Lest ye be judged ...

My 2-year-old nephew, Little Man, was ready to go home about three days from the end of our week-long vacation, I think, and spent the last couple days going in and out of meltdown mode. My sister was wrestling with him one afternoon at the beach, getting covered in sand as she held onto his squirming limbs, when she turned to look at me and said over his screams and squeals:

"You better not be judging me. Your day will come."

I was not judging Lexi. Truth be told, I was rather impressed with her toddler-wrangling and remembering what it felt like to be put into a bear-hug stranglehold by her. (We haven't always gotten along so well.) Also, she's right: Tantrums happen.

But, I'd be lying if I said I never judged someone else's parenting skills.

I have hissed to my husband when I've seen a bare-headed newborn in the Florida heat, "Someone should put a hat on that baby." When I opened the daycare refrigerator to put in The Boy's milk and lunch leftovers, I saw an adult-sized macaroni-and-cheese dinner and hoped that was two days' worth of lunches for some little girl. At restaurants, I am simultaneously appalled at the carefree moms who don't pick up the mess their little darlings leave on the floor and amused with the germaphobic parents who won't let their kid have a pacifier after it hits the table. I cringed yesterday when I realized I was married to someone who took our child to the grocery store with dirty, bare feet and a snotty nose.

I have been the parent of a hat-less, barefooted, be-snotted baby eating a quadruple helping of macaroni and cheese and smashing half of it into the carpet, but these thoughts still flit through my head. The Karmic punishment (eg: forgetting a coat and being the parent with a blue-lipped toddler at the fair) makes up for my involuntary, internal judging, I figure.  I'm not yelling at these these parents, "Hey, you're doing it wrong!" And somehow, these reflexive internal comments about small things like bare baby heads seem OK to me as long as I'm offering the mother with the screaming kid at the mall a sympathetic glance and help with the door. Mostly, as I've said confessed before, I think every parent finds what works for them. We all judge a bit.

Be honest: What parenting do you judge? What things to do you tsk-tsk?

Beach bum cousins

We're back from the beach. I'm sitting here on the couch with The Boy leaning against me, holding onto my arm and chewing on his blanky. Every few seconds, he sniffles in that chest-heaving way kids do after a good wail. ...  I just had to stop to show him pictures of his cousins. I couldn't think what else his problem would be; he just kept pointing to his toys and crying. When I showed him pictures of his Aunt Lexi, Uncle Karl and the boys, his cheeks pushed up into a smile and his suntanned hand pointed at the computer screen. Safe to say The Boy enjoyed his week at the beach. 

For a week, he had two boys to wrestle and steal toys from. The three of them would line up on the edge of the deck or the coffee table with cars, each vroooooming away in his own specific pitch and rhythm. They spent an hour one afternoon building a dam across a tide pool with the husband. The Oldest, the three-year-old, hauled big buckets of sand while The Boy sat in the water and splashed and shoved sand into a tiny bucket The Oldest emptied every once in awhile into his big one. The 2-year-old, Little Man, stomped around in his own little world, enjoying the baby pool the dam made. The Boy and Little Man observed the animals from the comfort of the double stroller at the zoo, their smooth baby legs tangled together on the way in and out. The Oldest got tackled by The Boy one morning, pinned against the wall as The Boy tried his hand at tickling for the first time ever. 

The Boy had a lot of firsts this last week. At a tiny little restaurant in an old gas station, where we amazing burgers on toasted buns, The Boy finally figured out how to suck from a straw and got his first taste of Coke. He slept in a real bed, a little trundle in our room, and only fell out a couple times ... a night. (We created a border of pillows to cushion his falls.) He ran around in a Civil War fort. He enjoyed fruit snacks and mini-M&Ms. 

And all the time with adults and older kids made for a big leap in his vocabulary. In addition to ball, momma and da!, The Boy can say "uhp" for up, "bo-oo" for book, "aih!" for hi and a couple times we've heard things that sound like car and bubbles. Today at the grocery store, he tried to scare the woman behind him with a "Boo!" She found him more cute than terrifying. 

While I sort through our vacation pictures, a few tips for beach-going with toddlers : 

• Buy a cheap, vented plastic tote to carry the sand toys so you can spray everything down.
• Baby Lizard sunscreen seems to smear and run into their eyes the least. 
• Kid to sand-toy ratios to prevent fights -- 1:1 for buckets, 1:2 for tools like rakes and shovels.
• Bring an umbrella or something if you're a fretter about sunburns. We forgot our umbrella and I worried and reapplied sunscreen often, setting off mini-tantrums. 

Which brings me to a quick question, dear readers: How do you apply sunscreen to a kid without their acting as if you're dousing them with hot tar? 

So this is parenthood - No. 2

Puffs.

All over my floor.

Everywhere I step, I find another stray puff.

I give Peanut a handful while I get dinner ready each night. Before I know it, they are gone. I used to think she was efficiently stuffing them in her mouth. Now I know they are being dropped everywhere with just a few actually making their way into her belly.

