Diary of a New Mom

You WILL Sleep Again (Someday)

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 02:02:00 +0000

This morning I talked to a friend who had a baby 5 weeks ago. (Congrats again, M.C.! Thanks for inspiring today’s post.) She’s in the stage of new motherhood I affectionately call the “what the hell did I get myself into?” stage. The stage where the post-birth euphoria has worn off, your help has gone home, Daddy’s gone back to work, and the baby has decided to reveal her true colors.

The stage where you go, “Oh, THAT’S why people kept harping about getting my rest while I still could.” When you realize weeks of sleep deprivation really is that bad and WORSE. When you wonder how in the hell people can do this more than once, and what the heck you were thinking when you were all, “Sure! Great! Let’s have a baby! It’ll be FUN!”

My friend said something that made me laugh. Another woman in her new mom’s group said she sees people with toddlers and is in awe that anybody lasts that long. It’s so true. As a new mom, you can’t imagine making it through the next DAY, let alone the next 18+ years.

The people who come up to new moms and tell them to enjoy every minute because it goes so fast don’t realize how much they’re endangering themselves, making those comments to an unstable, sleep-deprived, possibly homicidal new mom. (Here’s my rant against those people.)

So how DO people survive the tough early stages of babyhood? And the arguably tougher stages that follow it? I’ll tell you how the BABIES survive. As my mom says, “God made babies cute so we wouldn’t leave them on a hillside.”

But seriously, the answer is -- you get used to it. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, you learn to function on much, MUCH less sleep. You begin to think of showering not as a daily necessity, but as an optional activity. You become a devotee of Drs. Karp, Weissbluth, and possibly Ferber. Through the process of trial and error, you figure out what your baby likes and doesn’t like. (My friend has already discovered what she calls “the magical fleece blanket.”)

Soon, you will think nothing of whipping out a boob in public and sniffing your baby’s butt. You may have long, passionate discussions about sleep schedules and nipple cream – with strangers. You consider it a good day if the baby “only” screamed for 3 hours or “only” woke up 4 times during the night. Coming in frequent contact with another person’s vomit and feces no longer fazes you. You simply dab at it with a baby wipe and go about your day.

Yep, life after baby is a strange new world, people.

Who was it that said, “If you’re going through hell, keep on going”? That’s pretty much all you can do. And believe it or not, it WILL get better. One day you’ll wake up with a jolt at 6 a.m. and realize the baby FINALLY slept through the night. One evening you’ll notice a strange sound in the house and realize the baby ISN’T screaming. And one night long, LONG after you’ve given birth, you may turn to your husband and not only NOT hate him anymore, but actually feel attracted to him again. I know -- crazy talk!!

But if it wasn’t true, how would the human race continue to reproduce? Because after the “what the hell did I get myself into?” stage eventually comes the “it wasn’t really so bad” stage. And that, my friends, is how you end up with Baby #2 and beyond. Consider yourselves warned.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: If you’re not intimately familiar with the 5 S’s, run -- don’t walk -- to Amazon.com and order The Happiest Baby on the Block DVD. (Not the book; new moms don’t have time to read!) Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version.

Did You Hear the One About…?

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 03:00:00 +0000

So we’re sitting around the dinner table tonight and my mom (who’s visiting) says to Miles, “Can you eat that big piece of broccoli or do you need me to cut it up into smaller pieces?” And Miles holds up the spear of broccoli like a cross and says, “Go in peace.” We all cracked up.

Encouraged by the crowd’s reaction, Miles starts rattling off the jokes. “How did the dinosaur get on top of the building? He jumped over it!” “What if there was a CROCODILE sitting at the table?” (3-year-old humor.)

The thing is, the kid is actually funny. Hilarious, even. He can do impressions. He does this uncanny impression of his dad singing a Chubby Checker song to the baby. (Get it? ‘Cause he’s chubby?) I guess you had to be there…

My son and my husband have similar senses of humor. They both think it’s hysterical to call each other names like “shark eyes” and “meatball.” With friends Miles’ own age, of course, potty jokes kill. That NEVER seems to get old to kids, huh? Miles calls his baby brother all sorts of “poopy”-themed names, which, I hate to admit, are pretty appropriate.

But nothing seems to crack up my boy more than good old-fashioned violence. The cartoon kind, anyway. We got him a Tom & Jerry DVD featuring classic cartoons of the cat and mouse chasing each other with hammers and slamming each other over the head with frying pans and that sort of thing. I have never, I mean NEVER, heard Miles laugh as hard in his life as when he’s watching Tom & Jerry. And when you see a little kid shrieking with laughter, you can’t help but laugh yourself. It’s impossible, people.

I have to say, I’m glad that my son has a sense of humor. Laughing at the funny noises the baby makes definitely lightens the mood on days when everybody’s tired and whiny. Did I tell you about the time C. staggered downstairs after a long night and said, “I can barely keep my eyes open”? And Miles, without missing a beat, launches into Johnny Cash: “I keep my eyes wide open all the time…” Now THAT’S funny.

A lot funnier than his knock-knock jokes. A poopy-headed dinosaur may be hilarious to the toddler set, but it’s lost on me. Keep working on your stand-up act, buddy!

TIP O’ THE WEEK: Check out this site for kid-friendly jokes, including an interactive knock-knock joke generator. Sample: Knock-Knock. “Who’s there?” Amish. “Amish who?” Amish you when you’re gone.

What a Scream

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 00:25:00 +0000

What the hell is wrong with my baby? That’s what I want to know. Ever since he came into the world, this child has been giving me a run for my money. Or, more accurately, headaches and minor hearing loss. Every day, for a good portion of the day, he screams and cries and yells and then, just to mix it up, he’ll SCREAM SOME MORE.

OK, that’s a *slight* exaggeration. If he’s just been fed and is well rested and is in sight of Mom and is not cooped up in a crib or highchair and is allowed to crawl around exposing himself to as much danger as possible, Riley is all smiles. For awhile.

But god forbid you ignore him at 3 a.m., or stop in the middle of feeding him to, say, cross the room to grab some coffee. He will let you know AT TOP VOLUME what he thinks of that.

He’s been a huge mama’s boy since Day 1, so you’d think I’d be used to it 8 mos. in. But no, I am still surprised when he bursts into tears when a stranger smiles at him, or when he clings to me for dear life when I drop him off at the gym daycare for an hour. I thank my lucky stars that he doesn’t pull this crap with our regular babysitter. (Or if he does, she doesn’t rat him out.) Because if it weren’t for those little breaks now and then, I hate to think what I might do.

Lots of people – including my gentle, loving husband, Riley’s dad – find it hard to believe anyone could feel animosity towards a tiny, adorable, defenseless baby. I know, it’s shocking even to me the mean thoughts I sometimes have about my own flesh and blood. (Like, “If I could duct-tape that binky to your face to shut you up for half an hour, I WOULD.”)

But seriously. How would you feel if EVERY SINGLE DAY from breakfast through bedtime, a tiny tyrant was screaming at you every time you weren’t giving him your complete, undivided attention and/or carrying his 22 lb. self around? You’d feel worn out and pissed off, that’s how!!

Today, the only time the baby wasn’t screaming was when he was sucking on a banana in his little mesh feeder thingy or being pushed in the stroller outside. Believe me, I’d do these things 24/7 if it weren’t for annoying little chores like taking my 3 y.o. to school, eating, and getting 3 people dressed.

Sometimes I just want to scream at Riley, “DUDE!! Shut the f*** up!! You’re killing me with that air raid siren you call a voice!!” Of course, that’s usually when he decides to break into a big, drooly grin. That little bugger has me under his tiny little thumb.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: Miles was looking at a picture of Jesus in his Bible storybook. He pointed to his feet and said, “Mom, are those flip-flops or Crocs?”

