In the backseat

During the past 10 months, I've spent most of the time in the car with my husband in the backseat.

Not like that, dirty bird.

He's driving and I'm riding with Peanut, keeping her entertained. The closest set of grandparents lives an hour away and the farthest more than two hours. We travel to see them often.

I often wonder if people who see us think that I'm a subservient woman who is forced to sit behind her husband.

Peanut is still in a backward-facing seat so sitting in the front passenger seat makes it difficult to see why she's fussing. Plus would you really want to stare at the back of a seat for more than an hour with not much to do?

We usually try to time our trips so that Peanut is napping but that isn't always possible so it helps to have someone back there to keep her happy. She often jabbers to me in her baby jibberish or plays peak-a-book, giggling and showing off her gummy smile. Sometimes we share a snack of puffs and Nilla wafers.

This weekend we traveled for my brother-in-law's high school graduation. (Congratulations, Uncle Zac!) On our way home late Sunday night, as I sat in the backseat, I thought that maybe it was time for me to sit up in the front seat again. Maybe I was spoiling her. Just then, Peanut reached out to me and I took her hand. She sat there letting me hold her hand for a few minutes. I realized I wouldn't want to miss the time she and I spend in the backseat together for anything.

Random thoughts on a rainy Friday

I think I was four months along with The Boy before I started wearing maternity clothes at all. I'm not even three months along, and I spent most of today wondering why I didn't use the belly band. Please tell me this is normal and I'm not going to gain a bazillion pounds with this pregnancy. 

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The Boy has a 55-word vocabulary. Ball and Momma remain in the most-used, most-loved categories as the vocabulary expands. This week, we've added Mo-Mo for Elmo, mah! when kissing and night-night. 

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My in-laws arrive next Wednesday for a two-week stay. I have to convince them The Boy still needs to go to school while they're here so I don't end up with a crying, tantruming toddler at drop-off for a month after they leave. The lovely daycare director offered to write me a note explaining the importance of a routine; I don't think my mother-in-law would care. Ideas?

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The husband and I are celebrating our third anniversary with a trip to New Orleans, leaving next weekend. My in-laws are doing us a huge favor and watching The Boy while we're away, so I suppose I shouldn't complain. Anyone have suggestions for places to eat or things to see in New Orleans? 

Third time is a charm

I don't have anything as exciting to write as Hillary's news yesterday (did you hear? She's pregnant!) so you'll just have to read about my fickle, fickle child.

We've been working with Peanut on the sippy cup for a few months now. We started off with one that had the double handles and a softer sippy. Instead of actually drinking, she just banged the cup up and down on her high chair tray or chewed on the handles.
Result: Fail.

I had a couple friends tell me to try the Take & Toss. Those worked. Kind of. She never really drank much, contributing to my paranoia with her liquid intake. Peanut started to drink more, especially if we were the ones holding it for her, but still not as much as she really needed.
Result: Mixed but not great.

Then she got her little chubby hands on our sitter's son's cup and before she knew it, Peanut had downed most of the contents. While I felt bad that she swiped someone's juice, it was good to know that we finally found a winner. I ran straight to Target and bought two cups and she loves them. I don't think she has to suck too hard on them, but they don't spill and she's not distracted by the handles.
Result: Success.

Anyone else have such a picky child?

I'm a spaghetti sauce.

Get it?

I'm Prego.

Yes, for real. The Boy is about to become a big brother. Due date is Jan. 1.

The husband has been laughing himself silly over that joke. He's been dying for me to use it as a Facebook status. I've alternated between dying to spill the beans and wanting to keep my secret. It's still a bit early -- I'm nine weeks along, to save you the math -- but I decided to just do it for several reasons. One, the news is spreading slowly anyway through our families, and I wanted to make the announcement myself. And two, it's been really difficult to write here when I can't say what's really on my mind.

