It happened. We lived.

So, the kid fell down the stairs last night. Two days before the gate is going to be put back! He's nothing if not timely. I believe he inherited that quality from his dad who often says the most inappropriate thing about three seconds before he realizes he's talking aloud. I've been worrying that he's going to fall down the stairs for the past two months that the gate's been gone for the construction. Yet again, I am so very glad that my mom can't remember the name of my blog.

It all went down in total slo mo. I was standing at the top of the stairs getting ready to accompany him on his five thousandth climb of the day down the mighty flight. Is a stairmaster a good second birthday present? Nothing pleases my son more than the up/down. Just as I was about to grab his hand, he suddenly lost his balance and topped over. And over. And over. He was basically doing the most awkward cartwheels ever, heels over head. Of course, I shrieked hysterically probably scaring him far more than the fall did. Thankfully, he didn't go flying down the whole way and caught himself at the landing. He cried LOUDLY for about two minutes straight. That was an eternity while we examined him and tried to decide if we should take him to the emergency room (I will never forget Natasha Richardson for teaching us all about hematomas). He was laughing and playing with the dog food about thirty seconds later so we opted to take a wait and see approach rather than drag him through the horror of an ER visit. And so far today he seems absolutely fine, if a little overly interested in cheese.

Fall down the stairs? Check.

Lost kid + injured kid = Parent of the year over here.

Nothing a little Houston's spinach dip can't cure...

On love and loss

Today I went to Target with my son. There are two things wrong with that sentence but such is life. We wandered up and down the aisles discovering all the many, many things we suddenly, desperately needed in our lives, including Say Yes to Carrots face wipes and Annie's chocolate grams. Target is powerful, man. At one point the little monkey got incredibly restless and his pleas of "up, up, up, uuuuuup!" could no longer be ignored. I can only take so many fierce side glances from elderly ladies and their carts filled with raisins.

Of course, I made the rookie mistake of letting him loose in the toy aisle. I looked down at my phone to check my husband's scintillating answer to my query whether we needed more toilet paper. Indeed. In that ten second span, my little roadrunner took off. I called his name after I couldn't find him in the nearest aisles. This is his favorite game lately, watching me look for him and smirking until I come running after him, trilling "I'm gonna get you (sucka)." Unfortunately, I think we've got a ways to go with this as my mother repeatedly tells me how I would purposely get lost in department stores, museums and even Disney World! Oh, my poor mom. It's a wonder she didn't leave me for the wolves.

I tried to keep the fear out of my voice as I shouted his name and asked him to please come find mommy. Yes, it was only a few seconds, but there were tons of people around and about a million different hiding places for him. Something just scared me to the core and I had a horrifying feeling that I would never see his blondie head again. I ran threw the baby section and found him playing with women's sports bras. Once a boob man...My heart was racing and I begged him never to do that again. So much for keeping my cool so he doesn't keep doing it for attention.

I just kept thinking back to all the articles I've read in recent days about the horrifying Trayvon Martin case. One fact in particular shook me so deeply-his father called the police department to file a missing persons report and only then learned of his son's death. The story is tragic on so many levels but, as a parent, I can't get beyond the notion of waiting for your son to return home, fearing the worst and then having something so much further than the worst be confirmed.

He said, she said

Right about now I am wishing I belonged to a gym. There aren't many on my side of town and I generally enjoy going running or taking yoga classes to balance out my carb habit. It's pouring outside today, however, so the mister and I decided to do an insanity class together. We do them every now and again, but not usually together. And certainly not when there is a man in the house laying down wood in the next room over! With no door separating us!

I begged off at first due to the painful awkwardness. Doing the class solo is enough-add on the husband and the random man and it should basically be on youtube. We're sort of trapped in our living room while the child naps because of our never ending construction project (it is ending this week, hooray!). Realizing I was in it either way, I figured I might as well get reap some benefit. Cut to 45 minutes later and I don't think I can ever look our woodlayer in the eye again. I think he even stopped to stare at us at one point, though I was laughing too hard at my husband jumping up and down like a maniac to care. Insane indeed.