Flu Frenzy

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 01:46:00 +0000

So I was all set to write a post about the flu frenzy and the insane level of misinformation and fear surrounding the swine flu, vaccines, etc., and then I decided I was already bored and fed up with the topic.

I mean, just because I’ve wasted countless hours on the phone and spent my days running all over town talking to scarily incompetent healthcare professionals who “just” ran out of flu shots and “may” be getting more “sometime,” eventually, maybe, in the not-too-distant future but they can’t be sure and they don’t know whether they’re allowed to give them to kids or not or if so, what age, doesn’t mean you all have to read about it.

But can I just say, I knew more than the lady who answered the H1N1 hotline at the COUNTY HEALTH DEPT!! She did not even know the correct URL for the CDC web site, and she referred me to a hospital whose next scheduled flu shot clinic is in JANUARY 2010!! The sheer ineptitude of these people is scarier than the potential risks of the flu.

And by the way? If I see one more news segment talking about how important it is for young children and especially those with asthma (like my 3 y.o.) to get their shots and how Oct. is the best time to get them I WILL SCREAM.

Since I am completely powerless and unable to protect my family in any way even though I live in AMERICA and have the best healthcare coverage you could hope for, I have become that crazy germophobe lady. I am the mom at Chick-fil-A who’s hosing her kids down with Purell before, during, and after the meal and twice after my son has visited the bathroom and play area.

I’m THISCLOSE to making everyone wear matching surgical masks a la Michael Jackson. I greet my husband at the door after work with a bottle of hand sanitizer. I serious consider making him wear rubber gloves to hold the baby. So, yeah, it’s been really fun around here lately!

In other news, Miles had school picture day recently. He brought home the photos and the first thing I thought was, “Wow. His hair really won’t hold a style. Instead of a hairbrush and gel, I might as well have attacked his head with an egg beater and gotten the same result.” My husband took one look and said, “Why isn’t he wearing a nice collared shirt?”

Why do you THINK?! Maybe because he threw a hissy fit and refused to get dressed unless I let him wear his guitar T-shirt? Listen, a pre-K photo is not worth a knock-down drag-out fight at 8 a.m. if you ask me. Besides, you only have to look at the class photo to see he’s not the odd man out. 90% of the boys are wearing superhero or truck T-shirts while the girls have on party dresses.

But funny thing -– there’s not a surgical mask in sight.

READ O' THE WEEK: "Pigs Aplenty, Pigs Galore" by David McPhail seems appropriate.

UPDATE O’ THE WEEK: A reader wrote in to ask about Miles’ recurring cough which turned out to be asthma. He now takes Singulair nightly to manage his allergies and when a cough/cold flares up we give him Benadryl to dry up the post-nasal drip and Albuterol in a nebulizer when the cough gets really bad. It’s a pain, but it seems to be working.

RECIPE O’ THE WEEK: C. made Rachael Ray’s Chili Lime Tilapia the other night and it was dee-lish! Even the picky eater ate a few bites. For dessert: Trader Joe’s apple blossoms are to die for. From freezer to microwave to your lips in 60 secs.

Brother Bother

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 13:44:00 +0000

Bringing home a new baby 8 mos. ago was a huge adjustment, I'm not gonna lie. Especially for our first-born, who for almost 3 years had enjoyed a nice run as an only child and The Center of the Universe. In our house, anyway.

Miles' feelings for his little brother have run the gamut from curiosity to amusement to love to annoyance. I hesitate to say "hate," because it's never gotten quite THAT bad. This video perhaps best illustrates my sons' relationship:

Since Miles has to put up with a screetching sidekick most of the time, it's no surprise that on the few occasions he gets an outing -- or a parent -- to himself, he's over the moon. Read more about our recent mother-son bonding at TheBump.com:

I'm a Scary Mommy, Too

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 01:26:00 +0000

Well, I didn’t win TheBump.com’s Mommy Blog Award, but I WAS a finalist. So thanks to all of you who voted for me! As they say, it’s an honor just to be nominated. Good thing I hadn’t picked out a fancy gown or anything... ;)

You know who DID win? Scary Mommy. And in honor of the new movie Motherhood, starring Uma Thurman, she’s running a contest to find other Scary Mommies out there. She defines it like this: “I believe a Scary Mommy is a mother who doesn’t leave the house wearing lipstick at all times. A Scary Mommy loves her kids to death, but will admit to feeling totally overwhelmed and exhausted by the gig. A Scary Mommy doesn’t really care what other people think, and a Scary Mommy thinks that all mothers win when we admit our weaknesses.”

Weaknesses? I have a few. Loves her kids? Check. Overwhelmed? Check. And going out without lipstick? How about without shoes? I left the house in my slippers the other day and didn’t even notice till I was in line at the drugstore. Anyway, here’s why I think I’m a Scary Mommy.

Yesterday started typically with my 8 m.o. screetching from his crib around 5 a.m. Having woken up to nurse at 11 p.m. and 3 a.m., he was starving, naturally. So what if he weighs well over 20 lbs? So what if he’d consumed half a sweet potato, a cup of squash, a banana, and a bowl of cereal throughout the day? So what if he’s got more chub on his thighs than “The Biggest Losers”? The baby must be FED!

His shrieks awakened his older brother, who exited his room bewildered and wet. Why, oh WHY, did we not put a Pull-Up on him, “just in case”? Because the potty training? Didn’t fully “take,” you see. Even though he’s 3 ½ and we’ve been at it for almost a year. Between the baby’s constant spitting up and his brother’s frequent accidents, we do more laundry in a week than a laundromat.

With Dad long gone to work, we three trudge downstairs to find the dog has been in the trash again and shredded a dirty diaper throughout the first floor. Clean-up in Aisle 2! Breakfast is procured as quickly as possible to minimize the squawks from the highchair and complaints from the booster seat. “I don’t WANT cereal, Mama, I wanted a WAFFLE! I don’t want BANANAS on it, Mama, I want BLUEBERRIES!!” Meanwhile, Mama hasn’t even gotten to go to the bathroom yet, let alone make coffee.

Filling the coffeepot with water, I notice the sink isn’t draining. I flip on the disposal. CRUNCH!! Oops. How did that glass baby food jar get down there? The waffle is taking an awfully long time to toast. Oops. Maybe because I unplugged it to plug in my breast pump. Where are all the bottles and sippy cups? Oops. Still dirty in the dishwasher; “someone” forgot to run it last night.

On a good day, getting 3 people fed, dressed, and out the door to school or the sitter makes us only 20 min. late. Factor in a lost sneaker, a diaper blowout, or an appointment requiring makeup and you’re looking at a 40 min. delay.

I used to be an organized person. I used to be punctual, fairly well-groomed, and able to use the bathroom whenever I wanted to. I went entire weeks without encountering another person’s bodily fluids. I did not refer to myself in the third person or know who Wow Wow Wubbzy was. But now... Now I’m a mommy. Pretty scary, huh?

LINK O' THE WEEK: Another Scary Mommy, Loukia, posted these hilarious pics of her 2 boys' antics. Now THOSE are shots for the family scrapbook!

Baby Food Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 00:04:00 +0000

Imagine how much easier it would be to raise kids if you didn’t have to feed them?

You could blissfully go about your day without having to puree anything or push green beans on anyone. You wouldn’t have to water down juice, cut off crusts, or pick the raisins out of raisin bread. You wouldn’t have strenuous negotiations about how many bites of chicken equals half an hour of Spongebob, and you wouldn’t have to hose down your kitchen floor 3 times a day. I know -- crazy talk!

I was reminded how labor-intensive the feeding of small children can be when my 7 m.o. son, Riley, started solid food recently. Unlike for my 3 y.o., Miles, I couldn’t just throw a toaster waffle and a whole banana on a plate and call it breakfast. I had to mix the oatmeal, blend in the peaches, heat it to just the right temperature, and then sit there shoveling it into his mouth for 20 min., not to mention the considerable cleanup afterward. Our morning routine doesn’t allow for that kind of time, people!

