Thanksgiving Countdown: 1 More Days to Go

My turkey is defrosted (on the counter thankyouverymuch). It's below freezing in London and radiator "heating" is a joke, so my kitchen is as good as the fridge, right?

I'll let you know if the three of us end up in the A&E (ER) over the weekend...

Last night, I made a honey-citrus cranberry sauce from a recipe I made up. (i.e. I had a bunch of oranges that were a day away from going bad)

I have the makings for an awesome sweet potato casserole and made-from-scratch mac n' cheese, which is the best when it's THIS cold.

I ordered "Spanish Fried Onions" for the green bean casserole. I have no idea if they're anything like the (good) "French's Fried Onions" we love from home or if I've made a terrible mistake. I decided to just take my chances.

I also ordered some pies. Good moms bake. Smart moms outsource! It's my personal motto, but feel free to use it for yourself. No really. Consider it my gift to you.

I hope all of your holiday prep is going swimmingly as well.

Happy Thanksgiving from the land of the pilgrim oppressors!

Thanksgiving Countdown: 5 More Days to Go

I have a confession to make. I have never cooked Thanksgiving dinner... ever. I've never had to, especially with two families clamoring for our time.

How funny is it that I had to move the England (which is hello, the country the pilgrims were escaping from in first place) in order to prepare my very first Thanksgiving?

As with most ridiculously complicated endeavors, I've been looking forward to the challenge, but putting off the planning.

Honestly, I have an excuse. It's not like I don't have things like deportation and unemployment on the brain. With less than a week to go to "T Day", I finally had to say, "Uncertainty be damned, I'm going to learn how to cook a turkey".

Step one: Find one.

I went to my local grocery store and was told they were out of fresh turkeys. In fact, all delivery of fresh turkeys has been SUSPENDED at our local grocery store until after December 1.

I have a feeling I know who's hoarding the world's turkey supply... UH-MER-ICA.

Undaunted I eventually tracked down a frozen turkey and had the store hold it for me, as I have no where to store it in the meantime.

My British fridge fits about four apples and a quart of milk (skimmed), and my freezer is the size of a crisper... drawer. Just one.

I thought I'd just come by for the turkey sometime next week and defrost it on the counter, except... wait! today I learned that that's WRONG!

Seriously?

Where am I supposed to thaw this thing? (See above reference to British fridge... not hyperbole)

What do you think? If if were to...say defrost my bird on the counter top anyway for lack of options, am I going to kill my family like the Internet says I will?

North, South, East, West. Mother's Milk Is Still The Best.

I would like to preface this post with saying that I am an ardent supporter of breastfeeding... and come to think of it, formula feeding too!

I'm also generally NOT a prude, nor do I think that there should be any shame or indecency associated with feeding one's child, but something happened the other day that struck me as funny and I just had to share.

I've been trying to get involved with this great parents' group in our area. As you can imagine it's mostly British mums and dads. They have been welcoming, but in a less whole-hearted and gregarious way than I'm used to in Texas.

It's not their fault. The Brits just tend to be more reserved and aren't so keen on inviting strangers "to drop by anytime" for play dates and mutual bitching, so I'm fine that things are still rather formal.

However there's one mom that I've gotten to know really well, but in a most unconventional manner...

The first time I met her, it was at another mom's house. She walked in with her kids and before introductions could be made, she pulled up her shirt to nurse her baby. No cover up or even a pretense of one.

The conversation merely pressed forward and she had to go before I could catch her name.

This happened again on the two or three other occasions I've run into her. Last time, we were in a public place and she got so caught up in the conversation that she (absent-mindedly) left her breast exposed well after her son had unlatched and nodded off.

This is all very funny to me, but only because I still don't even know her name.

**********************************************

In any case, if you were wondering about the rest of the world's attitude towards nursing mothers. The answer is... there isn't one.

(Well, at least not in my London circles.)

It makes me cringe to even think about all those times I had to squeeze into an ill-fitting fitting room to feed my son...

Or the time, I had to apologize for having to pump at work...

Or my friend that was asked to leave the dinner table because what she and her baby were doing was "gross"...

The American Beef Industry: Garbage In, Garbage Out.

Times are definitely gloomy. We all need to cut back, tighten our belts, stop eating all that fancy, expensive food... like grass.

Culture Clash

I was in the middle of explaining to a store clerk that my family and I just moved to London when he complimented me on how well I spoke English...

"Why, I can understand you perfectly," he added for good measure.

I clarified that's GREAT especially since we just moved here from the UNITED STATES of AMERICA (but thank you, nonetheless).

