Just a few minutes ago, at 6:41pm, J took Cracker to the mall to supervise J as he gets his hair cut!
J had called me from work earlier and asked if I'd take him to get his hair cut tonight. "I'd really like to stay home tonight. (Alone.) Maybe the Cracker could take you?"
Woo hoo! Just this last weekend, a three day weekend for J, I suggested that he run an errand at Ho Bobo (about 3 miles away) and take the Cracker with him. His response? "I just worked all week." Umm, no, you worked last week, but now it's Monday, and you're still off, and I could use 30 minutes to myself. I know that he works really hard, but after constant computer gaming Friday night through Monday, I didn't think this was the most unreasonable request in the world. But, alas, it didn't happen. Do I sound like a royal biotch? Read my Mother's Day post.
And can I also mention that I have not been showering nearly enough lately (which makes me very cranky) even though it's friggin hot here in the desert? Because the Cracker is still going pee on the potty every 10 minutes and needs help getting up and down. And if I get in the shower I will be interrupted a million times, I'll drip water all over the floor, and he will slip and crack his head open.
And that I try to cool the house with ceiling fans and open windows at night? And even at 10pm it's still 84 degrees IN the house? Because once I really start turning on the AC I will become instantly addicted and not turn it off again until it snows? And J is no help because he could care less how much it costs?
Lordy, when did I become a woman with so many issues?
Back to my alone time: So what am I going to do now that they're actually gone? Organize the Cracker's dresser! Woot! Take out all the stuff he's outgrown along with fleece footed jammies that have been out of season for at least 2 months, and make room for all the stuff that's been living in a laundry basket. I actually tried to start this earlier today, but I had too much help from both the Cracker and a naughty cat, and I can't do it when he's sleeping without waking him.
Do I know how to party or what?
UPDATE: They were gone for 2 hours and 7 minutes. It meant a lot. Thank you!
Okay, now back to the heat, because otherwise this would be a short post, and I don't do short posts. I've got too much ranting and raving in me, because I don't do enough of it in real life. Believe it or not, I try to contain it much as possible and be a great listener. Usually, I suceed. I'll be doing my r&r here instead, because I don't want to be that girl.
I am really proud of myself that I've learned to tolerate heat. I grew up near San Francisco in a funky little town that was always in the fog. Anything bordering 80 was miserable. In fact, my mom just e-mailed me that my dad is insisting they turn on the AC tonight because it climbed all the way up to 74 in their house today. That used to be ME.
But here in the desert we have a dry heat. I have been known to wear black long sleeves and jeans when it's above 90. I am not uncomfortable until it reaches 94-5. BUT send me East to the land of humidity and I will complain. A lot.
Ooh! PSA! Don't ever, ever, try out a new deodorant when it's hot, humid, and you're wearing a form fitting, synthetic dress as Matron of Honor in your cousin's wedding, with relatives all around that you haven't seen in years. Because you will stink so bad that all you can do is tell EVERYONE at the reception that you've never smelled this bad before in your life. And I mean EVERYONE. And they will be creeped out.
Why oh why would I ever do this? Because I read the night before in some really random place (probably People Magazine) that there is a preservative used in most deodorants that may be linked to breast cancer. And even at Whole Foods, I was only able to find one that didn't have it.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Whaz dat?
WHY IT'S PICTURES OF CARS THAT PROVE MY KID IS A GENIUS!
As if the potty training and lack of me time wasn't already sending my dangerously close to the edge on a daily basis, the Cracker has become even more 3 overnight.
"Mommy...whaz dat? Mommymommymommy, whaz dat? Whaz dat? Nd dat? Whaz dat?"
This would be our version of the "why" stage.
And it's not my fault...it's those damn Teletubbies, which yes, he still loves at 3.
I realize that most parents dealt with this more than a year ago, probably even 2, but the Cracker has been slow to talk. I know we did, except he didn't use words, just grunt (with intonation) and point. Around his second birthday "professionals" came in and evaluated him to have the receptive language of a 3.5 year old, but expressive language of a 9 month old. He was putting all his energy into understanding and his only word, which he used for everything, was "sblah". So how did they know that he was still smart even if he wasn't talking? Because you could give him 10 pictures and ask "where is the blank?" and he was right every time. Knew all his colors, all his body parts (even the harder ones), and could distinguish 15+ logos of car manufacturers. Is it a Ford? No. Is it a Subaru? No. It is a Pontiac? Yes! Which brings me to another example of how much he didn't talk. My amazing son did not utter the word "NO" until he was more than 2.5 years old. I think I should write Guinness, don't you? And he could sign, not a lot because we were endlessly forgetful about teaching him new ones. But as far as words he said, it was "sblah." And while he didn't say the word "no" he got the point across by vigorously shaking his head. His ability to grunt and point would have put any caveman to shame.
Shortly after the professionals evaluated him he started seeing a Developmental Therapist, because that's how they do it here. The DT works with you as much as possible, even though ST isn't their specialty, and then when you've exhausted them, you finally win an hour once a month with the overbooked ST. The problem? He wouldn't mimic. Not just for us, but even for her. Hell NO. And as I have since learned, that is an important part of learning to talk. Everything was "sblah" until he tired of talking, and then he'd just get defensive.
Another problem compounding it all (though not the sole cause) was that he was severely tongue tied, which runs in J's family. The medical theory du jour is to give kids a lot of time to outgrow it rather than just fix it, which some do. Instead of a simple snip at birth, we had to fight to get it done at 2.5 years. It was obvious rather early that he wasn't going to outgrow it. So that meant general anesthesia, a real OR and a big ordeal. My baby in the OR? I was hysterical.
Gradually he started making animal sounds, which early on, do count as words. But months later he still wasn't adding anything else. Zoom ahead nearly a year and as he did gradually did start adding new words, he just made up his own, and only about vehicles. Every mode of transportation had the root da. A car was a da, a school bus was a dee da, any other bus was a dee da no dee da, an airplane was an airda, and while he said it only for a few months, a Toyota was a dadoyda. At 18 months he could point out the model car that each of my parents drive along with the cars that J and I drive. In any color, from an insane distance away, and in the dark, and he was never wrong. In December J got a new car when an idiot driving a big Ford F150 totaled J's old Saab when he didn't see him or the red light J was stopped at. J got a new Toyota Camry. A month or so later not only was he pointing out every Camry of the same body style, but ones that were 15+ years old that look nothing like ours.
(Yes Netscape users...the text gets screwed up around the pictures, but I don't know how to fix it. But it's pretty in Explorer. And Netscape crashes every time I try to blog. Stupid Netscape.)
Ours
And what he points out as daddy's car (how the ??? does he know?)
And the Ford Taurus, which I think would be easy to confuse, but he never does even in the dark (I see nearly the same lights front and back, but what do I know?) I can't find a picture now, but on the road many of them have even had the same silver trim over the plate on the trunk like ours.
Okay, so I know how he knows, it's just freakin scary is all. Even at this age kids start sight reading, which means they can recognize combinations of letters before they can read. But it's freaky none the less.
Anywho, he has spent the last few months catching up by leaps and bounds, which all started when my dad taught him to say pie, LOL. He is still a little behind compared to most of his peers, but he can get his point across with words. He doesn't say dog, but he can woof, and will say "puppy" only when it really is a puppy, not just a small dog. In fact, he went through a phase not too long ago where when he was upset he'd whine/cry like a dog. He calls our 3 cats "titty" but won't say cat. For horses he doesn't just say neigh all the time...he perfectly duplicates that weird noise that horses make. And "orse" is one of the few animal names he says, but I guess it's more fun to make a horse noise. If you've read back you'd also know that he calls the farm an "E-I-E-O" as in Old MacDonald has a farm, which he came up with after seeing a picture of himself at the pumpkin patch last year.
And we've gotten to see all along that there is more in that little head than he lets on. His DT is insanely impressed by his ability to work around a word than rather than just say it. A garbage truck? An eew guck. A zebra is a neigh no neigh. Mommy, with plenty of money but who wasn't going to succumb to candy at the check stand, told him that she was broke. His solution? "Go Nana work." Nana, you see works in a bank. She lives a 1K miles away, and he's never seen her work. And daddy has direct deposit, so we only go to the bank every few months when we get a random tax return. I need cash? Cash back at Target. But he knew...that's where the money is.
He now chats incessantly, even if his expressive language still has a way to go. In the car he chants "go eat out go eat out go eat out" or "no go home no go home". And if we're on the highway where there are always lots of trucks it's "ook! Ook! Guck! Ook ooh car! Ook mommy ook!" When we're in our own neighborhood it's "no my home, no my home, no my home, yes my home!" And while he'd rather give up all his toys than let us know it, I've heard him say the entire alphabet (minus J) in order over the baby monitor when he's supposed to be napping. But say it in front of us? When hell freezes over!
As if the potty training and lack of me time wasn't already sending my dangerously close to the edge on a daily basis, the Cracker has become even more 3 overnight.
"Mommy...whaz dat? Mommymommymommy, whaz dat? Whaz dat? Nd dat? Whaz dat?"
This would be our version of the "why" stage.
And it's not my fault...it's those damn Teletubbies, which yes, he still loves at 3.
I realize that most parents dealt with this more than a year ago, probably even 2, but the Cracker has been slow to talk. I know we did, except he didn't use words, just grunt (with intonation) and point. Around his second birthday "professionals" came in and evaluated him to have the receptive language of a 3.5 year old, but expressive language of a 9 month old. He was putting all his energy into understanding and his only word, which he used for everything, was "sblah". So how did they know that he was still smart even if he wasn't talking? Because you could give him 10 pictures and ask "where is the blank?" and he was right every time. Knew all his colors, all his body parts (even the harder ones), and could distinguish 15+ logos of car manufacturers. Is it a Ford? No. Is it a Subaru? No. It is a Pontiac? Yes! Which brings me to another example of how much he didn't talk. My amazing son did not utter the word "NO" until he was more than 2.5 years old. I think I should write Guinness, don't you? And he could sign, not a lot because we were endlessly forgetful about teaching him new ones. But as far as words he said, it was "sblah." And while he didn't say the word "no" he got the point across by vigorously shaking his head. His ability to grunt and point would have put any caveman to shame.
Shortly after the professionals evaluated him he started seeing a Developmental Therapist, because that's how they do it here. The DT works with you as much as possible, even though ST isn't their specialty, and then when you've exhausted them, you finally win an hour once a month with the overbooked ST. The problem? He wouldn't mimic. Not just for us, but even for her. Hell NO. And as I have since learned, that is an important part of learning to talk. Everything was "sblah" until he tired of talking, and then he'd just get defensive.
Another problem compounding it all (though not the sole cause) was that he was severely tongue tied, which runs in J's family. The medical theory du jour is to give kids a lot of time to outgrow it rather than just fix it, which some do. Instead of a simple snip at birth, we had to fight to get it done at 2.5 years. It was obvious rather early that he wasn't going to outgrow it. So that meant general anesthesia, a real OR and a big ordeal. My baby in the OR? I was hysterical.
