Looking for Southern Comforts

As you probably surmised... Jack is back!

Maybe a bit later than anticipated, but back safe and sound. And life? It's really really good.

It was good before, but there's no mistaking the difference now that he is back within arm's reach.

The last few days and hours before his return passed at a snail's pace, especially for him and the other ~150 soldiers stranded in Romania. In those few days, it felt like yet another year was ticking by.

His flight arrived at 3:30am last Sunday, and considering the repeated delays they kept the pomp and circumstance to a minimum, which we all appreciated.

Yet, we weren't home until just before sunrise when we popped open a bottle of champagne and tried to coax the kid back down to a nap.

Considering all the timezone tweaking, Quinn went with the flow of being awoken in the middle of the night to bright lights and a blaring band.

She was momentarily out of sorts when I handed her off to Jack for the first time, but since then it's clear his is a familiar face to her. More than that, it's like she's living with a rockstar as she squeals with delight virtually NONSTOP!

Unfortunately, we haven't had as much time with her Jack-Daddy as we'd hoped because of the mandatory seven days of "reintegration."

It's the Army's way of saying in many different ways "don't be a moron" by: beating your spouse, drinking and driving, eating your child's homework, super-gluing your brother-in-law's bum to the toilet seat..." You know, the stuff people do when they return from a year of combat.

I'm all for screening people for PTSD, but I was about to go postal on Uncle Sam when it started to feel harder to have Jack home than in Afghanistan.

At least while he was there, I didn't have any illusions or delusions about seeing him; but now he's right here. That is, until 6:30 in the morning when he leaves for reintegration and then gets sucked into work stuff or other fanfare, and doesn't get home until late in the day or even evening.

It's nice not to have to worry about his well-being or safety, but it's a real buzz-kill to have him come home and not get a day off to truly celebrate since.

That will all change though, as of Wednesday we are headed back to the left coast.

There Quinn will meet her other set of grandparents, the "auntie" she's named after as well as another -- both of whom strategically set up Jack and me, to our great gratitude.

More blogging to come from the air and road, and pictures as well.

Being completely spent before 9pm each night has kept me so quiet. But I am certain now that Jack is fully "reintegrated" and we have a chance to get better reacquainted as a family there will be more time for keeping things current.

Many thanks for all the well-wishes and prayers -- they paid off!

Love,
Mama J, Miss Quinn AND Daddy-Jack

Going Grinch

Tick tock, tick tock. Time moves at a glacial speed when you're just days, if not hours away from being reunited with your loved one.

Jack's return has been delayed multiple times because the plane -- she's a broke. And the plane coming with the part to fix his plane -- she's a broke too.

Excellent system. Top notch sort of organization. Sad to say that when it comes to my own work I can relate entirely too well to such inefficiencies. Yet, I'm not schlepping the U.S. Army around, or the heart-strings of their families!

So for now, my loved one is stuck in Budapest. Confined to the hotel (because everyone is armed) people are starting to go batty. Someone was thoughtful enough to get a tour bus and take the soldiers out on a field-trip before someone lost their mind (not a good idea when armed). Jack didn't sound terribly excited so I mentioned that a friend did his mission for the Mormon church in Budapest and loved it. That's when he realized he was so out of sorts when he got there he thought it was Budapest, when it's really Bucharest! Silly silly Jack-Jack.

Even though I'm starting to feel out of sorts myself, I haven't lost touch of where I am... But it does feel like someone keeps promising me that Santa is coming tomorrow yet he never shows, he just keeps getting hung up there in the North Pole or some one else's chimney.

Considering how unfathomable it was that Jack might actually be coming home, I feel like the kid who always suspected there wasn't a Santa and is now finding evidence pointing to this sad reality.

Stupid reality. Stupid Santa.

Quinn is much more resilient and willing to bend her experience of said reality. She's adapting to seeing her grandparents as 2-dimensional beings over Skype, and seems willing to believe it's still them just a lot flatter.

While she mimics their sounds, they watch her snarf down multiple bowls of food, all the while slapping at me to bring her more more more.

