!Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-84695577493569708832008-08-20T23:48:00.005-04:002008-08-20T23:56:32.859-04:00Rite of Passage<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvmEH30RyagLkex8BCRCAonEMHjcgEZFGXUy27t5ll5VwRZcsRS-VbLq7zhYlxl3t6JX3fWzBUdwTb3AWYOyRJe95LgD6AveZsteiGHglpjPPsWrdVjv724rOWHllpk5c1K02akk-447Y/s1600-h/Mr-Tooth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvmEH30RyagLkex8BCRCAonEMHjcgEZFGXUy27t5ll5VwRZcsRS-VbLq7zhYlxl3t6JX3fWzBUdwTb3AWYOyRJe95LgD6AveZsteiGHglpjPPsWrdVjv724rOWHllpk5c1K02akk-447Y/s400/Mr-Tooth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236812978559009714" border="0" /></a>As of 2 days ago, the LFM is getting his first tooth. Its just barely breaking through and we can't really see it very well, but wow can we feel it! I asked WB to write a post about it and he replied that his post would simply say "Its sharp!". And that it is.<br /><br />My little baby is growing up so fast. I guess now he's got an excuse for being a bit difficult in the past week or so. Maybe we won't give him away or leave him in the next parking lot we have to stop and nurse in because he's throwing a major fit...again. Maybe.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Please pray for my poor nipples, now that he's sprouting razorblades.</span>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-21851059542378373372008-08-11T13:11:00.005-04:002008-08-11T14:57:38.841-04:00Letter to My Big Boy 6 Month Old at 6.5 Months, Because That's Just How Disorganized Life Is These Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVL8eN5HWZJiPKRd_C7gMctHTxfVvLkIy6Y96QK54srzHGXweQ7I1d3V850oFZZ7cjBqsgjEvXmzzFOAHGBDUv8tuPh9j1Krnayab4shuLC2uXmOv9RXspHiCcJAjKQCu48cUIl4OKfPn9/s1600-h/115150582307_0_BG.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVL8eN5HWZJiPKRd_C7gMctHTxfVvLkIy6Y96QK54srzHGXweQ7I1d3V850oFZZ7cjBqsgjEvXmzzFOAHGBDUv8tuPh9j1Krnayab4shuLC2uXmOv9RXspHiCcJAjKQCu48cUIl4OKfPn9/s400/115150582307_0_BG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233336020363058994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G53-8JWFaDV-WvsU9jddJRB1cdrJ9z1qMtbnjQMIACtVFhXqUKbMViFDd1aTG9-YirsR6DjXifxUbalVpXPGzJC8gYvsJ1uLy6qfbrFrKMegO9QvdLwS5MDWpUOoDhL_-tWYBypH8mGC/s1600-h/218750582307_0_BG.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9G53-8JWFaDV-WvsU9jddJRB1cdrJ9z1qMtbnjQMIACtVFhXqUKbMViFDd1aTG9-YirsR6DjXifxUbalVpXPGzJC8gYvsJ1uLy6qfbrFrKMegO9QvdLwS5MDWpUOoDhL_-tWYBypH8mGC/s400/218750582307_0_BG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233336020623443266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBA6aS4C1e-2F3AIXKy4Rx9rw5MhDzff_scSV8CI7nbGvB6VLQx9oOBpy8PNPa-EGb5VFiW5l-7viW8RlTAmoj3m9-b1LS5GG_GLIFIotuQAz2oiyIJ7lbqJRZwNDTEjNk5_OTqjcJJv1S/s1600-h/HPIM0217.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBA6aS4C1e-2F3AIXKy4Rx9rw5MhDzff_scSV8CI7nbGvB6VLQx9oOBpy8PNPa-EGb5VFiW5l-7viW8RlTAmoj3m9-b1LS5GG_GLIFIotuQAz2oiyIJ7lbqJRZwNDTEjNk5_OTqjcJJv1S/s400/HPIM0217.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233336026295560466" border="0" /></a><br />My Dear Little Funky Monkey,<br /><br />You have now completed over half of your first year out of Mama's womb. You are all <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">growed</span> up. You're my big boy now, and Papa and I are even talking about leaving you with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Tio</span> and Tia for a few hours and going out on a real date...like with just grownups involved and the ability to eat an entire meal without interruption. We also talk about leaving and running away to Peru for an undisclosed amount of time, but that's only in the more challenging moments, and while the frequency of those moments is definitely increasing I'd say you're pretty safe...for now at least.