Dream On

Let me tell you about our night time routine. We read a book, reflect on the day, say a prayer, and put The Boy down in his bed. We turn off the light, shut the door, and walk out of the room. And then he cries. Every night. For over a year. Sometimes it's whining, sometimes it's big ole crocodile tears. We don't go to him, we don't say anything else to him, we just walk away and let him do his thing. We've tried rocking him to sleep. He cries when we put him down. We've tried laying down on the floor beside the crib. He cries. We've tried checking on him every 5 minutes. He screams. We argue about whether or not we should go to him while he's crying, we've talked to our pediatrician about it, we debate and generally agonize about it, but nothing we've tried has worked. He cries himself to sleep every single night.

You know how newborns can't have anything in their cribs? No blankets, no stuffed animals, no deadly plastic grocery bags? My involvement with our local Child Fatality Review Board had made me sensitive about any suffocation hazards. About three months ago it occurred to me that even though he's old enough we'd never given The Boy anything to sleep with. No blanket. No pillow. No stuffed animal. Hmmm. Oops?

I mentioned it to the Husband. "Get him a pillow!" He said with great urgency. We pulled a pillow off the guest bed and put it in the crib. "Piwwow" The Boy said. He was proud. So he cried himself to sleep on it, but his little tears had a softer place to land that night. Then it occurred to us to get him a blanket and a stuffed animal too. By the way, he had both of these things in his room, it had just never occurred to us to actually put them in his crib.

So we wrapped him up in his blanket, gave him his little lovie blankie that's a puppy, and laid him in the bed. And he was silent. We said goodnight and walked out, waiting for the crying to start. It didn't. We were amazed. The next night we wrapped him up, gave him his puppy, laid him on his pillow, and again: no tears! Again and again he went to bed with no tears when he had his stuff. Ninety percent of the time we were having great nights.  Poor kid was crying for a blanket and pillow for over a year!! We felt terrible. We've since added a bunny, monkey, owl, and sometimes a book as his sleeping partners in an attempt at restitution. My friend Jill said The Husband and I should have to sleep with no covers and no blanket just to see how bad it would feel. At least could we have some footie pajamas??

So one night I've got him cuddled up with his blanket and puppy, doing our night time routine. We finished our book, and I was reminding him about the things we'd done that day. When it was time for his prayer, I said what I always say: "Today was a good day. Thank you God for today, and thank you God for The Boy."

He grinned at me sweetly, wrestled his arm from deep within his blanket, pulled out his puppy and said "Puppy. Amen."

My kid said his first prayer! And it was thanking the good Lord above that his parents finally got it together enough to allow him to sleep with a square of fabric with a dog on it. Next step: a scrap of bread for dinner!

We Accidentally Rented Our House

We accidentally rented our house. How does that happen, you ask? Well, here's how it happened to us. Remember when we were hard core crushing on that old farm house a while back? It had been on the market for 4 years (4 years!) and we thought it was a sure thing. I We fell in love with the beautiful, old house that needed some serious work (think Joan Rivers) and moved to make to make it happen. We put an offer on the old girl, and most importantly, started pinning ideas about improvements. It had such charm.

I'm talking front porch swing, mud room, and this patio:

What's not to love, right? 

So we listed our house for rent, thinking surely we'd get this house that had been waiting on us for 4 years (4 years!). Our patient realtor drew up the paperwork, we talked at length with a lender, had a contractor come out to give us a price on some things we couldn't do ourselves, and pinned some more stuff. And then we didn't get it. After four years (4 years!) the house had been under contract for ONE WEEK when we made our offer. What? BUT WE'D PINNED THINGS! 

I'm not gonna lie. I pouted for a little bit. I'd let myself get too excited about it too soon. It took me a few weeks to be okay with the idea that this wasn't the right house or the right time for us. Something better will be in store, I'm sure. 

In the mean time, we listed our house for rent. You may remember this post about a potential renter. When we didn't get the farm house we decided not to rent the house. But The Husband didn't actually take the ad out of the paper. Sneaky man. So a few weeks later we got a phone call from someone who wanted to see it. I told The Husband our house wasn't for rent, as WE HAD NOWHERE TO LIVE. 

He replied that of course our house wasn't for rent, but it wouldn't hurt to just let her come see it because probably nothing would come of it. Fine. 

So she came. And she wasn't crazy. And she liked our house. And I thought to myself "too bad, it's not for rent." I think you can guess how it goes from there. 

• Her sweet little daughter was here. Named Amelie. (Okay, that's cute.)
• She teaches just down the street from our house (Well, that would be convenient if our house was for rent. But it's not)
• At the Montessori school. (Oh, I do love a Montessori school.)
• Why is she moving? Her current landlords are putting her house on the market. The old farmhouse that she lives in. (Coincidence)
• Her boyfriend will be moving with her, but he travels 47 weeks out of the year. What's he do? He's a stand up comedian. (Sold. Yes, it turns out our house is for rent after all. When do you want it?)