This is what's on my mind, in no particular order:
I'm HUNGRY.
I'm EXHAUSTED.
When can I eat?
A nap would be lovely.
Seriously, MUST. EAT. NOW.
Oh god, why did I eat that?
Why?! Why?! Why is The Boy waking up at 5 a.m.?
Popsicles are good.
No, I don't want to share my popsicle with The Boy.
Would anyone notice if I napped at my desk?

There's more, but I think you get the point.

This pregnancy, so far, is a little different from my experience carrying The Boy. With him, I had only a little scent-induced queasiness in the first trimester, and this baby, though it hasn't made me straight up sick, definitely is causing some nausea. I was exhausted carrying The Boy, but could take hour-long naps every night after work. Obviously, with a busy toddler, that's not an option this time around, and I feel the difference.

But I still am finding great joy in being pregnant. With The Boy, I was shocked at how much I loved being pregnant. In the early days of carrying The Boy, I felt like I had this huge secret and I just wanted to hug myself. That feeling just increased as The Boy grew and rolled and hiccuped and kicked. It's nice to have that feeling again.

I'm over here too

I recently joined a group of wonderful women who blog for Adventures in Motherhood on 937moms.com and 513moms.com.

If you live in the southwest Ohio area (think north of Cincinnati to Springfield) these are great local moms sites. If you don't live in the area, the site and blog still cover topics relevant to all of us including my very first entry, "Is three the new two?"

Popular message board topics include: Fed up with the attitude, Jon & Kate Plus 8, and What do you do to get a good night's sleep?

Stop by, check us out and be sure to tell us what you think!

Hi, my name is Michelle and I have a problem

Peanut's first birthday is a little less than 2 months away but that hasn't stopped me from going overboard. Completely.

I kept telling myself that we wouldn't go crazy. It's just her first birthday. She won't even remember it. While I haven't ordered the ponies yet. (Just kidding. Maybe. Ask me again in two weeks) or the clowns (because let's be honest, they are super creepy), I have began to obsess about what we are going to do.

It started innocently enough a couple weeks ago. I surfed the Internet for themes. I settled on flowers since it will be in the middle of the summer plus her bedroom is decorated in flowers. I found a few things I liked but nothing that really made me too exited.

And then today came.

First I found this dress at NY & Company. I usually wear black, white, pink and/or brown (not all together) and recently green. So I thought this would be a great addition to the wardrobe.



Then I found this dress for Peanut. It matched my dress - woohoo - and it fit in with the flower theme. I snapped a picture and sent it to my mom, my sister and my mil.


And then I found these.

Not to mention the flower pinwheels I've already picked out to place around the yard. And then flower sippy cups I've picked out as party of the favors. Now I'm looking for a flower cake pan because I'm feeling adventurous enough to make my own cake and decorate it. I even tried to talk the husband into a flower pinata but he said that would be a little overboard for a 1st birthday party.

He keeps shaking his head at my enthusiasm for all things flower and 1st birthday party related. I recognize that I might have a problem but I figure there are worse things I could be doing than planning for my first daughter's 1st birthday party.

What did you do for your first child's 1st birthday?

Why I had kids now

The husband ran a 5K early this morning, the last race of the season before summer heat makes running competitions an exercise in stupidity. The race is down along the Intracoastal Waterway, between Florida's shore and the barrier islands, and started at this tree-shaded park right on the water. The Boy was in heaven. There were boats to watch and swings and a giant wooden fort and huge sandbox with a metal sea turtle fountain, perfect for climbing, in it. We weren't the only nonrunners who flocked to playground. 

This gorgeous little blond girl, probably about 4 years old, climbed into the swing next to The Boy. I assumed the bald, bellied man lagging behind her was her grandpa until I heard her shout, "I wanna swing, Daddy. Swing!" I try not to judge, really, but this poor guy was like Exibit A for why having kids late in life might not be such a hot idea. I thought he was going to pass out pushing her on the swing. 

