Chris Isaak II

Sorry for my previous all about me-me-me post. The show was actually good. Even if you never heard of Mr. Chris, you could enjoy it. Good accessible handling of American yee-haw rockabilly + Elvis. Kind of. Granted, he himself is no spring chicken, but Chris Isaak could potentially get less geriatric band members though - just for image purposes, as I feel certain guitar playing only improves with age. But for the show. It could be beneficial. Sorry for that very shallow notion.

I don't even know if he ended up with Helena Christensen (again, sp? and, right model?) but c'est la vie. If there had been an after party hopefully I'd be full of info, etc.

In other news, my doctor wants me on antidepressants, based on my scattered recollection to her of how I've been sick, how much weight I've lost, and how my bell's palsy is still hanging around a year later. For fuck's sake. (Sorry. I know this is supposed to be a family show.) Do I take the meds? I don't want to. I'd have to stop breastfeeding, for one thing. Why can I not take a vacation from my life.

Chris Isaak

My three nights out last week culminated in a brush with a total collapse of my nervous system. Getting up at 6 a.m. with a baby is not the end of the world, generally, but. By Thursday my sanity, liver, and common sense had all gone on strike. I looked like a heroin addict.

Anyway. Most notable was the night out at the Chris Isaak concert, where shortly after arriving a crew member with loads of arm tattoos and a backwards baseball hat asked me if I wanted to dance with Chris Isaak.

"Potentially," I said. "Under what circumstances?" I pictured Chris and I swing-dancing in front of a glittering orchestra.
"It's something we do during one of the songs of the set," he said. They needed three girls (why three? Still don't know) and I agreed because in return I got a pass that said "VIP, After-Party". The friend that brought me is a big, big fan of Chris Isaak so I reckoned that the after-party was a good reason to do it - maybe we could meet Mr. Isaak and he'd be delighted.

So, at said friend's suggestion I "milled into the wine" and trouped onto stage at the agreed time and did in fact dance. It was fun. The other girls were really nervous for some reason. Chris turned and looked at us briefly, then picked a mad-looking woman from the audience, who was about the size of an eight year old girl but with peroxide hair, lotsa makeup and really tight pants. "You look like a professional dancer," he said to her. "Why not show us your stuff?" or something like that. He implied heavily that she was a pole dancer and got her to basically do a pole-dancing type demonstration on stage. It occurred to me that maybe one of us three stage dancers was supposed to come up trumps on the pole dancing cue. Obviously my laughing and grimacing at Chris' mirror suit (yep, he wore a suit made of mirrors) plus my lack of coordination were a dead giveaway that I was not in fact an exotic dancer. Hmmph. That does beg the question why did they pick me then.

But let's not go down that path today. I was a bit indignant that there was no after party at the end - despite the onstage chat about how they were staying up all night, there was no such thing whatsoever. I still have the VIP sticker though. Maybe I can sell that on EBay.

personally

Sorry to post general blog housekeeping issues, but not sure where else I would bring up these things... Since it HAS been a year, and so far no evil dark forces have started threatening me since I started this blog, I was considering ditching the painful anonymity (referring to my family in a cumbersome fashion as My Four Year Old, The Baby, My Husband, My Sister-in-Law, etc) and using all of our real names. Or, is there some value in the descriptive verbiage of the anonymous labels? I suppose if you logged on to this blog for the first time you wouldn't be too informed by hearing what Jorge (fictitious name) was doing. On the other hand (It seems I have three), does it really matter at all, given that most people reading this got here, I gather, by accident.

In other late-breaking news, I am going out 3 times this week - a world record for me since I had Child no. 1. Tomorrow, I'm going to the Chris Issac (sp?) concert (no, I hadn't thought about him for a few years either, hopefully he's not bald, ha ha), Wed for a walk on the sea and a drink with an old friend, and Fri for a Mom's nite out with my neighbors on the cul-de-sac*. Which will be the most titillating?... Very, very hard to say. And for which night should I save the shrunken pink jacket and high boots? I'm thinking Friday.

