Dinner Time

Sometimes dinner time is a nightmare, with both kids crying and neither kid hungry, or happy with what they are eating. Sometimes Jett seems like the most impossible child I've ever met. But other times dinner time is the best part of the day, and Jett is the most tender child in the universe.

Happy Christmas!

I hope your Christmas was full of wonder.



If your Christmas was white, I hope you had as much fun in it as Jett did.



Merry Christmas!

We're not nearly as disgruntled as we sound

And while it is true that I dropped the f-bomb on the internet for all to see, I've never dropped it in front of the boys. So no need to worry about us. We're busy enjoying the activities of Christmas.

The other night I spent hours trying to take a photo of the boys in front of the Christmas tree. They had other ideas, like escaping.



What a cute little elf.

Main St. Update #4: Illinois Tax Payers are Paying for Our Health Insurance and Frankly We're Not Very Happy About It

Or: The One with the Swearing

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A foundation in Chicago did a study a few years ago and found that about 80 percent of people (or was it women?) in Chicago who qualify for some type of social service are not connected to any social service agency. That means that 80 percent of those folks who qualify for food stamps, health insurance, etc., are not accessing it. Let me illustrate why with a personal example.
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Glory-be! We finally can soak up some of those tax dollars we've been paying! Break out the champaign! We qualify for free health insurance through the state! Now we get an ID number! And a caseworker!

Forgive me if I don't sound grateful.

We've filled out the paperwork, provided our information, and received hardly any information in return. I spent all day yesterday trying to get my caseworker on the phone, but apparently she was away from her phone all day, or not returning messages, or stirring her coffee. But this morning I called her at 9:15 and surprised her. "Yes!" I thought. We'll get our questions answered and then move on.

Our caseworker refers to herself as Miss. Jones (not her real name). I've lived in the south, and I know in the south this is the norm and is a form of politeness. But this is not the south, and we, my caseworker and I, are both adults. I believe it is structured this way to remind us that she is powerful and we are weak and also that we are taking her away from her coffee-stirring, which I could hear in the background. Addressing my caseworker the way I addressed my fifth grade teacher? That was my first favorite thing about our phone call.

I start with an easy question. We received a letter telling us that we needed to choose one of three possible health plans, but we received no information about any of the plans. Could she tell me about the plans over the phone, or send me information about the plans? Her answer: she doesn't have that information. The organization she works for isn't the Illinois Department of Human Services, it is just an organization that IDHS contracted with to deliver the services that they provide. (I know that). She has no idea what information IDHS sends out. (Oh god). I ask her if there is a phone number I can call to find out about the plans. She tells me no, or if there is one, she doesn't have it. I should call 4-1-1 instead. (Oh god).

I realize what I am dealing with. Goodbye, pit-in-stomach. Hello, grand canyon. And yes, that was my second favorite part of our phone call.

Like an idiot, I forge ahead.

I explain to her that in few months we will have insurance, but it will be very expensive insurance. We think at that point we will qualify for the rebate program, not the totally free program that we qualify for now. What will we need to do at that point, to make sure that we are in the right program?

Here is my third favorite part of the conversation:

She reminds me that state-provided insurance is the last resort. If we are getting health insurance somewhere else we are obligated to take it. This program is the last resort. This program is the last resort. This program is the last resort. (She said some other words in between those sentences, but I don't know what they were because I was grinding my pen in to my ears). BECAUSE THIS IS OBVIOUSLY THE LAST RESORT! NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD CONSIDER THIS A SECOND-TO-LAST RESORT! AS IF I WOULDN'T HAVE HUNG UP ON YOU TWO SENTENCES AGO, MISS JONES, IF YOU WEREN'T MY LAST RESORT. AS IF I NEED ANY MORE REMINDING THAT WE ARE ON OUR LAST RESORT AND OH DEAR HEAVENS OUR LAST RESORT IS YOU. And if you would so kindly notice, Miss Jones, I asked that question only to make sure that we could get in to the correct program and not ask the state to spend more money on us than necessary. I asked only if you could help us figure out which program would be best for us in a few months. SO STOP ACTING LIKE I'M TRYING TO OUTWIT THE SYSTEM AND START TREATING ME FOR WHAT I AM: THE REASON YOU HAVE A JOB. WHICH YOU SUCK AT.

