Road trip: Ramsey style

Thanksgiving this year found us joining the throngs of people headed for Vegas in a snaking trail of wet and drizzly taillights up interstate 15.  It was very festive looking.  Unlike the other unfortunate people (who must have no life I’m convinced in order to make penny slots in a smoky casino look appealing on a holiday like Thanksgiving), we were headed up with Jeff and Gabrielle to crash his Aunt and Uncle’s house and spend thanksgiving with them and Jim and Jeff’s cousins. 

We had a blast, the meal itself was done to perfection (which I’m sure would have never happened without Gabrielle), and good times were had by all, despite the fact that everyone promptly found a corner and went to sleep as soon as the meal was over.   

Saturday we went hiking/bouldering in red rock canyon, and since we had two small minions and a shortage of babysitters, we took them to enjoy the great outdoors with  us.   Jamie wanted to go to the dinosaur park instead, but we told him we were going to the biggest playground he’d ever seen.   I was afraid he’d be disappointed when the big hype turned out to be a pile of rocks, but he is related to us after all because he found that pile of rocks to be more fun than disneyland (he’s never of course been to disneyland, but those were my sentiments and he seemed to agree).   Everyone else was going to hike/climb up icebox canyon, but with a baby strapped to the front of me, and a three year old on foot, we decided to go as far as we could and then hang around and let everyone else go on without us.  But like the proverbial cat, it is much easier to climb a tree than to get down, and I was having so much fun scrambling up giant rocks with Charlie gurgling enthusiastically.   I found myself at the top of the canyon.   Jamie made it the whole way too, with a little assistance from his daddy and uncle Jeff, proving that he must indeed be part mountain goat.  He also coined a new term for the recreation, “Rockin”.

And, on top of this I managed an accomplishment I deem worthy of a medal, but only seems to gross everyone else out.   I somehow contrived to nurse Charlie while hiking.  

Last night we went down to the strip to party it up, but it’s just so noisy, dirty, and disgusting.  I’m sure I would have enjoyed it more if I had thousands of dollars to shop, hit spas, and attend shows (miles and miles of mall, plus the cirque de sol equals awesome) , but being shoved around on the streets with puke and drunk people, amid a veritable shower of soft porn, was not exactly my idea of classy.  We had fun despite ourselves, and we traipsed back around 1:30 am just in time to grab a few hours of sleep before we packed up and headed back to San Diego at 4 am.

Good times.

It’s my fault I’m sure for calling Charlie my little sprite baby when he was just a teeny little bean bouncing around inside me, because now he’s living up to his nickname, and he looks very elfish indeed.   This is a classic Charlie look, from the wide eyes and pointy ears, all the way to the pouty lips.  He is admittedly funny looking.

I tackled (and conquered) my first day and night completely on my own.  Something I’m sure mothers all around the world would chuckle and roll their eyes at, but I feel like I’ve run a marathon (except for the part where I’ve got two more days stretching out ominously in front of me).    Back when it was just Jamie,  and Jim was out of town, I’d put Jamie to bed at 8 pm, roll up my sleeves and heave ho on the house, cleaning it and getting it into ship shape every night before I’d settle down to a nice meal of soup or salad while I read a book (since that’s my idea of splurging when Jim’s gone).   Its not quite that simple anymore.   Jamie didn’t settle down till midnight last night, Charlie was up at 1 am, Jamie got up and started crying for his daddy at 3 am, Charlie ate at 4 am and they were both up and ready for the day by 6 am.  When did nights get so short?   And that’s pretty much been my entire day as well.  I had grand plans to finish sewing projects and clean the house, instead Jamie and Charlie tag teamed their naps.  Jamie is sick with a cold and Charlie is teething and the only difference between last night and tonight is that the living room is sporting an extra box of dumped lincoln logs and the kitchen has more dirty dishes in it than it did last night, because no, I have not mastered the art of washing dishes with a baby carrier.  I always bump Charlie up against the sink and spray him with greasy dishwater which makes him mad.

I was however determined to get his four month pictures done today if it killed me.  Two blown out diapers and one feeding later, he was finally happy enough to get the above shot and then this more classic baby pose.