<br /><br />I think these new personality traits are asserting themselves (that's the nice way of saying you're cute but sometimes you can really be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">douchey</span>- your Papa and I are totally going to make a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">onesie</span> that says that too...and all the parents will smile knowingly and the childless people will think we are heartless assholes) mostly because you are not taking small steps of development, but rather giant leaps for all <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">babykind</span>. You are now so close to crawling that I think I peed my pants a little just for writing that statement just now. You can inchworm crawl pretty darn fast, especially if there's something you want to get to to put in your mouth or bang your head into, and you love to get up on your hands and knees and rock back and forth as if you're gearing up and gaining momentum to take off like a rocket. One of these days I know you will. That will also be the day I have my first of many heart attacks. Despite the desperate fear that churns in the pit of my stomach when I think of your impending mobility, I am insanely proud of you. You are doing some of the same things your friends who are 2 months older than you are doing, and while a little ways down the road I may not write that phrase with such glee, for now I am relishing how advanced and brilliant you are proving yourself to be.<br /><br />An unfortunate byproduct of your <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">new found</span> skills is that you are now the squirmiest creature to have ever been discovered on this planet. Not only are you obsessed with crawling to the point that you practice it in your sleep (to the detriment of Mama's sleep, of course) and want only to be on the floor, even if that floor is covered in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">hazmat</span> materials and shards of broken glass, but you are also obsessed with standing. You want us to help you stand at all times, stubbornly pushing up when we try to work on your sitting skills. The pediatrician even commented that perhaps you were standing too much and this was negatively affecting your ability to develop your sitting skills. And it probably is, but you are so bound and determined to stand at all times that I have now resigned myself to the notion that you will probably be the freaky kid at prom, all slumped over and unable to sit upright in a chair. You will, however, have mad standing skills, so that may just win the ladies (or the guys...we are open minded parents here) over nonetheless.<br /><br />You are also eating solids like a champ, always eager to try whatever new foods Mama can make for you, and so far peas have been the only thing you haven't liked. But boy, the face you made with the peas and the accompanying shriek...you are anything but subtle, my son. I have to confess, though, that weird new taste that seems like apples with a certain <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ju</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ne</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">sais</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">quoi</span>? That <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">je</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">ne</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">sais</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">quoi</span>...yup, its the peas. Mama's learning to be tricky like that. Hey, we're on a super tight budget around here...I'm not wasting all those peas! So far you've had sweet potato (your fave, and Mama's too), bananas, applesauce, summer squash, butternut squash, carrots, pears, peas, and rice cereal. All made by Mama with organic fruits and veggies except for the pears and the rice cereal, but those were organic too. The next new foods that are all ready to be introduced are avocado and green beans. And this solid foods thing? Totally fun. I love watching you enjoy eating like a big boy (and you do love it- you cry when you see us eating with a spoon and you're not), experimenting with new tastes, and for the first time gaining weight at a good clip.<br /><br />However, there is one issue we need to discuss, my sweet boy...the poop. Oh god help us all, THE POOP!! The poop is insane! I know what went into that baby food...I made it...but still, I have my suspicion that someone must have slipped something truly rank and vile in when I wasn't looking because what in heaven's name could possibly produce such a stink? And you, who has never been a copious <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">pooper</span> before (you usually were a twice a week <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">pooper</span> at best), have suddenly become the overachiever of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">poopers</span>, supplying us with enough of the stinky stuff to fertilize the entire nation of Lichtenstein. Did you not get the memo that its supposed to be the other way around? Most babies poop profusely in early infancy and become more constipated with the introduction of solids. But you had to be an original, didn't you? Even as I type this, I hear you grunting away, and am paralyzed with anticipatory fear.