Snip it, snip it good

I don't know how or why I think this, but I must have heard somewhere along the way that it is bad luck to cut a baby's hair before they turn one. You probably don't recall, but we buzzed all of Ashton's hair off somewhere around four months because his scalp looked like a tortoise shell with a few straggly strands growing out of it. His cradle cap was so hard to manage and he was in that in-between stage where his newborn hair was falling out but nothing was replacing it and oh it was just awful looking. At the time, Ashton clearly agreed.

But a couple of weeks ago, right before Labor Day, we went for a proper haircut. There's a place called SnipIts that is solely for children and they have pictures of the salons on their website. Colorful, bright, you can just hear the chaos. And sure enough, when I called for an appointment, the girl could barely speak over the music, screaming and shrieking in the background. You know that scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when they walk in to that huge room with the chocolate river where everything is edible and the Oompa Loompa's are singing that cultish, creepy song? That's what I pictured. No way were we going there. If it would have been stimulus overload for me, surely Ashton would have positively exploded the minute we walked through the door. Bam!!

Not in the mood to pick up his pieces, I called a place in Belmont called Robert's Salon. I think Robert  is a nice name and they said they did baby haircuts. Good enough for me. I trotted in with Ashton and, thinking of the blog, took a lovely picture to document this big first.

Well. What you won't see is Ashton's complete and utter FREAK OUT. He totally panicked and despite books, Mickey on my iPhone, snacks, songs, magazines, pictures, anything, the minute those scissors got near his head he was scared to death. He cried the whole time. We are talking head back, top of his lungs, tears-the-size-of-Texas crying. Pretty sure we broke the sound barrier at one point. Everyone was so frenzied trying to calm him down that of course they made it worse. Finally, mercy: we gave him his own comb, he sat in my lap, and I held a bottle in his mouth like I have never held on to anything before.

I mentioned at one point that my husband had a vested interest in the kind of "hair style" that Ashton was going to come out with. A faux-hawk? Short all over? And we laughed together, oh how we laughed. This kid was getting whatever haircut the stylist could manage between all the flailing arms, milk burps, and miscellaneous whines. She did a dry cut and yes, it was a little choppy in the front and she missed a part behind his ear, but if I had had a Medal of Valor on me (I must start carrying those) I would have given it to her. A screaming, wriggling toddler can be terrifying but she stayed the course and eventually he was forced to retreat.

Ashton and I went across the street and I bought him a consolation bagel, cream cheese and all (which I later paid for, stickiness-wise. Biiiiig price tag on that one).

Then we went home and he took a nice long nap. But because no beauty story is complete without the before and after, behold:

I texted Jason that we were home from the haircut and he immediately asked three questions.

1) What kind of hair style did he get? (Answer: laughter. As if.)
2) Did you save any of the hair? (Answer: No (more laughter). I'm lucky to have survived you moron!)
3) You gave him a bagel with cream cheese?! ARE YOU INSANE?!

And that's the story of Ashton's first haircut.

Goodbye Tate

I've sat down to write this blog entry several times and each time I have not gotten past the second sentence without tearing up and being unable to continue. But Tate deserves a goodbye post; I'm determined to make it through to the end this time.

The story goes like this: our new wonderful downstairs neighbor Stephanie moved in about a month ago and, as what typically happens with moves, family members were in and out helping the cause and I met Stephanie's mom Shirley a few times in the process. Each time Tate went right up to her and she commented on how cute she thought he was. When "the incident" happened a week and a half ago, I started to put the word out that we were looking for a new home for him. Stephanie said, "This might be crazy, but my mom LOVES him, I am going to talk to her to see if she'd be interested in taking him. She's been looking for the right little dog to come along." Her mom and her sister actually live together in Ashland, about 40 minutes west of Belmont, and they came last Thursday to take Tate for a test drive ("walk") with Stephanie and her sweet big black lab Duncan to make sure they got along. About 15 minutes later they were back and Shirley said, "Well I think this is going to work out just fine." At which point I burst into tears, out of equal parts relief and heartbreak. She gave me a big hug and I was so upset that eventually Stephanie and her sister (also Kristin) were crying as well. I think most dog owners can't even begin to put themselves in my place and Stephanie especially really felt for me.

So we agreed that I would get Tate's paperwork together, vaccination history, etc. and his belongings and they would come pick him up Saturday morning. Saturday came and we took one final family picture and walk around the block on the first gray day we had had in a week.

Shirley and Kristin came around 10:30 am, had blankets all set up in the backseat for him, and gave us big hugs. I think the part that has made me feel the best in this whole process, besides knowing that Tate is in a great home, is that they both knew how hard this was for us and were so sensitive to that. I have no doubt that Tate has two new people to love and is being showered with treats and spoiled rotten. Later that day I got a picture from Kristin saying that Tate had already found his chair and had settled in:

For the last 5 days, whenever I miss him (which is all the time, really), I try and picture Tate all cozy on the couch in between Kristin and Shirley and just loving life with all the new attention. It doesn't make his absence any less palpable but I know it's one-sided: dogs are not people and he doesn't miss me or spend time wondering where I am. It's the truth. In the end, Tate's in a great new home and the sadness is mine and Jason's to bear. We've had a really hard time and will for awhile I think.

