A Surprise From MIL

I haven't written about MIL as a main topic in a while. I'm sure some of you have been totally bummed by my lack of bitching about her. For me, it was nice to be on paid vacation for 2 months (yesssss!) and even nicer not to have that troll shuffling around my house while I'm trying to relax and enjoy my time with my baby. I did have to endure a few things with her and my FIL, like being forced to go to their ramshackle home for dinner, or attempt to graciously accept the ugliest baby shoes on the planet. Yes, my vacation was, for the most part, blissful in large part because I did not have to see my MIL every single day. Or her aftermath in my home.

Today is only the second day I have been back at work since the winter break. I didn't even have students the past 2 days. Just teacher planning and lots of meetings arguing about the stupid changes they made to the curriculum and our daily schedules. Before I'd gone back to work, Jeremy had translated some things I wanted his mother to remember when watching Raelynn. She had smiled and nodded and told him she would be sure to take care of everything. I don't expect her to scrub my house from top to bottom. But what I do expect is that she'll pick up after herself. Sure, Raelynn is more active now but I've never been so busy with her that I couldn't take a few seconds to dispose of wet wipes and tissues I'd used to wipe off toys where they belong, in the garbage can. Yup. That's just one of the things I found today when I came home from school.

I'd noted the random tissues scattered on the dining table and near the TV as I came in. Still, I mustered up a pleasant face and greeted MIL. I then beam at my daughter who is now clambering to get out of the playpen to see me. I'll never know if she was just so excited to see me or if she wanted to get away from Grandma. Perhaps a little of both. Anyway, I hurry to hang up my coat and put up my things so I can wash my hands and rescue my darling daughter. That's when I discover our bathroom sink is clogged. I must tell you that I was actually the last one to leave this morning. Jeremy and MIL had to take Raelynn to get her final vaccination for the year. It was rather strange being all alone in the house. Without the baby. Surreal! When I'd used the sink before I left for work, the water went down the drain just fine. My husband went off to work right from taking Raelynn. He didn't come back upstairs. The culprit? MIL of course! She must have put tea leaves down there again. Moron.

While drying my hands on the towel, I then noticed that some bibs she'd placed atop the washing machine weren't there anymore. Oh. Noooooooo. No. She couldn't have. After I had Jeremy specifically tell her. I ran and looked about our home. They weren't hanging to dry inside. Or outside. She hand-washed them, which I asked her not to do because she doesn't use the laundry detergent (she uses the hand soap instead, which, for a while, she had brought this weird yellow soap that smells like pee and I would try to hide it from her but she'd keep finding it so I threw it away and she's never tried to bring it back since) and guess where she fucking put them? It took me a while to locate them too. She put them back in Raelynn's room on the shelf ON TOP OF 10 DRY BIBS! Which meant that now, these other 10 bibs were wet and smelled funny from sitting there wet like that all day while I was at work. Fucking MORON!

But the coup de gras was in the kitchen. Ah, just like old times, no? Come and see!

First up, we have this ominous sign of kitchen nightmares to come with a bowl and a plate on top. To the untrained eye, you'd think someone was just a lazy bastard when it came to putting the dishes on the drying rack you see there. Oh but no. This is such an MIL thing to do. She will cook something and then, to "store" it, she will put it in a bowl and top it with a plate. I should tell you we have plastic containers and she KNOWS it. She also knows where they are in our kitchen. But yet, I find this.

So, what is in the bowl? Nothing I want to eat. How about you?

Some crappy noodle dish. It doesn't look very appetizing either. It's got egg in it too. Oh yes, let's eat something that contains egg after it's been sitting out for hours. It is cold outside and our kitchen, the only room with no radiator, is the coldest in the house. But it is not THAT cold in there. Who wants diarrhea? Oh, me! Me! ME! NOT!

This is the window sill of our kitchen. This is our window sill with food sitting out on top of it. It might help to know that to the right of this, not shown in this photo, there is a very large double-door refrigerator with plenty of space in it. So, why the fuck is this shit sitting out? And out here no less? In the small space between this window sill and the refrigerator, we have a few things tucked away, like an extra baby bath tub (also not pictured in this photo). Even without stuff there, it's not a place you want to squeeze into. But for whatever reason, MIL, who is not exactly fat but certainly not thin either, is obviously spending her time lurking about in this crevice, stashing Chinese meat patties and actually using one of our storage containers to save some likely barfy-tasting creation she's made in my absence. The irony of her actually using one of our many plastic containers on this shit and not the noodle mess in the bowl is not lost on me either, incidentally.

