Lounge Lizard

I know I promised pictures of the new place, and they are coming, just as soon as I have a moment to sort through them and find the good ones. :)

Meanwhile, I thought I'd share Miles' latest trick: lounging. I don't know why I find it so cute that he has bad posture, but there's something about the exasperated way he throws himself back until he is relaxed against whatever happens to be behind him. Whether it's a recliner:


Or just the back bar of the high chair at the Subway:


I think it's positively adorable. I love how he's becoming a little person. A person who gives hugs and kisses. A person who chatters at people on the phone. A person who lounges.

I fully expect to look back at this post in fifteen years and wonder exactly why I found this so adorable. By then, I will probably be incredibly exasperated by Miles' inability to sit up straight.

But for now, I will continue snapping pictures of him in all of his reclined glory. :)

Moving Day!

Today, we transfer all of our furniture (or as much as possible) into our new home! Tonight, we will be sleeping there for the first time!

If all goes well, I will spend this evening unpacking boxes and arranging things while Patrick is performing.

Look for updates and pictures of the new place in the next couple of days!

Mmm . . . Autumn

I love Fall. The season, not the thing I do because I am far too klutzy for a grown woman.

As much as I love the heat of summer, and I am dreading the cold of winter, there is just so much about autumn to adore. Like Chai tea on a cool evening.


And little arms reaching through the sleeves of a light jacket when it's time to go to work. And tiny feet stomping dry leaves.


And the relief of being done with Festival for the year. The only thing that remains is to wrap everything up and put it to bed for the winter. I feel a hundred pounds lighter.

Or I did, until I remembered that we're moving tomorrow. I don't know how I forgot, since this is what our apartment currently looks like:


And though I abhor the process of moving, I rather adore the feeling of stepping into a brand new place, and unpacking each precious item, and finding it's place in our new home. I love the feeling of renewal, and the inevitable shedding of things that have been kept for far too long. The idea of simplifying, downsizing a tad. Of the opportunity to find order and organization from the chaos.

And I look forward to crisp autumn mornings, looking out over our new, large (and shared, unfortunately) back yard. To cool autumn evenings cuddled around our fireplace sipping hot cocoa and chai. To cuddling under blankets on the couch and reading while Miles naps upstairs in his very own room, lovingly decorated just for him. To filling our new home to the brim with love and laughter, family and friends, and memories.

And next autumn, when the leaves begin to turn again, perhaps we will be preparing to move into our own house.

The Right Words, at the Right Time . . .

So, I know, I know. I keep promising more blogging. And I'd really love to do some.

Unfortunately, life disagrees right now. Patrick is now in rehearsals for Phantom's Feaste (where he plays the hero, Van Helsing - yay!!) three nights a week. Fridays are reserved for prepping for Festival, Mondays for the recovery. And on the weekends, I walk around in the mud in a stupidly-expensive court gown, talking in an English accent to every three year old who thinks I'm a princess.

Really, life could be worse. It just couldn't be much busier. And I'm tired. So incredibly tired. We move next week, and I have officially packed 6 boxes of books. And that's it.* I have projects that have been pending for weeks and months, friends who would like to see me some day, family who would probably appreciate a phone call, and a blog that I see on the rare occasion that Miles actually sleeps long enough for me to eat and type out a post.

And all of this makes me reflective. I have now spent an entire year trying to figure out how to juggle everything. And I still feel like I'm dropping things left and right. Work? It gets done, in a half-assed sort of way. Housekeeping? Pretty much non-existent, until it gets too disgustingly horrible and I stay up until midnight on a Friday scrubbing every surface in sight. Projects, writing, all of that me-time? Yeah, right. The only thing that gets constant attention is Miles. I pride myself on the fact that I will drop everything to play with him (or whatever) when he needs it. Even so, there are days** that I try everything, only to have him scream at me until I sit him in his crib to scream while I turn up the radio and pick up cheerios. And while I know that sometimes, there's just no other way, I still feel like a Bad Mommy when it happens.

And the fact that nothing else is getting done doesn't help.

So, I was feeling pretty depressive about being a Bad Mommy. And a Bad Assistant. And a Bad Wife. And a Bad Housekeeper. And pretty much, just a Failure.