<br /><br />I never thought one could write so much (and talk so much) about poop. Is this really what I've become?<br /><br />But you, my sweet monkey, what you have become is this extraordinary little person, with your own little personality asserting itself more and more each day. You have the most wondrous smile that can charm even the most stoic and cold people, and when you are happy your little feet and legs start kicking all over the place and you shriek this high pitched little shriek of joy. You love to fake cough, and crack up when I do it back to you, and peek-a-boo is one of your favorite new games. You are curious about everything and that insatiable curiosity combined with your increasing mobility spells certain trouble for us. You love to splash, having spent a weekend playing in the river with your Godmother and Aunt, Chanteuse. In fact you now try to make every surface splash, slapping the floor, your father and I, whatever you can reach. You have also become so very talkative (which is not adorable at 1am, just for the record), saying different combinations of ma, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">ba</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">da</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">ga</span>, and la in this teeny voice that just cracks me up every time because it just doesn't seem to me like it fits with your bulldozer bruiser physicality. You are becoming a much more independent monkey- you're actually on the floor, playing so independently right now, and telling your little turtle Paddles (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">WB</span> named him) something very important...its a joy to watch you exploring the world around you. And yet there's a teeny part of me that already misses my little baby, who is quickly being replaced by this fearless boy who is now conquering his world inch by inch. You are growing up so fast and furiously that I really treasure the moments that you want to be in my arms, nursing and being nurtured. I hope there's always that little side to you that always wants and needs to be mothered, despite your incredible <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">achievements</span>.<br /><br />I love you, my sweet little funky, curious, brilliant, obstinate, sweet, and right now very stinky monkey. Let's go brave this diaper situation together.<br /><br />Love,<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Maman</span>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-19299559053280480032008-07-02T12:51:00.004-04:002008-07-02T16:14:46.612-04:00We'rew Crackin Up Around Here...In More Ways Than One<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The latest pictures from the super talented and super awesome <a href="http://www.meghanmcsweeney.com/">Meghan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">McSweeney</span></a></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPu1_kvdY2zYR7rODRROoC-wOwbq7ESIrHREyNLWF684v_qalgdfeoK_sD_pC57NGVwv1urmz7oB669vAfyRtylN-zs3K4Tj4tNU7XTsvhrfSjpqNqyI2iWtcysxikIKQXT5LgkQUKmk-Y/s1600-h/legit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPu1_kvdY2zYR7rODRROoC-wOwbq7ESIrHREyNLWF684v_qalgdfeoK_sD_pC57NGVwv1urmz7oB669vAfyRtylN-zs3K4Tj4tNU7XTsvhrfSjpqNqyI2iWtcysxikIKQXT5LgkQUKmk-Y/s400/legit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218511272914481682" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDB62oc8ihE3hKdOeeP0d4PGT1ls4fITdRIwqKrTJbWMDb1klyfwCoxpfbtJPovZQfq36nq6676pyRzh6RmSvK3oNh_V6K0ZCSuI3jZzDj09Qo9fNr8thbfZ3V714VQaLZ1yGgPsJh9Kk/s1600-h/commercial.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDB62oc8ihE3hKdOeeP0d4PGT1ls4fITdRIwqKrTJbWMDb1klyfwCoxpfbtJPovZQfq36nq6676pyRzh6RmSvK3oNh_V6K0ZCSuI3jZzDj09Qo9fNr8thbfZ3V714VQaLZ1yGgPsJh9Kk/s400/commercial.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218511278563570050" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyc-o4vzrgbBJ-2AOQpEzU9Ynbo53-lX88nR2WxwwIfnHEQQLlEmm5LDWImZrlue4D9NdVpUGFLjXqup3KiRhwneb3reZ_HxLPqoFDGYwUFgS9wscrK2EFWO4NgyJ-kg7NYTx-QlK_Dfnn/s1600-h/arial.