This whole thing sucks and I feel like it happened so fast. One day we were all fine and then the next, Tate had bitten Ashton (or whatever the correct syntax is on that sentence) and there was the emergency room, stitches, antibiotics, and the search for a home for Tate and then he was just gone, in a snap. This month, I started a new job, Jason started a new job, we put our condo up for sale and are househunting, trying to juggle Ashton's new schedule with Chera and thought we had it under control until this happened. It's been quite the September for the Nills so far.

One last thing I'd like to say and that is as much as we love(d) Tate, that he was a part of our family and I still can't believe he is gone, protecting Ashton became a greater priority. Please reserve your judgment on our decision if you have any - I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a family that kept their dog after it attacked their baby. Yes there are behavioral training options but even with that, dogs are still animals and can be unpredictable. We just couldn't bear the idea of this happening again and we never wanted to have to gate Tate off from the rest of the family while Ashton (or any future children) played. He deserves more than that and we do too.

And so, we've said goodbye to our beloved dog, who was certainly not perfect but no human is either. We loved him tremendously and the hole in our hearts is so big. We miss him, and I'm having too hard a time continuing right now so that's the end of this post.

Thumb pasta

Orecchiette (singular: orecchietta) is a kind of home-made pasta typical of Puglia or Apulia, a region of southern Italy. Its name comes from its shape, which reminds one of a small ear. In Italian orecchio means ear, and the suffix 'etto' means 'small'. Ashton loves this pasta and incidentally, it looks nothing like a small ear. Unless whoever named it was thinking of a field mouse, which for all I know could be the case. But I digress. To make orecchiette, you pinch off small fingerfuls of pasta dough, roll them between your thumb and forefinger into balls, and press each in the middle to form an indentation. This indentation is the perfect size for Ashton. He loves to "thumb" his pasta and put it in his mouth and I managed to get two of the perhaps 12 times he did it last night at dinner.

The best part is that he now tries to thumb other things into his mouth, like his watermelon, chicken nugget pieces or carrot slices. Now that you've seen the technique, he doesn't have much success as you can imagine. Luckily he has learned the importance of adding an "Ahhhhh!" at the end of a particularly satisfying drink of water. I am so proud.

A sad truth

By now most of you know what happened last Friday. On what was supposed to be a cheerful, "TGIF!" morning, I was cleaning up Ashton's room before leaving for work. Jason was still sleeping and the dog and the baby were meandering around like they always do. Before I knew it, I was rushing into the living room - I don't know what happened but Tate had snapped at Ashton and Ashton had several scratches and a really bad cut across his eyebrow. Jason came running out of the bedroom at the commotion and we decided to take our shaking, crying, baby to the emergency room.

I sent an email to Bentley (nothing like announcing you will be four hours late on your FOURTH day of work because you have to take your kid to the ER) and we drove over to Childrens Hospital in Waltham. After being evaluated at urgent care, they referred us over to Newton-Wellesley because they have a pediatric emergency room. So we went over there and after check-in and triage, we were finally put in a room. The doctor came in and said he was going to apply a numbing ointment so he could clean the wound and see what he would have to stitch. And that it was going to take a half hour to take effect. A half hour. That's. thirty. minutes. So in other words, five years. Our toddler, who was past his nap, still in his pajamas and never had breakfast because we threw him in the car to seek medical attention, was going to have to wait thirty minutes five years in a confined hospital room for this ointment to work. I gave Jason a look that said "We might not survive this. And if we don't, it was nice knowing you." We sat in silence pondering our fate and then suddenly, a lifeline. A nurse came out of nowhere and told us they had a play area we were welcome to use while we waited. At these words, a choir of angels began to sing and I knew we had a chance:

(Sidenote: Ashton was smitten with this toy he found there called the Fisher Price Corn Popper. We immediately ordered it on Amazon, it came today, and it saw approximately 1 minute of action before he toddled off in search of something better.)

Long story short (people always say that when they want to continue their already long story), Ashton got two stitches and left the hospital with antibiotics (dog bites frequently become infected), a brand new sippy of milk, and real Cheerios (not Trader Joe's O's or any other pathetic knock-offs mommy buys because they are $3 cheaper per box). We have an appointment to get the stitches out on Wednesday and hopefully there will be no permanent scarring. Here he is later that day like nothing happened:

I think the next most important thing, besides Ashton being fine, is what we are going to do with Tate. And the sad truth is that we are looking for a new home for him. He has always been nervous around Ashton, and now that Ashton walks and chases him around with his little golf clubs and whacks him out of nowhere, it's gotten worse. Ashton is simply too young to understand how to be gentle, not pull ears, tails and fur, etc. and Tate is too aggressive to be around him. I don't trust him at all anymore and watch him like a hawk whenever they are together. They are never out of my sight. I know Tate would respond the same way again if Ashton ever threatened or pissed him off like he did last Friday and it's just not acceptable. On the flip side, Tate deserves a home where he gets more loving attention. I have made several jokes on this blog about Ashton and Tate's friendship (or lack thereof) but it has become a harsh reality that they are not and will not be in the foreseeable future. If Tate had done this to another baby I would be even more devastated than I am now. I can't even bear the idea of it ever happening again and would never forgive myself if it did.