People, this has been a scary week of health issues for those in my world. Especially the teeny, tiny ones. I'm hugging my kiddo extra tight these days and appreciating all aspects of his airplane-imitating, avocado-eating, dog-hugging, thrice-pooping ways. He's talking up a storm lately, though who knows what the hell he's saying? I clearly am missing the mom deciphering gene. Yesterday at playgroup one of the little girls kept pointing at some food and saying "owl, owl." I couldn't figure it out for the life of me. I kept hoo hooing and tried to come up with owl facts. How much can you say about an owl? Finally, another mom came by, heard it once and said "she wants an apple." Oh, you mean the apple that is sitting about three inches out of her grasp? Like that makes sense. Maybe I should record some of my little's more confusing utterings and send it to my mom and my mom friends to crack the code. For all I know he's reciting poetry by now.

I bet people can actually die of embarrassment

There is a "My So-Called Life" marathon on Sundance right now. Sometimes you ask and the world answers perfectly. This was such a brilliant show. Even now, nearly 20 years later (holy hell, I am an old lady), the writing still seems so fresh and insanely accurate. I remember watching this in high school and hearing my own thoughts and fears coming through Angela Chase. Oh, the horror of a chin zit! I'm almost not even embarrassed to admit that I spent my son's entire naptime reading the various plot lines and quotes from the 19 episodes. Almost. I was supposed to do a yoga class.

People used to call me Angela back then too as I wore my hair in an especially flattering bob. Every girl with impossibly thick hair should try a style that is more horizontal than vertical, don't you think? A few years ago, my husband and I spent a few days eating breakfast and soaking up the Hawaiian sun next to a glam Claire Danes and her husband, Hugh Dancy. It was a small island and we saw them constantly. She was friendly and nice, but I never quite worked myself up to telling her what an impact this show had on me as a teen. Good on her for finding a new place back on television with "Homeland."

I wonder if it's too early to teach the little bit about teen angst? Will he be more of a Brian Krakow than a Jordan Catalano? I hate to admit that I'm actually torn between which I'd prefer. Although I do love a sweet nerd, who wouldn't want their son to be the hot, cool guy that everyone wants? Then again, he was illiterate, treated people like shit and generally spent his days in a stoned haze. When I was in college a very beautiful, very blond woman in my year dated Jared Leto for a few nights. The whole dorm was abuzz with jealousy about "Jared Leto girl." Hopefully, she found a new claim to fame.

My so-called life is forcing me to turn off the television...and think about subscribing to netflix.

Moms Gone Wild, Part Deux

Who would have thought that the hardest partying I'd do in years would be with my moms group? I guess you really do need to let loose when you spend most of your time with a 25-pound maniac who goes from crying to laughing and back again in less than 3 seconds. The night involved many cocktails, even more wine and some much-needed dancing. Some fashion advice from hookers, cab hailing tips from homeless men, and tequila shots rounded out the evening. Thankfully, I found my mind just as the shots were being poured and conveniently went to the bathroom. Tequila and I had a falling out a few years ago and I'm still not ready to forgive.

I laughed pretty much the entire evening, louder and longer than I have in months. You know it was a good night when you're still giggling to yourself the next day. My husband does NOT appreciate the random giggling. We were remarking last night how damn lucky we are to have found one another while on this extraordinary journey of motherhood. Switch out "remarking" for "shouting" and I think I now understand why we got a few side eyes on our way out of the restaurant. Although I've only known these women for a little over a year, they are so dear to me and my bebe. They repeatedly tell me that we're both not crazy and for that I love them. And even though the night ended in puke (not mine, hooray), I think we'd all agree that the pain was worth the pleasure.