Gradually he started making animal sounds, which early on, do count as words. But months later he still wasn't adding anything else. Zoom ahead nearly a year and as he did gradually did start adding new words, he just made up his own, and only about vehicles. Every mode of transportation had the root da. A car was a da, a school bus was a dee da, any other bus was a dee da no dee da, an airplane was an airda, and while he said it only for a few months, a Toyota was a dadoyda. At 18 months he could point out the model car that each of my parents drive along with the cars that J and I drive. In any color, from an insane distance away, and in the dark, and he was never wrong. In December J got a new car when an idiot driving a big Ford F150 totaled J's old Saab when he didn't see him or the red light J was stopped at. J got a new Toyota Camry. A month or so later not only was he pointing out every Camry of the same body style, but ones that were 15+ years old that look nothing like ours.
(Yes Netscape users...the text gets screwed up around the pictures, but I don't know how to fix it. But it's pretty in Explorer. And Netscape crashes every time I try to blog. Stupid Netscape.)
Ours
And what he points out as daddy's car (how the ??? does he know?)
And the Ford Taurus, which I think would be easy to confuse, but he never does even in the dark (I see nearly the same lights front and back, but what do I know?) I can't find a picture now, but on the road many of them have even had the same silver trim over the plate on the trunk like ours.
Okay, so I know how he knows, it's just freakin scary is all. Even at this age kids start sight reading, which means they can recognize combinations of letters before they can read. But it's freaky none the less.
Anywho, he has spent the last few months catching up by leaps and bounds, which all started when my dad taught him to say pie, LOL. He is still a little behind compared to most of his peers, but he can get his point across with words. He doesn't say dog, but he can woof, and will say "puppy" only when it really is a puppy, not just a small dog. In fact, he went through a phase not too long ago where when he was upset he'd whine/cry like a dog. He calls our 3 cats "titty" but won't say cat. For horses he doesn't just say neigh all the time...he perfectly duplicates that weird noise that horses make. And "orse" is one of the few animal names he says, but I guess it's more fun to make a horse noise. If you've read back you'd also know that he calls the farm an "E-I-E-O" as in Old MacDonald has a farm, which he came up with after seeing a picture of himself at the pumpkin patch last year.
And we've gotten to see all along that there is more in that little head than he lets on. His DT is insanely impressed by his ability to work around a word than rather than just say it. A garbage truck? An eew guck. A zebra is a neigh no neigh. Mommy, with plenty of money but who wasn't going to succumb to candy at the check stand, told him that she was broke. His solution? "Go Nana work." Nana, you see works in a bank. She lives a 1K miles away, and he's never seen her work. And daddy has direct deposit, so we only go to the bank every few months when we get a random tax return. I need cash? Cash back at Target. But he knew...that's where the money is.
He now chats incessantly, even if his expressive language still has a way to go. In the car he chants "go eat out go eat out go eat out" or "no go home no go home". And if we're on the highway where there are always lots of trucks it's "ook! Ook! Guck! Ook ooh car! Ook mommy ook!" When we're in our own neighborhood it's "no my home, no my home, no my home, yes my home!" And while he'd rather give up all his toys than let us know it, I've heard him say the entire alphabet (minus J) in order over the baby monitor when he's supposed to be napping. But say it in front of us? When hell freezes over!
Friday, May 26, 2006
The Eternal Democrat
After my most recent all time low, now the good stuff just keeps pouring in.
Last night my parents called. We'd been discussing a visit for some time, but this was the actual "how are these dates and can we go ahead and book tickets?" call. And they did.
Since the day he was born, they've been offering to take him off our hands for a night. All night. Stupid me has always said no. First it was breastfeeding, then it that I'd miss him too much. Then he was in that clingy phase forever where if I even disappeared from sight for a split second to go to the bathroom (but Dad and everyone else was still there) he'd have the biggest freak attack. Then I just got used to saying no thanks even though I didn't know why anymore.
So before they could even offer for the millionth time, I quickly rushed in with "and you can have him for a whole night! He's yours!" And this isn't under my roof...they are getting a hotel room 10 miles away.
My mom, rightfully taken aback, asked if I was sure.
"Yes, he's yours!"
"But...err...what about the potty thing?"
"Pull-ups!"
"But do you think he will he sleep okay?"
"Oh yeah! He can even sleep in a big boy bed!" (Liar! I think he will sleep, but suddenly he’s this child I don’t recognize as my own, so really it could go either way.)
"Well, that would make me nervous. Do you still have that play yar…"
"Play yard? YES! YES! I HAVE ONE OF THOSE!" (And if you don’t believe just give me a sec to pull out the digi cam and I will send you a picture of it!)
"And it's not that you can't come if you don't agree to take him for the night...but if you do come you are going to."
Talk about democracy!
After she got over the initial shock, my wonderful mother got excited and offered to take him for THE WHOLE WEEK.
Before you decide that I am the worst parent ever, in my defense: we don't have family in town, and so far he's only been left with my parents for a handful of dates, even though they are the best babysitters EVER, and he is 3.
I take him to visit my parents 4-5x/year for 2 weeks/time and leave J all alone. My mom has been excellent about letting me go to Starbucks all by myself each morning for a few hours and shopping while she tries to get him to nap. And my dad will always take him on at least one toddler dream date: they ride the ferries, hop on the subway, visit a hardware store and go to a football or baseball game. A whole day where my dad devotes himself entirely to making the Cracker's day all about him.
My parents are the best grandparents ever.
Even so, I have never been away for him for more than 12 hours, and that was 2 years ago when we were visiting them and I dragged J all around the Bay Area to places like Ikea. Great day for me because I ignored his whining, and I was at IKEA!
Finally getting to my point now...J doesn't like to leave the house, so since we moved in a year ago next week, I've had only 3 hours of alone time in my own house. He won't even take the Cracker into the backyard to play ball while I try to finish getting dinner ready. And that's what I need...time, alone, in my own house. A little time off where I know that the Cracker is happy and safe and I can just unwind by cleaning my pigsty and finally tackling the last few boxes still in the garage. And then maybe dinner out with J. Sad, but true. And yes, J will still be there, but at least I won't be tripping over toys and endless questions from a 3 year old.
Now, I am not ready to leave town without him, and I don't think I'm ready to give him up in town for a week either, but we'll see. For now, I am just really excited about one night.
Last night my parents called. We'd been discussing a visit for some time, but this was the actual "how are these dates and can we go ahead and book tickets?" call. And they did.
Since the day he was born, they've been offering to take him off our hands for a night. All night. Stupid me has always said no. First it was breastfeeding, then it that I'd miss him too much. Then he was in that clingy phase forever where if I even disappeared from sight for a split second to go to the bathroom (but Dad and everyone else was still there) he'd have the biggest freak attack. Then I just got used to saying no thanks even though I didn't know why anymore.
So before they could even offer for the millionth time, I quickly rushed in with "and you can have him for a whole night! He's yours!" And this isn't under my roof...they are getting a hotel room 10 miles away.
My mom, rightfully taken aback, asked if I was sure.
"Yes, he's yours!"
"But...err...what about the potty thing?"
"Pull-ups!"
"But do you think he will he sleep okay?"
"Oh yeah! He can even sleep in a big boy bed!" (Liar! I think he will sleep, but suddenly he’s this child I don’t recognize as my own, so really it could go either way.)
"Well, that would make me nervous. Do you still have that play yar…"
"Play yard? YES! YES! I HAVE ONE OF THOSE!" (And if you don’t believe just give me a sec to pull out the digi cam and I will send you a picture of it!)
"And it's not that you can't come if you don't agree to take him for the night...but if you do come you are going to."
Talk about democracy!
After she got over the initial shock, my wonderful mother got excited and offered to take him for THE WHOLE WEEK.
Before you decide that I am the worst parent ever, in my defense: we don't have family in town, and so far he's only been left with my parents for a handful of dates, even though they are the best babysitters EVER, and he is 3.
I take him to visit my parents 4-5x/year for 2 weeks/time and leave J all alone. My mom has been excellent about letting me go to Starbucks all by myself each morning for a few hours and shopping while she tries to get him to nap. And my dad will always take him on at least one toddler dream date: they ride the ferries, hop on the subway, visit a hardware store and go to a football or baseball game. A whole day where my dad devotes himself entirely to making the Cracker's day all about him.
My parents are the best grandparents ever.
Even so, I have never been away for him for more than 12 hours, and that was 2 years ago when we were visiting them and I dragged J all around the Bay Area to places like Ikea. Great day for me because I ignored his whining, and I was at IKEA!
Finally getting to my point now...J doesn't like to leave the house, so since we moved in a year ago next week, I've had only 3 hours of alone time in my own house. He won't even take the Cracker into the backyard to play ball while I try to finish getting dinner ready. And that's what I need...time, alone, in my own house. A little time off where I know that the Cracker is happy and safe and I can just unwind by cleaning my pigsty and finally tackling the last few boxes still in the garage. And then maybe dinner out with J. Sad, but true. And yes, J will still be there, but at least I won't be tripping over toys and endless questions from a 3 year old.
Now, I am not ready to leave town without him, and I don't think I'm ready to give him up in town for a week either, but we'll see. For now, I am just really excited about one night.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Ta Da!
BIG POTTY NEWS, A PSA, AND WHY I'M A FAILURE AS A HUMAN BEING
It appears that the Cracker has decided that he wants to be potty trained, and so I've been spending all my time in the bathroom. I mean EVERY 10 minutes ALL DAY for 4 days now. Even with a step stool he can't get on and off the big potty by himself, and the little potty is impossible to keep clean when you go every 10 minutes. Occasionally I get a 30-45 minute break, but with stickers or M&Ms as rewards he'd rather go hundreds of time/day. So my house is trashed, except for the bathroom, which is very clean since it's the only room I've gotten to spend any quality time in. I'm trying not to get excited, since he's been using the potty on and off since October (starting out at once a few times a month) and last month we had two days in a row where we made it 75% of the time, only then to be followed by a 100% failure rate for the next week. But he seems to finally be excited by t.p., flushing a big boy under pants.
And only two days in I did the thing I never swore I'd do: I bought disposable Pull-ups. The shock! The horror!
I am a wanna be environmentalist. After dealing with cloth diapers as 12 year old babysitter, as much as I wanted to I just couldn't go cloth. I was young, I didn't know what I was doing, the parents hated children (but it was good for HIS career) and it was miserable. It scared me for life. So I research it all, do what I can, know all the facts by heart as to what happens when you throw something away to the evil landfill, and I sound like the biggest recycling nut you've ever met. And then I use disposable diapers.
But I do try! Since we moved into our house, I've started composting, and I tell everyone who expresses any interest why it's so great. I know all the facts. OhmyGod, you can't throw a tea bag or coffee filter in the trash! They will stay there FOREVER! Things that would normally rot WON'T unless you compost them! Join my crusade!
Do I know what I'm doing? Heck no! I just take every scrap and seed I can and toss it into a no longer shallow hole I dug in the back yard, as far from the house as possible and pray that bugs won't come into my living space. (Because then I will freak.) And now for my PSA: one composting freak I met informed me that you should NEVER EVER put anything that isn't raw in the pile, because you will get roaches. No toast, no egg, no steamed broccoli. Just the fresh stuff. Thank God I met her.
