American in Kilkenny

Totally neglected second child

2011-04-09T13:25:00.008+01:00

This post is all about Michael. The second child, first son.

Insert all possible combinations of excuses for lack of blogging. I don't have the time to do it myself, if I want to actually post something today.

Mick is 19 months and 2 weeks today. He is 32 inches tall and 26 pounds. His first molars are just coming in now. With them, he has twelve teeth.

I already cant remember when he started walking but he is currently working on running. He throws (everything) overhand and can catch a ball if you happen to get it into his outstretched hands.

He is the quintessential boy.

(well...)

Loves anything with wheels. He is content to sit on his tricycle and go nowhere. Though he'd rather be taken for a ride.

He loves his sister. She has exerted her big sister power all along, but now the student has become the master.

His repertoire includes hitting, pinching and biting. I got slapped across the face the other day and he wasn't joking when he did it.

I refer to him as DC sometimes, as he is totally a product of Day Care. This past year he was at Miami Shores Community Church which is close to Manus' office but far from everything else. I have no complaints about it aside from the overpowering stench of Pine Sol in his classroom. Next year he will go to St. Patrick's with his sister where he should really begin a quality education.

This stink of cleanser has done nothing to keep Mick from getting every bug that's gone around either. Every cough or cold has led to ear infections (at least 6 since last August) and now we have to make an appointment with an ENT to see about the insertion of ear tubes.

Mick has also been diagnosed with asthma. He has had a chronic dry cough since last August and on two occasions the docs have heard some wheezing so he's been on Flovent and Xopenex inhalers. Its hard to judge if he gets short of breath when he exerts himself or short of breath because he runs around in circles. I told the doctors that the only times he doesn't have the cough is during and for a few days after his many antibiotic courses (for the ear infections) but they say its only coincidence. This last visit (yesterday) the doc said maybe it's allergies all along so we're gonna try Singulair at night. I can't decide which diagnosis would be worse - asthma or allergies.

Where Katie is a bit timid, Mick charges in to everything at full speed. He's never met a garden hose he didn't like.

He is stubborn and determined and has the bumps and bruises to show for it. He fell and hit his mouth on something and after the torrent of blood subsided, I think it's permanently realigned his front teeth, one of which was already chipped by another boy-floor collision. He has a knot on the back of his head where he had a close encounter with the wrought iron leg of our coffee table. Just today he scratched his eye after inspecting a little too closely the business end of a power drill.

Current vocabulary list:

Nah

Huh-uh (you get the picture..)

Mama

Dada

Ga-ma

Gam-pa

Katie

Mummum

(though the last 5 all usually sound like "ma-MA!")

car (ca)

ball

purple

moon

cow (moo)

up (uppa)

water (wah-wah or agua)

juice (ju)

cracker (ca-ca)

poop (poopoo)

wooby (woo-woo)

shoe

chair

dog (woo-woo)

night-night (ni-ni)

He gives hugs and kisses and waves Hi and Bye to everyone

And he loves to read with his Mummum

I know there is more to say about this funny, lovable boy, but no more time today. I love you Mickey

Par for the Course

2010-12-11T17:44:00.003Z

Happy Halloween. As it's December 11th, it makes perfect sense that I am only now posting the Halloween pictures. oh well.

I found this cute little Tinkerbell number at the Children's Exchange consignment shop. Matching shoes and fairy wings- it was great. Only she wouldn't wear it.

Try as I might, Katie insisted on her ballerina dress for her school party. Fortunately, Mick didn't mind not wearing his ballerina dress and was happy going as a Kilkenny Hurler.

Well, maybe not happy...

What we should have done was gone with a Disney theme. After all, we have our own Mickey...

And little Miss Minnie Mouse...

And, of course, don't forget GOOFY!!

Yup, Mick thinks I'm funny and that's all that matters.

Ignorance is Bliss

2010-10-27T21:43:00.003+01:00

Why didn't anyone tell me this was going on?

I could land a modeling gig as a Jenny Craig Before Photo.

Came across this picture in my computer. Almost fell out of my chair. Maybe it was a funhouse mirror trick? I could vomit. Of course, if I could vomit that easily, wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place...

I will rise above this. I am in training for the 2011 ING Half Marathon . And while I decided to try to run it before coming across this photo, I'd made no official announcement because, quite frankly, I figured I'd back out of it. But now, I CANT. Great. I will use the image burned onto my retinas of this photo as inspiration when I feel I can run no more (which so far has been about 3 minutes into each session).

Wish me luck.

A Brief History of Noteworthy Events

2010-10-22T19:55:00.008+01:00

MICHAEL STANDS! first photo: 10/6/10

9/13/10 (Late entry) Katie's first day of preschool at St. Patrick's (and she LOVES it. Miss Sharon is her best friend) Mick's first (but surely not last) mouthful of dirt.
10/8/10 Mick sets new time record for mood change (5.39 seconds)

Katie sets new speed record for... bigsisteritis attack (13.42 seconds, daily attempts are made to best herself)

Michael's first words: Tie between "Uh oh" and "All gone" (which comes out like "Ahugah") But both have adorable corresponding hand gestures.

On 10/10/10, Mick takes his first wobbly steps.

10/20/10 MDCW takes 10 steps (still wobbly)

10/22/10 Mom takes yet another attempt to film said steps. Mick does not cooperate. We do, however, manage to capture some other cute baby things... And, some priceless Katie commentary.

The Dog Ate My Homework

2010-10-21T17:14:00.003+01:00

And other excuses for not posting more.

Life is kicking my ass these days. I think the meds need to be adjusted.

I know I sound whiny when I say working and being a mother and a wife is hard, but sometimes I really think it is. Don't roll your eyes. It's only cliche when you're on the outside looking in. After all, the Stones didn't write "Mother's Little Helper" about a damn Cuisinart.

I want to journal and document and record all the many, many, many fun and humorous things that happen EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE. My silent thoughts often take the form of a post - I categorize events and memories under snappy little titles in my brain. But life has been keeping me from my keyboard. Friends and family are recalling right now all the unanswered emails they've sent (I read them, then keep them in the Inbox assuring myself that the next time I log on Ill have just a little more time and will respond to every last correspondence. The result of this is 478 emails sitting in the Inbox and 10-13 people who think Ive snubbed them. Even my facebook has a layer of dust on its cover. Fortunately was alerted to a fabulous family spat played out in status update/comment threads, so I have kept up with some online drama. TGIF.

Where is my time going? I swear I just don't know. A typical week unfolds thusly*:

Monday= Food Shopping/Cooking day. On weeks that I work T, W, Th I try to make all the week's meals on Monday so Manus can just reheat whatever on his DDDD (Double Duty Daddy Days) - Even though I only work part-time, on the days that I work I leave the house by 6am and don't return til 8:30pm or thereabouts. This means Manus must get the kids up and dressed and to school then work and pick them up and get them fed and bathed and to bed alone.

Tuesday-Thursday= Saving Lives

Friday= Recuperating from above, cleaning the house, laundrathon and bringing up the children to be smart, confident, responsible members of society. (yeah, that only takes an hour or so out of the week... no biggie)

Saturday and Sunday= Family time. This means I don't want Manus on the computer and so therefore, I don't get on the computer.

But I want to post because as I'd said in the beginning of this blog thing, it is the only baby book/kiddie timeline I've kept and it's not fair to have documented all of Katie's notable achievements and none of whatshisname's.

So..

Well, now I've rambled on enough for one entry. Will end this one and start another.

* yes it's a real word. I heart dictionaries.

Birthday breaks the silence...

2010-10-02T18:27:00.008+01:00

...barely

Mick's first birthday was August 25th. If looked at from the perspective that it took 365 days for him to reach that milestone, it doesn't really look so bad that it took me a mere 38 days to post the pictures and videos.

Break those 38 days down to 13 days still out of the country thus internetless, 2 days jet-lagged, 10 days working (a.k.a. saving lives), 4 days solid cooking healthy, organic, eco-friendly superfoods for the family, 3 days spent coaxing family to eat said foods, 1 night drinking too much and 8 days recovering from it, it's almost like a speed record was set for how promptly I have chronicled my young lad's celebration. Applause not necessary.

We were in Ireland for Michael's first. Nana hosted the party, my mom sent over the decorations and Orla baked the cake.

Mick and Katie thoroughly enjoyed it all... especially the cake.

Happy Birthday my dear son. I love you. Yes, I know your sister had her pictures up within days of her first birthday and yes, Second-Child Syndrome sucks, but just think, one day you could be the middle child and THEN you'll really be SOL.
So buck up lil cowboy and go have fun being one!

Katie feeding the cows

2010-08-25T12:10:00.001+01:00

For Nana

2010-07-09T09:30:00.001+01:00

Dear Nana,

Look what we've been up to lately. We can't wait to see you. Just four weeks away now!

Happy Birthday

Love,
Katie and Mickey

Coordinating Check-Ups

2010-06-22T14:00:00.000+01:00

A long time ago I decided that this blog would take the place of any baby books or journals that I might keep of the kids' developments and accomplishments and wrote the occasional entry to update on what (then only Katie) was up to. Now there are two of them and that means even less time for typing, so forget two updates. We now must share. Because sharing is caring.

37 Month & 10 Month Checkups

Dear Katie and Mickey,

Yesterday I really did coordinate checkups and you both went to the doctor. This was in an effort to save time but we were there for THREE LONG HOURS. We found out that Katie is 38 pounds and 41 inches tall (a height that is "off the charts") and Mick is 28 inches and nearly 20lbs - 19lbs, 14 oz to be exact.

All this growing has not been without it's growing pains. I readily admit that I am to blame for most of the angst. While I love being a mom to Katie and I love being a mom to Mickey, I'm really not enjoying being a parent to two kids at the same time. I feel like I can't give the right amount of attention to either of them and my frustration escalates any situation brought about by kids being kids. Having a second child did nothing for my patience level. Having a preschooler has done nothing for my maturity level and having two children that can throw simultaneous temper tantrums has done nothing to stop me from throwing a fit or two of my own.

It's been more difficult now that Katie is out of 'school' for the summer and there is just no break. I go to work to relax.

God bless poor Katie... She has been through so much this last year (at an age where they recommend no big changes) We, like, moved across the world, she got a brother, started a new school and I went back to work. Then in March the doctor told us because of fluid in her ears it was time to cut out the bedtime bottle of milk and binkies. And she did it, cold turkey. Now after 4 long weeks of spraying saline up her nose three times a day, the fluid is gone. hooray. Add to the list of stressful things, she is has been completely potty trained. Oh creeps! She got evicted from her crib too - the big girl bed made its debut shortly after the new year. When you look at it this way, she's got some good excuses for bad behavior.

Sometimes I forget she is three.

I take it as a personal affront to my authority when she doesn't listen. So I get angry, and shout and grab her by the arm and put my face into hers so she knows I mean business. And she laughs. She laughs and I lose my shit.

They say distraction and redirection are the best ways to work with a young child and get them to do what you want. I want them to do it simply BECAUSE I'M THE BOSS, THAT'S WHY! I'm not saying I want her to genuflect when I enter the room, but a military salute would show some respect.

I forget she is three because she is so smart. She remembers things. She knows her alphabet. She knows what sounds the letters make and she can tell you what letter a word starts with. She can write a few letters, mostly they all come out looking like Hs.. Her vocabulary is outrageous- and you know when she has picked up a new word because she tests it out in all different scenarios. The other day she used 'certainly' 34 times before lunch. And she asks a lot of questions. A LOT OF QUESTIONS. why? why? how? why?

She is timid and shy at times too. She likes to watch the other kids playing instead of running to join them. She gets frustrated easily with tasks and gets mad and gives up. Sometimes she gets upset about something and it just keeps escalating and she can't calm herself down. I see myself in her at times and I get sad. How can I teach her things that I can't do myself?

Katie loves anything princess. She loves to dress up and wear high heels, she loves her babies and feeds them and changes them and puts them all down for naps on blankets all over the house. She is very systematic - all the babies are wrapped and laying the same way. She loves making towers and stacking and lining things up. And she REALLY loves the tv. Cinderella is enabling me to write this now. I'll admit that Ive taken to using tv to give me some quiet time. Or cooking time or doing laundry time or toilet scrubbing time. But cuddle time is the best use of tv. Katie said to me this morning, "Mom, let's go home and Mickey can take his nap and we can sit on the couch and cuddle together. And watch tv." Total manipulation, but I'm a sucker for it every time.

And then there is the Mick. Gawd I love that boy! Whereas some days poor Katie can do no right, Mickey can do no wrong. I'll admit to thinking he wasn't the most beautiful baby as a newborn, but now he could melt butter with his big baby blue eyes. He has long eyelashes and blondish/strawberry blond hair is growing in. Slowly, but with a remarkably perfect hairline. A light birthmark that for weeks I mistook for a bruise is developing over his left eye and after months and months of chewing and drooling like a St Bernard, his four front teeth burst through. Like Katie, it was nine months with none, then 4 within a week.

He's taken to crawling the same way. Months of nothing, barely getting on all-fours, then two weeks ago he took his first step and never looked back. He is sitting and crawling but still not rolling over. The doctor wasn't happy with that and wants us to take him to physical therapy. I guess it will do no harm. I think it's because we swaddled him to sleep for so long. He's probably only 3 months out of the swaddle and I'll still use it from time to time to calm him down when he doesn't want to nap. Now that it's summer and hot, hot, hot in his front bedroom, its almost cruel to swaddle him. That boy sweats like no other. Well, he sweats like me - and that means he will wake in a puddle. A 10 inch halo of wetness surrounding his little angel head. Michael sleeps through the night and will usually take two naps during the day. The morning one is nice and long 10:30-12:30, the afternoon one is a little trickier. But he does not go to sleep easily. There is a lot of rocking, jiggling, shushing and general cajoling-

Ah, speak of the devil, I hear Mick in the monitor. I guess breaktime is over. Time to head back to work.

My dear sweet children. I love you with every ounce of my being. Please forgive me if someday you find yourselves in therapy.

Mom

Why Im not blogging more lately...

2010-06-07T16:01:00.008+01:00

Most days include some variation of such display:

It is possible that I may have compounded things with the camera in her face...
This all started because she wasn't allowed back in the bathroom to "wash her hands", which of course means smear liquid soap all over the vanity, walls, floor...

Turning Tree

2010-05-18T18:49:00.001+01:00

Sunday was Katie's birthday. And how old is she?

TREE!! Indeed.

Figuring it was our last year to get away with it, we had a low-key family celebration at Mum-mum's. Of course, the princess saw this as no reason to slum it like the rest of the commoners. Fresh coat of polish, pouty pink lips and her finest formal wear were insisted upon.

That's her smile now. I think years of being forced to stare into a flashbulb have taken its toll. She's scared squinty.

First things first, we dove headfirst into the pile of presents. It was like a pink and purple Christmas morning. Wrapping and tissue paper went whizzing by my head as each new gift was promptly tossed to the side in order to see what was in the next box. It was a great sight. I said the only thing that would have made the moment better was if we'd had our video camera to capture her frenzy. (and if it'd been me getting to open all the presents) Oh jealousy, you frequent tormentor...

Cousin Ali wanted in on the booty too. Too bad her booty is too big for that dress.

Roll Call l-r: Uncle Bill, Grampa-daddy, Carolee, Gramma-mommy and the big K-T.

Ms. Tee-tee McGee, Mum-mum, Ali (she got a day pass from the asylum to be with us today) and the other Michael in the family.

As the gifts had all been opened and breakfast was now over, Princess Katie began to sense that this party had gone bust.

She quickly summoned the help with a surreptitious "Psst!". "What this party needs is a sugary confection!", she declared with a twinkle in her eye.

The cake was presented and the princess was happy. Once again, peace and harmony were restored to the kingdom.

Can't forget the Mick.

Food, Glorious Food

2010-04-18T18:11:00.004+01:00

Kilkennian in America

2010-03-24T14:49:00.007Z

We have this book sitting on our coffee table. It's a hardback book showcasing all the great moments in Kilkenny Hurling from the 2009 season. Hard to believe Manus doesn't have it enshrined and behind a thick wall of bulletproof glass, but he needs it to be accessible so he can easily peruse it once, twice,...hourly.

The guy on the cover is none other than one Martin Comerford. Otherwise know as Gorta. I have spoken about him previously here.

So on St. Patty's Day Eve, Manus gets a call from his friend, Martin over at John Martins asking if Manus knows of any place that will be broadcasting the Hurling Club Final on TV (yes! of course, the Hurling Club Final... don't tell me you forgot it was on and didn't set your TiVo!?) as he has a Kilkenny couple over on their holidays interested in watching it. Well, Manus says, he's going to watch it on the computer at home and, being the friendly and accommodating Irishman that he is, he suggests the aforementioned couple come over to our house and watch the match here.

So they do. And that couple is none other than.... (insert drumroll here)

C'mon Rocket Scientists, get out your calculators and figure out this one...

That's right, you guessed it...

Martin Comerford and his new bride, Paula.

They were over on their honeymoon, staying in a hotel just blocks from our house, got sent to John Martins to find out about the match and ended up here -

On our couch!

Watching our TV!

Sitting mere inches from the book whose cover bears his likeness!

Our brush with greatness and where was I? AT WORK! Is there no justice in the world?!

Manus, being the uber-cool dude that he is, would never have asked for an autograph or photo op, so I am left to my uber-uncoolness to imagine what it must have looked like...

Probably something like this:

The great MC on our couch!!