In this photo, you can see what I mean regarding the placement of the food on the ledge right next to a massive refrigerator. I seriously have to wonder what goes through this woman's head. Tumbleweeds? Dust? Two monkeys picking fleas off each other? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER?!? Why is this such a difficult concept for her to grasp? I know, I know. The poor woman had no choice about her education. I do feel for her. But she has 2 ears. She can listen, right? My husband speaks to her in Chinese. She says she understands him. But does she? The children I teach listen better than she does. I guarantee I wouldn't have to tell them 100 times to put food in a refrigerator. Hmmm...maybe the old bat just needs to repeat kindergarten. As long as it's not in MY class.

Mombie The Zombie

Being a huge Scooby Doo fan, I just HAD TO use this picture I found on Picasa Web Albums when I did a search for "zombie."

I adore just about everything there is to adore about being a mommy. Sure, it's not for everyone, but for me, it is an absolute blessing. Except for one thing. The extensive lack of sleep. For those not in the know, when you first have a baby, Mommy and Daddy don't really sleep. Well, Daddy gets more sleep than Mommy. She gives him the "You MOTHERFUCKER" side-eye while he snores and drools into the pillows as she feeds a cute but hungry baby for the better part of an hour every 2 hours. But at some point, it evens out. Your baby begins to sleep for longer stretches and doesn't take as long to eat. I think a balance comes about somehow with your body adjusting to less sleep meeting in the middle with a baby that will permit you longer spurts of sleep.

I've mentioned before that Raelynn is quite a good baby. I'm not just saying that because she's mine. She is mostly easy to deal with. But she does go through spells of not sleeping properly. It's usually a day or two at a time when it happens. And when it does, I become my sleep deprived alter-ego, Mombie the Zombie.

Mombie the Zombie moans at the first signs of light peeping through the curtains, knowing then that there is no chance whatsoever to go back to sleep. This is of course always the time when, if Raelynn has been fussy all night, she will just fall right asleep. But for me, this is the time I have to get up for work. Vacation was lovely for Mombie the Zombie because she COULD actually go back to sleep or at least squeeze in a small nap later. When the semester is in full swing, I am operating in peak zombie mode.

Mombie the Zombie relies heavily on coffee and lots of it to jolt herself into a state of normalcy. It helps her to function, for the most part, like a respectable human being. But inside, she feels anything but human. In her mind, where witty banter and important facts are stored, there now is a resounding whooshing sound like wind passing between her ears, making it impossible for her to say anything more than "um, hmmm, uh, mmmm."

When I'm in my regular non-zombified state, I have a good memory. Ok, so I don't remember EVERYTHING from my crazy past for those of you with those "Hey, remember when we all went to that house party and the guy you liked was hitting on some ugly girl so you took his shoes and put them in the freezer" stories.* I'm talking about where I put my keys, the name of the person I just shook hands with, things I have to buy at the store and those sorts of things. In zombie-mode, I suddenly look point blank at someone I know and say, "um, hmmm, uh, mmmm." And I put my keys in absurd places and have to spend all day looking for them. Even in college when I'd stumble back to my dorm room in what could only politely be called a drunken stupor, I'd ALWAYS manage to find my keys in my pigsty of a room the next morning when I had no recollection as to HOW I'd gotten back to my room.

Yes, Mombie the Zombie does some strange things but just as you get used to her being around, a certain cute but grouchy (and likely teething) baby goes to sleep. And Mombie the Zombie goes back into the netherworld until Jennifer summons her presence again when sleep eludes her yet again.

*Disclaimer: I may or may not have shoved someone's sandals into the freezer once upon a time. I plead the fifth. Hey, don't judge me, monkey.

You Can't Stop It

I've chosen this photo of Raelynn for this post because, well 1) she's just too adorable and 2) she is a force to be reckoned with as she crawls across our bed at break-neck speed. This photo was taken as she lunged toward the camera, likely in an attempt to grab it and then try to eat it. Oh Raelynn!

"You can't stop it."

That's what Jeremy said to me earlier as I sobbed into his shoulder. And suddenly I saw the light through my tears. See, all week, I have been pushing the inevitable out of my mind. Just trying to focus on spending the last of my vacation with my daughter. And trying not to think of my bumbling MIL coming on Tuesday morning to care for Raelynn while I'm out. Especially that.

Jeremy's right though. I can't stop time. I wouldn't want to either. I'd miss so much if I did. Even difficult moments like this one. Which has been even more trying since Raelynn seems to be teething right now. As great as it has been to be home with her, it's time to go back to school. The sooner I do, the sooner I'll be on summer vacation. Sure, I absolutely despise summer here since no one turns on the air conditioning (and if they do, they put it on like 26 degrees Celcius so it's still hot as all hell indoors) but Raelynn will be big enough to take to the beach. She can wear her adorable little swim suit that my folks got her. Plus, she can play with her beach toys. Which we actually played with in her playpen the other day. I needed something new to distract her. We'd been playing for a while. I'd read to her (3 books in a row) and the instant I try to leave the room to - heaven forbid - use the bathroom, she totally has a spaz. So, I tossed the bucket o'beach toys on in there with her and watched with glee as she babbled to herself while banging the plastic shovel against the bucket.