I remember before I had a baby thinking that people who made their own baby food were nuts. Isn’t that what Gerber is for? Then when Miles was tiny, I realized that pureeing a sweet potato wasn’t that hard, not to mention way cheaper. Then I got a little TOO ambitious. There was the steamed carrot explosion and later, the broccoli-cheese muffin debacle. (Tip: Just because your child likes blueberry muffins does NOT mean he will fall for muffins containing stinky green vegetables.)

This time around, I still microwave the occasional sweet potato but don’t have time for much more. And that’s a shame, because I’ve decided to do only organic baby food and that stuff’s EXPENSIVE!! Almost $1/jar for watered-down applesauce?! BTW, why doesn’t Trader Joe’s come out with their own line of baby food?

Anyway, there have definitely been some culinary hits and misses in our house when it comes to feeding our children. My husband earned a permanent spot in our family lore with his signature Kung Fu Panda maneuver. Miles was refusing to eat something or other until C. served it “Kung Fu Panda style.” Meaning, he held out a bite of food with chopsticks and Miles took a flying kung-fu leap and ate it in mid-air. My mom was visiting at the time, and this episode pretty much cemented C.’s title as Super Dad in her eyes.

C. has a far higher success rate with getting Miles to eat than I do. His creations include veggie burger “sliders” – mini burgers w/ all the fixings – and BBQ chicken wraps. “It’s all in the presentation,” he says smugly, as I try to foist forkfuls of shepherd’s pie into my picky eater’s face. But except for occasionally using a star-shaped cookie cutter on his PB&J’s, I can’t be bothered.

After all, I’ve got another kid to feed now. When I remember, that is. Fortunately, Riley’s still getting most of his calories from breastmilk because otherwise, he might wither away. On more than one occasion, I’ve packed a picnic lunch for the playground only to realize, oops! I brought nothing for the baby. And it’s not like I can give him a bite of his brother’s cheese stick.

Just today, we forgot Riley’s breakfast in the morning rush. Sorry, buddy! (Don’t worry, he’ll more than make up for it during those 2 nighttime feedings he’s STILL insisting on!) And since he refused to try Indian food, Miles’ dinner consisted of blueberry yogurt and half an apple. Oh, well. They say what a kid eats over the course of a week is more important than what he eats (or doesn’t eat) in one day.

So, anyone interested in 2 dozen broccoli-cheese mini muffins? Anyone??

LINK O’ THE WEEK: My SIL tipped me off to this web site, Weelicious.com, for fast, healthy, kid-friendly food.

READS O’ THE WEEK: My last post sparked some intense debate as well as some spin-off posts, which I’ll be the first to admit are perhaps, ahem, more thoughtful and diplomatic than mine was: “Mommy on the Sidelines” on It’s Not Like a Cat… and “A Plea to Spouses” on So Much to Say, So Little Time. I feel blessed to have such positive, constructive, interactive readers.

Deadbeat Dads?

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 18:19:00 +0000

Lately I feel like I’m a hotline for overworked, underappreciated moms. Friend after friend has vented to me with some variation of the following: “I do practically EVERYTHING around here, taking care of the kids, the meals, the laundry, the bills, the shopping, etc., etc. while my husband surfs the web/ watches TV/ sits on his ass/ or just doesn't notice. What is his problem? How can I get him to pitch in more? And when do *I* get some friggin’ time off?!”

I’m not even going to TRY to be politically correct or diplomatic in this post because, well, it’s my damn blog and I don’t have to. Besides, I’ve heard it from so many women at this point I’m going to go out on a limb and say guys like this are the norm. Parenting magazine wouldn’t have devoted a 2-part series to this issue if it weren’t a problem for lots of us.

This is inevitably going to piss off my husband and all those other dads out there who think they’re doing their fair share. And to them I say, “Really?” Do you REALLY, HONESTLY feel that your contributions are equal to those of your wife?

Do you really, truly believe in your heart of hearts that mowing the lawn every couple of weeks and changing the oil and taking the kids to Chick-fil-A on Saturdays offsets your wife’s duties? Do you even KNOW the extent of her duties? Hint: they probably include large amounts of time spent on stain removal, making things for preschool bake sales, and commemorating every event for family and friends with the proper card and/or gift – which includes KNOWING WHERE THE STAMPS ARE and addressing and mailing said cards on time.

I’m going to stop there because a complete list could fill several hundred pages and I’d like to finish this post before I turn 40. And also, because it’s making me mad.

Mad is the feeling I get when I encounter these real-life scenarios (some of which were NOT taken from my own life):

-- The husband of a busy SAHM of 3 children involved in countless sports and activities says to his wife, “I’ve noticed most of the other moms in the neighborhood mow their lawns. Why can’t you do that?” I literally had to bite back the obscenities when I heard this. Did I mention this guy travels for work at least half of each week, so the mom essentially works 72-hr shifts with no relief?

-- A husband volunteers to cook dinner one night. At 6 p.m., he begins surfing around on Foodnetwork.com and rummaging through the pantry. I guess hoping the exact ingredients will magically materialize? When the kids begin to have hunger-induced meltdowns and the wife loses her cool, the husband accuses her of being a control freak and calls out for pizza.

-- A husband volunteers to do the grocery shopping but can’t be bothered to make a list, asking his wife to text it to his phone instead. He still forgets the top 2 most essential items -- milk and toilet paper -- neglects to use the $5 coupon for formula, and comes home with regular baking potatoes instead of sweet potatoes.

-- A husband tells his wife she should stop breastfeeding because it’s making her bitchy. However, he refuses to do any middle of the night feedings because he has to be alert for work the next day. And he doesn’t even know what a bottle sterilizer IS, let alone how to use one.

I’m sorry, but this is just not right. The question is, what can we do about it? You can’t MAKE someone care that the clothes will get wrinkled if they’re not folded straight out of the dryer. You can’t FORCE someone to notice the collection of curdled milk-filled sippy cups under the couch. And you don’t WANT to set up a dynamic with your husband in which you treat him like a spoiled child and he treats you like an unreasonable shrew.

So how do you turn the tables? How do you even out the workload? How do you get to a point where you don’t feel like spitting nails whenever your husband shoves aside a pile of unfolded laundry to put his feet up and watch the game? Good questions.

The Parenting articles I mentioned contain loads of good info. (Such as: 46% of moms get irate with their husbands once a week or more. Those with kids younger than 1 are even more likely to be mad that often.) This web site, which I’ve mentioned several times, has this to say about “How to Stop Fighting Over Housework." I found the book "The Lazy Husband" to be validating, if not life-changing. And I’ve heard the authors of "Getting to 50-50" on several talk shows. I’m not yet convinced such a balance exists in any marriage.

In fact, I don’t know that there really is a solution. Maybe time and gradual (begrudging?) acceptance is the only way. That seems to be what worked for my mom, who considers herself a feminist, worked AND raised kids most of her life, and has been happily married to my dad for 35 years. She said to me once she doesn’t know where we women today got the idea that parenting and household duties should be shared equally. After all, it’s never been 50/50 for any generation.

She may be right, but at this point I’d settle for 70/30.

READ O’ THE WEEK: In Home Game, author Michael Lewis’ hilariously honest memoir of fatherhood, he freely admits that his m.o. is to do as little as possible when it comes to parenting. He estimates his domestic contributions at about 31.5%. He gets points for honesty, but I still feel sorry for his wife (ex-MTV news reporter Tabitha Soren, BTW).

FACT O’ THE WEEK: A survey of 360 married men found that the more satisfied a wife is with the division of household duties, the more satisfied a man is with his sex life. WAKE UP, GUYS!!

My Baby's an Ageist

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 00:57:00 +0000

My baby hates old people. I can’t deny it anymore; it’s true. Old people that aren’t related to him, that is. This is embarrassing, to say the least.

