Mud Pies

When Monkey was little I... well, OK I confess - I sort of wrapped her in bubblewrap and didn't want her to get dirty.

She was mah baybeeee.....and I was in charge of single-handedly protecting her from every atom of dirt, every possible allergen, and of course - ALL germs.

And then life moved on.

And then we had baby number 2.

And I relaxed (some).

This is Jellybean making mud pies at her sister's birthday party. At one point in time, she took her pizza, dragged it through the mud, and then ate it. I shuddered....and then I laughed.

She makes tasty mud pies, that one!

Shake n Bake

This morning was - um - uneven.

The bad:
I spent 20 minutes looking for Jellybean's shoes, only to discover them at SCHOOL when I dropped her off. Grr. (babysitter decided to take her home, sans shoes, for whatever reason)

Then, once I lacquered the girls with sunblock, Jellybean made a beeline to the bathroom sink to wash her hands, and before I could provide the stepstool to her - she stood on the lip of the (dirty) catbox. And, well, catapaulted the litter (sh*t and all), all over herself, the bathroom floor, and even the bathroom door. The fine dust at the bottom of the litter pan clung to her legs like shake and bake. Needless to say, she got an impromptu bath before we left the house.

Gah, clumping litter does not wash off well when it's stuck to your sunblock-misted toddler.

The good:
The girls shared goldfish crackers on the bus as we went to school together. Each time Monkey fed Jellybean a "fishie", Jellybean would burble "thank you Monkey" and giggle, pleased that she was saying the right thing.

Jellybean is enjoying learning to talk. She is clearly full of ideas and conversations, brimming to get out!

These two get along so well, it is just amazing to me. I love my girls.

Home again

We're back. You didn't know we left? Well, we did. We snuck off to Washington, D.C., for a little family vacation.

What did we do? We went to museums, and kicked some snow around, and ate Trader Joe's macaroni and cheese, and watched Monsters, Inc.... and what? What's that, you say?

You say our vacation sounds EXACTLY like stuff we can do here at home in little ol' New York City? Hmmmm. OK, busted. You're right.

But there, you see, someone came in every single day and tidied up after us. They made our beds, gave us new clean towels, ran the dishwasher....yes, dish washer.....and OMG SQUEEEEEE there was a washer and a dryer IN THE APARTMENT we rented. I though I'd died and gone to heaven. I came home with MORE clean clothes than I left with! (so my jeans were dirty...sue me, I was on vacation and everyone has a cold so if I stunk they wouldn't have even noticed! so there, ha!). Yes, I know. It was nirvana.....a constantly cleaned environment with cleaning appliances at my fingertips.....an anal-retentive's nirvana, but nirvana none the less!

We went to the Smithsonian and saw Dorothy's ruby slippers from the Wizard of Oz. Man, that Judy Garland had tiny feet - size 5! Monkey's face was priceless when she figured out what we were standing in line for all that time.

We went to the Museum of Natural History, saw the White House, the Capital, Washington Monument, the reflecting pool (minus the Octopus from Night of the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonium, a movie Nana just gave us for Christmas), kicked around on the Mall, and generally just farted around. It was nice.

The girls really bonded. They wrestled, battled over toys, tickled each other, and had a lot of fun. Monkey told us, in a heart-breakingly precious moment, that she couldn't wait for Jellybean to get older so they could walk and hold hands together. I know! Seriously sweet. I'm going to bottle that feeling and try to break it out when they're 15 & 13 and scratching each other's eyes out.

As we rolled into town today, after a seriously hassle-free trip back (in comparison to our death march on the way there - ugh), M asked Monkey what her favorite part of the vacation was.

"Playing in her closet" was the answer. Of course it was.

Solidarity

I have a new mommy friend. She is a lovely, talented woman. And, like many of us, sometimes she struggles with the work-life balance.

We emailed back and forth the other day, and I made her laugh by asking her to leave a bread-crumb trail to wherever she locates "work-life" balance, as my map didn't have that location clearly marked.

Now I have high standards. Yes, you all nod. Fine, I have VERY high standards. I like to joke that I'm not anal, I just have standards (implying that others don't...). Because really, is it too much to expect that I can walk barefoot in my own home without food sticking to the bottom of my feet? I didn't think so.