They are in her clothes. In her high chair.

And all over my floor.

They aren't just in the the kitchen either. They tend to hitch a ride, hidden in the folds of her clothes and drop out wherever they think they might live a better life.

I'm beginning to think that they reproduce on their own.

But it is impossible to be annoyed with something that keeps her happily occupied. Plus how cute is she cramming them into her mouth?

Haircuts and eye-gougings

The Boy's hair was getting a little shaggy, so the other morning I just took a pair of nail scissors and straightened out his long, fringy bangs. I figured we were about to go on vacation and if I screwed it up really bad, my sister -- a hairdresser -- could fix it. Of course, the husband and everyone else quickly pointed out it would have been just as easy to wait, but I'm impatient.

The impromptu haircut wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. My sister, who originally pooh-poohed my suggestion that she show me how to cut The Boy's hair properly, finally couldn't take looking at his uneven, still shaggy head any longer. "Do you have scissors? C'mon, I'll show you." So I grabbed the dull scissors and comb that came with the clippers I use on the husband and Lexi and I took The Boy out to the back deck. She sat on the end of the deck, on a built-in bench, and plopped The Boy on her lap and started combing and snipping and trying to show me how to "get your guide" and "just clip there."

I should confess here, I have trouble using a brush and a hairdryer at the same time. Also, the one and only time I went to the emergency room, I was 14 and had sliced my thigh open with a pair of scissors. I'm usually not allowed to use scissors without supervision.

Determined to be a capable, frugal mother, I tried to comb up The Boy's hair and clip it. Lexi grimaced and said, "Well, that's a start. You cut something anyway." Then she told me I was using the wrong end of the comb and took it away to show me again. Trying to get a better look -- and ignoring her advice to keep the scissors shut -- I stepped backward -- into nothing. I stepped right off the edge of the deck. My sister said she turned her head to say something to me and I wasn't there. She just saw my leg fly into the air and the point of the scissors coming at her. She finished The Boy's haircut.

Telling our mother about the near-miss, potential eye gouging later, we were still giggling. "So, did you tell her how to cut The Boy's hair then?" Mom asked.

"USE THE CLIPPERS," Lexi said.

Easter bunny trauma

I'm debating on if I should take Peanut to sit on the Easter Bunny's lap at the local mall.

I figure it will either be an adorable keepsake or one of the most traumatizing events - for both of us.

If memory serves me correctly, my own childhood experience was traumatic. My parents have a photo of me as red-faced baby, screaming, snot running out of my nose sitting on the lap of a very large bunny. My sister, who is 4 years older, is sitting on the other side calmly, probably wishing I would just shut up.

I'm thinking Peanut's experience would probably be similar and something that she will rehash in therapy 20 years from now. What child wouldn't be afraid of an over-sized, leering rabbit who insists that you sit on his lap?

Anyone else have a better experience with this?

I am grateful

Today is my birthday. My 29th birthday. The last of my 20s.

It's never really bothered me to age despite Hillary and our other college roommate, T, reminding me that I will always be older than them or that I am as "old as dirt." For the record I am only 9 and 3 months older than them respectively.

Since turning 25 I've looked forward to my 30s. Women in their 30s always seem so grown up, like they have it together, they know what they are doing, where they are going. They seem secure. Whether I actually fit in that image within the next year remains to be seen.

I don't know if I will ever actually feel "grown up" but I do know that since having Peanut, I feel like my life is complete. Before she came I was happy. I have an adoring husband who is an equal partner. I have a wonderful family who has supported everything that I do. I am in a career that I enjoy.

But now with Peanut, I feel whole. I have never known happiness (and admittedly tiredness) like this before. Her gummy smiles, excited gasps, little giggles, chubby cheeks and sleepy snuggles make each day better than the one before. I love watching her as she learns to wave, feed herself and stand on her own.

And no matter what else I do in my life, I know nothing will ever compare to being a mother.

Life lesson #2

Being with my family has me thinking about growing up and the things I learned and the things I hope to teach The Boy. Singing to cleanse the soul I've already discussed. Here's the story I always think about when bad things happen:

My mom and aunts used to go Christmas shopping every year the day after Thanksgiving. These trips were mini-vacations, and one year, they booked a hotel and went to Cleveland. After a long day shopping, with Mom's Chevy Blazer loaded with toys, they skipped going to the hotel and went straight to dinner at an expensive steakhouse. This was a splurge, both on their diets and their wallets, and they enjoyed it. My mom stopped at the bathroom on the way out and then found one of my aunts standing in the glow of the security light in the empty parking spot where the Blazer had been.

"Sue, it's gone." My mom laughed and told her to stop joking. "No, Sue, it's gone." This went on a bit. Finally, Mom realized the girls weren't playing a joke on her. Someone had stolen the Blazer and all the presents.

She called my dad. She was laughing and Dad did not see the joke. "I don't know why the hell you're laughing," he snapped.