Even though I'm perfectly aware that I'm SHORTER and BROWNER than most folks, I tend to forget that I'm Filipino sometimes. Having been born and raised in the US, it's not like it really impacted my daily life.

I shopped at Wal-Mart, celebrated Thanksgiving with green bean casserole, and pled the fifth just like everyone else I knew. I grew up with Saturday morning cartoons and sugary cereal. I even know all of the Presidents and state capitols.

When nosy people ask where I'm from, I always say, "the US" and leave it at that, but I know what they are really after...

As one of the locals so quaintly pointed out during our recent trip to Greece, "No, no. You're not an American. Not in the face. Now, where… you… from?"

Okay, so if pressed further, I will begrudgingly clarify by saying that my parents are from the Philippines, but I am from America. This is then usually followed by one of the following:

"No, I can't converse in Tagalog, but I can understand it when spoken."
"Yes, I've been to the Philippines and yes, it is quite lovely."
"No, I will not clean your house/ know your next door neighbors' cousin's wife's who is also Filipino/ make you chicken adobo."

Okay, that last one was just a joke, but you get my point. I am proud of my heritage, but it's just tedious to explain to the casual acquaintance or souvenir vendor.

When it comes to identifying with a people... I'll have the Sonic Buger, onion rings, and a Cherry Limeade. Umm, better make that a Butterfinger Blast. (Mmm, Sonic...)

I knew moving to London was going to be a bit of "culture clash". What I didn't consider was how many cultures would be clashing...

For instance, the closest food market to us is a Middle Eastern/Polish grocery with no less than 25 types of salami and a separate sections for pierogois. The store clerks speak to one another in their native language, but not to anyone else...

The other night, I went there to buy authentic Greek yogurt when I overheard a couple nearby arguing in French. I walked past them quickly and ran into a group of girls dressed in hijab and discussing Mexican food.

If you think I'm joking, here's a photo of the frozen peas I also purchased that night...


The packaging is written in Arabic, even the heating instructions. Fortunately, I already know how to defrost peas. What I don't know if how to operate my British appliances...

What is this Celsius, they speak of?

What? No corn syrup dipping sauce?

I promise I not to become a snotty ex-pat, constantly ranting about the Euro and how far superior life in Europe is in comparison to the United States...

But there are just some things that are so quintessentially "American" that I am quite all right with leaving behind.

Such as...

We so are the fattest country in the world, aren't we....

(Breast)Feeding Carnival

Leave it to Lotus (a.k.a. Sarcastic Mom) to host a blog carnival all about boobies!

Okay, not exactly....

It's really an opportunity for mommies to talk about how they fed their babies- breast or bottle. Or, as my story goes... my love/hate relationship with my pump.

Like other moms posting their baby feeding story today, I never gave breastfeeding a second thought. In fact, like any pregnant-for-the-first-time mom, I didn't give much of anything dealing with the actual WORK of having a child a second thought...

Of course, I would nurse my son. What a no brainer, right?

Oooooo-bviously, I would give birth after pushing only twice. Yes, twice. The doctor would hand my son to me, who would latch on perfectly the first time, then gauzey, soft music would start playing... just like in all of the videos they showed us in birthing class. HA!

I was so heavily drugged and exhausted after, as I call it, "giving birth twice", that I couldn't even hold my son afterwards. He was feed formula in the nursery while I wallowed alone in in my first dose of mommy guilt in the recovery room.

The next few days in the hospital were difficult, as lactation consultant after lactation consultant was called in to... well, I guess consult with us. We eventually figured out the "mechanics" of it on our own, and I started looking forward to nursing my son. I enjoyed the time and privacy it afford us to "just be", but I was never able to produce enough milk to feed my son... in spite of trying several techniques and even one very delightful herbal tea.

Supplementing was an easy choice for us, but one that made me feel incredibly inadequate as a mom. I don't know if it was all the pressure (and controversy) put on breastfeeding or that fact that it came so naturally to the other mothers I knew, but I just seemed like a giant test of motherhood that I was failing...

Determined to stick with it for as long as possible, I purchased a top of the line pump before going back to work. Fortunately, I worked for a very "progressive" company that offered "health rooms" complete with a comfortable chair, refrigerator, a door with a lock, and dimmer switches. Again, I thought it would be easy... once I got the hang of it.

I actually loved it in there. It was peaceful and quiet and I could focus on being a mommy as my pump whirled away. In fact, I once lost track of time in there and missed the beginning of an important meeting...

It was so humiliating to have to send an apology to my boss, explaining where I was and WHY... Fortunately, she was understanding, providing it never happened again. That's when I started blocking time on my calendar for pumping. Time, I should mention, that my co-workers usually overlooked and scheduled on top of anyway.