Anyway, so while I never attempted cloth diapers, though I know some amazing women who are better than I am and swear by them, I figured I'd do the cloth training pants thing and redeem myself at least partially. And I did all these months while we did the on-again-off-again potty training. But now that we're there, and it seems to be serious, I've already broken that rule. Ugh. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
But my kid pees, a lot. He drinks insane amounts of water (no juice, almost no milk) and even my friends are amazed by the amount he pees, and their kids are the same age. Back to Pull-ups, it's a friggin diaper. The Cracker isn't going understand that this isn't a diaper just like the ones he's always knowN, that you aren't supposed to pee/poo in it unless it's the most unfrikinbelieveable emergency of all time. Special diaper my ass.
AND back to the my kids pees a lot argument: he holds it. When he's not in the mood he holds it until he can't hold it anymore, and then we have a flood. I put him in two, yes two pairs of thick cloth training pants, followed by a pair of absorbent water proof pants (not the skimpy shell ones) and then pants. And every single time it's still streaming down his legs, soaking his socks and finally puddling up in his shoes. Every time. Here we go with more laundry and a bath.
AND then there's the cost. Pull-ups are cheaper than size 6 diapers. Why? Because Huggies has this big conspiracy that they not only sell them at Costco, but paper the world with $2 off coupons to use everywhere else. They make it irresistable, the bastards. But with regular old 6s, even a $1 off coupon is so rare that my budget minded self has an orgasm should my mom or I actually find one. And they don't sell 6s in quantity except if you're willing to trek all the way to Toys R Us, and then it's still not enough to get me hot. And why would you ever take your 3 year old to TRU unless you're having the best friggin day ever? So I end up at Walmart or Target buying packs of 52 because it's the largest quantity you can buy, and they get you for it. "Ha ha, your kid isn't potty trained! What's wrong with you? Jesus, what's wrong with your kid! Remember when you used to be able to buy 200 diapers for this price? Those days are SO over!"
(Oh, and I also used to secretly make fun of everyone who complained about the cost of diapers. $20/month? Really people! Why is $20/month so terrible? Okay, well, insert foot in mouth here. Now it's $20 a week and my favorite subject.)
AND one day we will need to leave the house. We can't stay in the bathroom forever, even if I am raising a man. And do I really want to be dealing with pee in his shoes or all over his car seat when we do? Because I know he'll never have to go when we are anywhere near a potty. And if I encourage him to pee on the side of the road will he have to register as a sex offender when we get caught? "Yeah, my mom ruined my life. I was only 3, but she made me whip it out in public. Now I can't get a job or even a place to live. God I hate her."
So I'm *hoping* that if you count all the water from laundry and a bath, not to mention my aggravation, it's better for the world if I just do Pull-ups for now.
It appears that the Cracker has decided that he wants to be potty trained, and so I've been spending all my time in the bathroom. I mean EVERY 10 minutes ALL DAY for 4 days now. Even with a step stool he can't get on and off the big potty by himself, and the little potty is impossible to keep clean when you go every 10 minutes. Occasionally I get a 30-45 minute break, but with stickers or M&Ms as rewards he'd rather go hundreds of time/day. So my house is trashed, except for the bathroom, which is very clean since it's the only room I've gotten to spend any quality time in. I'm trying not to get excited, since he's been using the potty on and off since October (starting out at once a few times a month) and last month we had two days in a row where we made it 75% of the time, only then to be followed by a 100% failure rate for the next week. But he seems to finally be excited by t.p., flushing a big boy under pants.
And only two days in I did the thing I never swore I'd do: I bought disposable Pull-ups. The shock! The horror!
I am a wanna be environmentalist. After dealing with cloth diapers as 12 year old babysitter, as much as I wanted to I just couldn't go cloth. I was young, I didn't know what I was doing, the parents hated children (but it was good for HIS career) and it was miserable. It scared me for life. So I research it all, do what I can, know all the facts by heart as to what happens when you throw something away to the evil landfill, and I sound like the biggest recycling nut you've ever met. And then I use disposable diapers.
But I do try! Since we moved into our house, I've started composting, and I tell everyone who expresses any interest why it's so great. I know all the facts. OhmyGod, you can't throw a tea bag or coffee filter in the trash! They will stay there FOREVER! Things that would normally rot WON'T unless you compost them! Join my crusade!
Do I know what I'm doing? Heck no! I just take every scrap and seed I can and toss it into a no longer shallow hole I dug in the back yard, as far from the house as possible and pray that bugs won't come into my living space. (Because then I will freak.) And now for my PSA: one composting freak I met informed me that you should NEVER EVER put anything that isn't raw in the pile, because you will get roaches. No toast, no egg, no steamed broccoli. Just the fresh stuff. Thank God I met her.
Anyway, so while I never attempted cloth diapers, though I know some amazing women who are better than I am and swear by them, I figured I'd do the cloth training pants thing and redeem myself at least partially. And I did all these months while we did the on-again-off-again potty training. But now that we're there, and it seems to be serious, I've already broken that rule. Ugh. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
But my kid pees, a lot. He drinks insane amounts of water (no juice, almost no milk) and even my friends are amazed by the amount he pees, and their kids are the same age. Back to Pull-ups, it's a friggin diaper. The Cracker isn't going understand that this isn't a diaper just like the ones he's always knowN, that you aren't supposed to pee/poo in it unless it's the most unfrikinbelieveable emergency of all time. Special diaper my ass.
AND back to the my kids pees a lot argument: he holds it. When he's not in the mood he holds it until he can't hold it anymore, and then we have a flood. I put him in two, yes two pairs of thick cloth training pants, followed by a pair of absorbent water proof pants (not the skimpy shell ones) and then pants. And every single time it's still streaming down his legs, soaking his socks and finally puddling up in his shoes. Every time. Here we go with more laundry and a bath.
AND then there's the cost. Pull-ups are cheaper than size 6 diapers. Why? Because Huggies has this big conspiracy that they not only sell them at Costco, but paper the world with $2 off coupons to use everywhere else. They make it irresistable, the bastards. But with regular old 6s, even a $1 off coupon is so rare that my budget minded self has an orgasm should my mom or I actually find one. And they don't sell 6s in quantity except if you're willing to trek all the way to Toys R Us, and then it's still not enough to get me hot. And why would you ever take your 3 year old to TRU unless you're having the best friggin day ever? So I end up at Walmart or Target buying packs of 52 because it's the largest quantity you can buy, and they get you for it. "Ha ha, your kid isn't potty trained! What's wrong with you? Jesus, what's wrong with your kid! Remember when you used to be able to buy 200 diapers for this price? Those days are SO over!"
(Oh, and I also used to secretly make fun of everyone who complained about the cost of diapers. $20/month? Really people! Why is $20/month so terrible? Okay, well, insert foot in mouth here. Now it's $20 a week and my favorite subject.)
AND one day we will need to leave the house. We can't stay in the bathroom forever, even if I am raising a man. And do I really want to be dealing with pee in his shoes or all over his car seat when we do? Because I know he'll never have to go when we are anywhere near a potty. And if I encourage him to pee on the side of the road will he have to register as a sex offender when we get caught? "Yeah, my mom ruined my life. I was only 3, but she made me whip it out in public. Now I can't get a job or even a place to live. God I hate her."
So I'm *hoping* that if you count all the water from laundry and a bath, not to mention my aggravation, it's better for the world if I just do Pull-ups for now.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Adult Girlfriend Laugh
If my parents are reading this, because I know I mentioned this blog to you before, I beg of you...PLEASE DON'T READ THIS! Just don't.
I belong to a group of Mommy posters on a message board, and it's one of my only real escapes into adult life. I spend way too much time there reading and posting. Occasionally, we get a little silly.
The other day one woman asked the group something to the effect of: In case of emergency or death, do you have a deal with your friends to hide your adult stuff? So that your children or relatives wouldn't find it? Apparently, many people have this deal. Should something happen, their friends will go and dispose of everything. And they know exactly where to find it all. People really do this!
Uh no, we don't have this deal with anyone. Making such a deal never even crossed our minds. If J and I were to die together, my mom will probably have a heart attack when she comes to clean out our house, and it will be all my fault.
The only "toy" in the house is mine, though I know J has some "visual" stuff somewhere. My friends and I are all pretty left winged liberals, we all love Sex and the City, but I found out about a year ago from one friend complaining to the group about some one else that the subject of vibrators is off limits. It was "eew...I don't want to know that...how dare she tell me!" and from what I understand, this was at a bachelorette party. I think the rest of the women hearing this were just going along, but I've kept my mouth shut since then. But that's okay, because one particular girlfriend I've known since high school and I have long talks all about it on the phone. So I get to share.
Now for too much sharing...I often leave IT out in plain sight in the bedroom. I worry more about the Police or Fire Fighters seeing it than anyone I know, because our bedroom is where we pile things we don't know what to do with, and we never let anyone see it. BUT HERE'S WHAT WOULD BE THE MOST EMBARASSING PART...the dozen half-dead batteries sitting next to IT on my nightstand that I am too lazy to throw away! I, um, like a fresh battery, and I don't know what to do with the partially used ones!
(Yes, I know they make corded ones. However, no where near me sells them. So I then took my search online. I googled IT. And Netscape crashed! ROFLMAO! Not that I would ever dare give my account information to anything that would have popped up anyway. Besides, batteries at Costco are really cheap, 30 cents each, and IT takes 3, which even for only an hour or two of use is still cheaper than a Therapist or even Starbucks.)
And since I'm already sharing too much, here's my new favorite motto, which I heard Dr. Drew say on Love Line one night while driving home from Walmart. "What (young) men don't understand is that a vagina is not an inside out penis." Wow! So simple, but I could never have come up with it. Where was this man when I was dating?
Spread the word ladies!
(Be sure to click here if you weren't offended in any way by this post.)
I belong to a group of Mommy posters on a message board, and it's one of my only real escapes into adult life. I spend way too much time there reading and posting. Occasionally, we get a little silly.
The other day one woman asked the group something to the effect of: In case of emergency or death, do you have a deal with your friends to hide your adult stuff? So that your children or relatives wouldn't find it? Apparently, many people have this deal. Should something happen, their friends will go and dispose of everything. And they know exactly where to find it all. People really do this!
Uh no, we don't have this deal with anyone. Making such a deal never even crossed our minds. If J and I were to die together, my mom will probably have a heart attack when she comes to clean out our house, and it will be all my fault.
The only "toy" in the house is mine, though I know J has some "visual" stuff somewhere. My friends and I are all pretty left winged liberals, we all love Sex and the City, but I found out about a year ago from one friend complaining to the group about some one else that the subject of vibrators is off limits. It was "eew...I don't want to know that...how dare she tell me!" and from what I understand, this was at a bachelorette party. I think the rest of the women hearing this were just going along, but I've kept my mouth shut since then. But that's okay, because one particular girlfriend I've known since high school and I have long talks all about it on the phone. So I get to share.