"I figured," Mom says every time she tells this story, "I could either laugh, cry or puke. I hate crying, I sure as hell wasn't going to puke up an expensive steak dinner and so that left laughing."

Laugh, cry or puke. When you put it that way, why would you not pick laughing?

Something to make you think

Here is something that makes all working parents' hearts flutter and not in a good way.

"As cuts loom, will working from home lead to a layoff?"

It is a Washington Post article that talks about how attitudes are changing as the recession gets worse. People are expected to be in the office more and flex schedules aren't always so flexible.

The husband and I have been very fortunate. We work for the same company and our managers have been very understanding and supportive in our new roles as parents. They've allowed us to rearrange our schedules so that I start work at 6:30 a.m. and the husband works two nights a week maximizing our time with Peanut. There have been emergency situations where I have been allowed to work from home as well.

I don't know what we would do without this flexibility. I'm very aware of the economy, especially working in the media, and I try not to take advantage of our company's good nature.

Unfortunately, not everyone is so lucky.

How do you juggle work and home?

Say ahhhh ...

Peanut might be working on getting her teeth in. Maybe.

I'm not really sure because I thought she was teething at 2 months. And then again, a month later. And then again, and again. But all I could see were those pink little gums whenever I got her wrestled down to look in her mouth.

But this time seems to be different. And by different, I mean, there is A LOT of crying involved. Screeching, high pitched, someone just stabbed my child kind of crying. Sometimes just one scream in her sleep. Sometimes completely inconsolable not-even-mommy-will-help crying.

Her bottom gums look swollen and she keeps licking them in this funny little way. She also seems to be chewing on something, which usually makes me panic that she's put something inappropriate in her mouth. But when I fish around, there's nothing and I realize that she's just chomping on her gums.

She is 8 months old after all so it was only a matter of time before this happened. But I've enjoyed it especially since we are still nursing. Gummy bites hurt. I'm not looking forward to the addition of potentially flesh-tearing teeth.

Things we've tried to ease the pain:

• Teething biscuits. I would like to kiss the feet of the person who invented these things. Not only do they seem to help with the pain but those little things can keep her busy for 30 to 45 minutes giving us time to prepare dinner and/or eat said dinner relatively peacefully.
• Massaging her gums with our fingers. Ehh ... this doesn't really do too much but she doesn't mind gnawing on our fingers for a few seconds here and there.
• Cold teething rings. Big-time fail. She scrunches up her face, pulls the ring from her mouth, looks at it and promptly throws it down.
• And finally, baby pain relievers. I really try not give her too much medicine but when those tears start rolling down her face and she's screaming in obvious pain, it's hard not to give her something.

I am looking forward to her having teeth but I will still miss those pink gummy smiles we got for the first 8 months of her life.

At the beach ...

This past Christmas, my parents got us what I'm fairly certain is the best gift ever: a family vacation.

Mom and Dad rented a beach house on Amelia Island, about four hours up Florida's east coast from us, and we're spending a week there with them and my sister's family. Since Christmas, I have had this vacation to look forward to, with no work on my part. I didn't have to research resorts or book plane tickets or fret over hotels. I just had to request the days off from work, mark it in my calendar and then obsessively count the days until we left. My sister and I both are super excited for this trip and we've vented our anticipation with endless lists of things to bring and discussions about what we should do and giggling conversations in which we figured the odds of getting our mother on horseback. (Answer: Slim to none, unless the grandkids ask. It happened once, on a vacation when I was eight. It is family legend. The pictures are hilarious. If I had a scanner, you would agree, but my mother would kill me.)

Mom is most looking forward to making bubbles on the beach with her grandsons. My sister and I lost our right to participate in the bubble-making after we made comments about parking our butts on the beach with books while Grammy watched the boys. I'm not heartbroken over the loss.

The Boy is the youngest of the three cousins, ages 3, 2 and 1. We're all looking forward to watching them play together. I have high hopes my youngest nephew, who also has been biting lately, will bite The Boy HARD and end this bad habit once and for all. Fingers-crossed.

I baked a pecan pie for my sister's birthday. We've got directions printed and the car loaded with clothes and diapers and sand toys. I hope you all have as good a week as I expect to have. 

Things my parents wouldn't let me do - No. 1

After spending a few days at my parents' house with my Peanut and my nephew Munchkin, I'm beginning a running tally of things that my parents wouldn't let me do as a child but have no problem letting the grandchildren do.

First thing: Blow bubbles in the house.

My mother is meticulous about keeping the house tidy, particularly her floors. If someone tracks something in, especially after she's mopped, you can hear her grumble under her breath while she cleans it up.

But while she fixed breakfast this morning, Munchkin was running through the house pushing his lawn mower that blows bubbles. He giggled and screeched "I blow bubbles!" I pointed out to my mother that little soapy spots were forming all over her hardwood floors.

She just shrugged her shoulders like it was nothing and realized again, how much fun the kids are going to have with my parents.

Missing you

The husband takes off to Vegas for a mancation every year during the NCAA basketball tournaments.