And it was probably at that very moment when Katie, having been kept out of school for the day so she too could rub shoulders with celebrity, was in the next room cutting her own hair with her pair of not-so-safety scissors. Yep, big clump from the left side.

What in the world could have distracted her parent?

Videographic Awesomeness

2010-03-16T19:46:00.002Z

Remember Mousetrap?

Sick Mick

2010-03-15T15:25:00.003Z

It only took one day in daycare for Mick to get sick. That has to be a record. His official school Poop Record for last Monday listed hourly diaper changes starting at 3:30 in the afternoon but since you could usually build a bomb shelter with his Lincoln logs, I assumed they were mistaken. But you know what happens when you assume... your son gets crazy diarrhea.

There is no need to elaborate on that situation, for obvious reasons, but let's just say I won't be eating French's fancy yellow mustard or large-curd cottage cheese again any time soon.

Tuesday night marked baby's first barf session. I'm commemorating the occasion with a plaque.

As the illness persisted, I took Mick to the doctor Thursday night. I was assured it was viral, self-limiting and most likely a daycare bug. Yes, it happened that fast.

And it, quite possibly, is the Rotavirus that (most kids) get vaccinated against but our kid didn't because they don't give it in Ireland and by the time I took him for his shots here he was too old to start that one and I am a terrible mother and I didn't register to vote when I turned 18 and I haven't flossed my teeth in over a week.

Now though, one week later, Mickey Boy appears to be getting better. His situation is improving, so to speak (I will be avoiding split pea soup for a while). I hope to be sending him back to school tomorrow to see what he can pick up this week. Of course, now that some of the other family members have begun cooking up some hot and spicy trouser chili of their own, I may be missing a few more days of work this week. Alas.

Here are some pictures from our visit to the doctor's office. We just LOVE our pediatrician.

FLiP Fantastic

2010-03-13T07:49:00.000Z

A little video starring my three favorite things...
Katie, Michael and the Gators.

Aw, poor Manus. Didn't make the top three? Maybe someday. You're easily in my top 20.

Only a doting mother would find feeding a baby interesting enough to record. Only a delusional one would think anyone else would be interested in watching it.

Gotta love this FLiP!

First Day of School

2010-03-11T11:00:00.000Z

Well, it had to be done. Our poor Mickey Boy started daycare. And yes, that IS what I'm calling him these days. If it makes you cringe, well... Address all your hate mail to wtf@you-might-as-well-have-named-him-Sue.com.

Manus will be sending around a petition for a nickname injunction.

We enrolled him at Kendall Presbyterian Church's Early Start Program. I didn't know really anything about it but my mom suggested it and we just had the dumb luck of one space opening up in the 6 month old class. My mom is saving us by taking and picking Mick up on the days that I go to work. Ideally we would like to find a place near us on the beach, but as we don't want Mickey in daycare any more than he has to be, it's probably good that this place is close to work but far from home because I know I'd be tempted to drop him off for a few hours on my days off. I do that with Katie already, but that is a matter of sanity.

I am really impressed with the center as they have weekly lesson plans (I know, I know, for a 6 month old?!) well, whatever... Having them say that on Monday they will look at themselves in a mirror for an hour before moving on to "Find your Toes" is better than admitting that Tuesdays are filled with Separation Anxiety Hour and "Afternoons spent Crying".

Each day Michael will come home with a paper that notes when and what he ate, when and how long he napped, diaper changes and the day's disposition. (I'm waiting for "spoiled-ass brat" to get ticked off)

The best part is they take pictures of each child and email them to the parents during the day. As if to say, "Look how happy your child is here at Early Start!" These weren't the clothes I'd sent him to school in so I have to imagine Mickey had been happy up his back and out his pant legs at some point prior to photo time. Where's the picture of that?!!

Please don't let the irony escape you of my very Catholic husband marrying a Methodist and sending one child to school at the Presbyterian church and the other to learn with the Baptists. We are all going to hell.

"Mickey Boy, Mickey Boy, where's your little sticky toy?"

Bad Naked

2010-02-23T02:07:00.003Z

Do you remember the Seinfeld episode where Jerry tries to show his girlfriend the difference between good naked and bad naked? Well if bicycle repair wasn't enough to elucidate the matter, allow me to offer another example.

Monday has become my house cleaning day and each week in addition to a general tidying, I choose one area to focus on and really give a good cleaning to. This way I'll have the whole house spotless by 2012. Today I tackled the kids' tub. As it was going to take a bit more than plain elbow grease to scrub off the dirt ring, I broke out the Clorox. To protect my black shirt from flying cleanser, I decided to just strip it off and bleach in my briefs.

As I bent over the side of the tub and began to muscle through the thick layer of dirt, grime and blue Rub-a-Dub tub foam, my eyes caught movement. There, swinging in time to the scrubbing, were my breasts. Though fairly small in size, they are surprisingly pendulous.

We went walking yesterday down through South Beach for breakfast and to soak up the beautiful weather. South of 5th street has become, of late, the area for wealth ergo (I guess) attracts a certain type of woman performing various types of activities on a Sunday morning. I created a descriptive category for them that I called "AIs" as in Anorexic with Implants. I created a descriptive category for myself after today's chores... "Locks in Socks".

Take a combination lock and toss it into a knee-high gym sock. Now hold that up to your chest. Now sway.

As Michael obliged me with an extra long nap, I was able to finish the tub and move on to bleaching the grout lines on the bathroom floor. With bleach. On my hands and knees. Example #3 of Bad Naked.

Mom saves the day

2010-02-16T00:36:00.007Z

After some weeks of gentle urgings and caustic hate mail, I finally get some recent pictures up.

We got a "flip" digital video camera for Christmas and I thought that would give me lots of good footage to share. So far we have 20 home videos of me pointing the camera at a kids face and saying "c'mon, gimme a smile" in a voice better suited to calling a dog and only a few of those that have made it into the computer from the camera because I can't figure out how to upload.

So thank god Mom got an iphone for her Christmas present. Uploadable pictures have been taken with it and as I am here at their house sans Katie and the fevered pitch of chaotic activity that surrounds her, I can sit and post a few.

Life still feels hectic these days. Nana and Papa Walsh left this past Saturday after a very enjoyable 6 week stay (Brian and Brownyn joining them/us for the last week or so). They looked after Mick the days that I was working and took good care of us all the rest of the time. But with any visiting guests, we had a lot of dinners out and added excitement and activity thats just contributed to that "unsettled" feeling. My grandmother is visiting my parents and watching Mick now while I am working, hence my being here on a Monday eve. He is wearing her out though... May need to make a plan B.

Hell, he is wearing me out. He is a baby of extremes. He is a laugh-out-loud bundle of tickles and giggles when he is happy and a shreiking terror when he isn't. He certainly isn't the sleeper that Katie was and that makes life interesting. These days I can generally get him to sleep around 10:30-11pm and usually he will sleep through the night, but we have a few false starts before there is real sleep happening. Getting him to fall asleep is a workout that includes swaddling, bouncing, cajoling, swearing under the breath and more times than not, a boob in his mouth. That is the part that makes it tricky for others to get him to nap. But I've told Granny if it gets the job done, whip it out...

Katie is acting out in great ways too. Today alone she hit me, threw water on Manus, had a tantrum in public and attempted to eat a penny. I'm going to get her hearing tested because that girl doesn't even look my way when I try to tell her something. She is such her father's child. At my wit's end, I tried the "Time-Out chair" today (something I've been avoiding with respect to all the new-age parenting books I'd read) but the plan backfired. I told her she would have a time out if she stood up on the table again and she said "okay", went outside and plopped herself down. I have no viable recourse for her naughtiness. What do you do when your child consistently outsmarts you?

Saturday we drove down to Flamingo in the Florida Everglades in an attempt to breathe new life into a family tradition that was killed by cabin destruction in the 2005 hurricanes. As there are no longer lodgings down there, we just went for games and dinner. Given how cold it was, I am glad we were not in the minority that actually camped out overnight.

Okay, randomness.. A short video (from the Flip) lacks meaning, direction and artistic integrity but shows off the little girl.
Enjoy.

A month of OHMYGOD

2009-12-16T23:31:00.004Z

Well, we have been here a month. I did think I would get back to blogging before now. I was wrong.

And really, this is just a quickie to say we are here, we are alive, we are back in our apartment, I am back to work, I am so overwhelmed and I am struggling daily with the urge to run away. Far, far away. Alone.

The other day my friend was telling me about this stab of emotion she gets every now and again and she just wants to sit and cry. All of a sudden I recognized what I've been feeling. A permanent lump in my throat.

But this too shall pass.

Nothing like a new baby, an international move, packing and unpacking a house, a quasi-new job AND a precocious 2-going-on-12 toddler to spice things up. Oh yeah, and Christmas...

So, I apologize for the silence on my end. When I find time to breathe I have no desire to get on the computer. Or if I do, I read my emails then swear to respond to the messages "the next time".

But then again, my inbox has not been flooded with Well-Wishes and Welcome Homes, so to hell with ya. Our Christmas card pile is pitiful too. Don't think Im not paying attention. Last year you had an excuse not to send (though still a flimsy one... what's one international stamp) but this year.... I'm keeping a list and I'll unfriend you on fb, I swear it.

Here are some of the latest to tide you over til I really resurface...

This boy drools like a mofo.

Tell me that isn't awesome!

Who's Katie?

Goodnight Moon

2009-11-10T11:55:00.003Z

I'm nothing if not consistent and as such, the Irish grass is getting so green in this our last week here. Of course, it could just be the six straight days of rain, rain, rain, bitter cold, rain.

This is my last post from Ireland and my emotions about leaving are bittersweet. I am so excited to be near my family and friends and even looking forward to starting back to work (sure to be a short-lived feeling, never fear) but I've been looking around here and lamenting all that we will be leaving.

Goodbye house.
Goodbye backyard with french doors I can fling open and send Katie out in to play.
Goodbye field with horses across the street.
Goodbye playschool right next door where Katie had such fun - great teachers and all her "best friends".
Goodbye walking distance into town.
Goodbye cheap healthcare.
Goodbye pharmacist, butcher, coffee shop gal that know my name and my order.
Goodbye Castle Park.
Goodbye sweater weather.
Goodbye fire in the fireplace.
Goodbye unlocked front doors.
Goodbye courteous drivers.
Goodbye speaking the language of the majority. (well, sort of...)
Goodbye new American girlfriends - had such a nice time on Sunday (as always).
Goodbye Nana, Papa, the bestest Uncle Brian and Boo Boo.
Goodbye Irish cousins and playmates. (both Katie's and mine)

Hello New Chapter in our lives. Who knows what will happen next...

Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Ireland.

Ongoing Goings-On

2009-10-26T17:26:00.005Z

Life is hectic and it's about to get even crazier.

But a quick recap of what's been going on:

Michael is proving that what everyone said about Katie is true; that she was a trick baby- too easy to be true. This guy is real. Really tough. Unless he is in your arms AND you are walking around, he is crying. When he is hooked up to the boob he is fairly content too - though lately he is boycotting the right one for some reason.

He turned two months yesterday and goes tomorrow for his first set of shots.

He goes to sleep at midnight and sleeps until five. I feed him and he'll sleep again until 9. And that is it. During the day he sleeps no more than 20 minutes at a time. He is not getting enough sleep and is all the more fussy for it.

He is impossible to burp and has stinky farts. He just went 3 days without a poop. I think it's time for an intervention. A little prune juice by proxy. Lucky me. I just love the stuff.

Katie is struggling with this "share mommy" thing. She asks for her binky all the time, wants up on my lap any time she sees me holding Michael and tries to belly up to the boob bar for cocktail hour. I give her the binky and fit both of them up on my lap but mama ain't "got milk?" for that little gal anymore.

She watches a LOT of tv these days. She has forgotten her ABCs and thinks the sole purpose for numbers six, two and four is to get the Disney channel on the remote.

At least once a day both of them decide to meltdown simultaneously. The sound of two kids wailing is worse than nails on a chalkboard. I stand frozen, nauseous and forlorn. I laugh to keep from crying and think, "this is my life?!"

Michael was baptized last Monday evening. We chose Oct 19th as it is the anniversary of his namesake's death. He wore the same gown that Katie wore which was the same gown every Walsh since 1911 was baptized in. And we got no pictures of it. Horrible second child syndrome.
Have a few pics taken of the service but they are shit and I look like a bloated cow so they will not be posted. But the important thing is we have another Catholic in the family. thank heavens.

My cousin Erin had her second daughter on Friday. She sent pictures but I can't download them on this archaic fuckbox of a computer. Pretty baby from the looks of it and they named her Bella. You know you can't give that name to an ugly kid.

In the last week my computer died, my ipod went on the fritz and lightbulbs burned out in the lamp by my bed, Katie's nightlight and TWICE in my mighty mini reading light. I'm afraid to hug Granny with the pacemaker.

My internet browsing/email sending/facebook stalking/blog posting has been severely compromised as I have to use the old laptop that, as you may have noticed, posts blank blogs, randomly deletes whole paragraphs of text and makes noises like a giraffe trying to mate with a turtle.

Manus and Katie caught a cold and gave it to Michael. Further complicating the sleep thing was the sound of Walsh Family Synchronized Night Coughing competitions. In a muted panic, I took Mick to the doctor when we passed the two week mark of the cold yet hadn't passed the eight week mark of his life. He got miraculously better the next day. Something magic about shelling out 50 euro(80 bucks) to the doctor. But, any parent knows; peace of mind is priceless.

I went out with Manus and his brother Friday night for a charity show. I was out from 8 to 11:30pm and it was the longest I'd been away from the children since baby was born. The show was so boring (all about hurling) so I sat and played Texas Hold'Em on Manus' blackberry. Manus apologized for dragging me to something I had no interest in. I was slugging down Bud Lights and NOT holding a baby/soothing a toddler. I WAS IN HEAVEN.

All this is going on as we embark on MAJOR LIFE CHANGE No. 763 "Moving Back to Miami". Three weeks from yesterday we land in Miami. Manus, myself, two kids, a car seat, two strollers and our maximum allowance of 6 suitcases, 3 carry-ons and 2 diaper bags. Something will be accidentally left behind. Fingers crossed it isn't a child.

And all these bags have to be packed this week as we move out of this house and in with the in-laws on Saturday. So far the process has been slow, painful and the teeniest, tiniest bit stressful. Mostly though its just moving stuff from one place to another and into it's appropriate pile. We have:

1. Stuff to throw away
2. Stuff to give to charity
3. Stuff to pack, but need to use this week
4. Stuff to store at Nana and Papa's, subdivided into:
a. stuff we will need if/when we move back here (winter clothes, wall clocks, measuring cups)
b. stuff we may never again take out of a box (maternity clothes, baby clothes, a full night's sleep)
5. Stuff we will need for the next three weeks, subdivided into:
a. stuff that will then be packed for Miami
b. stuff that will then be stored in Ireland
6. Stuff we are bringing back to Miami, once again subdivided into:
a. stuff we will need during the two weeks we stay at my parents upon our Miami arrival
b. stuff we don't need and subsequently can keep in a sealed suitcase until we pack up AGAIN and return to our place on the beach.

It would all be easier without the little helpers. For every two things that go into a box, three things are pulled back out. And Michael's farting doesn't help either.

I think I am heading for my own nails-down-a-chalkboard meltdown myself. Time for a shower. Think I have to shave my legs.

oh happy day

2009-10-17T06:40:00.000+01:00

The Mom Chronicles. Chapter 7

2009-10-16T09:18:00.000+01:00

Okay, confession time.

Katie got a cold and was feeling lousy and all I could think was, "Cool. She'll sleep more."

I've started shaving my legs again just to have an excuse to spend more time in the shower. It's the only alone time that I get.

And it's rarely alone at that as Katie insists on taking a shower with me so she can waste the shampoo washing the walls. She does help with washing my legs, my feet, my belly and of course, my nu-nu; known to some more technically as the hoo-ha.

While most newborns get nice warm baths in a fancy baby tub or maybe the kitchen sink, Mick just gets rinsed off in the shower with me. Not that he has to endure it that frequently. His eye goop dries to crust, he gets a roll of stinky old skin collecting in his armpits, his poor little hands and feet,as sweaty as mine, gather lint in various colors, but only when his head starts smelling like McDonald's again, do we toss him in for a clean up. In the shower, though ,he is very quiet and serene. eh, maybe more like shell-shocked. He is afraid to cry for fear of a mouthful of water. He did pee on my leg as retribution.

But I got the last laugh, for I confess, as I attempted once to change his diaper, (you have to move quick as he's perfecting the urinary arc), he peed onto his own face. I laughed. So hard. While he looked on, puzzled and disturbed.

One day not too long ago, I was brainy and thought to get all of us in the bathtub together. It's a fairly big jacuzzi tub and Katie could play while I washed Michael and relaxed myself in a warm bath. All was well for a while, Katie and I splashing and laughing... I had Michael sitting on my lap, facing me, propped up against my legs. That's when it happened. A warning grunt, a faraway look and one squirt. It all happened so fast. Ran straight down into my crotch and so help me, my first thought was, "so much for the years of wiping front to back..." Hate to have to explain to the doctor how I got a UTI from someone else's shite. That's just gross. (and yet, here I share... someone will say one day, you know that girl - the one that's always talking about the poop.)

Only a mother gets the joy of wiping off poop from bath toys. But on the bright side, didn't have to fight with Katie to get her out of the bath. A technique I should remember?

But so far, the best parenting moment I've had was sitting next to Katie on the couch getting ready to feed Michael and as I positioned my boob to his mouth, a spray of breastmilk shot out and hit Katie on the arm. Her puzzlement as she reached out to wipe her arm was priceless. I laughed so hard I peed myself a little (damn you Kegel's!) Poor girl never knew what hit her.