*another word for cul-de-sac: dead end. Discuss.

no...

no one was forcibly removed from the premises next door, at least not as far as I know. There is some noise from there at night (as in 2:00 a.m. I tend to have ritual wakings, even if the children are quiet, just to reassure myself that axe murderers are not breaking into the house), that sounds like the banging of garden gates and some scraping. I have come up with a theory, a la Desperate Housewives, that they have locked somebody up somewhere in the house and have to come by every so often to feed him/her. That would make sense, as they are rarely there, don't stay, are not exactly house proud, and don't even put out their bin on trash collection day.

I'm just having a little fun here. It almost never occurs to me to wonder what, if anything, is going on with any of my neighbors. As long as they are not bothering me. Maybe I will focus on watching/speculating on the ones mentioned though...it's a puzzle...

On another note, I am starting to make myself sick with how much I adore that baby. These feelings are at the root of the Irish Mammy syndrome, I am certain. I keep having Mrs. Ramsay moments where I am holding him and he laughs and gives me his hilarious baby-teeth grin and then bites me really hard on the cheek/chin/shoulder and I think, wow, this is amazing. And, ow. This vampire-like behaviour is gonna have to stop sometime...

creep out-ville

I feel safe posting the following, as I have never known my next-door neighbors to one side, and doubt I ever will. They are extremely odd!

We know this first of all because they have one of those bizarre security bars that rises up behind their parked car in the driveway. This could be understandable, but the car is something kinda "whatever", I think a sporty Mazda or some such. I really don't mean to sound like a big snob here, but come on, if you're gonna steal a car, why not a Jag XK or a Porsche? Plenty of them in South Dublin. So why the bar. It's just weird.

Also their attendance at the home in question is erratic and whereas we have I think 26 varieties of flora in my garden, they have about...one. They had grass, but paved over their sad little lawn last summer and now have exactly one bush that they ignore and a barren back yard.

Today they pulled up in the car (a man and a woman) and didn't get out for about 10 minutes. I have a sort of picture window in my upstairs bedroom and just happened to be sitting there idly staring, and they were so paranoid! They kept biting their lips and staring at the kids playing in the street. Eventually they got out and rushed into the house, glancing all around them. I will not be surprised if a couple of X-Files types bum rush the house tonight and drag them away.

I almost hope this happens, as this post makes me look like a sad old lady looky-loo...

1 year

...anniversary of this blog is around the corner. Cool! I did something for one year. Never mind whether it is a good thing, or a productive thing...

Yep, it is Easter Sunday and I am sitting at the same table in the same city (Dublin, Ireland.) At this time last year I was expecting The Baby Boy, and now I am the proud mom of 2. Well, proud-ish. When they're being good anyway.

We spent Easter day first of all witnessing the small girl's egg hunt (husband from bed) and the rest of the day having Easter lunch at my sister-in-law's. Geez, last year she was supposed to have her Baby Boy the day after Easter - and I have a valuable photo of her drinking a beer. They made lamb with green beans, carrots and roasted potatoes. I was especially enamored of the potatoes. As if you were interested.

Another couple with a small baby were there, and I was contemplating them with newfound awareness. They're Irish celebrities, you see, but not to me. Mostly because I don't listen to /watch the shows they present, but also because I am not Irish and haven't followed their whole history. Also, they're in the family and I see them regularly. They appear to be normal humans...

I was an eejit and actually admitted to being in-lawed to these folks to my neighbors the other day, and was a bit flabbergasted by the enthusiasm. For god's sake, I thought, they aren't out there curing cancer, having controversial views, or dating Brad Pitt. They're just nice people, who happen to be in the media business. After I said a few things about them (where they live, details of the party they had for the new baby) I realised I could be in trouble. Maybe I shouldn't disclose such information about people who are apparent paparazzi fodder?