Then, there was the time when security was called in to "break down the door" because some lady wanted to get her SCRAPBOOKING SUPPLIES that she had left in the room. When I answered the door, shirt askew and my pump in plain view, the (male) guard apologized and never bothered me again... ever!

In the end, I only lasted two or three months pumping. The stress of taking conference calls while my "magic milk machine" roared in the background made my milk dwindle to nearly nothing.

I eventually had to gave up breastfeeding entirely, but I will always think back to those tender moments when it was just me and my son with the sweetest of memories.

Mickey-D's or Chuck E Cheese

The telephone rang

Hubs cancels on us again
"...working late...blah...blah..."

The same old story
"Really? On Valentine's day?
...at the last minute?"

It's party of two
Mickey-D's or Chuck E Cheese?
Just you and me, son.

Oh, so romantic.
Crawling in the hamster maze
Just me and you, son.

Yes, my son and I spent Valentine's evening at McDonald's instead of home as a family, as originally promised to us... er, planned.

What's the point of cooking a fabulous meal filled with love when I'm only going to eat it (and/or beg my son to eat it), then clean up afterwards alone... again?

My son had a blast running around and even did a happy dance.

In fact, it was the CUTEST dance ever. He wouldn't let me get a video of it, so you'll just have to take my word of it. It was seriously so adorable.

There's probably a few of you following my recent post turned debate/discussion on FussyPants' League of Extraordinary Wives regarding this, but for those of you that aren't, here's the back story:

My husband's long hours, late nights, and weekends at the office have become the "norm" recently, leaving me with 100% of the parenting, 100% of the housework, 0% of his time and 0% help. I'm talking 100 hour work weeks, not home at 9 instead of 7, people. I've tried to be understanding. I've tried to make the best of it, but it's like being a single parent and it's killing me.

Something had to give. Why not my standards for proper nutrition?

There. Done venting.

For more Haiku Friday, check out A Mommy Story and Playgroups are No Place for Children.

Kissing Those Days Good-bye

"Ummmm, my son had three Hershey's Kisses for dinner last night, so I'm in no position to judge any of you," I blurted out at playgroup this morning.

Thinking I was just whipping out another one of my quippy one-liners, the other moms laughed, but the sad part is... It's true.

Other people used to marvel at my son's prowess with a fork and complemented me on what a "good eater" his was. Like I had anything to do with it. I just cooked something, put it on his plate, and he would eat it up, along with whatever was on my plate as well. It actually used to be that easy.

Phff! Are those days sooooo over...

Dinner is now the most difficult meal of the day, followed by lunch, then breakfast. It's not enough for him to push his plate away... Oh no! Apparently there must also be screaming of bloody murder, kicking, and bucking in his chair. Tears of agony and OMG, more screaming.

I've been told that this is "normal", but that doesn't make it any EASIER!

I've tried all kinds of cons to get him interested in his food again, from delicately cutting up fresh fruit for "smiley face" waffles to letting him "help" with the prep... (yep, that's us making banana bread together)

...to the downright sneaky.

Earlier this week, I made a deceptively delicious meal of meatloaf (with carrots) and mashed potatoes (and cauliflower), which he picked at, then quickly dismissed. My husband, however, LOVED it, so it wasn't a total wash.

Growing up, food was such psychological torture an issue in my family. It still is. My mother constantly hounds me about my weight, even going as far as offering ME a membership to Weight Watchers as an "anniversary present" for my husband and I...

umm, as if I'm not already painfully aware that I could lose a few...

Ironically, back when I was fit and working out all the time she used to nag me about being to skinny. She once called me frantic and worried because she thought my head was starting to be TOO BIG FOR MY BODY... All of my life, you just couldn't win with her!

For this reason and more, I try not to make an issue of it when my son refuses to eat. I offer him good stuff and simply respect his wishes when he declines. (The Hershey's Kisses were just shiny distractions so that WE could eat.)

Toddler Obsession

Recently, I've noticed articles about "toddler obsessions" popping up everywhere, almost like someone is trying to warn me of something...

Tonight, we went out for dinner and guess what my boy insisted on taking along with him...

The headset from my "working from home" days... and today, he's obsessed with it. It barely works thanks to being dragged, chewed, thrown, and stepped on, but my son seems to love it and who am I to argue with that.

He even insisted on wearing it properly once we were seated at our table. Then, he proceeded to eat all of his dinner and even some of mine without once...

screaming...

crying...

climbing out of his chair...

or provoking the slightest glance from fellow patrons, much less the usual obnoxious stares...

