The Great Outdoors

This week I've let my son eat as many hot dogs as he wanted.  Given that we've been to three barbeques in five days, that is not an insignificant number. Yes, they are filled with salt, nitrates and all sorts of other yummy good/badness, but it's still food!  Food and my boy aren't usually good friends after 4 pm.  He's buds with breakfast and definitely snacks, but late afternoon food just seems to piss him off.   And don't even mention dinner!  He HATES dinner now!  Who knows why they broke up, but I think it makes me saddest of all.  I'm sucking up like crazy to all food, trying to will it to make my son fall in love again.  So hooray for hot dogs.  I'll take it.

We spent the weekend up in heaven, aka Lake Tahoe.  My lungs feel cleaner but my car is waaaaay dirtier.  I learned how to ride a bike with no hands.  Taught myself and all.  Not a bad party trick, though the whole time my husband was screaming at me that I was going to fall.  He has no faith in my grace.  Rightfully so.

The wee one enjoyed the hiking, the biking and the boating. But, by far, his favorite part was sneaking into a nearby hotel swimming pool.  Shhh.  My husband, who was so scared of me riding a bike without holding on for ten seconds at a time, taught our toddles how to use a noodle to prop himself up and kick across the pool.  All in the time in took me to go to the bar and back.  Color me impressed. 

Today I learned officially what it means to be the mama of a little boy.  As we were driving home we started smelling a terrible smell.  A smell that weaved around the car and captured even the innocents in its fog.  Not wanting to smell the shite any longer, we pulled over to change the offending diaper.  I asked the boy for the tenth time if he pooped and still denial city.  Just as I was about to pick him up from the carseat, he burst out laughing and said "faaaht, faaaht.  Toto faaaht."  Toto would be Tony, our dog sitting in the back who apparently had one too many duck treats.  Clearly,  I need to prepare myself now for the booger humor. 

At Least There's Guacamole

I used to be a good packer.  I actually liked packing, especially the requisite pre-packing shopping excursions.  I was so careful I hardly ever needed to visit a store at my destination, save for the occasional bathroom-related emergency.  In Greece, I was so insanely constipated that I didn't poop for 6 days.  6 days!  Can you imagine?  Of course, when I did finally go, it was in a toilet that wasn't flushing properly and I ran out of the restaurant screaming at my friends that "we had to leave. NOW!"  Whatever.  It was worth it-Greece is gorgeous.

Now, I have become a terrible packer.  Not so much for myself, but for the little.   I can't seem to handle the extra pressure.  We pretty much have to go shopping every time we get somewhere because I've forgotten to bring a sippy cup, diapers, wipes, pajamas, snacks-you name it, I've forgotten it.  Right now we are on a quick getaway to Mexico and I'm lamenting my idiocy at forgetting truly the most. important. thing. ever.  The lullaby toy.  We've used this to get our son snoozing ever since my brilliant friend Paige gave it to us as a baby welcoming gift at 8 days old.  I forgot it once before, in Atlanta, but then we were able to run to the local Target to grab another one.  Now we have the pretty one specifically for travel.  Fat lot of good Violet does when she's sitting in the closet at home.

The first night and day were rough.  My voice does not lend itself to lullabies.  Campy, loud Old McDonald, Wheels on the Bus, that's my wheelhouse.  But soothing I am not.  I was trying to sing the mister to sleep and I swear he started covering his ears.  We've since worked it out by basically pushing the crib into the closet.  What?  The door is cracked a bit.  This kid is part vampire-he needs darkness when he sleeps. Any ray of sunlight in the room and he's up and ready to party.  I know those stupid blackout shades I put in the nursery would come back to haunt me. 

Thankfully, he's the only bebe at this resort, so everyone else thinks it's hilarious and cute when he shouts or runs around the pool without his diaper while I'm trying to change him.  His new favorite word is "pee pee" and I can't tell if it's the act, the result or the weapon he's talking about or all three at once.  Time to be more careful with my word choices.  No doubt my son will be the one cursing at his preschool.

Hatsa luego!

(My) Mama Knows Best

 

Naps are for losers, yo!

My mom is here visiting.  This is awesome for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which is that she can offer parenting advice every other minute.  Now, normally I'd say this would be mildly to somewhat annoying, but right now we are in the thick of a naptime regression and I am losing my mind.  Does my son not realize that his naptime is for my ever important internet perusing?  I've already given up trying to use my phone for anything besides capturing his antics.  Please honey child, spare me the one vestige of sanity I have all day!  Fun times around these parts lately.