Same and same

2009-10-07T16:18:00.000+01:00

We weren't sure who Mick looked like when he was first born. Me? Manus? Then we looked back at the pictures of Katie. There is a bit of a family resemblance. See if you can tell who is who.

Or maybe we just aren't original enough with our photo ops....

Manus changes the first diapers. Both times. And that shirt. I'm not allowed to give birth if he isn't wearing the Kilkenny colors. Um... obsessed much?

This used to be where I lay my head.

Snug as two bugs in two rugs.

Different baby, same champagne. Some traditions are too good to retire.

And this one, I would SWEAR on a stack of bibles that this was Michael. And then god would send me to hell for lying. This is Katie. Doing her Michael impersonation. Take my word for it, it's good.

Things Are Different Here (part VI)

2009-10-01T00:46:00.000+01:00

Things are different here when you are having a baby.

(So this post is a little belated... I've been busy. Pretend it's a month ago and I just got out of the hospital and you asked me what I thought of having a baby in Ireland and because you asked so nicely, I'll tell you, complete with pictures of really random things.)

St. Luke's Hospital in Kilkenny is nothing like Baptist Hospital in Miami where I had Katie.

Baptist Hospital boasts state-of-the-art, top of the line Hill-Rom brand hospital beds. These beds will do everything short of fixing your coffee in the morning. With the push of a button, you can go from fully reclined to an upright chair position.

In Ireland, you get this -

**********

At Baptist, the air conditioner is adjustable via thermostat controls in each hospital room, ensuring all patients can be kept at the temperature they desire. Rooms utilize reverse isolation to protect patients against airborne contaminants.

In Ireland, flying insects and construction noise come standard.

**********

Baptist offers a "room service" menu allowing individuals to customize their mealtimes.

In Ireland, you can have anything you want for breakfast, so long as it is tea and toast.

Adhering to the cultural standards, the hospital offers the main hot meal at midday. (Here they even call it "dinner" even though we all know it's lunch. And then dinner is called "tea" and it consists of a light snack; sandwich or salad and, wait for it... a pot of tea. Then at around 10 pm they come around offering... TEA! The strong. dark stuff. Perfect to soothe you into a night's slumber and caffeinated goodness for your breastfed newborn.

**********

After Katie was born, I was offered Percocet and Motrin tablets for pain control post cesarean.

In Ireland, you get a PCA (patient controlled analgesia) filled with intravenous Morphine (!) for the first 48 hours post-op. Unlike the electronic pumps they use for PCAs in the states, I had this nifty contraption: The black wristband housed a button that opened the flow of medicine and required five minutes to reset, avoiding pesky overdose issues. The medication was instilled in the pressurized tube that I kept in my pocket. Mama and Baby slept well those first two days.

**********

At Baptist, all visitors to the baby ward were required to present photo identification and have their pictures taken for security purposes.

In Ireland, they just use the Baby Lo-Jack.

**********

Baptist's showers are the size of a phone booth for midgets. You have to go in aiming the side you want most clean toward the water because you can't turn around once you are in there. They have a flimsy fabric shower curtain and a big raised tile ledge that you have to maneuver up and over to get into the stall. I have soaked myself many a time trying to help bathe a patient.

Kudos to Ireland. They know what they are doing in the shower department. Brilliant.
Now, because I am special and because we bought the supplemental private insurance (but mostly because I am special), I had one of the few private en suite rooms. Most of the new moms were stuck, four to a room, their only privacy being a wraparound curtain that enclosed their bed and bedside table and not much else. Those gals had to walk down the hall to use the community bathroom. THAT would suck. When you've just experienced traumatic events to your delicates, you want to have a place you can call your own, a place to store your hemorrhoidal foams, your feminine cleansing wipes, your inventory of twin bed mattresses they call maternity pads...

What they don't tell you in the brochure is that Ireland is BYOT. I knew I had to supply my own baby diapers and wipes, but stock some bath towels! Throw the girl a bone!

**********

Some things are the same in both countries; your newborn sleeps next to you in their very own Rubbermaid under-the-bed storage bin. But score one for Ireland, this cabinet/bedstand was designed to act like a cradle. Literally, this bed rocked!

**********

And the bed wasn't the only thing that rocked. Unlike with Katie, where she was whisked away immediately after birth and kept in the nursery (albeit with my bff Leslie - thankfully on duty that day) for the first few hours of her life while I recovered from the spinal block and awaited my room, Michael was wiped clean, checked over, weighed and Apgar-ed and immediately handed over to Manus. While I was in recovery, M and M were having some serious male bonding time. He got the first, precious skin-to-skin contact and it was there, in that baby room, the two boys made a pact - it was girls v. boys at our house and they were sticking together no matter what. Last night I caught Michael look over and wink conspiratorially at Manus as I struggled unsuccessfully to soothe and quiet his evening tantrum. Manus took him into arms and he fell contentedly silent in seconds.

**********

But perhaps the biggest and best difference this time around, was that there was one more very special person in our baby welcoming committee.
This time around we didn't just make a baby, we made a brother and a sister.

Happy One Month

2009-09-25T13:20:00.006+01:00

Happy One Month Birthday, Michael!

I'd sing to you, but you won't stop shrieking long enough to hear me.

And I'd write more on this blog, but see reason above...

In the Name of the Father

2009-09-16T12:00:00.001+01:00

On the second Saturday of our courtship, Manus and I, sitting on two barstools in Norman's Tavern on Miami Beach, named our children. Kathryn Anne was to be the girl's name, honoring Manus' mother (Catherine), my paternal grandmother (Kathryn) and my mother (Margaret Ann). Sure we were probably six Bud Lights into the night when we had this conversation, but I still have the cocktail napkin on which we documented our future children's noms de plume.

On May 16th, 2007 we fulfilled half our promise when our daughter was born. While we only just had our son on August 25th, we've known his name for 6 years.

Michael - Manus' father was Michael Walsh. He died when Manus was only seven. Both Katie and our Michael bear a strong resemblance to Brian, Manus' brother, who is actually Michael Brian and though this could be considered disconcerting to a less secure man, I joke with Manus that at least he can be sure he is related to his children. Manus takes after his mother's side looks-wise and I think Brian looks a lot like his dad, at least based on the pictures I've seen, so its nice to see some Walsh traits passing through our kids.

David - My dad's name is David (and my dad's dad's middle name was David too). I was always a Daddy's Girl. I think I still am. I find it difficult to have the heart-to-hearts with him, so I know that I don't tell him often enough, but I think he is amazing. I'm even having a hard time writing this. I hold his opinion in the highest regard, though he has always worked to make sure I create my own. My grandmother has a black and white photo of my dad as a baby and when I watch Michael sleep, I can see that picture in my mind's eye. I would be thrilled to have my son grow up to be half the generous and compassionate man that my father is.

Cornelius - When Manus said that he wanted to include Cornelius to the baby's ever-growing list of names, I was quick to agree. If we are honoring our fathers with this name, it wouldn't be right to leave it out. Cornelius (Niall) Walsh is Manus' step-father. As he joined the family when Manus was about ten, he didn't have much experience with young children. Until ours came along. Katie has Papa wrapped around her little finger. Picture a big, burly man, farmer by trade, quiet and reserved, lying on the floor with his legs kicking up in the air just to satisfy the whim of a two-year old. And Michael at one day old was certainly the youngest baby his hands had ever held. Michael will soon learn what Manus, Katie and myself already know; that we are so lucky to have Niall in our lives.

I love this picture of Papa Niall and Michael:

With so many names, you'd think we'd have no problem deciding what to call our boy. But I am all about the nicknames. Kathryn Anne is only Kathryn Anne when she is in trouble. The other fifteen minutes of the day she is Katie. And Katie is the perfect name for a little cute, happy girl. So what about Michael? He just isn't a Mike. I don't think he ever will be... But what is he?

Katie calls him "Baby Michael"
Manus plans on him being "Mick" when he is older. (not a racial slur when you ARE Irish)
So I'm thinking "Mickey" is super cute, but it just doesn't roll off my tongue when I look at him.
Little Mick?
Cousin Jenny calls him MDCW pronounced "mid-cue"
How about "Em-Deecee-Dub"?
Or Doctor CW (get the m.d. part...)
So maybe just "Doc"?
Uncle Brian has taken to calling him "Mickey Nail"
I like Mickey Dee...

I even think his greasy head smells like McDonald's fries sometimes.

Mick Pics

2009-09-13T20:01:00.003+01:00

I know I am behind on my blog postings. I just don't know where the days go. My mom has been here since last Tuesday and it is amazing having her here. Katie only has eyes for Grandma and Grandma is eating it up! They have played in the park and in the pool and innumerable games of "Do that", Katie's new favorite activity where she basically bosses you around. It's fun. But only the first 50 times or so.

The only thing that would make her visit better is if my dad were here too. But, I understand that he couldn't come. I'm also trying to convince my mom to stay until oh, say, November but she keeps talking about this job thing that she has to get back to. How selfish.

So until I find the time to write more about "Life after August 25th", perhaps some pictures will keep you going.
Katie absolutely loves to hold her brother.
Katie and Michael on All-Ireland day. Up the Cats!
Katie loves her brother...
Or does she?
And that is why Mommy never leaves Katie alone with Michael...

(Real) Labor Day 2009

2009-09-02T06:19:00.002+01:00

So there I was last Monday night, lying in bed awake at 1:30 in the morning. Neither Manus nor I could sleep (as was becoming the norm - ever since the previous Monday night when we thought the contractions had begun...). Manus had taken a few Tylenol PM and was watching TV in the den, awaiting their effects. As the antihistamine drowsiness was starting to settle over him, he returned to the bedroom. As he entered I told him not to worry about being quiet as I was still awake. He joked, Why? Are you having contractions? Before I could launch into a diatribe on just how lacking in humor I found my spouse at that moment, I felt the most bizarre sensation in my stomach.

Someone had snapped a rubber band against my insides causing a sharp pain and a warmish splash in my pants. Could it be? No. Only 10% of women start labor that way! So I got up and went to the bathroom. I peed. It was sorta a pee plus. Maybe there was more liquid that came out. Cant be sure. Back to bed. Lie down, thus disengaging baby's head/plug from birth canal and proceed to wet the bed. Jump up, back to toilet, underwear around my ankles in a splashing puddle of amniotic fluid. Clean up in aisle nine!

An hour later, we are at St. Luke's Hospital. The contractions have begun; mild annoyances. The TENS machine is in place on my lower back, sending electrical currents to, ostensibly, scramble the pain messages to my brain. (Remember, I'm doing this au naturale ) I'm on my third pair of pants as, little known fact - you never stop leaking. The body continues to make more amniotic fluid and every time you change position...douche!
Look! Real contractions... At this point, about 6 minutes apart.
Manus and I were planning on having this baby by change of shift in the morning. Katie was born at 8:58am and we thought it reasonable that we would have our Michael at the same time. Our nurse was gentle as she broke it to us that there was "No fucking way I'd have the baby that quickly." Ha! What does she know?

We were moved to our birthing suite. It rivaled anything at Baptist Hospital. We were duly impressed.
Like, where else do you get a view of a castle from your hospital room? Dude! This place rocks.
We put some cool tunes on the stereo and waited. I was supposed to rest, as we had a long day ahead, but I was determined to stay upright and walking as that was what was going to speed early labor along. Remember - Manus had taken Tylenol PM earlier. I was expecting a scene straight from Father of the Bride Part 2, but he was a champ- stayed awake and cheered me on.
That quickly became this:
OY VEY! the pain! It was five hours later and change of shift and my check showed I was barely 1 cm dilated. Plans for au naturale were finito totalmente. I was screaming "EPIDURAL!"

They use something here called Entenox, also known as 'Gas and Air' (which as coincidence will have it, is the name of our groovy family band - Michael proving to be the breakout star of this Farting Foursome). Entenox is oxygen and nitrous oxide that you inhale through a tube. Basically, its a whippet. They convinced me to try it before going for the epidural. It made me feel really funny and did nothing for the pain and after I tried it for the morning nurse and ended the contraction in a bawling, hyperventilating, snotty mess, the nurse too was screaming "EPIDURAL!"

Long story short, as Manus' tweets do tell the tale -

epidural in ->
Malinda sane once again ->
contractions slow ->
no dilation ->
hours pass ->
doctor consulted ->
pitocin begun ->
contractions remain slow ->
no dilation ->
baby no like pitocin - decreased "variable decelerations" (apparently important to have)->
doctor consulted
hours pass
no dilation
baby still unhappy as per heart rate monitor
no change, no change, no change.... Cesarean Time!

At this point, I don't care. I'd had my labor experience, now its time to keep baby safe. Once the decision is made, it is a whirlwind of activity - sign here, drink this, put these on, this monitor on, this monitor off, move, move, move! When we bumped another stretcher doing down the elevator calling priority for the "emergency c-section" I started to cry. No one said "emergency" before... (they could have told me that any unplanned section is referred to as emergency...)

But then: bada bing, bada boom -

A baby is born.

So, as it turns out... After the surgeon made the cut into my skin, he moved aside my bladder and there was Michael. My uterus had dehisced (de·hisce (dĭ-hĭs') Medicine: To rupture or break open, as a surgical wound.) The exact reason VBACs are a risk. Also the reason my labor was never going to progress. The contraction message begins at the top of the uterus and must work its way down the muscle. A break in the muscle interrupts the message. Had we continued with the pitocin (which we stopped because of the baby's heart rate troubles) I could have burst the thin membrane keeping Michael where he belonged and not floating, tangled in my guts. So, in the end you realize things happen for a reason. Trust your doctors, trust your nurses, trust your instincts, trust that your baby just might save you both.

(I also choose to believe that the rupture was causing the contractions to be more painful than "normal contractions" and thus the reason I had to wimp out and get the drip... I could ask the doctor if that's plausible, but it might ruin my defense. Why mess with the truth when fiction and possibility fit your needs so well.)

Introducing...

2009-08-30T14:34:00.003+01:00

Michael David Cornelius Walsh

Born Tuesday, August 25th 2009 at 3:39pm
3.335 kgs (7 lbs, 6 ozs) 50.5 cms (19.88 inches)

I promise more details to follow... sometime. soon? yeah. check back.

I'm a watched pot right now....

2009-08-22T21:35:00.001+01:00

I'm beginning to think I may never boil.

Oh. My. Gosh.

2009-08-17T20:21:00.003+01:00

When Katie refused to nap in her crib today, (and I don't mean refused like, "Excuse me dearest mother, but I feel it in my best interest not to lie down for my mid-day rest" but more like "NONONONONONONO!!!!!! AGGGHHHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOO", with sparks of fire and snot spewing from her face) Manus was called in to save her life. He lie down next to her in the big bed until it seemed she had dosed off. That's when he snuck out, leaving her to slumber amid a couple of piles of clothes and her diaper changing station. And her diaper cream.
She was so nice and quiet, who knew she wasn't actually asleep in there?

Future mug shot:
I think she looks like an Australian Aborigone.

If you think of it, a water-based diaper barrier cream wouldn't be very effective. There is a downside to that fact.

27 Month Checkup

2009-08-16T11:02:00.002+01:00

Dear Katie,

The Terrible Twos are not a myth made up by ugly, bitter people who hate their children.

When your head spins around 360 degrees and fire shoots from your eyes during one of your daily tantrums, I think about selling you to the gypsies. And I say that from a very loving, non-bitter place.

You walk around like a horse with its blinders on, only seeing what is directly in front of you, and whatever that is, that is what you want - what you have to have. Until you get it. By then you have turned your head and changed your mind. Today you had three different cookies, each with one bite out of them and you turned to me, looking for chocolate.

I'm exhausted by the fights over getting dressed, changing your diaper, going to school, leaving school, taking a nap, eating dinner, going to bed. It's so frustrating because though you always come around, a 10 minute tantrum is inevitable.

Its unsettling to realize that you are smarter than me. My words come back at me. I'm told "gimme a second, okay?" when I want you to come to me. Instead of telling you that you can't do something, I would just tell you that you'd have to do something else "first". That worked for a while. Now you tell me that you are going to do whatever you are doing "first". One day you told me you were going to sit in the corner and "fuss first". And you did. You had a tantrum in the corner. When you would ask for a cookie at suppertime, I would tell you that you have to "finish your (meat, veggie, pasta)". So then you just started pushing away your bowl mid-meal, saying "finished!". How can I argue with that?

You walked into the playroom where I had all the pieces to the baby swing out of the box and all over the floor and you just said, "Oh. my. God." Now, I didn't teach you that as I'd never blaspheme, but you got it somewhere and it was hysterical.

It all comes down to you getting better at expressing yourself and that does have an up-side. You've started to say, "I love you, Mommy (and Daddy and Grandma)" It sounds like you are saying it with a mouth full of marbles, but we know what you mean. You ask for "cuddles". If you are sitting next to me, you lean your head on my shoulder.

You are learning your manners. You say "please", "thank you" and "you're welcome" with regularity. You even say "sorry" when you are trying to get around someone. Your vocabulary has exploded. And you are saying it all with a mini Irish accent.

Potty training is on hiatus. You like to take off your diaper and sit on the potty, but you don't do anything there. For about the last two weeks you tell me when you have to "make a big poop in the corner" and then you do. Of course then I ask if you are finished and the answer is always no and we fight for ten minutes about cleaning your bum.

There has to be some clever saying about who the fool is when an adult actually argues and wrestles with a toddler.