It's all about picking your battles. Sometime you may even get a win-win!

Help Is On The Way

This weekend, I received a frantic late night phone call from a new mom I know. I was putting my son to bed at the time, so I couldn't pick up. She didn't leave a message, but I later found out that she had a question about the baby's laundry... How to do it?

Home from the hospital with a newborn daughter and fresh off the narcotics, she was coming to the shocking realization about how clueless she is about this whole "basic infant care" thing...

When she couldn't reach me, she fortunately found someone else to walk her through the gentle cycle, but I was rather pleased to be the first person she thought to call for help.

Maybe I'm not such a mommy hack after all... or am I???

At the very least, I have the air of someone in the know, because her next question to me was, "What's a changing pad and why can't I find it at Target?"

Once I directed her to the exact aisle and section at our local Babies R'Us (because yes, I know exactly where they are), I also advised her to just put me and a few of our mutual mommy friends on SPEED DIAL and call us ANY TIME.

She needs all the help she can get... but then again, don't we all?

Not the White Christmas I had hoped for...

Last night was our Mom's Only Christmas party, which was a lot more fun than the Children's Christmas Party last week. There were no appearances by Santa, that's for sure. (Already an improvement...)

This afternoon, I was busy making appetizers to bring to the party. I had a stuffed pork roast in the oven and potatoes for mashing on the stove... because you better believe that Hubby comes home to a delicious dinner every night.

Yes, even on the evenings when I'm going out and Hubby and Son are staying in. (SAHMmy would be proud, wouldn't she?)

I was glowing in my rarefied domesticity when I realized that my son had seemed awfully busy (quiet) for much longer than usual. It was because he had poured out his sippy cup and was splashing in a puddle of milk behind the sofa...

Yeah, you can say it was a well-deserved night out, but then again... Aren't they all?

Hot, Party, Poop: Things that Decribe My Week

I won't lie to you. It's been a slow week blogging-wise.

A lot of my friends are on vacation or getting ready for school this week and my son's been getting over some digestive issues that I've tastefully alluded to in e-mails about missing playgroup as "just something he ate"...

I mean, really, who honestly wants to hear about my son's poop?

I, on the other hand, could talk about it for days and feel like I have... with the doctor's office, with my husband, with my parents who call everyday to ask about it, with my friends who think we're just blowing them off to watch more DVDs (because that's so unlike me and all- ha!).

So far, nothing has worked to cure it, but my son is happy, eating as much and as often as he always has, and, oh my, so active. He's been tearing through the house like a spoiled rock star, so I've decided to couch it for now. If he and the doctor aren't worried about it, neither am I...

Okay, fine. So what if I plan to call the doctor again first thing tomorrow morning to give her a full analysis of the contents of my son's diaper, but I'm still cool, right? Riiiiight.

Other than my teensy "scavenger hunt WINNING" break, I've also spent the greater part of the week prepping for the baby shower I'm hosting this weekend and coming up with clever, cutting things to say to my newest favoritest passive-aggressor (*sarcasm*) when she shows up to it...

I keep praying she won't show up, but I know I'm not that lucky. Is it bad to pray for bad things to happen to people who irritate you beyond comprehension? I know, I'm probably going to hell...

But, speaking of hell, did I happen to mention that its really, really hot here? Well, it is and I don't leave the house after noon for nothin'...

Earlier this week I attempted to do some grocery shopping for dinner. As I opened the garage door, my son and I were knocked over by a wave of heat. Pure, intense, wow-why-am-I-still-wearing-anything HOT. We never made it past the driveway. We turned, walked back into the house, called my husband to ask him to pick up something on the way home, and promptly took naps.

So, you know we haven't left the house to do anything remotely interesting either...

Hopefully, this weekend's party will yield some drama to share. Maybe even a Dynasty-esque cat brawl or two. Meow!

What I Learned on My Summer Vacation

So, I go to the biggest blogging party... er, conference of the year and all I have to show for it are two posts about my recent shopping trips...

How lame!

I have a perfectly good excuse for it, I swear.

Going to said conference meant leaving my son in the care of my husband for three days. Apparently, that's all the time needed throw off the delicate rhythm of his beautiful, perfect, wonderful sleep schedule. It's taken until this past weekend to get him back on track.

No naps for baby means no blogging time and a crazy week for momma. Let's just say there were several 5:01 p.m. phone calls to Hubby to "PLEASE COME HOME NOW! I'M ABOUT TO LOSE MY MIND!!!!" and other "not-so-proud mom" moments...