Last year, he went on my birthday (while I was pregnant). I just like to give him a hard time about that, because, well, that's part of my charm. To his credit, we didn't know I was pregnant when he planned it and this year he made sure to plan the trip a week early so he wouldn't miss the last birthday of my 20s ... there will be a post about that I'm sure.

I, too, took some time off work too and headed to my parents because:

1. I'm not ready to do the single, working mom gig yet.


2. My parents have been giving me MASSIVE guilt trips that Peanut doesn't like them because they don't see her enough. In my defense, she sees them almost every other week. We are still just dealing with separation anxieties.


3. I will take an excuse to have a couple days off from work.
   

And while I think the husband is having a good time, I just don't think it is the same for him given the new addition to our family this year. It's endearing to hear how much he misses us and I think his time away will make our time back together all that much better.

Peanut has changed everything in our lives and while some things have become more difficult (I know, how could taking a Vegas vacation be difficult?) I don't think either one thinks our lives were better before her.

Overheard

The scene -- Our house, 6:30 a.m., a running morning. Momma is in bed, listening, and The Boy just finished breakfast. He is UNHAPPY about getting dressed and letting Daddyman know.

Daddyman: Don't you want to go for a run, Boy. Aren't you excited to go for a run?

The Boy: (cries die to a whimper as he considers, end with a shuddering sigh)

Daddyman: OK! We're all ready, now Daddy just has to do one more stretch then we'll go. 

The Boy: (screaming)

Daddyman: Boy! Don't you want to come help Daddy stretch?

The Boy: (SCREAMING)

Daddyman: That is not helpful.

---

I love my husband.

Up so early, feel so bright

My clearest memory of being nine months pregnant is singing along to Bernard Fanning's cd, "Tea & Sympathy," driving between our house and the RV park where my parents were staying, waiting for The Boy's arrival. I patted my belly as I bellowed along to the music. Have you heard of Bernard Fanning? The husband found him through Lost Highway, which is home to some of our favorite artists -- Lucinda Williams, Ryan Adams, et al -- and I spent most of my pregnancy listening to "Tea & Sympathy." Whenever I listen to that disc, I think of driving with my belly stretching toward the steering wheel and the window down. 

The Boy appears to have some good memories attached to Fanning, too. 

The husband, who took The Boy home from school the other day, beeped me on my way to a late interview. 

"You'll be happy to know your son has good taste in music," the husband  said. "He fussed and fussed until the Bernard Fanning CD circled back to the beginning. Now's he's happy." 

In the background, I could hear The Boy clapping and singing along. That morning, I thought he was just in a good mood when he clapped and yada, blada, bo, bal'ed his way through the first few songs of "Tea & Sympathy." I've listened to that cd most of the week, and our commute has never been so peaceful. 

Here's his favorite song. Enjoy. 

8 months old

Seriously? How did my baby get to be this old and this big already?

I know, I know. It sounds so cliche, but really, she's 8 months old already?

So here are what's new this month:

• Peanut has every desire to move. She sits on her booty and reaches out as far as she can with her short, little chubby arms. The look tiny but when she wants something, they quickly turn into go-go gadget arms (see the great lime theft of '09). She can kinda, sorta get her knees underneath her but that usually results in a quick face plant into the floor.

• Peanut is working on pulling herself up, grabbing a hold of the nearest thing and pulling, rocking herself back and forth. If we stand her up, she can hold onto something by herself for awhile until she realizes no one is supporting her and then it is TIMBERRRRRR...

• And my favorite thing so far (besides the smiles, the giggles, the babbling, the overall unconditional love) is that she reaches out to us. Those pudgy little arms stretch in anticipation of a big hug and she lays her little head on our shoulders. Sigh. That is the cure for any bad day.

Here is the obligatory ducky picture:


Seven month photo here and first six months here.

Like we know what we're doing ...

This just landed in my Facebook inbox, from my friend Sarah whose son is just about three months old:
I'm going back to work in two weeks and I'm trying to get my little man on a schedule. He is great about his feeding schedule most of the time, but I cannot get him to nap during the day unless he's in his swing. He doesn't scream or cry or anything, he just kind of plays in his crib. I'm worried that he's not sleeping enough and he'll have a hard time once he goes to the babysitter. Any ideas? How did you guys get your little ones on a schedule to return to work?

Ah, schedules. They really do make life easier, but they can be such a pain to get started. And babies? Yeah, they're unpredictable little balls of need. The schedule that works perfectly today is likely to be disastrous tomorrow because of teething or sickness or some new skill. And you can't really blame the kid. I mean, who wants to nap when your gums are burning or you've just gotten the hang of sticking your toes in your mouth?

Back to the question at hand, I became a little obsessive about getting The Boy on a schedule before I went back to work. The Boy was formula-fed and going into daycare and somewhere in my hormone-addled, guilty mother's brain, I was convinced that if the daycare ladies gave him more bottles than I did, I was a bad parent. This doesn't make sense, I know, but it's what I thought. I spent the month before my maternity leave ended stretching out the times between feedings and getting The Boy on an every-three-or-four-hours feeding schedule, with naps about two hours after every bottle.

