Saturday, January 29, 2011

Couch Potato

Ever Elizabeth 12 pounds 22 inches
Smiles at all family members
Clearly recognizes all family members
Smirks when Mommy says ' Want tootsies?'
Eyes twinkle, head turns and mouth opens in a grin while waiting for tootsies
Smiles while trying to open her eyes when waking in the morning
Cough/Farts ( Clearly related to her sister)
Loves baths
Cries in her sleep
Laughs in her sleep
Began using hands to clumsily reach out toward things this week

Friday, January 28, 2011

I've Got a Crush On: 30 Something

I watched 30 Something in my twenties, and now as an official, knee deep thirtysomething can't wait to watch it again through Netflix. I love a good ensemble show or movie more than almost any other kind, where life is messy and the struggles are depicted as clearly as the joy, the failures as well as the success, with plenty of sex, love, fighting, children- the whole shabang. The theme song alone is crush worthy- I love a good opening. I had a crush on Michael, the sometimes arrogant but good looking husband. The casting of this show was perfect and the chemistry between the members believable, warm. Anyone remember when Gary died? Sob! Many of the cast members are now on Brothers and Sisters- another ensemble show with a great cast. Interesting fact: 30 Something was the first show to depict gay male sex.

Thursday, January 27, 2011



Welcome SPONSOR: Kalos Candy!

Welcome to Flux Capacitor's new sponsor: Kalos Candy!!

Baby onsies swirled into lovely scoops of ice cream, topped with a baby spoon!

Beautiful rosebud washcloths for a girl baby shower

Onsies and washcloths made into charming arrangements perfect for gifting new moms

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Flat January

But your family is healthy.I know. I know.
And your daughter was so ill- hospitalized!- and now she's much better.Thank God.

And your husband is doing good, for this time of year. The new medication is working well. It's much better than it's ever been. I love him so much.
Do you have enough food to eat, and clothes to wear, and hot water, and a place to call home? Yes.

San Diego in January has been bipolar: sweltering hot and then book ended with frigid, frost covered mornings and cold windy afternoons. The sky is blue and somehow still dimmed. Muted. I wake and turn on the heater as the dark lip of sky just begins to brighten, stick my head in Dakota's room, let the dogs out, return to wake Lola, Dakota again, then to lay Ever in front of the heater and change her diaper, sing song to her in hope of one of her heartbreaking smiles. Eventually we are all in the car, kids with hot oatmeal and lunches in backpacks, Ever in her carseat next to Lola. I ask Lola in what I hope is a neutral voice How's Ever? She glances at her. Fine. I wish for the millionth time that I could more clearly see Ever when I'm driving. And then, for the millionth time, follow that thought up with the admission that it wouldn't be safe if I could, craning to watch her chest, try to count her breathing, see if she's working.
Dakota texts most of the way to school. I run my hands through the curls at the back of his head, kiss his cheek. He tells me he loves me as he slings his backpack over his flannel. I watch his six foot frame walk casually away from me, the same soft loping whether he might be late or not- he's not hurrying. I drop Lola off and hug her tightly. Then it's just Ever and I. We head to Starbucks and she falls asleep in her seat. I cover her warmly and we head in where the same baristas I've known for years nod and smile at me, E. asks if I want my regular and I say yes. A few other regulars who know me ask about Ever, how she's doing. I look at her. Good, I say, wishing I could feel that, live in it. Good. And then home.

Mornings at home. Since Ever became congested and needed breathing treatments, mornings have become a stressful, isolating time. I count her respirations, and often they are on the highest end of normal. This is her new normal for now, with the cold and so soon after RSV, a slightly increased respiratory rate and a stuffy nose, small retractions for a while that fade. My job is to watch her, and there is no balance that is comfortable, watching my infant girl for signs of struggling to breathe. It reminds me of the feelings of new motherhood:
Are they sure I can do this alone? Who left ME in charge? I've never had a more important job: ensure my child is breathing. And I never will. The morning sits around me. The house is smug and silent. The noise of TV is depressing. My body responds sluggishly to commands. I make myself move, make phone calls, get things done. This is not hibernation. It is some kind of fear response. I am too prone to this. Maya Angelou wrote a poem Life Doesn't Frighten Me. And before I had children, maybe this was true.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

In the Desert

Glamis, pre-Ever
Myself, Lola, Mr. Curry, Ian and Dakota

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Baby Life: Mother and Daughter

