Smoke and Ashes

Happy Bachelorette Julia!

She's kind of a badass

This weekend, my 16 year old niece went to the prom. She had the perfect dress, the perfect shoes, and the perfect jewelry all picked out. Only one problem: she went to put her earrings in and she couldn't get one of them through. She only got her ears pierced a year or two ago, and because she's an athelete, she has to take them out every day for practice and games. It seems she went a few weeks without wearing them at all, and as a result, no more pierced ear. 

My sister took a stab at it (deliberate word choice there), but it was a no go. Mackenzie insisted she keep pushing to get it through, but my sister didn't quite have the stomach for it. Naturally, I volunteered. I pushed that thing as hard as it would go, but nothing. We broke the news to her that she would just have to go without earrings. 

Unacceptable, she informed us. 

We got an ice cube, draped the perfect (white, oye) dress with a towel, and a family friend took a shot. She essentially re-pierced her ear right there in the living room while everyone was waiting in the other room to see the big unveiling. Mackenzie didn't even flinch. It's hard to be badass in a white dress and uncomfortably high heels, but she managed to pull it off. 

Month 15 - There aren't really the words

Dear Mason -

I must admit, there's part of me that didn't want to write this month; a big part of me wants to forget that this month even existed. The McAuley clan has had a colosally crappy month, and even that is an understatement. A few weeks ago, your Uncle Mark died. Your uncle and I weren't what I would call "close", but we worked hard over the past few years to find common ground and we would chat regularly about the Sox, Bruins, or Pats. He always asked about you and was looking forward to coming to Boston in a few weeks to meet you. 

A few days after that, a family friend was hit by a car while riding her bike. She's on the mend, but suffered some pretty serious brain injuries so it's going to be a long road for her. The tragedies of the month shook us all, so much so that at times it was hard to breathe and at random times, I would just start to cry. We McAuleys aren't big criers, either, so you can imagine the toll that it took on all of us.

Yep, there's a lot of reasons that I didn't want to write this month and instead just bury it away and pretend it didn't happen, and at some points, I didn't even think I'd be able to write about this month even if I wanted to. But then there's you - and with you, there are always a lot of reasons to be grateful, and that alone warrants my best efforts to capture it all. 

Throughout the collosally crappy month (Should I just abbreviate it to CCM?), you were the one that kept us all together (Ama too - she's good in a crisis). Whenever we were sitting around with grandma and grampy and auntie Kristen and getting really sad, I'd yell, "Quick, Mason, do something cute!" and you'd throw your hands above your head doing the "touchdown" sign we taught you or lift your shirt up and show us all your belly. (As a sidenote, we were watching the Bruins play the Capitals in the playoffs throughout the CCM, but you haven't quite learned the difference between a touchdown and a goal). We'd also go swimming in the pool and for bike rides around Vero, and for a few minutes at a time, it was almost like we were actually on vacation.

Your lack of sports knowledge aside, this was a huge learning month for you. I don't know how you did it, but one day you opened your mouth and all of these words started spilling out: binky, truck, banana, bubble, grandma, grandpa.... the list goes on and on. I'm not exactly surprised that you're learning how to talk; I'm just surprised that you seemed to have learned all at once. 

You've also developed a lot of social skills this month. My favorite by far is that you've learned how to hug. I had to go to SF for a few days during the CCM, which was tough because I didn't want to be away from you and Ama, but when I got back, we played the best game ever in the kitchen. We'd say "Give Ama a hug" and you'd run over and give her a hug, and then we'd say "Give Mama a hug" and you'd run over and give me a hug, and we did it over, and over, and over. We probably played that game for 7 full minutes before we decided to do our second favorite game that we call Mason Sandwich (family hug while tickling you and smothering you with smooches), but I could have played for much longer. 

Your new social interactions aren't just limited to us. This morning I dropped you off at school, and as we were walking in, your classmate Brian yelled your name, and you turned around and waved. After I dropped you off and gave you kisses, as I walked away, you waved. You've been waving for a long time, but usually it's mirroring someone else. Now, however, you understand the context of waving. It's like you saw me leaving and thought to yourself, "Oh yeah, this is the part where I wave and she gushes at me like I'm a frickin' genius." 

Well, you are. 

When I was in San Francisco, you and Ama would make me videos every morning and every night. I loved them all, but this one is one of my favorites ever. Nobody in the world makes you laugh like Ama, and nothing in this world makes me feel better than watching you laugh. 

I don't know what I did to get so lucky, but if I can feel this blessed in the midst of the CCM, I know that we will all be ok. 

I love you buddy. 