Now for too much sharing...I often leave IT out in plain sight in the bedroom. I worry more about the Police or Fire Fighters seeing it than anyone I know, because our bedroom is where we pile things we don't know what to do with, and we never let anyone see it. BUT HERE'S WHAT WOULD BE THE MOST EMBARASSING PART...the dozen half-dead batteries sitting next to IT on my nightstand that I am too lazy to throw away! I, um, like a fresh battery, and I don't know what to do with the partially used ones!
(Yes, I know they make corded ones. However, no where near me sells them. So I then took my search online. I googled IT. And Netscape crashed! ROFLMAO! Not that I would ever dare give my account information to anything that would have popped up anyway. Besides, batteries at Costco are really cheap, 30 cents each, and IT takes 3, which even for only an hour or two of use is still cheaper than a Therapist or even Starbucks.)
And since I'm already sharing too much, here's my new favorite motto, which I heard Dr. Drew say on Love Line one night while driving home from Walmart. "What (young) men don't understand is that a vagina is not an inside out penis." Wow! So simple, but I could never have come up with it. Where was this man when I was dating?
Spread the word ladies!
(Be sure to click here if you weren't offended in any way by this post.)
Saturday, May 20, 2006
I love fugly shoes
Okay, I'm really bummed out. Why? Because Crocs have become popular.
I have what I like to call my mommy uniform. Nine times out of ten, no matter what the weather, I am wearing capri pants and the same shirt. Assuming I've done the laundry (and that's a big IF) my only shirt decision is long sleeve or short, and color. Yes, I have like 1000 of the same shirt, and from Target. And do I mix it up with the color? Nooooo. I have 75% black, 20% white, and one each of red, light blue, brown, gray and eggplant. And the pants aren't much better. If I'm not wearing capris, I'm wearing jeans. But really what's the fun of shopping anymore when I'm going to be covered in something sticky an hour after getting dressed? And in winter I just top it off with any of my numerous black fleeces. I only wear makeup to weddings and don't get excited by jewelry. I never style my hair. But I'm still a girl, I swear!
Who have I become?
I'm not a totally lost cause though, because I express myself through shoes instead. Crazy colorful shoes! Comfy, hideously ugly shoes!
Back in Spring of 2003, the Cracker and I went to Boulder, Colorado for a friend's funeral. (That's where J and I were living when we met.) And, yes, back in early 2003 Cros were already out there. They started in a little town just outside of Boulder.
So an itty bitty Cracker and I were out walking on Pearl Street, and I see this woman walk by with pink Crocs on. "What the hell are those on her feet? Those are the ugliest shoes ever!"
WHERE CAN I FIND A PAIR?
Luckily we're already on Pearl Street, so I run as fast as I can to the Pedestrian Shop. And they have them! And they're only $40, which in my ugly shoe world is cheap-a-roni.
So I come back home and amaze my friends. Then I do a little traveling over the next year and amaze even more people. I even dare to take them with me to New England and Pennsylvania summer of 2004. My very proper East Coast relatives try to find the bright side. "Oh, they're like gardening clogs" that's she wearing outside in public. Nope, not gonna find these babies at Smith & Hawken! I don't see another pair on anyone until I leave the mainland for Hawaii in March of 2005. Then by the end of that summer, they start creeping into the stores. And you can find them more easily on the internet. But it's still okay, because now I've been able to snag a pair of the hard to get purple ones previously only available in children's sizes. Yippie!
But now...well, you know. Sigh. I start ugly shoe trends.
The Cracker even has a pair. And on him it's still cute, because at least where I live there aren't a lot of little boys wearing them. We started off with knock-off pair in dark blue, because I wasn't sure if he would like them AND I wasn't about to spend 30 bucks on a pair of shoes he might not be able to walk in. But he LOVES them. So then a few months ago I scored a "chocolate" pair of real ones. As of yesterday though he wants to wear one blue and one brown at the same time. And only the left ones. You know, two left shoes. My control freak self is having a hard time with this not because of the two colors or even his preference for the left shoe being on his right foot, but because the blue ones are fake and the brown ones aren't and they look ever so slightly different! I swear...
Another ugly shoe trend I started? Not as big, but I did start it. Keens. Mary Janes ones, first in black, then red.
"What's next?" you ask. How can you too stay ahead of the fugly shoe trends along with me?
I have these, purchased early last year. Waterproof scores big with me, because we never know when we're going to find a puddle to jump in. I found them at Nordstroms in the kiddie department, but was able to get my size by going directly to Birkenstock.
Honestly, I wish I'd seen these first, even if they aren't waterproof. Much better use of the print.
Drumroll please... This is my absolute favorite pair of all time. The picture doesn't do them justice. They are by El Natura Lista from the Iggdrasil line. I bought them back in 2004, so they should be popular any day now. And my name is Heidi, so of course I'm totally drawn to them. You can't see it, but there is a little frog on the toe.
And probably the funnest thing about these shoes? They're green, as in environmentally friendly. Except for the leather, I think everything about them is recycled, and while they are leather, most stores carrying them advertize them as "vegetarian." The recycled rubber soles smell like peppermint (or something) to help fight odor. LOL And then if that isn't enough, here's a description from their web site:
"(The leather) is tanned using vegetable extracts and ground tree bark. It is greased in a slow delicate process, by expert hands in an entirely artisan fashion, using animal fat and olive and sunflower oils. Once it is dry, the outer coat of the leather is minutely IMPREGNATED with olive oil."
I love it! them! whatever!
Besides fugly shoes, I love fugly purses. However, they are harder to find in my price range and I kinda stopped buying them when I switch-a-roni'd to a diaper bag. And while any fugly shoe goes with any of my Target shirts and capris, it's harder to match a bag, if ya KWIM.
I have what I like to call my mommy uniform. Nine times out of ten, no matter what the weather, I am wearing capri pants and the same shirt. Assuming I've done the laundry (and that's a big IF) my only shirt decision is long sleeve or short, and color. Yes, I have like 1000 of the same shirt, and from Target. And do I mix it up with the color? Nooooo. I have 75% black, 20% white, and one each of red, light blue, brown, gray and eggplant. And the pants aren't much better. If I'm not wearing capris, I'm wearing jeans. But really what's the fun of shopping anymore when I'm going to be covered in something sticky an hour after getting dressed? And in winter I just top it off with any of my numerous black fleeces. I only wear makeup to weddings and don't get excited by jewelry. I never style my hair. But I'm still a girl, I swear!
Who have I become?
I'm not a totally lost cause though, because I express myself through shoes instead. Crazy colorful shoes! Comfy, hideously ugly shoes!
Back in Spring of 2003, the Cracker and I went to Boulder, Colorado for a friend's funeral. (That's where J and I were living when we met.) And, yes, back in early 2003 Cros were already out there. They started in a little town just outside of Boulder.
So an itty bitty Cracker and I were out walking on Pearl Street, and I see this woman walk by with pink Crocs on. "What the hell are those on her feet? Those are the ugliest shoes ever!"
WHERE CAN I FIND A PAIR?
Luckily we're already on Pearl Street, so I run as fast as I can to the Pedestrian Shop. And they have them! And they're only $40, which in my ugly shoe world is cheap-a-roni.
So I come back home and amaze my friends. Then I do a little traveling over the next year and amaze even more people. I even dare to take them with me to New England and Pennsylvania summer of 2004. My very proper East Coast relatives try to find the bright side. "Oh, they're like gardening clogs" that's she wearing outside in public. Nope, not gonna find these babies at Smith & Hawken! I don't see another pair on anyone until I leave the mainland for Hawaii in March of 2005. Then by the end of that summer, they start creeping into the stores. And you can find them more easily on the internet. But it's still okay, because now I've been able to snag a pair of the hard to get purple ones previously only available in children's sizes. Yippie!
But now...well, you know. Sigh. I start ugly shoe trends.
The Cracker even has a pair. And on him it's still cute, because at least where I live there aren't a lot of little boys wearing them. We started off with knock-off pair in dark blue, because I wasn't sure if he would like them AND I wasn't about to spend 30 bucks on a pair of shoes he might not be able to walk in. But he LOVES them. So then a few months ago I scored a "chocolate" pair of real ones. As of yesterday though he wants to wear one blue and one brown at the same time. And only the left ones. You know, two left shoes. My control freak self is having a hard time with this not because of the two colors or even his preference for the left shoe being on his right foot, but because the blue ones are fake and the brown ones aren't and they look ever so slightly different! I swear...
Another ugly shoe trend I started? Not as big, but I did start it. Keens. Mary Janes ones, first in black, then red.
"What's next?" you ask. How can you too stay ahead of the fugly shoe trends along with me?
I have these, purchased early last year. Waterproof scores big with me, because we never know when we're going to find a puddle to jump in. I found them at Nordstroms in the kiddie department, but was able to get my size by going directly to Birkenstock.
Honestly, I wish I'd seen these first, even if they aren't waterproof. Much better use of the print.
Drumroll please... This is my absolute favorite pair of all time. The picture doesn't do them justice. They are by El Natura Lista from the Iggdrasil line. I bought them back in 2004, so they should be popular any day now. And my name is Heidi, so of course I'm totally drawn to them. You can't see it, but there is a little frog on the toe.
And probably the funnest thing about these shoes? They're green, as in environmentally friendly. Except for the leather, I think everything about them is recycled, and while they are leather, most stores carrying them advertize them as "vegetarian." The recycled rubber soles smell like peppermint (or something) to help fight odor. LOL And then if that isn't enough, here's a description from their web site:
"(The leather) is tanned using vegetable extracts and ground tree bark. It is greased in a slow delicate process, by expert hands in an entirely artisan fashion, using animal fat and olive and sunflower oils. Once it is dry, the outer coat of the leather is minutely IMPREGNATED with olive oil."
I love it! them! whatever!
Besides fugly shoes, I love fugly purses. However, they are harder to find in my price range and I kinda stopped buying them when I switch-a-roni'd to a diaper bag. And while any fugly shoe goes with any of my Target shirts and capris, it's harder to match a bag, if ya KWIM.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Not even in Kindergarten yet
AND I ALREADY HAVE A CARPOOL VENT
The Cracker is starting preschool in the fall, and since we're kinda on the edge of civilization, I'll be driving 22-25 minutes each way 2x/week, but it's close to Costco, Target, etc, so I'll be able to do my errands while he's there. Living where we do already meant that there weren't any preschools closer than 15 minutes away, and driving the extra few minutes seems worth it because it's the PERFECT school. I know this because I spent 3 months visiting every darn school and none of the others were even kind of a good fit. And really, it's only for 2 years, and his elementary school is less than a mile away, so we'll be able to walk then.