It started about a week ago when his nap shrank down from about 100-140 minutes to about 60-70 minutes.  Ouch.  That was miserable, though I had no idea what was to come.  Now, I'd be happy with an hour, considering it's been 30, 40 minutes in between shrieks and howls.  I have no idea what's causing this issue.  He's still sleeping 12 hours at night and doesn't experience major bodily harm upon waking like he must during the day to produce these horrendous screams.  Are his daydreams that scary?

So at least my mom is here to comfort him, especially when I'm quaking in fear that we're all losing the nap.  That cannot happen.  It will not stand. 

But, the main tidbit that my mom offered this week is to stop asking my son so many damn questions.  It's true!  I never noticed but I give him all the authority in our relationship.  Do you want to eat?  Is the food good?  Would you like some more?  Is it time to go to sleep?  Are you ready to brush your teeth? And on and on and on.  And on. 

She pointed out that I give him more agency than I give myself.  It's such a simple concept, but I only realized the power play once my mom mentioned it.  Also, I'm not exactly helping his language skillz by encouraging him to answer y/n to everything.  By trying to engage him in conversation, I'm probably doing exactly the opposite.  Strangely, I've noticed that he always answers "no" in a whisper and "yes" in a shout.  That's a good thing?  According to the gospel of my mama, instead of always asking him what he wants/needs/thinks, I should be telling him what's happening.  Might as well pretend like I have some idea.

Boom

Years ago I had this epiphany in the women's bathroom of the law firm where I was working.  I do my best thinking in bathrooms, don't you?  I always used to talk to myself in the bathroom as a kid. Probably because it was the only place I could be alone in a tiny house with six people.  Getting back to the major moment, it was February 2006 and I was miserable.  I hated my job, my living situation, my completely dysfunctional relationship with my boyfriend and, essentially, my life.

For the previous four months, I had spent most of my day either fighting with my boyfriend or sobbing about fighting with my boyfriend.  He had moved away for graduate school and we were trying to make a long-distance, cross-continental romance work.  For various reasons, not the least of which was that he wanted to revel in his freedom while knowing that I would be there waiting for him when he needed me, it was definitely not working.  Unfortunately, every time I tried to break up with him he would promise to change.  We had an awful co-dependency that was killing me. Once I finally cut the cord, I felt like a balloon, floating freely up and up.   I immediately knew that was one of the best          decisions I would ever make.

Yet I still had the other issues in my life-the job, the apartment- that I knew were within my control. So, the epiphany that struck me as I stared at the beige stall trying not to pee too loudly was that I only have one life.  I was the only one who could make it not suck.  Sheer genius, I know.  But, somewhere along in the previous couple of years, I had lost sight of this obvious point.  I really had spent far too much time waiting for the "what ifs" or "whens" rather than just enjoy my life as it was or change it as needed.  If I always believed that things were going to be better at another point, there was no need to really focus on the present.  It was like someone smacked me in the head with a giant "THE FUTURE IS NOW" stamp.   

Fast forward six months and I was living in a new place, with a brand new job, in a new field.  The day after I started my new job I (re)met my future husband (technically we'd met once before but whatever).  It's amazing how much you can change once you decide that things need to change.

I'm starting to feel that same energy shift now.  While I'm not sobbing all day and talking to myself in bathrooms (sadly, this is no longer a solo activity), I don't feel as happy as I imagined I would while not working and playing with my kid all day.  It's hard.  Harder than I thought it would be.  I miss being me and don't like always being mommy (mom-me).  A change is coming.   Not a radical one, mind you.  Perhaps a 25-40% change in the status quo.  Once I figure out what that means, I'm going to get right on it.

Ebb and flow

Dear Weekend,

Thank you for you tireless efforts to prove to me, once again, that motherhood is basically a journey of the highest highs and the lowest lows.

Friday night, I stayed home while my husband went out and got some bro time.  True to cheesy form, I somehow convinced myself to rent "The Vow."  Shut up.

Saturday, we woke up to a pile of vomit in the crib and it was all downhill from there.  Most of the day was spent hugging my sick son while tears streamed down his face.  The silent agony was far worse than his screaming, grunting and crying could ever be.  His fever was fairly high, due to a Dr. Mom-diagnosed combination of required monthly toddler sickness, teething and maybe a reaction to the live-virus in last week's MMR shot.  FYI, maybe don't go to the good Google when researching MMR reactions unless you're really prepared to open that door.  While I don't see any definite correlation between vaccinations and autism, it is rather frightening to read these posts as your kid is refusing to eat, move or even look at you because he's so miserable.