We’ll be at some gathering and everyone will be cooing over the baby, and then some sweet grandmotherly type will have the gall to smile at him, or worse – PICK HIM UP – and Riley will curl his bottom lip and begin to wail. So not only is he the mother of all mama’s boys, but he’s an ageist!

Unfortunately for him, one of our favorite babysitters is an older woman. You couldn’t meet a more warm, caring, child-loving person than P. If there’s a baby in sight that requires holding, rocking, or singing to, she’s there. She often calls or visits between sitting gigs simply because she misses the kids.

These facts are lost on Riley. All he sees is white hair, a cardigan, and glasses. (Technically, her hair’s not even white, more of a light blonde.) She might as well have on a Darth Vader mask and fangs the way this baby carries on.

In spite of this, we hired P. to sit for us Sat. night so C. and I could go out to dinner to celebrate our 6th anniversary. Let me repeat that: 6! Whole! Years! Of marriage! Oh, sure, that might not sound like much to some of you. But considering that we have weathered job loss, family crises, the birth of two sons, and countless daily stresses and struggles during that time, 6 years sometimes seems like a miracle, OK? Definitely worthy of celebration.

I can’t even tell you the last time my husband and I went out, just the 2 of us, for a romantic dinner date. It may have been a year ago, on our last anniversary. And since I was pregnant, I couldn’t drink and I got heartburn, so it wasn’t as romantic as it could’ve been.

ANYWAY... This year we made a reservation at the hottest restaurant in town and got all dolled up. I made a special trip to the mall for some new earrings in an attempt to appear at least slightly hip. (And then I couldn’t wear them after all because my holes have practically closed up since I almost never wear jewelry anymore.) I even got a pedicure and wore heels. Oh, yeah, it was THAT big a night, people!

So P. shows up and Riley immediately starts crying. C. says, “I know how to fix that,” and lets P. take over feeding the baby his pureed squash. Have I mentioned how much my boy likes to eat? But still, his crying persisted. Oh, don’t think he stopped eating. But he would wail, take a bite, TURN HIS HEAD AWAY FROM THE SITTER and continue crying! That little...

P. insisted he would be fine once we left, so we did. And he was. Except that he refused to drink his bedtime bottle while she was holding him. This child has NEVER EVER turned down a breast or bottle in his entire life!! Unbelievable. Thankfully, he could live off the fat on his thighs for a whole winter if he had to.

Our dinner was great. The restaurant, Woodberry Kitchen, was recently written up in the New York Times. It’s in a funky old converted mill with exposed brick and high ceilings. The food is all local and/or organic, and the menu features things like spiced pear flatbread and pan-seared monkfish with squash ravioli. YUM!

So what if we talked about the kids half the time? So what if we’re not as fit and energetic and well-read as we were when we got married? So what if we were home by 9:30 because I was tired and didn’t want to pay the sitter for another hour? We still like each other, we had fun, and that’s all that matters.

Besides, as much fun as last night was, cuddling on the couch this morning with the boys in my bathrobe was even better. And lucky for Riley, there were no old people in sight.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Project Happily Ever After is a great website I found after reading about the author and her husband in Redbook. Basically, her marriage took a dive after they had a baby and this project started as an attempt to fix it. Her blog is upbeat and interesting, and she offers a free e-book with relationship tips.

SHOUT OUT: Congrats to my friend M.C., new mama to baby Charlotte!

Confessions of a TV Junkie

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 20:16:00 +0000

I'm just gonna come right out and say it: I love TV. Stupid, mindless sitcoms, gimmicky talk shows, scripted reality shows, even the dullest home renovation show on HGTV. Give me the remote and make room on the couch!

I'm sure this comes as a huge disappointment to my parents, who only watch the news and prefer to unwind by reading The New Yorker and listening to classical music. Guess this is a case for nature over nurture, huh? And clearly, passive lowbrow entertainment is in my nature.

I don't care, I'm tired of pretending that I don't have time to read or cook or scrapbook. I do, I just don't want to! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go set the DVR for "Glee," "Modern Family" and "Cougar Town." Read more about my addiction to the boob tube on The Bump.com:

When I Grow Up

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 23:38:00 +0000

Do you know any professional ballerinas? Astronauts? How about firemen? Me neither. So I’m concerned that we’re setting our children up for a rude awakening some day.

See, most kids’ books, shows, Halloween costumes, etc. depict only a handful of adult professions. And most of those are active, exciting careers. I mean, sure, some kids might grow up to be policemen or pro athletes. But probably not many.

So why don’t you see any desk jobs on Sesame Street? Last time I watched, there was a grocery store owner, a fix-it lady, and a vet. On one episode of Dora, the dad was the architect of an amusement park. Talk about a cool job!

Even on grown-up shows, there seems to be a disproportionate number of wedding planners, restaurateurs, florists, and children’s book illustrators. Where are the compliance officers? The waste management professionals? The tax attorneys?

Ask a kid what he wants to be when he grows up and you’ll probably hear astronaut, gymnast, or cowboy. Maybe an occasional truck driver or teacher. But have you ever heard a kid say they want to be the regional sales manager for a copier company? Or a soccer mom and head of the PTA?

Just as well. Let them dream. Reality will come soon enough. Like it did for me when I graduated with a degree in French and had visions of working at Club Med in Bora Bora. When that didn’t work out, I decided I’d fall back on my (limited) journalism experience and write travel articles for glossy magazines. And when THAT didn’t work out, I got a temp job answering phones.

Am I bitter that I didn’t grow up to be an international spy or an Olympic gymnast or even an anthropologist? Kind of. Would I have wanted to read about phone bank operators, tech support staff, or fact-checkers in my childhood books? Not really.

But it’s worth noting that to this day, I am fascinated by people who hold exciting non-desk jobs. Come to think of it, I actually do know a pilot, a documentary film producer, and a couple of actors. I wonder what those people wanted to be when they grew up?

READ O’ THE WEEK: So Sandra Magsamen totally stole my idea for a book. I swear I had this EXACT SAME idea rattling around in my brain when I came across her children’s book, “When I Grow Up I Want to Be Me.”

PLEA O' THE WEEK: I love all the comments and e-mails I get from those of you who regularly read and enjoy this blog. Because I'd like to share my labor of love with even MORE nice people, please nominate me for TheBump.com's Mommy Blog Awards in the Best Baby Journal Blog category! The deadline is this Fri., Oct. 9. It may require registration, but that's what Hotmail is for! There's some good karma in it for you.

12 Ironies of Motherhood

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 19:06:00 +0000

1. Just when you figure out something your picky child will eat, he’ll decide he doesn’t like it anymore. “I don’t like chicken nuggets and mustard now, Mama!” Good thing I just bought them IN BULK at Costco!!

2. For once you make it to school on time -- and then you realize it’s a holiday.

3. The one time you leave your cell phone in the car while you go to the gym is the one time your sitter was frantically trying to get a hold of you because you left her a bottle for the baby but no nipple.

4. The baby FINALLY sleeps through the night -- but only because he has a fever.

5. Your child quietly entertains himself for a whole half-hour. Because he was busy drawing all over the furniture in the next room.

6. You get caught up on all your thank-you notes -- before realizing you forgot to address them before you sealed the envelopes.

7. At last, your toddler has started going #2 on the potty by himself! Too bad he pulls up his pants before telling you he needs to be wiped.

8. You manage to get both kids to take a nap at the same time -- but not on the same day.

9. In a rare fit of productivity, you make dinner from scratch. Then you burn the bajeezus out of it because you forgot to turn the stove off while you gave the baby a bath.

10. After months of trying, you and that super-busy mom finally schedule a playdate for your kids. Then someone contracts an infectious disease the day before.