She wants it the first of July, so we're moving out next month. Except we don't actually have a place to live. SO.... The Husband's grandmother is in assisted living and has a house sitting vacant in the town we grew up in just 30 minutes away. We'll be there for a little while as we look for something we can grow in. I sure will miss our first house, but it's time now for a Montessori teacher, a standup comedian, and a girl named Amelie to have it. 

Accidental Rental: Don't let it happen to you! 

Preparing for Parenthood: Cleaning

My pre-baby vision of parenthood including fondly looking into my baby's eyes while he nursed and we shared an intimate mother-son bond. It included long walks in strollers with just the breeze and the sound of his coos. It included preparing organic, free-range meals that he would enjoy, and me relaxing after I put him to bed, meditating on all I had to be thankful for.

Is she baptizing this baby or what? 

And then I had a baby.

And I cried when I spilt the milk that I'd pumped. And long walks in strollers led to getting rained on and bringing a soggy, sad baby into the house with no thought of the mud I was tracking in. And he spit out the organic, free range baby food and splattered it on the wall, where he attempted to paint in it. And he left a trail of toys and dishes and food and junk all over the house, and there was no time for relaxing. Note: the meditating on all I have to be thankful for at the end of each day was the only accurate part of this vision.


If you're preparing to have a baby, you're going to need a bag of flour with a cantaloupe balanced on top.  Have someone come into your house and cook, throw clothes on the floor, stack bottles in the kitchen and eat half a sandwich without cleaning anything up.  Give the flour baby to your friend, and have them set a 3 minute timer. You may begin to clean when the timer begins, but every three minutes you must hold the baby for 20 minutes. If you try to carefully balance the flour in one hand so that you can use your other hand, the cantaloupe will fall off and you'll have to start again. You may heat the flour baby to a temperature of 100 and wear it in a wrap around your body, but if you choose to do this you must check to ensure it is breathing every 60 seconds, and also now you must clean with a baby between you and anything you try to touch.

If you think you'll clean when the baby naps, he'll only nap on you, and you'll be too exhausted to care. Every other time you hold the bag of flour you should alternate being topless and having someone spill something on you. This is how you will live for the next three months, and you will love it.

Cleaning with an infant is hard because you have little time to do it. Cleaning with a toddler is hard because they work diligently at undoing anything you've just done. If you're preparing for cleaning up with a toddler, have a friend on hand. As you take a dish out of the dishwasher and place it on the counter, have your friend take one out and place it on the floor. If it's tupperware, have them place it on the dog. If it's a spoon, have them play the drums on a fondu pot. If it's a knife, have them lick it. You'll need to rewash all of those. When your friend gets bored with this game, clean feverishly when they walk away. Discover that they  were keeping themself entertained by using their toothbrush to brush the dog's teeth. 



 Having a toddler is like cleaning up after a Harlem Shake video all the time. 

There is inevitably something on someone's head, random half-costumes are everywhere, there are crazy dance moves, the music makes little sense, and you're not sure why it seems so glamorous. Some examples: 

While you continue with the dishwasher, have your friend remove all their clothes and throw them. Try to elicit their help in cleaning, and have them take the broom and run the handle along every wall. If you are at your in-laws, the broom can also be used for a rousing game of croquet, as demonstrated here:

                   

Learn to look for clean clothes only on the couch, and clean dishes only in the dishwasher. Learn not to mind that your house looks like it's inhabited by squatters because you will be overwhelmingly impressed with your little flour baby/Harlem Shake video. AND when the mess is driving you to drink you'll remember this poem that you heard long ago:

Cooking and cleaning can wait til tomorrow

For babies grow up, I've learned to my sorrow

So, settle down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep 

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep

And if you're like me you will write your own third stanza that will be something like 

"I could have cleaned during nap while baby rested his head

 but it's more fun to blog about my messy house instead."

How To Be A Toddler: Going to the Doctor

The Boy is now 21 months old. That's almost two, for those of you who don't measure time in months. Twenty one months is the perfect age for playing, and jumping off things and exploring, and is not the perfect age for sitting quietly or waiting patiently. Today I had an appointment to go back to the orthopedist about my shoulder (see this post for more on that), and The Boy can't get rid of his hacking cough, so The Husband and I decided this morning he didn't need to go to school as I'd planned. That meant he'd be going with me. Challenging. And he was much like a toddler should be at an adult doctor's appointment.

If you are interested in becoming a toddler in the near future, read these tips on the proper methods of going to the doctor with a parent. 

1. Sit in every chair in the waiting room. You must sit in every single chair, and when other patients smile at you, look at them like you are both angry with and terrified of them. Smile broadly in a way that conveys you are cute at waiting patients who ignore you.

Sit with your parent to read a farm book. Loudly and excitedly announce all the farm animal sounds to no one in particular. Shriek animatedly for at least one minute. Make sure it is a happy noise so there's nothing anyone can do to quieten you. If someone comes out of their appointment and points at you and says "there's that baby we heard screaming" beam proudly at them. 