I love you Katie, but I am so tired. I'm sure having a newborn in the house will make everything much better. Oh joy.

Some recent photos of Katie being agreeable...

Here's when I asked Katie to pose for a picture with her new outfit.

Katie reacting to the "Smile for the camera!" command.

And see how well Katie leaves the kitty alone?
I love this picture. Which one looks more hostile?

Showered

2009-08-13T10:33:00.007+01:00

Last Sunday was our monthly "American Girls" get-together and the gals surprised me with a baby shower. It was such a great surprise and we had a really fun afternoon. One of the girls, Candi is a professional cake maker and so naturally, she supplied the sweets.
If you ever find yourself in need of a cake while in Ireland, let me know - I've got the hook up.

Jess made one of those awesome diaper cakes. Not that she is a professional diaperer though. But, a florist. That's how she knows all the fancy bows.
Of the two cakes, only one is still standing... And that's only because there wasn't buttercream frosting shmeared between the Huggies.

Though not clear and obscuringly back-lit, one must include the obligatory group photo.
Though not a great shot of either myself or Claire, one must include the obligatory "show how big my boobs are these days" photo.
Though unfortunately portraying an accurate depiction of my equally large upper arms, one must also show the obligatory "opening of the shower presents" photo. And the fiendish sneer. Do I make that face on a regular basis? Why have I not been informed?

The girls weren't the only ones decorating, either. You know how some people will decorate their house to announce the arrival of a baby? Like with big blue ribbons and bows and "It's a Boy!" signs?
Well, not my Manus. He decorates for the arrival of Kilkenny into the All-Ireland Hurling Finals. He's just so... proud. sniff.

I'm not the only one around here blossoming either. FINALLY the bulbs I planted back in April? Maybe May? have begun to flower.

.................

I am absolutely shocked that I haven't killed this rose bush. Its survived two transplants and a vicious weed-whacker attack. And don't even get me started on the slug infestation.
But there it is, life anew. I counted about 8 buds on the bush. I sorta feel like since this little guy survived my "nurturing", there is hope for baby Michael as well. Just gotta keep the slugs off him.

So, I guess we are now officially ready. The 38 week mark passed yesterday without incident. My To-Do list is dwindling...

My hospital bag IS finally packed.
We picked up the car seat we will be using from Manus' cousin Mary last night. She is also loaning us her cradle, but it won't fit in the trunk, so we will get it this weekend.
I washed all the new baby clothes we got from the shower and they are folded and put away.
I've yet to write the thank you notes, but that will be done today.
My TENS machine arrived yesterday (mini taser you hook up to your back during labor so you don't feel the labor pain as badly). Set it up and tested it out last night. Sure, you don't feel labor pains cause you're too busy wincing from the shocks. A hammer to my big toe would be easier.
Gonna set up the baby swing and get batteries for it in town.
Also going to get a baby bouncer chair so as to have something to set baby down in while being domestic (cooking, cleaning, darning socks by firelight). Cheapest one I could find here in Ireland is 35 euro. That's almost 50 bucks. God, grant me the strength to make it til I can once again shop at Target.
Practicing my Kegels daily.
Shaved my legs (!) Or at least, what I could see and reach. Baby better come soon, don't think I'll be contorting myself again that way. Took 10 minutes to get up off the shower floor.
Have Manus performing potentially perineum-saving stretching techniques that are 1) not at all pleasant - but have given opportunity for me to practice my breathing and mental focus and 2)one step beyond that 'nice' level of couple intimacy - bordering on creepy, clinical and may perhaps be the reason we never have a third kid.
And finally, have now officially visited all rings of fiery Pregnant Woman hell. Thought hot flashes, morning sickness, heartburn, flatulence, stretch marks, sore pelvis, minor urinary incontinence, nasal congestion, constipation, hormone storms, emotional instability, adult acne, varicose veins, weight gain and swollen ankles were enough motivation to make any woman want to experience the joy of pregnancy... But no. There is more. While prepping to push out a 7 pound baby, I worked on pushing out a 7 pound turd and found that this baby has, already, created one giant PAIN IN MY ASS.

Holy Hemmie! Pass the Preparation H!

Yo Pops!

2009-08-05T21:02:00.004+01:00

Hey Daddy-O!

Katie's not the only one that wanted to say hi and tell you to hurry home... Who knows how much longer I can stay in here. Its dark. And getting really crowded. (Apparently I'm 7 pounds today) And I'm tired of hanging out upside down.

Of course, Katie wants to say some things as well...

And here she says it all:

Dear Daddy

2009-08-04T11:31:00.008+01:00

Dear Daddy,

Mommy and I miss you and we are ready for you to come home now! Since you left, this is the face that I have been making most of the time.

But when I think about you coming home, I make this face:

Mom and I are having lots of fun. Especially now that I'm not barfing or making the stinkiest, foulest, squeeze-out-the-leg-and-up-the-back-diarrhea any more! Mommy thought it was very clever of me to wait until you went out of town to get sick all over the place. I thought it was funny to watch her try to get her big belly over the side of my cot to change my sheets all 8 times in two days.
(This is me doing my "mommy impression" - see the chins?)

When Mommy told me today that we still have 4 days until you come back and then I started thinking about all that quality Mommy and Katie time til then, I made this face:
But then again, so did Mommy.

I've been practicing my hurling so we can play when you get back.

KILKENNY!

I hope you can hear me on this video. You know how quiet and demure I am all the time...

I love you,

Katie

Things Are Different Here (part V)

2009-08-03T09:03:00.001+01:00

Being pregnant in Ireland has been a very different experience to being pregnant in the States. For the most part, the Irish seem to have a much more laid-back, go with the flow, your-body-knows-what's-best attitude. I don't buy that crap for a minute. My body has betrayed me on more than one occasion. Hello? Sweat much? IBS, Missing teeth, and, pray tell, does my body really think it's best to store that much fat in my thighs and upper arms? Oh and sweet heavens, the double chin!

Someone near to me said it straight - to look at me is to see more chins than in a Chinese phonebook.

But I digress...

My cousin lived in Argentina for a few years and she said one time one of the most eye-opening experiences was to realize how America looks from the outside. Ethnocentrism is alive and well in the States and I realized very early on I would have to overcome a lot of pre-conceived ideas about my great homeland living abroad. And I did welcome the challenge. So when the doctor suggested that a lot of the antenatal tests performed in the States may be more for the insurance payments and reimbursements than for the benefit of the results, I said, Alright Dr. Pepper... I'm picking up what you're putting down.. Let's roll.

And some things are great. The doctor doesn't make you get on a scale every time you go for a visit. Nothing was more demoralizing than the sound of the creak and clank as you stepped up on the platform and the nurse took her time inching the weights over more to the right, the right, the right... Doc says what does your weight tell us? We'd only check if you were grossly obese to start with (phew) or we suspected an eating disorder and wanted to make sure you WERE gaining. (um. so my gaining is obvious?)

I also love that you are called back from the waiting room BY the doctor. He comes and gets you, sits you in his office, HE takes your blood pressure, HE checks your temperature and then HE, without gloves (!), takes your urine specimen and dunks the reagent strip into it - all just over the garbage can in the corner of the room! That I could live without. And the fact that you bring in your specimen from home. They give you this glorified (and apparently reusable) test tube with a lid and say bring this back full at your next visit.

Seriously, I thought aiming into the dixie cup in the States was a challenge, but this is impossible. First off, I can hardly reach around my belly to hold the cup while I hover and pee. Second, something about having a baby's head squashing down on all your lady parts makes a single stream of urine a physical impossibility so I am reduced to chasing drops of pee around, trying to catch them in the tube, wetting my hand more than anything else while trying not to pass out from holding my breath because I am doubled over trying to see around a giant beachball belly and keep my balance all at the same time. And then what do you do with the tube of urine while you are walking to the doctor's office? Does it go in your purse? Back pocket? Dangled from your key chain? I have yet to find an appropriate urine specimen caddy.

And that's not all on offer from the pregnancy take-out menu. When I queried the doc as to the Group B Strep test, standard in the states, he said they do not commonly find GBS in Irish women ergo it is not a routinely performed test. However, seeing as how I am American and thus "potentially infected", it may be wise indeed to test me. He then proceeds to hand me a swab and instructions to bring it back with me on my next visit! WHAT?! Okay, so I am nurse. I can handle a swab culture. IF I COULD REACH IT! My poor husband is traumatized still from his role in "Vaginal Swab: the play-at-home edition".

In fact, I haven't had to drop trow once for my good friend, Mr. MD. His table HAS no stirrups! How does he know I'm not tragically malformed all up in there? Is that not something the Irish have to deal with? I guess they figure if the sperm got in, the baby can come out. I asked him on a recent visit when he would start checking me for dilation and effacement and he said, "labor".

Allrighty then.

As Ireland boast socialized medicine, we had a choice as to whether we wanted to go "publicly" or "privately". As I have the history of a c-section/breech birth and wanted to go for the vbac (vaginal delivery after cesarean) we thought it best to have the best and thus coughed up the 3000 euro plus fee for the top obstetrician in Kilkenny. I am beginning to wonder what our money has gotten us.

When I suspected I was pregnant, I was instructed to go to my GP where I got a handshake and a referral to the obstetrician to be seen in 3 months time. No pregnancy test even performed. I took 3 tests at home and got a yes, a no and a maybe. I was sorta hoping for a tie-breaker. They said, nah, their tests are as reliable as mine and that was why you don't even go to the obstetrician for the first 3 months because "its still so early and anything could happen" (reassuring...) and provided I never get my period, I should keep my next appointment.

I had to ASK at my last appointment (36 weeks, mind you) what exactly I should do when I go into labor. Didn't think I would have to ask, thought maybe they would OFFER that info... but however. I was told I call the hospital. Do I then call my super-expensive doctor? No. Just the hospital. The hospital-staffed midwives will be doing my delivery, I am told, provided there are no complications. "They are the ones that do this sort of thing every day". But my doctor will be at the hospital with me, right? Well, he is obligated to LIVE within a certain distance from the hospital, so if he is needed, he can be there asap. Eh, no. For 3 grand, I want my doctor in the room, holding my hand, rubbing my feet, and telling me how beautiful I look doing my "tee, hee, hee" Lamaze breathing. And a mint on my pillow. And a stocked mini-bar.

Have I mentioned that I am hoping for a natural childbirth experience? No epidural. No pain medicine. No forceps. No suction. Just the beautiful and horrific agony of pushing out a baby... 'Cause, my body knows best.

Ah... can't wait to see how this fucking disaster turns out...

Tweet, tweet

2009-07-28T11:55:00.004+01:00

We are now officially twitterfied.

I am of two minds on this twitter thing (how's that for an Irish-ism?!). On the one hand, I think it is freaking CRAZY that people are so interested in the minutia of other people's lives that they would follow anyone on twitter. Its like status updates on Facebook. "I'm going to bed now", "I'm waking up now", "I just sneezed". Who cares?!!

I do. That's who. (and don't think that admitting that doesn't come with a large dollop of inner turmoil and spiritual/emotional unease.) But I eat that shit up. I read People magazine, I watch E! News and I log on to Facebook at least once a day to see just who is "Getting ready for work", "Dicking off at work", "Getting caught on Facebook at work"... If you installed a webcam at your desk, I would probably sit here and watch you stare at your computer screen. Maybe not all day, but well, most of it.

Anyway, our twitter, or "tweets" if you will sing-o the lingo, will be for the express purpose of announcing the lead up and arrival of Baby Walsh. All the other dumb crap that happens in our lives I will reserve for full paragraphs of text in my blog.

I've replaced the Google Ads section with Twitter. Crazy! Right? I know, with all the mad money I was making from those stupid ads and everything! But, sacrifice I will. The good lord knows that's what a mother does (big sigh). So, you can just look there to see what's what or you can click on that "follow me on twitter" and after creating a twitter account of your own (easy, free and without obligation) you can configure things so that you will get a text message whenever Manus tweets about the baby.**

I don't think you will be inundated with texts from him either as he will reserve updating for the big events like:

Malinda's water just broke.
We are headed to the hospital.
Malinda's head just spun around like Linda Blair's.
The baby is here.
She says it's not mine.

If you want stuff like "Holy shit, I just stepped on the scale and it said 167.2 lbs so I chucked it out the window" you will have to continue to check in here every now and again. But ps, that whole thing about the 167 pounds... I just totally made that up. It's lies! All lies!

**How to get tweets on your phone
1. Click on the "follow me on twitter"
2. Click on Join Today! (create username and password)
3. You may then be prompted to enter your email and email password to search your email phonebook for contacts that have twitter. If you do this and Manus is a contact, just make sure that he is selected to "follow"
4. If #3 doesn't apply to you, go to your twitter "home" screen and click on "0 following" (on right hand side). Then choose to "add or invite more". then click "Find on twitter" and enter "brenock".
5. Once you are a follower of brenock, go to "settings" then "devices" and enter your mobile number and click to receive texts. (This apparently doesn't for Irish mobiles, but does work for the US and England).
6. Tell me if any of the above actually works. I can't get twitter to even find brenock and it won't send to my phone, so who the hell am I to be giving out directions?

Getting Ready for Baby

2009-07-27T10:58:00.000+01:00

As we approach the 36 week mark, we are in full-gear Getting Ready For Baby! Well, not quite. Unless you count my inability to sleep longer than 1.5 hours practice for the early days' feeding schedule. Really, I don't need or want the practice. But my sore hips, full bladder and a pleasant, new edition head cold say otherwise.

I haven't packed a hospital bag. I haven't washed, ironed and sorted by size and color and style the baby clothes. I haven't sterilized the bottles and pacifiers. I haven't practiced my breathing. I have had daily anxiety attacks and a couple of complete meltdowns a la pre-post-partum depression. And I have just spent the last 3 hours cleaning the first floor of any and all reminders that we ever had two cats. Hallelujah those two furballs are gone. Off to the farm. Out of my house. I vowed as a child never to be as mean and heartless as my parents were about the "no pets in the house" rule. Alas, another promise to myself I will have to break. Until our live-in maid comes, no more 4 legged creatures shall grace my doorstep.

My first chore after doing the Dance of Joy as I watched Manus drive away with Black One and Brown One was to wipe up 3 hairball vomits and 2 plops of diarrhea from the tile. Then I attacked the spot on the chair that someone used as a urinal.

I have come to terms with the fact that I am soon to be responsible for 3/4ths of the ass wiping and episodes of fecal incontinence that will go on in this house and I think that is enough. In fairness, Manus had been on litter box patrol these last few weeks as I held strong to that whole "toxoplasmosis ploy" but I risked health and well-being today to ensure a thorough clean.

I went through two vacuum filters on my mission to rid the house of cat hair. There was more black pussy hair on the living room chairs than in the dumpster behind a Brazilian waxing studio the Wednesday morning after a Twofer Tuesday special.

Eww! How crass was that? Cleaning is a dirty, dirty job and it brings out the worst in me. It's a good thing I don't do it very often.

But I will say this, I was busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. (That's just one of my favorites and I wanted to add it in..)

The cats did teach us a valuable lesson - we must keep Katie away from baby. Watching her carry around the cats in a vice-grip headlock made me fear for the safety of my unborn. It may have been the day I saw her immobilizing kitty with a knee to the neck that I had my first panic attack. Having watched too many Criminal Minds, I know that serial killers often begin life as animal tormentors. We are watching Katie closely for any other antisocial tendencies.

My mom sent over a "I'm a Big Sister" book that we read every day, stressing the parts about how we have to be gentle with the baby and can only hold baby on our lap in a chair with adult supervision. In fairness, Katie is very excited. She knows that baby Michael is in mommy's belly and she is looking forward to helping change nappies and being a "great big sister". She gives my belly kisses and doesn't let us forget to "god bless baby Michael" during our nighttime prayers. Man I love that girl and she is going to FLIP OUT... I just know it.

Second child syndrome is so severe that I'm not even interested in shopping for baby boy clothes. But, thanks to the International Aid package from "Mothers for the Reduction Of Clothes-less Kids" (aka MOMS.R.O.C.K.), Baby is well on the way to a full closet. He already has Gator gear and his daddy got him Kilkenny Cats PJs. Nana slipped me another 50 quid to get some onesies (called "vests" here) and other newborn accoutremon as I see fit. Taking inventory of what we have already really is on my list of things to do this week. And packing that hospital bag... Have a doctor's appt tomorrow. Must get from them list of necessary items. Things are different here (and a blog post to that end is in the works) and the hospital doesn't supply you with stuff like diapers and wipes here like they do in the states. My MIL was talking about how she had to bring her own egg in for breakfast. I must confirm that's no longer true.

I have been feverishly searching the net for the best double stroller options and have decided that Phil & Teds is the way to go. Broke the news to my parents that they were the lucky ones to provide us with such a gift and its hefty price tag. Of course, I want the latest and greatest Vibe model, but am starting to consider accepting the cheaper Sport version. If anyone has any thoughts on double strollers, I welcome advice and comments.

My mom got her plane tickets for her trip over to help with the baby. She will be here Sept 8th-19th. Problem is, baby could be here AUGUST 8th... No scheduled C-section is such an inconvenience! What was I thinking? Even worse, Manus is booking his flight for a week-long series of Miami business meetings. He will leave on Friday.

Provided Manus is IN TOWN for the birth of our child, he is planning, ever the technophile, to Twitter the birth information. That's right... If you want to be a part of every grunt, groan and four-letter word of labor and delivery... then this is for you! I have to look up the particulars and will blog soon on how to sign up to "follow me on twitter.."

