wherever you are, you're still driving my car

drinking: mexican zaragoza coffee
listening: madeleine peyroux's half the perfect world
reading: fern and flora, burnside writers collective, ohdeedoh
planning: organize the sun/play room's shelves; return clothes and dishes to all the friends who fed and clothed me during my pregnancy; wash some clothes so we don't have to wear trash bags this weekend
happy about: two little boys: one blond/blue, one dark/dark, and one strong handsome husband; a cozy old house; pot roast and carrots; sisters in town
sad about: not enough sleep
spent the morning: in the company of my lovely friends, undoing that isolated feeling with rapid-fire conversation
goals for the weekend: not letting the house go to perdition; putting sunday dinner in the slow-cooker on saturday night.

2

he knows his own mind on matters gastronomic and sartorial.
he loves disney's "robin hood."
he can shimmy.
he brushes his teeth and savors the tooth paste.
he throws left.
he knows you need a ticket to ride a train.
he favors rhinos over all other creatures, although he has a soft spot for sea turtles.
he always wants fruit snacks.
he shouts "yahoo!" when approaching his grandma's house, and "help!" if he's stuck.
he sort of likes coffee, and sort of hates it.
he says that anything with a strong flavor is "spicy."
he will always have something to say on the subject of firetrucks, fire-fighters' hats, and hoses spraying water.
he's good with crayons, great with paints.
he plays the piano.
he's two.

the good fight

just now, ben spit out a bite of apple. he's been spitting partially-chewed food lately. big no-no. when he saw the displeased look in my eye, he piped up with, "time out! sit on the step!" at first i took this for repentance, but on further reflection it seemed a clear attempt to avoid our other disciplinary measure, a spank on the bottom. sorry, chum.

ugh. as john rosemond says, parenting a toddler is the work of trying to prevent a little criminal from turning into a big criminal. or "an annoying narcissist," as my mom said. now, naps all around.

gimme that old fashioned morphine

both boys are napping. simultaneously. which calls for a blog post.
well, reader, the euphoria of the first two weeks has dwindled in the face of my new reality: infants need care all through the night and toddlers need care, direction and discipline all through the day. makes for a tall order. in some ways, it's time to expand; in other ways it's time to batten down the hatches. streamline. focus. seek pharmaceutical help.

i'm on zoloft, to head off a postpartum craze like the one that settled after ben was born. it (the drug, not the craze) doesn't take effect for four weeks, so i'm waiting to see if it's going to help (things have been so much better this time, but i am glad to have a back-up plan if i need it). in the meantime, i'm drinking a rum and coke every afternoon. just kidding! i am sorry to see the end of my percocet prescription. it gives a nice buzz, in addition to controlling pain. :) i can see the appeal. oh, what am i saying?? i can get the same high from a square of dark chocolate.

speaking of, i'm so hungry. tuna sandwich, anyone?

petey

naptime dispatch

i drove through mid-town today and all the trees are plummy yellow, brittle around the edges, with their black branches beginning to show. the clouds are heavy and low. it's the right kind of day for taking two sleepy boys into a warm house, carefully slipping off coats, hats and blankets, and tucking them in for naps. it's the kind of day for coffee and writing.

is there such a thing as postpartum euphoria? i feel so good, so content and peaceful, so much stronger physically than i have in months and months. the other shoe still might drop at any time, i realize...but instead of the anxious, unbalanced, sad feelings i had after ben came along, i feel so well.

peter looks like the love-child of hellboy and gary sinise. hellboy because he's still sort of red-looking. with gary sinise's nose. i have no explanation for any of that. but i love him with abandon. he's sleeping on the bed next to me as i write, occasionally winking one eye open, with his mittened fists up by his cheeks. his hair is wild and insubstantial like chick feathers. he's mellow. we spent the morning listening to coleman hawkins together and making a playlist of quiet jazz. ben went to nannie's to play mister potato head, so it was just the two of us.

for your reading pleasure, i'd like to recommend robert bly's short collection of poems called _turkish pears in august_. it's actually an illustrated chapbook of poems, which is interesting. i love the poems very much and hope somebody out there will read them too, and let me know, so we can discuss them. i need another brain to help analyze them. the imagery...hmm...

for your listening pleasure, coleman hawkins is totally wonderful. try "body and soul" or "coleman hawkins encounters ben webster."

my boys