Six Months!

The following post was written two weeks ago but never published. Since I've got the opportunity to go to bed early tonight (having accomplished so far goals 1 and 2 for the weekend), I'll just leave you with this wee post for today. Good night.

*******

11 January 2013

My goal this month has been to blog something every day, and when possible, blog something fairly interesting.

But how do I blog something interesting after having just folded five baskets of laundry?

(Truth. I only folded three. The other two are still waiting.)

So tonight I leave you with a little 'taster' (ha) of the baby led weaning returning to the McFarlane household after four years.

Baby Jaguar be's six months old!

(How? And I mean, when? Where? I just don't know. I honestly thought he was just in my tummy a minute ago.)

Great Chieftain O the Puddin'-Race

Eight Robert Burns' Days I have lived in Scotland and never have I celebrated with an official Burns Supper. How is it that I have never told this story on this blog?

(Well, I told it briefly back in 2004 when it actually happened... you can read about it here.)

I guess, actually, that gives you the gist of what went down but not in all it's gory glorious details. So commence the retelling.

******

I was 22 years old, engaged to my Scotsman, and in the process of filling out my visa application forms to move to Scotland to live with him forever. I was still at University, finishing my English major, and I had a crazy professor, Dr MacRae, who was a major Scotophile (Celtophile? Caledophile?). She told me about a Burns Supper organised by the Fayetteville League of American-Scottish Bastards, or whatever their official title was, and invited me to join her.

I (apparently, according to the above-linked story) paid $22 for my ticket and looked forward to my first experience as a fellow American Scottish-wannabe.

I admit, I had no idea how to dress for the occasion. I now believe this to have been my primary mistake. I couldn't get in touch with Scott that evening due to the time difference, as I tried to decide what to wear, so I opted for semi-casual - a nice pair of jeans with a pretty green jumper, and stylish shoes.

When I arrived at the hotel (and it was just a normal Comfort Inn, we aren't talking the Hilton here), I was escorted to a meeting room decked out in green tartan and thistle centrepieces. I handed over my ticket and scanned the room nervously for Dr MacRae; no where to be seen. I plucked up some nerve, and approached a half-empty table and asked if I could have a seat. A shriveled, faux-riche woman in a velvet evening gown (and no Scottish accent, mind you) informed me that all the seats at her table were taken. So I went to the next half-empty table. An overweight jerk in full Highland regalia and a monocle (okay, I might be imagining the monocle) told me the same (with no Scottish accent, either *cough*). Table to table, I was given the same line by kilted and evening-gowned men and women with lots of money, an obsession with Scotland and a superiority complex due to some ancient ancestor who may or may not have been a sheep rustler somewhere in Leith four centuries ago. No one let me sit at their table. Finally, I just stood by the door, embarrassed and under-dressed, waiting for Dr MacRae to arrive, gazing longingly at the still-empty chairs at nearly every table.

Then, the bagpipes started, and a man brought out the haggis, and I was still standing at the back with nowhere to sit and no one to sit with. Fighting back angry tears, I quietly slipped out the door and headed back through the lobby, out the glass doors, and back into my car.

I was raging. And humiliated. Perhaps a few of those people had been genuine Scottish ex-pats, but I felt I had just as much right to be there as the rest of them, as one who was immigrating to Scotland in only a few short months. Not to mention one who had paid for a ticket! The next day, my professor asked me where I'd been, apologising for being fifteen minutes late. She was horrified when I told her my story. (I did, somehow, win a raffle prize though, which she had kindly accepted for me.)

******

So here we are today, nine years later, on Robert Burns Night again. Last week, Scott bought us a haggis to prepare for the glorious occasion, but I never got around to buying the neeps (turnips) or tatties (potatoes) to go with it. No bother, Burns Supper we shall have - after all, 'we hae meat, and we can eat', so wrap the haggis in foil and cook it.

I raided the freezer and produced frozen corn, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, Aunt Bessie's mashed potatoes and Tesco's Finest miniature steak pies. To help Scott with his keto diet, I also got out some bacon and eggs, and in the end decorated our table with a delightfully untraditional yet tasty (and mostly keto-friendly) Burns Supper of steamed veg, microwaved mash, fried bacon, devilled eggs, mini steak pies and a beautiful, flavourful haggis.