Finally he said, "C'mon, let's go watch Mommy run." 

"In a minute!" the girl shouted. 

They stayed for five more minutes. "C'mon, we've got to watch Mommy." 

"I said in a minute!"

I don't think they ever did make it to the finish line. 

Later, we ran into the little girl and her daddy again, this time with Mommy in tow. The little girl compared her medal with The Boy's and then ran off to play. The mother, who was a bit younger than the dad, though still probably in her late 40s, said, "We're only going to do it one time."

"FIVE TIMES!" the little girl shouted running away. 

"OK, five," the mom said with a huge sigh, walking slowly behind her. 

A few minutes later, my tired Boy started fussing. I just swooped him up and carried him away. I've never been more grateful for the strength to do that. 

Seven days inside the mind of a paranoid mother

It starts out innocently enough. Peanut doesn't seem to want to drink her bottles or juice that much. Then I notice she doesn't seem to have as many wet diapers. And then my mind goes to hell in a hand basket imagining trips to the emergency room where she must be hooked up to IVs and tests for all kinds of unimaginable diseases.

Day 1: Peanut isn't too interested in her bottles. Maybe drinks one and partial of the second. Still nursing OK at night so mama tries not too worry too much.

Day 2: Mama notices Peanut's diaper doesn't need to be changed during the middle of the night feeding. Mama makes mental note.

Day 3: The trend continues but mama doesn't say anything out loud for fear husband will tell her she's worrying too much.

Day 4: Mama notices Peanut is refusing to drink much of her juice/water. Maybe because mama has to put yucky iron drops in it that make it taste awful. Mama brings up concern to her mama who reinforces fears that something is amiss. Mama brings it up to daddy. Daddy says mama worries too much.

Day 5: Babysitter says something to mama about Peanut's lack of liquid intake. Mama doesn't feel so crazy anymore and begins full on obsessing. Daddy takes it a little more seriously but still think mama is worrying for nothing.

Day 6: Peanut doesn't drink either of her bottles while at the sitter's. Mama freaks out and makes Peanut take a bottle while she tries to negotiate a grocery cart through the store after work.

Day 7: Peanut drinks some of both her bottles and plenty of juice/water. Mama feels better and comes down off the ledge. For now.

Now I'm just waiting for the next week of worry where my child decides she does or does not want to do something that causes me mass amount of worry and just when I'm about to go into hysterics thinking of worst case scenario, she goes back to normal and everything is fine.

Action taken

I had a nonbiting incident report from school today. The Boy has a black-and-blue bump on his forehead. On the report, his teacher explained The Boy had bumped into a high chair while playing. 

The report has a line labeled "action taken." It read: Was hugged. 

I wish I got a hug every time I made a mistake during the day. 

Stalled, in a good way

We're at a developmental stage that is best described as Stalemate. My sister named it for me.

Tonight, The Boy desperately wanted to play with my laptop. I told him no several times, but decided it wasn't worth the fight and I should spend some time with him before bedtime anyway. I put the computer down on the floor next to our couch. The Boy climbed over me and hung over the side of the couch babbling, making it clear what he wanted. I said no. He dropped a toy and pointed and said, "Uh-oh!" I said no. He got down and crawled under his daddyman's legs to the far side of the coffee table and lingered there, all casual-like. (You could see the wheels spinning in his head.) When he thought I wasn't looking, he sprinted -- meaning, wobbled his little thighs as fast as they go -- to the end of the table, where I swooped him up and said no. Three times he did this. On the fourth try, he slipped behind an armchair, and was shocked when I still swooped him up before he could get to the computer. I almost peed my pants laughing at him, and my laughing made him giggle.

Stalemate.

The Boy is functional. He can walk, but isn't fast enough yet to really make a break for it. He can talk, but so much of it is gibberish that I can ignore sassing. He can help dress himself, but isn't throwing a fit yet about wearing the clothes I pick out for him.