But sometimes I realize that I am too tough on myself. I know my friends are, too. (tough on themselves, not me, that is!)

Gentle readers, do you think that the mythical creature known as "work-life balance" can be found? Is it really just an elaborate juggling act, keeping the balls in the air long enough to touch - ever so briefly - just one thing at a time? Because from what I've learned lately, multi-tasking slows you down.

Maybe the solution is just being "in the moment" - I know, that's so freaking zen I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Ptooey.

But really, all jokes aside, maybe we should just try to be good at whatever the hell we're doing at that particular moment, and ignore the rest. Ignore the mommy guilt that is egging you on.

SO WHAT if the bed is unmade. No one but your prying neighbors need know. Hell, just buy better blinds so no one can see!

SO WHAT if the kids eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day, instead of lovingly prepared gourmet bento-boxes of organically raised whatever. Buy organic bread and soynut butter if you can, and be happy that they'll deign to eat anything at all! (picky toddlers are normal, from what I can tell. who knew! thought mine was just being - well, difficult!)

SO WHAT if the other kids on the bus have cute outfits on. Your kid's private bits are covered in clean clothing? Good enough. Besides, letting them pick out their own clothing encourages independence, leadership, and creativity.

All the mommies (and daddies, this isn't gender specific, although I DO think there is a thumb on the guilt scale for women) together now - raise your fist in the air! United in giving up the guilt? United in enjoying the moment instead of thinking about the kindegarten application-hell you'll be in if your kid doesn't get accepted to pre-k? (that last one's not just me, right?) United in enjoying this process, even if it's messy as hell and these damn kids didn't come with owner manuals? ALL RIGHT THEN!

ALl right then. Solidarity. We're all in this together.

Now, can anyone find that bread crumb trail?

Mmmmmmmmmmmm hidden pooooooop.

That was the text I got back from my little brother, when I texted him to say I was headed home to change my shirt because it had poop on it.

Nice.

How did YOUR Monday start?

(to be sung to the tune of "Camptown Races")

Monday mornings really suck, doo dah, doo dah
Covered in poop that's just my luck, oh doo dah day
Gonna wash all day, gonna wash all night,
But my daughter's gonna poop again, eh it'll be allright....

Both 'Bean and stroller need a bath, doo dah, doo dah
My friends are really gonna laugh, oh doo dah day
Gonna laugh all night, gonna laugh all day
When I tell 'em the poopsplosion, happened as we went on our way....

Bugaboos they really are neat, doo dah, doo dah
But right now I need to wash the seat, oh doo dah day
Disassembly is a snap, I think I need a nap
I just wish it wasn't all covered in crap....

Father(s) of the year

Hoo boy. This weekend was awesome. Here we were thinking it was going to rain and be gross all weekend long, forcing us to listen to incessant whining about watching (yet another) Arthur cartoon, or the Astroboy movie trailer for the googoleth time (because you know that googol is actually a word, right? It’s a 1 with 100 zeros after it…don’t believe me? Google it! Ha)….but then??? We had AWESOME weather!

Not surprisingly, we went to the park. Often more than once a day!

And we played in the sandbox(es). Good times.

That is, until Monkey picked up and fondled a piece of dog crap. Ok, fondled might be too strong of a word. But it was ALL over her hands. Oy. I know it was dog crap because, well, the smell. You KNOW that smell. The smell that hits you and stays with you, following you down the block, forcing you to check and recheck the bottom of your shoes, until finally it is replaced by a different smell. But you still check your shoes one more time, just because….the smell. It kind of burns into your nose and lingers there, unwanted, uninvited, uninhibited….ugh.

We cleaned her off as best we could, with wipes and hand sanitizer (thank you purell gods!) and headed home to really wash up. M, in his infinite capacity to be a good dad, hoisted Monkey up on his shoulders and gave her a ride home.

Halfway home, in a rather strangled sounding voice, M asked Monkey to stop playing with his hair. And, you know, to stop sticking her (poopy) fingers into his ears. I tried not to visibly shudder or audibly laugh. I tried SOOO hard. But when M announced that he needed to shower? I had to laugh. (and shudder).

He SO wins father of the year for that.

Also up for honorable mention? My little brother, who called me this morning to say that he still had vomit in his pants pockets after an unpleasant visit to the pediatrician with his insane toddler, HP. Squish, squish. He, too, was headed home for a shower.