2. When you get into the exam room, touch every surface. Once you've touched every surface, put your hand completely in your mouth and leave it there. Attempt to take things out of the trash can. When you are redirected, put a magazine into the trash can.  Ask for a cookie from your bag, and while your parent fetches it, try to sit on the doctor's wheelie chair. Fall out. Take your cookie and place it on every surface that you previously touched. Take a bite of your cookie, put it down on the dirtiest surface in the room and use that as a drum. Smile and announce "I dwummin!" 

3. Before the doctor arrives, dance excitedly around the room. Exclaim "I a el-phant" and make large elephant gestures and stomps. Try to get under the exam table. Ask 45 times where "mommy docta is?" and throw your hands in the air. Knock on the door and yell out "Hey Docta!" when you hear someone in the hall. 

4. When the doctor comes in, do not make eye contact with him or her. Put your cookie on your mouth, but do not eat it. Let it turn to mush and let said mush ooze out of your mouth. Be weird.  When the doctor speaks kindly to you, be afraid. Act like you cannot talk at all, then only speak when grown ups are speaking, at which point whine for more cookie. You'll get it. 

5. When it is time to check out, run in circles while you're waiting. Other grown ups will take pity on your parent and let you go to the front of the line. Announce to the kind lady doing her job "I READY!" if it takes more than 30 seconds to check out, pay, and make another appointment. If she doesn't comply with your readiness, run away. When you have been drug back to complete your parent's business, take all the osteoporosis pamphlets off the desk. Talk obsessively about the bicycle that it features. When it's finally time to go, hop down a flight of stairs, one stair at a time. 

6. If you are with your parent because you are sick, do not cough at all. All day. 

The Night I Got Thrown Up On

My kid is sick. Not like hospital sick, thank God, but feeling really crummy nonetheless. He's got a barking cough and a green 11 streaming out of his nose. He's been up for nights with a fever and my typically active boy just wants to be held. He's also incredibly, uncouragably irritable.

We went to the ped's office on Wednesday. I called first thing and they asked if we could be there in 15 minutes. I told them we'd love to if they didn't mind us showing up in superman pjs. So we did, cape and all.

Our doc said it was a croupey virus and gave us a prescription for a steroid. We filled it and set in for the 'roid rage, just hoping it would make him feel better. We waited. And waited. And still he felt gross. And even more irritable. Saturday night The Boy was feeling particularly bad. He cried. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be held with his head on my shoulder. He said his shirt hurt, so we took it off. He said his pants hurt, so we took them off. He was burning up so we dosed him up with Tylenol.  I stayed home with him while The Husband went to go watch basketball with some friends. "Are you sure it's okay if I go?" He asked. "Of course," I said. "We'll just lay around and watch some tv before bed. He'll be easy."

The Boy with Puppy, his lovie

Husband: buddy, do you want some dinner before I go?
Boy: No!
Husband: how about some grapes?
Boy: No!
Husband: pasta?
Boy: No!
Husband: crackers?
Boy: NO!
Husband: banana?
Boy: NOOO!
Me: ice cream?
Boy: NOOO!
Husband: cookies?
Boy: NOOO!
Husband: biscuit?
Boy: uh huh.
Husband: yeah? I'll fix you a biscuit. ( starts to fix a biscuit)
Boy: biscuit! (Crying) BISCUIIIIIIT......

So his daddy put some biscuits in the oven on his way out but when the timer went off the poor guy didn't want me to put him down to eat it. It was just the two of us and I let him curl up in my lap on the couch to eat. I put his favorite show on and we settled in for the night. He laid on me and ate his little biscuit while he watched tv.

When we'd been couching for awhile he sat up, looked at me and began to cry. Poor guy felt really  bad. I stroked his hair and asked him what was wrong. And he threw up all over me. I saw it happening and there was nothing I could do. All down my shirt and all in my lap. I was covered in vomit and he was crying demanding "wipe!" He wanted me to clean him, and now. What to do first?

I picked him up of my vomit lap and stood him on the ground. He cried. I peeled off my vomit shirt and my vomit jeans and left them in a pile on the floor. He cried. I grabbed some wipes and wiped him down. "Mama, hug" he cried. I scooped him up and held him close, still in my skivvies. He curled up to watch tv again, and even wanted more biscuit. I was hopeful he felt a little better.

After a few minutes he said "biscuit stuck!" and opened his mouth. There was a wad of biscuit stuck on the roof of his mouth and he didn't know how to get it out. I stuck my finger in his vomit mouth and scraped out the biscuit, which made him throw up again. All over me. This time I didn't have clothes to peel off. Warm biscuit vomit on my skin. I wiped him off. I wiped me off. He cried "mama wipe!" and pointed to my sports bra. He didn't want to touch me when there was vomit on my bra. Let that sink in for a minute. He didn't want to touch me because his vomit was grossing up what little of my clothes there were left. I felt too bad for him to care.

The next day we took him to urgent care where we were told he had a "boatload of green, puss-ie, mucus drainage" that was causing him to throw up. Um, thanks? Poor kid is still sick with a temperature but I'm hoping for no more vomiting. Ever. At least til he's in college.