Even before summer hits, we've got Raelynn's first birthday. I still can't even believe I had a baby. Me. ME! That crazy girl that once was has channeled her inner crazy into positive avenues. And now I'm a mom. Amazing. It's hard to believe that she's almost one too. It really has all gone by so fast. I remember the day she was born, holding her for the first time, then wearily reaching into the little crib they'd wheeled up next to my hospital bed and her just grabbing my finger and holding it while staring at me. And now that tiny little person has grown quite big, loves to stand up, pulls our hair, squeals with delight, has the best laugh and does about a zillion other things that have us solidly smitten with her.

True, I can't stop it. Any of it. I can only roll with it. And look on the bright side of it. What, you might ask, is the bright side of leaving your child with a dusty old woman who you can't at all stand? Oh, just that MIL will likely be driven crazy trying to keep up with her. Which, on the brightest side of all, is why we're looking for other options so we don't have to leave her with the troll anymore. Roll baby, roll!

Back To Life, Back To Reality

Sooner or later, I knew it would happen. I knew my splendid 2 months of vacation would have to come to an end. Teacher orientation begins next week and thus, my days of leisure will become a distant memory.

I've had such a wonderful time while on winter break. We went to Beijing. My brother and his girlfriend came to visit and were accosted by costumed castaways. We went shopping. We spent time with friends. I read a few books, which is a big deal since I only get to read a few pages at night before bed (if I'm lucky). But most important of all, I got to spend all my time with Raelynn.

I am the luckiest person in the world to get to see this face every day. 

I must tell you that I have savored every second with my precious daughter. Not having to rush off to work each day was priceless. I could stay and play with her. I'd read to her and play with her in her playpen. One of my favorite things is when she falls asleep eating and I can just snuggle up next to her for a nap. I miss naps. But naps with my baby are something I cherish all the more. I can't take a nap at school. Well, my friend Dan does and how he sleeps over the shrieks of kindergarteners is beyond me. But I personally can't fall asleep there. When I'm not in the middle of class, I aim to be as busy as I can so I don't cry about being apart from Raelynn.

I still have one week left and I'm trying not to be pessimistic about it. After all, teaching IS good for me. I do need to get out of the house on my own because I'm not JenniferandRaelynn. I'm Jennifer. And she's Raelynn. The money is good too. We need it. Plus, if I sit and wallow in how sad I feel about going back to work, I will miss out on this last week of vacation. And I don't want to do that. All I have to do is hold on until summer. We get a break then too. I'll just have to push thoughts of that troll leaving her post under the bridge to come watch my daughter and teach her absolutely nothing while making a pigsty out of my home out of my head and look to the future. The bigger picture.

I know I shouldn't get so maudlin over such things. A decade ago, I worked for an evil empire of an ad agency. It was a good experience but I'll be damned if they ever let me cash in my vacation days ever. I got to take some but not even close to all I'd earned. And they refused to compensate me on them too. It was the worst catch 22 ever. Because they "needed" me, I was lucky if I got to escape that inferno for 2 weeks. Some people I know are still slaving away there (sorry guys) and others have moved on like me. But NO ONE from either category can claim to have the kind of vacation time (PAID!) that I get to have now. The price? Enduring some whiny kindergarteners for a few hours a day. That's a relatively small price to pay if you ask me.

Now stuck in my head is that 90s song from Soul II Soul, "Back to Life." Remember that? Because if you're going back to work after a long vacation and your angel of a baby will likely make the following faces...

(Personally, I think she's crying because her daddy is wearing a Florida Gators t-shirt but that's just my opinion.)

...then you should at least have a cool soundtrack. Hang in there, Raelynn. Mommy's planning you a special 1st birthday party and before you know it, I'll be on vacation again. Back to life, back to reality I go.

And My Husband's New Name Is...

Your first clue is this song:
At home, drawin' pictures 
Of mountain tops
With him on top
Lemon yellow sun
Arms raised in a V
Dead lay in pools of maroon below.

If you know which song this is, then you know what the-husband-formerly-known-as-Lane has decided to choose as his new English name. And if you lived in a hole somewhere and have no fucking clue whatsoever, you have no idea who sang the song I'm referring to or what the title to it is for that matter. Plus, you are likely also unaware that my husband recently declared he didn't want to be called "Lane" anymore.

We received quite a few suggestions. Thank you to everyone for your emails and comments. We had some rather amusing ones and my friend Kim Kluge from college and I discussed the possibility of "Foot" being used, which would actually have been fitting since my husband did play soccer back in college. He'd chosen not to go pro despite his capabilities and opted to go to graduate school for his masters degree.