Let’s hear it for the dads!!!!

A Norwegian Holiday

My mom was visiting this past week. M had to travel for work so she came out to help with the two girls. We had to beg, a lot, to get her to come out and visit, as you can imagine! She loved every minute of it.

Well, maybe not EVERY moment.

See, I took this opportunity to get a lot of work done around the apartment - basically, my mom went on a Norwegian holiday.

This, for those of you who haven't heard this expression before, is where you go visit a friend or family member....and they put you to work!

We:
* bleached the walls and ceiling in the bathroom
* primed the walls and ceiling in the bathroom
* rearranged the junk drawer
* wrapped and mailed presents for cousins HP and E
* did several loads of laundry
* had multiple doctors appointments (for me and also Jellybean, who has pinkeye - just like her big sister. ugh)
* did tons of other stuff

I am SO happy! We puttered around and really accomplished a lot! I know, I know, only someone as anal as me would be thrilled to do chores - but the ugly black mildew on the walls and ceiling of my bathroom is gone! My bathroom is pretty again! Wheee!! Thanks Grandma.

An unmitigated failure

As part of the preparation for babygirlcarter#2's immininent arrive in 8 weeks 4 days (but who's counting, really), we need to move Monkey to her big girl bed.

In her big girl room....

On the other side of the apartment.....

Without all her toys, books, and artwork on the wall that make it "her" room......

And which presently looks like the receiving bay of a goodwill or salvation army drop-off site. Replete with boxes of books, detritus, used coats, electronic odds and ends, and you know - stuff.

That sort of chaos makes me itch. Yes, because I'm anal and I love a clean and tidy apartment. It makes M itch even more, because he abhors clutter like...hmm, roaches hate Raid? It's a strong aversion, let's just leave it at that.

So, it shouldn't have surprised us that Monkey didn't like this room either. She IS our child, after all.

Still, we tried on both Saturday and Sunday to get her to take a nap in her big girl bed. In theory, she's over-the-moon excited about this option. She begs to sit on her bed, and when you ask if she's going to nap there you get an "oh YES" and vigorous head nodding.

Reality was a wee bit different. Tantrum central: crying, wailing, gnashing of teeth and throwing herself at the door. Oy.

So she slept in her crib. Even there we had to let her cry it out - she'd worked herself up so much there was no other option.

We have a lot of work to do. We need to transform the pit of hell, um the big girl room, into an actual big girl's room. Wish us luck.

So Hey! See you at the Salvation Army drop off this weekend!

It ain't pepto pink, dammit

So we are in the throes of redecorating the bedroom in our apartment that has served for the past three years as the: office, guest room, coat closet, broom closet, and media storage center.

Now it will be....dun, dun dun.....the BIG GIRL'S ROOM! I.e., Monkey is being evicted from the nursery and moved into the new room.

Babygirlcarter#2 will reuse the nursery as is. No need to buy new furniture or bedding. Phew! One less thing to obsess and be anal about. Not that the pregnancy hormones have made me MORE prone to that sort of thing. Nope, not at all. No sireee! Now don't mind me while I obsess about the quilt for Monkey's new bed. Because that's important, dammit! (also, where the hell am I going to put the vacuum cleaner? that one keeps me UP AT NIGHT PEOPLE!!!)

We've acquired an antique dresser with glass knobs and an antique style bed for the Big Girl Room. And last night, Monkey's godmom Heather came over to help me paint the room. Let me just say again, for the record, that she is a goddess for helping me paint. And making me laugh by leaning into the wall and getting paint all over her hair. Seriously.

M is in London so it's a perfect time to do this sort of work. (Why is it perfect? Because I love doing this sort of thing and am good at it. While Matt hates it and would rather chew off his arm than live with boxes and chaos. Really - he does. One time when we moved I sent him to CT to spend the night so I could pack without him!)

And, because Monkey's my little girl and deserves the best, and M has this adorable vision of what her room should look like, I picked out a lovely rose shade of paint. (the bed is an antique blue and the dresser is light blue/lavendar, depending upon the light)

And all I have to say is? Thank G*D it ain't pepto pink. See???