11. You get everybody’s sheets washed, dried, and put back on their beds. The very next day, someone has a diaper blowout, throws up, or spills a juice box all over their bed -- or yours.*

*BTW, does anyone else get bloody knuckles from changing crib sheets? Do they really need to make those things so freaking tight??

12. You can't wait for your little shadow to be more independent. Then comes the day when he slams the door in your face because he “needs privacy” and he skips off to preschool without a backward glance.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: The next session of my 6-week online writing class, “Personal Essays that Get Published” starts in a week! There’s still room for last-minute sign-ups. The class offers great camaraderie, accountability & best of all, how-to tips on getting published, even if you never have before. Past students have sold their essays to Chicago Parent, Southern Living, The New York Times & more. Get more info & sign up here.

You Choose, You Lose?

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 23:39:00 +0000

Yesterday was a bad day. Like most days, it started with the baby waking up at 3 a.m. Then my 3 y.o. was up around 6. (Doesn’t anyone but me like to stay in bed until the sun’s actually up??)

During the morning rush, Miles was playing in the recycling bin rather than putting on his shoes like I’d asked him to … 6 TIMES ALREADY! Next thing I know, he’s screaming and crying and bleeding. Apparently, he’d stepped on a piece of broken glass. Upon closer inspection, it turned out not to be as awful as it looked. But by the time we’d dealt with all that, we were late to school and the baby had missed his morning nap window.

The rest of the day passed typically with Riley spitting up all over everyone and everything -– now in a rainbow of colors, thanks to his diet of fruits and vegetables! -– and Miles not napping. We were supposed to go to a school picnic that evening, which I was dreading having to manage solo since C. wouldn’t be home from work in time.

But just before I was about to start getting everybody ready, Miles let the dog in from the backyard. She went tearing through the house, tripped over my computer cord, and sent my laptop crashing to the floor. Pieces of metal and plastic scattered everywhere.

I lost it. (My sanity, I mean. Not my computer. Like Miles’ cut, it turned out the damage was mostly superficial.) I am not cut out for this. I quit. I’m moving to Guam. I can’t do this anymore. The world is against me. Those are just a few of the thoughts that went through my mind.

So when C. and I were talking later that night and he said, “It was your choice to stay home with the kids.” I kind of lost it. Again. (This time I mean my temper, not my sanity. Which as you may recall, was already gone.)

First, let me clarify that my husband was not trying to be an unsympathetic jerk. Rather, he was genuinely perplexed about what to do and trying to find a solution, in that typically male way. A problem? Let’s fix it! Then we can stop talking and watch the game already!

But something about that word “choice” infuriated me. What was he TALKING about? That’s like telling the castaways on Gilligan’s Island, “Well, hey, you guys CHOSE to go on that 3-hour tour!”

Did my husband really think I CHOSE to spend 12 hours a day wiping butts and cleaning up glass shards by myself?? Did he think that before we had kids I had any idea what was involved? That I’d be required to fish pieces of newspaper and Legos out of my 6 m.o.’s mouth that he’d grabbed while I was busy cleaning up a dirty diaper the dog had shredded? Or that potty-training my older son would be an extended form of malodorous torture? Or that I’d spend most of my days dividing my time between 2 needy beings who require constant feeding and attention and I’d barely have time to brush my teeth, let alone write anything?

The way I see it, the choice boiled down to this: C.’s job pays more and provides health benefits. I am a self-employed freelance writer. I can work as much or as little as I like, from anywhere. I never intended to stop working. And I never seriously considered full-time childcare. I assumed that I could have the best of both worlds. And you know what they say when you assume…

Today I was catching up on some blog reading and I came across this post on Jeannette Maw’s Good Vibe Blog. Here’s an excerpt:

“… I believe there is one thing that can help no matter the situation we’re dealing with.

That is to recognize we have a choice.

We always have a choice.

Once upon a time I hated my job, but I went because of the story I believed about how I should be grateful for it, that bills needed paying, and that the investment in this career shouldn’t be wasted, etc. etc.

And it was misery.

But once I realized (with the help of a coach) that I actually had a choice as to whether I got out of bed and went to work, it wasn’t quite as awful to go. I could stay home. That was an option!

That choice would have consequences, surely … but it was an option!

Believe it or not, that was a new perspective to me. I could stay home! I could get a different job. I could spend my savings. I could go bankrupt. I could move back home with folks. (Okay, maybe not that.) But I had options!

All of a sudden this option (of going to work) made sense. (Until it didn’t, and then I quit.)
But it was easier to go to work when I did it out of choice.”

Hmmm… When you put it THAT way… Perhaps I have more choice about our situation than I’ve led myself to believe. Maybe it’s time to reconsider my options, shake up the status quo.

As soon as I’ve duct-taped my laptop back together, stain-treated the carpet, and picked up all the loose change within Riley’s reach, I intend to do just that.

QUOTE O’ THE WEEK: Me: “Miles, how’d you get so cute?” Miles: “I’m not cute, Mom, I’m awesome!”

SHOUT OUTS: Sending virtual hugs to A.G., C.R. & T.S. I know I’m not the only mama dealing with trials and tribulations!

Danger Boy Jr.

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 18:23:00 +0000

Name: Riley
Age: 7 mos.
Weight: 19 lbs.
Likes: Eating, puking, crawling, standing
Dislikes: Being left alone, EVER

So today was Riley’s 6-mo. check-up, a month late. It’s hard to get a doctor’s appointment that doesn’t interfere with naptime or preschool drop-off/pick-up! Anyway … the doctor confirmed what I have long suspected: my son is fully capable of sleeping through the night. Then she added, “But I’ve heard him scream, so I’m not going to tell you to let him cry.” Ha! Then she moved on to the importance of babyproofing the house.

You don’t have to tell ME. This child is hell-bent on following in his big brother’s footsteps -- LITERALLY. He’s trying to walk already!! He pulls himself up on anything and everything, then stands there with this huge self-satisfied grin. And then he does a “Look, Ma, no hands!” and falls flat on his butt. Hysteria ensues. [SIDEBAR: I love when people say, “Well, I guess that’s the way they learn.” No! No, it’s not! Babies and toddlers learn NOTHING from repeated self-inflicted injuries, I can assure you!]

Everyone knows boys are competitive and clearly, that starts at birth. Riley is determined to take his place alongside his brother in getting his photo on the wall of the closest ER. OK, I’m exaggerating -- slightly -- but you may recall that Miles’ nickname at age 9 mos. was “Stunt Baby.” And how about the (first) time we rushed him to the ER? Good times. Well, Riley’s hot on his danger-loving little heels.

In case there’s still someone out there who thinks the sooner babies crawl, stand, or walk, the better -- you are WRONG. It’s a nightmare. You can’t turn your back for one second lest the baby decides to rappel up the side of the TV cabinet or do chin-ups on the rim of the toilet. And once he’s tasted freedom, don’t even THINK about containing him in an Exersaucer or highchair unless you want to risk a high-volume hissy fit. Plus, he will wake himself (and you) at all hours of the night to “practice” his new skill.

I’ve heard about babies who sit on the floor for ages, who love hanging out in the swing or the bouncy seat, who took forever to crawl and even longer to walk. But I can’t relate. I can’t even remember when Miles started crawling, because I’m pretty sure it lasted no longer than a week or 2 before he moved on to walking, then sprinting. I can already tell the second kid’s going to be the same or worse. In case you’re wondering, THAT’S how I got my body back after each baby!

Now I’ve gotta run -- I’m off to stock up on ice packs, Bacitracin, and band-aids.

PLEA O’ THE WEEK: I’ve been blogging for almost 4 yrs. now, can you believe it? And since I would like to share my labor of love with as many people as possible, I ask all you lovely, loyal readers to consider nominating me for TheBump.com's Mommy Blog Awards in the Best Baby Journal Blog category. It might require registration, but that’s what Hotmail is for! It would mean the world to me. :)

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: I can stand on my own 2 feet!