Our ideal schedule looked like this:
Feeding -- 7 a.m., 11 a.m., 3 p.m., 7 p.m., 11 p.m., 2-3 a.m.
Naps -- 9 a.m., 1 p.m., 5 p.m., 9 p.m.

We hit that ideal maybe one day. Maybe two. Times were fudged, sometimes the kid wouldn't nap and other times the daycare ladies would insist he was starving and needed an extra bottle. Eventually, The Boy settled into eating about every three hours, and he stopped needing the late bottles very early on. Around five or six months, we discovered if we put him to bed at 7:30 p.m., he'd sleep to about 5 or 6 a.m. Around eight months, he stopped taking three naps a day, and now we're down to one nap, usually, and some days none, though yesterday, he took two.

The moral of my story is the baby probably will tell you what he needs, if you give him some space to do it. My tips:

• Don't worry about creating a schedule for the baby. Create a schedule for your family. How much time do you need in the morning to feed him and get ready? When is everyone going to be home at night?
  
• Figure out what time your day has to start and work from that, not set times all day. Lunch isn't at noon. It's roughly six hours after we got up and had breakfast and three hours after "second breakfast," what we call The Boy's morning snack.
• Focus on food. For us, once we got meals settled, everything else fell into place.
• Sometimes quiet time can stand in for naptime. Try leaving him in his crib, if he's not wailing. He might fall asleep, and even if he doesn't that time alone might be all he needs.
  
• Once you get a schedule going, expect it to change.

Michelle adds:
Schedule? What is that?

I had eight weeks off with Peanut and we didn't get into a routine until the very last week before I went back to work. She's breastfed and would eat every three hours, almost around the clock at the time. She'd need a nap about an hour after waking, sleep for an hour, be awake for two, eat, sleep for an hour, be awake for two ... you get the point.

I was so happy that we finally had a schedule. But I was still concerned about her sleeping habits since it consisted of her sleeping in my arms.

I think she was completely out of the schedule and sleeping on her own at the sitter's within a couple weeks. Sometimes Peanut slept in the swing at the sitter's when she wasn't feeling cooperative, but she rarely enjoyed the swing at our house for some reason.

Now Peanut operates on three different schedules throughout the week. One when she is with the sitter during the day where she usually takes one, 2-3 hour nap in the middle of the day; one when she is with Daddy twice a week where she usually takes two, 1 hour naps a day; one for the weekends where we get a nap in when we can.

In all three scenarios, I would let her take a late afternoon/early evening nap and sometimes she wouldn't wake up until 6:30 p.m. or later. That meant she would stay up until after 9 and even as late as 10. This was not working for anyone especially with the screaming fits that usually accompanied bedtime. So last week I cut out the late nap and she promptly goes to bed by 8 p.m. with little to no complaint. It is one the best decisions I've made as a parent.

I agree with Hillary. Don't be too concerned with a schedule. Do what works best for you and the kiddo. Does he seem sleepy? Let him sleep. Does he seem hungry? Let him eat. He'll let you know what is and isn't working. And if it isn't working, don't be afraid to change something. You'll find what works best for everyone.

You expect me to eat that?

Peanut has suddenly become too good for the pureed food I make. 

A week ago she was gobbling it down and then her interest began to wane. Then came the death knell. I introduced puffs as I way to keep her occupied while I fix dinner. Well, forget trying to feed her anything off a spoon now that she's realized she can feed herself.

My sister told me not to be disappointed if Peanut didn't take to the puffs since her own Munchkin wasn't a fan right away. But no, not my Peanut. She picked up those tiny little cereal-like bits and shoved them in her mouth. Most of the time, she gets it on the first try. Sometimes, it take a bit of stuffing from her chubby little dimpled hand or even chasing it up her arm.

I was so excited until I realized the ramifications of her new found freedom. I tried giving her pureed  pears but she would have none of it. She wouldn't even open her mouth. Every time I got close to her with the spoon, she would arch her back, turn to the side, and the turn her head as far away from me as possible. If she did open her mouth to cry, I snuck in a spoonful. Then she realized what I was doing and cried with her mouth locked shut.

I called Hillary who said The Boy went through a similar phase and that they tried a variety of things, including putting baby food on their own plates to make him think he was eating grown up food. 

So far we haven't tried that but I have cut up little pieces of soft fruit and just let her feed herself. It works at keeping her busy as she chases the slippery pieces of banana around her tray but I don't think she's getting much in her mouth. It doesn't help that she's still only able to gum the food since no teeth have emerged.

I know the solid foods a more of a learning tool at this point and less nutritional but that still doesn't make the mass amounts of pureed food I have in the freezer go away or make me feel like they aren't going to be completely wasted.

So more experienced mommies out there, what did you do to get your kiddo to eat?

Flight or fight?