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyc-o4vzrgbBJ-2AOQpEzU9Ynbo53-lX88nR2WxwwIfnHEQQLlEmm5LDWImZrlue4D9NdVpUGFLjXqup3KiRhwneb3reZ_HxLPqoFDGYwUFgS9wscrK2EFWO4NgyJ-kg7NYTx-QlK_Dfnn/s400/arial.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218511282240090290" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmg7d8XoTpOS19lushZlF7Fdufoy-ES6kaX0uESuP1jUxzTF7bN48y4agpR5tpC5q8QC-TU71SI4ovZ8hOqGWvsMUH4V33TQsw7PKQA70ujK-iAJjV2mxhBUtYmOpUv3klgYjxT0Cj4dir/s1600-h/bed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmg7d8XoTpOS19lushZlF7Fdufoy-ES6kaX0uESuP1jUxzTF7bN48y4agpR5tpC5q8QC-TU71SI4ovZ8hOqGWvsMUH4V33TQsw7PKQA70ujK-iAJjV2mxhBUtYmOpUv3klgYjxT0Cj4dir/s400/bed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218511285520582834" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksW7_XSm5yyPiyN1OQUJRSvF6Tf5c6epLBcJE0TFpQidv6h3lM05Sy7eUx2RTY7vUuE0U7GvIAN0XkjUWF9Ms8PzPM8kD810cfpQT7tpiQlWwC2_hi0DNe4Ufjk_vLX0ARVHYzVICDJgz/s1600-h/lega.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksW7_XSm5yyPiyN1OQUJRSvF6Tf5c6epLBcJE0TFpQidv6h3lM05Sy7eUx2RTY7vUuE0U7GvIAN0XkjUWF9Ms8PzPM8kD810cfpQT7tpiQlWwC2_hi0DNe4Ufjk_vLX0ARVHYzVICDJgz/s400/lega.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218511291015507538" border="0" /></a><br />I don't know how other Moms keep up with their blogs. As a matter of fact, I don't know how other Moms keep up with anything at all. I feel like if I've either a) showered b) made something vaguely resembling a meal or c) clipped the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">LFM's</span> super bionic fingernails that grow like a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">chia</span> pet on steroids then I've really accomplished an amazing feat for the day. Before having a baby, I thought that I would have so much extra time, being a stay at home Mom, that my home would be sparklingly pristine and all of my meals gourmet. With fancy folded napkins. Maybe even cloth napkins. Fast forward to the present, where if any part of my home sparkles its probably because something was spilled there once upon a time and its better that no questions are asked. My definition of gourmet meal has expanded to include haphazardly thrown together <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">quesadillas</span> filled with all sorts of mysteries from the fridge and if we were to even attempt cloth napkins, we'd probably end up using somewhat questionable cloth diapers while waiting for the original napkins to be washed at some unspecified future date and time. I may be exaggerating a bit, then again, I may not be...it all depends on how deep our friendship goes and how much you're willing to forgive. The point is that when given 20 minutes of nap time at a stretch and the choice between scooping cat litter and blogging, the cat litter usually wins, even if the blog smells so much sweeter.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">LFM</span> is now over 5 months old, and despite all efforts to slow down time and simply enjoy the present moment (at the expense of productivity and cleanliness) I can't help feeling like father time is robbing me blind- sneaking in the back door while I'm distracted by a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">poopie</span> diaper or an adorable coo and cleaning the place out. How could my sweet little monkey already be 5 months old? If I wake up tomorrow and he's off to college, I'm gonna be super pissed. I mean it. And that feels entirely possible at this point- our sweet boy is growing up and developing just that fast.<br /><br />He now rolls over both ways, sometimes spinning faster than a whirling dervish on crack, and can now roll across the bed or floor by executing consecutive rolls in the same direction. I'm trying to teach him how to roll into the kitchen and fix Mama a sandwich, but so far he just laughs at that idea. As a matter of fact, he laughs at pretty much anything and everything these days, and we've spent up to a half hour just laughing back and forth at <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">each other</span>. Its utterly adorable. The Little Funky Monkey can also scoot across the floor or bed on his back, though luckily he is less adept on his stomach...for now [insert ominous music here]. He has so much of an awareness of the world around him, and his favorite toys by far are those two freaks and weirdos he lives with who make all sorts of ridiculous faces, songs, and dances to amuse him. He also still loves his <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">play