Complete Kitchen Remodel - Fast! and Free!

In a fit of annoyance earlier this year, I put our microwave on the floor in order to reclaim some precious counter space in our tiny galley kitchen.  It was kind of weird, but you know how you just get used to things.  We just bent down and put stuff in the microwave.  The bonus was the Turtle could reach it himself and got to have the official job of pressing the buttons.  When other people came over, they didn't quite know what to make of it, but whatever.  

I finally purchased this kitchen island and put it in the dining area to extend our kitchen counter.   

So now the microwave has a home along with the fruit bowls and cookbooks and I've got my workspace cleared.   I was so happy about this that I never even bothered to put anything inside the island yet.  When I went to open it to decide how to finally organize it, I found that Turtle had co-opted it and had been placing various toys in it.  (Oh, so that's where THAT's been!)  I had no idea.  

But yesterday I set about claiming my island, happily filling and organizing it, and then looked over and decided that Turtle's kitchen needed upgrading, too.  

First, I fashioned some stove-side utensil holders out of toilet paper rolls.  

Next, the oven was given a red-hot burner.  

I reused a gift bag decoration to add a vase of flowers above the sink, which is a giant lettuce container set into a cardboard box.  A small plastic bin is attached on the left to hold a sponge.  I can put a little water in this sink and it holds without leaking so Turtle can actually wash dishes in it.  The salad container pulls right up and out for dumping out.   

The sink itself was given a facelift.  Previously just a cardboard front, I cut cupboards in it for increased storage and covered it in reused wrapping paper.  

This up-ended diaper box had been divided with a shelf to make a crude pantry but never decorated.  I added a door to the bottom with rope handle, made from one side of a gift bag, to make a mini fridge and covered the wrest with leftover holiday wrapping paper.  

Turtle's kitchen is adjacent to mine, so he gets to use the hooks on my island for his canvas shopping bag, apron and pot holders.  The apron set was sewn by my sister and given as a xmas gift this year- cute, huh?  

Here's the "after" picture.  Turtle's kitchen is much brighter and cheerier now with all the colored wrapping paper and the flowers than the plain cardboard look it had before.  He has more storage with the utensil holders and under the sink cupboard and he gained a new appliance with the mini fridge.  All in all, not a bad remodel for 90 minutes of my time, a bunch of reused stuff that was lying around the house, and a lot of packing tape!  

He was so inspired that he set about making us a scrumptious meal.  Each person was served a variety of whole produce, eggs, and rigatoni.  Mmmm. Mmmm.  

This morning, Turtle told me he needed a kitchen timer.  So, now we have a play doh container decorated on the sides and with a printout of a real kitchen timer taped to the lid (Thank you, Google image search) and a large jingle bell inside so that when you shake it, the timer rings. As I write this, he is making me coffee with "spices and honey and milk and eggs".  This is his specialty, served in a reused fruit cup cup with half a plastic Easter egg sitting in it.  And muffins, which are play doh blobs in each hole of a mini muffin tin.  I am told that right now they are in the oven and we are waiting for them to "poof up".  

I love that he is working in his kitchen, using his imagination and creativity to prepare meals for us.  And I love that I get to use my imagination and creativity to make and improve his kitchen so that he can engage in this kind of play.  And I really love that I didn't buy and won't be someday getting rid of a $200 plastic play kitchen.  

Cardboard R&D

Turtle has a stuffed elephant named "Heffalump" (after the character in the Pooh movie).  I was informed Sunday night that Heffalump needed a motorcycle.  ASAP.  

Huh.  Okay...well, let's see...(how will I pull this off?)...let's go look in the project closet...

20 minutes later, we had ourselves a motorcycle: 

Turtle suggested breaking fat crayons to make the axles.

I made cardboard nuts to hold the axles to the bike.  

It worked well enough that Turtle deemed it wheelie worthy.  

Then we tested it with Heffalump, who isn't the most natural of riders.  But he held on okay for a few laps before spectacular failure of the front wheel...

Luckily, this design is easy to reassemble, so it kept up with another half an hour of play. Then, as suddenly as the idea had been sprung on me to build a motorcycle in the first place, I watched Turtle take it apart and start folding up the body.  "What are you doing?" I asked with more than a little frustration, since I had made most of the major engineering and assembly contributions.  "I need to crumple this.  It's not working very well.  Heffalump is too fat for this motorcycle."