The Boy is at the exact age where his love for books, ability to go and grab and lack of self-control combine to make a browsing trip to the bookstore inadvisable. A screaming temper tantrum in Borders alerted me to this fact.

I should have known it was a bad idea when The Boy jerked upright and practically threw himself out of the umbrella stroller the second we hit the children's section. But up until that point, our mall expedition for new shoes had been a great success. A little fussing when the shoe salesman measured his foot -- and really, who can blame the kid? those feet measuring things look dangerous -- gave way to babbling over his fancy new Stride Rites. He went through several stores just people watching and shoe grabbing, and I thought a quick trip into Borders to find a Sandra Boynton book for him would be the perfect end to a good trip. Wrong.

Looking back, my first mistake was taking him out of the stroller. But I didn't want him to fall out of it on his head, and I honestly thought The Boy would be happy if he could walk around and if he had a book -- my planner -- of his own to carry and look at. He threw the planner in my general direction and grabbed "Osbert in Love" from the shelves. Apparently he likes penguins. When I wrestled that from him, he wailed and arched backward, making it difficult to shove him in the stroller. But shove I did, and still determined to finish my shopping, I handed him the planner again. The Boy threw it again and yelled.

And, at that point, with my child still wailing and oblivious to my orders to calm down, I decided we were done. I pushed the stroller as fast as I could out the door, thanking god Borders had an exit to the parking lot and cursing the cheap stroller wheels that kept getting stuck and impeding my progress. At one point, as I kicked the stroller and hissed at The Boy to be quiet, I caught an obviously childless girl -- younger than me and carrying a couple chicklit books -- give me the hairy eyeball. She, without a doubt, believed I was raising a brat. 

If I'd been at the grocery story or some place I really NEEDED to get something, I would have stayed and The Boy would either have continued to annoy everyone in the place or he would have gotten over it. But this is the first public temper tantrum he's ever had and I didn't need to buy a book. Feeling all twitchy and anxious, I chose to flee. I'm curious, how do you handle public meltdowns?

So far so good

I've been a single parent for less than 90 minutes, but so far, everything is running smoothly. Thank goodness for daylight savings. It's made The Boy sleep in all week, and this morning that allowed me to get myself ready for the day and have The Boy's breakfast ready and waiting. After being presented immediately upon waking with milk, pears and peanut butter toast, he's all smiles. 

The husband hasn't left me for good. He's just away for the weekend for his dad's retirement party. I've wrangled The Boy on my own before -- the first time he flew, he was four-months-old and we went, just the two of us -- without mishaps. Still, it always makes me appreciate the husband more and wonder how people parent, day-in day-out, by themselves. Well, no. I know they do it because they have to, because they love their kids. I guess I'm just very impressed by the feat. Sometimes you just need a break, you know, if even for five minutes, and without someone always on call to give you that -- well, it must be rough. 

I have a lot of cleaning and things to get done this weekend, so I'm hoping The Boy will be easily occupied. But if he's not, we're going to see how far his newfound love for mimicry goes. I've discovered if I give him a paper towel while I'm cleaning, he'll giggle and try to "clean," too. He'll also try to "sort" laundry. Wonder if he's tall enough to run the vacuum? 

Yummy sandwich recipe

Yes, that's right. I'm giving you a recipe for a sandwich and no, it isn't just bread, meat and cheese.

I had this a few weeks ago at a party and oh my, oh my, they are the best little sandwiches I've ever had. They are great for parties and I imagine would be great sitting down to watch a sports game (like the NCAA basketball tournament coming up) - hence the name "Tailgate sandwiches"

Enjoy. Hopefully I'll give better directions this time.

Tailgate sandwiches

1/2 cup softened butter
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1-1/2 tablespoons poppy seeds
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 packages Hawaiian sweet rolls
1 pound shaved ham or turkey
Swiss cheese 10-12 slices

Slice rolls horizontally
Blend butter, poppy seeds, Dijon mustard, Worcestershire sauce & onion
Spread on bread slices
Top with meat and cheese
Wrap in aluminum foil
Bake at 400 degrees for 10-15 minutes until cheese is melted and meat is warm throughout

Life lesson #1

The Boy was cranky and fussing and unable to be pleased this morning on the way to daycare. I sang nursery rhymes and handed him toys. I tried to tell him a story. And when that didn't work, I turned up the radio and sang along, loudly and off-key.

---

"Sing, girls! It's good for the soul! Even if you can't sing."

My mom used to tell us girls that when we'd wrinkle our noses at her loud and off-key singing in the car. I've sung my way through icy roads and blinding thunderstorms, heartbreak and rotten days.

Maybe I wasn't just drowning out The Boy's cranking this morning.

It's a goat

We made our first trip to the zoo this weekend.

I always have mixed feelings about the zoo. My memories from school trips include primates either throwing poop at the crowd or swinging from a rope, throwing up in a line as they swing one way and sucking it back up as they swing back the other way.

As I got older, the novelty of the animals wore off. Most of the time they were sleeping in the corner and I wasn't sure if they were even alive. It seemed that the zoo was better in theory than in practice.