Not sure I've ever mentioned it, but for months this girl has been eating the equivalent of a 150lb person ingesting: 6 bananas, 2 bowls of cereal, and 1 bowl of yogurt -- topped off with a sip of tea in one sitting! Who needs Santa when there's the Endless Belly of Quinn to be the 8th Wonder of the World?! Seriously.

With a new home to explore, she's having a blast with door-stops, a big tub, and even the poorly inflated inflatable pool (which I'm afraid has a lethal leak). Even though she had a few hard cries and has been a bit more clingy than usual, Quinn is adjusting to her new surroundings well. She's smiling at strangers and getting to know neighbors, it's really endearing.

I'll let you know if my Santa Soldier arrives, or if he is just a figment of my imagination after all.

Cheers to you and your Santa Somebody. And may you be worthy of receiving something much warmer than coal!

Impatiently,
J & Quiescent Quinn

The Kindness of Strangers

Last Monday, my parents loaded up me and the twerp for an early flight back to Tennessee. It was a year to-the-day since I packed up my car, my belly, the cat, the dog and drove across country to live with my parents.

Watching the rain come down in sheets for some reason made me less inclined to cry, even though it was feeling a little more bitter than sweet at the moment to leave the comforts of California for a long trip to our new "home."

Balancing one bag on one handlebar of Quinn's stroller, and the cat on the other, while hanging on to a huge bag weighted down with all the baby essentials, and mine as well, and a carseat base dangling from fingers free from steering the stroller -- I wasn't sure I was going to make it past security let alone to Nashville.

The line was longer than we had imagined, but that was in part to our late start out the door... Which all began with the moment my Dad picked up one of my two massive duffel bags and it literally began to burst as the seams. Thankfully he made a mad and successful dash to their attic for a replacement bag, and was well into transferring my oodles of stuff by the time I reappeared with a semi-awake kid.

Back to the fiasco at security. Let's just call it a cluster, of sorts. Shoes off, jacket off, computer out, boarding pass in hand, liquids and gels bagged. My fear was they would make me toss Quinn's breakfast of breast-milk, but that turned out not to be an issue. (The TSA lady mumbled something about doing some sort of litmus test on it... Yeah sure, I buy that.)


No, the nutty part was that they wanted me to take the cat and the baby out of their respective "containers" and hold both of them while walking through the metal detector -- AND showing my boarding pass. Now, I'll admit anyone who can make breakfast from their teets is pretty freaking amazing, but I'm not THAT talented, or stupid. Besides, my cat still weighs more than my baby (18lb>15lb), and both of them can have really sharp claws!

It must have been the look I gave my parents like I'd might as well just turn around and go home with them that another TSA person offered something a bit more reasonable... that I carry one and then come back for the other. So, we survived, and I didn't get clawed to shreds.

Unfortunately, the chaos kept me from giving my parents a proper goodbye, but perhaps that was a good thing since I'd just start bawling and then the TSA would have to test my tears to make sure they weren't really a secret weapon of sorts.

The rest of the trip (two flights and a shuttle ride) went incredibly smoothly. That was entirely thanks to the kindness of strangers. It was awe inspiring. Three people, who weren't even with the airline, went way out of their way to help me and my traveling circus.

When I had ten minutes to make more moo before the next flight, someone offered to take a picture of Quinn on my lap (the cat is next to us but I reconsidered the temptation to get him in the shot too). Those individuals made our journey so seamless (unlike my duffel bag that morning), I can't believe I'd considered driving.

I must add that before she took our picture, the woman looked at me in horror when she thought Quinn had meowed. (I nearly fell over in hysterics when she asked me how she did that.)

My two travel companions were extremely relaxed and easy-going as well. Neither Quinn nor Carlos-kitty made a peep for most of the way. People had no idea either were on the flight. The only time Quinn did fuss was when I put some saline gel up her nose to help keep her from catching an airborne cold or flu.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, which I say with some authority since I showed her I'd do it to myself before doing it to her. Only much much later (well after chatting the ear off a stewardess whose jump seat was next to mine at the back of the plane) did I realize that the stuff also has a tendency to bubble back out of your nose and hang there a bit like rubber cement. Cute on a baby, maybe. Definitely not cute on her mother.