I have to say I love the "I need to crumple this."  I'm thinking of using it at work to reduce my paperload.  

Backtire walked in during the crumpling and witnessed this exchange.  Being the real engineer of the family, he jumped right in with "No problem.  That was just a prototype.  We tested it and it wasn't good enough.  We'll have to build another one someday that fits Heffalump better."  And with that, we did some recycling and the motorcycle was no more.  

But now I find myself wandering the house thinking about how to improve our prototype.  

And I think this small experience held some great life lessons:  When you have an idea, pursue it.  When you want something, try building it yourself.  When things aren't working, don't be afraid to take them apart and try it differently. And, don't get married to your work. Sometimes you need to just crumple it.  

Who Is Spare Mindy?

It was long overdue.  I retrieved the small cardboard box from Turtle’s closet and opened it.   

There she was, swaddled in two layers of clear plastic – Spare Mindy.   

She’d been shipped to me by Fisher Price, who I called in a fit of parental anxiety.  At 18 months, Turtle had become attached, taking her everywhere, chewing on her head, and sleeping with her each night.  That Halloween, we drove back from the pumpkin patch with my sister in the backseat, trying to make small talk with her nephew, quizzing him about the doll’s name.  “Min – daah” he babbled randomly.  "Oh, Mindy!  That's a great name!" his Aunt deftly responded, keeping the conversation going.  And thus the doll became Mindy.  

Prior to becoming a parent, I thought it was ridiculous that parents would buy multiple extra copies of a favored toy just in case one was lost.  Loss is a part of life and I figured that kids needed to learn to get over it.  Plus, how indulgent and consumer-focused, right?  And, I didn’t want to have that five year old who drags around some filthy stuffed animal everywhere we go, so why start now? 

So, it was with chagrin that I found myself calling Fisher Price coveting a spare Mindy.  Who, by the way, is actually named Mia and can only be purchased as part of a set along with her traveling companion Roberto and the nameless red-headed female pilot of the Fisher Price plane. 

But prior to becoming a parent I didn’t understand that your kid can get so attached to a toy, derive so much security from it, and will only fall asleep if it is there.  That sleep deprivation and a desire to control what precious little you can about your day, and especially night, with your toddler can compel you to obtain a spare “lovey” (I hate that term) attachment object (not much better)… Mindy. Parents, you understand, right?

When I started this blog, we were in the throes of separation anxiety and 4 a.m. wake-ups.  A year and a half into all-consuming parenting and 6 months after a major move, I knew I needed an outlet and to try to slowly recapture a little bit of me.  The blog was a place to reflect on my life from a short distance away.  To be able to see myself calling Fisher Price and laugh at the irony.  To grapple with how much parenting had changed me and accept that I had become someone who would not feel better until I had a Spare Mindy in the closet.  Spare Mindy is a metaphor for all the crazy crap you never thought you’d do that you end up doing once you have a kid.  I’m sure I will have thousands more Spare Mindy moments as the years go on. 

Predictably, Mindy fell out of favor some months after I ordered the spare and her status for the past year has been reduced merely to chewed on and mostly ignored airline passenger who occasionally takes the school bus or is tied to a race car careening around the living room floor. 

So, when doing a major overhaul of Turtle’s closet a month ago, I took out Spare Mindy’s box and set her free.  It felt good as a mom to realize that I didn’t need her anymore. 

When I unwrapped her and offered her to Turtle, his response was utterly devoid of emotion and inarguably logical:     “I already have that.” 

Does anyone need a Spare Mindy?  

Would You Like Guilt With That?

(I wish it was this kind I was talking about...)

"Hey, Mommy, there's Jack" Turtle yelled during a superbowl commercial today.  Backtire looked at me, "Um, how does he know that?"  "Remember, a few weeks ago when we ate at Jack In The Box and you met us there?  There were pictures of Jack all over the wall and he wanted to know who it was, so..." I explained, feeling crappy that my not quite 3-year old son knew who Jack was.  We returned our attention to the TV only to then witness Jack get run over by a bus.   Turtle had a very concerned and confused look on his face as his newfound loveable character friend was just squashed.  Oh Great!  It was bad enough that we had sunk to Jack In The Box for dinner level.  Now he's been traumatized to top it off!  

After inquiring after Turtle's interpretation of the commercial, I agreed that Jack "fell down because that bus came" and that he simply needed to get up and brush himself off and he would be fine.  All was well with the world, Turtle went back to playing with trains, and I avoided having to talk about the realities of being hit by vehicles.  

