Lazy post alert! Lazy post alert!

Settling in

Yeah, ok. . . just because we have started a new life doesn't mean my lackadaisical blogging habits have changed. For those of you keeping score at home, you'll notice that I have missed her birthday. That's a first even for me. I can't make up for that, but I can do a brief recap of the last two months. Zoe turned. . . wait for it. . . three! So, I went to the hospital one day, got completely exhausted for a couple of months, blinked, and my baby turned three. Frankly I am a little nervous as every parent with a child four or older (and that is a lot) has felt the need to mention to me how horrible three is. With that said, here there is only big girl (and boy, wouldn't want anyone thinking Mike is sleeping in a crib) beds in this house and diapers during the day are just a faint memory. Quick note about potty training for those of you thinking that it would be a no-brainer to have a blog post dedicated to it. It was so easy (she says as she knocks wood or at least the 50-year-old metal table at which she is typing) that the post would have no substance. Here is the summary: We moved to New Jersey, went to Target, bought about $6,000 worth of Elmo underwear, put them on Zoe and in two days later it was done. Ok, moving on. Zoe has also started at a school two days a week in preparation for the one day that I might find a job (although I think buying lottery tickets is seeming like a better plan).

So for now, for the first time since Zoe was two months old, I am a stay at home mom. Let's get some of the stereotypes out of the way. I do not eat bon bons and I do not watch "my stories." I don't cook any better than when I was working, in fact, I am not sure I am even a better mother. I have been caught in a strange world of the in between; not quite ready to find a mom group, and really not yet working. I enjoy being home with Zoe, then quickly catch myself and feel guilty about not working. I want to have a job, then quickly catch myself for ever thinking I need more fulfillment than this. I am reminded of a time when I was devastated about going back to work after Zoe was born and a friend reminded me that at least I will get to have a relaxing cup of coffee while in conversation with adults. I miss that. But, with that said, I know someday I will be back in the rat race, commuting, dressing up and facing deadlines. I will be back in the world where people are hard to please, where a couple games of "hide from the dog in the tent" is not welcome. I will miss days filled with Play dough and finger paints. I will be in a meeting in a conference room wishing I was in a race at the playground. I will be feeding egos instead of ducks. I will be "doing" lunch instead of enjoying it; and I will miss this time.

So for now, Zoe and I are attached at the proverbial hip (with the exception of Tuesdays and Thursdays when she is in school) and the man of the house is paying the bills. I am no Carol Brady, my days are not always happy endings. But everything is worth it at the end of the day when I climb into bed with my daughter, read her a bedtime story only to have her tell me that I can't leave because, as she says, "I love you so much".

I love you too, Zoe. Happy belated birthday.

Home Sweet Home

Well, we made it. After many goodbyes and an incredibly lengthy, two-day drive, we are finally in the Garden State. So far, so good. It is still pretty warm even though we are thoroughly aware that there is a winter here and it will be coming soon. At least one of us is gainfully employed even though the commute is a killer. And we are living in a really nice house for pennies on the dollar (thanks mom and dad). For Zoe it's like Christmas; grandparents, no school, staying up until 9:30 and a backyard that is a hell of a lot bigger than our apartment deck. Sadie is even happy and will most assuredly will not be attempting to jump out of any windows any time soon because really, why would she want to leave and my mother would seriously kill her, and I think she knows that.

I am a little misty when I think of the fact that Zoe will never remember her time in Savannah. She'll have no recollection of her boyfriend Patrick from Calvary. She won't remember Oatland Island or Forsyth. She'll never know her first house. This is where she will truly begin her life.

So, I have tried to get that life started. Since we have been here we have found her a doctor, we have looked at new schools, and she has already made some neighborhood friends. I hope these small, but important first steps will get her new life on the road to a happy one, although I don't think she will ever forgive us for the winter for which she is utterly unprepared; she owns one sweater and no coat.

So if you find yourself in the Philly metro area, stop by for a visit. Oh, and we are in on the joke. . . we are located between exit two and three. We have no sweet tea or country fried steak but we can get our hands on a mean cheesesteak or a soft pretzel.

Welcome to New Jersey.

Cha. .. cha. . . cha. . . changes

This will be my last zoekat blog post from Savannah, the city where it all began and the only place that Zoe has really ever known. I could go on about the changes that have happened since she has been born here, that blog is hers after all. But I think I will save that for her birthday or my typical blog anniversary post. Because the reality is, in my mind, Zoe's life began when Mike and my relationship did, and really that was seven years ago.