Tate needs a new home without small children. It breaks my heart. We've had him 4.5 years, he was our first born and I can't imagine life without him. I sobbed and sobbed when my dad took him for three weeks last spring when we were trying to figure out Ashton's allergies. And that was my dad! For three weeks! I knew where he was and who he was with and when he was coming home. This time is a lot different. If you're reading this and have room in your home for our dog, please let me know.

I'll tell you what, they never tell you how many tears you shed as a mom. Many, many, many.

Almost Friday!

I have three days as a working mom under my belt. Today, I was in the office from 8:30 am - 4:30 pm, picked up Ashton from Chera's, came home, cooked him dinner (a turkey burger, which he ate not one bite of, and pasta with cheese and veggies, also not popular, and a cookie, VERY well received). After dinner, we took a drive to the park and around the neighborhood, came home, read books, took a bath, had a bottle and said good night. Now I am finally sitting down to blog after cleaning up the dinner, the bath, Ashton's bottles, my lunch stuff from today, his lunch stuff from today, repacking my lunch, repacking his lunch, picking up his toys, sweeping the floor, wiping his high chair and showering. Oh and pouring myself a glass of wine.

I think it's safe to say that I have had no concept of a "weekend" since before Ashton was born. On Jason's work schedule, Saturdays and Sundays have always been fair game so his days off are not the same as the typical 9-5'er. For the first time in a long time, I will be joining the ranks tomorrow when I wake up and say cheerfully "TGIF!" This week has been the longest I have ever known. I honestly feel as though my stay-at-home-mom days are a hundred years behind me. After I put up my last post, in which I reported that I had done all right on my first day, I immediately started crying my eyes out. Same thing last night. I put Ashton to bed, tears tears and more tears. The funny thing is, I have been ok when I am at work. It's at night when I come home and realize what I'm used to having all day I only have for 2.5 hours that I get sad. But tonight I have not been upset once :) Progress! The weather was nice today, I got to walk around Bentley and explore the campus during my lunch break. It's like its own little city on the hill - they have their own post office, police station, Barnes and Noble, gym/pool/tennis courts, convenience store, Dunkin Donuts, and practically anything you could ever want to eat within a 5 minute walk. I admitted to myself today that I am working in a pretty cool environment.

One of my favorite things, and I have no idea why, is the interdepartmental mail. I love the big envelopes where you cross out the previous addresses, write the person's name and what building they are in, and then twirl the string around the circle to close it. The guy comes twice a day and scans the box when he picks up and off it goes. It just gives me a thrill, I can't explain it. You know what I am talking about right?

Some people like to fill out forms (I won't name names (Molly) :) ), I like the interdepartmental mail. Leave us be.

Anyway, as I am home less (as in, home less often, not lacking a residence), I don't think I will have as many entertaining Ashton adventures to blog about :( So please bear with me as I adjust to full-time life in an office and not as a mom. I'll do my best to keep up and keep it funny.

Happy (almost) Friday!

First Day

Hi readers, thank you so much for the outpouring of thoughtful notes and well wishes that I received for my first day back at work! It really made me feel good. My overall review as Executive Academic Coordinator at Bentley University is positive, although I do admit to feeling a little blue right now. Nothing to do with my job itself, the people could not be more wonderful and flexible and the benefits and time off could not be better. Just a little sad that this is my new routine - more work, less Ashton. Although I was surprised that when I left the house this morning I did not immediately feel anxious to get back to him. I drove to work, stayed the whole day, and drove home without missing him so much that I felt that my heart was going to burst, which is what I expected! I didn't cry one time. Being at Bentley felt natural and stress-free, and for that I could not be more grateful. When I walked in the door at 4:45 pm Ashton was there and smiling and it did not feel as though I had been gone for 8 hours.

Now the job itself seems to be a little of this, a little of that. Honestly I think it's going to be what I make of it. I directly support the Dean and Associate Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences (FAS), and in that regard I am responsible for assistant-type duties. But that's maybe half of the job - the other half is charged with professional development of the Academic Coordinators under me, implementing new programs and training procedures and also putting together all the meetings and events for FAS (the other half that makes up Bentley's whole is the Business school). So if someone asks me what I do, I guess I'd say I work for one of the Deans at Bentley, without getting into specifics which basically all fall under the title "Miscellaneous". I'll be honest, it's not my dream job, but the ridiculous amounts of time off, short work day and commute, benefits, perks, etc make up for it and it's just what I need right now because Ashton is still my number one priority. And I feel like this position will allow me to keep it that way, so I'm happy. But that was just today. Tomorrow is Day 2. The next day, 3. And so on, and so on. Forever. Sigh.