The part I didn't mention to Backtire was that the two of us had eaten at McDonald's today for lunch. And another time when we were on our own for dinner a few weeks back.  Oh yeah, and all three of us stopped for fast food over the holidays on a long drive home one night, too. That's at least four times in the past couple months.  

And if I hadn't have blogged previously about eating locally and avoiding sugary birthday celebrations at daycare and generally professed to people my organic-whole-foods-well-balanced-non-processed-water-down-the-juice-he's-never-eaten-candy-we-don't-do-fastfood-except-when-forced-to-on-long-roadtrips-a-few-times-a-year values, I might not feel quite so hypocritical right now.  

On the other hand, I'm sure I'm holding myself to higher standards than anyone else is.  And the plus is that at least I've started to find more balance in terms of not killing myself to try to live up to my crazy high standards without fail.  I've opted for the fast food so that we can stay out and get all the errands I want done and have some fun together instead of feeling housebound, stuck in the kitchen, and frustrated that the to do list is growing.  

Hopefully, I won't resort to fast food often enough for Turtle to start begging for it or refusing to eat other things.  He has always been a great eater, willing to try anything new, and happy to eat raw vegetables and all manner of things good for you. To make myself feel better, though, each time we've done this I've snuck the toy out of the kids' meal and into my purse before he could see it.  I don't need the promise of a new toy each time you eat a meal to hold sway over him.  The food itself is supposed to be the incentive for eating.  

I love that my almost 3-year old son doesn't know what candy is and doesn't expect that you should end up with a toy each time you go out.  Today while grocery shopping he saw a shelf of Valentines Day teddy bears and simply asked if he could hug a few of them.  So, we stopped and took turns hugging a few of them and put them all back on the shelf.  I've never set that precedent that we would actually take toys we see in stores home with us.  I love that when I pour a little juice in the bottom of his cup, he says to me "Mom, now add the water to make it into juice" because that's how he thinks it works.  

I'm going to keep it like this for as long as I can.  But I'll also continue to keep in mind the best advice I've ever been given:  Everything in moderation, including moderation.  

You Know You're A Mom When (No. 2)

Every product you ever purchased for the purpose of pampering yourself
sits unused and expired in your bathroom...

and pampering yourself has been redefined as finding a few minutes once a month to use:

usually with a small audience asking "what are you doing?"  and "can I do it, too?"

And his DIY pedicure looks better than yours...

...because there was no chance of sitting still with your feet up afterward!

You Know You're A Mom When (No.1)

Your grandmother's antique setee...

...serves as a parking garage.

Exercising My Right To Flush

Last night, after brushing his teeth, I gently excused Turtle out of my bathroom so that I could dare to go to the bathroom alone. (If a 2 year old heavily breathing and scratching at the bathroom door is considered alone).

When finished with my business, I opened the door to be rewarded by a full blown meltdown. The issue?

Let me quote: "Waaaaaah. I want to flush your pee-pee! Waaaaaaah. I want to flush Mommy's pee-pee!"

I would just like to go on record here that I did NOT videotape this. I could have. So, in 15 years, when Turtle is mortified by naked baby pictures and other such embarassments, I would like some credit for NOT saving this particular moment* for posterity.

I will enjoy the pleasures of flushing my own pee-pee without complaint this weekend, down a hotel** toilet at that, as I embark on a 48-hour childless, husbandless, women-only trip that I have needed for 2 years.

*(10 minutes)

**(OK, motel)

Let Them Play!

Driving the other day, I heard this story on NPR about Gever Tulley who founded The Tinkering School near San Francisco.  In this ultimate summer camp experience, kids get to stay for a week and build creations of their own design (with some guidance) and test them out. The use of power tools is encouraged, as is creativity, risk-taking, and intuition.  Kids must make real things and try them for real.  No models or look-alikes here.  They build boats and find out whether they'll sink or float when they get in them.  They cross bridges they've designed and drive cars and motorcycles they collaborated on.  They fail and fail again and get hurt and go back to the drawing board and fail again and think on it some more and persist until they succeed.  

Tulley says in the NPR interview that one of the experiences that inspired his camp was observing a mother scold and remind her son about her "no playing with sticks" rule.  I'm with Tulley on this one.  Lord help this next generation if they haven't even been allowed to play with sticks.  Why, when I visited Paraguay, the host family I stayed with had a 3 year old boy who I observed playing in the backyard unsupervised with his father's machete.  Okay, admittedly, that kind of freaked me out.  But, clearly we are overdoing it when we protect our kids from sticks (not to mention denying them a connection to nature and natural objects).   