Yard Sale Recap

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 13:30:00 +0000

I’ll be honest: I’m not a big yard sale person. Rummaging through other people’s junk doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t seem to have that eye for finding the treasure among the trash, and I would rather pay $5 for a new T-shirt at Old Navy than dig through a pile of musty old clothes from someone’s attic. And I’ve never held a yard sale myself mostly because I’ve never had enough stuff I wanted to get rid of.

But when my street organized a group yard sale I thought, what the heck? Now that we have kids our house is overflowing with stuff! Ironically, it’s not the toys and baby paraphernalia we wanted to sell. Rather, it’s things we never use -- like extra wineglasses, martini glasses, margarita glasses, champagne glasses (are you sensing a theme?).

You know, all that stuff you register for when you’re getting married and envisioning your life as one long dinner party. And then you have kids who mess around with the china cabinet while you’re changing the baby’s diaper and topple an entire shelf of vases, shattering glass everywhere. And you realize Target’s finest plasticware is a better match for your lifestyle.

So anyway, there we were bright and early on Saturday morning, setting up our goods. My husband and I were bitching about what to charge and whether or not he’d sufficiently cleaned up our old jogging stroller. The baby had been up since 4:30 a.m., we were out of coffee and milk, and I was wondering why this ever seemed like a good idea. Then there’s Miles, running around singing, “Yay, yay, yay! It’s a perfect day!” He could not BE more excited about the yard sale. Plus, he and his buddy Charlie were having a lemonade stand –- their first foray into sales.

Overall, it was a fun day and pretty successful. Sadly, I didn’t take a single picture because I was too busy running around. But I did learn some interesting lessons from our first yard sale:

People are cheap. They’ll pay $10+ for a bottle of wine but won’t pay 50 cents for a Crate & Barrel wineglass? You can’t even buy a PLASTIC wineglass for that price!

People are dumb. To attract passersby, my neighbor got some balloons that had “Garage Sale” printed on them. We’re sitting there in our front yard with all this stuff, no garage in sight, and a guy goes, “The sign says ‘garage sale.’ So is this it? Or is there more in the garage?”

People are unpredictable. To my surprise, no one touched the still-boxed picture frames or the dishes (except for a couple martini glasses). The big sellers were my old junk jewelry, an old couch, some pregnancy books, and the jogging stroller (vastly underpriced at $10, but probably worth it because it was so dirty ;)

Kids have short attention spans. After selling the first cup or two, the boys lost interest in their lemonade stand and ran off. But not before they’d eaten the merchandise, the baked goods for sale alongside the lemonade. They did like counting up their profits at the end, though.

TIPS O’ THE WEEK: I got some of these from PineappleBabble.com, who also lost her yard sale virginity this weekend! Price everything in increments of $0.25 with pre-printed stickers from Target or Staples. Have plenty of quarters and dollar bills for change. Provide plastic bags, newspaper, and/or bubble wrap for people to take home their purchases.

Weekends: Then & Now

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 15:18:00 +0000

Sometimes during the week I'll realize I've forgotten what day it is. In fact, the only clue that it may be a Saturday or Sunday is that my husband is around. Or he's not, but I only have one kid since the other's with Daddy. But basically, the weekends are just more of the same thing we do during the week -- meals, naps, cleaning, errands, tantrums.

Remember when weekends were actually a BREAK from the routine? I do -- vaguely. Read more about how my weekends have changed post-baby on The Bump.com:

Perception vs. Reality

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 00:05:00 +0000

If you’re a fan of “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” like I am (mmmm, Ty Pennington...) then you may be familiar with Paige Hemmis, the perky blonde designer/handywoman with an excessive fondness for the color pink. I was surprised to learn from a recent article in People (which, let’s face it, is where I get 90% of my news these days) that she once suffered from debilitating depression.

The part that struck me was when she said she was afraid to tell people about it because there she was, working on this show helping people suffering from all sorts of major problems, and she felt guilty that she wasn’t happy with her supposedly great life.

How sad for her. How sad that she felt she wasn’t "allowed" to be depressed because she "should" be happy. How sad that she isolated herself from her friends and family rather than talk about the struggles she was going through. Does this sound at all familiar? It does to me.

There have been many, many times when I’ve complained about how hard my life is -- being home with 2 little ones, trying to squeeze in my writing work where I can, having a husband who works long hours at a stressful job, living far away from family, dealing with financial stress, etc. And I’ve been brought up short by someone else or by my own internal dialogue. “Stop it! You’ve got so much to be thankful for,” they/I insist. “You have 2 beautiful, healthy children, a husband who loves you, and a roof over your head.” And it’s true, I do.

And yet, when I hear stories like Hemmis’ I wonder, are we doing ourselves a disservice by putting on a happy face, pretending everything’s peachy and going about our lives? Are we doing OTHERS a disservice?

I heard through the grapevine that an acquaintance whose baby is about the same age as mine is suffering from postpartum depression. This came as a surprise to me because I recently ran into her at the park and she seemed fine. (Whatever that means.) It got me thinking about how perception and reality are often vastly different.

If anyone were to see me on a random weekday morning, for instance, they might think: “Look at that chick in her gym clothes with her Starbucks. Must be nice.” They might see me as a privileged lady of leisure, pampering herself while her kids are at school or with a nanny. I doubt they would think, “Look at that poor, overwhelmed mom hanging onto her last shred of sanity through exercise and a small indulgence during a rare hour to herself.”

It just goes to show, you never know what’s going on with someone else. That stranger with the perfect body/job/marriage/life might not be so perfect after all. It’s liberating in a way, isn’t it? Knowing that even celebrities don’t get a free pass to avoid life’s struggles. And humbling, too.

OK, this is getting a little too serious, so let’s lighten things up. How cute are Rebecca Romijn’s twins?? And what is UP with the wacky celebrity baby names, Nicole Richie?!

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: Lower the volume, cover your ears. I have captured “The Scream” on video. Tell me listening to this 24/7 isn’t enough to send you to the loony bin!

Frugalista Finds

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 11:46:00 +0000

Those marketing people at Target are evil geniuses, I tell you. Evil because they separate me from my hard-earned money. Geniuses because they do it so well. This “frugalista” fashion campaign is totally working on me. One cardigan, 3 different looks? Sold.

I’m not a high-fashion person by nature. I like to look cute, but practicality usually trumps style. I will never wear heels to the playground, no matter who tries to convince me I should. (Sorry, Stacy London.) I think the shoes all the celebrities wear these days look like bizarre, futuristic fetish-wear. (Yes, that means you, Rihanna.) And I will never, ever pay 4 figures for a single item of clothing other than a wedding dress, even if the magazines call it an “investment piece.”

Except for the occasional business meeting, school function, or date night, I have no need to look stylish. Whatever I’m wearing is just going to get covered with spit-up and peanut butter anyway. But every once in a while, the urge to be at least moderately fashionable surfaces.

So off I went this morning to Target. Another reason to love this store? It’s the only place I know where you can shop for clothes at 9 a.m. after you’ve dropped off the kids at school. Plus you can pick up groceries, diapers, and Starbucks while you’re there. (How am I not on Target’s payroll??)

Actually, it took me a while to warm up to Target as a fashion destination, if you want the truth. Except for workout wear, I was hesitant to buy clothes there. A holdover from my label-conscious teenage years when I would only let Esprit and Benetton touch my body? Who knows. Anyway, then I had 2 kids and got over it.

Now, I have an extremely sensitive buyer’s remorse threshold. If I feel I’ve gotten a bargain or scored a great find, I go home happy and confident. If I spend too much, though, I’m laden with guilt and berate myself every time I DON’T wear those pricey boots I bought just because InStyle said they're hot this season.