Love, 

mama

Random delivery memory

Nurse: ok, Sarah, big push.
Me: (with a twisted, serious concentration face) grrrrrrrrrrr
Nurse: ok, less with the face and more with the actual pushing.

14 months, or what I like to call, "the needy phase"

Mase - Happy 14 months bud! You've changed so much in the last month. You're fully engrained into the rhythm and processes of the infant/toddler room, which is way cooler than the infant room. They give you finger paint almost every day. You read books and go for walks and play on the playground. You did some of that stuff in the infant room too, but now you actually get the majority of the paint on the paper and not in your hair and you eat way less mulch.

You paved the way your buddy Harry, who joined you this week and although he doesn't show it, is glad that you were there first to figure out the ropes before he got thrown in. I'm sure you two miss your days as a baby gang; as the only walkers in the infant room, you terrorized the other babies, stealing toys, and walking around like you owned the place while Rory, Sam, and Cory just laid there like bumps on a log. 

The toddler room has taught you about more than finger paint. The two year olds in that room have been a bad influence, and you can now throw a temper tantrum with the best of 'em. I think you're also at the stage when you think you can talk, but the words just aren't coming out right, and you look at Ama and me as if to say, "hey a-holes, I'm making myself perfectly clear. I want some grapes!" We have tried to teach you a few signs, and you have picked up the sign for "more" which has come in handy at dinner time in terms of avoiding that point when we give you more and instead of taking it, you fling it across the room. Now we ask you if you want more, and you sign back "more" or you shake your head no.... well, 50% of the time you do that; the rest of the time the dogs get an added treat and the walls get to double as a Jackson Pollock exhibit.

You're also super clingy this month. It's posed some interesting challenges - folding laundry, making your lunch, or changing my underwear is considerably harder while holding you. I'm not gonna lie, I've contemplated going two days in a row with the same skivvies just to avoid putting you down and listening to you wail (don't worry, mom, I said "contemplated" -- I would never *actually* do that). 

Sometimes I feel myself getting annoyed or frustrated that you insist on being held, but as soon as the the thought comes into my head it vanishes because I just think of your cousins. Ryan is going to be 15 in a few days, and he's a full on man. He's taller than me, has a six pack, and has a deep voice. He used to snuggle with me all the time. Now if I hug him, he'd probably tell me to "stop being so f-ing queer, auntie." All three of your Holdgate cousins are bigger than Ama, even Jack. Ok, that's not a huge feat, she is a midget after all, but still...It wasn't so long ago I used to hang Mackenzie upside down by her feet and say "you're not a bat" (a trick you were fond of as well), or get voicemails from Ryan saying "My wub you auntie sawah", or Jack would die laughing at a rousing game of "hide auntie's birkenstock" (hey - it was the 90s, gimme a break).

Anyway, my point is this, you're already HUGE. You used to fit in the bend of my arm, and now you take up my whole torso and your legs dangle over the side when I rock you before bed. You were sick this weekend (again) and despite your 104 fever which turned you into an atomic fireball, I didn't put you down at all. We sweated through our clothes together, but I didn't put you down until you were really asleep. Maybe I'm babying you and causing bad habits, but I don't really care. I figure I only have a few thousand snuggles left, and while a few thousand seems like a big number at first blush, the thought there is a finite amount of snuggles with you in my future makes me want to prolong every one. If you're a mama's boy getting your ass kicked at 15, sorry about that. Add it to the list of the many things I'm sure I'll screw up along the way.

I love you buddy. 

 

 

Did I Really Just Say That? - Installment 1

Motherhood has brought many interesting developments, challenges, and celebrations to my life, and I frequently find myself saying things that just sound, well, like stuff I never would have said before having kids. Upon reflection, I'm sorry haven't captured more of them, so today I'm starting a new series: "Did I Really Just Say That?" Kind of like the McAuley-mom version of "Overheard in New York."

Installment One:

"It was very pale, kind of the color of oatmeal, and pasty like peanut butter. Should I be alarmed?" (Left on pediatrician's voicemail in regards to Mason's poop.)

Celebrating Year One

I'm a month and a half overdue, but I made a video of Mason's first year.

My Sophisticated Palate

The Scene: Walking through BJ's Wholesale Club with a cart overflowing with giant boxes of diapers, wipes, and various other mom-like necessities. Mason is in the cart trying to squirm his way out of the seatbelt (and nearly succeeding. Little f-er is getting strong).

Woman: Excuse me, how old is your son?

Me: A little over a year.

Woman: When did he starting eating those? (Pointing to the giant tub of animal crackers)

Me (with more than a little shame): Oh, those are for me. 

