Mommy Margarita & Me

A Tight Ship

2006-08-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

Greetings bloglings. I hope you are having a delightful summer. In the corporate working world, summer has mostly lost its meaning. The only vestige of summer is that when I get home at 5:30 each afternoon it is theoretically light enough to enjoy the great outdoors – which we think about quite a lot as we play on the computer and eat salty snacks in our air conditioned house.

There is so much to catch up on. Meital has now officially been on the outside as long as she was on the inside and given her 18 ½ pounds of baby mass, there appears to be little risk of recidivism. (I really wanted to use that word.) Actually, all the fat jokes and humiliation really worked cause she is now underweight at 25th percentile in weight compared to her 75th percentile in height. The best part is that at this age, bulimia isn’t so hard on the tooth enamel – what with only two little teeth that will fall out anyway. (For the record, and this is all we got in that regard) she sprouted her first 2 little bottom teeth right at 9 months.)

While we’re on the topic of food, I may as well mention that I’ve never been much of a breakfast eater… until recently. Every morning, Meital has a breakfast of finger foods in her high chair. And every morning as I am prying her out of her chair, I find it hard to resist the juicy morsel of freshly diced peach caught in a succulent crease of baby thigh, or the wayward shred of cheese peering out seductively from that gorgeous little belly button, or the perfect mini cube of diced tofu gleaming from a fold on her sweet little neck. Dee-licious! At first I though it déclassé to gobble breakfast from the various nooks and crannies of my baby’s soiled limbs. But much like that irreplaceable sniff test for dirty diapers, sometime practicality simply trumps grace. Baby noshing offers a tasty, nutritious quick meal with built in portion control and you’re also cleaning up. Might I suggest steering clear of the avocado though – unless, of course, you also find a piece of teething biscuit big enough for dipping.

In addition to getting her first teeth at 9 months, that was also around the time Meital started standing by herself for long periods of time. I think she would be walking by now (like her sister) were it not for those absurdly long eyelashes that keep tripping her. She is also blabbing up a storm. We are extremely proud to announce Meital’s first real word. It is clear our girls have their priorities straight. Gabi’s first word was “tsi’tsi” which means booby in Hebrew, and Meital’s first word is “te-ta” which means….booby in Spanish. She also says an unmistakable “osa” for Rosa, “da-da” for daddy” “ha” for “hi”, “ahhh” for “or” (light) and “ta-ta” for Safta (grandma) or Saba (grandpa) and “Ckhh” for “I want that thingamabob over there, and make it snappy or there will be hell to pay.”

Just the other day (at 10 months) she figured out how to clap her hands. And perhaps the cutest progress by far is that she figured out how to shake her head no. At first she would just put her chin down abruptly when she did not want to eat any more food. But now she shakes her head so vigorously I think it makes her dizzy. When she is on a head shaking spree, Andy and I ask her yes or no questions for fun. For example, Andy will ask” “Do you love mommy?” or I’ll ask “Do you think daddy tells interesting stories?” And somehow, hilarity always ensues. If you do not see how that would be fun, I am guessing you are one of the childless readers who still has REAL fun. You just wouldn’t understand.

I’m not sure if it is the effect of the unbearably hot temperatures or the unusual humidity, or just another reminder of poor parenting, but Gabi is getting even more brazenly defiant each day. For example at her swim class, I was trying to gently help her overcome her reluctance to put her face in the water. When she refused, I said: “Fine Gabi, you can keep your head out of the water today, but why don’t you just think about how fun it can be to put your head in and swim and play like a dolphin.” To which she replied: “I won’t think about anything like that. I don’t want to put my head in.” Alrighty, then!

The one disciplinary tool that has been working wonders is threatening to throw her candy in the garbage. I had initially vowed not to humiliate my children by giving them things just to take them away, but by golly, is it good fun! She has a small collection of candy, from Halloween, the occasional piñata and the random goody bag. The joke is she hardly eats the candy, but the fear of this sacred, blessed candy going in the trash (which we have absolutely followed through), sends her right over the edge. I try to reserve this particular threat exclusively for when she trounces her baby sister, but it works so well it’s tempting to use it for EVERYTHING. However, like all good things, I think this method is on its last legs. Last time I heard Andy threaten to throw candy in the garbage she stared at him willfully and said “No daddy, I’ll throw YOU in the garbage.” Many people ask us if we dread the teenage years with her. But the fact is that if anyone is prepared for that, it’s us. Plus, that is why God created boarding schools.

She has already developed a sneaky side too. A while back, Andy took her for errands while I was napping and they stopped for a milk shake. It doesn’t take a high IQ to realize that you don’t want to share food with Andy, so she negotiated for her own medium size, insisting that she wanted to share it with me when they got home. Andy could not resist her altruistic aim so he agreed. When I woke up, she somehow neglected to mention the shake but kept inexplicably disappearing from our game every now and then. The next day, I found the empty shake cup hidden behind a lamp on the end table and Andy filled in the rest of the mystery.

I think one of our toughest parenting challenges at this phase is figuring out whether to nurture a life skill in the child – despite the fact that it makes life a living hell – or to squash it for our convenience knowing that our kid will flail passively through life, never making it past middle management as a result. Negotiation is a perfect example. We have chosen to make our life a living hell on that one, in hopes that she can save us a few bucks haggling over indigenous handmade crafts when we take family vacations someday. And she is getting to be damn good…at least for someone who thinks that 20 is the biggest number you can get. But unlike, say Hezbollah, she also knows when she’s gone too far. For example, the other night, she was as always refusing to brush her teeth and I, as always, was at my wits end. After a few more refusals, I totally lost all patience and hissed between tightly clenched teeth: “Gabi, I am seriously about to lose it so you really need to brush your teeth NOW! Sensing that she was about to get tossed out a window, she acquiesced adding “OK, but tomorrow I am going to say No!” There’s an interesting tactic to try out.

But it’s certainly not all piss and vinegar. For example, my sister had her baby, a little boy named Oren born by C Section on June 16th. They emailed us a lovely picture of her still in the operating room, holding the just born baby for the first time with proud papa, Ilan, in hospital scrubs next to her. Now we have told Gabi that her uncle Ilan is an eye surgeon which seems irrelevant. But when I showed her the picture of her brand new cousin, she stared at it for a while, looking back and forth between Ilan in scrubs and my sister holding the baby, and finally with alarm in her voice blurted out:“But mommy, Uncle Ilan is an eye doctor!” Clearly she felt he had no business delivering a baby! So I explained to her something like: “Yes, uncle Ilan is an eye doctor, but since aunt Yael had to have an operation, he had to wear special hospital clothes in order to watch the baby doctor get the baby out of her tummy. So Gabi, who was under the impression that her baby sister came out of my belly button had some clarification questions.
Gabi: “They did an operation?”
Me: “Yes, some people need an operation to get the baby out of their tummy”
Gabi: “They cut her belly with a knife?”
Me: “Yes honey.”
Gabi: “Wow. That is not cool.”
She got no argument there!

Visitors are often delighted by the appearance of loving harmony between our two little sisters. (They don’t know about the “candy in the garbage” trick and there’s no need to divulge all our best secrets.) Recently, one such guest, seeing Meital standing up by herself and a proud Gabi looking on, asked: “Gabi, did you teach your sister how to stand like that?” To which Gabi replied dead pan: “No, I taught her how to spit and scream.” And of course, a spirited and synchronized demonstration followed.

Alrighty, better wrap this one up. Cheers until next time.

Codeine and Calculus

2006-06-10T13:09:00.000-07:00

Captains Log - Stardate: June 2006.

Hello fans! Sorry for the delay, but travel season has officially begun for our family and so blogging has fallen by the wayside, wedged somewhere between uninterrupted conversations and properly masticated food. After spending most of the year barely venturing out past our neighborhood Target store, we flew to San Francisco in May and hit Portland and Seattle in June. And since two adventurous brides have asked Gabi to be their flower girl, (clearly they are either lazy blog readers or adrenaline junkies) we will be back in San Francisco in July and back in Seattle in August for wedding season.

The day before our flight to Portland, Gabi, sensing a vacuum of content for the blog, came down with a severe double ear infection. So, along with her usual antibiotic, (a dietary staple) she was prescribed Tylenol with Codeine for the flight to control the pain in case the changing pressure caused her ear drums to rupture. The doctor cautioned us to time it just right because it would likely cause her to pass out within about 20-30 minutes of taking it. As responsible parents, we wrinkled our brows, scratched our heads, sighed deeply and otherwise pretended to agonize over having to give our child such heavy narcotics. Once safely clear of medical professionals, the scene was one of whooping laughter, dancing and hugging. We got CODEINE for Gabi. This could change our lives! She never responded properly to the Benadryl cold medicine trick that other parents use to make their kids sleep on flights…but Codeine? That’s the real deal, right? How many doses were in there? Would it leave a funny taste or color if we just put a tiny bit in her breakfast? The possibilities were endless. The mood was jovial. We clapped and sang the whole way to the Rite Aid pharmacy.