Now that you have the lengthy background...where we live everyone separates location by which side of the river you're on. Well, we are Westsiders, and this East side school only has one other Westside family. The Cracker and I have been going to school every week for the last two months (for free!) and I stay so that the transition will be easier this fall. (No other preschool offers that, and the teachers even make home visits in summer...that's how cool it is. Talk about dedication!) Anyway, so it was suggested when I met this other family that we carpool. Cool, sounds good, though I would be a little nervous, but I would probably get over it. Well, the other family lives 35 minutes away in the wrong direction. Ummm...okay, that doesn't help. School is only 22 minutes if I hit the lights right. If we carpool, it's going to be 50+ minutes each way, and there is no where to meet in between because there are no river crossings close by. Remember the river? So yes, we live on the same side, but carpooling is crazy. Anyway, I cannot convince her. I've tried and tried to explain where we live, but she just doesn't get it. So today we go to school and the teachers who don't know the logistics tell me "Good news! It was crazy trying to figure it all out, but she's switched days with other parents so that your kids will be here the same days and you can carpool!" Ahh! I don't want to be a bitch, but no way. I am not a morning person, and we have to leave early to get there in time as it is. And then taking car seats out of one car and putting them in another...nuh uh. I also thought that after our last discussion 2 weeks ago that she'd finally gotten the point, but I guess not.
Crap.
The Cracker is starting preschool in the fall, and since we're kinda on the edge of civilization, I'll be driving 22-25 minutes each way 2x/week, but it's close to Costco, Target, etc, so I'll be able to do my errands while he's there. Living where we do already meant that there weren't any preschools closer than 15 minutes away, and driving the extra few minutes seems worth it because it's the PERFECT school. I know this because I spent 3 months visiting every darn school and none of the others were even kind of a good fit. And really, it's only for 2 years, and his elementary school is less than a mile away, so we'll be able to walk then.
Now that you have the lengthy background...where we live everyone separates location by which side of the river you're on. Well, we are Westsiders, and this East side school only has one other Westside family. The Cracker and I have been going to school every week for the last two months (for free!) and I stay so that the transition will be easier this fall. (No other preschool offers that, and the teachers even make home visits in summer...that's how cool it is. Talk about dedication!) Anyway, so it was suggested when I met this other family that we carpool. Cool, sounds good, though I would be a little nervous, but I would probably get over it. Well, the other family lives 35 minutes away in the wrong direction. Ummm...okay, that doesn't help. School is only 22 minutes if I hit the lights right. If we carpool, it's going to be 50+ minutes each way, and there is no where to meet in between because there are no river crossings close by. Remember the river? So yes, we live on the same side, but carpooling is crazy. Anyway, I cannot convince her. I've tried and tried to explain where we live, but she just doesn't get it. So today we go to school and the teachers who don't know the logistics tell me "Good news! It was crazy trying to figure it all out, but she's switched days with other parents so that your kids will be here the same days and you can carpool!" Ahh! I don't want to be a bitch, but no way. I am not a morning person, and we have to leave early to get there in time as it is. And then taking car seats out of one car and putting them in another...nuh uh. I also thought that after our last discussion 2 weeks ago that she'd finally gotten the point, but I guess not.
Crap.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
True love is
when your dear husband spends more than an hour trying to fix your vibrator with a soldering iron and then tells you "Honey, it's too far gone. Go buy yourself that new one you've been wanting. Don't worry about the cost...you're worth it!"
Monday, May 15, 2006
Happy Mother's Day
A BIG, FAT VENT
Mother's Day was bad. J slept in, and I started my day off just like any other. No gift, which would have been fine, but no nothing. No card, no plans. He knows how much things like this mean to me, as stupid as it is, and all he had to do was hand the Cracker a pen and a piece of paper, which are all over the house, and I would have had a picture. He's always happy to draw. But no. And I'd told him before that that was all that was hoped for. Then, just in case there weren't any plans for dinner, I had a dinner ready to go. BBQ, so that while I would still do all the prep, at least he could grill it. But alas J decided it was too windy. I never really watched West Wing, maybe 5 episodes total, but I was interested in seeing the series finale. It's down to the last few minutes, J has just announced that he won't grill due to wind, which if he'd gotten on it at a reasonable hour would not have been windy, the Cracker is whining about being hungry, and J is telling him "we can't eat until mom gets up and makes us something." I was too angry at the time so I kept my mouth shut, but I told him later as nicely as I could, "Hey, it was Mother's Day. How bout a break?"
Mother's Day was bad. J slept in, and I started my day off just like any other. No gift, which would have been fine, but no nothing. No card, no plans. He knows how much things like this mean to me, as stupid as it is, and all he had to do was hand the Cracker a pen and a piece of paper, which are all over the house, and I would have had a picture. He's always happy to draw. But no. And I'd told him before that that was all that was hoped for. Then, just in case there weren't any plans for dinner, I had a dinner ready to go. BBQ, so that while I would still do all the prep, at least he could grill it. But alas J decided it was too windy. I never really watched West Wing, maybe 5 episodes total, but I was interested in seeing the series finale. It's down to the last few minutes, J has just announced that he won't grill due to wind, which if he'd gotten on it at a reasonable hour would not have been windy, the Cracker is whining about being hungry, and J is telling him "we can't eat until mom gets up and makes us something." I was too angry at the time so I kept my mouth shut, but I told him later as nicely as I could, "Hey, it was Mother's Day. How bout a break?"
Monday, May 08, 2006
Not really that funny
but in my current state of mind it is.
From my dad:
A woman calls her boss one morning and tells him that
she is staying home because she is not feeling well.
"What's the matter?" he asks.
"I have a case of anal glaucoma," she says in a weak
voice.
"What the hell is anal glaucoma," he asks?
She answers, "I can't see my ass coming in to work today."
From my dad:
A woman calls her boss one morning and tells him that
she is staying home because she is not feeling well.
"What's the matter?" he asks.
"I have a case of anal glaucoma," she says in a weak
voice.
"What the hell is anal glaucoma," he asks?
She answers, "I can't see my ass coming in to work today."
Friday, April 21, 2006
What turns you on?
I am already an online gaming widow, but I still can't help but get turned on by the idea of J taking that electric guitar of his and starting a band. This is just a fantasy. Because if he ever made me into a band widow I'd kick him. Hard.
Years ago I innocently came up with a new name for J's favorite music genre: Semi Angry Adult Contemporary. It was the subtitle to a mix CD that I named "Pissed On." (Know you, better to be pissed off than pissed on? I am so lame.) This is what they'd play. And a little more contemporary stuff too. You know, anything from the 1990s. (For the record, I am 28 and J is 31? I could do the math, but it's 5 o'clock somewhere.) You know the kind of music I'm talking about if you ever wore Docs or were turned on by ripped flannel. Yes, the Seattle grunge thing. Know what I wore? Ripped jeans made for someone 50 pounds bigger than me (Oh wait! My current size!) Docs, with a frumpy skirt or dress OVER the jeans. And because I lived in label conscious California, it wasn't just any frumpy dress you could pick up at the Paccholi store even though we had plenty of those around. No, I wore frumpy dresses and skirts from LAURA FRIGGIN ASHLEY. (That really is her middle name btw.) Ooh! Don't forget the little black over priced wallet from Pacific Sun with a heavy weight dog chain attached. You know, in case anyone tried to steal you library card and babysitting money? I may have gone to public school, but most of the kids were much more concerned with the fact that the brand new $40K car they'd gotten for their 16th birthday was the wrong color.
Why bring this up now? Last night while the Cracker was still sobbing because an elderly neighbor (that he normally loves) had the balls to wave at him on our walk to the mailbox, it hit me. I named the fantasy band!
Cubed. Except you wouldn't spell it out, just have a little superscript 3.
Okay, you're not laughing. But I swear it's clever! J is an Engineer, not super nerdy, but still an Engineer. And when he's not at home in front of his gaming computer, he's in a cube.
J nearly peed his pants, which is good, because while we still find each other outrageously snort-Coke-out-your-nose funny, even our oldest and dearest friends are starting to just nod uh huh and ignore our messages.
"So some dork would go into a music store and say I'm looking for Cubed, but it's not under the Cs?"
"Ohmygod! Yes!"
"And the lowly clerk would be like Get the hell out of my store!"
"You are so my soul mate!"
And the clever part is that the last word anyone would ever use to describe me is nerd, but J has rubbed off on me a little. My dad is also an Engineer. And while I'm bored, I can follow his technical conversations better than any other Engineer's wife I know. I can even ask meaningful questions and accurately point out a stupid mistake made by a tech in the lab before J has the chance to tell me.
Rather than use and, because and parentheses a million time like I normally do (it’s they typing diahreah I can’t seem to shake…you know, being able to type faster than you can think) here’s a list to paint you a picture of my sexy man:
-tall and thin with glasses
-1 tattoo soon to become 2
-looks like he could jump on a mountain bike and go jump piles of dirt with the pros
-can name a Phish song
-watches The Daily Show, South Park, Simpsons, Family Guy
-enjoys the occasional microbrew
-pierced his ear cartilage in a romantic date with me back in 1996, which has since grown out. It was his first carilage piercing, my second, also now grown out.
-which brings me to finds my nose piercing sexy
-favorite t-shirt is a tie between Optimus Prime (from the Transformers) drawn ghetto style and one that says Engineerd
-wears Birkenstocks (no black socks, thank God)
-played Ultimate Frisbee in college
-most importantly, has social skills
And the stuff I've already mentioned:
-plays electric guitar
-listens to Semi Angry Adult Contemporary
-online gaming phreak
Sadly, he still can't always be left to dress himself. Most days the Cracker and I are up before he is (which of course makes me curse him) but on the rare occasion he's dressed and gone before I am up, he always makes a Engineer fashion no-no.
The last one? Ooh...this was good.
Beige shoes.
Black and charcoal stripped socks.
Dark brown seuded dress pants.
Shiny black belt.
Wife beater.
Light gray distressed polo shirt, and distressed as in not a work shirt because brand new it still looked like a river rock had wailed on it
And now for the cherry: he's a red head!
Even as a teenager, I've never found most of the Hollywood leading men attractive. Brad Pit...no. Tom Cruise, in Top Gun, before the creepiness...hell no. Dermot Mulroney, who almost ruined Wedding Date for me, and who keeps popping up in every chick flick I rent lately...oh so creepy! In the world of music...New Kids on the Block? Wise beyond my years on that one.
Which brings me now to my short list of men I find attractive:
Topher Grace
Sharif Atkins
Matt Czuchry
Billy Joe Armstrong (now there's a guy who can pull off eye makeup!)
Patrick Dempsey (but who doesn't love him now?)
UPDATING TO ADD --> Jon Stewart (how the heck did I forget him??? I love this man!)
Hugh Jackman
Colin Firth
And because of the last two, whom J has decided are British because they have non-American accents, he tells everyone that I love Hugh Grant. Eew...no.
Years ago I innocently came up with a new name for J's favorite music genre: Semi Angry Adult Contemporary. It was the subtitle to a mix CD that I named "Pissed On." (Know you, better to be pissed off than pissed on? I am so lame.) This is what they'd play. And a little more contemporary stuff too. You know, anything from the 1990s. (For the record, I am 28 and J is 31? I could do the math, but it's 5 o'clock somewhere.) You know the kind of music I'm talking about if you ever wore Docs or were turned on by ripped flannel. Yes, the Seattle grunge thing. Know what I wore? Ripped jeans made for someone 50 pounds bigger than me (Oh wait! My current size!) Docs, with a frumpy skirt or dress OVER the jeans. And because I lived in label conscious California, it wasn't just any frumpy dress you could pick up at the Paccholi store even though we had plenty of those around. No, I wore frumpy dresses and skirts from LAURA FRIGGIN ASHLEY. (That really is her middle name btw.) Ooh! Don't forget the little black over priced wallet from Pacific Sun with a heavy weight dog chain attached. You know, in case anyone tried to steal you library card and babysitting money? I may have gone to public school, but most of the kids were much more concerned with the fact that the brand new $40K car they'd gotten for their 16th birthday was the wrong color.