 

 

My Sophisticated Palate

The Scene: Walking through BJ's Wholesale Club with a cart overflowing with giant boxes of diapers, wipes, and various other mom-like necessities. Mason is in the cart trying to squirm his way out of the seatbelt (and nearly succeeding. Little f-er is getting strong).

Woman: Excuse me, how old is your son?

Me: A little over a year.

Woman: When did he starting eating those? (Pointing to the giant tub of animal crackers)

Me (with more than a little shame): Oh, those are for me. 

 

 

Mason 1.1

One year and one month, or lucky number 13. This month you graduated from the infant room to the Infant/Toddler room. This is a big deal for lots of reasons. You now have a set naptime - the whole room goes lights out from 1-3 pm and you sleep not in a crib, but on a little cot (don't worry - it's only about 2 inches off the ground, so even if you rollover, you'll be ok). You eat your lunch at a little table with your classmates, and I hear snack time is something like Lord of the Flies, when they put a plate of yummy goodness in the middle of the table and toddler fists go flying, trying to secure that perfect bite of hummus or whatever else they're serving that day. Perhaps the biggest difference is the impact the toddler room has had on your mobility. Before the switch, you were content to rely on a nice hybrid of crawling and walking. You could walk -- you just often chose not to. It took about a day of playing with the big kids before you realized that crawling was for babies and you're a big kid. The folks at daycare actually tried to make your transition nice and smooth by having  you do half time in the infant room for 2 weeks, but you were having none of it. They tried to keep you in the infant room after your nap, but I'm told that you hollered and screamed until they let you go back to play with the big kids. Have I mentioned that you've developed a very strong sense of will?

Seeing how fast your life is changing made me realize how much Ama and my life has changed. It wasn't big and drastic, but rather a little at a time. Not all that many years ago, I could stay awake past 10 pm. I'd sleep in til 8:30 or 9, lazily grab coffee and breakfast, and maybe get dressed some time around 10. Now, I'm up somewhere between 3:30 am (bad day) and 5:30 am (good day), though you can usually be coaxed back to sleep for a few hours if we give you a sippy cup of milk. No matter what, though, we usually start our weekends by 7:30 am at the latest. These days I spend my weekends doing my best Martha Stewart impression. This weekend, for example, I did multiple loads of laundry, went to two different grocery stores because the Shaws doesn't have enough organic produce (and yes, I'm *that* mom), turned my leftover grilled curry chicken into chicken salad (because I'm fancy and have learned not to waste anything, even if I didn't really care for it the first time around, which is good because the chicken salad was way better than the plain grilled version), made a big batch of carrot ginger soup, made homemade applesauce (with a little leftover ginger from the soup, ya know, to mix it up a little, mmmm), baked some plain chicken and green beans for your lunch tomorrow, and made a batch of enchiladas for Ama and me for tonight with enough left over to freeze. I do that now... think about having stuff left over to freeze. I never would have done that before, but now I have a new appreciation for what it means to come home from work with literally zero energy to cook, so I try to plan ahead (The enchiladas are sitting in the freezer next to a lasagna I made two weekends ago and half the batch of carrot ginger soup).

Perhaps the most immediately exciting thing to happen lately is the combination of daylight savings and warmer weather. Our living room is pretty tiny, so the prospect of a lot more outdoor playtime is really exciting. We took a nice walk to the playground where you thought it would be hilarious to do a snow angel in the mulch. It's ok -- what's a little more laundry? We then took a nice long walk to CVS to pick up your prescription, because your track as petri dish is going strong and you have now contracted conjunctivitis, one of the more disgusting ailments for toddlers. Thankfully Ama is in charge of administiring the medicine in your eyes. My only job is to hold you still, which I can only do by closing my eyes and pretending I can't hear you wail, and to give you kisses when it's done.

Writing all of this down, it might sound a little like I'm complaining - laundry, cooking, shopping (and I didn't even mention the 45 minutes of picking up dog poop from the side yard that we ignored all winter or giving Keela a bath), but it actually couldn't be further from the truth. I love our weekends. My weekends have purpose and feel productive, and since I see so little of you all week, it's so nice to hang with you on the weekends, especially now that you're a little person. Don't get me wrong - a housekeeper and personal assistant would be a godsend, but all in all, I love every second. This weekend was especially great because Ama got to take a little break from studying, and we went down to the Cape to see cousin Mackenzie play in the Cape and Island League All- Star basketball game.  It's especially nice because she's been working so super hard lately, so that the next time you contract some icky daycare cootie, we won't even have to go to the doctor. 