And I'm pretty confident and competent now as a momma, too, having realized The Boy won't break. Chatting and dancing with the kiddo makes wrangling butt changes and dinner clean up easier. Watching his personality emerge as he learns new words everyday is so amazing, it makes even the tedious chores -- corralling toys or making lunches -- fun.

"Live it up," my sister said, assuring me I'd have only a month or two more of this lovely, predictable stage. I am.

10 months old

Peanut is 10 months old today.

I crept into her room this morning before I left just as the sun was showing a hint of lightness in the sky. The house was peaceful. The only things I could hear were the birds beginning their morning songs and the soft breathing of my not-so-little baby.

There my little darling child was curled up on her tummy, arms and knees tucked underneath her forcing her little bum high in the air - my favorite of her sleeping positions. I looked at her and marveled at how big she is getting. She's eating table foods regularly despite the lack of teeth. She thinks she can walk even though she can't. She babbles constantly, testing out her voice and the limits of its decibel levels. And the laughter - oh, it's enough to make us want to do nothing but tickle her.

Just as I was about to creep back out of her room to head to work, my sweet, darling, lovely little girl tooted. I suppressed a giggle and then she did it again. I had to rush out of the room afraid my laughter would wake her from her not quite peaceful sleep.

That's my girl and here is her picture:



And this is what happened before that:

Focusing on the positives

I'm a cynical, cranky, negative ninny. I tend to have a bad temper and focus on the unpleasant things that have happened instead of the good.

These are traits I don't want to pass on to my daughter.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want her walking around with rose-colored glasses on thinking that the world is sunshine and lollipops all of the time.

There is a balance and I have to find it.

A friend called me a couple weeks ago. She caught me on a bad night when Peanut and I just weren't clicking. She was cranky, I was tired and the husband was at work. I told my friend of my woes and now I fear she thinks having a child is all frustration and tears.

It's not at all and I need to start focusing on the positives. Sometimes when I sit down to write a blog post I have a hard time because nothing bad has happened. It's easier to write about the craziness than write about a pleasant day. The crazy is usually more entertaining.

While I still want to write about the days where we end up with poo on the ceiling (it's happened) and two out of the three of us are in tears over something, I want to celebrate the simple good things.

Like how there is nothing better in this world than the weight of my sleepy daughter spread across my chest and the heavy sigh she gives just before she falls asleep.

Or how she has mysteriously just found that her tongue can move out of her mouth and the look on her face as she darts it in and out experimenting with the feeling.

Or how she's realized that she can crawl from the living room to the kitchen and the slap of her pudgy hands as she follows me while I make dinner and kisses herself in the reflection of the dishwasher.

These are the things I want to celebrate more.

We will survive the rest.

Good and bad

Bad report from school: The Boy bit two of his classmates. 

(I am a little upset, but only a little because another mother had SIX reports in one day and every parent had at least one report today. The Boy's biting had stopped. I think the one-year-old class is a little Lord of the Flies lately.)

Good report from school: The Boy is a dancing fool. He loves music time and always wants to dance with a partner. He and his little girl classmates held hands and bopped to the music. 

I'm choosing to focus on the good here. Guess it's not always a melee in the classroom. 

Guilty pleasures

I've been so tired lately that I've slept through my alarm twice in the past few weeks. Not just "Oops, my alarm went off three minutes ago and I just realized it." More like "Oops my alarm went off 30 minutes ago and I just realized it."

Luckily, I can get ready and be presentable in a jiffy.

It would be easy to blame the tiredness on Peanut. I've had a handful of nights where I've slept completely through the night in the past 10 months. Lately, she's even been getting up twice to eat in the middle of the night.

It also would be easy to blame my early start time and 35 minute commute to work.

While both contribute to it, I don't do myself any favors by staying up way to late, mostly spending time with my guilty pleasures.