Yes. Well, again I realise that not watching much TV has its pitfalls in life. My husband sternly cautioned me: he said, first, Don't talk about people. That's lame. Second, you could appear to be name-dropping, and that's just sad. I was appropriately chastened. I would never name-drop, if I realised what I was doing. I guess it's just hard to see people you know as celebs. Hmm.

vacation?

We just got back from a 3 day vacation in the lovely Sligo, where my husband works. He didn't take any days off, we just all crashed at the Radisson hotel together and I took the chickens in the pool/to the beach while he was at work. All of us living in one room had its challenges at night - you can't ignore crying, for one thing, or make any noise after the baby goes to sleep. We watched episodes of theWest Wing on the portable DVD with our headphones. That was fun. I got very little sleep though, what with the baby demanding attention/feeding every 2 hours. What is it about babies in hotels?

Also, babies on the beach. Something in me does not like the idea of them loose in the sand, but I had to give in eventually. I couldn't pace around with him in my arms forever. So, he ate sand and got sand in his eyes/clothes/nappy/etc but it was basically OK. It was a mess, but what else is new.

I'll post photos soon.

Clarification

I thought I should admit that what I was referring to in a previous post as "Irish Mother's Day" is just the standard Mother's Day celebrated in March, rather than May as in the US. Mother's Day is celebrated in March in most of Europe, I think. It isn't, as I wouldn't blame you for assuming, a holiday for IRISH mothers. (or, Irish mammies, as shown in the picture.) Although that would be a fine thing, wouldn't it? In case you were not aware, Irish mothers are a separate breed from other mothers. Irish moms (or, mums. or mammies for that matter) will do things like steal their son's girlfriend's makeup (so that the girlfriend will be on her back foot, not necessarily because she wants it for herself), be offended by Jane's Addiction album covers, and rear sons who do not know how to operate washing machines, dishwashers, or vacuum cleaners.

If you are dating an Irish man, ladies, this could make you run for the hills - but don't worry, if you can produce one healthy breathing grandchild, you actually supplant your husband on the hierarchy and you will have your grapes peeled for you.

Watch out for your new Clarins moisturiser though.

oh, honey

I am currently in "health limbo", a vaguely ominous state. The baby had gastroenteritis on Monday, throwing up all over me copiously three times in the process. I had to change my entire outfit, including underwear - it was that bad. Also, at the best of times, the child does things like try to eat my nose. I'm like a petri dish of his germs. So I am going around now just WAITING to get sick. I've felt a bit miserable for days, as if about to get the flu. Headache, achiness, vague nausea...you get the picture.

Soooo, I have been plying myself with echinacea and high-strength Manuka honey. Have you heard of the latter? Apparently this is nature's latest gift to our health and well-being. It cures pretty much everything, including acne and burns, so I mix it into my daughter's cereal every day and use it to make green tea more palatable. After some Googling I learned that it can treat gastroenteritis as well! Holy smokes!... But, the key word here is Treat - i.e. not Prevent. Dang. But I have hope. I am also currently trying to meditate the gastroenteritis away every night. (Bet you didn't know that was possible, either.)

Irish Mother's Day

...was today. I got: coffee and a banana in bed and a very large brunch made by my husband consisting of: huge spinach omelette, toast, doughnuts, orange juice and champagne. I was pretty full, I can tell ya. In the afternoon I took my little girl on a rare outing without the baby to meet her granny for tea and cake in Harvey Nichols' cafe and a poke around the shopping mall. There were a lot of moms with screaming youngsters in the mall, but there wasn't much evidence of moms being taken out to lunch as far as I could see. Weirdly, yesterday was St. Patrick's Day, which is a pretty big deal around here (this being Ireland.) We even have a 3 day weekend for it. I suspect the integrity of Mother's Day may be eroded by the mad Paddy's Day festivities occurring just before it. Lunch with your mom isn't really what you want to do the day after you've been drunk and reeling in the streets...

