The sweetest thing

I just put Spencer to bed. On the verge of sleep, he stopped nursing and blew me a kiss before he dozed off. It made me cry.

No shortage of chaos

On Friday I was driving home and my cell phone rang. It was our nanny calling -- I had a hard time hearing her because of piercing noise in the background followed by a computer generated voice and much laughter from the boy.

It seems he pushed the red button on the alarm pad. The alarm that we don't use.

She told me the name on the keypad and I called information. Did you know Veriz*n doesn't automatically dial the number for you any more? Instead for a small fee they'll send it to you in a text message. It is bad enough I'm making calls while driving, but I'm going to then add reading a text message and dialing? Not safe! So I waited.

I got home and you really couldn't hear the alarm outside, but inside it was pretty loud. I was worried about Spencer's ears so I had he and the nanny go to an extreme corner of the house. I pulled out the phone book and called the company. The company is now owned by the alarm company that begins with A for assholes.

I spoke to someone who instructed me to find the large metal box tucked away in one of the closets that i could open with the key cleverly kept on top of the box. Except there was no key.

I called back and was told that because the account isn't in our name, there was absolutely nothing they could do. Nothing. I asked if the alarm would ever stop ringing. She said no. Then asked if she could help with anything else. No, really, you've done enough.

My next call was to my husband who is still out of town. I knew he once got some house information from our realtor and I thought maybe, just maybe he'd kept it. But when you are in a bar on the other side of the country from your family it is impossible to hear your phone. So I called the realtor in case she had the old code. No such luck.

By then the alarm had been going off for 45 minutes. My head was pounding, Spencer was fussy and signing for milk and I thought I was going to have to call a locksmith. Instead I went and got tools. With screwdriver and wrench in hand I tried to get the box open. Because the box was so shallow I couldn't get any leverage to get the cover off. I then went and to a hammer and pried the stupid thing open and shut off the alarm.

I then sent the nanny on her way and went to a friend's house for dinner. I walked in, handed off the baby and poured a glass of wine before I even spoke. What a night! What a week!

Husband is back now so I'm sure we'll have a quiet, calm week with no incidents.

Picture this

I think I saw this in a commercial once...

Tonight while I was changing a poopy diaper the dog started barfing on the rug in the boy's room. I finished with the diaper change and then threw another diaper on the puke to stop the dog from eating the evidence.

I put the boy in his pajamas and went into the bathroom to dump the contents of the first diaper into the toilet (still using cloth) with the dog and baby in tow. I dashed to grab something to clean the rug and left the boy and dog in the bathroom. There is a toilet lock, there is no poison. Just a roll of toilet paper. I'm sure you can see where this is going.

I hurriedly cleaned up while listenining to Spencer giggle and stomp. I imagined what he was up to, but what do you do? I walked out of his room and had to step over the toilet paper ribbon that crossed the hall. I then followed the trail as it draped over the eames chair and rested on the ottoman. From there it rounded another chair and reached into the dining room. Spencer and the dog were sitting at the base of his highchair, each shredding their own little pile of white quilted goodness.

I had two observations.

1. There's no bathroom-related activity that would require the strength of our current toilet paper.
2. I miss my husband when he is out of town and admire women who chose to take parenting on alone.

I can't believe she's gone

A few weeks ago a friend died. She was 40 and had a 2 1/2 year old daughter. She was brutally murdered.

20+ years ago I met her in Boston. She was roommates with a lifelong friend of mine. They stayed close -- and as a result we stayed close. Close in the way friends do who share a close friend.

The first time I was pregnant so was she. She had a miscarriage, I admired how well she handled the loss and couldn't imagine going through such a thing. Then I lost my pregnancy. She was so clear on the differences of how profound each of our losses was -- hers at a few weeks, mine at five months. It was a perspective that many other friends who had miscarried didn't see but she did and added the words that I couldn't quite come up with. It was different, she got that. She and her husband just started trying again. She had a miscarriage a couple of months ago.

Building our family was about the only path we traveled together -- her world was a far different one than mine. She acted, directed and wrote movies. I worked in politics and now in the health field. Months, even years would go by without us speaking, yet each week I knew what she was up to -- I assume she kept similar tabs on me. And even though over the past few weeks there's not a single chance I would have spoken to her, I miss her terribly.

Our last real conversation was a few months ago. We talked about how much we loved our babies -- how we hoped for the sake of other children that their mothers felt the intense and profound love we felt. We also marveled at the odds of her having the most beautiful girl ever born, and me having the most beautiful boy ever born. What were the odds?

I think the thing that breaks my heart the most is that her little girl will only remember what we tell her about her mother. And I weep for A. because she'll never get to see her baby grow up.