But then we finally had a warm weekend day and I thought Peanut might enjoy getting out. And since she loves the our cat so much I thought she might get super excited about a lion or an elephant.

With mommy

She wasn't squealing with excitement but she was definitely in awe of everything around her. She took it all in her including the mass amount of other children. She particularly enjoyed her own reflection in the glass.

She did not enjoy the stuffed penguin that I bought her to commemorate her first trip to the zoo. She actually cried when I put it in the stroller with her. Not even the roaring lion made her cry but the cute fuzzy baby penguin caused her concern.

With daddy

When we went to the petting zoo area, we were surrounded by goats. (Quick side note: I actually was attacked by a deer as a toddler while at a petting zoo. It reared up and jumped on me because I didn't have any more food. No physical scars but the emotional ones still make me a little jumpy around supposedly tame animals).

Anyway, we let Peanut try to pet a goat that another little girl was petting. She was probably about three years old and cute as a button. She told me the goat was her friend and I asked her what her friend's name was. She looked at me like I had three heads and said "It's a goat."

There really wasn't much to say after that.

With The Goat

We didn't have to throw him in the trunk

The funniest kids stories are the ones in which they are ornery. I have no funny stories for you from our weekend travels across Florida. The Boy was great, chewing on his blanky in the backseat and keeping track of the cows on either side of the road. If you don't know, Florida's center is a wasteland of cattle pastures, land so flat you can see the cow patties for miles. Seriously. We made the three-hour trek west from our side of the state to visit family and to see a Cincinnati Reds spring training game. The Boy played nicely with his second cousin, who's about a year older, and charmed the adults. Even the cranky usher at the ballgame couldn't help but smile at my kiddo, cramming Skyline Chili cheese into his mouth. 

The key to car travel, for The Boy anyway, is to wear him out first and time the drive so it starts with naptime. Both Saturday and Sunday, The Boy slept for about an hour solid and then slipped in and out of sleep for awhile longer. I packed several extra, fake-new toys (things I'd hidden from him for a few days or only use when we're in the car), but didn't really need them. My mom says we're in a golden window where The Boy is big enough to look out the windows and be entertained in the car and yet small enough that he isn't BORED and WHINING and wanting to know, "Are we there yet?" She's right. It's lovely. 

One travel tip: Leave some space in your trunk to use as a changing table. I squished back our bags and tossed down a receiving blanket and was able to change his butt without having to dare the nasty, god-only-knows-what-it-is stains on the bathroom changing trays. Every time I use one of those things, I just think about all the bodily fluids that have been on it. Ewww. Anyway, The Boy giggled the whole way through the process because he had a new cave-like space to check out and I got a good laugh, too, when these two old men walked by on the way to their car. 

"Hey!" said Old Man River. "Oh -- We thought you were putting him in there for the drive."

Yes, yes, I was. Just tossing the kid in the trunk. In Florida. On a hot day. Yep. 

Three things

Three things stop my little Peanut in her tracks.

1. The cat, Gabby. Or Gabbles as my husband calls her (although I'm not quite sure why). We got Gabby as a kitten from the shelter just before I got pregnant. She isn't quite as cool as our first cat Cooper, who died just three years after we got him. She's jumped on my head a time or two, while I was in bed and bit me once when she got underfoot. I tolerate her. But Peanut loves her. She will stop whatever she is doing the moment the cat walks in the room. Forget about feeding her if Gabby comes around. It just isn't happening. Surprisingly the moody cat is OK with Peanut. She lets Peanut pet her and doesn't get upset when Peanut tugs a little too hard.
2. Her own photos. Yes, my 7-month-old is a little narcissistic. (Wouldn't you be if you were that cute?) We recently hung her 6-month pictures on the wall and she LOVES them. She jabbers to them and giggles and just thinks they are wonderful. When she sits on my lap on the couch, she looks back and forth between the two of them. She also loves the digital picture frame in the kitchen, which is of course, is loaded with photos of her.
   
3. Kanye West's video for "Heartbreaker". I'm not really sure why (although I'm not judging because I can remember one of my favorite songs when I was little was Tina Turner's "What's love got to do with it?") At first I thought it was because the video is a cartoon but even if she has her back to the television and hears the music come on, she whips her little head around and just stares. I'm beginning to wonder if they could make a mobile with it so she'll be soothed to sleep at night. Although I'm pretty sure that could do some kind of damage that she will make me pay for later in life.

So those are Peanut's little quirks that I love. What quirks does your little one have?

Chunky Monkey

The Boy's guide to getting an extra lunch: 

Step 1: Find a way to make the diaper rash, which was improving, get worse so Momma has to take you to the doctor's office. 

Step 2: When Momma picks you up for the mid-morning appointment, fall down adorably and show off your handfuls of sand so both she and the teacher are distracted when Momma explains that she'll be taking you to lunch.

Step 3: Endure the doctor's appointment. Cry until tears roll down your belly and shake your head no while both the nurse and doctor examine you.