Still, it gets better.

Charlie and I are confused about what information we need to provide to prove that our children are United States citizens, since the information we received suggests things we need to show in addition to a birth certificate a military record and school identification card, which of course neither of my babies have. There is also confusion about where we need to bring those documents - to her office or to a DHS office?

She says we can't take our documents anywhere until the friendly people in Springfield send her our file. I tell her we have a letter from Springfield, dated 10 days ago, saying that she is our caseworker and that our file has been transferred to her office. I ask her if she could look for it there since mail usually doesn't take ten days to arrive, and she says it is not just sending files trough the mail, it is transferring a case, like I am supposed to know what that means, like I am supposed to know that "transferring a case" is completely different and way more difficult than mailing our paperwork to her. And is it really? Really? Really?

Then she goes on to say that when our case is transferred to her, she will send us a letter that will allow us to make an appointment with Miss Jones in her office. (Yes, she referred to herself - and her office - in the third person. Yes, I talk this way sometimes too. TO MY TWO YEAR OLD). Notice that she did not say where we are to take our citizenship-proving documents. She did not say she would call me or email me when our file arrived. She would send me a letter. Then after I get the letter I can drag myself and my toddler and infant on the bus, in the dead of winter, at her convenience, down to her glorious office to sit at her desk and listen to her in person, while she stirs her coffee and I sit real nice and polite. Because if we have the conversation over the phone I wouldn't be able to prove that I've invested any time or energy into getting this free, last-resort health care. My kids and I have to come down to her office to prove how committed we are. We have to work for it. Isn't that right, Miss Jones?

fuckers.

Main Street Update # 3: Toddler Needed Clothes

We're doing pretty well over here on Main Street, although this isn't an easy time of year to be living on Main Street, as so many people know. Still, we're getting the hang of it and it isn't too bad - even when it comes to clothes.

One day I noticed that Jett's clothes were too small. I noticed this on the day of my grandmother's funeral. Ironically, I made sure to get Jett's haircut before the funeral, because I thought my grandma would appreciate that. I didn't even think to check how far above his ankles his pants were. But there he was with his spiffy little haircut, chasing after his cousins in khakis that were too short, and cowboy boots that were too small. Nice.

So - where to find the least expensive clothes possible? Well, why not hop on over to the Salvation Army and dig around their bins? I was in the mood for a bargain and in the mood to shop. I loaded Kai in to the car, and prepared for some shopping therapy.

Boy, was I naive. That place was dreary. It was so hot, crowded, and full of kids running around and playing on dented toys. The racks are jam-packed full of clothes, and all of the clothes are on hangers. The hangers are so crammed onto the racks that it is impossible to look at one item without accidentally pulling four other items off of their hangers and on to the floor. As a result, the place is kind of a mess even though it's clear that someone, maybe at 7 am that morning, took time to make everything as neat as possible.

I was hot, tired, thirsty, and a little depressed when I got home. I laid Kai on the carpet and dumped the plastic bag of clothes in the middle of the floor to deal with later. But surprise, surprise Jett was interested in the clothes. Not just interested, but intrigued. Not just intrigued, but excited. So excited in fact, that he immediately put on every piece of clothing that I bought him - one right on top of the other.



It was hilarious. He could barely walk at the end because he couldn't get the last pair of paints up over his knees. Charlie, Kai, and I just sat on the floor taking turns pulling out each item of clothing and helping Jett put it on, and laughing and laughing and laughing at Jett, who now looked like the Pilsbury Dough Boy.