With our precious cargo carefully bubble-wrapped and padded, we reached the terminal and got ready to board our flight. Andy held the beautiful ruby colored bottle up to the light, measured carefully, as to not waste a precious drop, and full of anticipation, we watched Gabi slurp what could be the first of many, many doses. We boarded the plane, found our seats, and within 20-30 minutes, as we ascended to the heavens, we noticed that someone (about 3’ 2” tall, 31 lbs, brunette, bangs, dressed in purple…) was rather awake. Not only did she fail to pass out as promised. She was extra crotchety, bossy and hyperactive, complaining, whining, screeching and practically climbing the walls with pent up energy. “Just Codeine?” Her body asked incredulously. “Come on; show me what you really got!” It scoffed. “I ain’t afraid of no prescription strength Codeine, SUCKERS!”

As we sailed over clouds and snowcapped mountain peaks, Andy and a belligerently drunk Gabi proceeded to engage in a rather lengthy and noisy battle. Across yonder aisle, I sat chuckling smugly, with Meital quietly cooing in my lap, pretending not to know the wide eyed man with veins popping out of his head and neck yelling through gritted teeth at the beastly and intoxicated pre-schooler in his charge. From take off to landing, they created scene after scene over unbuckled seatbelts, spilled orange juice, the position of the window shades, what have you. My fondest memory of the flight was glimpsing Andy, having lost the will to speak, just pointing at the wine bottle one of the flight attendants was carrying and with unspoken desperation, willing her to fill his glass. They say that narcotics and alcohol don’t mix, but once Andy got a good buzz going, he was much better equipped to deal with our little junky, who by then was Jonesing wildly for another hit.

Meital:
At 8 months on the nose, Meital made the transition from scooting, pivoting and sliding backwards, to CRAWLING! We credit the celebrity baby fitness video we purchased for her. I’m not sure if was Coco Cox-Arquette, Apple Paltrow-Martin or Sean Preston Federline’s technique that finally clicked with her, but she’s got crawling down. She also continues to pull herself up to standing and scoots from one piece of furniture to another. But what’s really impressive is that she has also mastered the oft overlooked art of sitting back down – which saves us a lot of rescue trips. And she has even started standing on her own for a few seconds at a time. That high achievement of coordination even elicits her own shrill baby shrieks of satisfaction which are very cute but also cause her to lose concentration and fall. While all this sounds exciting, it actually marks the beginning of the end of any and all peace. All that jibber jabber about two kids being easy, and definitely not twice the work and all that malarkey… it’s all easy to say until you have two individuals for whose safety you are entirely responsible, moving quickly and haphazardly in two different directions. And I thought taking advanced math in college was just a way to meet smart boys….

Pop Quiz:
Q1) At 5:30 p.m. on a Tuesday, you have a freshly mixed beverage in your hand and two small children at your side on the front lawn. One begins to chase a ball, sprinting West, towards the street 30 yards away, at approx 30 miles an hour. At the same moment, the other begins to crawl, heading due East, at approx 10 miles an hour, towards some shiny rocks 6 yards away which she intends to ingest and choke upon.
1a) Which child will meet her doom first?
1b) How the bloody hell are you supposed to STOP them without spilling your drink?
Times up. Pencils down.

More on Meital:
She really is the ideal baby: happy by day and unconscious by night. When I’m at work, she’s been taking a bottle without a problem for a while now (ever since we took her on a house hunting tour of the homeless tent villages in LA’s skid row) but remains incredibly picky. Gabi, I’m convinced, would have drank any substance resembling milk (formula, glue, hair conditioner, Malibu rum, whatever) out of any dispenser resembling a bottle. Meital, to mix things up, eschews formula for pure breast milk and when once cajoled into taking a bit of formula, refused the perfectly palatable and digestible Good Start brand I get for perfectly FREE from Nestle and insisted on the stuff that costs $25 per can. That snobbery and utter (no pun intended) disregard for mommy’s thrifty coupon-cutting ways she clearly gets from her father.

On a higher note, she now wears her long “Flock of Seagulls” bangs in a colorful plastic barrette to match her outfit, has her tongue hanging out of her mouth most of the time a la Michael Jordan, and has learned to babble the following sounds – in alphabetical order, I might add: Ba Ba (a popular favorite), Ck (that one surprised even her), Da Da, and now Ffffffffff. Her nick name remains Boojah, even though all the activity is keeping her rather fit. And her Muslim name (which every Jewish baby should have) is Hassan.

Gabi Verbatims:

Im case you wonder what kids dream about: “Mommy, you know what I dreamed about last night? I dreamed that I ate chocolate BEFORE dinner!”

Another dream: “Mommy, I dreamed that I could put stickers up in the bathroom at school.”

Sound sisterly advice: (Holding up the parrot from her Fisher Price Noah’s ark):
"Meitali, this is called a falcon. Don’t ever touch a falcon because it could eat you."

(Wearing a necklace.) “I want to wear it to school so everyone will see how beautiful it is. But I hope the boys don’t see it because boys don’t like good things, they only like bad things.”

Please Don't Drop the Baby

2006-04-28T16:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Fans,

It seems that I owe an apology. Several of you rushed to Meital’s defense and insisted that she is not fat. My favorite case was made by a reader whose identity I will protect for soon to be obvious reasons. Said reader sent an email aptly titled: “Meital is NOT Fat.” Inside the email, a photo of her close relative’s baby -- so incredibly bloated and unimaginably over-inflated, it truly looks ready to burst at the seams. The photo caption continued simply: “THIS baby is fat.” Wowza. So, I’m sorry I called Meital fat. Boy was I wrong. She is a svelte baby runway model -- and any appearance of rolls, dimples or excess flesh is purely the result of a sloppy Photoshop artist who is just jealous of her.

So getting back to the important service this blog provides. Some of you may not know what this important service is, so I’ve looked into it. Surveying our readership, I find that there are quite a few people contemplating parenthood. For them, the blog can serve as a window into this new world of bountiful drool and diapers. A chance to get those toesies wet before committing to the cannonball. In other words, it is a non medicinal, fail proof and otherwise unobtrusive form of birth control.

There’s also a group of folks expecting or grappling with their first offspring. For this group of new recruits, the blog is doubtless a really good advice column, imparting rare and notable insight and learning. And finally, there are also a group of parents of two and three children. I believe, for them, the blog provides a) smug satisfaction that they are so much better equipped as parents than we are or b) great relief that they have much calmer children than we do or c) special kinship since they too often look to nuclear physics to understand how a combination of otherwise inert particles can produce something that appears so small and harmless, yet can level entire cities and spew radioactive fallout across half the globe. (“Yes my sweet, I am comparing you to an A-bomb; now go back outside and play.”)

But you know, I truly believe that regardless of where you are in the child care continuum, there is always more to learn. For one thing, each child is different (thank God) so once you’ve figured out what to do with one, the other one comes along requiring a whole new set of tricks. On top of that, each individual child is continuously growing and changing. It’s like one of those tricky algebra equations with a few too many unknown variables. However, the distinct sense of fulfillment one gets from mastering or surviving a day of parenthood – particularly of high spirited children (which is what they call little lunatics these days) – is unparalleled. Well, perhaps it is also shared by people who survive a stage 4 hurricane by eating canned dog food by match-light in the attic while submerged to the chest in rancid flood water. Ahhh, it is good.

My point, as if that has ever been a prerequisite, is that the Feinreich-Negrin family is still absolutely learning with each day. Let’s take the recent example now known as the “short carry incident.” In brief, Gabi mentioned something to Andy about being able to carry Meital which he attempted to discourage (probably by saying something like “betcha can’t.”) Shortly thereafter, Andy went to change out of his work clothes in the bedroom while I plated Rosa’s delicious tofu Pad Thai dinner in the kitchen – and people say I am not domestic! Back in the living room, Gabi acted on her urge to lift her sister, from behind, under the armpits, with her hands clasped on Meital’s chest, and began to carry her. You can guess what happened next. So, ready to share in our top 5 key learnings?

1) When a preschooler boasts that she can carry someone or something, even after being sternly opposed, she will often* follow through with the boast the moment the grown-ups have left the room (*if her name is Gabi Negrin, replace “often” with “always”.)
2) When one comes upon a preschooler carrying a fat baby who outsiders insist is not fat, one should try really hard NOT to startle the preschooler as it may activate the mechanism known in biology as the “drop the baby and trip over her while trying to flee” response.”
3) As indicated by common distress signals of tearful crying and whatnot, we can safely generalize that babies, fat or otherwise, do not like being dropped on the floor.
4) In addition, being tripped over and fallen upon immediately after the fall does not make them feel any better.
5) If you leave two or more small children unsupervised in a room together, at least one of them should probably be duct taped or otherwise adhered to the floor.

Now for the facts and figures that I should keep in some sort of baby journal.

