Back for the Holidays

…and we’re back, by popular demand.

The past few months have been this:


HH: Ariel’s eyes are BLUE!
Me: They are! What color are Mom’s eyes?
HH: Uuuuh…red!!
Me: Red?!??!  No…
HH: Oh…umm…pink?

I’ve also been spending an offensive amount of time in Target shopping for Desitin.

For these reasons, not only has putting a sentence together become a serious struggle, I have I felt as though I am lacking decent content (as opposed to before, when this forum only covered important, pressing issues).

But due to an aggressive campaign by this blog’s devoted followers (my sister) and their insistence that my content is NEVER boring, THAT ENDS TODAY!

So today we’ll be talking about…my most recent trip to Target.


Now that it’s officially hat weather (56 degrees at 4:45am), it’s time to talk about the holidays.

For the past 32 years a nutcracker named Mr. Teeth has adorned the hearth at my parent’s house during the holidays.  Back in Mr. Teeth’s day, he probably looked like every other nutcracker:


Today, Mr. Teeth has no feet, no hair, one eye, and if you touch him the wrong way his arms fall off.  We love him all the same.

So imagine my delight when yesterday at Target, while in search of frozen peas, I came across a huge display of nutcrackers.


(This is Target’s MO…you go looking for peas and somehow end up in the nutcracker aisle.  It’s incredibly effective.)

Nutcrackers of all different shapes and colors and species and genders and professions.  So I decided to let HH pick out her own Mr. Teeth.

In addition to a girl nutcracker wearing a “beautiful dress” that resembles Elsa (go figure) but has a lever that opens up a hole in her chest à la Alien as opposed to her mouth, guess which one she chose:


Mr. Pink Sparkle 2015 Nutcracker, complete with beard, staff, and soldier’s helmet. Breaking down gender norms, one Christmas decoration at a time.

This guy will have a home on our hearth for many years to come.

On Sleep


Last week a friend with a 4 month old made her status on FB: “So when do I get to sleep again?”  It took everything in my power not to comment: “Never.”

I remember being at work in Kentucky one day, in a fog, when HH was like 3 months old, and reading a blog post by Brad Feld titled: “Are You Getting Enough Sleep?”  Before reading the article, before even thinking, I yelled “NO!” at the computer and started to cry.

Lack of sleep is the worst.  I don’t handle it well.

HH is going through a phase (but let’s be serious, when are they not “going through a phase”) where she is not sleeping.  And yes, we have done cry it out (it works sometimes), but even if she puts herself back to sleep she’s up again within two or three hours.  By 4am she’s usually up yelling, inconsolable, and I am so, so tired I bring her into bed with me, so at the very least I can lay down while she throws herself around, inadvertently punching me in the face, and maybe snooze on and off until 5 or 5:30.

Also, Paul is working nights.  He gets home around 8am, sleeps, leaves again at 4pm.  I am more or less flying solo.


So very quickly out the window has gone: meditation, yoga, early morning work, and my ability to focus or handle any kind of stress.

I have started putting her down at nights, cleaning the house, and IMMEDIATELY going to bed to read/fall asleep by 8:30.  And I still feel like my head is full of cobwebs and cry when I can’t get the cereal bowls to stack up in the dish rack to dry (happened yesterday).

Paul, on the other hand, is getting about 5 hours of sleep a day and seems to be handling life just fine.  Because he has superhuman strengths.

Like everything, this is temporary.  Paul won’t be on nights next week, and this phase for HH will eventually, undoubtedly, morph into some other phase.  I know I just have to hang in there a little longer.  Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

On the bright side (literally), the sun is out!  It is 74 degrees!  And the pool is open!  Hellloooooo February in LA.

img_20140218_113739last february

20150122_172336this february.  no filter.

One of the perks of being in a daze like this is workouts, for me, can be mentally much easier.  I just do what I’m told and don’t think too hard about it (or anything else).  I don’t have to get in the zone, because I’m already zoned out.  It’s kind of great.

AND, weirdly enough, it doesn’t always have a huge impact on my ability to have a solid, sometimes even stellar, workout (though my 3 mile “run” yesterday might beg to differ.)

And today, because I am so energized and ready to rock after a good swim, Paul is getting up early to watch HH for an hour so I can get a workout in this afternoon.  Because what fun is life if you’re not about to faceplant while your toddler tears around the house unrolling any roll of toilet paper she can find.

IMG_20150205_105824old habits die hard

So for now I’m doing my best to keep the cereal bowl situation in perspective, strategizing on new pillow arrangements that prevent my child from rolling off the bed while simultaneously protecting me from getting pummeled by tiny, flailing fists, and embracing every opportunity to capitalize on on my inability to think.

Until the next phase kicks in.