No matter how you think you remember, you don't. How the newborn baby accumulates the entire constellation of your world, your family around herself, how she becomes the blinking, cooing, squalling, screaming, nursing centre of the world, how that kind of quiet that only enormous amounts of space can hold envelopes you, envelopes the space between you and everything else. Everyone else. Far away there is the voice of my son telling me, eyes wide, about one of the worst nights he's ever had, involving a friend who is being hit by her father, the police and a car crash, and I'm listening, I'm fixing my gaze toward his drawn, young face, and Ever is against my breasts rooting, fussing, and I'm listening to her breath ( is she breathing too fast? does her nose need saline and sucking? is her chest retracting? ) and glancing at her chest and my son is floating farther away. He sits next to me and I try clumsily to put my arm around him, I can see he wants me to snuggle him against me, but Ever resists the change in equilibrium and fusses irritably, her small hands scratching at the sides of her head, so that I have to pull back my arms and give them both to her.
Hyper-vigilance, The pediatrician told us, checking Ever's miniature abdomen, that's what you will notice when you get home. You'll notice everything she does in the context of her health, you'll worry more. Mr. Curry glanced at me. I knew he was thinking Shit, my wife can't worry more. Any more worrying and she'll drive herself crazy. Me crazy.
Late at night, once, I got Ever to sleep and managed to uncurl my warm, sweaty body from hers and scrunch up her blanket as my replacement, slide next to Mr. Curry, be glad the lights were off. My breasts leaked, white milk slid down in steady drippings and soaked the sheet beneath me. I inhaled Mr. Curry's neck, his armpits, and strained to hear Ever's breath noise, the sound always reminding me of the baby book Bunny's Noisy Book : " He wiggled his nose and sniffed the little quick noise of a sniff. " Although my woman's heart belongs to my husband, my body and my life belong to my children while they are growing up, and especially, most of all, while they are very young.
The world exhales and inhales in it's sharp gasping bursts of energy, the entire modernized, civilized world exhaling and inhaling like this now, with our connections like over-excitable neurons, firing off wildly at every new tragedy, startling piece of information, assumption. To withdraw from this into the tiny face of my daughter is a relief. To find myself floating out beyond my family, beyond my poetry and my novel is scary. I watch these parts of myself hibernating and wonder as I have each time Will they return? The untamed and utterly joyful, transcendent sex life my husband and I have always shared, one of our strongest bonds? The rare moments of calm connection and support with my teenage boys? The long stretches of art making and giggling with Lola? The hours of dreamy contemplation followed by strutting poems and paragraphs in my book? The intellectual pursuits of complex novels, the NYT, non-fiction reading and learning? Of course it will all return. Will it be the same?
Long stretches of hours go by with Ever and I simply glued to one another. The children at school, Mr. Curry at work, the dogs lolling, Ever on my chest. Hours I try to read, blog, check Facebook, distract myself from the central line and gravity force of Ever's breathing. In, out, in, out, counting the breaths, listening for a slight wheeze, glancing at the ring round her mouth, assuring it is pink and healthy. Attaching the nebulizer tube, holding the steam near her face, waiting for the shaking of her fat arms and legs that signals the Albuterol is doing it's fine work, opening and softening the lungs, helping my baby to breathe. Because allergies and eczema run on both sides of her family, Ever most likely inherited the 'asthma gene', which could have been triggered On by the RSV virus. Because she responds so well to the Albuterol, it is likely. Two weeks out from the hospital, she is congested again, snorting and snuffling. On Friday her oxygen was at a wonderful 99%. As the nurse announced Ever's oxygen, I couldn't stop the tears from welling and falling. Such relief. She's retracting a little, her pediatrician said, but that's most likely from the congestion, being a nose breather- her lungs are clear. Just keep doing what you're doing. She's OK. The child in me wanted to say And tomorrow? Tomorrow she'll be OK too? The doctor left and inside the white white room with the sterile white table and long white oxygen read, I listened to the silence between Ever's breaths and it was like the slow sympathetic smile of God collected in all that white silence: Nothing in life, no one in life, will ever be able to answer or promise tomorrow.
Before the hospital and the endless needles and poking and I.V. and deep nose suction and sticky tape replaced four times a day, Ever was easy. Easy in this world. And now she desires her mother and her tootsies to comfort her, and little else will often do. Mr. Curry holds her, walks her, loves her, and she responds with delight for short, very short ticks on the clock, until the staccato bursts of her complaints reach me and I take her back again. We revolve around one another, my infant daughter and I, and the world truly is in her eyes.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Nursing Picture, Miranda Kerr and Myself

Ever and Mommy January 2011

Have you heard the ridiculous 'controversy' over Miranda Kerr's picture of herself nursing her newborn son, Flynn? This blogger laid out my thoughts EXACTLY.
Nurse on, playah.