Random collection of vignettes from the weekend

1) Monkey has outgrown her allergy to milk! Huzzah!!!!! All the cheese and icecream she can eat! Oh wait, I forgot that when you eat too much mozzarella cheese you get constipated......sorry kid! Guess you overdosed...

2) After consistently teaching Monkey that food and drink stay in the kitchen or at the dining room table, I was totally chastised by my kid for wandering into the living room with lemonade in hand to watch the interview with Michael Phelps. Busted!

3) M is traveling for work and in London this week. So Monkey and I dined alone last night. Half way through the meal she asked me to give her a kiss. Then, looking around, she asked "daddy kisses?"........awwwwww. No wonder he's wrapped around her finger.

New words startle me!

Monkey's daycare is closed for the week. I love this Montessori School more than I care to admit, but this whole mimicking the school schedule drives me crazy. The school year "ended" and there were parties, and now it is closed for just over a week, to reopen for "summer school." Meanwhile, those of us that stay stateside for the summer scramble to find daycare for a week!

Luckily, or maybe because I am anal and plan waaaay far ahead, I was able to arrange for Monkey's favorite teacher from school to watch her this week. And yes, I asked months ago.

Vicki had one minor conflict, which was attending the 8th grade graduation of her cousin, Skye. She even lined up an alternative sitter for me (another teacher from the school, whom I didn't know would sit on her days off - score!) but then something came up for her, too. Medical stuff. So Vicki decided, in typical teacher fashion, to roll with the punches and come up with a solution. Which was, to take Monkey TO the graduation ceremony and family party in Brooklyn. I was all, um, you ok with that? But Vicki assured me it would work out well. Besides, her mom wanted to meet the "baby with all the hair" as Monkey was referred to in the beginning....now she's the insane toddler with all the hair. Heh. (see? how cute was she!)


Not only did Monkey enjoy the graduation ceremony (the kids sang songs) but she SAT STILL FOR AN HOUR playing with Vicki's sidekick and wallet. Hopefully Monkey didn't text any ex-boyfriends by accident....

I know, I actually typed out the words in the paragraph above. In caps. And no, I don't believe it actually happened. I think Vicki is delusional - my insane toddler, the one that runs all.the.time....she sat still? Unthinkable.

Monkey's exceptional behavior continued at the party where she sat still to polish off her lunch and ask for more, politely. Vicki was laughing when she told me about this - because at this point her family starting insisting that Monkey HAD to be older than 22 months....since no 22 month old would actually behave that way. See, they witnessed this and they didn't believe it, either!

After the party, in a good mood, Monkey and Vicki went to the Prospect Park Zoo. And Monkey loved it. Now she knows what the zebras and monkeys are, so spotting them is fun. Vicki parked the stroller and Monkey ran (making up for lost time and reverting to the mean...) the entire time they were there.

When I came home from work last night I asked Monkey about her day, and asked her what she saw at the zoo. I expected her to say giraffe, elephant, monkey, or even cow (from the children's zoo part). Nope. She looked at me and said "meerkat."

There was a 2 or 3 second pause as my brain scrambled to understand this word. Monkey pronounced it correctly, I just wasn't expecting it! It honestly startled me.

I figured that this was a fluke, but when M got home Monkey also reported to Daddy that she had seen a meerkat at the zoo.

And this morning? She asked for a meerkat when M went into her room after she woke up.

This kid cracks me up.

Grubby little toes

Monkey has a new habit, behavior pattern, or....fetish.

She's obsessed with her feet. Specifically, the lint between her toes, or any crumbs on the soles of her feet.

She LOVES to take her shoes and socks off, and tear around the apartment in her bare feet. Which means that, on occasion, and especially in the kitchen, she'll get something on the bottom of her foot.

In response she'll exclaim "oh oh," drop to the floor and bring her foot up to her face in a circus contortionist's stance to inspect her foot for the offending object. She'll even pull her toes apart to remove any wee bits of sock lint!

I'd laugh, if I didn't do the exact same thing. Minus the gymnastics...eeeeuww, get that image of our your mind.

After she pipes up with "help" and I brush the crumbs off, she'll say "all better." As if the world is spinning on its axis again. Crisis averted!

I don't know what is funnier. The fact that I do the same thing...or that her misery is self-inflicted. After all, she IS the one who dumped an entire container of couscous on the floor the other night.