Tulley is working on an upcoming book, "50 Dangerous Things You Should Let Your Children Do" and gave a TED talk on 5 of them: 

This reminds me of the recently popular "Dangerous" books by Conn & Hal Iggulden.  Just today I read an article called "How to let kids be kids" in this month's Redbook.  It made the case for the downside of overscheduling our kids and overstructuring their play, quoting experts who explained the value of free play driven by curiosity about the world and how it works.  I remember reading a long time ago the quip that all toddlers start out by dropping and throwing and hitting things with the basic mental attitude of, "what will happen when I do this?" and that scientists are just the people who managed to not get that squashed out of them by their parents and the educational system.  

I'm so glad to see this resurging interest in letting kids be kids and just play and explore their world.  I remember the elaborate games my siblings and I used to invent on rainy days stuck inside and the little inventions I used to make when left with free time and craft supplies to think and tinker.  In elementary school I helped run the filmstrips (god, I'm old!) and the teacher would ask you to "rewind" the filmstrip when it was over, which was a laborious process done by hand. I took a toilet paper tube and an empty jewelry gift box, some scissors and glue, and invented a filmstrip rewinder. You could put the film roll in a tube on one end, feed it through a slot across the empty box into a slot in the tube on the other end and you could quickly rewind it into the second tube with your finger.  Plus, you could view the slides on it against the white background of the box as you did so.  

To this day, obviously, I remember the details of that invention, how it worked, and how proud I was of thinking of it, making it, and trying it out to find that it worked.  If you fill a kid's life with pre-packaged toys meant to be used in pre-thought of ways and guided activities with rules, how will they ever invent something?  or have the self-esteem that comes with that?  

Which reminds me to share with you an astounding article I read some months back called "How children lost the right to roam In four generations". In it, the author interviews one family and shows with maps the diminished range that each succeeding generation was allowed to explore unsupervised. I know that as an elementary aged kid, I regularly hopped on my bike or roller skates and went up to a couple miles out on my own or with friends. And that was sans helmet or cell phone or water bottle or firm deadline for arrival.   Now even though I'm in a sleepy suburban, family friendly neighborhood, I really wonder just how far I'll feel comfortable letting my son go.  Has anything actually changed in terms of the risk?  Or just my perception of it due to scary news stories and such?  It's an important question.  

For much more along these lines, check out Free Range Kids , a website devoted to helping "our kids embrace life!". It's got thought provoking articles and practical ideas on how to get back to the good-old-go-outside-and-play-until-dinnertime days!

I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts on this topic.  How far were you allowed to roam as a kid?  Did you own a pocket knife, try driving a car, play with fire, etc, before you were a teen? 

Driving Test

Turtle (whining): I want a snack in the car!

Me: I don't have a snack in the car. We'll get one when we get home in a few minutes.

Turtle (demanding): I want a snack in the car!

Me (ignoring him):

Turtle (in a surprisingly angry yelling voice): Mommy! I want a snack in the car! Mom! I want a snack! I need a snack! (continue repeating for 5 minutes with increasing intensity and tears)

Me (humming a tune to myself to help with the ignoring): hmm hmm hmmm hmmmmm

Turtle pulls top buckle of carseat down to belly button level and gives me the "oh yeah, what are you gonna do about that!" look.

Me (sternly): Push that buckle back up now.

Turtle (ignoring me): 

Me: Turtle, push that buckle up or I can't drive. (note to reader: This has worked in the past.)

Turtle (surprisingly calmly, with a mischevous smirk): Don't drive.

Me (damn! called my bluff!):  OK, then I guess I'll have to pull over and park and we can't drive home to get that snack.

Turtle (wickedly calmly): Okay.

Me (double damn!): Turtle, if you don't push that buckle back up a police man is going to come and we are going to get in trouble.

Turtle, eyes wide, quickly pushes buckle into proper position.

[Note: Good to know that although my 2 year old is at the peak of testing me, he has a healthy fear of the long arm of the law! The weird thing is that other than pointing out police cars as a type of vehicle, we have never explained to him what a police officer is or what they do. No matter. If it works, it works. I'm using it again!]