Friday, January 21, 2011

A Few of My Favorite *Baby* Things

This Graco Alono Flip It Travel System was part of my Mom's shower gift for Ever, and I LOVE IT. This is the exact one we have, I love the color and polka dots :) The infant seat is wonderful, it snaps in and out of the base in our car and snaps easily into the stroller. The stroller is easy enough to fold and stick in the back of our car, and I the drink holder gets a lot of use at Starbucks :) I love that Ever is so high up when we attach the infant seat to the top of the stroller, and facing toward us. This is incredibly easy to maneuver- maybe my favorite thing about it. I can move it any which way with one hand and little effort; Lola pushes Ever easily at the grocery store or Target. Worth every penny.

The Aden and Anais blankets and swaddles are absolutely divine. They are a bit pricey but worth every penny. We use two or three a day, and I swaddle Ever in their muslim swaddles every night at bedtime, which she has grown to love. They are soft soft soft and breathable, perfectly sized and the designs are gorgeous. Here is Ian holding Ever in her star blanket. I really can't recommend these enough.
What would we do without our Sleep Sheep? We have two, one for home and one smaller strapped to Ever's car seat. The Sleep Sheep makes four different comforting sounds; Ever prefers the rain to fall asleep. I love it for car rides and pushing Ever in the stroller, it helps to calm and comfort her. Everywhere we go, people stop and tilt their heads and eventually say ' Oh! Is that making the noise? I was wondering what that was! ' They always laugh :)

Ever was gifted this beautiful! hat from Giddy Giddy

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Mess Things

Everything in this house is a mess thing. The water heater broke and until we get it replaced- a day or so- we have no hot water. Dakota threatened to shave his head because he can't live without taking a shower in the morning ( can't be at night when he could take one at Grandmas ) to get his hair just right. We just stripped our tree and it sits moping and dehydrated in the corner, shedding needles everytime the dog's butt hits it. Our garage is semi-flooded with water from the heater. Our almost brand new dryer ( again my Mom, what would we do without Grandma! ) only 2 years old broke, and the repairman said it needs a whole new panel which is almost 400$. Which we don't have. Obviously. Our lawn mower? You guessed it! Broken! Mr. Curry tried to fix it but it wasn't cooperating. So our lawn is wild. Our brand new vacuum from WalMart? That is right. Broken band! So remember those needles from the tree everywhere? And our two big hairy dogs? Hmmm. You are getting the picture.

I stare a lot at my children because they are beautiful and a lot less dirty and hairy and needley than the rest of the house.

Monday, January 17, 2011


Everkins ( kinnykins ) Evercakes WonTon

It's a ridiculous 85-87degrees here in sunny San Diego and the rest of the crew is sleeping at almost 2pm in the afternoon. Ever on my chest. Mr. Curry in our big amazing queen sized mattress. (thanks again Mom) ..and Lola on the blow up mattress on the floor, left over from the two girls who spent the night last night and left about an hour ago, stuffed with Mr. Curry's delicious brunch. Ian and Dakota are probably both playing video games at their friends. Just a guess.

Myself, blogging, finishing my Starbucks Doubleshot half-caf with soy milk
with this freaking awesome chubby Evercakes stuck like velcro to my chest where I can buggle and snuggle and kiss her fatness as much as I like
and reflecting on how completely saturated with gratitude and present-ness I am.


Sunday, January 16, 2011

Welcome SPONSOR: Baby Bad Ass!!

baby tattoo sleeve onsie

Please welcome Flux Capacitor's newest badass sponsor:) Baby Bad Ass

softest baby blanket!

Awesome baby clothes and accessories for the coolest baby on the block, fantastic eye catching prints and low prices for great quality

skull pee pee caps for little guys

Put fluxc in the checkout comment box when you order and get 10% off!!!!

Friday, January 14, 2011

Ever's Morning: 6 Weeks

I'm amused

First the dog kisses me....

Then mommy

Wait a minute...where am I again?


Mid Morning Tootsies

Mid Morning Nap

Nite Nite Everkins

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Sixteen: Our Young Men, Drugs, and the Legal System