So for the dense people out there who are still scratching their heads as to what name he chose, it is without further ado that I present to you...

Jeremy!

I kind of like it, though to be honest, I keep accidentally calling him "Lane" now. I knew I should have never even indulged him an English name. I should have just stuck to calling him Xiaolong or my other endearing names for him. He chose it himself too and he's quite proud of this. At least he can pronounce it correctly. I would have been mortified if he chose "Dade." Oh well. Too late to change it now. That is, unless he suddenly sits up in bed one day in the future and tells me he really wants to change his English name again.

Changing Lanes

The other night, as my husband and I were reading in bed, he turns to me and says suddenly, "I don't want to be Lane anymore."
"Oh, no?" I ask. "What English name would you rather have then?"
"Aileen."

God, how I love this man. I explained to him that Aileen was a woman's name, although now as I type this I can't help but wonder if he was trying to pronounce "Alan." Anyway, he's now on the hunt for a new English name. So no more Lane. I asked him why he didn't want to be Lane anymore. After all, he had decided to use that name in the first place.

"It sounds too much like this," he says while we're out to lunch and gestures at some lamb chops. "Lamb. It's just 'Lane' and that's it. One sound. It makes me think of a 'pabo.'" I think I've mentioned countless times in this blog that 'pabo' is Korean for 'stupid.' We're always using this word in our daily conversations, no matter which language we're speaking in. Most of what we say is randomly peppered with pabos.

Anyway, it's his choice if he prefers to change it of course. I liked Lane. I had gotten used to calling him that. But if he'll be happier with a different name, then I must help him. We looked up a few websites that had baby names. He'd read down the list.
"Dade," he muses, and I giggle. For one, he's pronounced it like "Dad" and for another, it is the county I am from back in America.
"Um, no. Let's try something else," I say kindly, "You said you didn't want one syllable anymore anyway, right?"

And on and on we look. From Andrew to Dalget and beyond. I think he might choose a name that begins with "J" so we can match. How cute is that? I'd love it. So, what will the husband formerly known as Lane choose to be called? Well, we will just have to wait and see. Of course, we might consider any suggestions from my readers who leave comments (here or on Facebook), or even via email.

Baby Fashion Victim

Raelynn is usually a very good baby. We're very lucky. But even the best babies can be naughty at times. Take last night for example. She was great at the start of the night. Got her to bed easily in her own room. Even when she woke up to eat, no big deal. Somewhere around 3am though, Raelynn decided she wanted to play, despite being visibly sleepy. I tried EVERYTHING in my bag of tricks. I tried rocking her to sleep in her room. I tried patting her while she was in her crib. Singing her songs. Begging her to go to sleep. Nothing. I moved her to our room along with her chair so I could at least rock her from the comforts of bed. This was even worse. I then moved her into bed with us but all she wanted to do was kick us and crawl all over us. Oh, and stand on our heads while she groped at our headboard, which she finds strangely fascinating.

In any event, I didn't sleep well AT ALL last night. Even with my husband's attempts at trying to get Raelynn to sleep. So it was really very cool of him to, at a reasonable time of morning, take her away from headbutting me in the center of my back where I am experiencing shooting pains thanks to pulling it when I'd picked her up in the middle of the night, and put her in her playpen so I could rest a little longer.

During this time, he thought he'd be even more helpful by also dressing her. Would you like to see what Lane put our daughter in?

Dear Lord! What kind of fucking outfit IS this anyway? It looks like something my MIL would have put on herself, let alone how she would dress Raelynn if she had the chance. Incidentally, I love the face she's making here, don't you? She just KNOWS this ensemble is so poorly put together. Let's break it down, shall we? Okay, even though it is quite warm inside our house with the radiators going, Lane freaks out if Raelynn doesn't have long sleeves on. So I get the little hoodie. She should wear this piece as much as possible because she's starting to outgrow it. It goes with most things anyway. But this coupled with the shirt AND the pants! Ack! NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The shirt actually has a matching pair of pants. He KNOWS this because he picked that outfit to buy her when we were in Korea last summer. I wasn't keen on it but I'd shot down 100 other things he wanted to buy her and I felt this one was the least ghastly. Together with the matching pants, it's really cute. But he put it on with these pink pants. I don't know if you can see it, but these pink pants happen to have a poop stain on them. Someone (MIL or quite possibly my own husband) didn't rinse and soak them fast enough when it had happened and the stain set. Because it is so blisteringly cold outside, I reserve these pants now only for going underneath cute, non-poopstained pants when we leave the house. He knows this too. For the final touch of fugly, he has tucked the shirt into the pants. Poor Raelynn! But don't worry...Mommy's first order of business upon rubbing her eyes and seeing a badly dressed sulking baby being placed next to her was to go change said baby into something much more fashionable.