the Hippo Brigade

That Time We Went to Palm Springs

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May 9, 2013

We went to Palm Springs almost 2 months ago to celebrate our 8th anniversary.

We thought it would be fun to bring our baby with us.

Fun might not be the right word.

Even though Silas is a super chill baby, he’s still a baby, and bringing babies on your romantic get aways makes things way less romantic and way more covered in baby goo.

But we still had a good time…

Even though Silas ruined our fancy dinner at Mister Parker’s and we had to get our wine and dessert to-go.

And because we never miss an opportunity to drink beer, we stopped on our way home at Hangar 24 to sample some brews.

But next time, we leave the baby with our parents.

What I Wore Wednesday: The Blonde Edition

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May 8, 2013

Berlyn has a very special Mothers’ Day tea at her school today, so I have to look snappy.

I am wearing my most favorite tea-time dress by Marc by Marc Jacobs

And lavender espadrilles from Anthropologie. And I’m also wearing my new blonde hair.

(Blurry photos taken by my 3-year-old)

It just occurred to me, as I was sitting in the salon getting every piece of my God-given hair folded up in a foil packet yesterday…

That I do this. I cut my hair short and bleach it blonde after I have my babies.

Here I am, 8 months after having Berlyn.

And in this photo, Hudson was only 5 months old. Also, hello Grandma.

So, it was time to break out the peroxide.

Because this look is so not cute anymore.

Nor is this.

So you can understand that it had to be done.

And with that, my low maintenance hair routine just got way more elaborate.

Quote by my 3 year old

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May 3, 2013

What I Wore Wednesday

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May 2, 2013

This is what I wore yesterday in the beginning of my day.

The flamingo pose was me deciding what shoe looked better. And the lesson I learned here is that when any shoe is pitted against my leopard loafers, leopard loafers always win. Always.

Loosely knitted sweater: Ever

Coral jeans: Madewell

Leopard pony hair loafers: I got them at Loehmann’s, they’re some off-brand like “Ellen Cole” or Tracy Ellen” or something like that. Now do they actually use pony hair to make them? As in skin ponies? If so, I’m not down. But since I’ve already purchased them, it would be silly to not wear them.

And this is what I looked like at the end of my day, when I went to a neighborhood margarita party.

Olé.

Silky floral button down: Ever

And if you saw me in anytime between morning and night, I probably looked like this:

Because wearing pants with a zipper all day is exhausting.

Hudson’s Over Dose

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April 30, 2013

While at Sprouts Hudson ate half a bottle of homeopathic pain medicine.

He was playing with the bottle while sitting quietly in the cart. I was gently squeezing avocados swaying subconsciously back and fourth; the way mothers do when they are holding babies. Because I was wearing Silas like a front backpack. A frontpack? Silas had busy hands too, grabbing at the avocados when one came close to his grasp. He would extend his chubby arms out and would miss in slow motion as I bagged the fruit.

I gathered my produce, and finally turned to Hudson to realize that he had gotten the plastic seal off the medicine and now was sitting in a pool of white tablets. He quickly shoved at least three in his mouth when his eyes met mine, as if he was starved for pain killers. As if he finally got a taste of their undeniable sweetness, and now it was all he wanted in life. Around his lips and down his neck was a frothy trail as the chalky pills dissolved in his mouth. I panicked.

How many did you eat?!

I don’t know.

Hudson! These are medicine? Why did eat them?!

I don’t know.

Oh My GOD, HUDSON! I can’t believe you ate these. What were you thinking?! How many did you have?

I don’t know.

I grabbed the bottle and kept turning it over again in my hands to see if it would tell me what to do. I glanced awkwardly up at strangers prepared to laugh uncomfortably and explain what had happened to them, but no one seemed to notice or care that my 3-year-old just over-dosed on medicine. Their faces seemed to read, This is Orange County, everyone here is medicated.

I kicked the remaining pills under the wooden bin where the tomatoes were displayed, ducked into the cracker and tortilla chip isle, and called poison control.

Their number is saved on my phone. Because this is not Hudson’s first incident. The first time I called, he was a mere 9 months old, and had gotten a hold of my whiskey drink at a party.  A few months later he sat playfully on the kitchen floor drenched in Goo-Gone while sucking on the side of the oily bottle. And then a few months after that he opened my hot pink nail polish and painted his toes, his mouth, the wood floors, and the couch with the bright pink color.

I was well acquainted with poison control. They are calm, friendly, and answer on the first ring. It’s like the complete opposite of calling me.