Why bring this up now? Last night while the Cracker was still sobbing because an elderly neighbor (that he normally loves) had the balls to wave at him on our walk to the mailbox, it hit me. I named the fantasy band!
Cubed. Except you wouldn't spell it out, just have a little superscript 3.
Okay, you're not laughing. But I swear it's clever! J is an Engineer, not super nerdy, but still an Engineer. And when he's not at home in front of his gaming computer, he's in a cube.
J nearly peed his pants, which is good, because while we still find each other outrageously snort-Coke-out-your-nose funny, even our oldest and dearest friends are starting to just nod uh huh and ignore our messages.
"So some dork would go into a music store and say I'm looking for Cubed, but it's not under the Cs?"
"Ohmygod! Yes!"
"And the lowly clerk would be like Get the hell out of my store!"
"You are so my soul mate!"
And the clever part is that the last word anyone would ever use to describe me is nerd, but J has rubbed off on me a little. My dad is also an Engineer. And while I'm bored, I can follow his technical conversations better than any other Engineer's wife I know. I can even ask meaningful questions and accurately point out a stupid mistake made by a tech in the lab before J has the chance to tell me.
Rather than use and, because and parentheses a million time like I normally do (it’s they typing diahreah I can’t seem to shake…you know, being able to type faster than you can think) here’s a list to paint you a picture of my sexy man:
-tall and thin with glasses
-1 tattoo soon to become 2
-looks like he could jump on a mountain bike and go jump piles of dirt with the pros
-can name a Phish song
-watches The Daily Show, South Park, Simpsons, Family Guy
-enjoys the occasional microbrew
-pierced his ear cartilage in a romantic date with me back in 1996, which has since grown out. It was his first carilage piercing, my second, also now grown out.
-which brings me to finds my nose piercing sexy
-favorite t-shirt is a tie between Optimus Prime (from the Transformers) drawn ghetto style and one that says Engineerd
-wears Birkenstocks (no black socks, thank God)
-played Ultimate Frisbee in college
-most importantly, has social skills
And the stuff I've already mentioned:
-plays electric guitar
-listens to Semi Angry Adult Contemporary
-online gaming phreak
Sadly, he still can't always be left to dress himself. Most days the Cracker and I are up before he is (which of course makes me curse him) but on the rare occasion he's dressed and gone before I am up, he always makes a Engineer fashion no-no.
The last one? Ooh...this was good.
Beige shoes.
Black and charcoal stripped socks.
Dark brown seuded dress pants.
Shiny black belt.
Wife beater.
Light gray distressed polo shirt, and distressed as in not a work shirt because brand new it still looked like a river rock had wailed on it
And now for the cherry: he's a red head!
Even as a teenager, I've never found most of the Hollywood leading men attractive. Brad Pit...no. Tom Cruise, in Top Gun, before the creepiness...hell no. Dermot Mulroney, who almost ruined Wedding Date for me, and who keeps popping up in every chick flick I rent lately...oh so creepy! In the world of music...New Kids on the Block? Wise beyond my years on that one.
Which brings me now to my short list of men I find attractive:
Topher Grace
Sharif Atkins
Matt Czuchry
Billy Joe Armstrong (now there's a guy who can pull off eye makeup!)
Patrick Dempsey (but who doesn't love him now?)
UPDATING TO ADD --> Jon Stewart (how the heck did I forget him??? I love this man!)
Hugh Jackman
Colin Firth
And because of the last two, whom J has decided are British because they have non-American accents, he tells everyone that I love Hugh Grant. Eew...no.
Monday, April 03, 2006
The Big Three
It happened. I survived. We partied the following Sunday.
Everything went well except the food. Normally when we have people over, I make more than any of our guests could possibly eat. Then try as we might to finish it over the next few days I still end up tossing most of it. This time I decided to cut back, but sadly the poor dad who served himself last ended up not getting a hot dog, which he would have liked, and then a bunless hamburger. To make matters worse, all the kids had a hamburger bun, had taken a bite, and then left it for trash. And we even had a last minute cancellation from a family of four. Wow, I really goofed.
Then there was the cake situation. The Cracker and I couldn't choose between a Tonka Truck cake or the Little People Farm cake, so instead we ordered a small one of each instead of one big one.
There were two Tonka construction cakes to choose from, one lame one, one cool one. So I steered him towards the non-lame one and they of course made the lame one. It still had trucks though, so the Cracker was happy with it. Me, however, I was disappointed. You see, the cool one looked like something Martha Stewart's handlers would have done. The other one was just kinda tacky. (The frosting was unnatural and very scary looking.) AND they spelled his name wrong. Fine. Whatever. So they brought out the LP cake. It was LP, but instead of being a farm theme, it was general "Little People Have a Birthday Party" themed. And this did matter, because the Cracker loves LP and he loves farms. When we placed the order a few days earlier in person with the decorator she even checked to make sure that they had the right pieces, the cow, the farmer, and then put them in a bag with our name on it. Sigh.
The guy at the bakery felt bad. The order forms were right in front of him, and he could see that they were indeed the wrong cakes and that his name was spelled wrong on the truck cake. He didn't do the decorating, the woman who took our order 2 days earlier did. Ugh. Me? I excell at baking, even creative decorating, but for some reason I have never been able to do anything decent with a tube of frosting. So the nice man offered to try to fix it. He got the right figurines, made balloons into trees, and generally did the best he could. Then he gave me a free Chai and knocked the customization fee off the price of the cakes. I almost hugged him.
Other than that, all went well. The Cracker got amazingly thoughtful gifts, and had a great time with his peeps.
Everything went well except the food. Normally when we have people over, I make more than any of our guests could possibly eat. Then try as we might to finish it over the next few days I still end up tossing most of it. This time I decided to cut back, but sadly the poor dad who served himself last ended up not getting a hot dog, which he would have liked, and then a bunless hamburger. To make matters worse, all the kids had a hamburger bun, had taken a bite, and then left it for trash. And we even had a last minute cancellation from a family of four. Wow, I really goofed.
Then there was the cake situation. The Cracker and I couldn't choose between a Tonka Truck cake or the Little People Farm cake, so instead we ordered a small one of each instead of one big one.
There were two Tonka construction cakes to choose from, one lame one, one cool one. So I steered him towards the non-lame one and they of course made the lame one. It still had trucks though, so the Cracker was happy with it. Me, however, I was disappointed. You see, the cool one looked like something Martha Stewart's handlers would have done. The other one was just kinda tacky. (The frosting was unnatural and very scary looking.) AND they spelled his name wrong. Fine. Whatever. So they brought out the LP cake. It was LP, but instead of being a farm theme, it was general "Little People Have a Birthday Party" themed. And this did matter, because the Cracker loves LP and he loves farms. When we placed the order a few days earlier in person with the decorator she even checked to make sure that they had the right pieces, the cow, the farmer, and then put them in a bag with our name on it. Sigh.
The guy at the bakery felt bad. The order forms were right in front of him, and he could see that they were indeed the wrong cakes and that his name was spelled wrong on the truck cake. He didn't do the decorating, the woman who took our order 2 days earlier did. Ugh. Me? I excell at baking, even creative decorating, but for some reason I have never been able to do anything decent with a tube of frosting. So the nice man offered to try to fix it. He got the right figurines, made balloons into trees, and generally did the best he could. Then he gave me a free Chai and knocked the customization fee off the price of the cakes. I almost hugged him.
Other than that, all went well. The Cracker got amazingly thoughtful gifts, and had a great time with his peeps.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The funniest darn thing I've seen in a long time
You'll appreciate it if you've ever had anyone in your life who likes video games a little too much. (Raising hand here!) It starts out a little slow, but stick with it. I guarentee it's worth it.
Tripod performing "Make You Happy Tonight"
Tripod performing "Make You Happy Tonight"
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
First Movie, Part 2
Well, we did it. We took the Craker to see his first big screen flick.
The short version was it was a success.
And if you care to keep reading, the L-O-N-G version: since J and I don't date anymore, I had forgotten how darn expensive it can be to go to the movies at night. Tickets for 3 (no kiddie discounts? WTF! He's 2! Doesn't the world owe me something for nothing?) and J didn't want to share popcorn with him. It cost like a gazillion dollars. And while we skimp on the drinks and J and I share a miniscule drink along with really salty snacks, you just can't skimp on the popcorn. I mean it was his first time. And he's never had popcorn before, because of the whole you can choke and die thing.
Being taking-our-2-year-old-to-the-movies virgins, we didn't anticipate the fact that Cracker, at a mere 29lbs, would not be heavy enough to keep the seat from trying to fold up on him. We get into the theatre early and immediately we can see that this is going to be an issue for the entire flick. Right before George comes on, I spot a woman a few rows behind me with a little kid and some sort of booster seat. "Wow, that's great!" I tell her. "Where did you get that? Can you rent them here, or did you bring it from home? We totally need one of those!" Instead of being a sympathetic mommy colleague she is disgusted with my total-idiot-taking-my-2-year-old-to-the-movies-virgin-self. "They are right there!" and she points off behind her. "Where?" Ugh. "Right THERE, NEAR THE DOOR!" Huh? What? Where? So after getting up and surfing through the crowd I find no less than 100 of these magic boosters right inside the door waiting to be used and for free. I literally must have tripped over them on the way in. But still, it is so much to ask that veterans not look down at the rest of us? We've all been that mom once.
Now the seat folding on my child problem...solved. And while he's not too happy about sitting, the popcorn is buttery gold, and he's having the time of his life even if he doesn't want to be there.
But then, the movie starts, and the Cracker is immediately in love with Curious George. Infatuated. Total success! He doesn't blink, he doesn't twitch, he doesn't move...at all. J and I get bored and start waving fingers in front of his face. The only sign he's still alive is that he strains his neck to the side because we're obstructing his view of the gigantic screen.
On the way home what does he ask to eat? Nananas. The one fruit he has never really taken to. But hey, if it's good enough for a monkey...
The short version was it was a success.
And if you care to keep reading, the L-O-N-G version: since J and I don't date anymore, I had forgotten how darn expensive it can be to go to the movies at night. Tickets for 3 (no kiddie discounts? WTF! He's 2! Doesn't the world owe me something for nothing?) and J didn't want to share popcorn with him. It cost like a gazillion dollars. And while we skimp on the drinks and J and I share a miniscule drink along with really salty snacks, you just can't skimp on the popcorn. I mean it was his first time. And he's never had popcorn before, because of the whole you can choke and die thing.