A Day Off

Early in motherhood I read some article reminding moms that "when you are gone, it won't matter whether you kept a clean house, but that you sat down and playing with your kids and gave them your attention". A nice sentiment and excuse not to do housework, but let's have a reality check. 

Inspired by this advice, I decided to take a break from doing the normal thing, that is picking up after all of us as we go about our business. This is usually done here and there after each activity is finished and in a couple of bigger spurts. At the end of the evening, I often like to sweep as many toys out of eyesight as possible so that I can sit and relax in the living room and pretend to live a child-free existence for 11 minutes before I fall asleep on the couch trying to read the same articles out of a months old magazine that I don't even recognize I've already read. Hey, this memory loss thing could really save me money on subscriptions!

But, I digress. For one 24 hour period, I made a conscious effort to sit down and relax or do something fun that I enjoy each time I was tempted to put things away. I wanted to know how the carefree moms live. Here is the result:

kitchen table

coffee table

floor

Which reminds me of this hilarious stay at home mom's great answer to "what do you do all day?"

Seriously, if I even took off a second day, let alone a week, well, it just makes me realize that neat freak tendencies aside, I am only one small slip down the slippery slope away from

(Photo Credit)

those people you see on daytime TV that need household clutter interventions. And I only have one kid and no pets! 

I have a hard time letting it get like this and would rather keep up with it all day so that my environment is more relaxing and enjoyable to me.  Therein lies the paradox:  take time off to relax in an environment that grows ever-unrelaxing as you relax or keep up with it to keep the environment relaxing, but never truly just sit and relax. Aaaaaaah!   

While I sat during my time off and relaxed amongst the mess, I read the August issue of Oprah magazine and found out that once again, researchers are being paid to scientifically conclude what we all already know.  The discovery this time?  That having a husband in the household adds 7 extra hours of chores a week for a woman compared to when she was unmarried, while he does an hour less per week than when he was a bachelor.  The article says the researchers didn't know WHY this is. 

Can I just respond scientifically?  

Duh!  

I also read recently (source unremembered) that international studies show that regardless of economic class or whether the woman stays at home or works part- or full-time, basically the woman to man housework ratio is 2:1 around the world in industrialized nations.  And the childcare ratio is far worse, childcare being defined as physically taking care of the needs of the child such as dressing, bathing, and feeding, but not counting wresting on the floor or reading bedtime stories.  

No wonder I'm tired all the time and busy all the time, even though I don't feel like I "do" anything or "get anything done" all day sometimes.  And I don't even do heavy duty cleaning or have very high standards for cleanliness.  So, it could be much worse.  

I guess we've still got a long way to go, baby!  

Kill Me Now

8:24 arrive home from visiting grandparents for the day (note: no nap), attempt at carseat to crib transfer foiled

8:25-8:57 take off pants, change diaper, and attempt to soothe exhausted half asleep sobbing, thrashing 2 year old who doesn't know where he is and why he was woken up from a deep slumber, finally have success with tight hold, rocking, and 15 minutes of endlessly repeated whispered rhythmic recitation of Goodnight Moon from memory

8:57-9:08 enjoy quietly sitting in rocking chair with warm sleeping child on my lap, await deeper sleep cycle verified by wrist drop before installing in crib, wakes up anyway but accepts normal bedtime routine of back rub, count to 10, ABC song, and special goodnight kiss

10:36 went to bed

11:00- lie in bed listening to sprinklers coming on and neighbors out in the street

11:?? finally fell asleep

12:23 hear Turtle cry, extract stuck foot from between crib rails, start over with back rub, count to 10, ABC song, and special goodnight kiss

12:23-1:?? lie in bed listening to
resident nightingale at decibel levels illegal past 10 pm in this neighborhood
every breath and snore and move of husband next to me
random thoughts & irrational worries swirling around in my brain

1:?? finally fell asleep

2:17 hear Turtle cry, apply blanket to cold legs, locate white bear at opposite end of crib, commence back rub, etc, #3

2:20-2:27 stand over crib removing hand from back and self from room molecule by molecule soundlessly so as not to be detected, successfully sneak out after taking 7 minutes to walk 6 feet

2:27-3:?? lie in bed listening to bird, snores, thoughts until I finally fall asleep

4:22 Oh my freaking god, you have GOT to be kidding me, hear Turtle cry again, say "What?! What?!" to him as he says "mommy, mommy, mommy" over and over and mumbles nonsensical things, lift him out and carry to our bed, plop down in frustration