Turns out Hudson could have eaten the entire bottle of medicine without a single side effect. Well, maybe he would get a little wave of nausea. “But if he only ingested half the bottle, you should’t worry.” The man on the other side of the phone call reassured me.

I deeply exhaled as I hung up with him.

I guess I assumed that Hudson being three now, meant that he was less likely to get into these poison-control-type-situations. I guess I thought he had more self-control. I guess I was wrong.

Have you had to call poison control? What types of things have your kids gotten into?

An Update on Silas

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April 24, 2013

Five and a half months ago I was pregnant with Silas. I was swollen with hope and newness. I was giddy about the mysterious gender of my child. I planned an easy birth, easy recovery, easy peasie. But instead my uterus ruptured, blood flowed from me, and that giddiness was replaced with fear, trembling, and horror.

Ever since his birth, the word Emmanuel has always come to the forefront of my mind, it’s Hebrew for God with us. In those moments that lead up to his birth there was fear, but God was with us, in that moment when I couldn’t stop trembling, God was with us. And in that moment that the doctor lifted Silas out of my broken and toxic uterus, God was with us.

His birth was tumultuous. The outstanding fact that he is alive is a miracle.

Emmanuel.

His entry into the world caused his blood to be highly acidic, which could have effected his brain, heart, lungs, and other organs. And because of that, the doctors that monitored him in the NICU wanted to see him in six months after we left the hospital, to see if anything abnormal started to develop.

I know he’s fine and I know he’s perfect, and I even rely on him being fine and perfect because it puts space between us and his scary birth.

So today we went to his appointment to see how he is developing and we found out that Silas is normal.

Silas is normal!

That simple sentence comes with a flood of emotion.

Silas is normal, nay, Silas is remarkable.

He saw his same NICU doctor and an occupational therapist, here’s how he did:

Silas is five and a half months so they had to adjust the testing to his actual age.

 Age: 5.5 months

Cognitive Index (thinking, problem-solving): At 6 month level

Language: Receptive Index: 5.5 months

Language: Expressive Index: 6 months

Fine Motor: 6 months

Neuromotor: Normal maturation of reflexes

Gross Motor: Normal

So…not only is he normal in most areas, but in some areas he’s advanced!

I know, only by two weeks, but still!

Still.

Emmanuel.

On Becoming an Accidental Introvert

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March 27, 2013

I’ve always identified with an extrovert’s personality.

Controlled chos? I love it.

Throwing a party? As long as there’s cake, I’ll be there.

Lonely days where I don’t talk to anyone all day? I go nuts. NUTS I TELL YOU.

That’s why my kids are my BFFs. Unhealthy, I know.

There have also been several occasions where someone is describing a cool place or their future plans of vacation, I tend to say, “Ohh, take me, I want to go too!” Which always makes for some uncomfortable eye contact. It’s not that I really want to invite myself on your honeymoon, it’s just that I’ve never been to St. Croix or wherever you’re going, and it sounds so good, and I like you, and in my mind it would be fun to have a group vay-kay, no?

Growing up, my house was the one where all our friends and family ended up. It was like, par-tay over heerre! We had a pool and giant 5-pound bags of chips, so all the time, and especially in the summer there was a constant flow of visitors.

I grew up eating heaps of onion dip out of a crystal serving dish and waiting in line to use my own bathroom.

But then I married an introvert.

And with that, the onion dip left the building.

I didn’t think it would effect me too much.

I kind of liked the idea of some peace and quiet. I was looking forward to a more exclusive life. A respite.

But now, eight years later, the respite has evolved into less of a break, and more of our daily life.

And it dawned on me that I have become an introvert. Unbenownst to me.

We don’t let many people through our threshold.

We do our own activities on the weekend, and never extend the invitation to any one else.

We don’t belong to a life group and even going to church has become a major chore.

But to be honest, I don’t like it.

It drives me crazy. I love people. I love to talk and make plans and have company and laughter.

Of course we have friends, and have people over, but being married to an introvert, plus being an accidental introvert myself, we have become more selective about who we are friends with.

People have to pass a veritable friend gauntlet, if you will.

It’s a rigorous six week period where we judge you based on your clothes, your taste in music, your food choices, your political views, your children’s’ behavior, your leisure time activities, and the interior of your vehicle.

But once you pass, you’re in. FOREVER.
Because once Pat and I deem you our friend, we hold on tight, and never ever let you go.