So now we are back in Tennessee (swimming pool and all) awaiting Jack's return -- which is said to be tomorrow!

He's been underway since two days before I left for a total of five from Afghanistan. The jet-lag is sure to be brutal but I'm just thrilled to have him out of that country and soon in our own.

Pictures and more to come... but I'll try not to blather on so much (just got my internet connection hooked up today -- yay! I can function again!).

Happy travels near and far to all of you,
Mrs J and Her Traveling Circus

Dear Sleep, I've Missed You!

Sleep and I have been busy getting reacquainted this past week, and it has been grand!

The downside, is I've neglected everything from emailing and blogging, to sewing and eating and counting days on the calendar until Jack comes back.

Sleep has eaten up so much of my attention it seems that it's in short supply for the remainder of our stay here in beautiful California. It's now only a few days left before Quinn and I fly the Grandparents' coop and head back to where Jack will be meeting us in nearly a week!

It's hard to believe 50+ weeks has dwindled down to just one. In fact, I'm so doubtful of this new reality that I find it hard not to ask Jack if there isn't something I could send him (it's been weeks since shipping off his last care-package, which leaves me feeling rather delinquent).

In between intermittent rendezvous with sleep, I've been packing up all my belongings and the more useful baby stuff. Nearly all of it is already en route to greet us in Tennessee. My poor brother-in-law, Paul, (who has been taking care of our place) might second guess if I was the Octomom once the boxes of stuff arrive. It will seem not only did I go forth and multiply, but so did my crap!

To spare Quinn the experience of driving across the country twice (I'll explain later), and keep me from losing my renewed sense of sanity, she and I -- and the cat -- will be flying back, just a few days ahead of when we hope to welcome home Jack. It's very exciting, and very surreal.

It's been an ongoing adjustment to this "new normal" of being a quasi-single Mom, but overall, it has come feel comfortable. To change things up yet again, even in such a great way, is still a bit scary.

Neither Jack nor I have a need to romanticize what it will be like. We're not expecting to see something like Northern Lights shoot through the sky as he steps off the plane.

Besides, (in case you haven't noticed) I'm weird. Considering that it took me ten of his 14 R&R days to adjust to him being underfoot, and that after having only been deployed a few months; it might be a bit before I can fully relax into yet another "new normal." So, I know that, and don't expect it all to feel like roses and truffles -- or for my taste, orchids and sushi -- at least not at first.

Sounds silly considering how much I enjoy sharing Quinn's development with my parents, but in some ways I'm not eager to share her with someone who has equal say in how to rear her. Guess it's no shock to some that I'm a bit of a control freak, and don't mind being the boss, especially when it's something (or in this case someone) I've been working hard to take care of (ever since she was back in the belly).

All that being said, I'm certain it will be fantastic to have Jack back. The closer that time gets, the more real it feels.

And, just in case we're under-romanticizing it, I'll bring my camera to catch those stunning "Southern" Lights when his smile lights up our memories of how incredible it is to be together again.

Much love and sweet slumber,
J & and Miss Quinn

Slaying the Sleepless Monster

That was nice of you all who knew better not to tell me so that the whole "she's teething" theory is pretty much bunk. No no, really, I can appreciate a learning curve when it rises before me, with my ignorance looming almost as tall.

To no surprise to you of course, the teething tablets did nothing for Quinn's restlessness. Before packing up my various baby books I flipped through to see what they said about the joys of teething. All four said it was blamed for more than is reasonable. In fact, early in the 20th Century, a new tooth used to be charged as the villain for a child's (otherwise unexplained) death. Instead, all that can be attributed to a baby's pearly whites is some minor pain lasting only a few days.

This revelation made me wonder if I had unwittingly been roped into the soothe-the-bebe game this whole time. So I tried not responding immediately when Quinn started to cry in the middle of the night. If it continued for more than ten minutes, I resolved to only give her the nukie (pacifier) back, instead of a fresh bottle of milk.