Meital: At 6 ½ months, Meital pulled herself from sitting to standing in her crib, requiring us to lower the mattress to the midpoint. Not bad for a fatty, huh? She loves to stand there squawking and trying to strangle the teddy bears on her mobile. She is also so advanced that she is already on her second ear infection. We’re so proud. And, just shy of 7 months, she has started holding herself up high on her hands and knees, (in girl push-up position) but when she tries to crawl, she ends up scooting backwards, which coincidentally is a perfect metaphor for my career path these days. But overall, I have to say, as quietly and discreetly as possible that she must be the most blessedly normal, good natured and highly appreciated baby in all the Western hemisphere. Although she is already showing an alarming resistance to daytime naps...

Verbatims: Aghk! Aghk! (That means, “Rosa, where is Rosa? I want Rosa!”)

Gabi: At the tender age of 3 ½ years, she has finally stopped waking us up at night. The secret sauce was a calendar on her wall called Gabi’s Good Night” where I placed a star sticker each well-rested morning. The idea was that when she filled up the page with stickers, we would buy her a bike – “purple with Princess Hello Kitty AND Barbie” (good thing she is forbidden from watching TV commercials). But the lazy truth is, Rosa put the sticker sheet somewhere after about 10 days and I never bothered finding it so the calendar is mostly unstickered, AND Gabi completely forgot about the bike, but the key thing is WE ARE SLEEPING so who cares?! (I’ll get her the bike – don’t get all crazy on me!)

Verbatims:
1. (Reacting to a scrape on her arm) “I don’t like blood. Yuck! It’s no use to me!”

2. (Bedtime conversation between me and Gabi)
Gabi: I like when we have school and daycare because we get to watch movies.
Galit: I can’t believe we pay all this money for you to watch movies. We send you to school so you can play and learn.
Gabi: “I LEARN how to watch movies.”

3. (After school, she is having a yogurt, and I am asking her to tell me everything about her day, with whom she played, which kids were there, what did she have for snack…”
“Mommy, I am trying to eat. Stop bothering me.”

Thanks as always for your patronage! Talk soon.

Galit et al

Sap and Saccharin Drivel

2006-03-25T08:23:00.000-08:00

Hello fans,

My mother always taught me “if you have nothing negative to say, don’t say anything at all.” And that, my friends, is the main reason I have been silent for such a relatively long time. It’s hard to be entertaining – or superstitious for that matter – when you can only think of good things to say about your kids. And how is that interesting?

Last time we went to the doctor, Meital had her 4 month appointment, actually at 4 ½ months because I forgot to take her at 4 months. (Sucks to be second.) At 16 lbs, she was in the 80th percentile for weight and 60th for height which makes her sort of tall and rather fat. Despite her voluptuous figure, Meital has proven herself to be quite agile, already able to stay sitting up on her own fairly steadily and, when lying down, able to pull her feet to her face and suck on her socks. And let it be known, in this day and age of self esteem building, that’s all it took for Dr. Peggy to deem Meital’s development to be on par with the typical 6 month old. WOW! A whole month and a half ahead of her time. Realize that if she keeps this up, she will graduate from high school in April instead of June, 2023! Very exciting. Given her sophistication, we have ceased to call her Tub-o-Lard. Instead we call her “Boojah!” Try it. It’s fun, see?

People constantly ask us to compare between Gabi and Meital. Was Gabi this fat? Did Gabi sit this early? Did Gabi vocalize so much? And I have to level with you. These comparisons make me uncomfortable -- for two reasons. One is that I didn’t keep good records so I have no clue what Gabi did and when. And two, I just don’t think we gain anything from making comparisons between our children – especially in the area of development. I firmly believe that each child develops on her own schedule. And no matter what, we love each of them so much and they are both unique and special in their own ways. What IS important though, is that they outpace other people’s children. As long as our girls can kick YOUR children’s silly, scrawny asses, we are very happy indeed.

Gabi is also doing very well. Her teacher did recently confirm that “Gabi has the energy of three children” but she has yet to seriously injure the baby and that's my main goal these days. I was so scared that she would try to kill the competition at every opportunity. But in her world, Meital is not competition -- she is the coolest gift Gabi ever got -- at least for now. She really loves her little sister and they are already a team in many ways. Just the other day, while I ducked into the kitchen to strain a batch of edamame, Gabi dragged the baby, presumably by the head, to the middle of her checker board. But only, she explained somewhat earnestly, because “Meital wanted to play checkers” – seems reasonable to me.

Gabi also speaks for Meital, in a high pitched squeaky voice, and always requests the best for her e.g. “pick me up, mommy” or “I want ice cream please.” The times that Gabi is a little rougher than I like, I try to coach her that it can hurt Meital to, say, leave the blanket over her face for extended periods of time when you play peek-a-boo. But when Gabi dutifully removes the blanket, Meital, ever the loyal sister, is all smiles, totally eradicating any credibility I may have. Meital tries to pay back Gabi’s generosity whenever she can – and is not afraid to try out her newfound veto power. Recently, when Gabi got firm “NO’s” from both myself and Andy about watching one more TV show, Gabi went to confer with her little sis and came back to victoriously announce “MEITAL said I COULD watch another show – hmmph!” My God, give us strength to face these children.

In even more positive news, Gabi finally decided to toilet train herself (this time for real.) And just in time. Her developmental pre-school – where the philosophy is to let each child learn and develop in their own time – entirely lost their patience for Gabi’s own time for toilet training. As if all the pressure they placed on us was going to help. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make her pee – especially when your horse is as stubborn as a mule! Anyway, glad that's over.

Here are a few examples of how Gabi has already surpassed our intelligence (as if that is some sort of high hurdle):

I was playing basketball in her room with a crumpled wet wipe and her trash can. After my 3rd miss, she suggested “mommy, why don’t you move the trash can closer to you?”
We were driving at night and she wanted to see a picture she drew. I turned on one of the cabin lights but it was still pretty dark, so as I was mumbling something about waiting until we get home, she said “I have a great idea, mommy; turn on both lights at the same time.”
Just the other day, she woke up and came in bed with us to snuggle. Andy invited her to sit in the middle so we could both be close to her. She refused, instead insisting to stay on the edge of the bed next to me. Noticing Andy’s dejection, she finessed: “I can see you from here, daddy.”

And here is an example of where she has not:

When we listen to dance music at home (Gabi likes the latest U2), I, the prototypical white girl, have a habit of snapping my fingers to the beat when I dance. Gabi, apparently heard the sound, but did not realize the source, so now when she dances, she enthusiastically clucks her tongue to the beat (or sort of close.) Between the wild leg lifts and arm motions and the “cluck”, “cluck”, “cluck”s, it is absurd and very funny to see, but neither of us has the heart to correct her – it is pure innocence on display.

Alright, I better send this out while any of it is still relevant. I promise to at least try to lose the sap for next time – but they are making it hard on me.

Lots of love,

Good Help

2006-02-05T19:38:00.000-08:00

Dear Fans,

Yes, I know. Quit your yammering. It has been a while. But I have a good reason, and it’s not what you think. Logic would dictate that it’s hard to find time for idle pursuits such as blogging when one has so many hungry mouths to feed and one has also returned to one’s corporate marketing job. But the fact is that Rosa cooks dinner and drives Gabi to preschool 4 days a week, and I roll into work around 10:00 ish and run, run away at about 4:30, and skip Fridays entirely, so it’s not that. What has been cutting into my blogging is that I have been tapped to work on a top secret anti-terror effort. Obviously I can’t go into a ton of detail. Suffice it to say that the recent discovery of the USA outsourcing European torture facilities has ruffled a few feathers. So it turns out that having detainees spend between 5:30 pm (when Rosa leaves) and 10:30 pm at our home each night trying to get our children properly fed, bathed and to sleep just barely squeaked past the hard line drawn by the Geneva conventions. We are honored to serve our country, and frankly, happy to have the extra help – albeit rough around the edges.

The last guy, who I will just call Abu to protect his identity, and also because I think it was his actual name. He cracked somewhere between Gabi’s sudden reversal from unequivocally demanding pasta to unequivocally insisting on 5 chicken nuggets and the insufficiently tall mountain of bubbles in the bath. I could barely hear his chilling confession over the sound of Gabi’s shrill cries of YUCKY!!!!!!! And NOOOOOooo, MAKE IT TALLER…! But apparently the CIA can just filter out Gabi’s frequency from the tape – just like Andy.

But that was nothing compared to Moh-Moh, as we eventually started to call him. He drew the perfect bath for Gabi, complete with her favorite combination of red and blue bath tints and easily the tallest mountain of bubbles Watermelon Scented Mr. Bubble has ever produced. Moh-Moh beamed with pride over his creation and the expectation of ensuing delight, and it’s still hard for me to describe the pained expression on in his face when Gabi, out of nowhere, insisted that bubbles were YUCKY and she wanted a bath without bubbles. None of us saw it coming. Somehow, he regained composure and managed to get through the bath and three princess bedtime stories and even had a little bit of time left over to relax with a lukewarm cup of tea and moldy heel of bread. But sure enough, by the third time Gabi got him up, claiming she had to poo-poo, he just fell apart. I know I wasn’t supposed to be nice to him, but that incident was so heart-wrenching that I actually forgot myself and tried to give him a hug. But praise the lord; I tripped over my veil, because he probably would have snapped my neck like a chicken.