We all have them and I don't think mine are particularly embarrassing but it's not exactly like I'm proud of them. But I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. And I promise not to judge if you don't judge me.

Here's mine in no particular order:

- Vampire books specifically Twilight and the Sookie Stackhouse series. High-brow they are not, but they are engaging reads. I'm actually reading the Twilight series for the second time since Thanksgiving. Once I'm done with that (I'm on the fourth book) I'm going to move on to the latest Sookie Stackhouse book that came out last week. They are the books that the HBO series "True Blood" is based on. I don't know what it is about Vampire books. I'm not usually into fantasy books but I think it's just an easy get away for me. I stay up way too late reading and before I know it, it's 11 a.m. and I have to get up in five and half hours with the chance of getting up twice in between.

- "My Boys" on TBS. If you haven't seen it, think of a Tom Boy "Sex in the City" without the fashion, not nearly as much sex, guys as friends and not as cool. It's simple and not always that funny but I've watched it since the first season and can't stop. When it is funny, it's really funny but that happens only once an episode. Maybe. It's on at 10:30 p.m. Tuesdays, pushing my bedtime to 11 p.m.

- Real Housewives of wherever Bravo has decided to find the cattiness women possible. It's like watching a train wreck. There is nothing like a bunch of women who have more money than sense shop, complain about how tough their lives are and stab each other in the back. It's fabulously bad. Even the husband likes to watch it with me although he wouldn't admit it publicly. (Sorry, honey). It's on at the same time as "My Boys" but the seasons don't always overlap.

So there's mine. What are yous?

Let's all take a Moment

When The Boy wakes up before 6 a.m., we go into his room, shush him and tell him it's still night-time. "It's still time to sleep," we say with slitted eyes and froggy voices. We turn on his musical fish and pull his blanket over him. Amazingly, he lies back down and we almost always get an extra 30 to 60 minutes in bed. 

Redirection works in daylight hours, too. 

Someone asked me how to discipline a yearish-old. We definitely tell The Boy no -- NO you cannot put that cord around your neck, NO you cannot get into Momma and Daddy's books, NO you cannot pull the cat's tail -- but we've found that putting something off limits isn't enough. You have to give The Boy something else to do. We become "monsters" to chase him out of places he shouldn't be and tell him to go get his own books and we'll read. When all else fails, saying, "LOOK!  a ball!" or "Let's play trucks!" stops The Boy in his tracks. 

But sometimes, The Boy still needs Moments. A Moment is not a time-out, exactly. It's not in any one place in the house and he doesn't have to sit there for a set time or apologize at the end. When The Boy is throwing a tantrum and won't be reasoned with, I give him his blanky, put him where he won't brain himself on anything and tell him to take a Moment and pull himself together. Sometimes I take a Moment myself. I ignore the screaming, going about my business, and usually within a couple minutes, The Boy is back to his sunshiny self. 

Yesterday, I also essentially shunned him for a minute. (Just call me Dwight.) We were playing and he hugged me and acted like he might bite my shoulder. He didn't actually do it, but the second he opened his mouth, I pushed him off my lap and onto the floor. I folded my arms across my chest and put a mean momma face on. "No, you can't bite. I won't play if you bite." He started to cry and I had him say he was sorry -- "sah" -- and give me a hug. First time I did that, but I was pleased with the results. 

The Boy also received a swat on his diaper a couple weeks ago when he ran out into the road. I don't think spanking is a first resort, but when he endangers his life, it's an option. 

So, that's what works for us these days. What's working for you?

Don't google "weaning baby"

Here's a tip if you are looking for information on weaning your child from breastfeeding: don't look on the Internet unless you want to be guilted into nursing until your child is going off to college.

I'm all for breastfeeding. My plan is to do it for a year, according to recommendations from the American Academy of Pediatrics. But, I believe you have to do what is healthiest for baby, even if that means switching to formula to prevent starvation.