It’s like getting a hug from a grizzly bear. And who doesn’t want to be mauled, I mean hugged by a furry, albeit vicious animal?

Come to my house, I’ll make Paella! I’ve never made it before, but it sounds like it’s something that can feed a crowd.

I might even serve onion dip out of a crystal bowl.

And let’s start this 6 week friend period!

What I Wore Wednesday

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March 20, 2013

This is what I looked like for the first part of my day:

Shirt and scarf: Ever

Jeans: Citizens of Humanity

Shoes: Christian Louboutin

I was all set to go to Bible study with Hudson and Silas in tow, but I woke up feeling kinda blah, and as I was driving I realized that my scalp and eyeballs hurt, and when your scalp and eyeballs hurt, that means serious business. So with that, I deemed myself sick. And instead of Bible study, I took the boys to the park, where I sat on a bench and zoned out.

Then I got home and put this fancy outfit on:

ZING!

Much better.

Cold War Kids concert t-shirt and cozy Ever sweatpants.

Keeping it real.

Magic 8

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March 19, 2013

Eight is my favorite number. Mostly for selfish reasons. I was born on the eighth day of October, the month that means eight.  I remember the year I turned eight, I looked out the bus window on my way to school, and pondered my existence. I’m eight, on October 8, 1988. It was a big year. I learned cursive that year, it was the only year that I played on an organized sport’s team, I was coming into my own as a self proclaimed puffy paint artist, and it was also the year that I would find any excuse to wear my gaudy 3-tiered pink dress. To me eight was magic.

Today marks our eighth year of being married.

When we first met I thought you were interesting with your pointy hair and your desire to be unique.

You just got back from spending a summer in New York City, studying design at Parsons. You were cultured, and you had insight. “I don’t like Death Cab for Cutie,” you told me. “Because they sold out. And I’ll only listen to Jimmy Eat World, pre Bleed American.”

I nodded in agreement. To me it made sense.

You took me to interesting places. Our dating life was art shows, and picnics in the grass with cheese and hunks of bread. We watched foreign films together and we’d let the eerie tone wash over our bodies before we made out on the couch.

We dreamed of living in a French flat on the Left Bank, riding bikes and shopping at sidewalk produce stands. In our minds, we’d park our bikes, and talk in broken French to each other as our fingers glided over the waxy fruit.

We were babes, chasing after something that was small. Living somewhere foreign would never had made sense. Instead, we honeymooned in Paris, trying to act natural and ordering off the menu with our best Gerard Depardieu accents.

Confit de Canard, s’il vous plaît.

We never lived on the Left Bank, or in a metropolitan city bustling with people that run into the sidewalks and city streets like a cut that starts to bleed.

Instead we had babies. Children have come into our lives and have caused our  relationship to bend into a new path. Our kids have become our adventure. Six piercing blue eyes guide us through our marriage, challenging us, growing us, and watching us.

Our marriage is not a wobbling toddler anymore. We don’t drink watered down grape juice out of leaky sippy cups. We are established, we are solid. We are a tree with roots and thick branches. Our branches aren’t quite sturdy enough to hang a rope swing from, but maybe strong enough to climb up at night and count stars from a bough or hang upside down from.

And that’s fine.
Because it’s gives us something to look forward to.

So happy eight years, Patrick. This year let’s celebrate by counting the stars and hanging upside down.

*for more anniversary posts: 7, 6, 5, for some reason I didn’t write one for 4, oops! And 3.

What I Wore Wednesday

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March 13, 2013

This is what I’m wearing today.

Shirt: Ever

Leggings: Nordstrom, Brass Plum

Shoes: Minnetonka

FYI: I’m pretty much always wearing some article of Ever clothing on a daily basis. Because my husband had them as a client for 4 years, and they partially paid him in clothing. It was amazing for me because I got jeans, sweaters, leather jackets, shirts, pants, etc. Ever clothing makes up about half of my closet. But sadly the company went under, so they don’t exist anymore. Boo!

This is what Zoey and Hudson are wearing today:

Hudson is in jammies today, becaues he’s sick, and likes to cough on every single surface.

Baby? Coughed on.

Dog? Coughed on.

TV remote? Coughed on.

My sandwich? Coughed on.

Thanks Hud!

And Silas is looking suave in stripes.

Okay he looks ridiculous in those pants, but seriously they are the only ones that fit him when he wears a cloth diaper. The diaper makes his croch look mega.

And now I ask you, in a non-creepy way, what are you wearing?