mat</span> and we just picked up this used <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">exersaucer</span> from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">craigslist</span>...jackpot! I call it heaven in plastic. Not only does he go <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">apeshit</span> for this toy, but this little gem let me sweep the kitchen and the bathroom today. Not that I enjoy housework, on the contrary sweeping is about as fun as file folder <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">paper cuts</span>, but the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">dust bunnies</span> were demanding dinner too, and they don't eat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">quesadillas</span>. So thank you, dear <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">exersaucer</span> people, you've made my son scream with delight and you've made walking through my kitchen a possible feat once again.<br /><br />He is also becoming such a Daddy's boy, though the true test is about to be undertaken. I'm doing a little one performance short play, and have rehearsals for 3 hours every night next week. I'm actually more worried about my milk supply suffering than I am of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">LFM</span> suffering; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">WB</span> is a great father and I think they'll so just fine. Me, on the other hand...I'll be the one shaking from withdrawal, certain that my baby is being eaten alive by hungry <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">dust bunnies</span> while I become the Sahara desert of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">breast milk</span>. But I will be a Sahara desert doing what she loves, and that's important too. I'll just be surgically attached to the pump the other 21 hours of the day and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">breast milk</span> will be fine.<br /><br />I hope.<br /><br />The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">LFM</span> is giving me the best little smile and laugh right now, so if you'll excuse me, I think we have a crack up party in the making.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-8937562373268904002008-06-16T23:40:00.003-04:002008-06-17T01:13:39.353-04:00A Word About FathersI wanted to talk about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WB's</span> first Father's Day, which was just lovely. We had a wonderful afternoon driving through the country and going for a wine tasting at a local winery. It was sweet and romantic and we had a great time. But I don't want to write about that, I want to write about fathers. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Well, ok, the good and the bad.<br /><br />I've been having a very difficult time with my father lately. And by difficult I mean he reduces me to tears at least twice a week. And by tears I mean big huge messy bouts of sobbing. (Maybe this is where the ugly comes in?) He's been spending every weekend with his new girlfriend- the girlfriend that he started dating a mere month after my mother died. My mother that he was married to for almost 39 years. He barely waited for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">rigor mortis</span> to set in. Needless to say I had a bit of a hard time listening to him tell me how he was in love with her, so I asked him to please respect my grief and not talk to me about her. After the 5th request (and at the behest of numerous friends and WB) he complied. Since then things have been strained, to say the least. He doesn't really want to talk at all if he can't talk about her, and I'm sure the only reason he sees us is to see the LFM.<br /><br />50% of my immediate family have died, and the ones left standing when the smoke cleared were the ones who always clashed the most. He is all I have left of my original family, and yeah, I know I'm creating a new family...but that doesn't just automatically replace the need for the old one, you know?<br /><br />So this has all come to a head with several recent conversations. The other week, when I told him I needed a Dad, he said he was perfectly willing to be there for me, as long as it was a weekday. When I asked if maybe he could take just one weekend away from his girlfriend..one weekend for us, for his grandson..he said no, he didn't want to. We could see him any time on the weekdays and on the weekends if we want his girlfriend to be a part of things as well. That was hurtful. He was essentially telling me that he places this new woman above his only living child, above his grandchild. WB was so horrified upon hearing my father say these things that he had to walk away, lest he blurt out exactly what he was thinking.