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.

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?

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....

Standards....or the life of a mom with a wrist fracture

i have an avulsion fracture in my wrist, so am wearing a brace for a few weeks. that is good - it isn't a cast!

whee!!! I can shower!!!

my, how my standards have fallen. taking a shower now ranks up there with things I most want out of a day. heh

Out of the mouth of babes

Out of the mouth of babes come the darndest things! Also usually known as the truth...

So last night we had a severe thunderstorm. Actually, I don't even know if it qualifies as that, since it was maybe 5 minutes long. But it was the most severe rain I've been in for decades. Rain coming down so hard you can't see. Wind whipping the rain, and dirt, and whatever else it can fling into the air, sideways. Cranes, signs, lampposts and trees creaking in the wind and whipping back and forth. Simultaneous thunder and lightening. And then, after 5 minutes, it was gone. Poof.

Well, during those choice 5 minutes to be outside, I was walking Monkey back to the apartment in her stroller. In a white linen suit. Nice.

We were walking on the west and north side of the Columbia University campus, which meant that there were no stores to duck into, no doors to take refuge behind - it was mostly walls and locked doors. So when the rain struck, we ran. Or rather, I ran while Monkey cried in her stoller and yelped with fear when the lightening struck.

We took some refuge in Teacher's College, but honestly by that point I was so soaked that it was better to just keep going.

So we got to our building, and the rain magically stopped. Our neighbors came out and kind of giggled at the sight of me. I let Monkey out of her stroller, and she took one look at me and said "uh oh" with a frown.

Sure enough, not only had my mascara run all down my face, it had dripped onto my white linen suit. I was a wreck! Monkey kept saying "uh oh" until we got upstairs and I washed off my melted face.

Pigtails

Monkey has some long-ass hair. It is now so long that if her diaper is hiked up on her back a little bit too far? Her hair can tuck into it. Yes, it really is THAT long. (and yes, photos will get on here...eventually. been busy!)

Most days I put her hair into pigtails, with a ribbon barrette in the front to keep the wispies out of her eyes.

Lately, Monkey has started playing with her pigtails. She'll twirl them around and around with her hands, kind of absent-mindedly, which is awfully cute.

Until you realize that her hands are covered in garlic tomato spaghetti sauce. Yum.

Charm School

This morning, as Monkey was finishing her breakfast, her hunger subsided and her sense of play (aka toddleritis) took over. In other words, she chucked everything on the floor.

Water bottle? Check. On the floor.

NYTimes? Check. On the floor and fanned out.

Crackers? Check. On the floor with crumbs in a 3 foot radius.

Apple sauce? Check, check and check. On her face, her hands, her jammies, the chair, the table AND the floor. And maybe Ollie, too (poor cat).

Using my stern mom voice I reminded her that "we do NOT throw food on the floor" yadda yadda etc. etc. etc.

I was quite close to her as I was saying this, since I had bent over to put my face next to hers to emphasize my point.

She looked at me very seriously, and nodded her head. Like, ok mama, I hear you.

Then she reached out with both apple-sauced hands, cradled my cheeks, and yelled "HELLO" while crinkling her nose. I must have had a funny look on my face, since she burst into laughter.

I got an apple-sauce facial, the floor needed to be washed, and we were late to school. But she was certainly charming!

Squeeky Clean

Monkey's so damn cute (see, above! how adorable is she? yes, shutup it's a rhetorical question....) when she's had a bath that sometimes, when she is back in her room yet still naked (sans diaper and jammies), sometimes, when she makes a break for it? I let her run.

Come on, you KNOW it's cute to have an 18 month old streaking! It just is.

Tonight, however, not 30 seconds after I told M how cute I thought she was? She peed on the floor. Well, actually, her bookcase AND the floor.

Streaking is officially over.

Why my floors are not clean

Soggy

This morning Monkey and I were running behind schedule.

Usually this would be my fault, for not waking up early enough to shower and blowdry my hair and try to look like a professional milf rather than a frumpy mom, but today it was Monkey dragging her feet on everything.

And I do mean everything:

She threw a temper tantrum when I tried to put her pants on BEFORE her shoes. So yeah, um, let's just say that her leggings are a wee bit stretched out now.

She begged for her bottle and then threw it on the ground when she got it. I'm thinking maybe she was expecting Veuve Cliquot champagne instead of warmed Rice Milk?

She'd ask for "puffs" (fancy gerber cereal treats shaped in a star) and then keen with anger and disappointment because the puffs I gave her weren't the precise ones she wanted. She wanted the other puffs from the other container, didn't I know that?

Once she got the puffs she REALLY wanted (sheesh mom!), she insisted on eating them with a fork. Hilarious, really, watching her spear each gerber puff and then try to get it into her mouth. I was impressed that she was precise enough with the fork to get that done. But it did take a really looooog time to eat. Plus: 1/3 shattered and went all over her, her highchair, and the floor; 1/3 fell off the fork onto the floor; 1/3 she actually consumed. Woo hoo, I got to wash the floor, again!

So long story short, we were running too late to walk to school. I loaded Monkey into the Ergo baby carrier, and away we went.

Only problem? I brought a sippy cup full of water with us, stored inside her lunch box, just in case she got thirsty on the way. Or, you know, in case the subway lost power and we got stuck underground for a few hours....not that I worry about these things, really!

Unfortunately for me, the sippy cup I grabbed is one of the leaky ones. And in the kerfuffle of the morning commute, the lunchbox was turned on its side and smashed against my back. Where the sippy cup leaked its contents the entire way, soaking my coat, my shirt, my pants, and yes, my underwear.

Nice.

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......

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.

Pig Pen

I am a wee bit anal and like things to be clean. (and yes, I realize that sounds ridiculous...but I think I could be WAY more anal so bear with me, thanks)


I love clean floors and carpets, and being able to walk around barefoot without anything sticking to my feet. It's the simple things in life, right?


I can no longer walk barefoot in our apartment, especially in the kitchen. I just can't stand it. I take three steps and -blammo!- I've got a pulverized cheerio coating the sole of my foot, a partially-chewed raisin wedged between my toes, or some unidentifiable substance is making my skin stick to the floor and making a sick 'thwack' noise as I lift my foot up into the air.


Not only do we have a cleaning lady that comes every two weeks, but on an almost daily (heh, I was about to write "hourly" but that's an exaggeration) basis I sweep and or/scrub the floor in the kitchen. I find myself with a sore back at the end of the weekend, from bending over constantly to pick up a cheerio, dried fruit, or some other piece of garbage.


Somehow I was describing to a colleague this inability to go barefoot (NO clue how our conversation veered there) and mentioned how cheerios get all over the apartment, even though we have a "food stays in the kitchen" rule that is vigorously enforced.

I described how Monkey will have cheerios stuck to her clothing, her hands, her hair, and that is how they get all over the apartment (I think). My colleague laughed and asked if she had a constant cloud of dust and dirt surrounding her, a la "Pig Pen."

Yup, that's my girl.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness....right?

We are desperately trying to get Monkey to not chuck her food on the floor at every single snack and meal.

To this end, to teach her that her actions have consequences, she is supposed to “help” clean up when she does throw her food.

So......what does she do when it is time to pick up the cheerios??? She stomps, precisely, intentionally….and with visible pleasure, on each and every single g*ddamn cheerio, reducing it to dust. Motes of cheerio-dust waft through the air and deposit in a thin layer, all over everything (including me, dad, and our beleaguered cat Ollie).

If cleanliness is next to godliness, we're raising a heathen.