Despite all that, I can’t help but pity the guy who has been taking care of Meital every night. Gabi is tough psychologically, but Meital takes a physical toll. First, I have to say that obviously we had some hesitation letting accused enemy combatants take care of the baby. So we were able to pull some strings and get Yasser, a dark, rather comely fellow who was only charged with wiring large sums of money to questionable charities. So back to Meital. She insists on suckling continuously from about 8 pm right until lock-up time each night – and as if the chafing was not bad enough, she pulls out tufts of his chest hair too. But that guy is a tough nut to crack for sure. It’s just a matter of time. The agents and I have some money riding on it. I give him one more week. Either that or maybe he really was just trying to plant trees in Syria.

More to come soon.
G

Isms

2006-01-08T22:21:00.000-08:00

Hello Fans,

On Tuesday evening before my first day back to work, I knew that something would undoubtedly keep me from being well rested the next day. That’s a given. The fun part is trying to guess what it will be. Would one of our fire alarms malfunction? Would Meital hit a sudden growth spurt and wake up in the night? (I have not written this for fear of jinxing it, but she has been S-L-E-E-P-I-N-G incredibly well… that’s all I will say and just forget you ever read this.) Will Andy chew glass again? Will Gabi…..

Of course it was Gabi. Silly Gabi. At 2 am when she wailed from her room, I, her dutiful slave, went in to check on her and found that she had a fever (not sure how those fancy fangled Therm-o-Meters work, so judged by feel.) After giving her a tasty fruit flavored cocktail of decongestant and Motrin, I slept in her bed to make sure she would live through the night. I don’t know what it is about being a mom and the middle of the night, but by 4:00 am, I was already sure she had a deadly strain of flu and that she had another hour or two of life left in her at most. Since there was nothing anyone could do for her, I tried to occupy my troubled mind with other thoughts, so I deemed our home to be extremely unsafe, our finances in complete disarray, the world about to plunge into chaos and my physique to be in dire need of a personal trainer and some plastic surgery (which is all at least somewhat true.) The next day, through nothing short of miracle, Gabi was still sick enough to stay home, but alive, blessedly alive. Poor Rosa, our nanny, had both girls, and I after my peaceful night’s rest, was sharp as a whip at work. Ha.

Meital, still on her bottle strike, finally acquiesced to consuming a whopping 1 ½ ounces of milk – a normal serving at this age is probably about 4 ounces. And get this, it took Rosa a full 2 hours to accomplish this feat. For those of you pulling out your calculators, that is a blinding 0.75 ounces of milk per hour. I’ve seen lady bugs drink more than that. Granted it was in college, at a party….

Meital, it turns out, is looking more and more like Gabi. In fact, we have taken to calling her “Gabi 2.0”. It is entirely possible that she always looked a lot like Gabi, and that I was in denial hoping that at least one of my children would have the decency to bear at least a tiny resemblance to their mama, after all the delicious caffeinated beverages, luscious soft cheeses and recreational drugs I gave up for them. All that aside, it is very rewarding seeing Meital develop. She just started reaching for toys with her hands, instead of just looking at them. She also leans herself forward into a sitting position when she is reclining in her swing or bouncer. And perhaps I am biased, but she seems way ahead of the pack in the area of drooling. Not only can she douse 6 bibs a day, but she spends much of the day with her lips coated in a bubbly froth, like she’s eating dish soap or trying to kick a wicked case of rabies. Our little genius.

Back to Gabi. Friday at the Doctor’s office, we got the great news that Gabi had made a complete recovery and was back to her baseline state of healthy (i.e. with the requisite snot cascading from her nose.) However, the Doctor did have a moment of alarm. Here’s what happened. The Doctor asked Gabi if she had nice Holidays. Gabi replied matter-of-factly “We don’t celebrate Christmas.” She has become rather proud of the fact, since I told her that Christmas is only 1 day (versus 8) AND that Christians never get to eat Challah – a fate she can’t even stand to imagine. (I decided to leave out the part about spending our afterlives burning in hell until she is a little older.) But back to the Doctor. When she heard that Gabi doesn’t celebrate Christmas, I swear she got a little pale and nearly sobbed “I know you don’t, honey” as if the sorrow was almost too much for her to bear. Surely as a seasoned pediatrician, she has seen her share of Dwarfism, Embolism, and maybe even Botulism, but based on her reaction, the most tragic of all conditions is Judaism. As long as we keep getting cool stickers after each appointment, I’ll let it go.

Tune in next week to find out who prevented our heroine from catching up on beauty sleep over the weekend.

Cracking the Code

2005-12-27T17:06:00.000-08:00

Dear Fans,

Cracking the Code: Andy and I often find ourselves needing to speak in code around Gabi. Like if we are conspiring to eat some I-C-E C-R-E-A-M after she goes to B-E-D a word that when spoken out loud, provokes immediate screams of consternation. Or if we are trying to plan a play date with her friend C-H-A-R-L-I-E, but don’t want to get her hopes up prematurely. My own parents spoke in a language where they inserted an extra consonant (in their case, B) after each vowel in a word. Trouble is Andy and I lack the mental horsepower to further complicate the English language and have enough trouble communicating as it is. So we spell. The other afternoon, we were contemplating in her presence whether or not it would be conscionable to let her watch yet another S-H-O-W. Gabi studied us carefully, took a moment to process, and then cried “I don’t want to go to bed!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Monsters Inc.: So, remember when I told you that Gabi was waking up afraid to sleep in her room. She continues to stick to her story that “the squeaky hand will come up and tickle (her).” Or that simply “something will come up.” All along, I have been reassuring her that there are no monsters, and that mommy and daddy make extra sure that her room is very safe. However, I recently discovered that once more, I was wrong. A few nights ago, she agreed to go back to sleep if I lay beside her in her bed. Sure enough, she fell right back asleep, while I lay wide awake, clinging to her in fear as I heard monsters/home intruders/terrorists banging around in our sub floor area. As I feared, when I checked the next morning, (lazy clearly overrules scared in my mind) the grate that covers the opening to our crawl space had been knocked over. I know for a fact it had been up that very day since the termite inspector showed me that it was down, and put it back up. There are clearly ferule cats or rabid squirrels or disenfranchised skunks living in the crawl space under her room, and here I am telling her, “It’s just a bad dream honey, there is nothing there, nothing will come up.” Hah.

The Other One: Meital is not only a tub of lard, but a blabbermouth to boot. She talks and talks – and sounds a little like a deaf person or a very bad drunk. Our Peruvian nanny, Rosa, thinks she is Mexican on account of all the “ay ay ay’s” and she swears she heard her say “qué rico” during a short breastfeeding break. I don’t recall Gabi yammering quite so much, certainly not so loudly, at this age. But back to the fat, for a moment. She busted out of her 0-3 month clothes somewhere around 2 months and is already into her third size diaper. But she’s got a sort of sumo thing going on, cause she is really strong too. She’s very good at holding up her head and even supporting her weight standing as long as you prop her up a bit by the armpits. This is an important step in her development, because we are able to make her dance which entertains us and our guests. She (well technically, we) do a particularly good rendition of Pinocchio’s “I have no strings….” In general, she’s very smiley, even laughs a bit, and has what can only be termed as “impossibly long eyelashes.” The inconsolable crying is behind us, at least when mama is around. But since she still will have nothing to do with a bottle or pacifier, I am going to cut my work days short at the office and work part of each day from home so that she won’t be stressed, and most importantly, drive another nanny out of town. You know how I love my nannies.

Speaking of Nannies: Rosa has been awesome. She has little experience with children, but who cares? Boy can she cook, and she tidies and organizes and even offered to iron our sheets in a lull between the washing machine and the dryer. So the other day when she offered to cook dinner, I asked her to boil some Mushroom Tortellini and make a sauce with the fresh mushrooms, jarred Three Cheese red sauce and the Mushroom Asiago Chicken Sausage I had purchased. Fresh basil was her own great idea. Anyway, when Andy called, I told him to hurry home from work since I made a delicious dinner. Gabi, getting overly technical about my flexible use of personal pronouns announced “No you didn’t mommy. Rosa made it.” Yeah, whatever, ya little know-it-all tattle tale rat fink!!! Whose side are you on, girlie?????

All My Children

2005-12-06T13:31:00.000-08:00

Hello fans,

It appears we have entered the holiday season. I know this because my Jewish 3 year old daughter, who attends a Jewish pre-school, is already whining that she loves Santa Claus, wants Christmas and that we need to hang lights on the outside of our house. I told her that we are Jewish and we have our own fun and beautiful holidays and that she will get lots of presents for Chanukah. To this she replied matter of factly: “I like Christmas better.” I’ll bet you do.