The whole day he just seemed confused and sad, like he was trying to work out why this was happening to him.  Thankfully, he fell asleep easily for the night and miraculously slept straight through me taking his temperature multiple times like a mad mama. 

Sunday, we had a new little man on our hands!  Ah sleep, is there anything you can't do?  Although our daredevil was back, we took it a little easy and abandoned our special hiking plans (sorry, Tony).  Mr. Schneed made breakfast though conveniently forgot about dish duty.  I did, however, get about 45 minutes of silence to read the NYT, which was pure Mother's Day bliss.  I also met some of my besties for ice cream during the wee one's nap. 18 months in and I'm finally beginning to realize that ice cream or wine make blessed nap time even more blessed.

We went for a family bike ride to a local park to round out the day.  Shorty managed to find every tweeked out, stoned or drunk couple to say hello to as he was roaming around.  In Dolores Park, you can really pick your poison.  Oh, and I let him run around without shoes as he conveniently lost one on the bike ride to the park.  Definitely not my proudest moment as I looked down and saw bottle caps (and worse) every six inches.  Hooray for socks! 

Eating a healthy meal of french fries and only french fries.

I'm feeling quite lucky to end this weekend laughing with my boys and all ten of their toes.

With (mostly) Love,
Elana 

P.S.-We found the missing sneaker on the street as we were biking home.  Miracles do happen.

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.

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!

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!

The haps

Drinking wine and watching the Oscars, which will be over by 9 pm...awesome.

Picking up my iphone from the floor and realizing that my son must have dropped it one too many times as the screen is now smashed to bits...less than awesome.

Making an appointment with a teenager to fix my phone on the cheap in his living room while his mom supervises (What? He gets great Yelp reviews)...awesome.

Finding out last night that my oldest friend in the world is engaged...awesome.

Finding out last week that an old friend broke up with her long-term boyfriend because he couldn't commit to marriage...less than awesome.

Spending a relaxing week in LA with family, friends and the sun...awesome.

Coming home to a construction zone that used to be my house...less than awesome.

Realizing that the washer/dryer is now fully functioning...awesome.

Having to fold 8 loads of laundry...less than awesome.

Watching my sweet boy hug any dog, stuffed animal, and woman wearing a fur vest that he sees...awesome.

Buying not one, not two, but three different items of clothing (for myself and the shorty) in the wrong size from stores in LA that don't exist here. Not sure why I went shopping without my brain...less than awesome.

Celebrating impending babies, birthdays and brunch this weekend and feeling more and more grateful for the life I've lead, am leading and have yet to lead...awesome.

Different strokes

Colds really suck. Consider yourself enlightened. I have been fortunate enough to not experience this whole mouth breathing phenomenon for the past year. Between breastfeeding and not living in winter, both my babe and I seemed to have titanium immune systems. Until now. I cannot stop coughing. My throat is raw and scratchy, which makes me want to cough more. Kind of a chicken vs. egg situation I've got going on.

My poor husband has to listen to me hacking away. I feel worse for him than I do for me. Hearing someone cough is probably my biggest pet peeve. When I commuted by train, I would always jump up and run into the nearest car if someone next to me was coughing. Not because of the germs (though I don't much care for them), but because of the sound. It irks the hell out of me. I am always afraid the person is going to launch into a fit and start choking.

But, hearing my son cry is by far the worst sound ever. Thankfully, his coughing has so far been minimal and my world has not exploded. Strangely, this plague seems to be affecting us differently:

My version: Want to sleep in all day and watch soap operas.
His version: Want to get up at least thirty minutes earlier than normal, nap thirty minutes less and go to sleep thirty minutes later.

My version: Employing every tissue and roll of toilet paper in the house to blow my nose.
His version: Employing all the tissues and toilet paper in the house as toilet bowl party guests.

My version: Generally disinterested in all things that are not really hot or really cold foods for the past two days.
His version: Generally disinterested in all things food for past two days.

My version: Whining constantly to anyone who will listen about how much I hate being sick.
His version: Whining much less constantly than normal.

My version: Would almost be willing for someone to suck out my snot using a nose frida.
His version: Would not, under any circumstances, be willing for someone to suck out his snot using a nose frida.