Being taking-our-2-year-old-to-the-movies virgins, we didn't anticipate the fact that Cracker, at a mere 29lbs, would not be heavy enough to keep the seat from trying to fold up on him. We get into the theatre early and immediately we can see that this is going to be an issue for the entire flick. Right before George comes on, I spot a woman a few rows behind me with a little kid and some sort of booster seat. "Wow, that's great!" I tell her. "Where did you get that? Can you rent them here, or did you bring it from home? We totally need one of those!" Instead of being a sympathetic mommy colleague she is disgusted with my total-idiot-taking-my-2-year-old-to-the-movies-virgin-self. "They are right there!" and she points off behind her. "Where?" Ugh. "Right THERE, NEAR THE DOOR!" Huh? What? Where? So after getting up and surfing through the crowd I find no less than 100 of these magic boosters right inside the door waiting to be used and for free. I literally must have tripped over them on the way in. But still, it is so much to ask that veterans not look down at the rest of us? We've all been that mom once.
Now the seat folding on my child problem...solved. And while he's not too happy about sitting, the popcorn is buttery gold, and he's having the time of his life even if he doesn't want to be there.
But then, the movie starts, and the Cracker is immediately in love with Curious George. Infatuated. Total success! He doesn't blink, he doesn't twitch, he doesn't move...at all. J and I get bored and start waving fingers in front of his face. The only sign he's still alive is that he strains his neck to the side because we're obstructing his view of the gigantic screen.
On the way home what does he ask to eat? Nananas. The one fruit he has never really taken to. But hey, if it's good enough for a monkey...
Saturday, February 11, 2006
First Movie, Part 1
Me: J, I've thought of the perfect thing that we can do tonight as a family!
J: Huh?
Me: I've thought of the perfect thing that we can do tonight as a family!
J: Okay...
Me: And you can even SLEEP the entire time and still get credit!
J: Okay... (scared now)
Me: We can take the Cracker to see his first movie! Curious George!
J: Isn't this opening weekend?
Me: (Mumbling)
J: Didn't it just open this week?
Me: ALL THE MOMS ON THE INTERNET ARE DOING IT! I'm so excited that I'm getting in the mood.
J: Get your coat.
J: Huh?
Me: I've thought of the perfect thing that we can do tonight as a family!
J: Okay...
Me: And you can even SLEEP the entire time and still get credit!
J: Okay... (scared now)
Me: We can take the Cracker to see his first movie! Curious George!
J: Isn't this opening weekend?
Me: (Mumbling)
J: Didn't it just open this week?
Me: ALL THE MOMS ON THE INTERNET ARE DOING IT! I'm so excited that I'm getting in the mood.
J: Get your coat.
Friday, February 10, 2006
For all of you on pins and needles
We got the magic call today...we're enrolled officially in preschool for the fall! It was a terrible, exhaustive search, and I actually thought it might kill me. After every visit to a promising candidate I'd get terribly disappointed, thinking that maybe what I had in mind just wasn't out there. And then I found IT, the preschool of my dreams! And then I spent weeks wondering if they'd have room for us, and what the heck would I do if they didn't? The only thing that kept me sane was the fact that we were first in line on the list for new students.
All this for 2.5 hours a day 2 days a week. Sheesh.
BUT WE'RE IN! WE'RE IN!
(Now my deposit check just better not get lost in the mail...)
All this for 2.5 hours a day 2 days a week. Sheesh.
BUT WE'RE IN! WE'RE IN!
(Now my deposit check just better not get lost in the mail...)
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Best New Phrase of the Week
"HAY GUCK" as in a truck that transports hay...duh.
According to the Cracker, cows and "orses" eat hay, but no one else at the "E-I-E-O" does.
And for those of you who didn't already know, ducks are NOT birds. They're DUCKS. They swim in the water, but they do not fly because they are not birds and they are not airplanes. And if you happen to see a duck fly as the Cracker has on numerous occasions, well, you deny it over and over, because who likes to be wrong?
And so our newest expression is "When ducks fly!"
According to the Cracker, cows and "orses" eat hay, but no one else at the "E-I-E-O" does.
And for those of you who didn't already know, ducks are NOT birds. They're DUCKS. They swim in the water, but they do not fly because they are not birds and they are not airplanes. And if you happen to see a duck fly as the Cracker has on numerous occasions, well, you deny it over and over, because who likes to be wrong?
And so our newest expression is "When ducks fly!"
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Pie?
Breakfast is always yogurt since my dear son still refuses to drink milk. YoBaby, our brand of choice, comes packaged in three different flavor combos: apple and blueberry, pear and peach, or banana and vanilla. The Cracker decided a few months back that he only eats banana and vanilla.
So every morning I ask for Your Majesty's choice...banana or vanilla, pronounced by the Cracker as "nanana" and "fower" (because you know vanilla is a flower and not just a bean, or at least there is a picture of a flower on the package, so go with me on this one.) Usually we start with "nanana" and then move to a "fower" and then for #3 it's totally up in the air. But this morning I was told "No nanana, no fower. Me...eat...pie!" Yeah, I don't think so.
There is no pie in my house. The only time there is ever pie in my house is when my parent's visit twice a year. Other than that, you will not find pie here. J doesn't like pie, and I don't want to eat a whole one myself. My tushie doesn't need that.
Toddlers never forget. It's pretty creepy.
So every morning I ask for Your Majesty's choice...banana or vanilla, pronounced by the Cracker as "nanana" and "fower" (because you know vanilla is a flower and not just a bean, or at least there is a picture of a flower on the package, so go with me on this one.) Usually we start with "nanana" and then move to a "fower" and then for #3 it's totally up in the air. But this morning I was told "No nanana, no fower. Me...eat...pie!" Yeah, I don't think so.
There is no pie in my house. The only time there is ever pie in my house is when my parent's visit twice a year. Other than that, you will not find pie here. J doesn't like pie, and I don't want to eat a whole one myself. My tushie doesn't need that.
Toddlers never forget. It's pretty creepy.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
3
WARNING: Sentimental Mommy Post
Before the Cracker was born the number 3 never had any significance in my life - it was just another number. If you had pushed me about the number 3 I would have told you about how my aunt gave me an "I'm Three" necklace for my third birthday (Carrie Bradshaw style) which instantly became one of my most prized possessions until I accidentally swallowed it. My poor mom actually had to watch for it to pass, dig it out, disinfect it with only God-knows-what and give it right back to me. (And of course it was still one of my most prized possessions because what 3 year old would care that it had been part of a number 2.)
But all that changed when after 42 weeks and 1 day of gestation, the Cracker entered the big wide world on 3.30.2003.
And tonight it hit me, really hit me...my little boy, gulp, is about to turn 3.
I feel like crying.
Adult birthdays are supposed to be hard. The grand majority of the population either ignores them or gets depressed. But I never realized how hard this birthday was going to be.
Subconsciously, I realize I've been preparing for it since mid October. Two weeks after he officially turned 2 1/2 I changed from "he's almost 2 1/2" to "he's going to be 3." Nice strangers would kindly inquire "oh, when's his birthday?" Me: "Umm...March." Crazy lady! Doesn't she know that's 5 months from now?
I am a stay-at-home mom. Not right for everyone, but right for us. 99% of his awake time has been spent with me. The Cracker is unrequitedly attached to only four people in the world...me, J, and his grandparents Nana and Pappy. The end result is that those four people are his world, and he and I are best friends.
We don't hire babysitters. Money spent on childcare thus far...$0, no kidding. (Admittedly, not the healthiest thing we've ever done for our marriage, but we've still got the love.) We have no family in town. Including dragging J on an all day trip through Ikea, we've probably had 5 dates since he was born, most of which have lasted less than 4 hours. Locally, when I've needed help, my mommy friends will have him over for a play date. Those adults though, in his mind, are his friend's moms, not his friends.
You get the idea, right?
Suddenly he's almost 3, and man, that's depressing. It's not that I want to wish him all the way back to infancy permanently. Those times were precious, so sweet and dreamy, and I'd never trade those memories for anything. But honestly, toddlerhood kicks their ass. Watching a little person search so hard to find out who they want to be, all the while having an unbreakable sense of self, knowing exactly who they are in that moment. (Hmmm...we're going to story time at the library? I think I'll wear my $2.99 red plastic fireman's hat, a Thomas the Tank t-shirt under my chicken costume from last Halloween, and my bear slippers. Yup, that works!)
So as he runs full steam through toddlerhood, constantly chasing after independence, he always comes back to me looking for grounding when the world gets too big and scary. I'm not just his mother; I'm his tour guide, his constant companion, and occasionally the big cheese that gives him time-outs. Hell, in the eyes of an almost 3 year old I actually know it all, or can at least fudge a damn good answer. But still, more than anything, we are best friends. Flame me for saying it, but it's the strongest bond you'll ever experience and if you haven't been there for yourself there just isn't any way to explain it to you. And I know how lucky I've been. At the adventurous age of almost 3, it's rare to find a little guy who still *needs* insane numbers of hugs, kisses and at least an hour of pure unadulterated cuddle time each day. No matter what gets him down a hug from me always solves it.
So what makes me sad about 3 is that I know this time is coming to an end. As much as I want to deny it with my whole heart, I know that in another 3 years, when he's 6, I will no longer be his best friend. My little boy will no longer try to stall my leaving for 45 minutes of alone time at the grocery store with a thousand "bye-bye mommas" and an even greater number of hugs and kisses. Instead of my cutting it off with "I love you with all my heart...you're making me laugh! But I'm really leaving now...Seriously! I am! Just as soon as I stop laughing and get one last hug" I'll be the one trying to squeeze out another moment.
And that breaks my heart.
Before the Cracker was born the number 3 never had any significance in my life - it was just another number. If you had pushed me about the number 3 I would have told you about how my aunt gave me an "I'm Three" necklace for my third birthday (Carrie Bradshaw style) which instantly became one of my most prized possessions until I accidentally swallowed it. My poor mom actually had to watch for it to pass, dig it out, disinfect it with only God-knows-what and give it right back to me. (And of course it was still one of my most prized possessions because what 3 year old would care that it had been part of a number 2.)
But all that changed when after 42 weeks and 1 day of gestation, the Cracker entered the big wide world on 3.30.2003.
And tonight it hit me, really hit me...my little boy, gulp, is about to turn 3.
I feel like crying.
Adult birthdays are supposed to be hard. The grand majority of the population either ignores them or gets depressed. But I never realized how hard this birthday was going to be.
Subconsciously, I realize I've been preparing for it since mid October. Two weeks after he officially turned 2 1/2 I changed from "he's almost 2 1/2" to "he's going to be 3." Nice strangers would kindly inquire "oh, when's his birthday?" Me: "Umm...March." Crazy lady! Doesn't she know that's 5 months from now?
I am a stay-at-home mom. Not right for everyone, but right for us. 99% of his awake time has been spent with me. The Cracker is unrequitedly attached to only four people in the world...me, J, and his grandparents Nana and Pappy. The end result is that those four people are his world, and he and I are best friends.