And speaking of Jewish American Princesses, I really hate that stereotype. In fact, I was raised in a house where that kind of spoiled brat behavior was so highly discouraged, that I developed a rather sad aversion to money, which unfortunately extended through my young adulthood to include potential husbands with money. The point is, someone complimented Gabi on her (really very cute) new shoes the other day, and like any well grounded and innocent three year old she replied: “Yes, I bought them at Nordstrom.” Nice.

Two middle-of-the-nights ago, I went into Gabi’s room where she was crying (as usual.) Only this time, instead of asking to be held or to come into our room, with tears in her eyes, she wailed: “mommy, clean my room!” I thought she might still be half asleep, so I brushed it off and went to hug her, but she kept sobbing and crying “clean my room, clean my room.” I told her it was fine and that we could put away her toys in the morning, but a few minutes of hysteria later, at 3:20 a.m., I was on my hands and knees, putting away princess dresses and tiaras. She really is crazy; there is no doubt in my mind.

Another Gabi story – this one is a continuation, so you’re going to wish you didn’t automatically delete all my emails. (I suppose you can read the blog archives.) Given that I am continuing to take prenatal vitamins while I feed Meital, I still have a little touch of an unpleasant medicinal odor at night. (OK, I have dragon breath.) Luckily, Gabi has grown a little more subtle having gotten the talk on hurting people’s feelings when you pinch your nose and tell them that their breath (or feet, or hair, or body) are “STINKY, YUCK!” A few nights ago, right as she was about to curl up to fall asleep with me, she took her favorite doggy stuffed animal, and ever so carefully placed his floppy ear over my offensive mouth. Resourceful little bugger that she is.

At 2 months Meital, had her first real doctor’s appointment. That’s the one where they give you the stats. Tipping the scales at 12 pounds and 10 ounces of sheer baby mass, our little tub-o’lard is in the 85th percentile for weight and height. Not that I am competitive or anything, but she is going up against babies who are formula fed too, which everyone knows is more caloric. To keep up, we feed about 1000 times a day. And the really exciting part is that after all this; I will probably be able to tow a tractor trailer with my nipples. Won’t that be a neat trick? Meital’s head circumference, on the other hand, is only in the 40th percentile. The bad news is that this probably means she has a tiny, tiny brain. But that seems minor compared to the good news that she is almost guaranteed to look great in hats.

Did you see the movie “Speed”? Yes, the one with Sandra Bullock and that dumb good looking guy that was in the Matrix. (I am such a name dropper!) Anyway, Meital is a lot like the bomb in that movie. When we are in the car, she cries if I am going anything less than 40 miles per hour. Even if I have been cruising along on the freeway for about ten minutes during her prime nap time, and I am convinced she is sound asleep, once I slow down on the off-ramp, it’s WAHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh all over again! “Sorry officer, but you see, I ran that particular stop sign, and the 10 before it, because….”

Everyone is always curious about how we are sleeping. Well, lately I have been up about 3 times a night… but typically, only one of those is Meital! Gabi has been waking up crying almost every night and asking to come into bed with us, which is as endearing as it sounds. And now Andy has thrown his hat in the mix too. Poor guy got an infected throat, so I was jolted awake two nights in a row to the crash of breaking glass. That, it turns out, is what it sounds like when you are too impatient to suck on your throat lozenges and decide to quickly chew them instead. What’s the matter with these people?

Alright. I think I have sufficiently insulted every one of my family members, so it’s off to do more good.

Be well!
Galit

Double Trouble

2005-11-18T10:58:00.000-08:00

Dear fans,

I promised renewed blogging when I got more than 3 hours of sleep in a row, and must keep my word. On a typical night with Meital, she sleeps at 9:00 pm (screaming for two hours seems to settle her right down for beddy bye…) wakes up for an hour-long feed / burp / diaper at 3:00 am (which by anyone’s standards, is 6 hours in a row) and then sleeps until 6:00 am, which according to some people, is not considered the middle of the night, although I would argue that, provided I had the energy to do so. So this schedule ain’t so bad, until you throw in the Gabi wake up usually at around 4:30 –I have to go to her room where she is sobbing woefully, give her a hug -- being careful not to strangle her delicate neck region -- drag her sleeping bag into our room and tuck her in again.

At 7 weeks, Meital is steadily gaining weight, mostly in her belly, which spills over her diaper. (Andy has nicknamed her “tub’o’lard which I’m hoping won’t stick.) She is a total daddy’s girl – yes you can already tell! She smiles and laughs, mostly at Andy and Gabi, and makes cute little noises. My personal favorite is a loud “hep, hep, hep” when she is feeding. Her eyes are big and googly and still a deep blue, which will probably change. A very long list of things make her cry including: hunger, gas, tired, too much milk, too little milk, hiccups, cold, hot, poop, not being held, the evening hours, just messing with our heads, etc.

I hate to put people into buckets, especially when said people can barely even hold up their own heads, but I’m pretty sure Meital will be an actress when she grows up. A) We live in LA so one of our kids must be an actress. B) She can make herself cry with hardly a moments notice or incitement C) She is already totally cozying up to the male director / producer (Andy) and selfishly uses her underpaid personal assistant (me) who toils round the clock behind the scenes to handle her every need no matter how petty. She will, however need to lose the belly fat to make it in this town, so ha.

So, what’s my take on having two kids so far? Well, all in all, I give it about 3 stars. I can’t fully recommend it, nor can I undo it. It’s not that I don’t like babies. It’s not like that at all. Perhaps it’s just that I think they have poor manners. Emily Post boils down good manners to being respectful and considerate. As far as I am concerned, Baby Meital is neither of those things. With Gabi, I thought it was just Gabi. But now I have 2 data points, which based on my semester of graduate level statistics, is plenty. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Meital completely and unconditionally. Except when she is crying, fussing or refusing to take a perfectly good bottle. Other than that, we’re tight.

Gabi has exceeded my expectations as a big sister. In other words, she has not killed the baby yet, nor has she come all that close to killing her. It’s very sweet actually. She professes her love for Meital, calls her best friend and when people joke about taking Meital home with them, she looks concerned and quickly refuses. (Hey, I’m thinking, let’s at least hear them out….) The first week or two, she acted all lovey dovey at home and then beat the crap out of the kids in her pre-school, but better them than us, right?

A few Gabi gems of the month:

Excuse Me: Gabi has learned (from her best friend Charlie) to say “excuse me” when she wants to politely interject something when people are talking or otherwise engaged. Only catch is that for her, excuse me means something more like “shut up it is my turn to talk” or “listen to ME NOW!” She will keep hollering EXCUSE ME until she is heard, which brings me back to the point about manners. Oy!

Why: I also taught Gabi our house rule, harsh I know, that we don’t stick stickers on furniture. One morning, when I was trying to rest a little more and Andy was getting Gabi ready for school, she asked him “Daddy, is the rug furniture?” Andy, did not know what she was getting after, so he asked for clarification: “Uh, I’m not exactly sure, why do you ask?” to which she repeated her question but more slowly this time “IS — the — rug -- furniture?” “Honey” he said, “It’s a bit hard to say; tell me why you are asking, and I think I can answer you.” Gabi persisted this time louder “No, daddy, juss tell me IS THE RUG FURNITURE???” Andy tried again “Why do you ask, Gabi?” to which she totally pushed back in a near scream “NO, daddy, I ask WHY!!!!!” Clearly, she owns the license for “WHY” around here.
p.s. In case you were curious, after some intervention from mommy, it turned out that --furniture or not -- rugs are not stickerable surfaces either. Case closed.

Go: Andy was driving the carpool to pre-school and Gabi is always very interested in the rules of the road – presumably so that once she gets a little taller, or collects enough phone books, she can take the car out for the occasional spin to Tijuana or wherever. Regardless, she asked Andy the following question which we thought was rather deep: “Daddy, if there are stop signs, how come there aren’t any GO signs?”

Snot: Rosa is our latest and greatest nanny who comes a few hours each day to keep mommy from ending up in the newspaper headlines. She tried to bathe Gabi a few evenings ago and Gabi pitched a fit saying she did not like Rosa and yelled at her to go away. The next day, she told Rosa and me that she did like “Rosie” after all – probably because she wanted apple slices and I was busy feeding the baby. To prove her regained devotion, when Rosa left, Gabi insisted on giving her a huge hug and kiss. The minute the door closed behind Rosa, Gabi beamed at me full of mischief and proclaimed: “ I wiped my snot on her nice clothes!” Yes, the kid is pure evil, but damn funny you must admit!

Ope! Time to refill my cocktail. Toodles for now.
Galit

Letter to Gabi Inc. Shareholders

2005-10-25T17:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Gabi Inc. Shareholders,

This notice is to alert you that there has been management reorganization at Gabi Inc. and explain the ramifications of said changes to you.

