Charlie can smile. 
Jim and I are the pessimistic type of parents who always assumed our baby’s smiles were merely gas bubbles and not true outpourings of peace, love and joy, but I think it’s safe to say now that Charlie can indeed grin like a toothless old man (perhaps a very chubby, tiny old man).   However he’s more of a thoughtful kiddo thus far, and he’s very stingy with his smiles (not just handing them out to anyone).   So far he smiles at Jim far more often than anyone else,  I think mostly because Jim has imposed a two smiles a day rent fee from the kid.

Tonight, Jamie and I made it our mission to catch a picture of Charlie smiling (Jim was doing the dishes).   We danced, we did silly faces, we made funny noises, and we very successfully managed to make Charlie smile, but every time I pulled the camera up to my eye he would stare at it like it was either the black box of death, or a very curious puzzle he wanted to figure out.   I guess it’s time to pull out my paparazzi lens.

Jamie sings when he’s taking a bath, and is about as intelligible as “boo~” in Monsters Inc.

I know that most three year olds today are fluent in two languages, can recite the quadratic equation, and have at least half the Psalms memorized, but yesterday Jamie came up to me, wrapped his arms around me and said, “mom, I need a hug”.  I happily obliged him and he looked up at me with those chocolaty brown eyes and said “no mom… a big hug. “   
Well excuse me.   The boy speaks.

I am almost ashamed to admit it for fear of realizing how uncool I’ve become but, I really adore being a mom….or rather, I enjoy being Jamie and Charlie’s mom.   With all the sleeplessness, irrational fears, mood swings and whining I do, one would think I really didn’t like this job, but I do, even if I’m not all that good at it.   As Jim says, I’m doing good if I can keep the kids fed and alive each day.  ha.
Last night we left them in the competent hands of my sister Hannah while Jim and I donned fancy feathers and headed up to San Clemente for a movie premiere.   There were no red carpets or limousines as this was just an indie documentary, released in only a handful of theaters around Southern CA, but there was one very important element that made pumping breastmilk, staggering around in high heels, and getting home at midnight all worthwhile;  my dad was part of the cast as one of the main characters.
  I’m chalking it up to one of life’s more weird experiences; sitting in a bonafide movie theater watching my dad’s familiar face take up 20 feet worth of screen.  If anyone’s curious, the movie is called Hearing Everett, with dad starring in the role of Ed Everett.  He’s pretty easy to recognize even with his hair dyed black, seventies clothes on, and gigantic thick glasses.

Last weekend my parents “hired” me to take pictures of the whole family.  Not necessarily a good idea, particularly if you want decent pictures in the end.   Getting a family of 10 to all look at the camera with a generally pleasant expression is hard enough, but when you’re their older sister all you get is back talk and smart ass-ery (?).  Plus, no amount of dancing a jig with rings on my fingers or bells on my toes induced them to look anything less than annoyed as they’ve already seen it all from me before, but in the end I think all our true personalities shined through… at least everyone but mine, as I was too busy setting up the timer and diving into the mass to really accomplish much more than my token presence in the photograph.   You can find the rest of the pictures here.

For a San Diego resident, I am embarrassingly talented at getting lost.   In my defense I technically live in east county and don’t get out to the beach nearly as often as I’d like, still,  I thought I was being more than preventative when I left for La Jolla Saturday morning to shoot Ben and Danielle’s engagement photos.     We were out late the night before so we crashed at Jeff and Gab’s new bungalow (they say “cottage”, but it seems more bungalow-ish to me),  Jeff gave me directions to La Jolla’s wind and sea beach from the south and I got hopelessly and completely lost.   I’m sure Danielle and Ben entertained thoughts that I was never coming, that they’d driven down from LA for nothing, but I finally did arrive loaded down with camera equipment and huffing like a rhino. 

The sun stayed mostly shy behind a layer of clouds despite our best attempts to coax it out, and of course it merrily popped out the moment we got in our car to leave, but what would the world be like without murphy’s law?   However it didn’t matter, the cloudy day gave a kind of romantic, cozy vibe that we don’t often get around here, and we had a blast (at least I did).   Ben didn’t look like he was too fond of having his picture taken, but he took it like a man and you could tell the two of them were totally in love.   Danielle is a complete riot and I had to be careful to remember I was actually on the job (supposedly working…ha).   I nearly peed my pants when a tender, romantic picture was rudely interrupted by one of those rogue waves that comes out of nowhere.  I was laughing so hard at the sight of Ben and Danielle leaping in surprise at suddenly finding themselves sopping wet, that I totally forgot to record much of the moment for posterity.  Ahem. 

