p.s. I’m not an artist.
p.p.s. I had way too much fun making bedhead & “highlights” in my hair.

It’s called a toddler that decided sleep is for the birds.

That was at 4am.  He finally conked out at 4:30am.

He has two nightlights.
It’s not night terrors (those have an entirely different cry).
He has loveys.
He’s not hungry or thirsty.
He really doesn’t need to drop his nap because he’s not napping 50% of the time anyway.

Basically?  He wants to eff with us.  Which might be a strong sentiment except I’ve only had one cup of coffee & four hours of sleep.

(also, the difference between a newborn being awake all hours &  a toddler being awake all hours is the amount of noise. when a newborn is awake, at least one parent can sleep.  when a toddler is awake, even folks in china hear him.)

It started innocently right around the time I lost my job & we feel for the little guy because it’s obvious he feels the stress in the house.  There have been a lot of changes in his wee world over the past few months & my heart goes out to him.  First Daddy was home a bit, then we were both at work, then Momma came home & he’s overjoyed but missing his Auntie & why isn’t anything the same anymore?!  But Momma needs her REM cycle back & more importantly, the kiddo does too.  After nights of rocking & rocking & rocking in the small hours of the day & Doug camping out on a pallet in his room, & purchasing a star turtle & giving him warm milk, we realized yesterday that it was time to pull out the big guns.  All three of us were at each other’s throats constantly from pure exhaustion.  I snapped at Harrison, something I very rarely do.  So Doug & I shook hands & decided that last night was the night.

We dusted off our Ferber book & got the stopwatch on my iPhone working.

We turned Harrison’s lock around so that we could lock him in, thereby taking back control of his ability to leave his room.  (shall I pause here & clarify that we still go to him, but it means homeboy can’t sneak out at 3am?  good.)

We took out his workbench & garbage trucks.

I turned off his light at the fan so that he can’t party all night long under a ceiling light.  (oh buddy, did that piss him off!)

& we hit the sack by 9pm.

I got a pretty awesome workout going back & forth to his room last night, calmly telling him to “Get back in bed, it’s night-night time.”  Tuck him in, give him a pat on the back, & close the door behind me.  I’m hoping that tonight it won’t take 2 1/2 hours for it to sink in that Momma ain’t fooling around.  Also, this is what we woke up to this morning:

I think it’s fair to say he was pretty ticked that Harrison Rave 2012 was thwarted.

____________________________

& in good news, the reason that Momma can’t hang at 4am anymore is because I got an offer from Microsoft as a contract for their marketing department.

SAY WHAT?!

It’s a contract so I’m still on the hunt for a full-time job with bennies.  The great news is that the contract is on my terms as far as how many hours I work per week & when the contract ends & they fully understand that I am still looking for a job.  So Harry is with his Auntie a few hours per week so I can log in some hours at home & take conference calls & keep interviewing with other companies.  What’s that you say, Charlie?  WINNING.

Remember how you didn't want me as an admin? That's cool. Microsoft thinks I'm worth bringing in to their marketing department. So have a seat, please.

So when Harrison starts screaming at bedtime & I’ve told him firmly to get back in bed three separate times, he stares up at me with tears falling & says, “Up!!”  oh, my heart.

I find myself all sternly inner-dialoguing how I’m setting us up for failure when he’s three as I make my way to the rocking chair.  But then I remember how I’m knee-deep in my uterus & how soon, Harry will be going to sleepovers where he will be embarrassed to ever admit he was rocked to sleep & I can’t help myself.  I sit & I rock & tell him stories about the man on the moon until he’s calm.  His heartbeat slows & his breathing steadies & I know he’s asleep because that’s the kind of thing that mother’s just know.

He’s drooling on my shoulder.  It’s time to put the kiddo to bed, but in his earlier rage, all blankets & pillows ended in a pile on the floor.  Which means that I have to get up from the chair & put the bedding back together with 30 lbs of live ammunition on my shoulder.  Doug to the nursery, I think into the universe.  I wait a few minutes.  Hey, buddy.  To the nursery for pillow recon.

I contemplate the length of my legs, wondering if I can grab the pillow corner with my toes & toss it into the bed.  If I can do that, then I’ll have a legit excuse to run away with the circus.  I feel the drool seeping through my jammies.  The kid stirs & I freeze & send imaginary red flares into the sky. & I’m all WHY IS HE NOT READING MY ESP?!  DOUG TO THE NURSERY!  DOUG TO THE NURSERY!

What good is being married almost six years if he can’t read my mind?

Especially how velvety her ears are.  I’m a firm believer that all that is bad in the world could be made right if we would all just rub a pup’s ears while discussing religion, politics, & the Cry It Out method.

She is so good to Harrison.  She stayed by my side throughout the flu.  She’s my co-pilot on our awful commutes (since the house is on the market, she stays at The Momma’s house during the day).