In spite of the rough week, I'm still glad I went to the conference. My Google Reader is working overtime thanks to all the new blogs I discovered at BlogHer and best of all, I had a chance to leave my "mom chores" for a bit.

The weekend away was just the answer to the previous week's horrible, terribleness. I missed my family so much, but knew they would be perfectly fine without me. I'm lucky enough to have a husband who enjoys taking an active role in parenting, so it really wasn't a big deal to leave them for a few days. I just like to tease my hubby about how the insanity is all his fault.

It really wasn't. Including the missed connecting flight home, this was the longest I've been away from our son, who is used to being with me all the time. I didn't matter how tired he was, he refused to sleep (or leave my side) until he was perfectly sure I wasn't leaving him again. I think it's just a stage he's going through, but I suppose that doesn't make it any less traumatic on the little guy... or me.

I assure you, I'm no "martyr mommy". Far from it, in fact. I've seen where that miserable, loathsome road has taken many of my friends and "uh... no, thank you".

I have friends whose husbands are perfectly capable to run companies, but have never put their kids to bed or given them a bath. Why? Because their wives insist that they can never be taught how...

Instead of involving their husbands... or hell, just letting them DO IT, they bail on girls' nights out, then complain about never having any time to themselves. It gets on my nerves when they refer to their husbands' spending time with their kids as "BABY-SITTING" or pick fights about who forgot to pack the extra diapers to prove to everyone at the party how summa cum mommy they are.

When it's his turn to be with our son, I'm perfectly comfortable stepping back and letting my husband parent without my interference. Besides, it's such a relief when he comes home and takes over for a while...especially when it means I can blog, blog, blog!

My husband and I came to an agreement a long time ago on the type of parents we want to be. Everything beyond that is just style. So what if my husband does things differently than me. We both have our son's best interest in mind. Nitpicking or "correcting" his diapering technique won't make me feel more important or more valuable around here. It won't make me the "better parent" or happier or more fulfilled...

If anything that's the kind of stuff that breeds resentment... from both parties.

Sure, being the stay-at-home one means having more pointers to pass along, but there's a surprising amount of parenting wisdom that I've gleaned from just letting my husband be the dad he wants to be. For instance, I get to witness his silliness and aptitude for making up new games with our son. I love watching the bond between them grow as they come up with more inside jokes and find new ways to make one another giggle. Seeing what a great father he is to our son allows me to see him in a new light and I love him even more for it.

He also tends to be the stricter parent about bedtimes and restricting the toys our son brings to church, but that gives me more leeway to be the fun, frivolous parent that lets him run around the toy section at Target or eat ice cream on the sofa. Being free to be with our son isn't only liberating, it has brought out the best in each of us.

For the record, my house wasn't really all "Lord of the Flies" while I was gone (as I would have lead some people to believe). In fact, the house was quite tidy when I came home last Sunday. I was impressed.

My time away was good for them, too. While I was blogging it up in Chi-town, my husband and son had some great bonding time and even managed to have an adventure or two. Since my husband is away most of the day, he only hears what it's like to be alone in the trenches of parenthood day after day. He's a very devoted father and sympathetic husband, but there's nothing like allowing him to experience it first hand to get the point across...

When I returned from the conference, my husband told me how impressed he was that I manage to do the grocery shopping twice a week with our son in tow. My husband attempted a trip to the store while I was away. They were there to get TWO things and he was barely able to keep up with our son unloading shelves along the way as he went tearing through the aisles.

It is quite nice to be missed and APPRECIATED by your loved ones and nothing in the whole wide world is more comforting after a day of TSA shakedowns, missed flights, and rude gate agents than the sight of your family eagerly waiting for you at baggage claim... in your home town.

No Mommy PTO

A visit to the doctor confirmed it...

My son has the lately, greatest stomach bug that's going around.

Fortunately for him, today has been better than yesterday. His demeanor has brightened and his appetite is slowly returning, but we were advised to lay low until the yuck goes away entirely. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say it's "working its way out".

I was about to sigh in relief when our pediatrician warned, "Watch out. You'll probably catch it next..."

...and that's all it took to suck me into a Lysol/ hand sanitizer tailspin. Did I mention moms don't get sick days?

photo by Hush Naidoo

Wishing I Could Kiss It and Make It All Better

My hands were trembling with frustration as I waited for them pick up their phone. I must have hit redial 20 times. Is it unreasonable to expect an actual person to speak to me at our pediatrician's office?

I would even settle for their automated phone service to pick up. Dial "1" for English, followed by "2" for a non-emergency, then "4" to leave a message for the nurse.... Then I could at least hope that someone may get my message and actually respond. In desperation, I called their after-hours answering service and was greeted by a surly attendant.