I. In an effort to stay current with market trends and leverage core competencies, a new executive has been added to the board of directors and will take over the role of Chief Operations Officer (COO), overseeing the day to day operations of our company. Despite the company’s tendency towards outsourcing, it has been decided that it is in the best interest of you, our shareholders, to promote from within, so to speak. To this end, we have selected Meital Adee Negrin to assume this important role. Having spent her entire career as a fetus, she possesses intimate knowledge of the inner workings of our company, will be able to understand the needs of an increasingly young consumer demographic, and lend a very fresh perspective to the operations of the company (once she can see beyond twelve inches from her nose, which we are told will be very, very soon.)

Meital Adee Negrin
Chief Operations Officer

II. As her first contribution to Gabi Inc, Meital has insisted that the company name as it stands is not reflective of the teamwork environment we strive to foster. Therefore, our company name has changed to Negrin, Negrin, Negrin & Feinreich Inc. In addition, she felt that the name of the blog was also a bit one dimensional. Meital has decided to rename the company’s flagship newsletter to which you are all (albeit involuntarily) subscribed “Mommy, Margarita & Me.” This name was developed by the company’s consultant of record (and current head of catering), Galit Feinreich. Ms. Feinreich’s research identified a sizeable, largely untapped demographic who indicate a strong preference for parenting and its various outcroppings with a fruity, frosty, tequila-infused cocktail in hand. The “Mommy, Margarita & Me” newsletter is ideally positioned to capture this exciting market opportunity.

III. The current role of Chief Executive Officer (CEO) will remain with Gabi Negrin. Gabi has proven her innate abilities to set the strategic vision for our company and make sure that vision is executed, down to the last detail, to her precise specifications. She is a confident and fearless leader, as evidenced by her ability to withstand serious bodily injuries with barely an “ouch”. She also has a flawless track record of extracting almost anything from anyone, and we are scared to mess with her regardless, so she stays as CEO, OK?

Gabriella "Gabi" Limore Negrin,
Chief Executive Officer

We hope these changes are met with your support. Newsletters will resume as usual once the author gets more than 3 hours of consecutive sleep and no longer feels the need to hurtle inanimate (phew) objects across the room or cry uncontrollably with little to no provocation. (Please strike that last line if you are expecting or otherwise in the throes of expanding your family.)

With gratitude,

The Board

The First Ammendment

2005-09-19T09:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Gabi Fans,

No, Baby Bub has not yet arrived, and frankly, is not entirely welcome until at least Wedesday. I have things to do. To pass the time while she waits for her marching orders, she has taken to yanking on a particular nerve in my spine that sends shooting pains down my right leg, nearly causing it to buckle. I sense another trouble maker en route. If you have ever considered asking Andy to father your children, consider yourself forewarned -- bad idea.

Moving right along… today’s topic is the First Amendment to the constitution of the United States. A piece of literature, that despite the ample sum we pay Gabi’s pre-school each month, they have yet to cover in their curriculum. Here’s the proof. Gabi has taken it upon herself to censor all conversation that does not pass her incredibly conservative standards. This is what we get for raising a child in the George W Bush era, I suppose.

For example, let’s say I elect to say something like: “I can’t believe our contractor forgot to pipe up the air conditioning vent while the wall was ripped to the studs and is now telling us it is cost prohibitive to do so, and that we must instead cut an unsightly vent into our otherwise untarnished new floor. How stupid does he think we are?”

To which Gabi immediately jumps in, arms gesturing wildly, in complete dismay and horror: “MOMMY! Do NOT say “STUPID!” It is a very bad word. Don’t say that word anymore, OK?” She also censors any word that sounds in any way like “stupid” such as “studio” and “second” just as an added precaution. Other words on her black list are: “ridiculous”, “disgusting”, “horrible”, “awful” and any other multi-syllabic word that is said in a negative tone. In other words, Andy and I are entirely stripped of the ability to discuss our kitchen remodel and, frankly, most other things we talk about.

After being called out for a particularly benign use of the word stupid – something like, “I felt so stupid when I forgot so-and-so's name…” I found myself trying to reason with her that sometimes “stupid” is not such a bad word after all. Here I was, trying to explain the idea of context to my not yet three year old daughter. Needless to say, that went over really well.

And don’t think you are safe. This extends beyond her parents. Gabi was admiring a Bratz doll (purchased as a gift for my cousin) at my mom’s house. My mom, sneered at the doll’s exaggerated features and said in Hebrew the equivalent of “that doll and her big head are hideous.” Gabi, once again with a look of extreme concern, waving her little finger in the air chastised: “Don’t say that word, Safta (grandma)! That is NOT nice. This doll is beautiful.”

And if you try to argue amongst yourselves, well, forget it! She will quickly intervene, once again brandishing her little hand in the air, and very earnestly say: “Don’t use angry words! Take turns talking.”

If only this child realized how we used to talk before she came around, and how we still talk when she is out of earshot, I am guessing she would cut us a bit of slack. I mean “stupid” give me a f&@*ing break! Somehow, describing the motley crew of geniuses that damages 10 things for each 3 that they assemble in our kitchen as “silly” and the gashes they put into our beautiful hardwood floor as “yucky” is not as satisfying as say: “the stupid mother f&@*ing bastards that are ripping the s#!t out of our god@&^*ed floor.” But we’ll save that vocabulary lesson for kindergarten, or at least until the Democrats are back in office.

Bumps in the Night

2005-09-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Gabi Fans,
It's actually been a little while since the last installment. Being three weeks away from my due date, I’ve been a little crabby, and wasn’t sure that this extended list of readers would enjoy a tirade as much as, say, my immediate family obviously does. But for the sake of keeping you up-to-date, here goes.

I'm sure you all think, based on the previous potty training series, that by now, our little girl is certainly all growed up in that regard. But you would be wrong. Gabi's self toilet training exercise was meant, like most things, to demonstrate to us things she could do if she so chose. Once she proved her physiological and psychological readiness to use the toilet, she went back to doing her business utilizing whatever vehicle is least convenient at any given time. In other words, when toilets abound, she soils her pull-ups or panties, and when they are scarce, she insists we quickly find her one, and then soils her pull-ups or panties (and car seat, furniture, sidewalks, hand-loomed antique wool carpets ...) when we can't quite get her to a toilet on time. Of course every now and again, she uses the toilet, just to remind us who is in charge, or to collect some expensive gift that she coerced me into promising.

Just yesterday, in preparation for her job as an FBI "interrogation" expert, she tried to break me at Target, a place that I used to associate with happy feelings. At school, where they are insisting she go to panties only, she basically held it all day long, to mess with her teachers' minds. Then, at Target, where we were buying -- get this irony fans -- new panties, she proceeded to poop herself right there next to the underwear rack. I rushed her to the checkout so we could pay for our panties and go clean up. At the checkout, she proceeded to piss all over the floor. The old me probably would have started weeping uncontrollably right around the point I was awkwardly kneeling over my hugely pregnant belly wiping the linoleum with napkins from the ICEE machine as the people in line behind us glared in disgust. But ever since I ate all that lead paint with our kitchen remodel, these types of indignities just roll off me...kinda like crap rolls out of panties and onto the floor when you are trying to remove them from a squirming child in a public restroom. Yep, just like that. You know what I really need to put the icing on the cake? A howling newborn in tow too! That would make things perfect, would it not?

So, that's all under control. The new thing we just started dealing with is that Gabi has become scared of the monsters that are making bumps in the night. Or more precisely “the squeaky hand that will come up and tickle (her).” The other night, she cried in fear and asked me to sleep in her bed to protect her from said monsters. Thing is, our house was built in 1928. All it does is go bump, creak, bang, ping and sigh in the night. And that's when we aren't walking across our creaky, squeaky, groaning, braying floor. Every time there was the slightest sound, many of which were then caused by my 40 incremental pounds of pregnant belly rolling over in Gabi's "big-but-not-that-big-missus" girl bed, she sat up like a bolt and asked me to prove it was not a monster. "It's just your bed straining under mommy's tremendous weight, honey" I explained. "Why mommy?" she inquired. "Because, sweetheart, wood creaks when you put pressure on it, and mommy is rather on the gigantic side right now, and every time I try to move, the bed makes a noise, you see?" "Why mommy?" she asked. "Because, cutie-pie, mommy is not like those little w%^&*es who gain all of 20 pounds in the form of a tiny volleyball in their belly, while they can still wear their size 2 jeans and complain of having a tough first trimester because of that one day when they really, really felt like taking a little nap, OK?" "Why mommy?" she further clarified. And so it went into the wee hours of the night.

In other news, next week is my last at work and then I am off fulfilling my maternal duties until early January when I will undoubtedly claw my way back to the civilized and unpleasant-in-a-completely-different-and-refreshing-way working world. Our kitchen remodel is perfectly on schedule to be complete when Baby Bub has her Bat Mitzvah (which incidentally will probably coincide with Gabi getting toilet trained.) So far, our best nanny prospect is a 60+ woman who looked more like 100+, smelled of stale cigarette smoke and whose idea of making conversation during a 30 minute interview was discussing all of her alcoholic relatives -- living and otherwise, her own bout with alcohol abuse and her disdain for Hispanics who try to pass off their “ethnic” food to unsuspecting and otherwise pure Caucasian children. Charming.

