Tuesday: not quite Monday, still too far from Friday

Some Randoms to get you through your post-lunch coma.

1.  I realized this morning that Oprah’s been off the air (from her regular 4pm time slot) for several months, and I haven’t really missed her.  This makes me sad for her.

Shake.It.Up.

Mommy Fail #42 billion and 12.

One day your child will bring home one of these from school.

Looks innocent enough.

And you will ask her, with interest (because seriously, what the hell?), to tell you all about it.  And she will exclaim, “You SHAKE IT Mommy, SHAKE IT UP!”

Turns out that it’s a simple enough craft project: a paper towel roll, covered in tape, decorated with marker, and filled with rice and dried beans.   Ya know, so you can SHAKE IT UP.  And it makes a noise.  And anyone under the age of 4 thinks that this is pretty damn amazing.   And you will think it’s amazing, too.  Because it keeps her busy while you’re making dinner, and changing the baby, and doing 8 million things.  And then this happens:

Seriously. You have got to be kidding me.

And it’s not so amazing anymore.   Sweetly, gently, “Mommy.  There’s a big mess.  I MADE A BIG MESS.”  I wish I had taken a picture of that.  Oops.  I could take a picture of the rice and lentils in the Dyson canister (because I’m too lazy to empty it) – but I’ll spare you.  I had to vacuum rice up immediately, because I have a crawler that eats everything.   And everyone got strapped into their highchairs and had a nutritious dinner of goldfish crackers and puffs while I continued to vacuum.   So it was basically a great night for the kids.

Moral of the story: when your kid brings one of these home, distract them, and then THROW IT AWAY.  For the love of God.

You’re welcome.

 

It is a love based on giving and receiving, as well as having and sharing. ~the brilliant Mr. Tribbiani

I’m talking about the love women have for sharing their birth stories and tales from the delivery room.  There is something innate about a woman’s need to share her labor and delivery experiences with other women.  It is as natural and necessary as little girls chasing little boys around the swing set, telling someone to smell something gross, or looking both ways before crossing College Ave. (IT’S A ONE WAY – JUST CROSS).

I am so guilty of this.  And especially since I’ve had a captive audience to enthrall with my tales for about a year now.  By captive audience, I don’t mean interested, I mean that I’ve held them against their will to talk about birthing.  I’m lucky enough that I’ve had two pretty normal, non-traumatic experiences and I’ve regaled my sister and cousin with these fables for months and months.  We’ve talked about birth plans, medicated vs. un-medicated, unexpected turns of fate – you name it.

Baby-gait. Go State.

(**I didn’t really mean to talk only about drinking in this post.  Maybe I should think long and hard about that.  Or maybe I should just have a drink.)

In honor of the annual spring football game at my alma mater, I’d like to address a common problem affecting the large majority of my newly-parented friends: The Art of Tailgating: With Children It’s no secret that I’m an alumna of Penn State – a very large and storied University with a legendary football program and an even more legendary tailgating and game-day culture. It’s also no secret that I spent five football seasons at Penn State, and only missed one home game (that’s 31 out 32 possible games attended – I counted – thanks Wiki!). It’s also no secret that as soon as I was legally able (oh who are we kidding here) I tailgated like a champion before each and every one of those games. As we grew more dedicated and experienced with our tailgating habits, as we morphed from freshmen, to seniors, to distinguished alums, we moved on from embarrassingly cheap and watery beer, to less cheap rum (but still cheap – I didn’t say good rum) and cokes, to better beer, to boxed wine, to bloody mary’s complete with garnishes… and the food improved too.

And lo and behold,

The first hint of spring.

So I’m not going to get all GLOBAL WARMING IS REAL YA’LL  on you – but have you noticed that the past few years, we’ve had very little spring?  As in, one day it’s March and raining and cold, and the next day feels like the middle of August, all hot and muggy and gross and you feel like you missed spring? 

Is that just me?

Anyway – tonight was a spring-like evening.  Very bright and mild.  We had a nice dinner, where the Big Girl ACTUALLY ATE FOOD and the Little Girl wasn’t screaming like a maniac – and there was enough daylight left to go outside and play!!  And there is one thing that never fails to keep everyone entertained, one thing that makes both girls shriek with joy, one thing that never gets old:  BUBBLES. 