<br /><br />But that conversation seems like the sweetest sonnet in comparison to the cruelty that was tonight's conversation. A conversation in which I mostly sobbed and asked "why are you treating me like this? why are you speaking to me like this? Please stop yelling at me!" while he ranted at me for 20 minutes. The conversation began innocuously...we were talking about the house hunting that WB and I are about to embark on. Then he starts in on how we don't really want his advice (live in the county, not the city...which would probably make us fairly miserable) and how we should just do whatever the hell we wanted. I was trying to discuss the pros and cons of both options, trying to have a <span style="font-style: italic;">discussion</span> about this major life decision and he starts yelling at me about how tired he is of hearing me talk things to death and how I should just go buy a house and not think about it so much. That I think things to death and just go do it and shut up about it. How he doesn't want to hear about it, just take Mimi's money and have fun with it and stop acting like everything is the end of the world.<br /><br />At which point I try to tell him that I want to share these things with him because he's my family, and I always talked everything through with my mother. But he doesn't want to hear that. He's begun this tirade, and the momentum is clearly overpowering him. He starts yelling at me about how I'm 32 years old, and how at 32 he didn't call his dad and ask him for advice or want to talk things over with him. Evidently in his world there is an age limit to being someone's child...and expiration date on fatherhood. He continued onward to tell me that he doesn't want to hear about my feelings, because he doesn't really care how I feel, and he's tired of me being so down about everything (yes, he actually said this). I, of course, was crying this whole time, and trying desperately to understand where all this was coming from. I told him that I just needed him to be my dad, to love and support me, and that wasn't a ridiculous thing to ask for, even at 32. He asked what that means, to support someone, and said that if it means listening to me complain he wasn't willing to do it. He told me that he wants me to call him, tell him one or two little unimportant things about my life and hang up. That's it. No talk about feelings, no talk about anything. That I should talk to WB about how I feel, but not him, he doesn't want to hear it. He said he would never be the father I wanted him to be, so I should just get used to it. He mocked me when I asked him why he was speaking to me like this, and that I didn't deserve it, actually repeating it back to me in a mocking voice...like a little child does.<br /><br />This is a man who has already lost one child to suicide, you'd think he'd be a little more sensitive to a daughter who's going through a pretty bad depression. But no, he was anything but sensitive as he literally yelled over everything I tried to say. It was amazing, really, and horribly hurtful. And it was completely out of the blue, we were just talking about houses. And I'm not even asking him for help with any of this (though we totally need help), I was just telling him what the mortgage people said and going over possibilities with him. When the conversation went downhill he still kept bringing up the house stuff, saying I should just take the money and buy a house and have fun with it, and I kept saying this isn't about buying a house, Dad, this is about us.<br /><br />He's my only family left, and he was cruel to me. I would classify that horrible conversation as cruel...it doesn't read that way, but picture me sobbing while he yelled all those things at me, unprovoked, and maybe you'll get more of an idea. Then multiply it by 1000.<br /><br />All this has made me so very thankful for WB, and the wonderful father that he is. Not only would the LFM never have to even say "I need you", if he ever did the request would be met immediately with a flood of love and support and never with derision. I am thankful that this is all unfathomable to WB, because I know and trust that our children will never, at any age, feel abandoned by their parents.