Step 4: Behave at the drugstore, but make it clear you are HUNGRY. 

Step 5: Enjoy a McDonald's cheeseburger and fries. Plot your next step. 

Step 6: Cry again when Momma leaves you at daycare so she doesn't think to explain about lunch to the woman filling in for the regular teacher, who is on lunch break. 

Step 7: Enjoy your sandwich and green beans. 

When I picked up the empty green bean container that afternoon, it didn't register that he'd had two lunches. I noticed only after I put him in his carseat, looked at the daily activity log and saw a check next to "I ate everything today."

Everything, indeed. 

Born free

My sister can't go to the store anymore for fear her precocious toddler will take off running. It happened last week as she was checking out. Munchkin was there and then he was gone, running as only a two-and-a-half year old child can do, legs and arms a-flailing.

The other day when she picked him up from the sitters', he got away from her, sprinting toward a four-lane busy road, giggling all the way, with my poor pregnant sister in tow trying to keep him from running out into traffic.

When we went to the mall a couple weeks, he took off down the mall. It was like a scene from "Born Free." He just kept running and running without a care for where he was going. While in the stores, he would disappear and you could only keep track of him from his giggles or when he yelled out "Mommy, I get lost." The only way we could keep him from running off was by letting him help my push Peanut's stroller.

So now my sister thinks she needs to tether her son with a wrist cord.

She used to judge those parents who did that, but now, she is that parent, fearful that in a blink of an eye, her kid will be in the middle of traffic or snatched up.

My sister is a watchful parent. She's not neglectful by any means. She just can't keep Munchkin in a stroller because he throws a fit or gets himself out.

Almost a year ago, I offered to buy her one of those backpacks that the kid wears and it has a leash that the parent holds. Everyone in my family, including my husband, told there was no way I should ever buy it, that I was awful for even thinking such a thing. I think it my sister's heart of hearts, she was hoping I would buy it so that she wouldn't have to do it.

Now, she's afraid not to have one.

So what do you think? Would you use something like this to keep your kid safe? Do you have any other ideas?

In the corner

Time-outs in the corner aren't a discipline option for us. The corner is The Boy's favorite place. He likes to get behind his highchair and play peekaboo, then chase or be chased. 

In the last week, The Boy seems to have lost some of his babyness. He tries to have conversations with us and, more and more often, actually makes himself understood. He loves to play outside and is eager to run with the big kids, though he seems to understand his limitations. At the park last weekend, he pulled himself up the first couple steps of the climbing structure -- though he often goes higher when it's just us -- and then waited for the older children to come rushing by him. He threw his hands out to touch them and smiled as they whooshed up the steps. When he came home today from school, he had sand and mulch in his diaper, dust on the knees of his pants and a hearty appetite. He finished his dinner before we were halfway through ours. I flashed on what it would be like to feed a teenaged Boy, the young man I see sometimes when my baby grins at me.

I have no idea what I'll do with a teenage boy. But then, I had no idea a year ago what I was going to do with a toddler -- boy or girl. My sister tells me I over-think parenting. She's right. I tend to over-think everything. She's also right though that parenting just happens as you go along, changing diapers and wiping noses and tickling toes. I'm tired and we're all hacking and coughing in my house; maybe this makes no sense. I know it's hackneyed and cliched. I'm not telling experienced mothers anything they don't know, but isn't it nice that we all discover this? 

Churches and petting zoos

The husband and I went from impressive to ill-prepared as parents in a matter of five hours. 

Our friends' two-month old was baptized this morning, and for an hour at church, The Boy was perfect. He was quiet and smiled at the people around us. He looked at a book I'd brought along and sucked on his ever-present blanky. He swayed along with the hymns. When he started to get squirmy, I took advantage of the confusion of Communion to sweep him out to the parking lot before we hit the end of good-boy time. After the service at our friends' house, The Boy remained practically angelic despite working on only a 15 minute nap. We were feeling so good about the day, we decided to dare the looming rain clouds, hope he napped in the car and make a stop at the county fair on the way home. 

The Boy got a nap, and the rain missed us. But we looked like neglectful parents. 

It's cold and blustery down here. Not cold for Ohio, maybe, but cold for Florida. People were wearing flannel shirts and sweatshirts with the hoods pulled tight around their faces. We showed up with a 14-month-old with no coat and no hat. But we were there and we both grew up going to the fair and I want my kid to know what cows look like, so, in we went. We stopped right away at the petting zoo, where The Boy liked the animals, but was unconvinced they would choose carrots over fingers and wanted the carrot slices for himself anyway. We shivered our way through the barns, and I tried to ignore the strollers pushed by wiser parents who'd remembered to bring blankets and jackets and hats for their small children. I tucked The Boy's spit-slimed blanket around him. We ended the afternoon with funnelcake, which the husband got while I put an extra cardigan of mine on the kid. 

By the time we got home, The Boy was on the back-end of a sugar high and spent the time until supper chasing me around his highchair. I guess one chilly afternoon won't damage him for life.