Happy lucky 13 buddy. I love you. 

 

Mason's first graduation

Mason has graduated from the Infant Room to the Infant/Toddler room. This is very big news (maybe more so for me than for him). 

Weird Comment Spam - that I'm going to keep

I've been seeing a lot of random comments popping up here and there on old posts, but the odd thing is, they're all about books - and in one case, about one of my favorite books (Power of One). The authors are all linked to facebook profiles, so it doesn't seem like some company that hired an SEO company or bot to do comment seeding. The comments are also really articulate, which made me think at first someone had just accidentally commented on the wrong post. Very strange. Are other bloggers seeing this? 

Online shopping fail

I bought a few pairs of pants for mason online. When I got the confirmation order email, I realized I accidentally bought him "skinny jeans." Oops.

The Big O-N-E!

Dear Mason,

Today you are one year and one day old. Usually I write right on the 11th, but like 1 year and 1 day ago, yesterday was really rather hectic, so I hope you'll forgive me.

There are lots of things that I have loved about the last year, and I find new things to love about you every day. Off the top of my head, here are some of my favorites:

You love to dance. You love to look at yourself in the mirror. You love to look at yourself in the mirror while you dance. There is no one on the planet with better moves. 

You're fearless. You've scaled the child gate, conquered steps, and aren't afraid to dive head first into the toy box. 

You are OBSESSED with the bath tub. Seriously. We have to keep the bathroom door shut at all times or you beeline it for the tub. You shreik with excitement when it's bathtime. 

You think you're hilarious. You love to watch videos of yourself, and there are the funny parts that make you howl every time. 

You have chicken legs. They're super skinny, and extra ticklish on the inner thigh.

You have a Clark Kent gap in your front teeth, and one tooth is chipped. It's perfect in its imperfection.

You bring out the best parts of me. Around you I'm more patient, more relaxed, and more appreciative of everything.

You're happy and engaging even when you're sick, and you've basically had the plague ever since you started daycare. 

You are a super cool dude, and not to brag, but I think you're the best dressed kid I know. 

You think Ama is the funniest person on the planet. I'm pretty funny too, but no one can make you howl the way Ama can.  I could just sit back and watch you guys play and giggle for hours (in fact, I often do). 

You're not much a fan of snuggling; you're way too independent for that, but every now and then, usually around 5 am when we bring you in bed because we just can't face the day yet, you'll snuggle up with me and your breathing lulls me back to sleep. 

There's absolutely nothing about you that I don't like. You're still not a fantastic sleeper (you're getting better), but even that doesn't bother me too much because even if I'm sleeping, I'm missing you and thinking about you, so when you wake up, it's an excuse for me to go in and sneak a peek at my little man. 

So, thank you buddy, it's been the best year of my life. 

Love, Mama

Birthday pancakes to start the day.

Pre-party errands.

Helping Auntie Joy bake a cake.

Your present from Ama and me. (Ama is a little jealous)

Cake!

The rest of your birthday pictures are posted here.

 

Mason and his buddy

This cracks me up

T-Minus 1 month until you’re a year old

Month 11 was big. Huge.

First and perhaps most important, my darling sweet boy, you sleep now [Cue the angel music]. You sleep all the way through the night. And not just one time here and there, but you’ve actually managed to string together several nights in a row. As soon as Ama went on break from school, we said we were going to pull the plug and Ferberize you. You must have known we meant business because it took exactly one night and 20 minutes of crying for you to figure it out. We couldn’t believe we waited this long. I almost forgot what sleep was like. I vowed never to be one of those pushy moms who tells other moms "Well, I did [insert parenting tactic] and it worked so therefore, how could you be so dumb as to NOT do it?" but I have to say, I might tattoo "I heart Ferber" on my ass. Ironically, though, I’m actually more tired. I think it’s because I wake up several times a night wondering if you’re ok (or maybe it's because you keep infecting me with your daycare cooties). While I’ll never stop wondering if you're ok, I’m hoping I learn to sleep through it. 