A collection of thoughts and updates with no apparent underlying connection nor snappy title.

2009-07-23T13:13:00.007+01:00

Last Monday my cousin Sarah had her second daughter, Geonna Jenah. My sister-in-law's sister-in-law had herself a little girl yesterday. Don't know the name, but I know she was 8lbs something, which is toooo big to think about, vaginally speaking. But this makes me next in line. All the other preggos I knew due before me have popped. Please note the undeniable excitement in my voice. wow. gee whiz. yikes. no. no! not ready. My friend Debbie (and fellow blogger - see list) is due on MY due date. She has a little girl and they are expecting a boy this time. Just like us. I offered a friendly wager as to who goes into labor first, but I'm seriously hoping I lose.

Sarah and Geonna (any Pittsburgh Penguin fans around?)

I'd also mentioned in a prior blog about some friends' ill parents. Our friend's mother died this past Saturday and we were up again in Belfast for the second funeral in 5 weeks. Irish funerals are very different to any I've been to in America. Northern Irish; even different-er. The deceased is waked in the house for two days/nights. This means the person dies, they are whisked off to get their hair, face and nails done (and I guess they are embalmed as well)... then brought back to their house that same day. They will be laid out either in their coffin or in a bed(!) in the living room. Then friends and family come over to visit and drink tea and eat butter and ham sandwiches. Someone stays with the guest of honor the whole time, shifts at night. The room in which they are placed is lined with chairs and apparently, that is the room to be in (though I imagine, preferably, as one of the upright inhabitants). The morning of the funeral, many gather at the house and the coffin is carried out of the house and down the street, pallbearers being switched out at assigned intervals. At some point it is then transferred to the hearse and the mourners then walk behind the car as it makes its way to the church. As the procession made its way down the main street of Randallstown, shops drew their shades and passersby stopped and stood, genuflecting. It was beautiful and moving. I bawled my eyes out. Though it may have had something to do with my current hormonal upheaval.

Things on the homefront have been fairly uneventful. Poor, poor Manus had to to go today on a free two night cruise on a brand new ship out of Southampton. I was invited, but sadly, too pregnant to fly and/or cruise. Strange how Im not too pregnant to be left at home... all alone... to take care of Katie...all by myself... It is to be an "excellent networking opportunity" as it is a "great honor" to be invited, one "not to be turned down" and made up of executives and company bigwigs. Ahem. Spoke to Manus this afternoon after he'd had his nap in his king sized bed in his corner suite with private balcony and a workout at the gym and he said, quite to his surprise, that many of the attendees appear to be, in actual fact, travel agents. Young, buxom travel agents. If he knows whats good for him he will mind just how he "works" his "net" and all his other tackle too.

So we two girls are on our own here. You know what that means... Yep, the place is an absolute mess already. I feel like a bachelor again! Beds unmade. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink. And the great debate: mac n cheese or popcorn for dinner? Later Katie and I are going to crack open a few brews and fart on the couch without fear of reproach.

A New Do (For the few that grew)

2009-07-12T16:22:00.011+01:00

We read a lot of Dr. Seuss here.

Katie had what I am considering her first haircut on Friday. It wasn't the first time she'd sat in the salon's chair and it wasn't the first time scissors had been taking to her head with the express purpose of shortening locks, but this was the first all-over, style changing, make a mound of hair on the floor kind of cut.

I didn't want to do it. We have been working for two years on having enough hair to twirl and curl and band and bow. But it did need it. She always had that just out of bed look about her. Ends were split and frayed and our recent chlorine treatments weren't helping matters.

Now we have healthy ends and almost a bit of a style, but it's too short for me. Manus loves it. Katie couldn't care less. And I didn't keep a curl for her baby book.

Okay, you got me... what baby book? Since this blog is my virtual baby book, here is Katie's virtual first lock of hair. And the keepsake box? Nothing short of an extremely valuable family heirloom. My grandmother gave it to me when she told me that she loved me the best of all the grandchildren.Katie models her new do (and the pictures; we snapped a few for you to view)

Speaking of things that have grown...
It really looks like I am sticking my stomach and butt out, but I'm not. They are just... protruding.

25.73 Month Checkup

2009-07-09T13:15:00.003+01:00

Dear Katie,

It seems like only yesterday I couldn't wait for you to start talking.

In actual fact, yesterday I was silently wishing you would shut up for just a stinking minute! Holy non-stop chatter. Sometime between your second birthday and today you started talking in complete sentences. Not all the time, of course. You don't even use words found in the English language all of the time. I'm pretty sure you are bilingual, just not sure what the other language is. For posterity' sake, I wish to record that your first full sentence was "I want tickle Daddy". Gag me with a spoon, but how adorable is that?

I've started to wonder if language development is some part genetic. There are some weird similarities between you and the me I've heard of in stories from my parents.

The moral here is; Turnabout is fair play. Or in the words of my father; "The cosmos is in balance".

Apparently I used to inundate my mother with, "Hi Mom, do-din?" (meaning Hi Mom, what are you doing?") I would ask it repeatedly and without regard to answers given. You have your own broken record. The kittens, which you have quite aptly named "Brown One" and "Black One", are still at our house. Now whenever you are sitting in your highchair and can't see the cats you ask, "Oh Brown One doon?", "Oh Black One doon?". Over and over and over. And over and over and over.
Here is an excerpt from last night's dinner conversation:

"So dear, how was your da--?"
"Oh Brown One doon?"
"Oh Black One doon?"
"Oh Brown One doon?"
"Oh Black One doon?"
"Oh Brown One doon?"
"Oh Black One doon?"

And this 'oh' thing... It replaces all question words. So, "where is the car?" becomes "Oh the car gone?" And "What is that?" becomes "Oh that is?" I used to do that too. (I think...right mom?)

"I yike dat" versus " I yike dat"
One is in the affirmative and one in the negative. Visual cues are required to distinguish. (My dad will still scrunch up his nose and declare, "I yike dat" from time to time. A throwback to my childhood days). Seems strange to me that you do it too. No, not strange... difficult. How many times a day I have to look at you and say, "wait... you do or you don't like it?" And then you answer me, "yes".

For the last two days you have been going around asking, "Oh zat comes?" I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE ASKING ME. It seems to be a catchall question, appropriate in every situation. Its making me crazy.

But, by far these days, your favorite words are "No" and "Doan wan-tut" as in don't want a nap, don't want school, don't want dinner, don't want...don't want...don't want.

And you lie. All the time. For example, I am sitting here catching a whiff of something specific and distinct after watching you walk over to the corner of the room and grunt a few times and so I ask you, "Katie, did you poo-poo?"

"Nope. Doan wan tut."

The Mom Chronicles: Chapter 6

2009-07-01T14:34:00.002+01:00

Its been a while since I've had a real what-the-hell-do-I-do-now? parenting moment. And this one, like others before, is about poop. Looking back on the Chronicles, I have panicked and strained (pun intended) over pee, poo, vomit, snot... what is it about bodily functions that baffle me so as a mother? Should I not be more concerned over emotional fortitude and scholastic advancement?

Perhaps. But don't try to elevate me to some higher level. Poo. It's what I do.

Katie and I go to the gym with Manus on Wednesdays and while he works out, we play in the pool. All was going well until she wandered over to the side, stared blindly into space and her mouth took on that all-to-familiar ampersand/apostrophe/question mark shape I've come to know and fear. I actually begged her to stop. Splashed her with water to distract the process. Bribed her with a pony. But that train had already tooted its horn and was heading out of the station.

We'd only been in the pool for about 15 minutes. We had another 30 before Manus would be ready to go. What do I do? My friend Leslie said her daughter ALWAYS poos when she first gets in a pool, like some Pavlovian reaction to water. She is prepared for it with a second swim diaper. Was I? Nope. Was I prepared for the holy war that would ensue when I told Katie that we had to get out of the pool already? Nope. Did I end up making the right decision to protect the water quality in the kiddie pool?

Nope.

So I'm thinking - well, damage is already done, right? What's one more minute in the pool with a happy kid while I think this through? What are swim diapers for if not for holding in such things? She'd been pretty backed up so this would be a hard one - it won't leak, right? What would Leslie do? What would a responsible parent do? How many friggin kids have crapped in this pool???? Why am I swimming in this sesspool of sewage? When's the last time they tested the water? Can everyone tell my kid has a load in her shorts?

She swam and splashed and undoubtedly trailed a murky brown poop cloud for another 15 minutes. When I actually saw a chunk seep from the TOP of the bathing suit, well...

I scooped up my screaming, flailing child and carried her out of the pool. The other mothers were staring. Did they know? Could they tell? I will swear I didnt know it had happened until just that second.! What kind of mother did they take me for? Dont. you. judge. me!

I locked us both in the handicapped bathroom in the changing 'village' as they call it. Thank god there was a shower with hand-held water spout in the corner of the room. As I peeled down the wet swim diaper, my many errors in judgement over the last half hour revealed themselves: There is no poop so solid that it will not be affected by being submerged in water. There is no way that we didn't just irreversibly contaminate 3000 gallons of pool water. And kids do not completely digest peas.

The community pool where my Grandmother used to live had a sign up that read;

"Welcome to our ool

Notice there's no 'P' in it?

Please keep it that way"

There was also one there that said,

"If you sprinkle when you tinkle,

please be neat and raise the seat."

I just think that if the gym wanted to be a little more clear regarding their expectations, they should have some signage such as;

"Welcome to our L

Notice there's no poo in it?"

Or maybe, for the slow-reactors like me:

"If you toot in your bathing suit,

Get the fuck out of the pool IMMEDIATELY"

Teeny, Weeny, Itsy, Bitsy...

2009-06-25T16:56:00.002+01:00

...Brown polka dot bikini!And she wore it and her "beautiful girl" pose for the first time today. She loves her new suit. Grandma sent it over to her. I told you the only reasons Poor Katie has anything new to wear are Grandma and Nana (Nana sent over 3 new tops today). I just let her run around naked and add computer-generated clothes later only to stave off Child Protective Services.
I said to Katie, "Let's put on your new bathing suit".

She thought I was saying, "baby suit" and pranced around the room singing, "Baby suit, baby suit." Then she said,

"Yeah, mommy, let's put on my 'Michael suit'".

She is going to be such a good big sister.

Due dates are for sissies

2009-06-23T14:22:00.003+01:00

So as you know from my last post, I was having a sympathetic freak-out for my friend, Kristy whose due date was July 4th. I nearly hyperventilated when I got notice that she went into labor Saturday morning!

"This cannot be!", I declared outloud. "We aren't ready!!" I stated to a dumbfounded crowd of onlookers including my husband, daughter and out-of-town guests. Then I paced and wrung my hands for the next few hours, awaiting further updates.

Somehow I really felt that my unpreparedness might somehow adversely affect the process. Megalomania with side of egocentrism, anyone?

Kiley Faith arrived without complication (and, amazingly without my assistance) at 4:50 pm on Saturday, June 20th. And, my word, she is a beautiful girl. Really gorgeous - right down to perfect little eyebrows and pouty lips. And normally we say nice things but don't really mean it when talking about newborns, but just look at her...
Kristy and Nick are great, beautiful people but c'mon - who knew they were capable of this?
Now, a big, pink, poofy dress on Day One? I think I knew they were capable of that....(Dont look at me for fashion tips though, I kept Katie in nothing but a onesie and socks for the first three months of life. That's all she'd be wearing now if it weren't for the hard work of Grandma and Nana.)

She is just perfect. Great work, guys! Now, send more pictures!

Next up on the "to due" list is my cousin Sarah. She is supposed to have her second little girl on July 13th. Let's see if she knows how to keep a promise. I don't think my heart can handle another jolt..

Ketchup and Relish

2009-06-15T09:53:00.007+01:00

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last blog post.

Time for some ketchup.

I finished my work-release program at the hospital in Dublin. Seven long weeks that in the end seemed to have flown by. I hope to have a whole post dedicated to the experience but I can't write that until I have my registration papers in hand. (until then I am not sure how many expletives will be required to describe the process)

Katie and I were struck down with the Coxsackie virus, causing Hand, Foot and Mouth disease. If you look it up on the internet, the first thing you will see is that it is NOT Hoof and Mouth disease. Despite current appearances, I am not bovine. It is described as a painless, blistery rash that develops on the...(surprise ending here...) hand, foot and mouth. (never saw that coming) Well, I don't really care what the internet or 'doctors' say as they also say it only affects pre-school age children and I disproved that theory. I sat for two days with my hands in a bowl of ice water and hobbled around for the throbbing pain I felt. My doctor said it was probably because I am pregnant that I was so susceptible. Wow! Another perk of pregnancy! And I thought I'd discovered them all...

Obviously that is not a picture of me, but it does a good job of showing how gross it is and I love how excited the girl looks in all her grossness.

We are foster parents to two kittens. Nana and Papa need some farm cats to keep down the rat population, but right now they would be doggie treats, so we said we would take them until they grow a bit and have a fighting chance against Brownie and Rex. We thought it would be a great experience for Katie too- to play with them and snuggle up with them at night...

Fat chance. These are two feral cats that spent the first two weeks here a) under the shed outside then b) in a hole in the wall behind our downstairs toilet.

Katie had to play by herself. She also may have developed a bit of a catnip addiction...
But finally, lo and behold, last week the cats came out to play.
Katie loves them. They tolerate her. She is learning "Gentle!" and "Don't squeeze Kitty!"
It is so precious to watch her interact with the kittens. She takes her job to feed them in the morning and give them milk very seriously and she hunkers down with her hands on her knees to talk to them. ahh, motherpride. Then there is the smell of catshit in the morning. And the crunch of litter under your foot. And the black hair coating the orange chairs. And the little fuckers clawing at my legs as I type this. Can't wait til they move out. Here Doggie, Doggie!

Cousin Nicholas gave Katie a paint set for Christmas. Six months later I worked up the nerve to let Katie play with them. It all started out so well...
Then she painted her hands.
We are getting Cousin Nicholas a drum set and a blowtorch for Christmas.

I got my planting done this weekend. Saturday was another gorgeous day, though a bit windy. Not sure my rose bush will survive the transplant. Got some herbs there at the end. Herbs, for cooking,.. not herb. Couldn't even plant catnip, what with Katie so fresh from rehab and all.
We are really making our back garden our own. It will be the hardest thing to give up. Manus got himself a new toy too.
True to our DIY history, we went to fire'er up last night only to discover that we had 1) the propane tank and 2) the BBQ gas hose but failed to procure 3) that which connects the two. Oven-baked burgers anyone?

I am pregnant. And how. I feel everything so much more acutely this time around. From heartburn to hormonal swings to tiredness, breathlessness and an aching body. Our doctor said that is very common. Second Child Syndrome, he calls it. Says it could be mental or physical - that our bodies remember the process, thus engage in it earlier and with gusto. Forgive me, but I think it's probably mental. There isn't the same wonder and excitement as there was the first time around. I know that I'm just going to get more and more uncomfortable, I am terrified of actually having to push this watermelon out of my kiwi and I know that the "light at the end of the tunnel" really means at least one solid month of getting sleep in only two hour spurts.

The worst thing I feel is pain in my "pelvic girdle". The progesterone and relaxin loosen the ligaments of the hips and pelvis to allow for birth. This loosening causes movement and a change in my anatomy. This change is painful. Especially in my sacrum and pubis symphysis. What it really boils down to is if you come to my house, you will see me walking like Frankenstein and howling, "Oh! My butt hurts!", "Oh! my crotch hurts!". Once a lady, always a lady...

Another symptom of Second Child Syndrome is that I am now 30, yes thirty, weeks pregnant and this is my first belly shot.

It captures the stretch marks Katie gave me nicely I think. This is what the baby is doing to my outside, but what it's doing on the inside is even creepier...
I drew in the outline for clarity. But I did not make up the fact that he is LICKING the uterine wall. On the ultrasound you could see his little tongue darting in and out. wtf? This is soooo Manus' fault.

I spend a lot of time whining and complaining. Its a hobby. And a gift. But I am relishing my life. Every day I am reminded how lucky I am.

I am lonely here and sometimes bored, but I have been given an opportunity to watch and help Katie grow up. We are returning to Miami on November 15th (one-way, non-refundable tickets) and then I will go back to work and put the kids in daycare and long for the days of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and reading Cinderella (AGAIN?!?!#@!!)

We are moving, but we are moving home. My cousin and my friend are both moving across the country this summer to places unknown. They are in for a great adventure, but I know it will be tough.

I like to gripe about Manus, but he is the best thing that happened to me. My friend is looking at divorce and it is breaking my heart. She talks of future dreams lost and I cannot imagine her pain.

I had some weird hand rash, but was assured it will do no damage to the baby. A nurse where I was working in Dublin just lost her baby at 35 weeks. How do you deal with that?

I am looking forward to meeting my son. But I'm not ready yet. My friend is due early July. I am grateful for my two more months of prep time.

I have made some friends here, few though live in Kilkenny. We are planning a 4th of July party and I am so excited for a taste of home. My friends, Naomi and Denny are coming here next Saturday for a visit and I just can't wait for them to get here.

I miss my parents so much. We video-call, but its not the same as a hug and an in-person chat. But they are healthy and full of life. We have a two friends whose mothers are fighting cancer and another whose father died just yesterday. We are headed to Belfast today for his funeral.

I am blessed with a better life than I deserve and I owe it to the universe to work every day to fully appreciate my gifts.

Mysterious Flaming Orb in Sky over Kilkenny

2009-05-31T15:35:00.007+01:00

Well wonders never cease, the sun is shining in Ireland.
Katie doesn't want to miss a minute of it (and we've learned that a minute is sometimes all we get).