I wish I videoed it.  I wish I could remember to get out the little camera-thing in the middle of a massive two-baby giggle-fest with bubbles everywhere.  But I don’t.  I just enjoy it. 

But seriously, bubbles.  Everyone loves bubbles. 

So now, my two magic moves in parenting:

1. When in doubt – take their socks off.  It distracts them and calms you down.  What’s cuter than baby feet?

2. When in doubt – bring on the bubbles.  It distracts them and calms you down.  Seriously, don’t you love bubbles?

A LOT of Responsibility

A Recent Conversation with my Sister that left me in a fit of laughter so intense, I peed a little:

 K: Can you lend me one of Charlie’s baby dolls? I need it for my upcoming childbirth and breastfeeding classes.

M: Sure, and I think Mom has some of our old CabbagePatch dolls, too.

K: Yeah, but I want a nicer doll than those.

M: Do you want Charlie’s American Doll Baby?

K: OOoohh – I don’t know, that’s a lot of responsibility.

M: You know you’re having a REAL baby, right?

RIGHT??

Consignment Queens

In the world of Mommy-hood, the thrill of new baby stuff wears thin pretty quickly.  When you are expecting your first baby, you do the registry thing – a MUCH more stressful version of the wedding registry.   Researching and evaluating car seat safety ratings is much more nerve-wracking then, say, selecting the largest margarita glasses you can get your hands on.   But anyway – then the baby comes.  And you learn that, while your *best friend’s baby* LOVED the swing – your baby screams bloody murder every time you walk past the swing.  And you learn that your baby hates the bouncy.  And you learn that your stroller isn’t as practical as you’d hoped.  And you learn that babies only wear clothes a few times, if ever, before they outgrow them.  And you learn that no matter how big your house is, the baby stuff seems to be EVERYWHERE!!!  You learn a lot.  Once you get the hang of all of this “learning” (aka – the baby screams, you learn something new in order to survive) – you start to realize WHAT A HUGE WASTE OF MONEY AND PLASTIC all this baby crap is. 

Enter the world of consignment shopping.  I LOVE consignment shopping.  Every spring and fall, like clockwork, all of the big children’s consignment sales are held – allowing you to purchase gently used kid-stuff for a fraction of the retail price.  Clothes, toys, baby and kid gear – you name it – I buy it on the cheap.

Tonight, I had the pleasure of introducing my sister, K, to the world of Mommy Consignment sales.  K’s not what you would consider your average bargain shopper, much less one to consider purchasing “used”.  Now, to be honest, K did accompany me to a sale last fall when we just found out about her little bundle of joy.  For the most part, she stuck close to me, just observing, and ever so confused about the aggressive crowds of bargain-hungry Mamas.   This time, she was going to be brave – on the look-out for a few specific items – visible baby-bump on display.   We were hopeful.  We had a plan.  We joked about the possibility of her needing an emergency whistle. 

We pushed forward.  I led her through several racks of not-what-we-were-looking-for as I spotted racks of baby girl clothes across the room.  I alerted K and headed off, leaving her to find her own treasures.  Ten minutes later, K tracks me down in the racks, two baby toys in hand.  She was too confused.  I sighed.  And handed her armloads of clothes and shoes.  I’m pretty sure I outfitted both of my girls for the summer for less than a hundred dollars this weekend.  Also.  SIT AND SPIN!!

Better luck next season, K.  You’ll get the hang of it.

Rearview mirror.

I’m one of those people that, while completely un-gifted in the music/rhthym/tone department, has a great appreciation for music.  I love music, most music.  I associate songs and bands with different people, different times of my life, different meanings than the artists themselves intended, I’m sure.  I can look back at a time in my life, and know what was playing on the radio/tape deck/CD player/computer and how I felt and who I was with.   It’s a little flashback into my past. 

And then this morning, taking the girls to school, listening to the radio, a favorite song from way back when bursts on.  I immediately start singing along, doing a little car-dance-wiggle behind the wheel.  I love this song so much. 

I look back to my little big girl, who’s still rear-facing in her carseat and has to use a mirror to look to the front seat, and she’s bopping right along with me.  By the end of the song, she’d figured out some of the words and was very proud of herself.  And my heart swelled, and made me love this song even more than I already do, if that’s even possible.