Babies respond differently. Some don't have to be taught to latch properly. Some know right away how to be a good eater. Some mothers have great milk supplies and don't have to pump for hours just to get one decent bottle once they go back to work.

Peanut and I were part of that some. The only problem I've ever had is having too much milk in the beginning and I'm not about to complain about that given the way I've seen some moms struggle with their supplies.

Back to the topic at hand. I plan to start the process of weaning Peanut so that when we hit her first birthday in July, we are all happy and settled without the need to nurse. I feel I have fulfilled this mothering duty and I'm ready to move on to the next phase. Plus, I want my body back so I can drink so much caffeine that I have heart palpitations. And I'm tired of carrying that pump every day, lurking outside of the unisex bathroom twice a day, waiting to pump. And I want to wear better bras, ones that might not accidently unleash my breast if I pull on the strap the wrong way.

Call me selfish.

I've been trying to find info on the best way to wean. I googled it and, well, don't do that. The most prominent sites don't really offer any info. It's more about how if you wean your child before they are ready they will go on to a life of crime and publicly blame you for all of their woes.

Some did give helpful info but not before telling me that if baby isn't ready to be weaned, the process could be very traumatic (kind of like researching weaning baby).

So I've got a handful of tips - don't do it suddenly, skip a feeding, shorten feeding time, etc. I suppose that's the best advice anyone can really give but if you have more, let me know. I'm open to anything that won't make me feel like I'm the worst mother of the year for weaning my child.

Night-time teething help?

A friend is wondering about the best way to help a teething baby -- who also, by the way, is about to make the huge developmental leap to crawling -- get to sleep.

My advice was to dope up the kid with baby Tylenol. I sometimes felt a twinge of guilt when I pumped drugs into a not-sick Boy's mouth, but it passed quickly when I considered the ramifications of a sleepless night. Ain't nobody happy.

Teething tablets were another suggestion. We never used them at night, but I know Hyland's Homeopathic Teething Tablets keep The Boy's daycare ladies sane.

Other thoughts?

Mothers' Day thank you

I am grateful for all the women who help me be a better mother by talking through problems or showing me better solutions or just being there to listen, especially: 

• My mom, who mothers with a combination of total honesty and fierce loyalty that supports us and pushes us to be better, who is the most fun-loving Grammy a set of boys could have and who, as the husband once said, is so helpful in an unobtrusive way. 
• My sister, who is the master at rolling with the punches and hiding whatever parenting panic she is feeling, whose contagious laughter has made even my worst parenting moments bearable and who gave me my first instructions on changing a boy's diaper. 
  
• My grandmas, who make me feel loved just by the way their voices change when they recognize my voice on the phone. 
• Michelle, who makes me feel not-so-crazy and who chooses to put up with my crazy.

Happy Mothers' Day! 

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful mothers and mothers-to-be who read our stories and share their own. We've met some neat ladies along the way and reconnected with even more. May your day be filled with love and laughs, and if you are lucky, some relaxation.

First ER trip

My phone rang at 11 a.m. today. Daycare was calling. 

"We've had a little accident. (The Boy) fell into a table and he's got a pretty nasty cut on his eyelid. It might need stitches. His nose is bruised, too."

When the director said he fell into the table, I have to admit I giggled a little. The Boy gets the clumsy honest enough. I'm lucky to be able to walk and breathe at the same time. Also, and I'm just as shocked by this as anyone who knows me, I don't panic when daycare calls. I tend to be calm and sometimes even dismissive of the problem, maybe because I'm not looking at a bleeding, crying kid, maybe because I know they have to be extra careful so a parent won't sue them. So, I called the husband and the boss and went to pick The Boy up, but wasn't completely sold on the idea of taking him to the emergency room. 