This weekend has been beautiful. Blue skies and a nearly steamy 24 degrees Celsius (that's 75.2 degrees Fahrenheit for all yous Americans). I can now calculate C to F quite efficiently. If I learned nothing else during my 7 weeks in an Irish hospital... Imagine my panic the first time I took a patient's temperature and the thermometer read 36.8! Does one run for the ice packs or chart as afebrile?!

Our backyard is rocking this summer. Nana got Katie a swing and Daddy put it together and Katie proved you don't need a big scary, upside-down roller coaster to wear your "Oh-Shit-but-I-love-it!" face.
Sidewalk Chalk. BIG hit. Katie likes to tell Mommy and Daddy what to draw. Add, "Em....Boy!, em....Girl!, em.....Circle!" and this picture pretty much sums up all that we ever draw. She loves her mooo-cow and bah, bah sheep. The devil snowman... that one surprised me a bit.
Our newest edition:
Its a big elephant slide paddling pool and you can hook up the hose so that water rains down from the trunk. And only 13 euro! What a bargain.
I've got my project for tomorrow...
Not nearly as much fun as my project for today... I'm absolutely spent! But on a day like this, even I couldn't justify using the dryer.
When I told Katie the sun would be out again tomorrow, she laughed hysterically.
Once she realized I wasn't joking, she caught herself and said, "yeah, okay mom, I'll believe it when I see it."
Yeah, well... me too. Cross your fingers for us.

24 Month Checkup

2009-05-17T09:13:00.004+01:00

Dear Katie,

Happy 2nd Birthday! This was not your cake. You sort of got the shaft this year, celebration wise, but you were blissfully unaware and it was this complete and utter disregard for fanfare that we were counting on. Thanks for letting us off easy this year. Ponies and Bumper Cars next year. I have been traveling up to Dublin Sunday nights til Thursday mornings the last four weeks to do an Irish Nursing Adaptation course at St. Michael's Hospital in Dun Laoghaire. I have three more weeks to go and I will then be eligible for registration with the nursing board (finally... this process has taken most of your life). This past week, Manus had to fly to Miami for an important meeting. He left here Tuesday, took a bus to Dublin, stayed the night, flew out Wednesday morning and hauled butt back to make it home yesterday morning, just in time for your birthday. Clearly this was not the week for us to plan and execute a party.

Daddy saved the day though, bringing back some goodies from the Disney store in Miami. So, you had gifts. And you even had cake. Albeit a slice of defrosted pound cake with a tub of chocolate mousse spread on top. Again, you were a champ and ate every bit. Thanks.
Nana and Papa came over to wish you a happy 2nd. They brought gifts as well, from themselves and from Aunt Peig. N and P got you your very own swing for the backyard. Whenever it stops raining, she says, looking out through the rain-streaked window to the swamp that was our yard, Daddy will set it up. The swings are your favorite (again) at the playground. There was a phase you went through, not wanting anything to do with them, but that appears to be over now.
Your talking has really exploded in the last two months. I couldn't compile a list of words if I tried. Every day there is a new one. You repeat too much of what you hear - especially after mom spills water or stubs her toe. Being gone half the week I am amazed when I return how much change happens so quickly. Lots of words sound alike still, but you are getting clearer. I taught you to say "Two" when asked yesterday how old you were. So proud. Then you proceeded to say that Daddy was two and Mommy was two and Nana.... oh well. By three...
You know your farm animals, all the colors, and numbers 1,2,5 and 9. Your favorite color is pink. I even found some pink cookies for your birthday and yesterday you ate half the pack. You have discovered TV. Big Time. Its all you want to do. Watch Fifi, watch Barney, watch Turtle (a Baby Einstein video) and especially - Mickey Mouse Clubhouse! You sit, completely entranced. Already it's tempting to let you just sit and watch. I am trying really hard to limit your shows and to make it an educational experience. Any day you are going to roll your eyes and tell me to chill out. Nope. I just got an armful of parenting books. Look out. You are fast on your way to becoming the most well-adjusted, happy, confident, intelligent, appreciative, goal-oriented kid in all of Kilkenny. Or a sociopath.
For whatever reason, you are afraid of Uncle Brian. You even held his card at arm's length. We have asked you why this is and you reply, "Brian; Shy." Okay then.

Friday was the very first day you let me put your hair up in a pony tail. With the lifting of your hair, I saw the transformation:

Gone is my little baby. You are now my little girl.

We love you so much,

Mommy and Daddy

Is it too late..

2009-05-15T18:04:00.003+01:00

to decide I don't have the stomach for motherhood?

Katie and I were at the mall today to jump and play in the toddler play area (big surprise, it was raining and therefore unsuitable for a trip to the park). So, we aren't there five minutes when, as Katie is standing atop a soft block square, basking in the glow of her climbing accomplishment, another kid (boy, of course) tackles her at the knees and knocks her to the ground. The event goes apparently unnoticed by everyone but she and I and as she is not hurt, I try to laugh it off and encourage her to reclimb. She does and a few minutes later I see the kid coming at her. Without enough time to intervene, I can only watch as she is thrown, ricocheting off the smaller soft blocks, to the ground. At least this time the male adult chaperone saw what had occurred also and he was quick to apologize, but not as quick as I was to show fangs, extend claws and growl, "Yeah, well, that's TWICE!" So he retorts something partially unheard that ends with, "of course, he's only two so, you know..." Mother Bear was reduced to impish cub in moments. I don't even know what he said but I could feel my face redden and I was blinking back tears. For the next... hell, I'm still... replaying the scene and wondering, did I over-react? Was I just bitchy? Is this the kind of thing I should except and accept by letting Katie play with others?

I just think it's a parent's responsibility to watch your kid to a) keep them safe but also b) make sure they aren't infringing on the rights of others (or going after a small girl like a linebacker). Am I wrong? So then I'm watching Katie play and some other toddler scrambles over the barrier wall and sets off for the far side of the mall. His mother hasn't looked up from her laptop since she sat down and I found myself torn between running after him or at least alerting the mother and keeping quiet and letting Little Missy Whatserface learn herself a right lesson. I opted to sit back and observe, mostly out of immaturity and flagrant self-righteousness. When she did finally realize he was gone, she still appeared nonplussed. She stood, scanned, located and sat back down. He was still across the mall!

When Katie came over to me, performing some rhythmic hand-beating on the bench, twisted her hand and thumb in an unnatural position and winced and I was the one to let out an audible cry, I decided it was time to go. We'd had enough fun.

So I'm second-guessing my ability to handle the minefield that is motherhood. I was incensed, aghast and reduced to tears at someone else's injury all in the span of less than an hour. Last night a program had me in hiccuping, chest-heaving, all-out bawling as I watched a brain damaged woman try to remember her daughter and her daughter's resentment at having to visit the mother's rehab hospital. (Alright, maybe that one deserves a few tears.) I give myself a free pass. But can I do all this feeling and hurting and loving with another kid? I'm overwhelmed.

Perhaps its the hormones?

Because, clearly...stomach is not something I'm lacking these days...

This time last year...

2009-05-05T21:26:00.003+01:00

While I am working my 12 hour shifts in the hospital these days I just don't have the energy/ability/desire to blog much. My dogs are barking and my belly is tipping me over.

So, how about just a walk down memory lane?

This is what we were doing this time last year...
(Original post date May 5th, 2008)

Hola! Para cinco de mayo, yo voy a escribir en espanol solamente. Primera, felicidados a mis amigos Kristy y Nick. Es un ano que ellos son casados. Por favor, bebe son cervesas para mi! quesadilla, tamale, conquistador, siesta, la isla bonita....
okay, those are all the spanish words I know. Sorry to say, but that language is
about as useless here as my Pilon cortadito cups and my frozen margarita yard
dog are. I've just packed them right back up...

But sincerely, Happy Anniversary to the Hajimahalis-es
(es-es-es). How do you pluralize their name? (And notice when you say it in your head its hard to stop the sssss sound)
As promised yesterday, here are some pictures of our Sunday: The weatherman predicted rain storms for the day. Fortunately for us, their accuracy ranks right up there with the Miami Dolphin's... well, anything, so as you can see, it was nothing but blue skies smiling on me.
This is what Katie and I look like everyday as we walk along Kells Road going into town.
We had lunch at the Ormonde Hotel with (clockwise from the bottom) Katie, Niall, Nana Kay, Brian, Bronwyn, Manus and Empty Chair.
After lunch, we walked over to the castle park. Kilkenny is known as the medieval capital of Ireland. Maybe even the world. But anyway, right in the middle of town there is the Kilkenny Castle.
It was in the Butler family for about 800 years, but they donated it to the
national heritage conservation perservation league organization in the 1960s.
(see pictures below). The castle's backyard, slightly larger than our own, has
become a public park with a jogging trail and a small playground. The swings are
the only thing working on the playground. Fortunately for Katie, its all she
could have played on anyway!
Katie looks on while our friend Jimmy (a small man; only the size of Katie's head, Jimmy was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to sports), Manus and Brother Brian (sibling, not monk) puck the- whack the puck -hurl the - what's the terminology? They play catch with their hurleys and slioters (bat and ball)
After the boys wore themselves out running after the missed balls (5 minutes) we walked down along the River Nore on the edge of the castle grounds and to our left was this ruin (pronounced roooooon) of what may have been a mill. - One hundred years from now will someone be stopping to take a picture of an abandoned Wal-Mart? I don't think so. There is just something magical about Ireland....
We were sitting outside of the Rivercourt hotel across the river from the castle having a few cold ciders with friends Jimmy and Pat when Katie said, "Hey, Mom! You and I should take a picture together in front of the castle!" (bossy turd... always telling us what to do) Then we went home, had a pepperoni pizza and watched some movie with Zack Braff. You can take the girl out of America, but you cant take the america out of the girl. Least not yet... A couple more picture perfect days like this though, and we might be able to work a deal...
Can you dig that hair on Katie? And, p.s. Happy Anniversary
(again) Kristy and Nick. My, what a difference a year makes, huh??!

Eiredate: 27/04/09 Day: 369

2009-04-27T21:08:00.002+01:00

We have passed the one-year mark in our "Adventures in Ireland". I tried to celebrate our one-year anniversary yesterday only to have Manus inform me I was 3 days late. Time just flies when you are having fun... I can't believe we have been here a year. Though we did have that time in California, so-

Started my adaptation course in the Dublin hospital. Last week was three days of orientation lecture, today was the first day on the ward.

I hate being the new kid.

Maybe someday I'll have the energy to describe, but someday ain't today. I haven't done twelve hours in a LOOOOOONG time. And I have to do it again tomorrow (and Wednesday)...

Depends...

2009-04-24T16:58:00.001+01:00

Basket of Chocolate Eggs and Easter Pictures

2009-04-17T10:29:00.004+01:00

Once upon a time in a land far, far, far away (Kilkenny, of course) there lived a beautiful young princess named Princess Katie. Princess Katie was sad because she didn't have any new clothes to wear for Easter. The evil custom's office in Portlaois, Ireland was holding her magical package of dresses hostage in a tall tower that was guarded by cruel customs charges and tax fees.

Just in the nick of time, Katie's fairy Grandmother appeared at the front door disguised as the Post Man. S/He waved the magic wand and...Hooray! The box had been delivered! Everyone in the kingdom cheered as Princess Katie was once again the most beautifully dressed girl on Easter Sunday.

Princess Katie spend her formative years watching E! Red Carpet specials and studying imported People magazines. She was, therefore, well prepared for her princess posing duties in the new royal gowns.

Like a true diva princess, Katie insisted on multiple costume changes throughout the holiday. As she wore the plaid dress for Saturday night mass, she said she would rather eat a poison apple and sleep for a thousand years than be seen in the same thing Easter morning.

The king and queen wished their royal camera had a video feature in order to catch Princess Katie as she twirled around the bedroom to show off all angles of her polka dotted dress.

That magic box from Grandma was surely magical indeed, for in addition to many beautiful clothes (more even than shown above), there was all kinds of easter goodies for Katie's Easter basket. The Irish have different traditions, giving all the princes and princesses in the kingdom large hollow chocolate eggs that are filled with other chocolate treats. Katie had bestowed upon her many of those cocoa confections from her royal Irish subjects; Lord Papa and Lady Nana, Count Brian and Countess Bronwyn and the great court jesters, Oisin and Connor.

The day's festivities began with the Royal Egg Hunt. Princess Katie insisted on imported plastic eggs as again, the tradition was foreign in the land of Erin. Once again, all the king and queen had to do was wish upon the brightest star and the fairy Grandmother made a multitude of plastic eggs magically appear.

After the eggs were found and the chocolate consumed, they all lived happily ever after, at least until the sugar rush kicked in.

The End

400 reasons to love Kilkenny (and springtime)

2009-04-11T16:55:00.004+01:00

Kilkenny celebrates its 400th year as a city this year and Saturday was opening day of the festivities. We walked into town to enjoy the blue skies, warm weather, blooming flowers, and, of course, U2..

We walked into town on Saturday, ran around in the castle park, drooled over the baked goods and artisan foods for sale at the farmer's market, then met up with Nana and Papa for lunch OUTSIDE at Bollard's Pub.

Bollard's is on Kieran Street, a pedestrianized lane that has become home to a number of cafes and coffee shops and also, a new Kilkenny find; the Hemporium. And it only took 400 years for that beaut to show up. (omg, I am getting old... frowning upon the patrons oogling the glass pipes and such. Le sigh) -Also note, next to the House of Wacky Tabacky is the "Playwright" Pub.. Those Guilfoyle brothers are at it again- Eamon runs the Miami Beach locale and Richie does a bang-up job here. For me, it's a little taste of home. There are 4 small tables outside Bollard's usually reserved for the desperate few that must brave the cold, damp wind for a smoke during their imbibing sessu'ns, but for that one day a year of warmth and sun...Look out sista- we were there, enjoying a Toasted Special and a front row seat to the passing street acts in town for the quadricentennial.

Our once smile-at-everyone child hated every minute. She liked to hear the drums and I saw some covert toe-tapping, but for the most part...

In a valiant effort to believe that Spring warmth is really here to stay, we bought Katie some outdoor toys. She loves playing with "VA-TA" and though Nana will let her splish and splash with her tea set at the kitchen table; mama no likey. Water, rocks and dirt are great "Outside games", as we say here at Ol' #9.

I remembered playing with rice as a kid and my friend Mary once blogged about how much her daughter loved dried beans so when I saw that bag of red lentils in my pantry...

And the asshole thing is that I really thought she would keep the legumes and water separate...

We shall be blessed with a bountiful crop of lentils this year in our garden. Soup for everyone.

And now, for your "GLIMPSE of S.I.M.P." (Self-Indulgent Mother Pride)

Note the lentil by her mouth. yeah. she ate some. It was a beautiful teaching moment.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Post Script: The weather has been shit since Saturday. (%#@! Ireland!)

Post Script II: Perhaps the SON will come out in August... BOY! oh boy!... wouldn't that be a nice addition to the Walsh family? Too bad the delivery won't come by male.. (if you voted hot dog - you were right. Manus says it's sure to be a 'footlong'. Just so long as it's a kosher weiner... okay! enough!)

Rule No.1: Begin to embarrass your children as early as possible

2009-04-11T16:33:00.006+01:00

It will give you a clear head start against the stress, hell and angst they will cause during adolescence.

This is the "money shot" for No.2... Any guesses before the official announcement is made?

Or as my friend Debbie so poetically and graphically put it, perhaps in honoring the start of baseball season, "Do you see the cheeseburger or the hot dog?"

And in other sport related news, it was opening day for Potty Training season. Rookie K.A. Walsh shows definite promise. The will is there, now we just have to work on the aim.

Clearly, she takes after her father.

Which brings to mind a joke... A man walks into a psychiatrist's office wearing nothing but Saran Wrap. The doctor says, "Clearly I can see you're nuts."

And finally, a picture of the smiling face of what is clearly the alien life-form residing in my uterus.

Bit by the Horse of Good Luck

2009-04-06T14:31:00.009+01:00

Before starting our weekend review, I'll say that I am well again and feeling great. Even feeling a little baby doing 'it's' daily calisthenics. Once you feel the baby moving around each day, the reality of the situation sinks in fast- but that's a story of excitement and absolute fear for another day.

Saturday we went to Nore Valley Open Farm in Bennettsbridge, Co. Kilkenny. It's a great family run farm with animals that visitors can pet and feed. They had sheep with their lambs, goats, deer, geese, the world's ugliest turkey, and bunnies you could hold.

Katie, though afraid of most of the animals, was enamored with the birds and has perfected her "gobble, gobble, gobble". The weather was nice; cool breeze but blue skies and a warm sun. In an ongoing attempt to win me over to the Irish-side, Manus commented frequently on how "we wouldn't be doing this in Miami..." As our visit ended in altercation with an ill-tempered Shetland, I concurred with Manus that this could be available in Miami but for one word; "Litigation". That fecking bastard of a pony (hereto forth referred to as a 'Shitland Pony') reached out it's plaque-ridden maw and clamped down on Katie's calf like a Hungry, Hungry Hippo chomping on a baby-pink marble. Little turd didn't break skin, but left a mark. I've documented it here for the future lawsuit.The Grand National horse race was also held on Saturday and the In-laws, as most red-blooded Irishmen, placed their bets with the bookies. Picking the right horse comes from hours of arduous study, pouring over stats, considering expert predictions, weighing the stakes and odds and finally choosing your winner by how much you like the horse's name. (duh)

Nana picked out a horse for Katie based on the similarity of the the name to her great-grandma's; Mon Mome, the 100-1 long-shot, was Katie's horse because it sounds so much like our "Mum-mum".