I’m up in the mountains right now, far far away from my beast of a computer, but here are a few samples from the morning.   Afterward we went out for lunch and I’m still having dreams about the lovely eggplant sandwich I had.   My 9 year old self would be disgusted.

I’ve done two loads of purely Jamie related laundry today and the only thing worse than a sick kid, is a kid who won’t stop bouncing around the house like a pin ball, long enough to get well.  

It’s been a busy week for Jamie.  Sunday he said goodbye to his bottle for good.  After truly and heartbreakingly mourning its death for three hours solid with wails and shrieks that would wake the dead, he decided the heart does indeed go on.   Halleighlueighletskillthefattedcalf.    My only complaint would be his lack of sleep (ie. my lack of sleep).   It’s not really bottle related in nature, in that he’s not crying for it or anything, but rather he’s decided he’s too grown up for sleep.  Apparently if he is too big to have a bottle, then he’s also too big to take naps. When we put him to bed at eight, but he talks pleasantly to himself until at least nine which I always vainly hope will result in his sleeping in, but nope, six-thirty a.m. and he’s bouncing on our bed begging for yogurt.  Ugh.  How do two night people produce a morning lark like that?  It seems like a mathematical impossibility:  two even numbers never produce an odd one. 

I celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday on Wed with a trip to our newest Asian cuisine buffet.  This was like most except that it sported a full mongolian type buffet and a sushi grill.   All you can eat sushi, how much better does it get?   Jamie has been absolutely facinated with monsters lately, to the point that his beloved Finding Nemo has been replaced with Monsters Inc.   He lives, breathes, eats and sleeps all things monster related, and I’m sure the only reason Jim and I haven’t been annihlated by the monster living under our bed is because Jamie heroically sprays it and kills it with a squirt bottle every day.    So it was with awestruck wonder that Jamie breathed “look Daddy… Monsters” at my birthday dinner.  Jim looked round the restaurant until he realized Jamie was staring reverently at a pile of king crab legs.   The thrill was complete when Jim actually gave a *Monster.* to Jamie, who estatically opened and shut the claw long enough for Jim and I to make a couple more trips to the buffet.  Dim sum anyone?

Call it post partum hormones or maybe just newfound courage but I finally, for the first time in my life, got my hair cut…off. at a salon.   I actually wanted it shorter than I got it, but the girl who cut my hair was being very conservative, and maybe I’m glad she didn’t quite take it up to my ears like I had hapharzadly mentioned. 
I didn’t have much money, so I went downtown to the Paul Mitchell school and got it cut for twelve dollars from a shy, timid student who looked barely old enough to have her drivers license.   I didn’t think it was a good sign when I had to ask her for her name three times before I could catch the faint whisper of an answer.   She asked me what I wanted and I told her I didn’t care, she could do whatever she wanted, I just didn’t want to look like an old lady or a poodle.  She just stared at me blankly.   I asked her if she had any ideas and she admitted she had none, that she had never cut hair like mine before, which was just oh-so-comforting.   Thankfully she had a very qualified instructor who knew exactly what to do with curly hair.   He walked her meticulously through each step, although he did make her blow dry my hair straight by herself.    A feat that she never did quite accomplish, but I can’t really blame her since it’s impossible to blow dry my hair straight in my opinion (unless you use a ton of product, which she didn’t), and after trying for an hour she finally gave up and used a straightening iron which she confessed in hushed tones, was cheating.  lol. 
All in all, I think I like it, although I do somewhat resemble a poodle perhaps.  I never would have had the nerve to go through with it if Gabrielle hadn’t gone with me and had an appt at the same time.   I am a creature of habit.

Not very good at self portraits, but here’s before (taken when Julie was out here):

And after

I told Jim that my two goals for today were to blog and clean the house.   The house looks a bit like a bunch of preschoolers celebrated Mardi Gras (which isn’t too far from the truth) and Jim comes home from work in twenty minutes, so blogging is my only hope at salvaging something productive out of this day.