In better news Jamie pooped in the toilet for the first time.   I had given him a bath with strict instructions that he was not allowed to poop in it (something he’s fond of doing).  He patted his bottom and told the poop to go “night night”, I did my best to stifle the sudden urge to laugh, but apparently his bowels did not indeed take a nap as they were told, because it was only a few minutes later he was asking to use the more appropriate porcelain commodity.   I was shocked and amazed.  Partly because I can’t believe human excrement deposited in a proper fashion is my idea of a wonderful gift, and partly because he’s never asked to use the restroom before.  Hallelujah, maybe the speech therapy is actually working.  (I know, I know,  I’m supposed to be patient).

Here’s to another 1,000 nanowrimo words to crank out before I go to bed. 
Cheers!

I give up. 
The moment I have some extra money to spend I’m hiring a photographer to take pictures of my darn kids…. and Jim since he’s almost worse than the kids.   I wanted to take a picture for our christmas card this year and you’d have thought I was asking for the queen’s diamonds or something.   Jamie kept farting (and filled his diaper), Jim scowled at the camera and Charlie wouldn’t take his eyes off of Jamie.   There was not one single picture out of 68 where all of us were looking pleasant.  There was not even one of Charlie sporting any more of his face than his bald head.   After awhile I just gave up,  I’m sure whatever pictures I have are a more accurate representation of us anyway. 

I liked this one with the yummy sun flare until I saved it as a jpeg, and now all the colors are wonky. Don’t look at it too closely.  I’m trying to switch to raw instead of jpeg and it’s slowly killing me one inch at a time.   I open something up in light room and it looks great, I go to edit it in photoshop and the colors get all messed up, I try to save it and the colors get messed up again.   I think it has something to do with my color profiles, but with one foot bouncing Charlie and Jamie twirling my computer chair around like a mery go round, I have resigned myself to figuring this out another day.
I didn’t remember photography being this difficult to learn and then I realized I discovered the secrets of f-stops and exposure pre-kids, and definitely pre-toddler. 

It doesn’t help that Jim is now  gone until Wednesday.   I was not cut out for single parenthood.

Nanowrimo has eaten my soul and left a mere shell of a human being.  I passed the 20K mark swearing I was never going to write another word in my life and now I’m just shy of 30K, the home stretch is in view and I’ve benevolently forgiven the world, my family and even my main character who is really more uninteresting than a baptist preacher who talks too much about too little.   Even if I delete the entire ill fated manuscript at the end of this month, the experience and mental work out will have been worth every word squeezed out of my painfully out of shape brain.   Not sure if Jim, Jamie and Charlie will ever let me do it again, but so far everyone is still alive, the house has looked worse (once or twice) and nobody’s complaining about the pb&j sandwiches (or if they are, I’m not listening).

Jamie started speech therapy yesterday which was a smashing success (insert sarcasm).   He pretty much refused to particapate unless you count beating the other kids over the head with a fire truck he fell in love with.   He goes again tomorrow,  I’m hoping it goes better.  At this point I’m convinced he’s going to have a brilliant career as a rebellious mime.  Maybe he’ll get a job at disney land. 

Last week was insane, but in a good sort of deranged craziness.  We were in Pasadena on Monday and Tuesday where we got our weekly fix of good food and even better company with the Lane/Threadgill duo, before I jogged (metaphorically) on down to Yorba Linda and re connected with Rachelle who I hadn’t hung out with since doing CI’s with her…oh ten years ago?   She has a very exhuberant husband and a darling baby, and I left just in time for her to be evacuated this weekend from all the fires.  Yikes.  
Then it was up to the mountains for Nathan’s birthday party, a whirlwind visit with more friends and then back down to San Diego on Saturday where we stopped and hit up the farmers market with a few of my favorite people.   The place sported one of those big, blow up slides which Jamie beheld in such awe it only took him moments before he started begging and pleading us to let him go down it.   I was not raised with such frivolous indulgence and so it was with a heart of stone I calmly refused his desparate pleas.  His father on the other hand was not nearly so firm handed as I, and so before I knew it Uncle Jeff and Jamie were climbing the gigantic, air stuffed slide and the look of sheer terror, joy and adrenalin on Jamie’s face when he went careening down, made me snort with amusement and well justified the 50 cents.  Spoiled kid.

