Archives for September 2011

Training wheels

September 26, 2011 by heidi 7 Comments

I’m afraid I’m not ready for this weekend’s triathlon. I’m actually crazy worried about the thing.

I’m nowhere near as prepared for this race as I was for the last two. And no, it’s not because I pushed a baby out this summer. It’s because the baby I pushed out makes it harder to train.

Understandably, he likes to play. To be danced around. To be read to. To be kissed and hugged and bounced. He likes when I comb his five hairs with a fine-toothed comb. It soothes him. He likes when I rub lotion on his forehead. This too soothes him. He likes to be ferried around the house in his umbrella stroller, which Joe and I lovingly refer to as The Hank Patrol because when he’s in it it’s (usually) because he’s morphed into his wicked baby alter-ego, Hank.

My child isn’t big on napping and when he’s awake he requires entertaining. I would have been wiser to train for a circus instead of a triathlon.

Oh, and I’m back to work, so there’s always that excuse.

Two weekends ago, I swam 50 laps at the public pool. I biked there and back. When I got home, I ran three miles in the blistering heat. I didn’t break any personal records, but at least I was out there.

Thank god for muscle memory and jog strollers. I can’t wait for the temperature to drop below 80. The heat and humidity are killing me. (Oh, yeah. There’s that excuse too.)

And then of course there’s breastfeeding. Breastfeeding. Breastfeeding. Some people run with weights. I run with them strapped to my chest. Breastfeeding has taken running with milk jugs to a whole new level.

I’d like to tell you triathlon training is the reason I lost all my pregnancy weight (and then some), but I’d be robbing my mammary glands of the tremendous credit they deserve.

Breastfeeding burns a whopping 600 calories a day.

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HELLO.

September 22, 2011 by heidi 6 Comments

Tonight Henry said HELLO.

Joe wasn’t here so of course he doesn’t believe me.

It was HELLO. Crystal clear.

I realize the baby has no idea what HELLO means, so I loosely use the word “spoke.”

Nonetheless it was said.

HELLO.

I heard it. Whether or not Joe calls it a coo is irrelevant to me.

Henry will be answering the phone in my office from this day forth. I could use a receptionist.

Domestic Joe

September 19, 2011 by heidi 3 Comments

I love the way Joe folds my laundry.

When I met my husband four years ago his friends and co-workers called him PJ. It stood for Party Joe.

Within six months of our dating they had switched to calling him DJ for Domestic Joe. Apparently it didn’t take me long to tie him down.

I’m sorry darling. I never set out to housebreak you.

Besides. The way you fold laundry makes me think you were ripe for the pickin’.

—

PS. I promise to write more soon. I returned to the paper two weeks ago. The baby/work balancing act is something I’m sure many of you are familiar with.

Happy anniversary love.

September 12, 2011 by heidi 11 Comments

Tonight my husband turned to me and said, “I can’t believe we have a baby.”

(I was balancing a wobbly, but standing Henry on my legs.)

“I know,” I said. “It’s weird huh?”

“Yeah I had no idea when we spoke for the first time over a ~~Pac-Man~~ Bubble Bobble game that I would have a baby with you.”

“If I told you we’d be making a baby the night we met, you’d have run for the hills.”

“You’d have run too.”

“Yup,” I said.

“That was the beauty of the situation,” Joe said. “Neither one of us was trying too hard.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t out combing bars looking for my babydaddy.”

“And I wasn’t like Cute Girl. Must get her number.”

“No, I got your number.”

“And I gave you a baby.”

This day two years ago today I married Joe. Happy anniversary darling. I love you like a computer nerd loves ~~Pac-Man~~ Bubble Bobble, which means more than you will ever know.

Five points (that don’t concern babies)

September 3, 2011 by heidi 3 Comments

♥ I watched my first episode of the Rachael Ray Show this week. This led to my purchasing the September issue of her magazine, which touts “1 Month of Make-Ahead Meals.” I’d really like to get a grip on this cooking thing and if Rachael Ray can’t help me, no one can.

♥ My sister PK wants to sign me up for What Not to Wear because of my love affair with quirky graphic tees.

**♥ I applied for a front yard makeover by the DIY network because our front yard is the fugliest on the block, barring the vacant house on the corner.**

♥ I should’ve known my favorite cozy down-home ice cream shop is run by a former Western New Yorker.

♥ My next triathlon is one month away and I’ve slacked in the running department. I wonder if those freaky Five Fingers running shoes will motivate me?

All hail Josephine the Plumber

September 2, 2011 by heidi 10 Comments

….

I often give my father credit for tackling most of our home repairs. Whenever he’s down from Buffalo, Joe and I shamelessly hand him a piece of paper listing all the broken crap in our house and within two days he’s crossed off every item.

We’re embarrassingly incompetent when it comes to plumbing, electrical wiring, woodworking and anything beyond changing a light bulb and replacing a dirty A/C filter. Since I grew up in a family that prides itself on self-reliance, my ineptitude is a secret source of shame.

In my family, if it’s broke, we fix it — even if what we’re fixing should really be thrown away.

Take for example my Oma, who uses a plastic laundry basket that my Opa repaired with a steel bracket 20 years ago. Even my sister Heelya is handy. I don’t get it. We both grew up watching the same ridiculous episodes of Home Improvement. Yet it seems the only surface on which I can build something is paper.

My mother is the most resourceful of them all.

She’s a female MacGyver. Give her a flathead screw driver, a stainless steel ice cream scoop and a coat hanger and she’ll solve most of your household problems.

She’s fixed the toilet in the baby cave back when it was still a man cave. She’s unclogged the bathroom sink, installed cordless window shades and fixed the dumpster in our alley. She’s made curtain rods out of discarded bamboo stalks, used an old candle to remove a stubborn table leaf and twice mended a shattered pig figurine with super glue.

This week during her stay in Florida, she fixed the plumbing under our kitchen sink. I served as her hapless assistant. It took an entire afternoon, during which time Mothership referred to herself as “Josephine the Plumber.”