I don't know what Rabbie himself would've said to such a mix-n-matched meal, but I imagine it would've been something along the lines of 'Sae the Lord be thankit'. It was yummy. Scott read part of the 'Address to a Haggis', we taught the children the Selkirk Grace, and Fifi and Lolly spent the entire meal making up some crazy version of 'Auld Lang Syne' which included Robert Burns' name in it ('Burns lang syne' or something like that). Fifi and Lolly both tasted the haggis (Fifi didn't like it, Lolly did), and even Jaguar had his first taste of the Scottish delicacy. It was a special little evening.

Finally, though it was nothing official and there were no bagpipes, I have partaken in a Burns Supper at last. I can finally begin to heal from that painful memory in the days of yore.

Back on the Wagon - With Goals

I'm like a junkie. When I fall off the wagon, I fall off big style.

I'm referring to my blogging, of course, not my addiction to crack cocaine. (What's wrong with that?)

(I'm kidding, I'm not addicted to crack cocaine. I can stop whenever I want.)

(I'm kidding again, I don't smoke crack cocaine, or snort it, or whatever you're meant to do with it. Seriously. I don't even know.)

So anyway, I missed one day of my January blog-daily challenge, and then the next and the next, etc., until I realise many days have passed and I have nothing exciting or noteworthy to return from my silence with, so I go to bed instead.

But I'm back, and I'm gonna stay back.

(That's what addicts always say.)

To get me back on track, I'll ease myself in with something short, sweet and simple that allows me to quickly afterwards finish up my chore schedule duties for the day and hit the sack before midnight.

LORI'S FIVE ACHIEVABLE GOALS FOR THE WEEKEND AHEAD:
1. Put more junk on ebay.
2. Get living room spick-n-span.
3. Stick to the diet and lose another pound.
4. Submit poems to that poetry competition I've been dithering over.
5. Clear out another bag of unwanted stuff and take to charity shop and/or destructor.

Simple, achievable goals. And a simple, achievable blog post to get me back on the wagon.

"Life in perfect balance," as my character in an upcoming play would say. "Focus on the core, breathe in, tilt the pelvis, and tighten. TIGHTEN." That's what Sonya would say.

Headless Horseman Rides

Quick story.

When I was 12 I went on a church mission trip to Venezuela. We slept in a dormitory, all the girls (aged 9-13). As happens when groups of girls get together, cliques formed and inevitably one girl got turned into the 'weird' one that everyone laughed at.

This girl (heaven forgive me, I can't remember her name) would wake up every morning utterly distraught, swearing up and down that the headless horseman had been in the room during the night. Of course we laughed and teased her and made fun of her about this, but every morning it was the same headless horseman story.

One night during those weeks away, I got a fever and was separated from the other girls, so I wouldn't pass anything around. I slept in a room all alone with just one of the leaders to keep an eye on me. The following morning, she said to me, "Did you know you were sleepwalking last night?"

Oddly enough this was the first night the headless horseman didn't appear to Forgot-Her-Name.

The next night, I was back in the dorm with the girls.

And guess what? The headless horseman returned.

As it turns out, I was the sleepwalking headless horesman.

The Morning Peanut Butter

All right, who loves peanut butter? I do!

I love peanut butter anything - peanut butter sandwiches, peanut butter cookies and cake, peanut butter milkshakes (oh yeah), peanut butter on a spoon...

Today I learned, however, that I do not like peanut butter in hair.

I woke up this morning (slightly later than intended but bright-eyed) and set the girls down at the table with bowls of cereal. I made myself a cup of tea and sat down at the table in my bathrobe, ready to wake up to a nice hot cuppa. I didn't yet have my contacts in or my glasses on but did notice Lolly's hair was a mess. This is no surprise though, as my Bohemian Earth Child always has wild, tangled hair.

While she was eating, Lolly said to me, "I need a haircut." This was a strange thing to hear her say, but I just brushed it off (haha, no pun intended). A few minutes later, as I walked past her, I absently caressed her hair as I passed by and felt a huge tangle.

"Oh Lolly, we're going to really need to brush your hair out today."

"I need a haircut, Mummy."

And that's when I saw it - a huge wad of chewing gum matted up in her long, gorgeous hair.

As it turns out, Fifi had found (?) a single piece of chewing gum on her bedroom floor (?) during the night and had given it to Lolly to chew (?). Lolly fell asleep, and ta da! the gum ended up in hair. (I was reminded of my favourite childhood book, Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day - "I went to sleep with gum in my mouth, and now there's gum in my hair.")