The headline on Guardian.co.uk soon after the race reads, "First 100-1 winner in 42 years takes 12-length victory". Mon Mome won Katie over $850.00!! (And that on a 5 euro bet)

Sunday I went to Carlow to meet up with the American gals again. This was our third lunch together. Somehow when we get together, time goes by so much faster and before we know it, five hours have passed and we've discussed everything under the sun from politics to religion to men to culture and beyond. Yesterday we talked our fair share of babies too, as we had an impromptu baby shower for one of the girls, Michelle. The Irish don't do baby showers, but dammit, we do! They also typically don't find out the sex of the baby before birth. But dammit! we do - when the baby cooperates. Michelle's hasn't so we covered all bases:

(l-r) Laura, Helena, Candi, me, Michelle, Carrie

I want to thank Carrie for hosting a great party and apologize again for leaving her with a mountain of dirty dishes! Thanks Michelle for staying and helping with the clean-up after (talk about the best guest of honor!). Claire was missing from the soiree as she just had her baby boy. We haven't spoken to her yet, but her due date was in March so we assumed... We missed you, Claire and hope all is well. Laura came to meet us for the first time. She lives with her family in Co. Clare and made the 2.5 hour drive to Carlow. She must have heard that Carrie was making her amazing Lemon pie! I hope she feels like she has made some new friends from her old country...

Candi lives in Waterford and had come to the last lunch as well. She and I have a lot in common - first and most important, we are both Gators. nuff said. Friends for life. But also, she has a daughter nearly Katie's age and is pregs with no. 2. We're talking plans for beach trips this summer and playdates in the park playground. I hope we really get to do those things, cause I do think she and I could be good friends. Plans were made for lunch this Wednesday with Michelle and Helena. Hopefully Candi and her daughter will come up to Kilkenny too.

Tomorrow we have our big ultrasound appointment. As long as our kid cooperates and bares all, we will find out if we are having a boy or a girl. In deference to our family here, I will not be announcing anything until after we have told our kin in person on Sunday. (i.e.- look for blog on Monday).

Busy week and new friends... and I've learned; Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!

Things Are Different Here (p. IIII)...

2009-03-27T20:25:00.002Z

When you are sick...

These last two weeks I've been on my death bed. And not the nice "here's your morphine drip" kind. More like the kind when you are riding on a horse and it gets spooked and bucks you off only your foot is still stuck in the stirrup so the horse is dragging you through your mother's rock and cactus garden and your head is bouncing off the ground and you are getting a mouth full of dirt and when you do finally get free the doctor sees you and says, "well, geez, looks bad but, you can only take tylenol because. you. are. pregnant."

Only tylenol isn't tylenol in Ireland. It's not even acetaminophen. Its paracetamol. And they protect it like it's crack. I wasn't even allowed to buy two boxes at the same time. They were only ten pill packs! There is an over-the-counter medication containing paracetamol and codeine and purchase is limited to one box per person - because of the paracetamol!

Some things are better here. When you get an appointment for eleven, the doctor sees you AT ELEVEN. The doctor walks to the waiting room to call you in, takes your temperature himself and then sits there and listens to you. Crazy. But true.

22 Month Checkup

2009-03-18T12:30:00.001Z

Dear Katie,

This past Monday you turned 22 months old. All the cliches of how quickly time passes are true. Can you really be turning 2 in May? You are 30 pounds (90th percentile) and about 36 inches tall (97th %). I've only gotten your hair trimmed once in your life and that was 2 months ago and if she took half an inch even, Id be surprised. You will not let me put clips or ponytails in your hair. You don't even like it to be brushed.

This last month you have really started to talk. One thing that we have always said about you is that you definitely do things in your own time. Turning, crawling, walking and now talking- it always seems to happen right at the end of the "your child should be doing this by now" guidelines. Its just your way of keeping your neurotic, hypochondriac mother on her toes.

Katie's 22 month vocabulary list

I haven't heard any sentences yet, most everything is still a one-word statement or question but you seem to understand everything we say to you. You follow directions like "go throw that away in the garbage" or "bring mommy your blue teddy bear". The only thing you are struggling with is "no". You can say it alright and I think you know what it means, but you believe that following that instruction is optional. Once now I have smacked your hand and said No! to stop you from doing something. I felt terrible and you just looked at me, laughed and then smacked your own hand. You thought it was a game. How do I get you to learn rules when you don't even know when you are breaking them? Today you took something in your hand and said "garbage" and walked to the can. I told you, "no, that's not garbage - don't throw it in there" and you stood poised over the opening, object in hand, grinning at me. The louder or more sternly I made my objections, the more you smiled and the closer to release your hand got. In these moments my brain frantically scans all the back issues of Parenting magazine and online chat room advice sessions Ive read looking for the right, constructive way to approach the situation. I normally draw a blank or think of some of the crazy crap Ive read like I should be very specific in my praise so that you aren't desensitized to it (??!) - There are only so many times I can complement the amount of pressure you exert on the paper while you are scribbling. You are no Picasso -yet. You don't color in the lines. You don't even choose pretty color combinations. So for now, you are getting vague and possibly damaging, "Wow! That's beautiful!!, Good girl!" I'm sorry for whatever that does to your psyche in the future.

We spend just about all our time together. Sometimes I am amazed at the amount of patience I have found. Usually I am dismayed by how frayed my nerves are by the end of the day and I feel like I am so short with you by dinnertime. Perhaps if just one night you wouldn't dump all of your food out of your bowl and onto the floor.

You don't really play. You are just busy all the time. You like moving one thing from this place to that one. You like taking things out of the cabinets.

You love to be read to.

"Book!" is the first thing out of your mouth most mornings. You have no interest in tv. You shout out "Fifi!" for a British show called "Fifi and the Flowertots" but its the theme song that you like. After that it's "Book!"again. You have a great sense of rhythm and seem to like traditional Irish music the best for dancing. You have yet to figure out how to jump with both feet or even to run though. The other day you accidentally did a somersault while we were playing and I'm not sure which of us was more surprised.

You have recently taken an interest in babies. You like to change your doll's diapers and give them their milk. You hold them and pat their bottoms and rub their backs so gently. Yesterday you wanted baby Conor Marry to sit in your lap and it was so cute. We hope you still feel that way in August when a baby comes to live with you. We wonder how you will react. I don't think you will like to share us. In the last few months, you have become quite shy.

You make this face a lot. Certainly, you are expressive. You seem to startle very easily, especially around other kids. You are very gentle and timid and careful. We were in Miami a couple of weeks ago and you tripped and got your first scrapped knee.

It was at this time that you learned the word "boo boo" and that we have to kiss them to make them better.

You got to lick the beaters for the first time a week ago.

It was at this time that you learned the word "more"...

While we are admitting things, I took a picture of your first freckle too. This appeared last July and given how fair-skinned you are now, we do wonder if you will get lots of freckles. Just maybe you will be a little strange like me and be glad to know just which freckle came first.

You don't like it when we leave you at the daycare. You don't even like it when one of us leaves the room. You still drink two bottles of milk a day. If I'm in the room, no one else can give you the bottle. If no one else is around, Daddy or Grandma will do. Its my favorite time of day though. We snuggle up in a big chair and you keep on hand on the bottle and one in my hair. You have been twirling hair since day one.

Ive said it before about other times, but this age is the most fun.

Every day you do something new. Every day you have a new word. You said "shit" twice in one day after hearing me say it. You repeat anything you see or hear. Its amazing... and dangerous.

These are just a few recent pictures of you with your cousins and your friends.

The Walsh family, March 2009.

But look out Katie... there is someone else who is eager to say hello and join the party!
Love, love, love (more than words can say).

Mom

For the Record

2009-03-13T07:32:00.001Z

When I was pregnant with Katie my mother gave me her old pregnancy journals. When she was looking through a box of my old baby things after Katie arrived, she came across the journals she'd kept when I was young. She wrote them as letters to me, telling me of my latest milestone or experience. They have been so much fun to read now that I am going through so much of the same 'growing up' with Katie. I admit, I am doing a little compare and contrast between Katie and the young Malinda and truth be told, I was just a lot smarter than she is. Poor thing. Anyway... while I'd considered doing the same for my children, I quickly thought of my cousin Jenny, the youngest of the brood, as we watched old 8mm film of her older siblings, asking, "where are all the movies of me when I was a kid?" Uh... ooops. And since we have planned on having three kids, I knew our youngest, too, would surely suffer from Third Kid Syndrome so I intentionally set the bar low - entering only the most minimal data into the baby books and opting out of the "Dear Katie" spiral bound notebooks.

Then this blog came along. And it sort of is our journal of milestones and experiences with Katie and with our Irish adventure. So, I'll preempt the future "TMI" complaints with this statement and apology - Im going to use this blog to share with 'future Katie' all the new and cute and entertaining and super-frustrating she does and says and vandalizes. Im sorry if no one else finds it an enjoyable read. And I'll probably just have to buy kids #2 and #3 a new car or something to make up for all the anecdotes that will never be told of them.

Twenty years from now, if you are at my house you will hear something like this:

"Mom, why are there 1600 pictures of Katie as a baby and only 3 of me?"

"Listen, you..., you... whateveryournameis.... just be happy I remembered your birthday."

"Ma, it was last week and you forgot it!"

"I meant next year's..."

Sister Teresa Landy 1945-2009

2009-03-10T20:15:00.006Z

Sister Teresa (right) with my mother-in-law having fun traveling around the world.

We arrived home Saturday to sad news. Sister Teresa, who I'd blogged about here, died. Though this was news we'd been expecting to hear for the last two weeks, the shock was still great. It was only last October when she first found out that she was sick. We went to her funeral on Sunday. Such a testament to the woman's life- the church was packed. It was standing room only and still others couldn't even make it into the front doors. Never have I known someone who touched so many.

The priests (23 concelebrated the funeral mass) used a bible verse in the funeral service that was so perfect for her:

Matthew 25:35-40 (New International Version)

35For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

40"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

Sister Teresa was so energetic and so full of life. She spent her days from morning to night helping and loving others. She fed, clothed, looked after and visited all in need. It seems like overkill to me to keep harping on how good she was; she was a nun for heaven's (wink, wink) sake-- of course she was good. But it wasn't that way around... she was a nun because she was so good and kind and loving and generous and sincere. Like I'd said before, she'd make even a heathen like me wanna join the sisters of mercy.

I can't seem to articulate the way I feel. I just keep thinking, doesn't God know that we need her here? But, as one of her nieces said in a poem she read on Sunday, (and I badly paraphrase her words to God); "...you had to break our hearts to show us you only take the best"

Wish You Were Here...

2009-02-28T13:47:00.002Z

Having a great time in Miami. Even managed some burnt shoulders and pink cheeks (no, not those cheeks). Will blog and post some new pics soon. My computer is on the fritz and until my main man, Manus "Captain Fantastic" is here tomorrow to fix it, this promise of future posting will have to suffice.

Perhaps to pass the time until then, you could read some of my friend's blogs. Oh wait... NONE of them have posted anything new in an age either. Yes, Im talking about you Mary, Jared, Jeff, Debbie, Erica, Leslie....

A Taste of Home

2009-02-16T16:19:00.007Z

(l-r: Michelle, Carrie, Clare, Helena)

When I was in the states last fall I got a blog comment from an American gal also living in Kilkenny named Helena. We met for coffee soon after my return to Ireland last December and really hit it off. She joined a group on Facebook called "Americans Living in Ireland" and met some other Yanks braving it here in the wilds of SE Ireland. We talked of a meet-up and meet up we did. Yesterday five of us met for breakfast at gorgeous Mt. Juliet - an old stately home renovated into a hotel/spa/golf course. (Tiger plays here, dont'ja know...)

Amid real cloth napkins, carafes of coffee (could it have been fresh-brewed?!) and plates of Eggs Benedict we got to know a little bit about one another. We are all here because of Irish men, three out of the five of us are pregnant and no one likes the way the Irish say "hay-tch" for the letter "H" and how Billy Jo-el has a two syllable last name here.

We are all very different too - we are from Ohio, New York, Virginia, Wisconsin and Florida. We're in Marketing, Retail Management, Language Education, and Florism (is that a word? What is your field if you are a florist?). One gal lives on a farm and makes artisan fruit bars, selling at the local farmer's market. Im glad I talked to her because Orla and I had a little pipe-dream about baking for the Kilkenny market, but Im not willing to invest 8 months into getting approved and licensed for food production by the HSE. I've had enough troubles with those people.

We sat and ate and drank coffee and talked for well over three hours. The last table in the place, we wondered, albeit a bit belatedly, if we'd been too loud? "Typical Americans!", the staff would say after we left. "You can always spot them a mile away!"... But we are aware of the stereotypes Americans have over here and we are aware that we are 'different' - though careful not to assume 'better'. No one had a negative word to say about living abroad and I think most of them expect that Ireland will become their permanent home. While I may not share that view with them yet, I do hope that I will create friendships with these women that will last.

We made a decision to meet-up again soon and hopefully this will turn into a regular thing. Of course, Clare is having her baby next month and Michelle two months after that and with my busy work schedule... oh, wait a minute..

But speaking of home and busy and surprise! We are flying to Miami this Thursday for a two-week stay. Me, Katie, Nana and Pop are hitching a ride on Manus' business trip. What will I do with all that sun? Believe it or not, I have forgotten how to sweat. Alas... I am sure it will come pouring back to me.

Guess I'd better get packing!

Well, would'ja lookie here...

2009-02-12T16:49:00.005Z

Just a word of caution to all of you out there: Sometimes pregnancy tests are wrong.

When I took a test in December, only one line appeared. Disappointed, Manus and I went out that night and drowned our sorrows. Apparently our sorrows weren't the only things that got a little soaked...

We had our first obstetric appointment today and our first set of ultrasound scans. We were assured that all things looked in order, so fingers crossed that the vodka just relaxed those dividing cells a bit. At least there is only one baby with two legs and two arms and a rapidly beating heart. The pictures didn't turn out all that revealing, but after studying them for the last few hours, I can point out that the above picture is a profile shot of the baby's head and torso (head on right) and no, it's not the most well-endowed specimen of male fetus: that extra appendage visible above the belly is the umbilical cord.
After taking the serious pics, baby said, let's have some fun! And S/he donned a pair of dark sunglasses and stuck out the tongue. We have another party animal on our hands. Rock on.
The midwife confirmed our August 26th due date. We are 12 weeks and one day today. This baby right now is approximately 6 cm long and 80 grams.

This picture doesn't show much of the baby, but confirms something I'd suspected even when I was pregnant with Katie: Some women carry babies high, some carry low. I carry completely in my butt. (See crack at the bottom of the image?) No wonder my ass gets so big... This explains so much.

25 Random Things

2009-02-09T11:30:00.002Z

This application has been floating around Facebook lately and I've been tagged enough to feel that it is my turn to try and complete a list. It's a daunting task, really... Can I think of 25 things about myself? We'll find out.

25. I am an only child. Kinda. We had a foster child in our house for ten years, so I feel like I know what it is to have a younger sister - the bad parts at least.... the fighting over toys, the stealing, the vying for daddy's attention, the looking out my window... Its now that I am an adult that I wish so much for siblings. I've promised Katie she will have a brother or a sister someday (maybe both?!)

24. The experience with our foster child was terrible for me. I think it's the most traumatic thing in my life. She didn't leave our house under good circumstances and since then has had a nightmare existence. Nearly 15 years later there is still so much pain, guilt and sadness that I usually try not to think of her at all.

23. Moving to Ireland has been the biggest adventure of my life. Prior to this, I'd never lived outside of the state of Florida, let alone outside the country. When I first met my husband I couldn't point to Ireland on a map. He'll never let me live that one down. The best thing about living here is seeing America from the outside and getting a much clearer picture of who and what we "Americans" really are.

22. I am missing two of my top front teeth. Just wasn't born with them. I wear a retainer with fake teeth on it. I always forget that they aren't real and shock myself when I look in the mirror while brushing my teeth.

21. I've got procrastination down to a fine science. I've got 365 reasons why 'tomorrow' will be a better day to do something.

20. I'm a slob. But according to a 1912 Guide for Husbands, it is probably a "constitutional defect" and "if so, no amount of grumbling [by my husband] will cure it."

19. As if to illustrate the above two facts, I am attempting to do this when I am supposed to be cleaning the house. If all things go to plan, this blog entry will be posted by noon and little fairies will come into the house tonight while I sleep and scrub my toilets for me. (its only been two weeks since they were last done - how dirty do those things get, anyway?)

18. My all-time favorite activity is playing games. Any kind; card, board, get-together, emotional. I have spent an entire day sitting at my grandmother's eating crap, downing shots of tequila and dealing out hands of canasta, pinochle and spades. I suffer from shuffler's thumb as a result; occupational hazard, I suppose.

17. My husband HATES all games. If we were ever to get divorced, it will be this fact that leads to our "irreconcilable differences". Seriously if I could change one thing about him... well, two...

16. The reasons I became a nurse were (in this order); 1)My aunt was a nurse and always seemed to have the day off, 2) I loved watching ER and 3) scrubs instead of suits. I found only after working for a year or two that I really love offering someone who is in the worst of situations and conditions compassion and humor and trying to return to them a shred of their former dignity when illness has stripped them of it.