We do, however, both really enjoy examining our snot. He's mine afterall.

I think we're almost out of the woods, people. Catch you on the flip side.

Now, where can I buy some authority?

Why French Parents Are Superior
While Americans fret over modern parenthood, the French are raising happy, well-behaved children without all the anxiety. Pamela Druckerman on the Gallic secrets for avoiding tantrums, teaching patience and saying 'non' with authority.

Pamela Druckerman's new book "Bringing Up Bebe," catalogs her observations about why French children seem so much better behaved than their American counterparts...

Don't hate the player, hate the game

When I used to see kids misbehaving, I assumed that at least some portion of the blame fell on the caregiver. Obviously, the mom/dad/nanny wasn't setting limits and guiding the child into a life of productivity, kindness and healthy attitudes about body image and reality television. And maybe this is still true about older children. What the hell do I know about older kids? I have a toddler. A toddler who likes to throw fits in public places and has consequently thrown all my annoying pre-child judgments right the hell out the window with my sanity. I've needed to remind myself many times over the past couple of weeks how much I love my little monkey. He's a hilarious, quirky kid who really enjoys hugging tummies, frozen blueberries and making people laugh. I love his wide leg cowboy swagger. I love his hysterical laughter when I even pretend I'm going to tickle him. I love his excitement about the world, and particularly the sandboxes, around him. I HATE his shrieking.

We are in a Level 1, red-hot, teaming screaming zone these days. He seems to do it most when he has the maximum audience capacity and is surrounded by calm, quiet toddlers who make him look even more maniacal in comparison. The more folks around to gawk at him and mommy, the better. Library storytime offers the biggest return per scream. He makes the most of that forum and goes full-throttle. I believe he's inherited my lung capacity. Yeah, yeah, he's got a lot of personality and he usually screams because he's excited. He's active. He's energetic and spirited. Even though he's not doing it on purpose (or is he?), he's becoming kind of a PITA. But, he's still my PITA. And, I have to take him to these storytimes or else he'll never learn to read or write and will definitely kill squirrels in our backyard.

Not ready to live the life of an agoraphobe, I've been trying pretty much everything I can over the past month to "discourage this behavior." From what I've gleaned while talking (whining) to mommy friends, reading the very much on point and spookily clairvoyant babycenter emails, and grilling his pediatrician, these are the ONLY truths about the situation and my role in it:

1. Stop Caring--what does it matter what other people think about my mini? Apparently, I take this shit way too seriously. After the third person in the playground muses that my son must be a lot of work, you'd think I'd learn to just shrug it off. Chances are I'll never see that person again (and why would I want to since he/she clearly hates happy, sometimes loud toddlers) so I'm determined to stop letting it drive me crazy and feeling like the world's worst mama.

2. Ignore--obviously this is easier said then done, but I am trying as hard as I can to ask Mr. Monk to stop screaming/throwing things/thrusting his pelvis, explain why he should not scream/throw/thrust and then ignore him until the undesirable behavior stops. I really should have gone into acting because I say these things in the sweetest, happiest, most kind I love you voice ever even though I am seething inside.

3. Easy come, easy go--you know those old rainbow striped Emergency Broadcast System TV spots that beeped for a minute and then reminded you that it was just a test? Well, this too is only a test. It might be a hard, annoying one, but it'll be over soon. Most likely, the screaming is a result of him not having the language to properly express himself. So when he does begin to learn more words (everything is "baby" or "this/that" these days), I can look forward to him never shutting up. Right? Right? Please tell me this is just a test of the Emergency Broadcast System and my (mostly) sweet child is not a terrorist.

Blurry, but I love the hair wings

Flipping out

So yesterday, after being home for one day and cleaning the floor about 46 times, I decided to finally (finally!) buy a floor mat. You win, Mr. Monk, you win. I guess you are right, the food does belong on the floor and not in the mouth. His new favorite trick is to wipe every single bit of food off his tray when he decides he's had enough. Usually that's after two bites and I stupidly clean up the mess and put more on his tray. And, the fun begins anew. Can you guess who cries first? At least the mat is pretty cute and not truck-patterned. We are on truck overload up in here.

This morning I accomplished something I would have thought impossible. I almost didn't even try because I felt it so foolish a task. But, try I did and now the boy has eaten kale! Kale! That's like a guarantee that he's going to be in the Olympics. I chopped it rather finely and threw it in with some eggs and my child ate it all and asked for more (muh, muh). Pretty sneaky, eh? Just call me Jessica Seinfeld. Then again, this is the same kid who loves our "special" juice and hates anything with sugar. I'm not even sure he's mine.