It’s been a busy week, yesterday we went to the zoo with Joli and her kids as a last hurrah before they moved to Maryland *sniff*.   We had a lot of fun, although I am rethinking my need for a double stroller.  After frugally insisting it was a waste of money,  I may start stalking craigslist for an affordable option because wearing Charlie and pushing Jamie is easier when it’s not the San Diego Zoo’s infamous terrain one’s trying to climb.   The sky tram started to look mighty appealing and so we parked the strollers and rode it down the polar bears (who were gloriously playful for a change).  Jamie tried three times to hurl his bottle off the side of the car and while I imagined the gorillas would be none to pleased to be thwacked on the head by a catapulting bottle from the heavens, my more immediate concern was maintaining a firm grip on Jamie’s wriggling body lest he decide to jump after his plummeting bottle.   He and Joel tried to make another escape attempt at lunch, when one naive gentleman left the keys in the ignition to his scooter/wheelchair, and two negligent mothers were too busy nursing to notice their boys were quite handy at turning it on and releasing the hand brake.  Thankfully they were stopped by a shrieking bystander before much harm was done.

Last Sunday marked a much less stressful but far more important occasion in the Ramsey household.   Charlie was baptized.  A fact that seems to draw more criticism than support from some people despite our assurances that it in no way shape or form signifies salvation, but the awe inspiring entrance into the covenant and member of the visible church.    I’d experienced enough religious drama to last me a lifetime by the
time I got married and so I tend to get discouraged by the lack of tolerance and unity among God’s church.  Meh. …although speaking of getting
married, Jim and celebrated our fifth anniversary; 
holyfreakingamazement.

Other than all that, I spend most of my time rescuing Charlie from his older brother.

Who incidentally was six weeks old yesterday and starting to grow into his skin finally (Charlie not Jamie ).

Do I see a hint of a dimple?

Jamie’s birthday was supposed to be 8-08-05 (after the more appropriate September due date was surreptitiously discarded).   The doctors were so sure in fact that they were going to deliver him on the 8th, they wouldn’t let me eat anything.   But as fate would have it, the 9th turned out to be the day for Jamie’s big debut and his poor mother has been forgetting his birthday ever since.   Always a hopeless case when it comes to remembering numbers, Jamie’s unexpected arrival sealed my doom and I cannot for the life of myself remember his birthday. 

However this seems to be perfectly fine with Jamie.  He is three for three; with a serious case of the birthday grumps.  The first two birthdays I excused it with late naps or something, but now I’m honestly beginning to think he really doesn’t like being wished a happy birthday.   Every time someone called or showered him with many exuberant felicitations today, he either scowled, screeched or cried.    Quite gracious really.    He spent half his day in time out, and I’m pretty sure the only redeeming factor was the insane amount of yogurt we allowed him to eat (yogurt is his current obsession), that, and the presents of course.   I successfully managed to keep clothing gifts to a minimum, since he’s nearly impossible to buy for (he wears a 12-18 months in width and a 2T in length), so the lucky kid was showered with a veritable cornucopia of toys;  cool toys like lincoln logs, playmobil sets, hotwheels and power tools.  I’m going to have as much fun with them as he does.

Happy 3rd Birthday Jamie.  I love you more than you can possibly imagine.

…Even if you do cry when we sing you happy birthday.

Charlie’s birth story isn’t very thrilling or dramatic, since scheduling a c-section hardly leaves much to fate.   There are quite a few perks to picking your child’s birthday, but I wasn’t expecting the harrowing sense of anticipation; excitement mixed with dread.   Jim felt the same way, with Jamie it was like someone just shoved us off the highdive, but with Charlie it was like counting down from ten before jumping off… or maybe more like sawing one’s own arm off.

Jim and I deal with things very differently.   I was wide awake early Wed morning with loads of nervous energy, whereas Jim decided to prepare for the impending sleeplessness ahead by lazing around in bed forever.   Twas a repeat of our wedding day.   After finally convincing him and Jamie (lazy bums) to get out of bed.  I headed out for my maternity photoshoot.    I had been wanting professional pictures done, but had no photography friend to bum off them.  Thankfully, Kevin Schmidt (Julie’s bil) was kind enough to both oblige me and shoot the wedding I was supposed to do on Sat.  