Dakota is sixteen, a young man, a teenager, a boy, a child, an adult... the perception of what category or label a young person falls under is different for individuals and also in the eyes of the law- from state to state or judge to judge, how to prosecute, or treat, a sixteen year old or a teenager of any age is debated. When drug addiction is involved, the combination of a person young enough to still be developing significant areas of the brain, drugs, and the law... becomes a train wreck.
When Dakota choose to smoke pot at fourteen, he also choose a peer group geared toward acceptance of pot smoking and access to it; he choose a peer group who were more likely to be involved with the law. And so at sixteen, friends and acquaintances of his- all boys, that I know of- have been arrested, received probation, gone to jail and rehab, ended up in prison. Dakota has been sober now for about half a year, he's never been in trouble with the law, never had court enforced rehab or programs, never been kicked out of a school, but watching the repercussions of drug use in the lives of his friends and acquaintances has terrified and provoked me. As with all hydra-headed issues, drug use and it's criminalization, the handling of teen drugs users inside the law and all the ways those intertwine have no easy solutions or answers, no easy way to the solution. We do have better answers to these issues, answers that can be- and in small ways, are beginning to be- implemented.
The path of addiction is one that is linked inexorably to the law because the abuse of drugs is illegal. A teenage boy who has the right predilection for addiction will become addicted quickly, depending on the substance he is using it could take a week or a few months- with the right type of brain and the additional help of enormous stress and the incredible changes in the teenage brain it will happen even faster. ( This resource, Pleasure Unwoven, is one of the most compelling and informative pieces I've ever seen to explain the process of addiction in the brain, and why it truly is a disease. ) Not all abusers will be come addicts, but once a person is an addict, there is a set of changes that happen so deeply in the fundamental workings of the physical brain that only targeted intervention can typically bring that person back to their former self. The worse the addiction, the more removed the addict becomes from the thoughts and feelings and actions that reflect their true person, and the more the addiction dictates the course of that person, the more baffled and trapped and miserable that person and everyone around them becomes. It's not unlike any disease of the brain- mental illness such as Bipolar or degenerative such as Alzheimers- which change the person affected profoundly and negatively.
Knowing this and being the mother of two teenage boys has given me a new perspective on the handling of teenage boys in our legal system who have drug involvement. It brings me back to a foundation of effective parenting- it's about teaching consequences, not punishments. When a teenage boy has hurt an individual or group in some way- stealing a car, forging a check, public drunkeness- who is a drug abuser, what is the ultimate role of the court? To protect society and to have the offender pay their debt. Neither is being accomplished when the punishment is a criminal record and jailtime. What is needed is treatment for a disease. Look at my son's face. Boys just like him- that young, that completely niave and arrogant and confused and still only partly formed, that beautiful for their youth and their promise and their vulnerability - are going to jail and spending weeks and months hardening their hearts and minds against the onslaught of emotional pain around and inside of them. The drug addict will worsen. The boy will get out of prison and be even more likely to need drugs to cope.
I keep watching these boys- to me, they are boys, I see boys in sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen year olds, just boys... that's what we call them when they go off to war, isn't it- in recognition of the ridiculousness of the waste and the vulnerability of our youth- with their baby faces and adult posturing and intelligence and total and complete obvious confusion about how to handle being a human being, I see these boys go to jail. And I watch them come out, angry and hurt and hard and even more lost than before.
I want a treatment focused solution for our children. I want punishment to be the last control to protect society, and treatment to be understood as the most effective tool to achieve our judicial goals.
I want boys like my son to be considered boys. In the eyes of the law, law that is supposed to be wise, fair and just, we can clearly see the young addict needs guidance, consequence, treatment. Not the immediate incarceration and punitive strike. Not the release back into society of a boy even more convinced he must posture as a man who knows how to make it in the world, when really he is somebody's boy in the grip of addiction.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Monday, January 10, 2011

things sure have changed round here, baby

1 The vibrator in the house happens to be green with jungle animals on it, and often holds
ten pound newborn.

2 Great care must be taken when choosing a dirty towel to use after a shower. One must
vigorously inspect all used towels before smearing them across the body.

3 There is a whole new reason to fear the dogs tearing into the trash.

4 Sexual activity is encouraged to be as quick as the scene in Fast Times At Richmond High-
Of course, that is assuming sexual activity is possible.

5 When I grumble
Scoot Over in bed and start pushing, someone is likely to fall out. The amount of people in bed has multiplied times two.

6 Instead of our schedule running around school times and clocks, and you know, implements of responsible modern society, they run around a drooling babbling bundle with three chins and a proclivity for pooping her pants the minute the key starts turning the lock.

7 The mother must not shower more than ten minutes. Or the mother will be punished. The mother can only wash her face once a day. Decide: morning or evening. The mother is not allowed to have toilet issues. The mother is allotted eight minutes to use the toilet. The mother cannot drink milk, eat chocolate, consume alcohol or beans, and must consume more water than Niagra Falls daily. The mother can put deodorant on but cannot shave her legs. The mother can floss but cannot cut her nails. The mother can fling sunblock on but must not use makeup. The mother can pretend to do other things but must acknowledge that all she is really doing is taking a pause between nursing baby and walking baby. Pauses are short and not always necessary, according to baby.

8 The husband must accept all above.

9 Pint sized farts are pretty cute.

10 The dogs....what dogs? Aw. Poor dogs.
previous next