4:22-6:26 little warm arm over my neck, toes jabbing into my side, toss, turn, soft breath against my arm, legs kicking my boobs, "stop kicking me!", toss, turn, fall in and out of sleep, lose track of who is tossing and turning, awaken multiple times in discomfort, start thinking about how much today is going to SUCK because I got no sleep, oh yeah and Turtle got no sleep, oh yeah and Backtire got no sleep, so begin anticipating hell, curse the situation

6:26 little fingers stroking my hair, kind of pleasant and soothing, actually, no wait, stroking turns to grabbing fistfuls of hair and pulling at my scalp over and over

6:27 "Kill me now" comes out of my mouth, alerting Backtire to my plight, who has several times throughout the night tried unsuccessfully to extricate Turtle from my personal space, Backtire gets up with a heavy sigh, removes Turtle from the room and lets me get some sleep

6:28-7:01 listen to Turtle cry for Mommy, argue about diaper change, play with Daddy in his bedroom at full volume, oh yeah and ALL of the birds are awake now, and the sun is streaming through the window, finally yell that they need to "Go to the living room, please! and shut the hall door, please!"

7:02-9:15 sun, birds still at full stimulation levels, attempt to block somewhat with strategic pillow placement, sound of toddler and Daddy still present, but fainter, able to fall in and out of sleep a bit more until I just give up and get up to come write this as a way of avoiding today's hell just a little bit longer.

9:39 post this puppy and go to meet my fate

Breaking Up With My Pick Me Up

(Photo Credit)

Dear Caffeine,

We can't go on like this. I have fun when I'm with you and you make me feel alive, but I'm losing sleep and being on this energy roller coaster is taking its toll on me. I should have never initiated this relationship with you. For all those years, you were around in the background, but I didn't see what others saw in you. And then I distanced myself from you for a good 18 months after Turtle was born. After that, I should have just stayed away. But you tempted me with morning clarity and late night productivity and you knew just how to pull me out of that 4 pm slump. Hanging out once or twice a week became stealing visits with you multiple times a day. And now I'm stuck in this cycle of rendezvous, guilt, fatigue, breaking away for a few days and then crawling back in desperation after a few nights of lost sleep and the realization that no one can make me feel just like you do. Somehow I can already see that this will be one of those long complex break ups and that you aren't going to help me by letting me go. But I hope you care about me enough to realize that I need to cut you off, that it's the best thing for me. And I know you'll find someone else. There are plenty of other sleep deprived overworked moms out there.

I'll never forget the good times!

Farewell,

Chelsea

Two Steps Forward...

You may recall me complaining about what I perceived to be the precocious push toward ____________at my son’s daycare. I don’t know what to call it. It’s, you know, when people feel the need to show their affection through sugary treats and junky toys, but it’s not even necessarily true affection because it’s more of an obligatory recognition of mostly meaningless consumerism holidays. Mothers of two year olds stuffing every child’s cubby holes with from-China-to-the-landfill “goodies” and stuffing their tummies with high fructose corn syrup. (Is there a word for that?)

I asked for advice on how to handle the situation, given my misgivings about it and was wholeheartedly told to stick to my guns and do what I believed in. So, for Turtle’s 2nd birthday, when I was reminded that I was welcome to bring something to school for a special celebration, I declined. When I was then asked whether I minded if the teachers created their own special celebration for him, I happily welcomed them to do so, as long as the focus was friends and fun, rather than unhealthy food.

I was happy with the result. They created a construction paper birthday “crown” for him to wear all day and at morning snack presented him with a banana with candles to blow out after they sang Happy Birthday. And there were somebody’s leftover monkey patterned napkins. 

That's it.  No cake, no crap, just a fancy banana.  We picked him up and his eyes were still sparkling under his crown from the excitement of being the center of attention for much of the day. Score one for us!

A few weeks later, I was reading the parent newsletter they send home and saw this:  


Now, I never even said anything to anyone, so I can take no credit for this policy change, but who cares? Score two!

Then we were out sick for a few days and apparently missed someone else’s second birthday. We returned to find --- (cue dramatic music) --- a goody bag in our cubby. And, to add insult to injury, it wasn’t some kind of hand crafted goody bag filled with thoughtfully selected items. I didn’t know this, but you must be able to just go to the party stores and purchase pre-made and sealed goody bags, every molecule of which are covered with licensed characters, which just personally annoys me.