So, this blog will be dedicated to the city and the people that created, nurtured, and made our family what it is today. It is dedicated to Paul, and the job that got us here, Carl, our first friend, and the Commons apartments, where we first lived. It is dedicated to the Sand Gnats for a year of a crazy work schedule and for five years of fun. It is dedicated to the Hammocks where the wedding planning happened and where the stinky boys fell after the bachelor party. It is dedicated to Suzy, Sarah and Tammy, the best of friends and Lauren and Kathleen, friends I don't see often enough. And with mixed emotions, it is dedicated to two hard-to-sell houses.

We'll miss the places and the scenes. The networking lunches and bars we've haven't been to in three years. It is dedicated to Coach's Corner and The Rail, Corleon's where we found out we were having a girl and the many bars in which I came to the drunken realization that I was 30. It is dedicated to Dr. Semple who delivered our girl and Casey and Calvary who helped her grow.

It is dedicated to eMarketSouth and Chili's and the people who made them both more bearable (thanks, Doy, Joe and Spy). It is dedicated to easy rides to the beach and picnics in the park. It is dedicated to Sean and Tara who joined us for a while and Kenny, Joe, Jesse, Billy and Royce who made it more fun.

It is dedicated to the neighbors we had, the friends we made and the fabulous weather we enjoyed. It is dedicated to the Y and playdates(you, Steph); slumber parties and showers. It is dedicated to Live Oaks and St. Patrick's Day. It is dedicated to Buy Local and Carriage Trade. It is dedicated to the Hostess City and all it's weird, wonderful quirks.

Yeah, this one wasn't all that witty or introspective in the life of a parent. Really, I'm feeling a little sad, a whole lot sentimental and not very creative. I just wanted to say good bye and this was the best I could do. So good bye crazy screaming man who walks through the squares yelling about damnation. Good bye Vinnie's. Good bye "I hate getting stuck behind them" trolley tours. Good bye to everyone we love that I haven't mentioned here. Hello new life.

Thank you Savannah. We'll miss you.

Maybe Bobby McFerrin was right

In my parenting circles I hear (and say) a lot of things about the energy it takes to raise a child. Phrases like "I wish I could bottle that energy" and "Life is so hectic with kids". Now, let there be no doubt that both of these statements are true. Monday mornings I would certainly like to take a swig from a bottle labeled "Zoe's energy". And there is no doubt that weekday mornings no longer involve languishing in front of the Today Show with my coffee while I ponder what outfit I might like to wear that day and still getting to work on time. Truth be told, I am a tired maniac most mornings, happy to make it to work before noon, and have little time to turn on the shower much less the TV. But slowly I am learning a very important lesson from Zoe which is simply this: Don't rush to catch up with her, slow down to see her. Yeah, I hear ya. Anyone with a kid, and it probably does not matter what age that child is, is thinking that slow down is certainly not part of their lexicon unless it is in the sentence "I can't wait until little Johnny is off to college so I can slow down." But I really think the slow down method can work so I've slowly been trying to implement it.

An example: We take Sadie (the dog who comes with her own set of issues) on walks often. If it is just me and Sadie we can take care of business pretty quickly. We walk, she sniffs, and if she starts falling behind she has a choke collar (and no, I'm not suggesting choke collars for children). Now let's do the same walk and add Zoe. Every stick becomes a source of fascination, every leaf needs to be collected, and often the direction we are going in, even if it's in the direction of back home, gets called into question. Before the slow down plan this would be annoying. Every walk I average about 3,345 times saying "Zoe, let's go!" or "Stay with mommy" (talking about myself in the third person since I've had Zoe will be another post). So lately I have been wondering why I do this. Maybe that stick is interesting. Maybe it's from a rare tree. It doesn't matter, the point is, as a harried adult with too much Internet, meetings, bills, cell phone calls, and obligations, I've lost the ability to stop for a second and enjoy the simple joy of a stick. I complain about the rain while Zoe asks me to put her car window down in a monsoon so she can get "soaking wet". I clean while she wants to play. I rush while she savors.

Where is this all coming from you might ask. Well today, while I was griping about the sixth day of rain that doesn't come until just as I'm leaving work to get Zoe thereby leaving us trapped indoors at night, Zoe says to me, "Mommy, just be happy". Yeah, you'd get a plan pretty quick too.

So, if you are at my office and see me in my pj's (as Zoe went to school today; it was pj day) surrounded by a collection of really cool sticks, you'll know why. But don't get there too early, I am slowing down my mornings.

And so it goes. . .