Just as the teething tablets had failed, this too bombed. The decibel of her cry negated the need for a monitor in my room, and the nukie didn't last more than a second after I plugged it in her mouth. Dazed, I concluded she really was hungry so I resumed the pattern of giving her a bottle, until she fell asleep and I could wander back to my slumber.

As of last night, my latest theory was that Quinn wasn't eating enough during the day, so if I worked harder at stuffing her gut she wouldn't wake up hungry. So, I made sure she ate and drank plenty. All went well... until she went to bed. Figuring I was being played by her inherent baby games, I resisted coddling her after I put her to bed; only returning to give her the nukie and to keep her from scratching off her ears and pulling out her hair (this has become another nightly ritual).

Over an hour, Quinn's cries seemed only to escalate. When I finally picked her up she stopped crying only long enough spew her dinner of avacado, rice cereal, and breastmilk all over herself, the floor, her bed, and me. Copious amounts of puke... Yum. (And thank you Dad for being the clean-up crew!)

Of course, at the sight of this I was pretty sure I won the "Crappiest Mother" award for a failed attempt to steal some sleep by engorging the little girl. Quinn got over it as soon as I plopped her in the tub, refilled her belly, and deposited her back into a clean bed. That was until she woke up multiple times throughout the night, again.

Today a stroke of sanity came my way.

One of the NICU nurses, Angelia, had talked Tiffany and me into getting a book on getting a baby to sleep. I hadn't read much of it since Quinn was a few months old, at which time the ongoing mantra is "You can never spoil a baby." So, I thought I was safe until she was a bit heftier and clearly getting spoiled.

Fat sleeves and all, it didn't seem like Quinn was bulky enough to ignore her cries for food in the middle of the night. And, considering she'd polish off a couple of bottles between 10pm and 5am, I thought it was safe to conclude she really needed those calories.

Apparently, I'd been had.

All I've been doing is perpetuating her and my on-going lack of sleep. By going into her room, giving her a nukie, or uttering utter nonsense to her is enough positive feedback to get her hooked.

Try it yourself sometime. It's hard not to want to soothe a baby and stop the madness of her cries. Evolution-wise, a baby's cries are supposed to remind us not to leave the helpless being outside the cave, at to feel like the sound alone could burst apart every fiber of our body.

Maybe the most evolved of all of us, my Dad has been the biggest pushover when it comes to any baby crying. Apparently, I was notorious for doing the same thing well into my toddler years (and all this time they have been blaming ME when it was really their reinforcement that kept it going so long!).

The few times I'd tried to let Quinn "cry it out," I'd click on the monitor's video only to see she had stopped crying because my Dad had scooped her up and was cooing her to more subtle sounds. Out of her bedroom she would come with a victorious smile, and I'd wonder if she started to prefer him over old-slow-to-respond Mom.

Not to mention -- back in the hospital, it was thrilling to imagine the normalcy of being sleep-deprived and having to feed and comfort her at home. Although I've complained now and then, it really hasn't been a big deal -- except I'm slightly less sane as the sleepless nights pile up.

As of today, no more soothing. Not by me, grandpa, or even the animals who after enough crying will flock to see what is amiss.

My parents read the parts of the book that seem to speak right to us and little Miss Quinn. Considering it is Thanksgiving week, it seems appropriate we go cold-turkey.

So Quinn's sticky fist doesn't rule all hours of the day any more. Her hours of operation have been cutback to the day-shift only, excluding naps.

From now on, she will be sleeping through the night, and so will I. I can hardly wait!

Goodnight to all,
The Hoodwinked Mommy & Bamboozling Baby

Gnawed Off Shotgun

This kid is ready for center stage. She is not only a handful, she is a handful of ham (as Jack put it).

The other day, she showed off to him by climbing up the entire staircase while he watched online. Today, she bounced around and squealed while stuffing fist-fulls of rice krispies in her beak.

I try to help by dressing her as a girly girl with a barrette one day, and then a punk rocker the next. That way, she can experience the gamut and be good at all of it. And then I will introduce her to my wig collection, and all will be holy and complete!