We don't hire babysitters. Money spent on childcare thus far...$0, no kidding. (Admittedly, not the healthiest thing we've ever done for our marriage, but we've still got the love.) We have no family in town. Including dragging J on an all day trip through Ikea, we've probably had 5 dates since he was born, most of which have lasted less than 4 hours. Locally, when I've needed help, my mommy friends will have him over for a play date. Those adults though, in his mind, are his friend's moms, not his friends.
You get the idea, right?
Suddenly he's almost 3, and man, that's depressing. It's not that I want to wish him all the way back to infancy permanently. Those times were precious, so sweet and dreamy, and I'd never trade those memories for anything. But honestly, toddlerhood kicks their ass. Watching a little person search so hard to find out who they want to be, all the while having an unbreakable sense of self, knowing exactly who they are in that moment. (Hmmm...we're going to story time at the library? I think I'll wear my $2.99 red plastic fireman's hat, a Thomas the Tank t-shirt under my chicken costume from last Halloween, and my bear slippers. Yup, that works!)
So as he runs full steam through toddlerhood, constantly chasing after independence, he always comes back to me looking for grounding when the world gets too big and scary. I'm not just his mother; I'm his tour guide, his constant companion, and occasionally the big cheese that gives him time-outs. Hell, in the eyes of an almost 3 year old I actually know it all, or can at least fudge a damn good answer. But still, more than anything, we are best friends. Flame me for saying it, but it's the strongest bond you'll ever experience and if you haven't been there for yourself there just isn't any way to explain it to you. And I know how lucky I've been. At the adventurous age of almost 3, it's rare to find a little guy who still *needs* insane numbers of hugs, kisses and at least an hour of pure unadulterated cuddle time each day. No matter what gets him down a hug from me always solves it.
So what makes me sad about 3 is that I know this time is coming to an end. As much as I want to deny it with my whole heart, I know that in another 3 years, when he's 6, I will no longer be his best friend. My little boy will no longer try to stall my leaving for 45 minutes of alone time at the grocery store with a thousand "bye-bye mommas" and an even greater number of hugs and kisses. Instead of my cutting it off with "I love you with all my heart...you're making me laugh! But I'm really leaving now...Seriously! I am! Just as soon as I stop laughing and get one last hug" I'll be the one trying to squeeze out another moment.
And that breaks my heart.
The Potty Update
A few nights ago, after a bath, the Cracker was running around nekkid for all of 5 minutes while we hunted down all the junk it takes to get the Cracker to bed.
*diaper
*diaper insert for extra absorbency
*waterproof pants (no leaks here!)
*jammies
*undershirt
*socks
*tooth brush
*tooth paste
*vitamins
*clean-ish sippy cup of water
*favorite blankie, aka night-night blankie
*favorite stuffed animals
*blankies for favorite stuffed animals
Normally one of us gets it together while the other watches him in the bath, but we were both far too lazy.
So, the Cracker is running around nekkid, goes into our office/music room, and turns on J's keyboard and starts to play. (Totally sidetracking here, but oh my God, I just have to tell you how cute it is! He sings too! Current favorites include his own version of the alphabet song, Old McDonald Had a Farm, and an original piece about Nana and Pappy going home on an airplane.) Anyway, after a minute of playing he just lets loose and starts peeing on the carpeted floor...the carpet in our 7 month old house. I let out a yelp, and he immediately stops. "Sweetie, we pee on the potty, not on the floor!" With a serious face he says "Uh oh. Oh no Momma. (And now giggling) Eeeew!"
And, of course, I am totally out of Resolve since the cats have been gacking all friggin week, forcing me to unearth the steam cleaner from the disaster we call our garage. (But we can get both cars in, a feat of which we are immensely proud.)
We quickly usher him to his own little potty, and after a few minutes of funny faces and deep thought, he finishes what he started. "Mommy is so proud of you! You went pee in the potty! Hooray!" And of course, if you pee in the potty at my house, you get a cookie. "J, where is that box of vanilla wafers? I have to give him a cookie! Right now! He went pee on the potty! Where are they? Find them!" "Uh, I ate them..." And so, out of desperation, we gave him an Oreo. Nothing like giving your child a cookie right before bed with the only natural ingredient being sugar, don't cha think?
Sadly, as with the two previous pees in the potty since October, it was just another isolated achievement.
And that, my friends, is this month's potty update.
*diaper
*diaper insert for extra absorbency
*waterproof pants (no leaks here!)
*jammies
*undershirt
*socks
*tooth brush
*tooth paste
*vitamins
*clean-ish sippy cup of water
*favorite blankie, aka night-night blankie
*favorite stuffed animals
*blankies for favorite stuffed animals
Normally one of us gets it together while the other watches him in the bath, but we were both far too lazy.
So, the Cracker is running around nekkid, goes into our office/music room, and turns on J's keyboard and starts to play. (Totally sidetracking here, but oh my God, I just have to tell you how cute it is! He sings too! Current favorites include his own version of the alphabet song, Old McDonald Had a Farm, and an original piece about Nana and Pappy going home on an airplane.) Anyway, after a minute of playing he just lets loose and starts peeing on the carpeted floor...the carpet in our 7 month old house. I let out a yelp, and he immediately stops. "Sweetie, we pee on the potty, not on the floor!" With a serious face he says "Uh oh. Oh no Momma. (And now giggling) Eeeew!"
And, of course, I am totally out of Resolve since the cats have been gacking all friggin week, forcing me to unearth the steam cleaner from the disaster we call our garage. (But we can get both cars in, a feat of which we are immensely proud.)
We quickly usher him to his own little potty, and after a few minutes of funny faces and deep thought, he finishes what he started. "Mommy is so proud of you! You went pee in the potty! Hooray!" And of course, if you pee in the potty at my house, you get a cookie. "J, where is that box of vanilla wafers? I have to give him a cookie! Right now! He went pee on the potty! Where are they? Find them!" "Uh, I ate them..." And so, out of desperation, we gave him an Oreo. Nothing like giving your child a cookie right before bed with the only natural ingredient being sugar, don't cha think?
Sadly, as with the two previous pees in the potty since October, it was just another isolated achievement.
And that, my friends, is this month's potty update.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Picture
The Cracker, November 2005
I've been trying to post this picture under the main title, but gosh darnit it's been harder than it sounds. For now it's just going to have to live here.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Accessories for the Modern Man
In Cracker news, today was day 8 of his bike helmet phase. Oh yes, it IS what you're imagining. We were getting dressed for a dinner party last Friday night when Cracker spotted his dusty old bike helmet high atop a forgotten shelf in our closet. "Ooh! Hat! MINE!" This is the same helmet that he screamed bloody murder at the sight of only a year ago and absolutely refused to allow in the same room as his head.
But 8 days ago...well...he feel in love, and I can hardly blame him. It is bright yellow, covered with cows and dogs and cats, and that's the reason I bought it. He wears it every waking minute, every where we go. (I draw the line at wearing it to bed for obvious safety reasons.) And it can't just be resting on his head...you have to secure it *tightly* with the chin strap fully fastened. Just thinking about it makes me want to cough up a furball.
Mouse Sporting Helmet
Like everything else toddler, it happened hard and fast, replacing wearing safety goggles on top of his head backwards. Try to picture that.
I figure we've got another week of this before it becomes last season too. Then maybe the curious shoppers at our Costco will stop asking me what type of head injury he has.
Oh, and the funniest part is the reaction of his peers. You should see their little faces when we meet them for a play date in our helmet: fear, curiousity, wonder, acceptance and finally admiration, all in a matter of seconds.
But 8 days ago...well...he feel in love, and I can hardly blame him. It is bright yellow, covered with cows and dogs and cats, and that's the reason I bought it. He wears it every waking minute, every where we go. (I draw the line at wearing it to bed for obvious safety reasons.) And it can't just be resting on his head...you have to secure it *tightly* with the chin strap fully fastened. Just thinking about it makes me want to cough up a furball.
Mouse Sporting Helmet
Like everything else toddler, it happened hard and fast, replacing wearing safety goggles on top of his head backwards. Try to picture that.
I figure we've got another week of this before it becomes last season too. Then maybe the curious shoppers at our Costco will stop asking me what type of head injury he has.
Oh, and the funniest part is the reaction of his peers. You should see their little faces when we meet them for a play date in our helmet: fear, curiousity, wonder, acceptance and finally admiration, all in a matter of seconds.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Corie, the Chosen One
Poor sweet Corie receives countless solicitations by snail mail. Today it was an American Express card. Last week it was the University of Phoenix, a Discover card (preapproved for platinum) and AARP.
Corie is a C-A-T.
A few years ago I had a revelation: list our phone number under one of our cat's names. Brilliant really. No paying for an unlisted number, know instantly if it's a solicitor, people who know you can still look you up, and give your friends a giggle every time her name shows up on their caller ID. Corie was the most obvious choice, as our other two cats are named Tigger and (Tinker)Belle. And just in case you're wondering, I am not a Disney freak. It just accidentally happened this way.
Junk mail is one of my biggest pet peeves. United Airlines sends credit card apps to J on an average of once a week, no kidding. When are they going to take the hint!
Corie is a C-A-T.
A few years ago I had a revelation: list our phone number under one of our cat's names. Brilliant really. No paying for an unlisted number, know instantly if it's a solicitor, people who know you can still look you up, and give your friends a giggle every time her name shows up on their caller ID. Corie was the most obvious choice, as our other two cats are named Tigger and (Tinker)Belle. And just in case you're wondering, I am not a Disney freak. It just accidentally happened this way.
Junk mail is one of my biggest pet peeves. United Airlines sends credit card apps to J on an average of once a week, no kidding. When are they going to take the hint!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Another Windy Day
Cracker and I decided it was high time to check out the library in our new town. Our favorite library is now quite the haul since we moved. How far? So far I'd have to pack snacks.
Luck was on our side, and parked next door was a fire truck, complete with firemen. I had no sooner lured him away with the promise of finding Bob the Builder books when we spotted a tractor working at the park bordering the library. Ironically, the friendly tractor operator was named Bob. Cracker has yet to understand that some names, unlike his own, are common. Bob on a tractor, huh? He sure didn't LOOK like Bob the Builder.
Once inside we learned that they carry NO BOB THE BUILDER BOOKS. A little disappointing, but still a great library. However, we found what I think are some even better alternatives: Martson's Big Rigs and a series called Machines @ Work that had a volume for every vehicle imaginable. Of the latter, Cracker recommends Buses, followed by Cherry Pickers and Rescue Helicopters. But if you're only going to get one, make it Buses.
Luck was on our side, and parked next door was a fire truck, complete with firemen. I had no sooner lured him away with the promise of finding Bob the Builder books when we spotted a tractor working at the park bordering the library. Ironically, the friendly tractor operator was named Bob. Cracker has yet to understand that some names, unlike his own, are common. Bob on a tractor, huh? He sure didn't LOOK like Bob the Builder.
Once inside we learned that they carry NO BOB THE BUILDER BOOKS. A little disappointing, but still a great library. However, we found what I think are some even better alternatives: Martson's Big Rigs and a series called Machines @ Work that had a volume for every vehicle imaginable. Of the latter, Cracker recommends Buses, followed by Cherry Pickers and Rescue Helicopters. But if you're only going to get one, make it Buses.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)