Plus, she’s really coming into her own these days.  She’ll be six in May, so it’s about time the ol’ girl showed some maturity to match the greying on her muzzle.

Since it is cold outside & she began sleeping in past 5:30am, we let her back in the bedroom.  She took that as an invite to make herself comfy.

Granted, I’d appreciate it if she’d stop freaking the eff out whenever she sees the leash.  Despite what the trainer said, I have proof that a dog can still properly freak the eff out with it’s rump firmly planted on the ground.

I kneel beside his bed, tracing the fire trucks printed on his jammie’s as I feel him relax; it’s just one more way to know he’s mine, when a sweet hand on a warm cheek is an expression of devotion.  His eyes flutter & I notice the matchbox car still grasped in his hand & I smile. A flicker of his lashes catches my smile & he returns it sleepily. I press my mouth to the edge of his bed rail to stifle my giggle; there’s something about it all that made me feel like I just took a swig of warm cider & it’s home & love sliding all the way down.

I love everything about him, from the blonde curls to the little snores  & my heart swells & I think it might burst, but it simply grows & I think that’s the beauty of a mother’s heart – the infinite ability to love.

What started out as an, “aww, darn! momma’s outside my room again” turned into her being a security blanket.  Momma’s outside my door, everything’s okay.   If I was sick or hurting, she sat quietly with her shadow thrown onto the carpet of my bedroom, telling me to close my eyes.

I guess it’s why last night, with my little guy coughing & running a low fever, I sat down quietly on the floor outside his room.  I heard him whimper as he tried to suck his thumb despite a stuffy nose & my heart twisted.  Doug looked at me with raised eyebrow & I said, “I just want to sit until he falls asleep.  It’s the only thing I can really do, you know?”

So I sat until the hum of the humidifier was the only sound I heard.  & I wondered if The Momma felt the same way on the nights she sat for me.

p.s. childhood friends, please raise your hand if you attended a sleepover where the momma sat outside the playroom & told us to settle down.  & then we giggled.

But naps?  Sacred naptime that should be swaddled in silk & sung to with the voices of baby cherubs?  MOMMA DON’T PLAY.

This past weekend, my husband ran errands while I took charge of Harrison’s afternoon.  After he sacked out on the floor by his puzzle, I ushered him into his room, tucked him into Curious George sheets, & closed the door.  I hear him patter to the door & wail.  I give it a minute, two minutes, then open the door & gently tell him it’s naptime.  I tuck him back in bed, kiss his forehead, close the door.  All was quiet on the home front for about five minutes until I heard the banging of dresser drawers, a spill of books, & other sounds of pure mischief.

It was time to get my momma on.

(& by “get my momma on,” I mean morph into The Momma, complete with intimidating steps flying up the stairs while you freeze, caught red-handed & wait for that door to fly open.)

I do my serious momma walk up the stairs, take a deep breath, & open the door.   He’s standing amist all his clothes, emptied on the floor, holding a tube of Desitin.  Must. Not. Laugh.  ”Harrison, get in your bed,” I instruct in serious momma voice.  “I am not playing around,” I growl, picking up clothes & stuffing them back into drawers.   He hopped into bed, I dropped a blanket on him, & shut the door for a third time.

But this ain’t my first rodeo & I wasn’t about to be showed up by an almost two-year-old.  I dropped to my knees, placed my cheek on the floor, & squinted under his door.

p.s.  you’re right, I should get a video monitor.
p.p.s. doug thinks they’re too expensive.
p.p.p.s. any video monitor companies that need a blogger, HI!!! (kidding, truly kidding)

I waited, borderline passing out from breathing so softly, knowing it was coming.  I waited…& waited…did I underestimate my sweet baby?  What kind of awful mother thinks the worst of her child?  What kind of mother SPIES ON HER CHILD?  Under his door?!

Wait.  Is that rustling?  I try to press my cheek further into the hardwood to get a better view.  (note: that is impossible & just plain old hurts)

But then, my almost-strained eyeball, smooshed against his door, spied little feet swinging over the side of the bed.

BOOM.  I was in his room, serious face on before his toes even scratched the carpet.  “Back in bed,” I ordered, pointing to his pillow.   He scrambled, I shut the door for a fourth time, for cripe’s sakes, & resumed my position.

Knees on the floor, cheek on the ground, ass in the air, eyeballs on a mission.

I waited.  I breathed shallow.  I pushed the dog away when she tried to lick my ear.  Five minutes later, I stood up in pure satisfaction, dusting off my knees.

VICTORY IS MINE.

(he slept three hours that day)

I think every mother loves coffee or some caffienated beverage because, let’s be honest, those kiddos are a big phsycial & emotional suck of awesome.

I started drinking coffee at a younger age then most, but I loved the taste & the friendship it allowed with my mother as we sat across the kitchen table with steaming mugs.  I formed some of my greatest friendships over a cup of coffee (hi, Kacia!) & even lost some, where the red chairs in Starbucks remind me of conversations during the good times.  When we married, my non-coffee drinking husband quickly reformed & we now spend weekend mornings in bed with mugs & a two-year-old.  Also?  It keeps me awake on the road during my morning commute.