Tonight though, I'm hoping she takes an intermission from practicing for her Broadway solo by belting out the lyrics to her incessant teething pains.

Some sentient being creating chamomile tablets made for such a situation. After dissolving and then rubbing some on her gums I am told it should work to allow her to sleep without pain. Or maybe it just transfers the pain directly to my fingers since she nearly gnawed them off... Ouch! We shall see soon enough.

In case you were wondering, the gas tank boobytrap is still set... Once I do catch the siphoning simpleton, I will definitely let him/her get gummed to a pulp by the every chewing Miss Q!



Off to dreams of chamomile sans tea,
Not-a-Morning-Mama J & Broadway Que'd

Siphoning Sleep

For the past couple of months, I've been convinced somone is siphoning gas from my parents' cars.

At first they thought I was imagining things, then they started "imagining" them too when they noticed the needle on their tank drop suddenly after being out of town for a week. Sure, if I were back in high school I'd be the likely culprit of having burned off their fuel. But these days, my car is way more fun to drive, so they know it isn't me.

Similarly, as Quinn's teeth continue to make their debut, they are siphoning all the energy and sleep from my life.

I've again been reduced to someone who attaches only one of the bottles to collect milk while I pump, only to -- again -- have milk running all down my front and all over my parents' floors. (It's no wonder then why the neighbor's cat has been breaking into the house lately.) The other day I did something so inane I promised to forget it for fear of losing respect for myself... Fortunately, my memory is a little shaky too now.

The last several nights we are up at 45 minute intervals beginning around midnight... I imagine this is a bit what waterboarding feels like as we the sound of Quinn's screams feels like a deluge of noise that is going to drown out any hope of mine for a pleasurable night's sleep.

Good thing is that (so far) her distress over her incoming pearly-whites is limited to the night, so we spend our days bouncing about merrily merrily merrily merrily -- as if life is but a dream (since we don't know what dreaming is any more).

One of these nights I should get some entertainment for the night, if not sleep, and instead stay up to watch the jerk siphoning gas stumble into the pranks and Rube Goldberg trap I've set up to scare him. That would be a video worth posting!

Ahhh, but always the optimist, I'm heading off to bed in hopes of catching some zzz's instead of some thieves...

May you have a most restful slumber,
One Pooped Parent and the Soon-to-be Fanged MQ

Rants With Few Raves

Eleven months down, one to go. There is so much yet to do (so much still to sew!). And even as the timeline of Jack's deployment dwindles, I'm not ready to count my blessings.

It should be really interesting to see how Quinn reacts to him in 3-D; a bit hard to imagine really considering how she fawns over the many forms his 2-Dimensional Self takes online and around the house. Equally as interesting will be how he takes to her toothy grin, as well as the torture her new tusks cost her…

In many ways it feels as if time has done laps around me and it can’t possibly have been an entire year that we’ve been apart. And yet, I can’t remember a time where I wasn’t a Mom; it's as if that was a lifetime ago. Not to be Vanna Vanity girl, but of course there are moments where I worry about how much more real estate Jack will find in my back pocket since my body gave forth to another life. Or how many more wrinkles I’ve accrued due to the sleepless schedule of parenthood.

As if to reassure me that I’m not the only human in the room, Jack has his moments too. Obsessing for a moment about something other than the armed men in the mountains, he tells me how “flabby” and “out of shape” he is… which is just as ridiculous of a concern to my ears as mine are to him. All I want is for him to come back alive, healthy, sane and happy. That’s reasonable isn’t it?

Honestly, it's been a tough time. As it is for all of those out of reach from the people they love… particularly when that loved one is in harm’s way. It’s no fun. When a bad phone calls come (the worst news doesn’t come in a call, but by car), it puts life in perspective.

Thoughts like “Is the expansion of my ass inversely connected to my memory’s constricting capacity?!?” don’t exist. The only thought that does is that someone’s life just changed in an instant, from one breath to the next, and how really painful that news is for them, and would be for me. Each of us can only hope to eke through this time without any serious wounds or damage, and every last day counts.