And then, yesterday, at Festival, Verna (honestly, one of the sweetest women I've ever been lucky enough to know) said something that helped more than she will ever know:

"Tabitha, I don't know how you do it all - you take care of Jim, and the Festival, and Miles, and you balance it all. And you make it look easy."

I know, on a very real level, that it's not all perfectly balanced. And I know that it's not easy. But Verna's compliment tells me that perhaps I am, once again, expecting more out of myself than is reasonable. And I'm still managing.

I just need to find a way to be a bit more reasonable, and a bit less crazy-busy. I'm not sure exactly what that means, or really if there's any point in typing this out at all, but just knowing that others do not see me as a Failure helps my heart rest a little easier.

If you made it this far, thank you for listening to me ramble. I promise the next post will be more about Miles, and less about me. :)

Whenever I find the time to write again . . .

*And to be entirely honest, I did that much this morning. . .

**Like today.

Dear Miles

Dear Miles,

One year old.

Even as I type it, I can hardly believe it. It has been an entire year since you were born. A year that seemed very long at times, and now seems to have flown by in the blink of an eye. A year of frustration and exhaustion. A year of joy and exultation. A year of milestones, smiles, tears, and every emotion in between.

The biggest thing that strikes me as I look back over this year is the miracle of you. Two years ago, you were nothing but a dream. You did not exist. Then, in February, when I found out about you, you were microscopically small. By September, you were 8 lbs. 0.6 oz - in nine months, you had grown from a few cells into a complete human. And now, a year later, you have transformed once more from a helpless newborn into a toddler with a personality, wants and ideas that are all your own. You are a miracle, never forget that. All babies are miracles. It is so easy to forget that, when babies surround us all the time, but you are a miracle. A miracle who means more to me than I would have ever known possible.

You walk. You chatter. You eat regular, grown-up food. You dance any time you hear a beat you like. You spin a mini-staff, just like the big gypsies. You growl in the back of your throat when you're frustrated, just like me. You get a mischievous grin every time you are planning something, just like your Daddy. You give hugs and kisses. You scream when we tell you "No". You go to bed all on your own, now. You trip and fall, and then laugh. You use sign language to ask for everything from "milk" to "music" to "up". You climb on the playground equipment, but you're scared to go down the slide unless I hold you in my lap. You make faces at the camera. You greet everyone with an enthusiastic "Hi!" and a wave. You lounge on the couch after a long day. You still hate waking up. You can get dirty faster than anyone I've ever met. Your hair never stays brushed for more than a few seconds. You love being outdoors. You like to roll around on the bed, crazily crashing over into the pillows. You 'talk' to me in the mornings, and I imagine you must be telling me of your dreams. You love tickles. And raspberries on your cheek. And whispers in your ear. And pasta, of all shapes, and with all types of sauce. You try to feed people, often by shoving a small bit of food into their mouths with your slobber-covered hands. You like to put your head on the floor and your butt in the air and giggle. Your best friend is the little boy in the mirror. One of your favorite toys is a baby doll, and you can already point out his eyes. You try to repeat everything I say. You climb everything. And once you're asleep, you could sleep through a brass band.

In short, you are beginning to show us what a wonderful little individual you are becoming. And I am loving it. :)

I love you, my Birthday Boy!

Love,
Mommy

One Year Ago

One year ago, at this very moment, Patrick and I were on our way to the hospital.

We had been the night before - had been there all night. Labor had started, but wouldn't progress. So, they sent me home. We slept, had dinner, then came home to watch television.

It wasn't long before my contractions were getting stronger and closer together. But, I didn't want to rush in again. I walked. I took a bath. I used every trick they had given me. And the contractions kept coming, stronger and stronger, closer and closer together.

So, once again, we threw everything in the car, and headed to the hospital.

One year ago, at this very moment, I was trying to breathe through a contraction as Patrick talked to the nurse at the desk, explaining that we were back, and that we were pretty sure this was the real thing.

We were taken to a room. I was hooked up to a monitor for contractions. They did the prep work for the epidural - which I was needing more and more by the moment. After an eternity (probably only a few minutes, but I don't deal well with pain), the anesthesiologist came in, explained the process, and did the procedure.