If only this stupid hurricane hadn’t happened, I could complain like this with impunity and not sound like an ungrateful brat. Hurricane Shmurricane and ensuing anarchy. Phooey I say!

Hope you are all very well.
Love,
Galit

Pics next time.

The Aroma of Gratitude

2005-07-30T06:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Gabi Fans,
Sometimes the duty of objective journalism supercedes the desire to portray one's protagonists in a positive light. Perhaps this was not warranted here, but I'll forget this little tidbit if I don't write it down, and this is classic Gabi. A few nights ago, our little princess had another rough night (surprise, surprise.) She woke up crying, apparently from a bad dream, and was difficult to comfort. But first, a little background.

If there's an area of tension for the child's father and me, it is putting her in our bed at night. My general philosphy is to take the extra time needed to understand the kid's needs and creatively reason with them until they are back in their own bed where they are safest and where they can cultivate the best sleep habits. At 2 am, my philosophy gets slightly adjusted to: "I will stand on my head, I will put you in my bed, I will give you money, I will give you liquor, just let me F%^&*! sleep." Andy, and I rather agree on the last part -- he evens adds in a couple more expletives -- with one exception. The "put you in my bed" part.

That's because of one simple fact. When I put Gabi in our bed, she very quickly re-orients, like a reliable little compass, with her feet pointing East and her head pointing West. While this may come in handy on the camping trips we will never take, it is problematic in that our bed is oriented North/South. The point is, I get her head, which is lovely and still and at the right angle, I can look at her puffy little cheeks and sleepy pout and it makes me think of angels as I drift back to sleep.

Andy, as you may have deducted, gets her feet. Her feet, attached to the steel clad pistons that have been packing on muscle since she started walking (at 9 mos!) harness about 400 pounds of sheer kicking power -- each. Andy, who is a big complainer anyway, let's be real here, goes nothing short of haywire when he is woken up, and when it is the incessant kicking of a his centaur child, he gets really, really mad -- mostly at me.

So back to the story. Gabi wakes up crying. I, risking all domestic tranquility, agree to let her fall back asleep with us in bed. I am exhausted and suffering from pregnancy insomnia and I am desperate for sleep. When I finally fall asleep again, which takes what seems like a long while, I am jolted awake by Gabi calling out "mommy!" I groggily answer her, not sure if I had been sleeping for minutes or an hour at this point: "yeah...?" "Mommy," she reports, "your breath stinks." I try to stay calm. "Well, if it is bothering you, you can get out of bed and go sleep on your pad." (it's a dog bed if you must know, but I'm not going to get into that now). So, the child, clearly disgusted beyond imagine, slinks out of bed and indeed settles herself into the dog bed on the floor and goes back to sleep. And I, in a slight rage, take an eternity to fall back asleep, as I have now gotten a glimpse into the future with our daughter, and it is surely scarier than whatever nightmare woke HER up in the first place.

San Diego

2005-07-22T07:41:00.000-07:00

Greetings fans!

We have just returned from the Negrin family retreat to San Diego. An all family get together in celebration of Gabi's grandparents' xxth wedding anniversary (insert impressive number that I have forgotten for xx's please.) All 8 adults and 3 little cousins stayed at an amazing beach house, right on the boardwalk with an incredible view of: the bay, San Diego's rather fit inhabitants running or biking by (mmm) -- and nightly fireworks from Sea World! Something for everyone! As for the Gabi highlights, here are a few good ones:

GRASS STATION: On the way there, which took forever in stop and go traffic, Gabi suddenly asked for a pee pee stop. Andy pulled off at the first exit he could, which turned out, after a fair amount of driving, to be an industrial area with no restaurants or gas stations in site. We finally told Gabi that we could not find a gas station so unless she could hold it, she would have to go in the grass somewhere. Her response? "Oh yeah, at a grass station!" And a new term is coined!

ARCHITECTURAL NIRVANA: On the way to San Diego, as many of you may know, there is a nuclear reactor facility called San Onofre where the reactors are two round orbs side by side with protrusions and blinking red lights on top. No matter who you are, let's say even the pope, there is no way to look at these things without thinking of boobs - simply no way! And of all the people I have met in my life, no one loves boobs as much as Gabi. (Let's not forget she insisted on breastfeeding for almost 2 years, and would be still to this day had I not finally cut her off! And the only way I got her to quit was to agree that she could touch them with her hands instead of her mouth -- sort of like m&m's -- an offer she takes me up on very frequently to this day.) Anyway, when she saw these structures, she was overcome by joy that is hard to describe. She was whooping and shrieking and giggling with delight. If Gabi has the fortune in her life to visit other architectural wonders, such as the Alhambra, the Taj Majal or the great pyramids, I doubt she will experience the type of appreciation she had for these magnificent concrete beacons of boobyness. It was quite a site to see.

PERPETUAL NAKEDNESS: The title here is pretty self explanatory. Gabi elected to spend much of her vacation, stark naked. This is the state in which she played, ate meals and even greeted guests at the door. It worked wonders for the potty training. And, hey, if I had her ripped little muscular bod and that terrific little "tuchess", I'd probably spend a lot more time naked too. The only cautionary note here is that if you find yourself renting beachside property in San Diego, I would steer clear of the coasters. Apparently, they make great pretend bar stools. Just trust me on this one.

Here are some photos from the trip:

Gabi, Noni and Julie on the deck

Beached whale Galit (7 mos) & Gabi on beach

Gabi and Andy at Sea World

Josh & Gabi on a date

Aunites Laura & Jodi

Gabi driving a boat

Gabi in early navy seal training

The "Mirgrins" on Fairy Tale Brook at Legoland

Galit, Julie & Gabi adding pizzaz to another boring Legoland ride

The babies of the family

Joshy & Rick on the beach

Building Sand Castles

Always Happy Daniel!

Papu, Galit & Gabi at lunch at Sea World

Shamu!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Squish

On Punishment

2005-07-13T07:16:00.000-07:00

Gabi Fans,
By now you may have begun to get a sense for just how little control we have over our preschooler. If I had to describe the dynamics of the relationship very succinctly (which clearly I don't) I would say it is a relationship based on fear and respect. That is, we fear Gabi and as long as we treat her with a great deal of respect, we are usually allowed to go about our business without undue levels of suffering -- relatively speaking of course.

But we all know from reading those ever-so-helpful parenting books (obviously written as a hilarious inside joke by a group of male psychologists who have never had or plan to have their own children) that children need structure, boundaries and discipline. This does not mesh well with our strategy of tip-toeing around our child so as not to disturb the peace.

That's where self punishment comes in. Nothing of the Opus Dei self flogging variety. Gabi just self imposes some very civilized punishments in order to confirm for us that this aspect of her rearing is being handled, and all we have to do is keep focusing on purchasing gifts, providing meals and reaching things that she cannot, and all will turn out well.

A couple of examples are fresh in my mind (other examples are long forgotten in a sea of hormones and general confusion.) Just yesterday, she kept turning off the kitchen light as Andy was trying to cook dinner in a test of his patience. Mission accomplished. He quickly lost his temper and asked her in his most threatening tone (which works wonders on me) if she wanted to get a time out. "Yes" she said defiantly. "Alrighty then," we replied trying to sound sure of ourselves, "Give yourself a time out and come out when you are ready to be good." So she went off to her room, had a few moments of reflection, and then came out ready to cooperate. And people say parenting is challenging. Hah! No problemo!

Also yesterday -- busy day, Gabi accidentally kicked Andy in a delicate area. He writhed and hollered at the top of his lungs, and I suggested that he try to remain calm around the child (see above about treading lightly). He went into an overly descriptive anatomical discussion about why, given the type of injury he sustained, calm was simply not a viable option. Gabi, absorbing all of this disfunction, also suggested, with her usual flourish of hand gestures, "Abba, you need to be more calm." Sensing a "situation" mounting, I told Gabi that she ought to apologize to Andy for kicking and hurting him, which she did. Later, much later, (but bedtime is another topic I have already exhausted -- no pun intended) Gabi was running around the living room in tight circles to make herself dizzy, bumped into the couch and fell over. "I need to apologize" she announced. "To whom do you need to apologize?" we inquired (with our usual perfect spoken grammar) assuming that she just wasn't entirely clear on how these things work. "To myself!" she replied -- as usual, proving that it is we who don't understand how things work.

I've always felt that, in many ways, raising a child is like having an alien land at your doorstep and having to teach him/her the ways of us earthlings. Our language, our customs etc. The only real difference with Gabi, is that she is more like those terminator style aliens -- who gains the knowledge and then uses it against humanity to seek world domination. Hopefully, if we continue to buy gifts, cook meals and reach for things that she cannot, when that time comes, she may allow us to live -- perhaps letting us act, much as we do now, as her personal servants.