As a certified accessory-phobe, I surprised myself by buying a scarf and a belt, among other things. When I was growing up, my mother -- the queen of accessories -- was always urging me to throw on a necklace or tie a jaunty scarf around my neck. But I couldn’t be bothered. Call it minimalist, call it lazy -– whatever.

But I’ve changed my ways. Those Target ads helped me realize I could wear the same pair of jeans and cardigan 3 days in a row and no one would know if I mixed it up with some different accessories. The scarf has a whole range of fall colors that matches some sweaters I already have. And now that I’m no longer pregnant and have a waist again, I can belt my shirts and cardigans.

If you spot a trendy, fashionable mom at the playground this fall, it just might be me. Unless she’s wearing heels. In that case, it’s most definitely NOT.

TIP O' THE WEEK: Did you know an $11 Target bra beat out Victoria's Secret in a Consumer Reports test?

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: My son Miles can’t read yet, but the kid knows his logos. He can identify “the donut place,” the pet store, Chick-fil-A, and of course, Target, just by the sign. Also, he pronounces Target funny because of this SNL skit we always reference.

It's Just a Cough

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 14:37:00 +0000

It’s ba-a-a-a-ck. (Cue creepy music.) The Cough is back. I thought we'd at least make it till Oct., but no.

Did you know that a chronic cough is often one of the only symptoms of asthma in young children? I do now. Last year, when my son Miles started preschool, he started getting more colds. And with these colds came a cough that would linger… and linger… and linger.

We’d find ourselves in the pediatrician’s office about once every month or two. And each time she’d say, “Does he have a fever? No. Is his nose running clear? Yes. I don’t hear anything in his lungs. He’s fine. The cough will go away in a few weeks.” A few WEEKS? And in the meantime, he has to walk around sounding like a tuberculosis patient?

Eventually, the pediatrician referred us to an allergist, who did all kinds of tests and determined that Miles has mild asthma and allergies. This means that anytime he gets the slightest cold or his allergies act up, it causes an awful-sounding cough. So now he takes Singulair every night, and he has a nebulizer (a.k.a. his “breathing machine”) that he uses when the cough flares up.

But try explaining all this to his teachers, the daycare workers at the gym, or strangers we encounter at the library or mall. All they know is, he sounds sick. And let me tell you, you get some evil looks when you walk around in public with a sick kid. Especially since this whole swine flu frenzy.

Last year, Miles went to school two mornings a week. One of those mornings was Monday, which happens to be the day of the week on which 90% of holidays fall. So if I were to keep him home from school one day, that sometimes meant he’d miss school for an entire week. (I don’t know who was more upset about that, him or me.) And if I kept him home every time he had a cough, he would’ve attended maybe 19 days of school, total.

So imagine my chagrin when the baby woke up two nights ago with a fever, encrusted in mucus. And Miles started sniffling and coughing. He’s been to school 2 DAYS and he already brought home germs!! AND his class is even doing a unit on handwashing and germ-prevention!

Everybody knows that kids are germ magnets. And when they start school, it’s 10 times worse. But it’s only the beginning of Sept! I’m SO not ready for the cycle of sickness to start already.

So we’ll be bathing in Purell, chugging orange juice and vitamins, and praying that we nip this thing in the bud. In the meantime, I’m thinking of getting a shirt made for Miles that says: “Relax, people, it’s just asthma!”

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Most kids average between 6-10 colds a year. But does your baby have a cold or the flu? How do you treat it? And when should you call the doctor? All about babies and colds.

The Not-So-Friendly Skies

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 12:58:00 +0000

When I was pregnant with my first child, my extended family was planning a reunion across the country. Depending on when the baby was born, he would be around 7 weeks old at the time. I was seriously considering going. Then I had the baby, and realized I must have been on crack to even CONSIDER taking a cross-country trip with a newborn.

Of course, since then I have flown with one, even two kids. But each time there's a point during the trip when I wonder just what the hell I was thinking when I booked our flight. Read more about my airline adventures on TheBump.com:

Back to School

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 00:31:00 +0000

Ah, the first day of school is here at last. Hooray! Since my son will go to preschool 3 days a week, that means I’ll have 3 whole mornings to myself. Well, 3 whole hours each morning, anyway. Actually, by the time you factor in drop-off and pick-up, it’s more like 2.5 hours. And wait – I have another kid now, so never mind. No break for me!

Seriously, though, I am happy school’s back in session. Miles needs something to do besides antagonize his baby brother. I walked into the room the other day to find him dragging the baby across the floor by his heel. Another time, he claimed he was playing peek-a-boo when I caught him wrapping a towel around the baby’s head. Surprisingly, Riley didn’t seem to mind. I guess any attention’s better than none, right? At least that seems to be Miles’ theory.

If you recall, he started preschool last year. Most of the other 2-y.o.’s had a hard time transitioning, so there were lots of tears and shortened hours at first. Not my kid, though. He ran into the classroom each day with barely a “See ya, Mama!” At pick-up he pouted and cried about being forced to go home with his boring old mom. So he couldn’t wait to go back this year.

As I was sitting there in the carpool line counting the Honda Odysseys, I couldn’t help but notice the differences between the boys and the girls. The girls were for the most part wearing cute dresses and sparkly shoes and hair bows. One little girl was dressed in head to toe white. Holy stain removal, Batman! But the boys…. Sure, some wore little polo shirts and khakis, but most were dressed in T-shirts, shorts and sneakers.

Like my own son, whose choice of outfit was: a truck T-shirt, yesterday’s shorts and a John Deere cap. I nixed the hat but decided not to battle over the rest. What’s the point? I’m not trying to make any kind of fashion statement through my son. Though I HAD picked out a nice collared shirt and khaki shorts. Oh, well, he came home covered in red paint and playground dirt anyway.

Last year, it was like pulling teeth to get him to tell me about his day. What a difference a year makes. This time, he was rattling off details before I’d even buckled him into the car seat. “I had a great day, Mom,” he began. What more could a parent hope for?

Of course, it turns out he didn’t use the bathroom once in 3 hours. I’ve been nervous about the potty issue. I’m not proud to say I got a little smug when another mom mentioned her 3 y.o. son was nowhere near potty trained. Now watch, my kid will be the one who comes home every day wearing a change of clothes. Meaning a DIFFERENT truck shirt and camouflage shorts.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Aren’t these Garnet Hill Kids’ backpacks cute? I wish I’d seen the Bug Boogie one before I bought a plain old ugly backpack on sale. Once again, a bazillion adorable options for girls, nothing but sports and cars for boys.

The Waiting Place

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 00:02:00 +0000

Most people hate to wait. For instance, the woman in front of me in line at the grocery store the other day. She asked the clerk for a spoon for her yogurt. When he didn’t respond in a timely enough fashion -- maybe 2.5 seconds passed -- she marched over to the manager and complained. That woman is attracting some seriously bad karma. But I’ve been known to be impatient, too.

Like if I have to wait on hold for more than a minute, I start to get really, really annoyed. Then there’s this unconscionably long stoplight at the end of a certain street near us. And if I have to wait more than half an hour for my food in a restaurant, forget it.

So I know how hard it can be to wait and I just want to say to my son, Riley, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to wait in your stroller today while I washed off your big brother’s scraped knee and let him choose the specific Batman band-aid he wanted, which God knows took WAY longer than it should've. I’m sorry you cried and cried while I had to help your brother go to the bathroom, too, which was made all the more difficult by the fact that he was slightly sweaty and his pants were sticking to him, and by his refusal to take off his shoes even though that would have made things infinitely easier.

And speaking of the bathroom and waiting, I’m sorry, Miles, that you had to wait that one time I was putting your baby brother to bed and he was taking an extra-long time nursing and you were calling and calling me from the downstairs bathroom and I was thinking, “Be QUIET, Miles!! I’m trying to get the baby to sleep!” And then I came down to find you’d had a really, really bad accident because you couldn’t get your shorts off in time. I was REALLY sorry about that.