Sand Angel

Friday Monkey went back to the pediatrician to follow up on her upper respiratory viral infection and resulting inhaler - and got the BEST report I could hope for - "clear lungs." Phew! With asthma in the family (both sides) and living near Harlem that has the highest rate of asthma in the city, I was worried. So, for now, relief. And, after tonight - no more inhaler! Whee!!!!!

After the appointment with the doctor (which ended about 3:30pm), Monkey and I walked home through the park. With a 2 hour detour in a sandbox. Yes, two FULL hours in the sandbox. It was a perfect sunny day, 80 degrees out, slight wind, and no humidity. Exactly the kind of weather you want, and rarely get, at least here in NYC. 

The sandbox was a hit. Monkey had fun playing by herself, and also with others. From time to time she would approach other kids and hand them a toy - as if to say here, take this, enjoy. She's become very social that way and it is fascinating to me. I attribute it to the montessori daycare. 

Monkey was so completely filthy that at one point I took off her shirt, and shook it upside down to get (most of) the sand out of a pocket. And then yes, put that filthy shirt back on her....after all, she was going right back into the sand! 

M wasn't with us - he was winging his way to Nebraska to bury his grandpa Bernie Hoerle. Rest in peace, Grandpa. We'll miss you. We were really sad to hear that he passed away Wednesday morning - but since it was unexpected, he didn't suffer through a long illness. And at almost 88 years of age, he'd lived a long, full life.

I was thinking about this, about life & death, as I sat in the brilliant sun and watched my beautiful daughter play in the sand - full of life, healthy and happy. Monkey was on her back throwing sand into the air, and started making snow (ok, sand) angels. I thought "how appropriate" to make an angel....

Perspective

Two years ago, if you would have asked me what I would do if a small human rubbed snot across my forehead, I'm guessing that, of all the possible reactions I would have had, I would have NOT predicted that I would laugh. It's more likely that I would have predicted anger and revulsion. But mostly revulsion, because of my anal, germaphobe ways.

Fast forward to today.

Tonight, while I was on the phone with her godmother, Monkey decided to give me a kiss. She leaned in, and basically dragged her adorable snot-filled nose across my forehead as she tired to reach me...

I was both grossed out, and entranced by this gooey gesture of love. I was also laughing so hard I had to get off the phone.

I mean, seriously, how can I think both "awwwww" and "euwwwwww" at the same time? And the answer is, perspective. It's all about who gives you the snot.

Now, if I could just get that perspective without a side order of a sore throat, swollen glands, a headache and a sniffle, I'd be set.

Why my floors are not clean

Murphy's Law

I think it is Murphy's Law in our household that everytime daddy has to leave for a business trip, Monkey gets sick.

This time, dad's in frigid St. Louis, Misery (I mean Missouri, whoops!) for an executive-MBA training seminar his company put together. They're cracking open his skull and pouring in mba-speak. He grouses about it, but always confesses that he's learning. As if a Ph.D. and a CFA weren't enough....did I ever mention that I am proud of my smart husband?

Saturday morning the three of us went to the grocery store, which was awesome since I could get help carrying stuff in. It's hard to grocery shop if you need more than one smaller bag of stuff, since Monkey is still so little. We have to go up four steps to get into our apartment building, so the equation looks something like this:

stairs + stroller + monkey + groceries + my purse + anything else I'm carrying = possible disaster

No sooner had we arrived at Fairway (my favorite grocery store on earth - check out their blog at http://www.fairwaymarket.com/index.cfm?Area=blog for a great foodie read) than Monkey puked. On her shirt, jacket, pants, shoes, as well as dad's jeans and shoes. We cleaned her up as best we could, and by the time we were done cleaning up her dad, she was busy laughing and chortling again. Kids are so resiliant, it's amazing! We shopped quickly, and made it home without any further incident.

Thinking we'd somehow dodged a bullet, our lives continued apace. Dad flew to St. Louis, the babysitter arrived and I went out to dinner with some family & friends. Got home, went to bed early (10pm), and was relieved that Monkey hadn't puked any more.

famous.last.words.

I woke up that evening to the sound of Monkey crying, and discovered that she had puked in her sleep. So I changed her, changed the sheets, calmed her down and put her back to sleep. Then sat outside her room, listening to her breath, fearful she'd pull a Janice Joplin. Yes, irrational. Yes, every other parent would cop to the same thing, if pressed.