Within a couple of moments, the pain was gone. Along with all feeling below my waist. It was a little scary, but at that moment, I was more scared of giving birth than being paralyzed.

One year ago, at a little after 11:00pm, the decision was made to break my water. Phone calls were made, and family and friends began the trek back to the hospital after the false alarm of the night before. My mother had only been home for a short while when we called.

The doctor came in, explained that they were going to break the water, because they couldn't get a strong read on the baby's heartbeat. Nothing to worry about, she explained calmly, as I quietly panicked. They would simply put a probe on the baby's head to monitor his heartbeat. More a precaution than anything else. Once that was done, I'd probably be allowed to sleep for a few hours until the contractions got closer together and I dilated more. A few more minutes, she promised, and you can sleep. Sleep at that moment sounded marvelous. With the pain gone, I was exhausted.

One year ago, at a few minutes before midnight, the nurse came in and broke my water, then went to place the probe. I watched as a look of shock came over her face.

"Umm. That doesn't feel like a head . . ." she said, looking to the nurse by my bedside, monitoring the machines. She rushed out of the room.

Within moments, the doctor was back (when did she leave? I don't remember, honestly). She was apologizing, and for a long moment, I couldn't understand why. And then, she said the magic words:

"He's breech. We're going to prep you for a c-section."

It's my understanding that this phrase usually strikes fear and anger into the heart of an expectant mother. All I felt was a warm rush of relief. No long hours of labor. No chance for the horror stories of the delivery room. And best of all, my baby was coming soon. Very soon. I was finally going to see the face of the child I had carried so long.

Suddenly, everything began happening very quickly. Medical preparations of all varieties were being made to me and around me, while Patrick held my hand, and we repeated over and over that our son would be here soon. Before I knew it, the nurses had leaned my bed all the way back, and had put a cap over my hair. Patrick was rushed to one side to cover himself in the ridiculous-looking clean-room wear.

For a moment, I was alone with the medical team, being transferred onto a stainless steel table, scared out of my mind as my arms were spread to either side. Ridiculously, I couldn't stop thinking that I felt like a fish laid out for the cook. Then, Patrick was back by my side, whispering in my ear, stroking my face, and my fear was gone. The anesthesiologist was hovering, explaining the procedures to numb me all the way to my armpits. I was in a fog, though, and for all I knew, he could have been doing a puppet show. All that existed in my world was me and Patrick, and the knowledge that soon, our son would appear from behind that blue sheet that was the limit of my vision.

I felt the pressure of the doctor's scalpel, but no pain. I felt the pressure of several hands pushing and prodding at my belly. And then, I felt a release of the pressure, and I knew he was here.

Seconds and eons later, I caught my first sight of my son, red, and shivery, and screeching. Not a full-fledged scream, at first, just a pathetic and angry growling sound in the back of his throat. And then, he found his lungs, and wailed. And wailed.

One year ago, at 1:34 am - just three and a half hours from the time I write this - my life changed forever. Miles Alexander entered the world and stole my heart. From the moment I saw him over that blue sheet, I knew that nothing would ever top this. Nothing will ever be better than the moment I first saw my son. And that I would never love another human being in exactly the same way.

Happy Birthday, Stink.

Weekend Recap

It's been quite a weekend.

Early Saturday, we met with a couple dozen gypsies at the Festival site, and rehearsed until our toes fell off. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but seriously? It was a good, tough rehearsal. And I got tons of awesome pictures of the familia. Which I will someday load onto my computer, so I can share them. Because pictures are no good if no one can see them. . .

Anyhow, we took a brief break from the Romani life and went to lunch with Paul and Jeremiah and Bethany and Shelby and Joseph. There are a few too many "ands" in that last sentence, but I'm tired, so I'll let it go. Lunch was good. Much chatting ensued. I'm sure we ate, too, but that was secondary.

Then, it was time for a brief break before we Gypsied up again and headed out to Revel! It was a good night, and Miles was again the hit of the party. Unfortunately, I had not been cautious enough that morning, and ended up with a dehydration headache that sent us home early.

And then, we got up this morning, did some shopping, and made Yule gifts. All. Day. Long. The end.

I know this is a short post, and the writing looks like something done by a first-year business student with a hangover, but I am tired. And hey, at least I wrote something today. :)

Have a great week!