Gabi's First Golf Outing

2005-07-03T20:28:00.000-07:00

A visit to the mini golf on the Santa Monica Pier

Andy teaches Gabi proper golf form

Gabi disregards his advice, prefering to do it "her way":
sitting very close to the hole and assisting with her hands.

Under pressure from the officials, she agrees
to a more conventional stance

And feels the joy of her first golf victory!

Gabi Haircut

2005-07-02T11:42:00.000-07:00

Andy insists on a professional haircut for Gabi.
After all, why get for free what you can pay
good money for? (Yes, I am insulted and bitter
but a good sport.)

Gabi was excited to get her hair cut by someone named Dora.
But I think became a little concerned when this Dora turned
out to look very different than the Dora from her TV show.

This was the hard part.

The hair cut was mediochre at best, but it was
worth $15 for this picture!

Outwitted Again

2005-06-30T06:59:00.000-07:00

Gabi fans,
In a move clearly orchestrated to make her parents look stupid, Gabi went ahead and toilet trained herself this week. She and I moved in with my parents while our kitchen is being demolished in an effort to cut back some on the lead particulates we've been ingesting and make sure Andy gets his fair share. Once we hit the Chatsworth county line, Gabi decided she had diplomatic immunity from our house rules about diapers and proceeded to pee only in the toilet.

Now before you get any ideas -- like that my parents, in their infinite wisdom, stepped in to take over a job I had clearly failed to do, or something like that -- let me reassure you that they did everything in their power to foil her mission, just as we had. For example, when they left the house to run errands, they too, begged her to go in her diaper. When I asked my mom why she didn't offer to take Gabi to the public restroom at the mall (Hey, it's got to be cleaner and less pedophile ridden than the park, and besides, I am not above hypocrisy) she stared at me blankly like she didn't even know such a thing existed. My mom's not a real big germophile either. Their solution, after Gabi insisted on peeing in a toilet, was to ask her to hold it for the hour or two until they got home -- which she did. (It gets worse.)

Back at the ranch, Gabi's enthusiasm for the toilet reached a crescendo of sorts. Every five minutes or less, she yelled out a haunting cry for "pee-pee", ran full speed to the bathroom, dramatically ripped of her undergarments, placed the potty seat on the toilet just so and before she had even fully ascended her throne, started making demands for stickers, gifts and the like. The ritual sometimes involved actual peeing, more often did not, and sometimes ended with Gabi -- stark naked, parading around the house with the lightly soiled toilet seat like a thorny crown on her head. My parents' initial genuine encouragement had by then long faded into saccharine smiles, limp hoorays and the occasional outright reproach. Not long after, my mom was complaining heartily to everyone within the child's fragile earshot what a nightmare this whole toilet thing had become. You may not have found this technique in your parenting books, but boy does it work.

After a long day at work, I came home to find that my toddler, waving and squealing at me from her porcelain perch, had once again outwitted me. And the whole bathroom thing gave her ONE MORE quasi legitimate stalling opportunity at bedtime -- a parenting ritual where we have failed even more miserably than most (unless you believe as we do that children can and absolutely should fend for themselves at night and go to bed long after their exhausted parents.) Regardless, during our already prolonged and entirely futile bedtime dance, Gabi asked not once, but three times to go to the toilet. By the third time, as you can imagine, I went back to the trusty "just go in your nighttime diaper and we can use the toilet again tomorrow." Gabi, obedient as always, marched off to the bathroom, took off her pajamas (again), rendered (another perfectly new) nighttime diaper useless and proceeded to really pee, only pausing to give me a dirty look and chastise "I told you, mom!"

I have no idea what my next move is. And regardless, I am sure she has already predicted it and the next ten moves thereafter. So, for now, I guess I will try to accept this new arrangement and try to appreciate the cost savings in diapers -- for at least the next few weeks or months until Baby Bub arrives on the scene. Presumably, she will decide to use diapers, at least at first.

June Pictures

2005-06-25T08:41:00.000-07:00

Losing our A restaurant rating

This sure beats my usual dessert of steamed broccoli

Gabi took this picture of Andy

Hiding

Way to save money on airfare

Gabi channeling Paris Hilton

Gabi Chanelling Gabi

June 21, 2005 Treatise on Potty Training

2005-06-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Gabi Fans,

If you are following the headlines, you've probably been thinking about executive indictments for corporate accounting fraud, the high price of gasoline and the never-ending chaos in Iraq (also known as Mess'o'potamia if you are a Jon Stewart fan.) Around here though, potty training is our Guantanamo.

But here's the deal. While it is a fact that our otherwise fairly intelligent and delightful child will probably never become toilet trained, we are the first to admit that it is entirely our fault. Zip back if you will to a lovely time a little over a year ago, when Gabi first took interest in potty training. We bought her a potty and a book on using it because we are model parents after all, and those things are easily acquired with a minimal outlay of cash and effort.

However, it's that "extra mile" that always bogs us down. For example, around the same time, when she was at the park at her friend Nathan's first birthday, and asked to go pee-pee in a toilet, to the shock and horror of initially impressed onlooking moms, I gave her request about 1 second of deep thought and then cajoled her to "just go in your diaper since the bathrooms at the park will probably be gross." Well, it's true....

To complicate matters further, an additional challenge in potty training an active child, it turns out, is the bummer of having to stop the fun thing that you are doing, i.e. playing legos, coloring, making someone cry; in order to locate an appropriate receptacle and take the time to do your business. In contrast, when you are diapered, you don't have to miss a beat. It's tough to make a strong case for the toilet when it comes down to it. To be honest, I'm thinking a diaper would probably give a busy working mom like myself an extra 10 or 20 minutes a day. It really starts to add up. And that's not to mention the reduction in grief from "mommy's little accidents." Hey, you try keeping it all together when you sneeze (or cough, or laugh, or procrastinate...) with a 6-month fetus laying like a lead weight on your bladder.

At the end of the day, potty training is difficult. It requires tremendous patience, a high tolerance for poopy messes in inconvenient places, and an entire weekend or so of staying in and relentlessly running pee drills every 20 minutes like a staff sergeant. Frankly, we can't be bothered. If Gabi begs us, maybe we will reconsider our stance. But for now, we are a diaper family. Ahhhhh.....Much better.

June 10, 2005 (2 yrs, 8 mos) - Gabtionary

2005-06-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

Gabi fans,
As you can see, for this latest newsletter, I have entered the world of blogging. I feel a bit like a fraud -- like I should be capable of loading simple software onto a computer, or at least paying bills online, but that is what Andy is for. Amazing how competent I am at online shopping -- but totally mentally blocked when it comes to paying. Anyway, if this seems weird, blame my friend Adam, it was his idea.

For this installment, I wanted to pay tribute to the many Gabi'isms that I realize are soon to disappear into her baby-talk past. Words or phrases that she has taught us, and that will all too soon be replaced by proper (boring) big girl speech.

There's a whole category of syllable enhanced words such as:

ba-less you (for bless you)
duck-a-ling (for duckling)
zer-i-o (for zero - rhymes with cheerio)
Jugg-a-ling (for juggling)

And a new grammatical category of posessive contractions:

my-becca (for my rebecca)
mykalele (not to be confused with ukulele)

There is also the consonant confusion category

glub (for glove)
pack-pack (for back pack)
arm-pick (for armpit)
germs (for worms)
hockey-talkie (for walkie-talkie)

And the just plain wrong but charming in its own way category

alligator (for elevator)
big berg (for big bird)
forwalk (for sidewalk) -- turns out she meant boardwalk
panty liners (for dandilions) an easy mistake to make!

And then there is the Gabi food pyramid

kitchen nunnets (for chicken nuggets)
boobies (for blueberries)
sickie cup (for sippy cup)
shake your booty (for fruit shake)
cower bar (for power bar)
stones (for scones -- which I suppose may be a subtle critique of my baking)

And the outbursts that fall under the Lord Help Us category:

One night Andy put Gabi in bed next to me to help her fall asleep. When she sprawled across his side of the bed, he asked her to sleep closer to mommy so that there would be room for him when he came to bed. When she refused, he asked "where am I supposed to sleep?" to which she immediately replied: "Oh, there is a couch in the office, you should check it out...yeah, check it out, daddy."
On another occasion, Gabi was once more in our bed in an effort to settle down for the night, but she kept talking and singing and blabbing. Andy, growing frustrated, told her to be quiet to which she quickly chastised: "Be quiet daddy, I am not talking to YOU, I am talking by MYSELF!"
Any time we ask her "what did you do at school today?" the instant response is "I pushed" or "I fought." When pressed for details, we have heard, I pushed the red guy (for a while, she wouldn't bother learning the names of the boys in her class, and preferred to identify them by the shirt they wore that day) or the classic "I pushed Farrah in the eye."

That's it for this post. Feel free to make comments or whatever it is you are able or supposed to do with this format. Here are some pics of our soft spoken little fairy princess. Enjoy!