Not as spoiled as Charlie however, who has recently decided to howl like an injured banshee whenever nobody’s paying attention to him.  The first time it happened Jim and I were both  convinced the kid was either having an epileptic fit or something was pinching him dreadfully.  Neither proved to be true however, Charlie just discovered that if he quivers his bottom lip and squeezes out great big tears then people will be moved by pity to pick him up.   ::Sigh::  Gone are the days where he only cried if he was hungry, tired or in pain.  I rather preferred the itty bitty stage and it went by way too quickly.

I just unearthed my memory cards from the week and these are the first to emmerge from the wreckage.

The darling Isabella.

This poor blog was dealt a heavy blow when we went up to Santa Maria last week.  It’s hard to blog when you have no internet, it’s also hard for me to survive without internet, but we’re home again, long enough to unpack and realize just how much we love being home, before we pack up again tomorrow and either head for the mountains, or L.A.  …not sure which right now.  Our current lifestyle is very nomadic with a trace of hippie (or am I thinking gypsy?).  Since Jim’s been without work since last February we’ve sort of drifted wherever the odd jobs are.  For two people who despise packing (and could win trophy’s for the worst packing ever), we sure do it quickly and efficiently now… we’ve also just learned to do without the many things we forget.  Did you know you can skip packing a coat and just wearing all the clothes you brought?
 We’ve (read: Jim) applied and looked for more jobs than I care to recall, but either the position has already been filled, they’re not hiring, or someone else gets the job.  I’m not worried, just sort of weary.   Right now having a steady job would be like the coolest Christmas present ever times a hundred.   He has a possible lead working for Naasco, so I’m sending a shout out on here for prayers about that.  The pay isn’t fantastic but the benefits are nice and it would be a heck of a lot more money than we’re making (or not making) currently.  God please.

I tried to get pictures of the kids in their halloween costumes but this was the best I could get of Jamie.  He wanted to go as Buzz Lightyear but I didn’t have one on hand so we convinced him to go as Woody instead (cowboy costumes are much easier to come by).   He was fine with it until we walked into a roomful of costumed kiddos and the first thing he saw was a kid his size decked out as Buzz Lightyear.   Oh the tragedy of a dejected three year old, he spent half the evening trying to convince us the Buzz costume was rightfully his.

We never had a video camera growing up so we missed out on the whole home video thing, Jim however has hours and hours of his childhood recorded on vhs,  something he doesn’t always appreciate but I most definitely relish.  I enjoy watching videos of Jim so much that I am turning over a new leaf and trying desperately to remember our own video camera to record Jamie and Charlie’s lives on.  I just now figured out how to separate clips and put them on the internet so here’s my first attempt.   Charlie’s life: moment one.   Don’t click on it if births, blood and gore bother you.  

We started calling Charlie “Bernard”, as in “St. Bernard”.  He eats a lot and drools even more.  Jim swears he can feel a tooth coming in, but I think he’s jumping the gun a little bit.   Still, it would explain the sudden and excessive slobber and gnawing.   He’s unexpectedly developing baby opinions, which shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.   He’s been such a mellow baby thus far, just sleeps, coos, and smiles, but now he’s broadening his horizons to squawking, flailing, screeching, growling…  Apparently he figured out the natives only pay attention when you howl louder than your brother. 

Speaking of Jamie,  the scruzmeister staged a teethbrushing strike this evening.   He loves his toothbrush and berry-bubblegum flavored toothpaste very much, so it was pure stubbornness (I blame it on his daddy of course ) that caused him to clench his cute little jaw and glare determinedly at me and Jim.   Several times he almost started to brush his teeth and then he remembered what cold hearted bastards we were (how dare we require teeth brushing) and he’d resume his tearful insistence on dirty teeth.    Happily, (although Jamie might disagree) persistence and discipline on our part paid off, and he was safely bestowed in bed with a Winnie the Pooh book.
 