Fifi asked me, "Are you going to cut it out, Mummy?"

"No," I replied. Instead, I went to the cupboard and pulled out the jar of peanut butter.

As you can imagine, the girls were incredibly intrigued. Lolly thought I was going to make her eat it. When they discovered I was going to put it in her hair, they were astounded.

To be honest, I kinda was too.

My mom used to use peanut butter to get gum out of my hair, and it worked, but I mean, who came up with the idea? Hmm... there is chewing gum in my hair. Perhaps if I put ... oh... some... I don't know, some peanut butter in it, it'll dissolve and come right out!

Well it did, but it was an unpleasant experience. The smell was very strange, coming from hair, the gum dissolving in the peanut oil was an awful texture, and long strands of hair inevitably pulled out with it as I worked my fingers through the tangle, the gum and the peanut butter. Lolly was exceptionally patient while I went through this process, but it was rather unpleasant for me.

I then bunged her in the shower and washed all the peanut butter out. Again, the smell of peanut butter in the shower just didn't work for me. And the more hair pulled I out while working through the concoction, the more my fingers got wrapped up in a peanut buttery, gummy, hairy mess.

All before 7am. This was not how I expected to spend my morning. Or my peanut butter.

Needless to say, my tea was cold by the time I went back to it, but I emerged with a sense of Mummy Pride, a sense of having won a rite of passage to motherhood, having dealt with my first (of probably many) gum-in-the-hair experience.

I'm officially MOMed now.

Camouflaged

Where's Jaguar?

Camouflaged
Originally uploaded by superlori.

Chore Schedule Goes Mobile

A few years ago I discovered the Motivated Moms chore schedule* and lived by it for a good long time. I loved the easy way it planned out achievable daily and weekly chores in a checklist format. I got away from it though and just somehow couldn't get back into it again.

Then, a few months ago, they came out with a phone app, and I felt it could be just the thing I need. Then my friend Cheryl mentioned returning to it as a New Year's Resolution, so I decided I too would join her in this domestic endeavour. I downloaded the free trial version, and I love it! My kitchen counters are so excited about this.

Give the free two-week trial a try - it's available for iPhone and iPad, as well as Android. I love it!



*Check that link there for a more detailed rave on how much I loved it.

Top 3 Favourite YouTube Videos

For the Ultimate Blog Challenge today, there was a list of 50 suggested blog titles to work from. Most were much more creative (like What My Popcorn Maker Taught Me About Demand in Business), but it's early, it's Sunday, and I'm tired.

So after a lot of thought, here's what I've decided are my top 3 favourite YouTube videos. They are all very different: an amateur music video, a hilarious meme poking fun at us 'natural mamas' and an unbelievably cool costume make-up tutorial. Enjoy any or all of them!

Saskia Hamilton


Sh*t Crunchy Mamas Say


Pop Art/ Comic Book Make-Up Tutorial


*****

Ooh and just as a bonus, I forgot about this one. Just recently saw it, but it is WORTH WATCHING.

Pilobolus' Shadowland

A Review in Photos

Lolly has a pretty little birthmark on her right cheek. We've called this a few different things - a beauty spot, a fairy kiss, a Jesus kiss, a cutie mark.

Today Lolly casually told me, while clambering all over me, doing somersaults all over the sofa, that 'Jesus came out of my heart, and then Jesus kissed my cheek, and then Jesus went back into my heart.'

*****

We have a bit of a mustache obsession around here these days, since Scott grew a mustache for Movember. I love my mustache chocolate lollipop mould, but my favourite is Jaguar's mustache dummy.

*****

I spent the day today on my Simplicity mission, clearing out my bedroom. I cleared out three bags for the charity shop and one bag of rubbish. On top of that I cleared out a massive pile of things to stick on eBay, like the above baby socks. I have listed 18 23 items on eBay so far, but one thing that I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of, not yet, was this beautiful snowsuit of Lolly's. I'm just not ready yet.

*****

Tummy Tub bath followed by a baby massage... these will be some of my fondest memories of Jaguar's babyhood. Tonight we used Burt's Bees baby oil instead of the usual plain almond oil. My hands smell wonderful.

*****

I may not get much sleep when all the children climb into bed with me in the morning, but I do love those sleepy, beautiful faces.

Weekly Shatter Chatter

Get it? Shatter?

