That's a Whole Lotta Baby

We tried for several hours to get a good holiday picture of these two bundles of joy this past weekend. Let's just say, "epic fail" and leave it at that. We had fun though. There's a reason why we call Sadie "hilarious" and she did not disappoint this weekend. And you can see that Simon is sporting the cutest little pot belly on the planet.

I love these two wiggle worms.

Say what?

Sadie's art project this weekend consisted of coloring Simon's cheeks pink. He's just about over it. I tried to get as much avocado on his face as possible so we'd have a little Lilly Pulitzer prep thing going with the pink and green. He was about over that too.

"Can't you people just feed me and then leave me alone?"

Holiday Energy

It's possible that I am bringing the wrong energy to this holiday weekend. Namely, my sentiment is generally, "Thanksgiving is gonna be my bitch." Maybe it's a tad hostile. But, I keep finding myself saying it over and over. You give a girl a stuffing recipe and next thing you know she's talking shit to the most American of holidays.

I actually really like Thanksgiving. It's way better now that I am in recovery for my eating disorder. I guess that kind of goes without saying. Even when I was busy polishing off pecan pies and swearing off the dinner rolls before eating a fourth helping (Frank Bruni wasn't the only person born round), I always like that it was everyone's holiday. I guess I liked that it wasn't religious. Being thankful was beyond religion so it was a holiday for everyone I knew, including my Jewish ballet teachers and my Baptist grandmother. So I especially like that aspect now that Jeff and I come from different religious traditions.

It also got better when I accepted that I probably won't ever be part of a family that plays touch football in autumn leaves before eating turkey around a large farmhouse table. I accept that I hate football (I am looking at you, Penn State) and that I don't really want to do anything more with autumn leaves than look at them from the warmth and saftey of my mini-van when I drive to the suburbs. We are usually in LA visiting Jeff's family during the Thanksgiving holiday, which is a raucous good time and a double celebration because we celebrate Hannukah during the weekend. I am not sure I have seen any autumn leaves in Southern California, but I have seen and experienced lots of love, and some damn fine fried potato pancakes to boot. This year we were not brave enough to do the holiday travel with our two junior members, so we are going more low-key (except for the part where I am going to make this holiday my bitch) and having some friends over for an early dinner. It won't be relaxing because the children are invited and nothing ruins relaxation like children.

So, here I am almost 40 years old with a fridge full of things that I made while holding Simon and holding off Sadie. Most of it, I don't even particularly like. But I am leaning in to the holiday and waiting to welcome home my husband-- the one with the bad back who told me that he won't be able to pick up our children for a few days. (So much for my plan to have him change all the diapers for the weekend.)

It's good. I feel grateful and alive and realistic. And that's the best recipe I have.

Kisses!

Awww. Look at Mommy's little 27-month-old baby giving her a kissie-poo! It's too cute. It almost makes Mommy forget that that Sadie has a rather tenacious case of diarrhea right now. Let's just say Mommy needs all the kisses she can get.

Did I mention Jeff is out of town?

In his absence, Mary Poppins has inhabited my soul. Last night I baked a pumpkin pie, and this morning I baked not 1 but 2 kinds of stuffing: one is quinoa-based and the other is traditional (with the requisite 2 sticks of butter). I don't even like pumpkin pie or stuffing, but here I am in all my glory. And you better believe I am bragging about this.

And through this cooking binge, I have discovered why I am not a good cook: the chopping. Oh good lord, the amount of chopping is insane. Onions, celery, garlic, leeks, more onions, another celery stalk, more garlic, sage. I would be an awesome cook if it wasn't for the chopping. In addition to how long it takes and how my hands now smell like a deli, I had the inprecision of chopping. It makes me crazy when some of the celery is shaped like a cresent and some is shaped like a half-cresent. So, then I chop it all so there are only half cresents, but I spy a few that were double-chopped, so now there are quarter-cresents and my OCD screams at me to make them all quarter-cresents. On and on it goes and next thing you know it's noon and all I have done is chop one measly stalk of celery. And I started chopping at 6:23 a.m.

Not cool.

So I think I did all the chopping today. Jeff says he threw his back out in D.C., so I am going to have to focus on my heavy lifting for the next few days. I hope Jeff can life Sadie's full diapers, because I am done with that the second he gets home.

Happy Holidays!

Great Works of (He)art

Please feast your eyes on this, the most amazing and generous gift I have ever received. I am serious. This is right up there with the gift of life. Last night, bedraggled as we all were, our friends Frank and Joyce came over for Chinese food and frolicking with the children. I am not sure I had even brushed my teeth-- we were running our weekend that close to the edge.