Why do they always have to be surly? I mean, how difficult is it to take messages that you're not even responsible for answering.

She informed me that the doctor's office isn't answering its phone, which I obviously already knew, and took my name and number. A nurse responded within the hour and after a well-rehearsed litany of symptoms and their possible causes, I was told there wasn't much we could do.

That was Friday...

Since then, we've done four full loads of vomit-soaked laundry, disinfected the sofa and the carpets, hand washed all of his toys, purchased the pricey name-brand Pedialyte, canceled the week's play dates, begged my pediatrician mom to make a "house call", and rocked, cuddled, and comforted our scared, sick child.

After years of working at my mom's office and hearing her dispense the same common sense medical advice ad nauseam (so to speak), I swore I would NEVER become one of "those moms". The ones that freak out with every head cold and obsesses over every milestone. Well, guess what? I did.

"Common sense" isn't much comfort when your child looks at you with such sad eyes and you can't kiss it and make it better. Powerless against the germs, I run to his bedside with each stir... or every five minutes, whatever comes first. I make sure his favorite toy is always clean and on hand. I offer him crackers and keep his cup filled with whatever liquid will stay down, but there really isn't anything I can do to make his sore tummy go away...

I can't wait for the spark of his sweet smile to come back. That's when I'll know that it's really all better.

We Get The Hint And No Thanks

We received a dinner invitation for this weekend, but I was feeling super lazy about taking my son to a restaurant. Especially since I seem to be doing it a lot recently.

Having to chop up and pack all of my son's food along with his place mats, bibs, wipes, and spoons beforehand, only for it to end up on the restaurant floor gets tiresome. He usually takes more of an interest in MY food anyway, demanding bites of my sandwich or insisting that he dip his spoon in my soup...

Naturally, I'm less apologetic and more comfortable dining out with certain friends, mostly other couples with babies. People that UNDERSTAND or don't seem to mind the destruction happening before them.

Where two or more babies are gathered... screaming, chaos, and mess is sure to ensue. Conversation, or rather our piecemeal attempts at conversion, is greatly dependant (diminished) upon the mood of our tiny dining companions. I'm lucky that once our son's fancy is indulged, he's usually content to continue quietly playing with his bowl and spoon. Although he has his moments, my son is generally calm and well behaved during meals.

While the friends who invited us to dinner this weekend don't have children of their own, they seemed okay with including our son. We had already agreed to going, but I was a bit slack about getting back to them about finalizing the details. In the interim, they went ahead and made alternate plans with another couple we know... you know, just in case we NEVER call back.

Okay, so we never NEVER call back and I find that to be a trife rude, but whatever....

They had planned a night of (heavy) drinking at a place that serves something called a "Blow Torch", followed by a movie. Since it obviously wasn't baby-friendly and too late for us to get a sitter anyway, we politely declined. The other couple have a child about our son's age, but they were planning to leave him at a daycare.

"We hope it wasn't because we invited that other couple to join us," my friend weakly inquired.

I wasn't because they invited the other couple. It was because I didn't want to hear another thinly veiled "hint" from them about how "you know, we leave our son with an hourly drop-in daycare when we go out and he really, really, really likes it..." (implied: why don't you do the same ?)

I know it's aggravating to take our kids out with us. Sure, it limits where we can go and how long we can stay.... Sometimes, we have to go out again just to rehash the conversation we tried to have the last time we had dinner together...

Still, dealing with all that it still better than leaving my toddler with a stranger. I guess I just have a silly little quirk about needing to know and trust the people who I leave to care for my child. While it think it's fine and dandy that they found something that works for them, I don't feel comfortable leaving my son with someone he hardly knows... Hell, that WE hardly know!

My husband and I fully admit to being overprotective and paranoid, but I think we have every right to be considering the kind of world we live in. I have heard enough personal accounts from my mom (the pediatrician) and my sister (the former daycare worker, nanny, and school teacher) to know what comes from not trusting your parental instincts. Plus, I know what happens at daycare centers, even the "good ones"... not good.

It's not that I don't like leaving my son with other people. He stays with my parents or my sisters fairly often when we need a break, a date night, or simply to run an errand best run without him. I've never left my son with a paid sitter, because I haven't had to... Fortunately, my family is more than willing to help out whenever they can.

All I ask is a decent amount of time to plan ahead... and perhaps that you don't blow me off and make alternate plans the morning of when you could have simply called me to confirm. You know, the funny thing about the phone is that it works both ways.

A Bull in a China Shop

Or, rather a toddler in a paint-your-own pottery shop...