Well. In fairness I have never bothered to go to the parade, or anything else connected with the day. For one thing, like magic, spring always turns back into Arctic winter during St. Patrick's Day (it snowed today). For another, when are parades really worth it? You can watch em on TV if you're that interested. For the party crowd though, I'd say there's a lot of craic in the pubs and nightclubs on the night. All week long on Dublin talk radio, people were going on about it being "an excuse for drinking" and bemoaning Ireland's place at the top of the leader boards for binge drinking. Especially female binge drinking. Apparently it's just my generation that started drinking pints of Guinness (we used to only be allowed a little glass) and some people are still shocked by that.

I don't drink Guinness too often myself. Every time someone gets pregnant though, a friend will certainly buy her a glass of it - apparently doctors admonished the generation before us to be sure and drink a bottle of Guinness a day. I think this could have been a marketing ploy by Guinness to ensure a whole generation of people would be born with a taste for the black stuff..

spoiled?

or, spoilt? Can a child be spoilt, or just egg custard?

Yes, this discussion has been coming for some time, but it appears that my 4 year old is really now officially spoiled(t). It is very hard to impress her; and she now makes day-to-day things difficult, as she deems it a huge chore to a) take a bath! b) eat a meal! or c) put away her shoes! It is really making life less enjoyable around here. Lately I've been concerned that the 9 month old arrival of her brother has been affecting her badly and I should give her extra tlc - and the net result is that she is ever more demanding. You can't please her. (for long.) What used to be a huge treat - i.e. an ice cream sundae - lasts as long as it takes her to eat it. It depresses me.

Do I need to go backward and stop allowing such things for a while? Maybe I should read the next range of child raising books. I'm not looking for reassurance here - as in, 'it's just a phase', as I have given up that ghost - but if you have any advice I'd gladly hear it.

Lemon-roasted chicken

Just a quick detour from mom central to share my latest culinary excitement: lemon-roasted chicken. I first tried this when I had a few leftovers from a lemon tart I baked for my mother-in-law's 59th birthday; had chicken - had loads of lemons - stuffed chicken with cut lemon halves and handful of parsley, and prepared a rub of lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and lemon peel. It was so good I had to try it again - and sure enough, I think I have cracked roasting chickens. The neat thing is, despite all that citrus, the chicken does not really taste lemony. It just tastes moist, and really good. Even the gravy comes out brilliantly. All you get is a slight tartness, which really works with the chicken. I have a funny feeling this may be something that everybody who cooks already knows?

I'm nowhere near as thorough as one man's ceiling about food things, but I enjoy reading that blog so much that I reckoned I'd share the lemon chicken concept. If you still eat chicken that is. The horrors of chicken farming could scare a lot of people, including me. I try to buy chicken responsibly, looking for organic or at least free range. I hear that these classifications can be dodgy too, though - but that's another blog to be writing...

great buns

Finally, someone had the sense to import food coloring PENS to Ireland - with quasi-appetizing results at my house.

K was ready to eat them, anyway.

end of weekend

so, it's Sunday night I am in end of weekend mode. I'm tired. Having to cook three meals a day for three different palates (baby, 4 year old and husband) is tiring in itself, not to mention all the other things that go on when there is no school!...

We went over to a bachelor pal of my husband's for dinner, which was an adventure - the baby got really dirty from crawling on the floor, and we had a curious dinner of chicken, rice and potatoes cooked by the new girlfriend. She said they were up late and got up only an hour before they had us to dinner. Mm-hm. They also served technicolor cheese for a final course.

In fairness, I ate it all, with gusto. Sod the lack of vegetables.

Nappy-ness Is

Conversations with babies (4)

Walking home from school:
(birds fly by, chirping)
child: did you hear that?
mom: the birds chirping?
child: those birds' heads were very conspicuous.