Then I saw The Boy. He was sitting in a chair in the teacher's lounge, eating pizza and chatting away. But the cut on the corner of his eyelid was swollen and bruised. Thinking I didn't want to be responsible for scarring my kid for life, giving him a weird lazy eye or something, I reassured the daycare ladies -- who all were more scared than my little guy, who just wanted his pizza -- and headed straight to the ER. 

And we waited for an hour, giving me plenty of time to second-guess myself. 

The Boy spent the time playing with my bracelets, waving hi and bye to people, rifling through my datebook and playing peekaboo behind a chair while I tried to remember social security numbers for the billing lady. When the doctor got to us, he looked at The Boy's eye for 30 seconds and told me the cut wasn't really in need of stitches and they'd probably traumatize the kiddo more than the accident. Clean it with soap and water. We didn't even get a Snoopy Band-aid. A $100 co-pay later, we were released to the world. 

Whatever. I didn't want to write about swine flu this afternoon anyway. 

Things I didn't know about motherhood

Since this is my first, official Mother's Day coming up, I started thinking about things I didn't know about motherhood until I was in the thick of it.

So here's my list:

I would function on 5-6 hours of broken sleep with minimal caffeine to aid my productivity at work.

I would cry when my daughter kissed me and her doll.

I would cry when my daughter mimed patty cake with her doll's foot and hand.

I would cry at just about everything (OK, maybe I did figure that might happen since I did that even before I was pregnant).

I would be completely organized and still forget something every time we left the house.

I would lose my very sensitive gag reflex and be immune to spit up.

I would wish my child would go to sleep after a very long day and then have an intense urge to wake her up minutes after she drifted off.

I would spend hours looking through books and the Internet obsessing over every milestone not met yet.

I would rather buy clothes and shoes for someone else.

I would feel completely helpless and out of control most days and yet everyone still make it through the day unscathed.

I would be sick for 7 months of the pregnancy and be willing to go through it again to get something so wonderful.

I would have an even better relationship with my husband, who is an amazing father.

I would love someone this much.

What would be on your list?

Something to regret ...

The husband found a new trick for Peanut this week. He stands her up on the window sill of our large front window and lets her stand there. Alone. With no support from us. Standing there.

Before you think we are placing our unbalanced child on an inches-wide space high above the ground, let me assure you the window sill is about a foot from the floor.

As much as the paranoid mama in me cringes at the thought of her tumbling, it is really cute too. And quite unbelievable that she just stands there. Alone. (By alone I mean, mom and dad hovering inches away in the event that she jumps or falls, but still, no parent touching her.)



"Look, ma, no hands!"



"I wonder if I can do a front somersault from this position."




Remind me how cute I thought this was when I'm lamenting the fact that my windows are smudged with baby fingerprints and I have a child who tries to do Flying Wallenda tricks from the window.

Eat the box*

My husband found this -- the worst kids' lunches according to dietitians at The Cancer Project. The entire list is Lunchables or Lunchables-type stuff. Oscar Mayer does not come out shining. The dietitians say these easy-peasy kids lunches are high in cholesterol, salt, saturated fat and could be linked to cancer. 

The Boy tends to have leftovers or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, with fruit and yogurt. I do it because it's easy; it's what the husband and I eat. But when I'm dropping off beans and rice in the daycare fridge, where frozen meals await the rest of the kiddos, I wonder if I'm setting up The Boy to be the weird kid with the smelly food at the lunch table. Other days, when he's had peanut butter and jelly for a week straight while the other kids munched on frozen veggies, I wonder if I'm stunting his growth. 

At least I'm not giving him more than a day's worth of sodium in one meal of cheese and crackers, huh? 

I'm curious though -- what do your kiddos do for lunches or other meals away from home? 

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*The best quote in that lunches round-up: "The only way to get significant fiber from these products would be to eat the box."

Wanted: One child to rent

I think Peanut is over the husband and me.

Sure she loves us and yes we can still make her laugh but something has changed recently.

She doesn't want to leave the baby sitter's.