The wonders continued at spin class where I didn't pass out (though it got a little iffy at one point) and I totally fished my wish for some Michael Jackson. After a slammin' soundtrack featuring Madonna, JT, Rihanna, Cindy Lauper, Jay Z, I started jonesing for some Thriller action. And...boom, Beat It was the last song. So, what should I use my powers for now?

Speaking of special powers, I cannot stop reading "The Hunger Games" trilogy. I plowed through the first two books and am now rounding 50% on the third. I feel like I'm 15 again when I couldn't put my Kurt Vonnegut books down. Maybe I am a secret sci-fi nerd after all. Have you read them?

Things I learned while vacationing with a toddler

1. Always bring more snacks than you think you'll need.

2. Don't tell a mom who is struggling to corral her wild child, "wow, he must be a handful, eh?"

3. Disposable swim diapers are your new best friend. Cleaning poop out of swimsuits, even ones with built-in diapers, is not a good look!

4. Sometimes it's ok to let your kid play with the toilet paper roll in airplane/airport bathrooms.

5. Chilling at the beach while your son takes a two-hour plus nap in his stroller is a lot less fun when you realize he's completely peed all over his stroller.

6. If your child pees through his swimsuit all over his stroller one afternoon, you shouldn't be that surprised when it happens again the very next day.

7. Watching your kid chase around cats, screaming "at, at" while trying to feed them maraschino cherries is as good as it gets.

8. Pina coladas make the world happy.

9. Don't start reading "The Hunger Games" unless you've got a spare 5-10 hours in which to be sucked into a vortex where you will unable to carry on a conversation, go to the bathroom, look up.

10. Sand, while awesome, is also seriously annoying to clean off little boys' bodies.

11. Random people are very sympathetic once your toddler throws up on you mid-flight. Your husband, on the other hand, will repeatedly tell you that you smell.

12. The food that your child adores at home for some reason becomes disgusting and inedible in another country.

13. Some people really love seeing babies walk up and down the aisle on planes. Some really don't.

14. Grandparents are magical people for both children and parents alike.

15. Watching your kid walk for the first time in front of his great-grandma, grandma and great grand uncles is better than fireworks.

16. Doing shots on new years is always a bad idea.

17. The confused look on your kid's face when he wakes up in a fourth location in two weeks is seriously adorable and maybe a little sad.

18. There is always going to be someone skinnier than you on the beach. But, the odds are pretty good that there is someone fatter too.

19. Hypochondria is contagious.

20. It's best not to argue with your 96 year-old grandma when she says your son is a "cockeyed genius" just because he can find everyone's belly button.

Off and running

Last night we had a mini dinner party with 2 other couples and their four boys (five boys age 5 and under-check, please!). Mr. Monk loved being with the big boys. So much so that today he took his first step! Our little baby is becoming a man. Soon we'll need a lasso. Though, really, could he possibly get any faster than he is now? His crawl is like lightning. Blink and he's across the room and out the doggie door. He's less of a baby each and every day. Where is Evie Garland and her magic fingers when I need her?

While walking Tony when we got home after our testosterone-fueled dinner, he took off running and dragged me behind him up to the middle of a steep hill, in between two street lights. In the pitch black darkness, I turned around to give him privacy to do his business. I was minding some business of my own, texting and whatnot, when I started to notice some little bits of brown running toward me. The dog's poop had broken apart into about eight pieces and started rolling down the hill. Tootsie rolls of shit were flying everywhere. As it was the neighborly thing to do (and I was afraid of ruining my new boots on the walk home), I ran around with my little iphone flashlight trying to pick them all up. The fun never, ever ends.

Today we went to the last of our playgroup baby birthday parties. This one was a goodie--no less than three different kinds of baked goods and lots of candy. I kept throwing the wrappers away after every bite so I couldn't keep track of what I ate. And then I remembered that the dress I was planning to wear to a wedding this weekend barely fit me pre-pregnancy and I haven't tried it on since. What's another white chocolate covered oreo going to hurt? I'm finding the worst part of weaning to be the fact that I now have to actually exercise to burn calories. The fueling another life from your body and being able to eat whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want? Magic. Maybe there is something to extended breastfeeding after all. Or maybe I should just drag my ass back to spinning.

Why yes, I'd love another piece of cookie...