Final tally? I bought 6 pairs of pants and 5 shirts for $13. I even found a cocky little shirt from Psycho Baby that looks brand-new. I give it 0 stars for ambiance, but 5 stars for savings.

Just another day walking around the condo in the carrier

LMNOP and other stuff

Oh my god this kid never stops moving. And sometimes he whines for hours. Just this evening he screamed when I pulled a sock out from under the covers of his bed. Then he screamed when I put it back. Then he climbed down from his changing table to take the sock out of the bed and throw it in the hamper (at least he put it in the right place). Then he took it out of the hamper and put it back in his bed. Apparently I didn't do it right the first time.

This morning I decided that we'd get out in the stroller today. Of course, Jett had to get dressed first, which is an abomination, in his opinion. I got Kai all suited up and crammed a whailing Jett in to his snowsuit. I left Kai laying on the floor and carried screaming Jett down three flights of stairs to the waiting stroller. I deadbolted the front door of our building, left Jett in the stroller downstairs, crying, and went back up the stairs to get Kai. Sweet Kai. In the amount of time it took me to haul Jett downstairs and pack him in the stroller, Kai had fallen asleep, in his snowsuit, laying on his back on the floor.

Kai is so sweet. I carried him, still sleeping, down the stairs and when I got down to Jett, he was as awestruck with him as I was. Those long dark lashes resting on his cheeks, his little pink cheeks so relaxed. One look at Kai and Jett settled right down. One block later, both boys were asleep. Peace - as long as the stroller was moving.

Usually I spend my day trying to occupy Jett, and I'm exhausted with it. But every once in a while we hit on an activity that works. Lately I've been laying these (home made) letters out on the floor and telling Jett to stand on one or the other. He also takes the letter magnets from the fridge and matches them with the same letter. The first time we played this game it was awesome. Charlie and I sat on the couch drinking beer and holding Kai while Jett ran back and forth from letter to letter. I thought I had it made. Silly me. Now Jett always wants me to play with him, but it's not such a bad game. At leasts it's preferable to cramming him screaming in to a snow suit.

Everything you wanted to know.

If you want to know at what age a child starts asking, "Are we there yet?" the answer is 2 years and five months.

If you want to know at what age your child should stop sitting in your lap during conference calls, the answer is six months, two weeks, and five days.

If you want to know where your child will be when he has the biggest poop of his life, the answer is IHOP.

Any more questions?

Zzzzzzzz

Now why can't I ever find time to take a nap?

Now He Sits in a High Chair

He also spits out his food onto his chin, rubs his hands on his chin, and somehow the bananas end up on his earlobes. Yum.

They Feed Me! Finally!

I first noticed it when Kai couldn't take his eyes off my ice cream. Those blue eyes tracked my spoon from bowl to mouth and back again over and over, like he knew what Bryer's vanilla tasted like, and he had a hunger for it.

A few days later he started making chewing motions while I was eating broccoli. Then he started drooling over our breakfast bar at every meal.

Finally, after weeks of feeling like I was depriving his tastebuds of a full life, at five and a half months old, we broke out the rice cereal and gave it a go.

I mixed the cereal, Charlie held Kai, and Kai grabbed the spoon.



He grabbed that spoon over and over again and wouldn't let go. He ate all his food and didn't spill any of it. He smiled and smiled and smiled and we felt like the most perfect parents on the planet just because he was so happy.



I love those days.

Milestones

Kai's first real roll happened for the first time a few weeks ago. Although I'm posting it late, I had my camera on hand.

Before

And after.

Jett, Charlie and I were so excited!! Jett was in his highchair at the time, but we had to let him out so he could come over and give Kai a big high-five. And yes, that's a car seat in the background, but don't worry. We kept him away from most of the straps.

Look at this! Sitting up! A few weeks ago he needed all of these pillows to keep him up - and he still fell over. Now all I have to do is keep one hand on his thighs and he does ok.

Look out, world, here comes Kai.