I love our sitter. She's sweet and loving and great with Peanut. We are so lucky to have found her. She has her own kids and watches others while Peanut is there three days a week. Now that Peanut is old enough, she really seems to enjoy being there even more than before.

So much so that she started fussing when I came to pick her up last week. (Can you hear that sound? That's the sound of my heart breaking. Just kidding. Kind of.)

I came in the door and Peanut was playing happily. Our sitter picked her up to bring her to me and Peanut kicked her little legs excitedly and reached out to me. She let me hug her and even gave me a kiss.

And then she wanted to go back to the sitter.

When we drop her off in the mornings, she tries to dive from our arms to the floor or reaches out for B, our sitter.

The husband got her yesterday and said Peanut was contently playing with one of the toddlers and while glad to see him, she wasn't ready to go.

So we've decided to rent a kid. We think she needs a playmate and before you think it, we aren't ready to give her a brother or sister yet. We just need a kid to come hang out with Peanut. We'll still be there to play too but we need someone more on Peanut's level because obviously we aren't cutting it.

Would anyone like to loan us their child for a few hours a week?

Peace offerings

The Boy and the Cat have had a rocky relationship since he was in utero. The Cat, Josephine, was deeply suspicious of my belly as it grew and her favorite place to flop disappeared and also resentful that there was a place in the house -- the baby's room -- that she was no longer allowed to roam freely. The Boy was rather noisy when he first came home, and then he became mobile and the poor Cat realized how bad life could be. 

But I've always said Josephine loves him somewhere in her cold feline heart, and I know The Boy loves her. Kizz-zee and Jo-o were two of his first words. He delights in chasing her and bothering her when she's lazily draped in a windowsill, but he seems to understand Josephine is tolerating him and needs -- no, deserves -- tribute. 

I heard The Boy get into the cat-food cupboard this weekend while I was making Derby pies and, without turning, told him to get out of it. The thud of the nearly Boy-sized food container followed and I knew he hadn't listened, but I was mid-pie and figured the worst that could happen was his eating or spilling the Cat's food. When I turned around, I saw The Boy with his fat little fists full of catfood, a trail of bits between Josephine's bowl and the cupboard. The Boy had been filling her bowl a handful at a time, apparently realizing the food container was too big for him to dump. There also was a golfball in her water dish. Not sure what that was about. 

But maybe there will be peace after all. 

I am mother. Hear me roar.

One of my Facebook friends posted a status about how annoying Middle American values are, and the conversation, among a bunch of child-free women, is boiling down to how most mothers are resentful, living a mind-numbingly boring existence, popping valium and unwilling to celebrate the nonmothering achievements of other women. Anyone can squeeze a person from their nether regions, these women say. Motherhood is a passive achievement.

These are all things I said regularly through high school and college. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I was an insufferable twit through high school and early college.

These women are calling people who have bridal or baby showers self-centered brats, but then complaining they can't have an equivalent party for earning their PhD. I agree: They should have parties for their PhDs. But they shouldn't begrudge and belittle the celebrations of life or love. Not everyone can earn an advanced degree, and not everyone can have a child or be a good parent. If they could, you wouldn't see people spending thousands on infertility treatments or thousands of kids every year enduring abuse.

You know, you don't see men bitching and moaning about what accolades fathers receive versus businessmen. Women love to rip each other up and in doing so, we hold each other back. Mothers are guilty of this, too.

Instead of pooh-poohing the goals and accomplishments of each other, why don't we spend more time campaigning for equal pay or better family leave so we all can do more? Because I'll tell you, most of the mothers I know, including me, find motherhood made them more productive, ambitious and creative, though the outlet for those things might have changed either by choice or by necessity. Look at this woman, writing books and television pilots because of her babies, or this one, who found a way after having her first baby to write creatively full-time. Motherhood doesn't have to preclude travel or creativity or intelligence.

Finally, I wonder what these women's mothers would say about motherhood being a passive achievement?