When you are just shoving impersonal “gifts” in everyone’s box, including people who aren’t even able to attend the celebration, what is the point? And how am I supposed to respond? Do I need to thank you? What is the etiquette? I’m sure that if you are the person who bought these goody bags and brought them I sound really ungrateful and bitchy and overly righteous. And you were just wanting to do something fun and cute for your kid and their friends.

But we just don’t see eye to eye. I don’t appreciate having to accept the stuff and bring it into my home, which I am constantly trying to de-clutter. I don’t appreciate my son getting used to the idea that he will get gifts all the time from everyone or begging to have the junk that’s in the bag even though it might be unsafe to play with or I don’t want him to eat it. And I feel guilty just throwing away the bag directly, even though I truly don’t want it, because it seems like such a waste. Of course the real waste is that a pre-sealed goody bag was ever even created in the first place! Aaahhh, don’t get me started…

Well, at least the POLICY is that goody bags are banned.

We Interrupt This Blogcast To Bring You...

...a full body rash followed 3 days later by fever and vomiting.  Turtle, not me.  Been busy taking care of that, so Earth Week 2008 is becoming Earth Two Weeks (or possibly longer) 2008.  

We will return you to the regularly scheduled posts as soon as we catch up on bills, laundry, groceries, emails, work...

Taking Time to Stop and Find the Roses

Turtle & I were exploring our new front yard when he discovered a humble white garden rose on the underside of a nondescript shrub. "oooooooooh!" he intoned, with much dramatic enthusiasm, "Mommy, I found it! Look I found it. White flower!" He beamed up at me proudly from his crouch in front of the shrub. I held the rose stem between my thumb and forefinger and invited him to rub the soft petals between his. He asked permission to hold the bloom, as if it were a priceless fragile heirloom. He delicately reached behind it to pinch its stem. The look on his face blew me away- astonishment, pride, joy- all over finding this pedestrian flower.

I never noticed it was there. I've never been a fan of that particular type of flower. They do nothing for me with their crude asymmetry and layers of ruffly, often stained and tattered petals. Give me a passionflower, a tiger lily, an orchid. Something stunning, structured, bold.

And the naiveté of his pride of discovery. Like Columbus' "discovery" of the Americas. Silly!

But it's these moments that help me get it - how people talk about seeing the world renewed through your children's eyes. How and when did I become a flower snob? I always thought of myself as a nature lover, but when is the last time I crouched down and allowed myself to "discover" something that's been right in front of my busily-speeding-by-on-my-way-to-the-next-task eyes? And to take pleasure in the discovery instead of ignoring new blossoms as no more than the backdrop of my workaday life.

Rise and Shine

Last night, I stumbled upon k-k-k-katy's blog. This girl cracked me up. It’s rare that you’ll find me in front of my laptop laughing out loud. (Check out her letter to her bathtub and her recent jeans shopping experience.) I stayed up way past my bedtime reading it.

My punishment? Around 5 am I heard Turtle's first cries.

Backtire jumped out of bed and I relaxed. Daddy was taking a turn and was going to let me sleep in! Aaaah...blissful sleep.

Psyche!*

Turtle was dumped on the bed next to me, begging to “go eat”. I closed my eyes and ignored him, hoping he’d get the point.

A moment later, I heard a whispered “Here you go, Mommy” and the sound of the alarm clock being dragged off of the nightstand by it’s cord and across the mattress to me. Because, you know, I was in danger of not waking up on time.

I tried to get a bit more shuteye as I realized that playing with my clock was at least distracting him from wanting breakfast. I could hear him clicking the buttons on the clock, so that now, if by some miracle we all fell back asleep, I’d be late for work because he’s put us in a different time zone.

My private behind-eyelids darkness, possibly the last private place left in my life as a mom, was suddenly brightened by a burning red glow, the clock's screen shoved against my eyes.

Turtle: “I want go eat.”

Backtire: “We have to wait until 6 o’clock.”

Turtle: “I want go eat.”

Me: “We have to wait until the clock beeps.”

Turtle: “I want go eat.”

Backtire: “It’s too early.”

Turtle (in anger): “No! It’s NOT too early! It’s Wednesday!”


(BTW, it’s Thursday. Turtle does not actually know the days of the week and clearly cannot distinguish times of day from days of the week. But it’s entertaining when he randomly tests out his growing time related vocabulary, mimicking us, but not getting it quite right.)

*I don’t think I’ve said that since the 80’s.