I started this blog back in '03 (whoa.....) as a sort of narcisstic public journal. I later moved to Scotland and used it as a way to keep my family back in the States up-to-date with my life. Then it became about pregnancy and motherhood and then... it stopped. I've only recently picked it back up with an aim for writing more creatively and introspectively (ding ding, narcissism strikes again!) but also feel my old folks back home might still want a bit of McFarlane-family catch-up. So this is for them. You're welcome, Maw.

This week has been a busy one for us. After the ease of the Christmas holidays, I think we felt a bit of a jolt with everything starting back full force this week.

Monday morning was the kids' first day back at school. Getting out of bed was a feat. Luckily getting the children out the door was my only goal for the day, and we succeeded. I spent the morning wandering through the town with my good friend Laura, and after nursery, she and her two youngest kids came back to our house for lunch and a play.

Tuesday we woke up bright and early to head to Edinburgh. I was imagining another nice long lie-in until Scott and I started thinking through the logistics and realised we'd have to leave super early to beat rush hour traffic in both Glasgow and Edinburgh. We had appointments booked for 11am at the US Embassy to get the children *officially* registered as US citizens.

Because they were born to at least one US citizen parent (who had established domicile in the US), the kids are all entitled to US citizenship. Here in the UK we are happy to call it 'dual citizenship', because the UK recognises it, but the US does not. So as far as it's considered here, my kids are both UK and US citizens; the US sees them as belonging only to them. Anyway, so to actually officially claim that entitlement, we had to file paperwork with the Embassy and attend an interview. This can be done anytime before they are 18, but for some reason, the website says to get a Social Security number, they have to register before the age of 5. Fifi has actually been 5 for almost a whole year, and Lolly will be 5 next year, so we decided it was time to hurry up and get this taken care of.

So we spent the morning in a cramped little waiting room with a dozen other people, registering our three children's 'Consular Report of Birth Abroad', their US passports, and their Social Security number applications. (I will at some point in the near future devote a whole post to this process, which will hopefully be useful for people searching the 'net for information on this process.) It was quite efficient, actually, and we were out of their even earlier than I expected to be.

Since we were already in the neighbourhood, we had lunch at Judith and Craig's house. Judith is an amazing cook, so we've discovered, and she treated us to Greek-style burgers, a Greek salad, fried halloumi and pitta bread, followed by butterfly fairy cakes. It was delicious, and we enjoyed having another wee visit with them. All our kids had fun together too.

The kids were back to school and nursery on Wednesday, and Jaguar and I spent the afternoon at the hospital getting yet another kidney scan. He was diagnosed with a dilated kidney pre-birth, and they have been keeping an eye on it with scans since he was born. There has been no change, as in, the kidney is still dilated, so I will be arranging a visit with his pediatrician soon to discuss the situation. Doing my best to act positively, even though inwardly I'm wringing my hands and worrying myself silly.

Thursday morning was my first TinyTalk class since going on maternity leave, and it was great. I had a great wee group of mums and babies attend, and it reminded me how much I love baby signing. Thursday afternoon we were back at the doctor's with Jaguar again, this time to check up on his cough. He had bronchiolitis, and the GP wanted to have him back in to check up on his recuperation. Thankfully, the infection has cleared from his chest, his lungs are clear, and the cold is now just in his throat. He looks absolutely miserable, and when he coughs I stop breathing with him until he sucks back in that big gasp of air, but Doc says he's on the recovery side.

This morning, Friday, was my other TinyTalk class, and it too was a success. I love my Friday mums - so many loyal, returning families with whom I've become great friends outside the class, and today there were a few new faces too.

Also today... my little boy turns a whole six months old. I can hardly believe that exactly half a year ago already I was standing outside the Inverclyde Royal Hospital with amniotic fluid trickling down my legs, waiting for Scott to hurry and park the car so we could hurry up and go back home for a homebirth that ended up a blue-light trip to Paisley hospital! Half a year ago yesterday, Jaguar was still in my belly. Half a year ago today, he was out. Incredible.

Tomorrow we have nothing planned, except in some alternate fantasy world I think I might start tackling that whole Simplicity concept but realistically will sleep in until 11 and lounge around in pjs all day. Sunday Fifi has her first Sound of Music rehearsal, and I, if I can garner the motivation, am going to go for a jog with my friend Cheryl's jogging group.