A few weeks ago, the playgroup moms decided that hand-painted pottery "from the kids" would be a GREAT Father's Day gift. I say that like I actively participated in planning this event...

Nope, I just ignorantly went along with it... more like blissfully neglected to consider what it really entailed. I mean, what am I doing bringing a toddler to a shop FULL of breakables and paint!!!

It went about as well as one could expect. That is, NOT WELL at all. My friend commended me on how "brave" I was to try this with my son, because she certainly wouldn't have been with her first born. Her two boys, ages 18 months and 7 years old, happily painting little picture frames beside here. I told her, "I'm not brave. I'm stupid. Very, very stupid". Never one to back down from a challenge, I was pretty confident that if the other moms could handle it, I could it. Speaking of which, where is the mom that suggested this foolish... er, spectacular idea???

Well, she arrived an hour and half late, dressed all in WHITE with her happy, clean toddler in tow. When I remarked that she was ambitious to wear white to this, she gleefully remarked, "oh, we're not painting today. We did this for Father's Day last year (tee-hee) and it was so much fun". This time last year our boys were two months old so, I'm sure it was...

Baby fast asleep in the stroller, waking up only when it was time to stick his hand print on a platter of some sort or maybe not even... Mommy blissfully painting away.

Ummmm, flash forward to the present where I sat along side my fellow playgroup mommies and kids, holding my screaming, squirmy child (who only screamed more when I put him down) in my lap with one hand while masterfully painting my project with the other. (Note to self: highlight multi-taking abilities in resume). As my son became more and more restless and LOUDER, I suffered a few rude stares from the other patrons, but I didn't care. We came to paint and paint we did...

I chose to decorate a sarcastically large cereal bowl for my husband since he takes care of the breakfast routine with our son and I always tease him about eating a sarcastic amount of cereal every morning. I thought it was cute idea and, more importantly, it seemed relatively simple. I managed to crudely paint the outside, inside, and ask for assistance with getting my son's hand prints on either side of the bowl before he reached total meltdown.

Why was this such a good idea, again? Oh wait, it wasn't...

For $8 more, an artist can clean up put the finishing touches on our project. SOLD! I hurriedly gave the shop owner my instructions and tried to pay for my piece. I patiently stood in line behind a woman asking a million questions...

My son started grabbing and tossing various knick-knacks, pens, and papers that were on the counter. His playgroup buddies were getting pretty restless too and their moms fell in line behind us. Before our turn was up, an older lady tried push her way in front of me and made some comment OUT LOUD about "these boys must need to get home...", to which I curtly replied, " Yes, they do. So maybe you shouldn't try to cut in line". As this point, my son was full sprawled on the counter, which very clearly indicated that we were indeed here first.

I asked that clerk if I could just pay when I come back to pick up my bowl, she looked at me and said, "Oh, right. Sorry, are you in a hurry..."

YES, I AM IN A HURRY! I WANT TO LEAVE! MY SON WANTS TO LEAVE! and in case you haven't noticed... EVERYONE IN THIS PLACE WANTS US TO LEAVE!!!

I guess my little boy wore himself out because as soon as I buckled his car seat, he shut his eyes and fell asleep... until we got home, where he decide to resume his tantrum.

My husband better appreciate his stupid Father's Day bowl...

To my friend who left me a voicemail today

To my friend who left me a voicemail today,

Thank you for calling to cancel our play date this week... especially since I was just about to do the same, as I inadvertently double booked us this week and wouldn't have been able to make it anyway.

I'm sorry to hear that your son has a terrible fever and was cranky all day. I wish I could have personally offered my sympathies, but I probably couldn't hear the ringing of the telephone over the tantrum my son's been throwing ALL DAY LONG...

He refused to nap this afternoon and wouldn't eat or drink. He didn't even enjoy our trip to the grocery store like he usually does... It turns out he's teething again, poor little guy, and was just trying to tell me he was in a great deal of pain. I don't know if there's baby sign language for "#$%&* !!!"

Perhaps I missed your call when I was outside bidding my family "good-bye" after they dropped by (unexpectedly) on their way home from the airport. They were returning from a weekend in Cabo and wanted to show me the pictures they took of... oh well, the resort where they stayed... the timeshare they were swindled into purchased... and the destination wedding that they attended.

My mom, friend of the mother of the groom, had lots of catty things to say about the bride. Passed along by her new mother-in-law, no doubt. Did I mention that these are all people I do not know and do not care to hear catty things about? From what I could tell, it seemed like a nice wedding. Good for the Bride and Groom. As I told my mom, "It's their day. They can be anyway that they want to be..." but I digress.