In general, this month was a 24x7 sugar high (all natural sugar of course, like in fruit), but seriously, kid, you embraced the holiday season like no other <1 year old I know. Christmas for the McAuleys this year was a two week event. First we had our Christmas, just the three of us, a few days before Christmas. We opened a few presents, mostly books and jammies. You were relatively disinterested, but you sat through the process patiently while I took 800 pictures. People talk a lot about how babies don’t “get” Christmas and if they do, they’re just interested in the boxes and wrapping papers; I think they just don’t give babies enough practice, because by Christmas #2 (ie Christmas Eve at Uncle Dan’s) you had started to warm up and by Christmas morning at Memere’s house, you were all over it. You were as much into your cousins’ presents as you were into your own. Santa brought you just one gift (Santa had strict instructions not to go overboard, knowing that everyone else would spoil you). He brought you the Cozy Coup, only Santa had a few too many cocktails when assembling the car at 11 pm on Christmas Eve, so the wheels pointed inward and it was a long time before we could actually push you around it. I would have yelled at Santa, but alas I was fast asleep on the couch, camera in hand but unconscious, so wasn't really in much of a position to judge.

Christmas #4 was on Nantucket with Grandma and Grandpa, and your crazy cousins and aunt and uncle. We spent so much time away from home, I was afraid you were going to forget how to sleep through the night in your crib – a thought that nearly drove me to drink (on top of normal holiday libations, that is). You didn’t forget though, and we promptly settled back home, our house littered with more widgets and gadgets than I could have imagined (Remind me to send a very sternly worded thank you note to Uncle Dan for the plastic hammer).

I think the Christmas high must have given you an extra burst of energy because you hit another key milestone just a few days afterwards: you took your very first steps. Legit steps. One foot in front of the other three times followed by several seconds of steady standing afterwards, at which point you looked up at me and Ama with a look that said, “oh boy, you guys are totally screwed now.” Because we’re masochistic, we keep trying to entice you to do it again, and again, and every once in awhile when you’re too occupied to notice, you walk. Most of the time, however, you take a few running steps and then just crash into our arms. It’s less walking and more falling while covering a few feet of runway. You think it’s a game. Then again, you think pretty much everything is a game and you laugh and squeal most of the day. It’s my favorite sound in the world.

This holiday season really was so much more fun than ever before because we could share it with you, so thanks buddy. I can’t believe next month I’ll be writing that you’re ONE YEAR OLD (and yes, *that* milestone is worth all caps).

Love, mama

 

I couldn't have answered any better

My 12 year old nephew was at Sunday school class, and the teacher asked him who his favorite Saint was.

He answered: "Drew Brees".

Surviving 10 months - mobile and with attitude

There comes a time in every baby's life when they go from being a goobery little ball of deliciousness to a little person. This month, Mason, I'm pretty sure you discovered the concept of free will.

It's been... interesting. 

On the one hand, it's amazing. You are a little person that communicates what you want. You point, lift your arms up if you want to be picked up, and bee line it for just the right toy.

On the other hand, it's been a bit of a disaster, particularly where our dog bowls are concerned. I'm not exactly sure why you love our dog bowls, but "love" actually seems to be an understatement. You are obsessed. If I turn my back for one second you're elbow deep in little bits of food or the water. If I catch you en route and say sternly "Mason, NO!", you'll stop and look at me, roll your eyes, and then continue on your way. This morning ritual eventually resulted in your first time out. (I'm not sure if it was really a time out for you or a time out for me, but it was needed either way.) You arrived just shy of the dog bowl, looked at me, I said "no", you looked at the dog bowl, thought about it for a second, then looked back at me. I repeated "no", and you laughed a maniacal little laugh as if to say "f-you" and slammed the water bowl with all the force you could muster.

We had another big milestone this month: You stood up all by yourself. You were playing at Auntie Trish's and holding yourself steady on the coffee table when you turned to look at me. You let go of the table and just stared at me. I reacted the way any proud mama would have: I shrieked with delight and scared the living crap out of you. You wailed louder than I've ever heard you cry. It was awhile before you tried that trick again. Even now, you only do it once in a great while. I still think you're going to be an early walker. You have all the pieces. You can practically run if you're holding onto something, and you could balance on your own if you weren't scared.

We got your first report card and your first school pictures. Ridiculous, right? Report cards and school pictures for an infant. You got wonderful marks, of course. You know your name, are social and engaging, and have hit all of your key developmental milestones. You have a best friend at school named Harry. I think you're best friends by virtue of the fact that you two are the oldest and most mobile. You terrorize the other babies together, stealing their toys and crawling over them to get to where you want to be. Your report card remarked that your next step was to start working on a sippy cup instead of a bottle. Naturally I went out and bought 47 different models of sippy cups. You really don't care for them as a drinking vessel, but you sure do like grabbing them and banging them against pretty much anything - the tray of your high chair, the floor, my head... 