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It also made me fantasize about skipping town with no forwarding address. Seriously. </span>Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2473366549990253081.post-80520707249698960162008-06-11T12:02:00.005-04:002008-06-11T12:41:37.059-04:00my cup runneth over<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJl4RycUjpn7GFcs4eIAq27OJ8YOhuRtKpalblZDZk7W78ZiylB2FRt9ZkA2r29VyQXecGS75rAGUnzSWv5kK54yC04N02syGfEoz4_rv_WbzkAyJHayAwVDxc7vMTwNQm-pOqj0INTrb/s1600-h/PICT0811.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJl4RycUjpn7GFcs4eIAq27OJ8YOhuRtKpalblZDZk7W78ZiylB2FRt9ZkA2r29VyQXecGS75rAGUnzSWv5kK54yC04N02syGfEoz4_rv_WbzkAyJHayAwVDxc7vMTwNQm-pOqj0INTrb/s400/PICT0811.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210664623680600034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMKP_PAAeCs8ozbcPDfxShRGtxyOQAlfYfN6MsIC-OeqXz3nGtZYMrF2uy6RLSDQyVrU62Bg8sCZbynqEB4sdQ2qrR-1dP3e-vYgxjtjE0zL_6MUbM-eaotix0aZy5u5VPPv_3BPnyUQv/s1600-h/PICT0805.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMKP_PAAeCs8ozbcPDfxShRGtxyOQAlfYfN6MsIC-OeqXz3nGtZYMrF2uy6RLSDQyVrU62Bg8sCZbynqEB4sdQ2qrR-1dP3e-vYgxjtjE0zL_6MUbM-eaotix0aZy5u5VPPv_3BPnyUQv/s400/PICT0805.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210662679884832866" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwp5Q6t8uT9Le9FoueaNahT_eR5YnXQyoRDCq3iwGkb2xu2APaAt8qXIactdQAMeor2d2dqKHbxYZUoVeTRTsKtZR6YXScM-EBBeejrNLpDMDNIhylaekqjqhgiKN6uoSwF0Kmcx3znyyq/s1600-h/PICT0806.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwp5Q6t8uT9Le9FoueaNahT_eR5YnXQyoRDCq3iwGkb2xu2APaAt8qXIactdQAMeor2d2dqKHbxYZUoVeTRTsKtZR6YXScM-EBBeejrNLpDMDNIhylaekqjqhgiKN6uoSwF0Kmcx3znyyq/s400/PICT0806.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210662701362798978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKWnAH8D_-f1rQT8sfi8VtEzcEkePFJ_w9poUm_FrauRypn3KLBu7HZiHcb_VNq5ZrqgQfKp4N8CYf69JfiwilaP6LuEnmQ_MMjw4SYRCEfu83GmHNiLU0uD_kiijQwi0dfM7-y5nG6o-/s1600-h/PICT0807.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKWnAH8D_-f1rQT8sfi8VtEzcEkePFJ_w9poUm_FrauRypn3KLBu7HZiHcb_VNq5ZrqgQfKp4N8CYf69JfiwilaP6LuEnmQ_MMjw4SYRCEfu83GmHNiLU0uD_kiijQwi0dfM7-y5nG6o-/s400/PICT0807.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210662716861392514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sV5nr3mm68-5BJtSQDLawa-pFiu090Fugybw6MaHRr9kngGevq9veosbp9ig95osWKr1uQKYGrD6P0yX3i1RYvutwS4sfHauZ3EjUnGd35L46qRAPTHeDLs2aK7WWOCU3v0-XL48OUXB/s1600-h/PICT0809.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sV5nr3mm68-5BJtSQDLawa-pFiu090Fugybw6MaHRr9kngGevq9veosbp9ig95osWKr1uQKYGrD6P0yX3i1RYvutwS4sfHauZ3EjUnGd35L46qRAPTHeDLs2aK7WWOCU3v0-XL48OUXB/s400/PICT0809.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210662729362356498" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4JDnVxsLsKgacf4koiIW6zNBOCa8fI_btHrbmsm1vmaziMqDeysYQfDiojYbN1QxeVo75zJBg2cvRqMmSKtJS0jwbNJBlGRpHnSEQyuES0iIUiXLSrKW2VFfKCQiHUXQTwRgvT3XoSgr/s1600-h/PICT0810.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4JDnVxsLsKgacf4koiIW6zNBOCa8fI_btHrbmsm1vmaziMqDeysYQfDiojYbN1QxeVo75zJBg2cvRqMmSKtJS0jwbNJBlGRpHnSEQyuES0iIUiXLSrKW2VFfKCQiHUXQTwRgvT3XoSgr/s400/PICT0810.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210662745916236642" border="0" /></a><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i'm</span> sitting here typing one <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">handed</span> because <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i'm</span> holding the world's most adorable sleeping baby in my arms...i can't put him down, he's too sweet like this, and i know these moments are limited and will be gone in the blink of an eye so i must put aside all other things and just enjoy sharing this time <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">with</span> him. the smell of his head, the feel of his little baby arms around me, the little sighs and baby snores...these are the things i want to capture in words on this blog so that i never forget them, and its precisely these sweet moments that can never be encapsulated by something like letters and punctuation. these moments can only exist in the heart, and right now mine feels overflowing with blessing.Le Synge Bleuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16797650521371643399noreply@blogger.com3