After the photoshoot was over, I went home, packed, and we headed out to the hospital.  I  was already preregistered and quite familiar with the place since I’d only been there twice a week for the last month (NST’s), so it was as anticlimactic as a trip to walmart.  I got checked in and Jim, Julie and I headed up to the third floor where the OR was.   After what seemed like an eternity they finally called me back into the OR where they stuck in my IV (very painful) and walked me down to operating room #16 and gave me an epidural (not painful at all).  I was having a grand ol time with my nurses and anesthesiologist as we waited for my OB to arrive (she was stuck in traffic).   You would never have thought I was lying buck naked under bright lights on an operating table with a roomful of people.  My nurse was an old, navy nurse with lots of thrilling tales, the anesthesiologist had just sent his youngest son off to designer camp for the summer, and both were quite talkative.

Dr. Ho arrived (don’t laugh) and we all got down to business.  She spent about 15 min meticulously cutting out old scar tissue so I would only have one scar, consequently I look exactly like I did after Jamie was born.  Very nice.  Ten minutes later Charlie was born and I believe my first words were “my gosh, he’s huge”.  Then I heard him cry, saw that he was healthy and despite my best efforts, the tears started rolling down my face and the the anesthesiologist graciously dabbed at my eyes with a tissue and patted my head.  Charlie and Jim headed off to the nursery and I got the miserable job of being put back together like humpty dumpty.   I had been feeling fine up until that point, but suddenly they started shoving my stomach and liver around and I started to feel rather ill, like too many corndogs on a ferris wheel.   The room started spinning around and I was fighting hard not to puke all over the place (not that I had anything in my stomach to throw up).   I must have looked very green, because I was quickly given a shot of something into my IV and suddenly the world was quite peachy again.   After all my vital organs had been tucked back into their original homes, I was wheeled into recovery where I got to hang out with Charlie, Jim and Julie until my room was ready (which took a freakishly long time). 

And that is pretty much it.  My Dr signed orders saying I could eat whenever I wanted to (since I hadn’t been allowed to eat since Tues evening and this was Wed evening).  For those that know me, realize what a travesty and hardship that was.  I love my food.  However stupid charge nurse was convinced my dr couldn’t possibly have been in her right mind when she wrote the order and I wasn’t allowed anything but broth and jello.   I was very patient and nice about it as I was promised I would be allowed a nice big breakfast of omelette’s,  hashbrowns and bacon in the morning at 7a.m. ( I clarified the the 7 a.m. part several times just to make sure).   The next morning I was staring anxiously at the clock willing it to say seven, which came and left with no food.  Nothing.  Finally at 9 a.m. my breakfast arrived and I eagerly whipped off the lid only to reveal… jello.   I don’t know if it was the meds, or the lack of sleep, or maybe the raging hormones, but whatever the case, I seriously lost it.   I was bawling so hard I was hiccuping instead of breathing.  Nurses went running for snacks and someone was called from the kitchen to get my breakfast order while my doctor was paged for permission to feed me.   I felt like such an idiot.   I will admit though, it was a little satisfying later when the charge nurse got reamed out for intentionally disobeying a physicians orders.  Even though it was just food, apparently overriding a dr is not looked upon very favorably.

I was given the green light to go home on Thurs night, but they wanted to keep Charlie (and thus me as well) until Sat afternoon.  However I desperately wanted to attend Katie and Daniels wedding, so we compromised with very detailed instructions on syringe feeding and they let us go home Friday afternoon. 

Now just to figure out life at home…

Was discharged and came home yesterday afternoon.  Witnessed Katie and Daniel married this afternoon.   It was like a Verity reunion.  (Something like 13 out of 40…not bad).   I’m exhausted.  Will tell tall tales later.

Coincidentally, everytime I get a dose of percocet I decide I feel good enough to write a blog entry only to stare at the computer screen as it slowly blurs in front of me, turning upside down as I struggle to also stay awake.

So pictures it is.

Could I look any more high?

Jamie, moments after saying “MY baby!”

Daddy’s burrito baby.  (Jim is the current wrapper extraordinaire)

He’s here!

Charles Addison Ramsey
           
5 lbs 12 oz – 18 inches long
A real chunker.

Brand new and giving us the eye.

All cleaned up and ready for a nap.

The whole delivery was very normal, but I of course will do my best to squeeze enough drama for a suitably entertaining story.