Last month, I joked that you were no longer the toothless genius because you sprouted your first sliver of ivory. Not long after that, we took you for your checkup, and Dr. O'Connor off-handedly said, "Oh good, he has three teeth." THREE? You grew two more teeth when we weren't looking. In fairness, every time I try to pry your mouth open to check on your teething progress, you act as though I'm pulling your toenails out with a pair of plyers, so I've limited my investigations substantially. 

We celebrated your first Thanksgiving this month. You looked extraordinarily handsome. You even had a chance to meet the Vice President of the United States. That really crawled up Uncle Dan's a$$ - he's a staunch republican. I was tempted to make that picture our Christmas card just to spite him, but instead I picked a picture of you in your Christmas jammies.

You're getting so big. I can't believe you're almost one year old. 

I love you buddy,

mama

 

Thanksgiving

Mason and the VP

My kid is a bobblehead

Just had Mason's 9 month check up...

6th percentile weight

50th percentile height

70th percentile head circumference 

Yep, he's a bobblehead.

"Pursuit of Happyness" Moment

I like my daycare - the teachers are nice and they actively engage Mason in art projects and active playing. He's exhausted at the end of the day, but generally happy. The teachers proudly display the kids' artwork around the halls.

I'm somewhat dismayed (just like Will Smith),because I walked in the other morning and there was a new display of construction paper artwork in the main hall outside of the 5-year olds classroom. Little construction paper figures had been dressed with construction paper sweaters and pants and shoes and hats. On each one of them, though, was the header "I'm Dress for Fall" written in neat teacher-like block letters with a big bold black magic marker.

I mentioned it to Mason's teacher, but she clearly didn't feel comfortable telling the other teacher (who I believe is originally from Columbia, so English is her second language), or the head of the daycare, but it makes me cringe every time I walk by it. Does that make me a snob? It's literally written on 10 little pieces of artwork with the child's name written boldly beneath each cutout. How have none of the parents in that class said anything? 

The Toothless Genius

Nine months. 3/4 of a year. It seems actually impossible, but it is true. Mason, you are 9 months old today. Holy. Crap.

Earlier in the month, we went home to Nantucket to help Mackenzie celebrate her Sweet 16. Thankfully, the party was a few days before her birthday, so we were safely off the island before someone was foolish enough to give that girl a learner's permit. When we were there, Grandma mentioned that some other baby was your age and already had 4 teeth, and reminded me that Auntie Kristen had a full head of teeth by the time she was a year. I jokingly snapped at her, "Oh yeah? Well my kid is a frickin' genius. A wonderful, toothless genius." That witty retort sure did quiet her up.

You, however, must have taken it personally, because a few days later it happened - that tiny little white sliver started peaking through your goofy gummy smile. I was disproportionally excited about this milestone - I mean, of course eventually you were going to get teeth, but I couldn't help it and I excitedly called Grandma to tell her that you were now the one-toothed genius.

My excitement quickly waned. Along with your tooth has come a shit storm. Literally, a storm of shit. You actually got kicked out of daycare because you were pooping too much. Who knew they had a "three diarrhea and you're out" rule? And not just for that day, but for 24 hours afterwards. Our day off from school went reasonably ok -- I pumped you full of rice in a vain attempt to bind you up. I brought you to the office because I had one meeting I couldn't miss, and Jillian watched you because she's the best assistant ever.

On the way home, we  stopped at the store to buy bananas, which I read is another good food for kids with a leaky pooper. I grabbed you from the car seat, situated you on my hip, and only got a step before I felt something soaking through my shirt and my nose was filled with one of the more offensive smells I've been treated to since motherhood. I stood in the parking lot paralyzed - do I put you back in the carseat and rush home? Do I go into the store and try to change you there? After careful deliberations, I put you back in the car seat, and you screamed the entire ride home. I immediately ran a bath, and tried to undress you but it wasn't going so well, so I gave up and just put you in the tub... fully clothed. Not surprisingly, you screamed some more. After two baths for you and a shower for me, life at the McAuley household returned to normal. We survived the shitstorm. 

In non-poop related updates, you continue to be more and more precocious by the day. Somewhat to my dismay, you have discovered the dog door, and you think it's h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s. Personally, I would have preferred you made that discovery when it's 70 degrees outside. Since we're among the 10% of people that still have stupid electric heat, I watch you bat at the door and just see dollars flying right out of it. You haven't yet tried to go through the door yet, so that's a plus, particularly given the giant flight of stairs just a few feet from it.

We also managed to get a fairly decent family photo right before Kenzie's party. This is good news for us, because when daycare asked for a family photo to put up, the best one we had was on Uncle Dan's boat. This wouldn't be so bad except there are very clearly two beers within arms reach. So even though this one is oddly yellow, it makes me smile whenever I see it. You're so handsome in your faux-tux-onsie. 