But you know what? Waiting is part of life. Just look at Dr. Seuss’ “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!” He devotes several pages to The Waiting Place ... “for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or a No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.”

Yes, I guess having a sibling is good practice for life. Waiting for the baby to wake up from his nap before you can go outside to play may prepare you for someday waiting for your spouse to find his glasses (again!) before you can go to the movies. Waiting for a friend’s birthday party may prepare you for having to wait till you’re 21 to get into a bar. Waiting for your big brother to come home from school could be good preparation for a future freelance writer who’ll wait for acceptance letters.

But if I have to leave my boys with one message, it’s this: don’t be the kind of person whose day is ruined by having to wait for a spoon. Just don’t. Instead, use that time to relax, regroup, and read the tabloid magazines in the checkout line.

VIDEO O’ THE WEEK: Speaking of being in a hurry, my crazy 6 m.o. is crawling already! He’s still working on his form, but the kid can cover some ground. Notice how his destination is not the singing drum, but the wadded-up wipe.

Looks Like We Made It

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:54:00 +0000

Well, we made it. It wasn't pretty, but we made it. Before I get into the nitty gritty details of our trip, here's a list of suggested items to pack if you're considering traveling solo with kids:

- A change of clothes for everyone who will be within a 3-ft. radius of the baby
- 3-4 extra pairs of hands
- Thumbtacks to put on the seat of anyone who watches you struggling by yourself with 2 kids and doesn't lift a finger to help

Also, build in at least 2 extra hours before you have to catch your flight. This will allow for "hypothetical" situations, like the baby having a massive diaper blowout just before you get on the plane.

C. helped us carry our 2 tons of luggage into the airport and watched us go through security. They wouldn't let him go any farther. From behind the rope, he witnessed this: Me holding the boarding passes in my teeth while I tried to fold up the stroller and put it on the conveyor belt along with Miles' massive backback and my even more massive diaper bag, while simultaneously trying to remove my shoes and my son's shoes.

While this was happening, Riley, who was in his carseat on the floor but not buckled in, began to roll out onto the floor. Meanwhile, the impatient woman behind me in line did nothing to help except to push my stuff farther down the conveyor belt.

On the other side, however, a very nice pilot helped me unfold the stroller, clicked the carseat onto it -- the right way! -- and helped Miles put his backpack on. I would have kissed him if my husband wasn't watching.

By this time, we had missed boarding for not only the A group, but most of the B group as well. I was sweating and parched and without snacks of any kind, thinking I'd have plenty of time to buy refreshments before we got on the plane. Wrong. Also, I forgot to put a Pull-Up on Miles. Oy.

So we struggled onto the plane and sat almost all the way in the back next to another very nice Southwest pilot. (Not the one flying the plane, obviously.) I apologized in advance, but he smiled and said he had 2 boys of his own and asked if I needed any help. I barely refrained from weeping at his feet in gratitude.

Throughout the (thankfully) short flight, Miles entertained himself with a coloring book, bags of pretzels and peanuts, and looking out the window. That kid's a champ, I tell you. Everyone cracked up when the plane took off and he shouted, "WHEEEE!!! Blast-off!! This is FUN!" The lady in front of us turned around laughing and said, "That's what we're all thinking."

Riley, on the other hand... I'm sorry to say the friendly pilot may have taken a few kicks to the kidney, gotten his pant leg splattered with spit-up and probably saw more of my boobs than he wanted to. Also, the nap he tried to take? Didn't happen. Sorry, Mr. Pilot!

Even so, when we landed, people around us smiled and one even said, "The kids did great." Obviously they didn't notice the chunks of hair missing from my head where the baby ripped them out, or the enormous pile of pretzel crumbs on Miles' seat. Oh, well. Like I said, we made it.

Our stroller, however, did not. So much for gate checking. We spent an extra hour or so milling around baggage claim dealing with that while Miles tried to surf on the baggage conveyor belt thingy. The stroller was finally delivered to my parents' house at midnight.

Anyway, we're glad we came. We've been to the beach twice, and I can't overstate how wonderful it is to have someone else preparing meals for us. There's a special place in heaven for helpful grandparents. Now, if they could just do something about my kids' ungodly early wake-up time.

NEWS O' THE WEEK: Hurry, hurry, before it fills up: The next session of my online writing class, Personal Essays That Get Published, starts Oct. 6! Success stories from former students have been flooding in. They're getting published in Southern Living, Chicago Parent, Portland Family, even the New York Times. You go, students!! Get more info and sign up here.

Flying Solo...with 2!

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 14:11:00 +0000

It’s the heat, I tell you. And the humidity. They’re making me crazy. Crazy enough to attempt ... traveling with both kids BY MYSELF!!

I know, I know. It’s that bad. I can’t take one more week of late-August rainforest conditions with nothing to do but wander from air-conditioned place to air-conditioned place. There are only so many times you can go to Chick-fil-A, the mall, and the library, people. C. is putting in extra-long hours at work, Miles has watched every movie in the Disney collection, and school doesn’t start for over a week. So, I’m left with no choice but to fly up north to my parents’ for some relief.

I’ve been scrambling around for days trying to find birth certificates, gather up medications and supplies, and doing enough laundry to clothe a small African nation. I’m stressing out in advance over to Pull-Up or not to Pull-Up on the plane, getting through security with the same children and stroller I started out with, and installing car seats on my own. I can’t even THINK about flight delays, diaper blowouts, or lost blankies. Let’s not even go there.

After our last vacation, I swore I would never go anywhere ever again with two small children. I must have a short memory, because here I am, attempting it again. I keep meeting (older) people who say, “Oh, I used to travel all the time with THREE kids! You’ll be fine!” But then when I grill them about how they managed public bathrooms or some other potential challenge, they draw a blank. Thanks. Real helpful.

When Miles was a baby, I was most nervous about having to breastfeed in public when we traveled. I was sure someone would refuse to sit next to us or kick us off the plane. (You’ve heard the stories. It happens!) But the worst thing that happened was when Miles whipped off the blanket I had draped over his head, causing a minor Janet Jackson incident. I was mortified, but in reality I doubt anyone even noticed. And now, of course, I’d be THRILLED if everyone left the extra seat next to us empty. More room to spread out!

Actually, I just remembered: that wasn’t the worst thing that happened while traveling with Miles as a baby. This was. Let’s just hope and pray that this flight's smoother, shall we?

Anyway, I’m sure it will be fine. If not fine, then manageable. If not manageable, then at least we’ll SURVIVE. Right? Right??

TIP O’ THE WEEK: I didn’t know Southwest offered child fares for kids over 2. It’s only like $6 off the Anytime fare, but it’s something. Also, they do pre-boarding now between the A and B groups. Personally, I think they’d do better to load up us families first and minimize the chaos, but hey, it’s your call, Southwest!

SHOUT-OUT: Congrats to my friend T, a third-time new mom! Welcome to the world, baby Vivianna!

Gestation Is Not for the Weak

noreply@blogger.com (Mom2Miles) — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 13:50:00 +0000

Every time I meet someone who's about to have a baby, I am reminded that pregnancy is no piece of cake. It's not a 9-mo. pass to lie around and eat all the ice cream you want while your supportive mate rubs your feet. You don't feel glowing and gorgeous and sexy at all times, no matter what Angelina Jolie claims.

Nope, for most of us, pregnancy involves freak health symptoms ranging from weird spots and discolorations on your face to horrendous varicose veins and worse. Much, much worse. And then there are the emotional ups and downs.

Wait ... where was I going with this? Oh, right: pregnancy is HARD. It takes a strong person to survive 9 mos. of this stuff. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Of course, the prize you get at the end sure is worth it.

This post on TheBump.com is in honor of my friend T. who had her third baby yesterday: a girl named Vivianna! Congrats, Mama! And welcome to the world, Baby Vivi!