However. I could have done without being wickedly hungover while driving to Tahoe today in the middle of a rain/snowstorm. It took about 2 hours longer than normal and I saw no less than three accidents on the way up. Fun times. I'll be cleaning banana and dog food out of every crevice in my car for years after making the mistake of putting the grocery bag too close to one very bored toddler. Good thing I brought the fire truck-the child is straight obsessed these days. Fiyah. Not necessarily a good thing considering his dad was a total pyro as a kid. It looks like leaving the house is off the table for tomorrow unless we want to go snow swimming. Hot chocolate shots all around!

Sadness!

This here is a real travesty. Tomorrow morning I was supposed to go with a friend and her beauty baby to check out the new DVF line at GapKids. I was ready to throw down to get my kid some uber trendy graphic tees. I've been to the Barneys Warehouse Sale. I know what's up. Only I clearly don't because I just realized right this minute that the DVF line is girls only. Sorry little dudes. And moms of little dudes. Boo! Don't we deserve some fun designer fashions on the cheap too?

Perhaps my son could pull off a wrap dress. There was a little girl wearing a full-on mermaid costume at the playground yesterday. What's a little feminine styling going to hurt? The boy's got great legs! Should I still go or will the pain be more than I can bear?

Wow

I just read this story and am far more baffled by all the comments on Babycenter (of all places) that seem to be anti-child, or at least anti-child flying. As a firm believer in the power of travel and exploration to shape a child's mind, the idea of not flying with my son is completely anathema to me. Obviously, I can understand the pilot's need to maintain safety on the plane and perhaps that really was the issue here, though it did sound as though the parents managed to get their daughter strapped in prior to being kicked off.

Given that we are flying across the country again in a few weeks, I better start stockpiling my bag of tricks now. One suggestion from a commenter that I liked was carrying a couple of small gift cards (maybe $5 or $10 at Starbucks) or earplugs for your nearest neighbors in case the crying (or your child's go-to annoyance) gets out of hand. All I can say is hooray for the iphone and ipad so I don't lose my voice from the constant reading. Apparently books are just better when they are read 5 or 30 times in a row.

Who me? Shriek on a plane? Never!

Typical toddler behavior is technically psychotic

At least according to the family psychotherapist who just gave a talk at my pediatricians office. Confirmation! Finally. The discussion focused around discipline and how to teach your toddler to develop the emotional intelligence to self-regulate his/her behavior. As with any lecture that I've attended in the previous 25 years, I had to take notes to force myself to pay attention. Here are some of the highlights for any of you dealing with your own little psycho:

1. Talk to him/her. Especially about FEELINGS.
2. Establish authority. Not through screaming.
3. Encourage good behavior more than you discourage bad behavior.
4. When your kid is in the throws of a tantrum, this isn't a learning time. Go back and revisit.
5. Do what you say you're going to do or what you say means nothing.

Speaking of good behavior, today I stole from Trader Joe's. Well, technically my son stole, but I opened was the one who opened the package for him, let him eat as we walked around, realized that I didn't have my wallet at the checkout counter, told the cashier that I was sorry but I would check for money in my car, spent a good 20 minutes looking for change in all the dark and pinchy undersides of the seats, didn't have the heart to walk in with $1.15 and 27 pennies, and just went home, defeated. Do you think they'll put our picture up in the window?

So last night I decided to get all sorts of exotic and made a chicken fried rice stir fry for dinner. Fried rice! At my house! Good thing I have a wok for just such an occasion. Or for making eggs. Everything is more fun in a wok. Anyway, here's the recipe I used for anyone craving an msg fix. I actually used way, waaaaaaay less soy sauce than the recipe calls for-1/3 of a cup seemed a bit crazytown to me. I'm already concerned about our salt intake ever since I started noticing how much sodium is in the foods I buy for the toddles. It's insane how these "kid-friendly" snacks have more salt than the adult versions. I also added zucchini, red pepper, shallots, honey, ginger and some fresh-squeezed orange juice/flesh for some depth of flavor. Next time I intend to undercook the rice a bit as it would have tasted even better with a little crunch.


Happy frying!