I went for a walk today, which is no small feat around our house.  The stroller is no match for the terrain so I donned extra weight and wore Charlie instead.   I <3 my ergo very much.

 (it was over a hundred degrees here today, proof that this picture was taken at my parents house where the temp is much more octoberish)

Several months ago Jamie started stubbornly staring at the ground
whenever we talked to him, so we would “helpfully” put our hand
underneath his chin and guide his head upward to make eye contact.   
This tactic quickly became less than successful because Jamie would
continue to perniciously stare at the ceiling, door, or anything else
but us.  We moved on to more effective means of communication, but
Jamie on the other hand, thought it would be a useful tool to for him
to employ instead. So now, whenever I’m doing something, whether it’s
washing the dishes or reading, Jamie will come up to me and grab my
chin toward him with a stern “Look here young lady…” expression.   It
gets annoying very quickly and I obviously wanted to nip this new trick
in the bud.  Why is bad behavior so hard to break and good behavior so
easy to ruin? (that’s mostly rhetorical)
We’ve been teaching him to put his hand on our shoulder or arm when he
needs something from us.  Need help putting his shoes on? No chin
yanking, while screeching like a banshee.  Wants more milk in his cup?
He can get my attention politely (he is quite capable of saying
“please”).    Yesterday we were playing outside and overcome
momentarily by a surge of motherly emotion, I affectionately tousled
Jamie’s hair.  He looked up at me and firmly guided my hand to his
shoulder and said “shoulder please”. 

———————-

He’s currently at that age where he likes to figure everything out and
do it himself.  Quite recently this infatuation has led him to my
beloved D200.   I really should find a less expensive camera for him to
learn on, but so far he been doing great with my big camera *gulp* even
if it is a little heavy for him.   This was taken by Jamie and is apparently what I look like
from his point of view.  I swear I’m not always glaring at him.

  Sometimes I think I have hypochondriac-like tendencies, and so I’m often totally stunned to find I’m not over reacting at all… especially when it comes to Jamie.  When I was pregnant with him, I was so convinced my dr. was over reacting I asked her if I could delay further testing for a week or two while I attended my Great grandmothers funeral and enjoyed a visit from my sister in law, little did I know that in Jamie’s case, that could have been a difference between life or death.   So off to the perinatologist we went, and after the high level ultrasound we met the Dr. in his office, sitting on a leather sofa facing him like some sort of scene in a movie, when he broke the news to us.  Something was terribly wrong.   He also warned us that because they had no idea how badly or how long Jamie had been deprived of rather important things like oxygen and nutrients, and we needed to be prepared that he might be seriously mentally impaired.   At the time, it seemed like the least of our concerns, and honestly we were ok and just taking one day at a time.   Now, three years later, he’s a pretty spunky, rambunctious kid, who’s defied the dire warnings of that specialist.  However, he is still quite a bit behind his peers (something he should have caught up on by now) and so we finally took him in for some developmental evaluations.   We don’t have the official report back yet, but the preliminary observation is that he is definitely developmentally delayed in all areas, and shows a lot of ADHD tendencies, and this is where it gets tricky.

Everyone and their mother’s cousin assures me that “he’ll catch up”, “there’s nothing wrong with him” and quite frankly that’s not helpful (although I’m grateful for the kindness).   I have no intention of weighing Jamie down with negative labels for him to live up to, but at the same time I do find a clearer picture is beneficial in figuring out the best way to raise our son.   There are all sorts of games and techniques we can employ to help him out, and it definitely wouldn’t hurt to turn the TV off and limit his sugar intake.

So,  right now I think we’ll go to classes twice a week for some constructive play time, we should be starting speech therapy Nov 11th, and if anybody has info on supplements, therapy, nutrition and the like, we’re open to suggestions.

Here’s the Jamester dude vying with his dad for the weirdest expression. (notice the need for winter wear because it was a frigid 68 degrees).

And Charlie at one week shy of three months.
 