I love you my little monster. It's been the best 9 months of my life.

love, mom

The Super Sweet 16

Sixteen years ago, my niece was born. I was there, in the room with my sister and brother-in-law. It was, shall we call it, memorable, and it served to create a very special bond between Mackenzie and me. 

There's a lot of things I love about this kid - the fact that she is, in many ways, a minature version of me is high among them. But there are a lot of ways she's different.

Like me, the kid can't carry a tune to save her life... seriously, tone deaf is an understatement. Unlike me, she'll grab a microphone and sing at the top of her lungs any chance she can get, regardless of who is there to bear witness. I think she was born without the embarrassment gene.

Like me when I was her age, she spends the majority of her time wearing cleats or sneakers, chasing, passing or shooting a ball of some sorts. Unlike me, when not playing sports, she likes to rock a nice leopard print dress. 

Like me, she's a great student, but not always so quick on the uptake. For example, she really thought I gave her a box of pasta for her 16th birthday, and it was only after rather explicit prompting, she opened the box to find a little something to fund her trip to Italy this summer. 

In short, she's the better version of me at her age. She is fearless, entirely comfortable in her own skin, sweet, and kind. And funny. Man, is that kid funny. (Like me, sometimes not always intentionally). Happy birthday, Kenzie. I'm so glad Mason has you as a wondeful role model. 

 

Keeping the magic alive

I have a hacking cough. Yesterday I texted a picture of the piece of lung I spewed into the sink during a particularly rough coughing fit to my wife and her classmates who just finished their pulmonology class. Some would say that's disgusting; I'm pretty sure it made my wife love me more.

Not exactly a convincing argument

[Setting: Steph and I admiring Mason's latest outfit]

Me: If I was a boy, I'd be super stylish.

Steph: Me too!

Me: Um... I'm not so sure about that. 

Steph: I'd be, like, Lumberjack stylish.

 

For real?

This could be my favorite picture taken to date... Which is saying a lot.

Month 8 - Now with more cowbell

This was another month of milestones, but then again, what month isn't? 

Milestone 1: You wail. I mean really wail. Previously, you had a cry that was the functional equivalent of "um, excuse me, mom? ama? Could you please come get me? My diaper is wet and I'm suffering major shrinkage and I would really like to have some of that nice white stuff sprinkled on my boy bits."

Now your cries are the equivalent of "Hey bitches, don't you hear me? Run -- don't walk -- and free me from this espresso-stained prison you call a crib. While you're at it, bring me an 8 oz bottle made with the good stuff, not that generic crap you've been trying to feed me to save a few extra bucks, because it's been hours since I've eaten and I'm frickin' starving."

Luckily, as soon as we do get you, you return to your charming and lovely self, and we smother you with kisses and decide, yeah, we'll keep you.

Milestone 2: This milestone is someone related to Milestone 1. You were exercising your lungs one night while ama and I were cooking dinner. We heard the aforementioned wail, so ama went in to check on you. She opened the door and yelled to me to come quickly. You see, you weren't just wailing, you were standing in your crib and wailing. That's right - standing. On two feet. All by yourself (well, bracing yourself against your crib, but still, you pulled yourself up all by yourself). Ama was yelling at me to hurry because she thought for sure you'd teeter over at any second, but you didn't. You just stood there screaming as we looked at you in amazement, I'm sure thinking to youself, "Will you wipe those dumbass grins off your face and come get me?? It's just standing; it's not like I'm doing quantam physics over here." Since that night, you rarely sit. You're always pulling yourself up on something, no matter how precarious the object. It's resulted in a few bumps and bruises, but your balance is improving and social services hasn't come to visit us yet, so that's a plus. Tonight you took it to a whole new level and actually fell asleep standing up in your crib. We happened to catch it on the video monitor and went in to lay you down before you fell over. It was a close one.

Milestone 3: We have started swim lessons, and I know I'm biased, but you're definitely the best. You love the water and kick and play. When we're singing "Ring around the Rosie" and substituting "ashes, ashes we all fall down" with "splashes, splashes we all fall down" you're the only kid that gets fully dunked. The other moms and dads look at me in amazement that when I bring you out of the water, you're giggling and not screaming or gasping for air. That is, after they've called social services to report not only that you're covered in bruises, but that I'm actively trying to drown you. 

Milestone 4: You've officially been elected the Mayor of Daycare. Ok, that's not really at all true. Daycare doesn't have elections. But if they did, I'm sure you'd win. You're the only one in there that's really crawling around and when I drop you off, you scoot right over to a toy or another baby and look back over your shoulder at me, as if to say, "hey you, why are you still here? I'm about to get my play on with my peeps, don't you have to be at work?"