Because we drink so much coffee in our home, we do our best to make sure it’s helping out others, too.  Because it’s easy to simply purchase Fair Trade coffee, which helps support local economies & the environment.  We prefer Green Mountain Coffee (& have even before this review, without knowing it!); our favorite is the Newman’s Own Special Blend, but we got to try the Green Mountain Coffee Columbian Fair Trade Select & loved it (surprising, because we usually like dark roasts!).

We currently use the K-Cup portion packs because we’re busy having a love affair with our Keurig coffee maker, but they also sell the same stuff in bags for classic brewing.

p.s. they make the Pumpkin Spice K-Cup portion pack, which is my fall must-have.

Here’s how Fair Trade coffee works & why you might want to double-check labels the next time you buy:

• coffee farmers are part of a co-op with other farmers in the area.
• they have to meet stringent requirements to qualify, including democratic voting among members, fair labor laws, & the exclusion of certain chemicals. they also have to meet specific environment regulations, like proper erosion control & including a ban on slash-&-burn.
• growers are guaranteed a minimum price, plus the current market rate.
• in return, they reinvest the premium Fair Trade prices into local schools, health clinics, infrastructure, etc. plus reinvesting in the coffee & lands to produce better product.
• which, of course, means that better product leads to higher sales, which leads to more Fair Trade farming agreements, which leads to more premium prices & the ability to invest locally.
• end result?  Fair Trade coffee is better quality for all.

That’s what you call BOOM.  Win-win for all.

p.p.s. if you visit Green Mountain Coffee’s Facebook page, you’ll find tons of coupons & samples so you can taste the goodness

To spread the word on Fair Trade coffees & practices, BlogHer would like to offer one Heir to Blair reader a Keurig coffee maker, plus a sample of Green Mountain Coffee K-Cup portion packs!

What is your favorite aspect of Fair Trade Coffee?  Leave me an answer & you’ll be entered to win!

Plus, you can Tweet about it for an extra entry!  i.e.  “Learn fair trade & win Green Mountain Coffee & a Keurig from @heirtoblair!  http://wp.me/pRSLA-1QI”

Rules:
No duplicate comments.  You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:
a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post
What is your favorite aspect of Fair Trade Coffee?
b) Tweet about this promotion and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment on this post.
i.e.  “Learn fair trade & win Green Mountain Coffee & a Keurig from @heirtoblair!  http://wp.me/pRSLA-1QI“
c)  Blog about this promotion and leave the URL to that post in a comment on this post
d) For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.

This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older.Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail.You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.  The Official Rules are available here.

Back to the BlogHer Prizes and Promotions page for more chances to win:  http://goo.gl/YzR0h

Enter between September 8 – 24th!

________________________________

ftc:  as a member of blogher’s publishing network, i was chosen by green mountain coffee for this review & giveaway.  blogher graciously gifted me a platinum keurig machine, plus several boxes of green mountain coffee to taste.  blogher helped educate us on fair trade coffee, but all opinions are my own & we are in love!  thank you!

After very, very little sleep & a full day of work, I was jonesin’ for my home bed by 8pm.  Harrison went to bed perfectly, chirped for about an hour, but then the wailing started.  We let it go for a few minutes BECAUSE WE ARE EVIL because we don’t give in to bed-checks because we hate our child, but the little dude didn’t stop.  I sleepily pulled the comforter & a pillow into his room & laid down on his floor – “Momma’s here,” I whispered.

Between the hours of 9pm & 5am, we watched a Curious George movie, let Tucker get on the bed, got stomped in the face-parts by a toddler, rocked in the dark, sang through my lullaby menagerie twenty times, nursed a bloody lip, & said, “I don’t know what his problem is!” about fifty billion times.  Sometime around 5am, the kid sacked out. 

Somehow, we all functioned on Tuesday although I think the success rate is questionable.

p.s. this also proves that God has an awesome sense of humor because just that night, I almost told my husband that my ovaries were a’quivering for his seed.  hahahahahahahahahahahaha.  no.

Last night, I flew a red-eye across the country to land back in ye good ol’ South in the wee hours of the morning.  Compared to California, the heat & humidity at just 9am was a punch in the face.  I am also sporting the infamous “BlogHer Hangover” that oddly has very little to do with alcohol & more to do with jet lag, man-voice, & the inevitable cold picked up in an airplane cabin.

I will write more later once it is all processed & my notes are prettier & less doodles. 

But I just wanted to say one thing:  if your best friends live in your computer?  That’s okay.  Really, it is.  If someone across the country “gets” your soul & you speak every day via the Twitters & Facebooks, it is okay to claim them as your own.

This is my tribe.  It’s where I belong.