Joyce walks into our kitchen holding a cardboard Amazon.com box with a red string around it, announcing that she had our wedding gift. Well, how's that for a surprise for us (who were married almost 3 years ago). I personally was of the opinion that sticking by me as I prepared for my wedding and showing up in hundreds of countless ways as my matron of honor is present enough, but who am I to argue someone out of giving me a gift?

So, I thought it was a joke.

This was no joke. Jeff and I opened the box and found two oil paintings of our children, which Joyce had painted. This is no recreational, paint-by-numbers or sell on Etsy project. Joyce is a real painter with real shows and a real studio and real models who pose nude for her work. These are capital P paintings of my children. I gotta say I was a little speechless when we opened the box. Jeff had tears in his eyes. It was such a great and thorough surprise to see those two oil paintings staring back at me. She perfectly captured Simon's cheery Simonness and Sadie's impish focus.

Jeff's been asking me where we should hang them. My real answer is that I want to buy a new house to display our paintings of the kids because I want it to be on a wall with lots of natural light and a place where people can get up close and admire the work of the Master. Jeff thought I was kidding, but I really wasn't. So now when people ask us if we are moving for schools I will say, "no, we are not playing that game . . . we are moving to find some good walls for our paintings of our children. They are original Polances."

So, yes, next to the gift of life from my parents, these are my favorite presents ever. Better so because I got to share them with Jeff. I am telling you, befriend an artist and your life will be richer than you can ever imagine. They give so much better gifts than lawyers.

Has anyone seen my zebra?

Oops. After a little puking on his dinner tray and some fever and some major sleeplessness, we took Simon to the doctor today and found out that he has an ear infection, which means his earlier ear infection probably never healed. I am not sure how I feel about my baby having an infection that 10 days of antibiotics couldn't heal. Actually, I am sure: I feel like it sucks.

But, we got new medicine today and Simon is starting to be his old self. I sent Jeff into the pediatrician with Simon today, but I gave him a list of questions: Is Simon a sickly child? Is my breast milk broken? Why is he sick all the time? Do I have breast cancer? Does he hate me? Is this all my fault?

Jeff's report from the doctor's office confirms that it's too soon to be labeling Simon as "sickly," because all second siblings end up sick a lot because older siblings bring lots of germs into the house. The doctor did not think that my breast milk is broken or that Simon hates me. (What the hell does she know?)

We've had a rough couple of nights and poor Simon is trying to sleep while his fever spikes and makes him feel horrible. We are doing our best to comfort him. I can say that when Simon is up for good at 3:40 in the morning and I want to be a mother who embraces him and gives him what he needs, I sometimes fall short of my ideal because it's so fucking early. But then when he falls asleep on my chest sleeping with his lips all puckered up and snoring his little piggy snores, I think that it's worth all the sleeplessness and that it's one of the sublime moments of being a parent to experience the capacity to comfort and hold a sick child.

Zebra or a Horse?

Simon has been in a bad mood since Monday night. Actually, it was Tuesday morning around 12:49 when the call went out. I am referring to his call of searing pain that he sent out for about 2 hours on Tuesday morning, with a repeat performance on Wednesday morning for about an hour. Both mornings he followed that up with a prompt 5:00 a.m. wake up call. Needless to say, Simon wasn't the only one in a bad mood this week.

I worried about my sunny little baby. Was he sickly? Did his ear infection recur or worsen? Was he mad at me? Was it all because I am a bad mother?-- Just kidding I never thought that. Ok. Yes I did.

Around the same time I developed a weird burning feeling in my left breast, so of course in addition to Simon's woes, I was now dying of mastitis or breast cancer. One of the two. My house was falling apart and I assumed we had made some mighty god very angry because he was smoting the hell out of us.

Then, today, I saw that Simon has a little tooth coming in on the bottom. Hmmmmmm. That sort of explains the searing pain and the sleep issue and the seriously assholery he's been dabbling in during meal time. I can't believe I didn't think of it. I mean, I think maybe I did, but I was too hysterical to look closely enough into his mouth. In my defense, he's not really one to sit quietly while I paw around in this sore mouth.

So, it reminds me of the saying in the medical field: if you see a footprint, look for a horse not a zebra. I take that to mean that the most common answer is usually the right one. Which means that I must have breast cancer and Simon has a new tooth. Right?