My friend Jill is in the same boat. It’s been entertaining to hear someone else put words to the feelings and frustrations of military life. We rant, and sometimes rave, but mostly rant. Having been in the high brow branch of military herself (the Air Force, of course), Jill isn't exactly a fan of the Army.

Recently though, her husband talked her down from "hating" it outright, but I think it’s safe to say she won’t be calling the Army her BFF (best friend forever) anytime soon. At least it is through the Army we have countless friends who can relate, and help buffer the headlines that can make for the most anxious of days...

Before I start counting days, I’m counting the many boxes I need to pack and miles Quinn and I need to travel to welcome Jack home… Once he is, I'll be counting all my blessings, that's for sure.

Still Suspended in Time,
J & Miss Quinn

A Quick Ascent

Quinn's metamorphosis if taking shape so fast, it's hard to keep up on what all has happened in a matter of days.

While I have been busy being domestic -- sewing all sorts of sundries including my first quilt, Quinn has been busy getting ready to rule the world. Seriously, she virtually already runs this house (albeit with a soft and often sticky fist).

In the past week she has sprouted a tooth, and as of today a second one is starting to pop through! It didn't seem like she'd have teeth anytime soon by reading her demeanor, but that too has taken shape in fits of fussiness as she expresses the discomforts of growing up.

Here I am impressed that I too could make a rather ugly quilt (which, technically isn't entirely complete, but nonetheless complete in its ugliness), and not only does she bring ivory to her gemlike face... Today, she had to show off just a bit more.

Watching her out of the corner of my eye while I read the paper and she scrambled about the living room, I couldn't believe it as I saw her lift her leg and (no, not pee like the dog, she doesn't copy them THAT much)... She climbed onto a stair. And then another. And then again! Like it was nothing. So amazing.

Just yesterday, she wasn't even trying to lift a leg, she was just heaving her torso onto the stair and trying to will her legs up as well. Today, she looked like she had done it a hundred times before.

So cool, and yet, so not cool. More barriers to come to the Bleiker House... Someday, not too long from now, my parents might have the freedom to roam their own house again sans swimming pool and other baby boobytraps. We shall see.


Love from the hurdling girls,
The So-Sew-ing Mom and Her Lil Mountain Goat

How to get a Screaming Headache

The canine police brought Millie back today.

Turns out ol' girl was having a romp on the highway. Kamikaze! Not sure what I did to push her to that, but lucky thing it wasn't the last of her dog days.

The puppy police officer was super nice, and was even more so when I explained the UPS guy must have let her out, since it was clear I didn't kick her to the curb myself, and there's no way a little glucosamine would make her able to do a high jump over the fence.

She was pretty spry though when she came back. Putting the other two knuckleheads in line, and then prancing through their water dish... Whatever that means in dog terms. (Think I'd be able to decipher for myself if she'd just peed in it.)

So the cacophony of crazy dogs is back at full decibel this afternoon. As loud as these three can be -- hooting, yowling, and woofing at other passing dogs -- it wasn't anything compared to Quinn's deafening blare at the doctor's office this morning.



In for her 9 month check up (she's been on terra firma now longer than she was in the belly!). Seemed a bit less than I'd expected as she weighed in at 15lbs 4oz, and 26 inches long; but the doctor was pleased with her growing girth. He remembered that we would be moving soon, and appeared a little disappointed to be losing Miss Q as his patient.

Whatever regret he had she quickly cured as she hollered and screamed bloody murder before he even touched her toes. Uncharacteristic of past visits, she shrieked, screeched and wailed the whole time he was there; I'm quite sure it cured him of being sorry to see us go. He quipped that it was greetings like hers that made some people go into dermatology instead of pediatrics.

With the headache like I'd been at a rock concert, Quinn and I made it into a better day by running errands, hitting the fun found at my favorite farmers' market in downtown, and coming back home to chow down before she hit the hay, which she got an early start on while still in her carseat.



A full if not entirely fun day all in all...

Achy J & Screaming Quinn