Finally went to sleep. Woke to more crying and puke. Random thoughts included "huh, toddler puke stinks" and "boy I hope the washing machines aren't busy tomorrow" as I cleaned puke out of Monkey's hair, got her into new jammies and changed the cribsheet, again.

Woke to more crying at 5am - but this was ok, Monkey was asking for a bottle! Huzzah! She's feeling better!! She wouldn't go back to sleep, however, so I held her in the glider as she drifted off to sleep....and then puked all over me. More than once.

Stomach flu: 5 pukes. Mama: 3 hours sleep. The flu takes round one!

We spent Sunday lolling around the apartment, playing with flashcards and occasionally eating a bit. When Monkey went down for a nap I did too, until the phone rang and woke me up. So I cleaned every conceivable surface I could think of, hoping to eradicate the stomach virus from our apartment. Tried to do laundry about 5 times, but one washing-machine is broken and I could never get in.....sigh.

Long story short, Monkey is fine! I'm exhausted, but she's at school today and my phone hasn't rung (yet). Holy crap, my blackberry just vibrated as I typed in "yet" and I thought it was my phone and jumped about 2 feet into the air. Ok, biting my tongue and knocking on wood now......

Meow meow

Every morning I follow roughly the same routine. Somewhere in the mix of things, usually wedged between putting in my contacts and taking my shower, I brush my beloved cat Ollie.

Ollie has a lot of fur. When she was a kitten, I trained her to stand on the toilet seat to be brushed; this was easy on my back, as I could sit on the edge of the tub, and it limited the flying fur to one part of the apartment. (yes, I've always been slightly anal. thank you for noticing)

To this day, Ollie will race you down the hallway and hop on the toilet seat as you enter the bathroom, ever hopeful that you are there to brush her (and not use the facilities).

Ollie is a trusting cat. I can flip her on her back and brush her belly. She lets exactly two people in the world handle her this way, me and Monkey's daddy. We are her humans.

As I flipped Ollie this morning for a full belly brushing, and both felt and listened to the deep guttural purring rumbling out of her, I thought of what an emblem of trust this was: a cat, fully exposed. Because come on, how many cats have you ever known that would willingly do that?

I remember my childhood pet, Puff, and how she would hide when my neighbor Buddy would come over. Buddy had teased her maybe three times, and she decided that she was done with him. Now, he grew to be a perfectly decent man, husband and father. I'm happy he is still my friend. But I remember how he violated Puff's trust and that was it.

I hope Monkey grows up to be deserving of Ollie's trust. While dogs are seemingly incapable of not loving humans, cats are more picky. Like us humans, with our opposable thumbs and complex emotions, cats only trust you if you earn it, and earn it consistently.

Maybe that should be our model for teaching Monkey to deal with both humans and animals. She needs to consistently treat them with the respect and compassion they deserve. She needs to prove, each time she deals with them, that she is worthy of their trust.

So far, she is winning Ollie's trust. A serious infusion of treats helps this process along. But so does Monkey's willingness (and ability) to gently pet and hug Ollie, her "meow meow." Ok, all together now, say "awwwwww."

Two observations

1.) I am STILL finding rice everywhere. This is despite the fact that I have swept, washed by hand, vacuumed, and otherwise scoured the apartment.
2.) Monkey is Typhoid Mary. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon to confirm if I have a sinus infection. Meanwhile, she's doing fine!

It's a good thing she's cute. Saves her butt every time.

Did I mention I hate having dirty feet?

The gods, I must have taunted them, what with my posting (my lament?) about being unable to stomach walking around barefoot because I get stuff on my feet.

Because last night? In less than 5 seconds after being let down from her high chair? During the brief interlude of time it took me to lift her dirty dinner dishes and put them into the sink? During those milliseconds that I didn't have Monkey in my line of sight? She grabbed a click-clack container off of our kitchen shelving, removed the lid, and dumped about 4 cups of rice onto the granite floor.

I had to walk around in the rice-spill to clean it up.

And I swear to g*d, I still was finding rice three hours later, despite sweeping twice, and washing the floor once.

From here on out I'm going to blog about how Monkey is super-clean.