San Diegans know it’s fall when Starbucks starts selling their Pumpkin Pie latte’s, and the fire danger goes from high to *call-911-if-you-so-much-as-see-someone-light-a-cigarette*.   It may still be 92 degrees outside, but everyone starts planning for the holidays and buying winter clothes for the season’s token two weeks of cold weather.   We went to SouthPark’s Fall walkabout on Saturday evening with Jeff, Gab and Angela, where all the local business put out beer, candy corn, and s’mores, so everyone can just kinda hang out as community.  Much fun, except this year… it rained.  Jamie pulled a chicken little, looked up at the sky in dismay, and cried “uh oh Mamma”  What the hell is that?  Which is pretty much what everyone else was thinking.  Rain in October is like a nineteen year old kid trying to sneak into a club with a fake ID, consequently, no one even bothered to put on a jacket or use an umbrella,  we happily tromped around in flip flops, soaking wet, assuring each other that it was going to stop any moment (mostly because we didn’t want to be disappointed).  Jamie enjoyed it so much, he screamed bloody murder every time we tried to find shelter, so while we snatched breaks from the *downpour*, he braved the weather cantankerously in his str oller, with his hair hanging down in his eyes and trails of melted redvines running down his face.  So angelic.

Since money is pretty tight in the Ramsey household this year, I hauled out my sewing machine to start into Christmas presents.  I thought I was doing pretty good, Jamie was watching Toy Story and I had one foot on Charlie’s bouncer and the other foot on the pedal when suddenly….nothing.   My sewing machine just stopped.   I looked up to see Jamie with an evil grin on his face, my sewing scissors in his hand, and a severed chord just dangling from the outlet.  I freaked out so thoroughly, Charlie started bawling and Jamie dropped the scissors with a look of abject horror on his face.   I banished him to his bed until I could calm down.   Uncle Vern showed up somewhere in the middle of this to rescue Charlie and repair the decapitated chord.   That’s when he pointed out the scissors Jamie used were completely metal and since the sewing machine had been running when he cut it, the power chord was obviously live.   How he didn’t electrocute himself is a mystery to us all, I’m continually grateful for a merciful God in that child’s life.   I went into his room to mete out some sort of proper punishment and found him curled up in the corner, his little body quivering as he sobbed a whispered “sorry mommy” to himself over and over.    I love this darn kid, and I don’t like holding him and wondering “what if…”.   We had a serious talk about scissors, complete with hand motions and repeatable phrases, then I stowed the offending metal scissors out of reach.   I’m using the plastic handled ones now.

Sometimes song lyrics describe things that can’t be captured any other way, unfortunately for me, as soon as I see the italicized letters written down my eyes gloss over and I kind of skim.  

Right now life kinda feels like it sucks in a “this-really-shouldn’t-be-that-hard-but-it-is” way.    A bunch of people have left our church recently, news that feels like somebody punched me in gut, although I concede when I tell someone this, they just roll their eyes and say, yup, that’s church for you.  But it shouldn’t be that way.    Call me extremely naive, but I love my community.   I tend to get easily holed up in my little world of books, ipod and internet, so I don’t mean it lightly when I say that my church is my family.    You don’t just wake up one morning and decide not to be a part of your family anymore.   You can, but it certainly hurts.  Hurts you, hurts the people around you.   The easy solution of course is to not risk getting hurt.  It’s easier not to go rescue people from the airport, come out in the middle of the night to change tires, get cussed out by people who should be your friends or worse, take criticism from someone you respect.   But… *buckle your seatbelts for the cliche* I’d rather be hurt.   I’d rather people disapoint me, than never trusting them and respecting them in the first place.   I don’t want the scars from bad church experiences, but I need them.  They serve as a reminder.  Truth over medication right?  Even when we’re a motley set of disparaging folk that find it harder to get along than a bunch of 13 year old girls.

To quote my senator recently, it takes a village to raise a child, but I’ll ammend that to say if your only “village” is the state, then the church isn’t doing its job.  A statement that’s so laughable it just shows you how much tenacity and work it requires. 

But worth it.

…………………

Is that a half a smile?