And not particularly apropos of anything, but because it's fall and I love posting pictures of you, you now have the best hat collection of any 8 month old I know. 

I love you mister. You're the best.

Love, 

mama

Brave New World

Steph: "I keep forgetting you posted these pictures of Mason..."

(pregnant pause, in which my face twists up in quizzical glance)

Steph: "... and by 'posted' I mean, 'put on the fridge.'"'

Yep, I went old fashioned and ordered PRINTS and affixed them to the refrigerator, with magnets, leveraging no digital assets whatsoever, and the only people who can see them are physical humans, in my house, that I probably (hopefully) have actually met in real life (no offense internet.)

Happy #7

Dear Mason,

You've reached the 7th month mark. When you turned 6 months, you blessed us by sleeping through the night. You have since taken that gift back. Don't worry, I don't hold it against you (too often).

You started daycare this month and within one week, you caught the plague and were sent home with 102 fever. It was really scary, although you were still a happy little guy, despite being a sweaty mess. Your disposition, even when ill, is something that evokes comments and admiration every time we take you out in public.  People have never met such a happy, laid back kid. 

Ama started school this month too. She's going to be a PA. You (and a bunch of her friends and family) helped me make a video to wish her good luck. (There were lots of other folks who sent videos too, but after I had already put it together - so she got to watch those separately).

Ama going back has been both a blessing and curse. It's a blessing because she's so happy and so commited and for the first time, really feels like she's doing what she was born to do. And we both like when Ama feels truly, genuinly happy. It's a curse because as part of the gig, she had to buy an odoscope, and she really likes chasing us around with it and sticking it in our ears. I did get a nice ear lavage out of it though. 

You've also started crawling this month. Legit. Point A to point B. Unless you get distracted... and you get distracted easily. You particularly like gnawing on shoes. A better mom would probably remove the filthy shoe from your mouth, but you work so hard to get there that is just feels mean to take it away. Maybe I have to rethink whether or not it was daycare that gave you the plague. 

We video chat with grammy and grampy and memere, and you love that. You get all smiley and goofy and drooly. Ok, the drooling might have something to do with the fact that you're clearly teething, but still, you really do like it. Maybe not *quite* as much as they do, but close. 

Besides Ama and me, Keela is your best buddy. You love to play with her tags, and she's been thrilled with the fact that you now sit in a "deluxe feeding center" (aka high chair) and drop cheerios onto the floor. She's always gentle with you, even when you pull on her face. Plus, she doubles as a kleenex. Since you've had the plague, you have a steady stream of snot that Keela thinks is the world's best snack, and she loves to lick your face. mmmm. Ama gets mad at me because I don't stop her right away. I can't help it though - it's just so funny.

Today is a big deal, not just because you've been around for 7 months. Today is the 10 year anniversary of 9/11, one of the saddest days most of us have ever lived through. Ten years ago, I had just gradutated college and had just moved back to Boston (Grampy said I wasn't allowed to live on Nantucket tending bar after he spent so much money sending me to Harvard. He probably had a point). That morning, I was painting the bedroom of my new apartment in Somerville. Benjamin Moore's "Butter". I talked to Auntie Kristen in the morning after the first plane hit. We thought it was an accident. I turned off the tv and went upstairs to paint. I had no idea what was really going on. Truth be told, even when I did finally learn what was going on, I didn't "get it". I think my life had been so truly blessed and sheltered from anything bad that I was literally incapable of understanding such tragedy. It took awhile before I really started to feel the weight of what happened. Incidentally, since you've been born, I feel the weight of everything x1000. I literally can't watch anything violent on tv without getting full of anxiety -- my chest physically tightens. I think it's part hormones, and part an uncontrollable urge to shield you from anything bad.

With all the changes - Ama in school, you in daycare, you mobile and obsessed with electrical outlets, things have been pretty hectic, but I gotta say, our family kicks ass. But don't say "ass". That's a bad word. Literate people would come up with a suitable alternative--something you might someday see on the SATs, but as previously referenced, you don't sleep through the night so I can't really be bothered right now to be that person. 

I love you buddy.

Famous among dozens

I'm quoted in the Boston Globe today, and it's only appropriate to share it via my blog which is republished to my Facebook and Twitter pages because the article is about social media advice for job seekers. Check it out: "Social Media Advice for Job-Seekers, from CEOs, HR-execs & Recruiters," (although I'm none of the above.