This post has been a long time coming so admittedly I am a little overwhelmed with where to begin. I guess I should begin be thanking my friend and fellow blogger, Tiffany for so creatively reminding me (guilting me) about just how long it has been since the last post. So I'm writing now to avoid the next post being about taking Zoe to college. I could once again make an empty promise about posting more often, but I will refrain. Instead I will say that although they are not captured as often as they once were, the glorious, frustrating, funny, and maddening moments still occur. And, since Tiffany was the catalyst, I am stealing your idea.

Dear Zoe:
If you are an adult who is now reading this blog, you are surely thinking that most of your third year of live was pretty uneventful considering how infrequently I have blogged about it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Let me begin by mentioning that Michael Jackson has died since I last posted. Yeah, I know you have no idea who I am talking about and the word Moonwalk will never enter your lexicon; but it was a big deal to your old, uncool parent's generation so I thought I should mention it.

Ok, about you. After two very scary misplacements of the blankie at school, you have quit bringing it. That's right, your school gave it to the wrong kid twice, both on Friday afternoons. You were probably not worried, you knew I would get it back. I, on the other hand panicked as if my car just got stolen and was one step away from calling 911 and attaching a GPS system to the damn thing when we finally got it returned. Big news and I'm proud of you for not needing it anymore (at school anyway).

Potty training, well that is hit or miss, at home anyway. At school, you could win medals for you potty proficiency. Your teachers must have a special drug that I am not aware of. At home when I ask if you need to pee pee on the potty your response is, "no thank you". While I appreciate the use of good manners, it's not really the answer I am looking for. Stickers seem to help, and of course when we are at a restaurant, store, or you just don't feel like going to bed, you are really good at pee peeing on the potty, or at least taking a visit to the bathroom .

You do a lot of unexplainable, hysterically strange things that could only come from the mind of a two and a half year old. You call your fruit snacks, snack food. You tell me you want to eat my face. You crack up when you fart (your bum is talking) and you walk around with a pretend dog on Sadie's leash. Since my last post, you swim by yourself in the pool thanks to your life jacket (who goes by fishy) and you have back to nana and poppa's for vacation.

Whew, there. Except for the major change that will be discussed in a later post, I think I've got everything. I'll start posting more, promise!

Happy 2nd Birthday. . .

Blog! That's right, although sporadic posting may make it seem like the blog is younger than it's years, it is in fact the ripe old age of two. As I look back to the 1st birthday blog post I am amazed, really amazed at the changes in the star of this story. Looking back, seeing how far we've come, me as a mother and her as a person, is helpful in those moments of my wondering if I'm doing this all right. With my steadfast partner in all of this, Mike, aka Zoe's dad, I am.

I read past posts and fondly remember the days of repeatedly singing heads, shoulders, knees and toes; a request made by Zoe in the only way she could at the time, "eh!" Now requests are more like, "Mommy I want some crackers, please" or "Mommy, go now!" and songs are not requested, they are sung. Back then I was impressed she was learning body parts, now she knows body functions and is in the throws of potty training (which at the very least deserves it's own blog post). She is still messy, but can clean her own face. She still gets timeouts but I'm much better of knowing when to give them. She is still crazy, but now puts a voice to it. In the last year, she ditched the high chair, she learned to ride her bike, and has moved up a room in the new daycare. She counts to eight and knows (for the most part) her ABC's.

Year three there will be more posting, promise. For now, close your eyes and make a wish, blog. Strap on the party hat and break out the balloons. I think we are at the start of another great year.

Singing and counting

I was a really good mom. . .

before I had kids. This is the title of a book I came across one day in Barnes and Noble. I only perused the book, I didn't buy it; I didn't have to. The title said it all, and it was all true. This is not to say I don't think of myself as a good mom, I mean I have my moments. But the age of two, while not terrible, is unexpected. Sometimes unexpected in the way that a surprise delivery of flowers from your husband can be, wonderfully unexpected. And sometimes unexpected in the way a car accident can be when some jackass decides they suddenly need to be in your lane, painfully unexpected.

I've been spoiled. Zoe, until recently, has been a fairly reasonable and well-behaved child. I thought it was because I was so good at this. I was wrong. She is Paul Newman in The Hustler, luring me in so when she finally decided to become a maniac, I would be totally off my game. Enjoy what I have been surprised by.

1. Bad decision making skills. OK, you asked for strawberries. Strawberries are good and you've eaten them many times. They are not cookies, so when you request them I am happy to oblige. Why, in the name of all that's holy, do you flip out when I actually bring them to you after you ask for them. This is the question I ask myself often. I think she has set up a hidden camera somewhere and brings the video into daycare to have a good laugh with her friends. "Watch here when I beg my mom for juice only to throw the sippy and fall down into a fierce tantrum when she brings it to me! Hahaha! Good stuff, pass the popcorn!"