So much to say

It is amazing how little it takes to throw me off track these days - even a little shift in the routine, and all my priorities get thrown out the window. For example, after our trip to San Diego at Christmas, I became consumed, for weeks, with:

1. trying to get the children over the jet lag
2. trying to get myself over the jet lag
3. sleep training the baby
4. sleep training myself

You get the idea. Edging the lawn, shampooing the car upholstery, and doing my nails have all been bumped right off the timetable. To add to my laundry list of excuses, for the last few weeks we've been taking turns getting stomach flu (nice!) with the baby getting off the most lightly because, apparently, breastfeeding gives him the right antibodies in advance. The more I learn about breastfeeding the more amazing I think it is. People who give it up early must be lacking information. Although, in my case, it's a choice largely of convenience - I don't have to worry about running out of formula or toting bottles around which for me is a big bonus, as I am disorganised and also not a fan of carrying big baby bags.

Anyway, on my list of things to do is answer my fellow blogger's challenge to list 6 weird things about myself. So far all I can think of is that fact that I salivate twice as much as is normal (according to my dental hygienist). I am not sure whether that is good or bad. Bad, probably. It could cause foaming at the mouth.

Chew on this

My baby got a tooth the other day. This was a big relief because for months now we've been assigning any and all pointless fussing, drooling, etc to Teething. He's a little more than a week shy of 6 months. Is that early teething? I forget, and am too lazy to look it up. Anyway, the tooth is so cute. Sharp though!

My husband has been complaining about the messiness of the massive drooling that his big baby boy is doing, and I pointed out that he is cutting teeth, which lays open his gums to infection, and is putting all kinds of nonsense in his mouth. I'm glad his mouth is on permanent rinse mode! Otherwise he'd certainly get sick, is my guess. Neat how nature takes care of us.

I am in denial over Christmas, and am way behind on shopping/cookie baking/decorating. We're traveling to my mom's in CA (a 12+ hour flight from Dublin) and my main concern is surviving that. Thanks goodness I'm breastfeeding.

Checking in

I feel like I have been blogging a lot lately, because while I am walking home from dropping Child 1 at school I usually write one in my head, with titles like:

- Oversensitive Moms
- What Is the Deal with My Stomach
- Baby in a (sleeping) bag
- Brain Entropy

But actually, as you can see, I have been totally non-communicative. Why? See blog 4 above. Wait, I didn't actually write it...
sigh.

My baby boy is the same size as his cousin, who is 2 months older. He also is about 10 times as active. It's the weirdest thing, seeing two babies at opposite ends of the spectrum. The cousin is really mellow, likes to nap, sits still, and contemplates his toys. Our baby usually has all four limbs kicking and grabbing, won't nap, tries to crawl and destroys/eats toys. I'd feel comfortable giving odds on who's going to be getting the wedgies in years to come.

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving.

ye olde Ireland

It's been an interesting week: 4 year old was diagnosed with a chest infection after weeks of coughing and put on antibiotics/pure morphine drops (which she enjoyed). Baby being insufferable but by all accounts not all that sick; have bottle of baby antibiotics at the ready just in case anyway. Halloween was a kind of washout, as K was too sick to trick or treat. As a result we were stuck at home with insufficient candy and a crooked pumpkin. Her little friends on the street brought her a selection from their stashes, though, so she made out OK. My neon orange wig was a hit, I think. No one asked what I was supposed to be. I guess if you are wearing jogging shoes, spitup-stained pants and a baby strapped to your chest people assume the worst. After the candy rush we drove to Sligo, the Ireland of the misty dreams and postcards. See for yourself - the drive, (unphotographed) was surreal and magical due to the fireworks and bonfires everyone sets here on the night. It was like driving through hyperspace. Wild.

Also, I think I may have gone mad - two reasons:
- started book club (first meeting tomorrow - will it be a wine-and-good-times or tea-and-scones type of affair?)
- have sensation that I want two more babies (why?)

Happy Halloween -