15. Motherhood does not come naturally to me. I've never been a big fan of children. Hated to baby-sit. While I adore my own child and have turned into one of those mothers that thinks everyone else wants to hear about the cute thing she did today, naptime and bedtime are my favorite times of the day.

14. My grass is never as green as that which is growing over the fence. I always thought I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and now that I am- I'm going crazy but I know that once I start to work again, I will bitch and moan about it and long for the days when the biggest decision was whether to go to the park then the pool or to the pool then the park?

13. After my first semester in college, I withdrew and returned home. Started to see a therapist and was diagnosed with depression and an anxiety disorder. Social Phobia. Its like that dream where you go to school and realize everyone is staring at you because you are naked... only its having that kind of panic while you are awake. P.S. I did return to school the next semester and got a degree in Psychology of all things!

12. Most people who meet me don't like me at first (and I've been told this over and over by my now-friends...thanks a lot guys..) I come across as a bitch and a snob but its really because I am so damn nervous I don't know what to say or how to act like a normal human being.

11. My dad and I have the same sense of humor. We think that we are the funniest things since Abbott and Costello. For the most part, we are the only ones that think this.. My hysterical sarcasm is another reason people think that I am a royal shithead when I open my mouth for the first time.

10. I hate to shave my legs. When I lived in Miami, I would wax. Now that I am in Ireland I use the hair as insulation to keep my legs warm. I admit it's pretty gross, but... whatever.

9. Sushi is my all-time favorite food. This is true even after the first time I ate it (with Tiffany and her dad back when I was in high school) I felt so sick afterward and convinced myself the raw fish gave me food poisoning so I drank a bottle of Ipecac syrup to make myself throw up.

8. I am a complete hypochondriac. This is a bad thing to be when you are a nurse because you just learn about more diseases that you are then sure that you have. I found that most of the nurses I worked with on the oncology unit were pretty sure they and/or their husbands had some sort of cancer, just like me.

7. I don't believe there is such thing as "the one" out there. It's not fate - it's choice. That is what makes me even more amazed sometimes that Manus actually chose me. Does he regret it? Yeah, sure, probably sometimes but I know that each day we will just make the choice to make this crazy little thing called love work. And when I say "work"... boy oh boy... (just kidding...wink)

6. I curse like a sailor. We started a 'swear jar' to keep us from using profanity around Katie. One euro per infraction. She can already buy herself a Maserati. And we only started it last week.

5. I hate vegetables. They seriously make me gag sometimes when I try to eat them. Unless they are deep-fried and dipped in cheese. I try to eat at least one serving per day. And I take a vitamin. Though I admire the dedication it takes, I could NEVER be vegan.

4. Naps are my biggest guilty pleasure. There is nothing more luxurious than slipping between the sheets in the middle of the day. It's the getting up again that I find hard...

3. I love craft projects but I NEVER finish them. I have half completed paintings, cross-stitch and a great (if I do say so myself) scrapbook from our honeymoon that will forever remain two-thirds of the way done. I hope I keep up with this blogging as I hope one day it will serve as a virtual scrapbook of our lives and our family.

2. I am not religious in any way but pray every night that god will help me to be a good mother and a better wife. Its a time where I can give thanks for my family, great friends and good fortunes. I am trying so hard to appreciate all the great things I have in my life. I want to be a better person. Wouldn't it be such a great gift if you could live your life truly knowing how lucky you are?

1. I am pregnant again. And this is my official announcement.

Snow Way!

2009-02-06T17:48:00.003Z

On Monday we got snow. It was very exciting. Just the amount you see below was enough to close the schools and halt most Irish operations. Clearly an unusual phenomenon, the whole country was abuzz with the event. Quite a lot of snow fell, at least so it seemed to me, but most melted as soon as it hit the ground. So there were no snowmen or snow angels. In fact, we didn't even leave the house on Monday. Well, not in such treacherous conditions...
Katie was mesmerized by it. She sat and looked out the window most of the day.

Snow is a magical thing, especially for this Florida girl. But it's really just really cold rain. And what is the fun in that? By Tuesday/Wednesday the snow had all melted and the place was covered in muddy puddles. Cold muddy puddles. Cold muddy puddles that someone little likes to jump in and track into the house. And then who has to clean up? That's right... poor Manus.

My Great 3-8

2009-02-01T10:34:00.004Z

Dear Manus,

I remember when I fell in love with you. You were thirty-two. And back then, you promised things would always stay the same.. You lied.

Today you turn thirty-eight. And I love you even more.

Happy Birthday and Up de Cats!

Love,

Malinda and Katie

(Faces Katie makes when Daddy's not looking)

Happy Anniversary, Christmas!

2009-01-29T17:24:00.009Z

So little is done to celebrate the oft-forgotten one month anniversary of Christmas and I say "Nay! It's time we shine a spotlight on this dark corner of little-known January holiday! Let's relive Christmas - with pictures"

Go ahead and file this one under "Things are Different Here"; Santa may have a workshop and an enchanted forest in America, but only here in Ireland will you find Santa's Grotto. We went with Tom and Mary and the boys to visit Santa in his cave.

We walked past the reindeer paddocks and down a long path by the river. I told Katie if she misbehaved, not only would Santa put her on the naughty list, load her stocking with coal and ban her from holiday cheer, but he would feed her to his bears.

She looked at me as if to say, "bullshit". If you can't threaten your kids with Santa, how will you ever get them to respect you?

Kissing Cousins. Oisin and Katie are great friends. We have a playdate with Oisin and baby Conor at least once a week. Mary has quickly become a good, good friend.

Boys will be boys; Oisin cozies up looking for another smooch. We Walsh Woman are known to drive the men wild...

They hitched a ride on Santa's sleigh.

The obligatory Santa photos: Never is there a happy kid in the picture. Oisin feared for his life after he watched Santa put Conor in a zombie trance with his voodoo mind tricks.

Katie immediately goes on the offensive, proving she too can stare down her enemies, swiftly reducing Santa to a quivering mass of silky fake beard and cookie crumbs.

Fast forward to Christmas Eve. Katie shows off her holiday wear as we ready ourselves for midnight mass (held at 6pm).

Katie loves her new toy - Nana and Pop win the prize with Katie's rocking horse. She has finally learned how to get up on it all by herself and sing her song, "Arse-y, arse-y"

All the family came over for Christmas brunch and Katie got to play with her cousin Esme. Esme tried to engage her in a game of ball, but Katie was busy with her new Willy Wonka plastic crack pipe.

Dinner was out at Desart. Nana made an amazing four course dinner and the table was set complete with holiday crackers and the good crystal goblets. Manus was hired on as the waiter, keeping our wine glasses overflowing, our plates always full and once, just once, as he was passing the soups, we each got a quick pinch on the rear. Anything for a good tip, I suppose.

On the 26th, we headed out to county Kerry and the Dingle Peninsula. The views out there are breathtaking - as was the bone-chilling wind blowing along this stretch of beach.

See how the road hugs the edge of the cliff? I wasn't allowed to drive that day.

This was the view from the B&B we stayed in in Cloghane, county Kerry. In the morning those little puddles were frozen over. So I jumped on them and cracked them. Good times.

Katie says she can't wait for next year. She apologizes for the lack of pictures of her grandparents who traveled over sea and over dale to see her, but the only photos we captured of them were these:

Further proof that the two were made for each other.

A question for the Irish

2009-01-22T17:48:00.002Z

What the hell is the story with the Bio and Non-Bio laundry detergent?

I think one of them is better for the environment and one of them kills babies, but how am I supposed to know which is which?

And, how do you measure out 130 mls of water when the measuring cup goes up in 50 ml increments? I could have ruined some perfectly good blueberry muffins by mismoisturizing my mix. Betty Crocker is a sell-out.

And Ireland should come with a user's manual.

Maybe it's s.a.d.?

2009-01-22T17:06:00.004Z

I know I haven't been blogging lately and I'd love to have a good excuse for it, but I don't.
I've lost all motivation.
But I do think it will come back to me eventually, just like my old dog Skip.

Okay, so I never had a dog named Skip. But wouldn't be funny if you had a dog and you named it Skip N. Town and then it did run away? There would be absolutely no one to blame but yourself.

I think I'm going to blame the weather. Is there truth to seasonal affective disorder? I hope so because I need something external towards which to direct my angst. And Manus said his turn is up. It's not even all that bad here - today it was 5 degrees Celsius. My friend Erica is in Boston with 5 degree Fahrenheit weather. THAT is cold. We've had a flurry of snow (can you say it that way? A gaggle of geese is all I've ever been sure about) once and ice on the windshield infrequent enough that I am still completely amused by it. But the darkness. There are an unusually high number of dark hours these days and I'm not sure if you know how close Miami is the equator (I'm not all that sure either) but lets just say that "short days, long nights" is a new concept to me.

That being said, I will get back to more regular posting...sometime. I have so many pictures from Christmas and more heart-warming vomit stories, but for now... I'll leave you with some Katie.

It's all the rage these days, I'm telling you. The rosary just finishes off the look.

(Just don't tell Katie she wasn't the first to try it - her ego is a bit fragile.) This is Hailey Maupin circa July '07. Truly the fashion pioneer.

Its enough to drive you crazy

2009-01-13T12:50:00.002Z

Today was a comedy of errors that others may refer to as the Irish Driver's Test. This journey started a long, long time ago, in a land far, far away... But I'll fast-forward to more recent events as it is still enough to have you shaking your head and wondering if poor Malinda is going to survive another year in this G*&%! country.

To be a licenced driver here, you have to start from scratch, no matter how many years foreign driving experience or how clean record is (already one can see this is very different from Miami and Pepe's Licence and Taco Stand over on Calle Ocho). So, when we got here to Ireland we had to pass a test to get our Learner's permit and had to hold the Learner's for a time period of no less than 6 months before sitting for our full licence exam. All fair and good. We have been renting cars from one mister Dan Dooley since our arrival in April and driving legally and expensively under our American driver's licences.

One month ago, we received in the mail our Full Licence test date. 13th January 2009 at 9:15am. Along with this form was a list (double sided) of the requirements for your car as you take the test in your own vehicle. Most of it is obvious; car must be in good working order, insured, taxes paid, etc. One bulleted point spoke to us directly, indicating that drivers wishing to use a hired (rented) car must provide a letter indicating that they are insured to do so. The procurement of this document became MY domain. Quickly and without hesitation, I called to my man, D.D. and spoke to Mary, who promptly acquiesced. She sent an email stating that Mrs. Malinda Walsh with Amer Lic. # blah, blah, blah was insured to drive car No. blah, blah, blah. (start to keep track - this is email #1) Upon receipt and review, I realized she only indicated me and called Mary back to remind her that I'd asked for both myself and my husband. A second email arrived shortly thereafter (#2). To prove the adage that no good (or timely) deed goes unpunished, as I presented the documents to Manus for his approval and praise, he reminded me that by the time we took the test, we would have a different rental car, thus different car number. ((another funny joke - one can only rent a car for a max period of 28 consecutive days, this means that every month we have been driving to Dublin airport to trade out one Ford Focus for another))

When my parents left on Jan. 2nd, I drove them to the airport and myself to the rental agency to pick up our next, and presumably last, car. Manus asked me to make sure I checked the car over; that everything worked, that all dues were paid and current, etc. as THIS would be the car we used for the test. I rolled my eyes to heaven and said, "What? You think they would give us a car with expired tags or a broken taillight? ...foreshadowing....They are a respectable company and we, VIP clients!!"

I returned home from Dublin and gave a shout to my main gal Mary. So sorry to inconvenience but would she send another letter referencing this new car. She did. (email #3)

Now its yesterday and Manus takes the car for a final practice drive. Upon exiting the car, he glances at the tax and tag stickers clearly evident on the front windscreen, and BOTH are grossly expired. 01/2008 no less. Gulp. I readied myself for a tongue lashing and an impromptu round-trip to Dublin, but mercifully, neither materialized. Apologetic Dan Dooley actually sent someone out to Kilkenny with another car. And, as you know, another car means another car number and another request to Mary (#4). I couldn't help but laugh to see her email come through with, again, only MY driver's information on it. C'mon! (email #5)

We arrived to the testing center this morning to see an earlier applicant returning from her test and shaking her head "no" to her waiting mother. Another bad sign, we said... Manus' appointment was first and he went in with his paperwork. His rapid return to the waiting area was not a good indication of success. Our blessed letter from Mary was insufficient as it did not indicate that we were insured "specifically for the purposes of a driving test." I don't recall them ever asking us what we were going to do with the car when we were approved for the insurance. Seems to me, they didn't care. And of all times, a driving test should be the obvious time one would be insured- you know we are going to actually be driving the speed limit and obeying traffic laws! 15 minutes pass as the instructor is on the phone with his supervisors. Meanwhile we get Mary on the line (she hates us by now) and she prepares to draft yet another letter tailored to the asinine specifics of the Irish Road Safety Authority. She will email it to us. The instructor comes out and when we ask him for a computer so as we can print out our new letter, he admits sheepishly, "We haven't actually got any computers here - We are a bit backwards"
No. Fucking. Kidding.
So we race home, ignoring all posted speed limits and narrowly avoiding collision to print out the letter from our home computer.

I return and take my test, only a minute late for my 10:05 appointment time. And this is a serious test. We drove around town for 40 minutes. I was tested on all sorts of things: three-point turn, reversing around a corner, hand signals and typing out your address in morse code with your brake lights. I honked out Yankee Doodle Dandy for extra credit. And...it must have worked because.... I passed.

(Manus was fortunate to be rescheduled for 2pm this afternoon and he is on his way there now. Wish him luck.)

A Traitor in our Midst

2009-01-08T16:38:00.004Z

Tonight is the big game: The Masters of the Universe, a.k.a. University of Florida's Gators take on Oklahoma for all the marbles in the BCS Championship Bowl.

For those of us here in Timbuktoo, the game doesn't air until one a.m. We will be taping it and watching it first thing in the morning. So don't call here between 8 a.m. and noon GMT tomorrow.

For all my efforts to turn Ireland into another great Gator Nation, sometimes its those closest to you that will break your heart.

Happy New Year

2009-01-01T10:34:00.001Z

T.M.I-T.I.M.E?

2008-12-23T14:03:00.002Z

I guess so.

I've gotten some grief over my last posting. I've mortified my inlaws.

This is how I look at it: Just about every woman of child-bearing age is either a) trying to get pregnant or b) trying not to get pregnant. I didn't consider subversive a topic in which on any given day you have a 50/50 chance of guessing.

But to save the sanity of my family, I am here on out instituting a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. If it works for the military, it can work for me.

So, ignore my last post. Besides, I didn't mean any of it anyway. Maybe I was just saying all of that to throw everyone off the scent. Maybe right now, I'm pregnant... with triplets. No! quadruplets! No! I'm going to be starting a new reality show called Manus and Kate Plus 8... I'll have eight babies all at once and the first episode will be about my funeral because my womb exploded.

Awesome.

On a related note, I did actually pull one of my old posts... someone came across it and wrote some very offensive comments on it. It was one from our trip to London and while I thought it all in good fun, someone else out there didn't. I must remember that strangers can read this blog and certainly, some are stranger than others.

Next post - nothing but good wholesome Christmas pictures!

Merry Christmas to everyone out there. I hope everyone is spending the day with the ones they love. I am so thankful that I am. Thanks mom and dad for making the trip over. I love you. Merry Christmas to all the Rices, my family in Pennsylvania and my beautiful Mum-mum. To the Loud-wigs and my (other) beautiful Mum-mum, we love and miss you and wish you were here! Have a shot of tequila for me. Can we play Pictionary over Skype?

Economic Crisis Hits Home

2008-12-18T12:55:00.002Z

After yet another month of less-than-desired production, the Walsh family baby factory has announced some lay-offs.

That's right, it's another month with all of the baby fat and none of the baby.

On the bright side, the Kilkenny pub economy is expecting a boost to their revenues. Effective immediately.

Sick Ain't Pretty

2008-12-15T15:23:00.002Z

It's official: Katie is allergic to Ireland.

She got sick shortly after we arrived here in April and she is sick now. The first time she had a stomach bug and she was puking on me and the couch and the bed and aisle 5, but somehow even considering all that Vomitus Projectillus, this current cold/flu/upper respiratory infection is even more disgusting. The spaniards call it La Gripe and so do I.

Yesterday morning I went to get Katie out of her bed and found that she had been replaced by a mini Fuhrer. All of the snot that had escaped her nasal passages in the night had hardened and darkened into an Adolph Hitler mustache. I was repelled and intrigued at the same time. I was going to take a picture of her, looking so pathetic and yet dictatorial but, I, the girl who talks about poop at the dinner table, was so grossed out by the sight of her boogers I would not have been able to focus the camera. It was like petrified tree sap that turns into amber. I should have searched it for dinosaur DNA.

But then the question; how do I get this stuff off her face? 1) I don't want to touch it 2) if we just try to pull it off the top layer of her upper lip would have come with it. We hot compressed it with some wet washcloths, then burned said washcloths in the backyard.

This morning the nose was not so bad. However the 14 coats of mucous mascara had her eyes glued shut. We greeted the day with more warm water, permanently ruined washcloths and Katie screaming bloody murder, leading to more nose running, choking on spit and me cheerleading, "thats right baby, bring it on up" as she coughed and sputtered.

So now her eyes are goopy and puffy. Her nose is running. Her upper lip is glistening from the neosporin I have on the red chaffed skin. Her hair is matted with snot and I actually rug-burned her left cheek when I tried to wipe her clean while we wrestled this morning.

It is not pretty. But thank god she is whiny and irritable. That evens the whole thing out.