2. It takes me an hour to do what should take 10 minutes (see number 1 and 4).

3. Repeating. Zoe has yet to say I love you to either myself or Mike (unless you count the Barney song. I really don't) despite the many times we've said it to her. But just one time call her a psycho and now everyone is psycho. There are many times in a day I have to answer the following questions: "Is Zoe psycho?" No baby, Zoe is not psycho. "Is mommy psycho?" She is getting there. "Is daddy psycho?" He must be for ever using this word around you. "Is Sadie psycho?" Yeah, baby, Sadie is psycho.

4. Zoe do it. Aside from how odd it is that she talks about herself in the third person this phrase can be cute or maddening. Saturday morning when she wants to put on her shoes, cute. Monday morning when she wants to make her own breakfast and drive herself to daycare, maddening. I have a sneaking suspicion this phase will end right around the time she actually has the capability to help out around here.

5. Snot and dirt. I was great a keeping snot at bay and keeping my kid in spotless matching outfits. . . before I had her. Prior to actually having a child, I would recoil from an oncoming kid with a continuously runny nose. I would roll my eyes at children in dirty, mismatched outfits. I don't do this anymore.

6. Hysterical, "where does she come up with this" stuff. And then there's the good. Like the other day when she wanted her poopy diaper (yeah, I say this more often than I ever thought possible) changed in a particularly awkward position. When I voiced my concern to her I got this response, "mommy, let's just try it."

Yes, my little psycho, we'll just keeping on trying.

Thanks for the memories

As I mentioned in a previous post, I recently joined the social networking site, Facebook. Many of the readers of the blog are also members but for those who may not be familiar, here's a brief description. Facebook connects friends, old and new, through a simple interface allowing status updates, notes, and photos. The photo feature being the catalyst for this entry.

On my Facebook page I have pictures of myself, Mike and of course Zoe along with some other friends. In my mind, that was the intention of creating a photo upload feature on Facebook, to pick and choose the modern-day photos in which you look your best; like going to a high school reunion with the Staples easy button to look fabulous upon entry. I was wrong. I can not believe my fingers are even able to type this, but I graduated from college14 years age. High school, well that was four years before that, 18 years ago. I guess it's because of this fact, I thought I may be safe from photos of those times resurfacing to the masses by way of technology. Why? Well photos from those days are not preserved on fancy digital cameras. No, they did not exist. Nor did thumb drives, websites or email. Hell, I think floppy disks were just coming off the production line and they were only able to hold a file the size of a small Word (or was it Word Perfect) document. No, I slept soundly at night knowing those photos of me and my highly teased hair cemented with the Aqua Net that came in the pink "we don't care to 'go green'" aerosol spray can were only available in my attic, in a book, covered in plastic film.

Then, last week I logged on to see me "tagged" in a photo. It was me and my college roomates, and I wept. The photos were exposed, they were scanned. You don't really realize how old you are until you see a photo of yourself that you really don't remember being taken that long ago looking grainy, like it was a poloroid. We were covered in flannel, the grunge style of the day. We had big hair, obviously we had not put down the Aqua Net just yet. I can't be positive, but I believe I saw peg legged jeans (those from my generation will certainly remember this, no matter how hard they have tried to forget). We looked like 80's female lumberjacks, frankly, all ready for a night of partying. Nice.

Ok, ok. . . that was college. Fine, the photos are out, people who known me now have seen them (even the young whippersnappers I work with who are not yet capable of being embarrassed by college photos), and they have been dealt with. But the madness is not ending. Suddenly old high school friends are following suit. I am being "tagged" in photos posted by people I haven't seen in 20 years. These photos are two decades old. Yes, I look young, but that is really hard to appreciate when you are also looking at your hair in the same picture along with the white dress with the sheer white sleeves. What's next? Does someone have prom pics so I can have nightmares about the hot pink sequined number I wore? Will someone be posting photos of my Debbie Gibson stage when I thought her hat was cool? Does anyone out there have proof that I wore parachute pants or Frankie Goes to Hollywood tee shirts?

All of this got me to thinking, what will Zoe have to look forward to when she is decades out of high school? What technology will others from the class of 2024 use to disseminate old photos in the year 2041? What will she be embarrassed by and what styles will make me cringe when I see them return on my daughter. Neon? Leg warmers? Ridiculously ugly and large plastic ear rings? I like to think of her future although it's hard to believe Zoe will ever be old enough to be in the position I am right now. I envision her looking through this blog and rolling her eyes at me, asking my what kind of mother would put her in these clothes (and I don't mean the fish costume).

My advice to her: avoid the trends, the camera and the Aqua Net.