Maybe I didn't hear the call-waiting beep when I was on the other line with my sister, who called to COMPLAIN about "having" to go to Mexico for the weekend on our parents' dime. Apparently, she's over the whole "family vacation thing" (i.e. hasn't been supporting herself in the real world long enough to appreciate a completely free, non-work related, no-strings-attached, honest-to-goodness VA-CA-TION! ). She didn't even attend the wedding. She was there purely on leisure (!!!)

(sigh!) I wish I could go on vacation. I could really use one...

Could it be that you called this morning while I was at the local library's "Mother Goose Story Time"? It sucked by the way. Don't go.

The moderator was sooooo dull that the kids (and the grown ups) were bored to tears. Literally. Of the twelve kids that showed up, half were crying while the other half tried crawling away. The group ranged from one month to a year old. What a one month old needs with story time is beyond me. Shouldn't she have been home, avoiding germs?

Speaking of germs, dirty and chewed up hand bells were handed to each kid to jiggle along to a song, only to wind up in the kids' mouths as they probably have many times before... yet I can guarantee they've never seen the sunny side of a Lysol Wipe. I'm only a moderate germ-a-phob, but even I couldn't resist a good long soak in hand sanitizer after that. My son and I walked out before the "good bye" song... but unfortunately not in time get your call.

Also, I'm sorry I haven't returned your call yet. You see, I check my voicemail rather late in the day and was about to call back when I realized that it was time to make dinner. Then, my husband came home and wanted to vent about his day (more catty things about people I don't know). I listened attentively and patiently until it was time for the little guy's bath and bedtime. There were dirty dishes and a dirty kitchen floor... but, I blew that off to blog.

I'll call you tomorrow and ask how your son is doing. I promise. XOXO

OMG! I have a Toddler

My son has a fat lip.

No, I did NOT beat him. He took a flying leap off some playgroup equipment yesterday and landed on his face. A stunt that earned him the nickname of "Danger Mouse".

What was a slightly swollen lip at the time morphed into two full-blown blood bruises on the top of his mouth by this morning. I suspect it looks more painful than it actually is since it hasn't seemed to hinder him in anyway-- eating or otherwise.

My husband tells me that I should get used to the bumps and bruises that inevitably comes with a little boy. Apparently, this is nothing... I guess I'm still a little faint of heart when it come to anything hurting my son.

At the grocery store early today, a smart-alecky cashier asked, "What happened to him?!"

What happened is that he turned one and became a toddler...

Oh my GOD, I have a toddler!!!!

...and the rules of the game have completely changed. Why has no one brought this to my attention until now?

At his one year check-up with the pediatrician, I was told he's in perfect health and just the right size for a FIFTEEN MONTH OLD. It seems there was nothing wrong with giving my child formula and store-bought baby food after all. Hmmm....

The perfectly nutritious formula and baby food that I was also told that I should replace with whole milk and wholesome well-balanced meals constituted of non-choking hazard, non-allergen table food.

With the exception of dinner, I can barely get it together to feed myself a decent meal during the day. Now, I have to prepare FIVE for my son... and supervise for the entire two hours it takes for him to feed himself. That is, of course, if he doesn't get bored with eating first.

He lets me know when he's ready to be excused by sharing his food with the dog we do not and have never owned....

He starts with dropping bits of food on the floor when he thinks I'm not looking. Once he has my full attention, he usually empties his tray with one grand sweeping motion and smears the rest of it on his chair, in his hair, and his clothes.

I'm not sure what I can do to make him stop throwing food on the floor. I don't exactly have time to find the solution in the numerous parenting books people have recommended. Relying on my own devices, I've tried being stern, slowly and clearly explaining to him why...

we...

don't...

throw...

food...

I've tired sending him to bed, I've tried ignoring him, and I've tried humor.

While humor works great in getting the point across with my peers, somehow the subtext gets lost on the kid. No matter how I react, he just thinks we're playing a game and keeps doing it with an adorable smile.

Ah, yes, discipline. About that... um, I have to start doing it.

I admit, I've had it easy. My son used to just do things out of curiosity, pure and simple. Not out of defiance. Not out of frustration or anger. Not to get attention. Just because it seems fun at the time and who can't appreciate the joy in that. My job was to make sure he stayed clean and didn't get hurt.

Ahem! A task that was getting increasingly tougher as evidenced by the fat lip...

I can tell when he looks me right in the eye and throws his lunch at me with that knowing grin and mischievous laugh, he's challenging me to a duel of wills.

I think he's winning....

With my son being a toddler now, it just seems like a whole lot more is being expected of him... and more alarmingly, of me as well.