Dude! Dude! Oh my God, dude! You totally pooped in the tub! It was awesome!
Daddy & I could not figure out what to do with it. At first I thought I could strain it out with something, but I didn't want to sacrifice my $30 Williams-Sonoma strainer or my bamboo spider all the way from Little Tokyo. So then I tried wrapping my hand in a plastic grocery bag and plucking the turds out one by one, but they were starting to dissolve and it was taking forever and you were just standing there all naked and looking confused. And then, awesome!, you started trying to play with it and I lost my mind. Eventually we figured it out--Daddy just took the entire duck tub out to the trash & dumped it (yep, human feces loose in the trash)--and we gave you a Silkwood shower and bleached the hell out of everything (and then Comet, and then the dishwasher).
And now we have the story we will tell to your date on prom night.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Bad Mommy/Good Mommy
I told him nothing good could come from this whole walking business, but my mother was right: they don't listen. Have to learn every goddamned thing the hard way.
Saturday morning we were having brunch with Josh's cousin, her husband and their nine-week-old when Dash went down. Smashed his lip on the coffee table and bled all over his Manwich t-shirt. (Although I hate that my little man suffered an injury, it was slight and I'll consider it a public service for those who, like Josh & me 11 months ago, smugly think they have the baby thing wired after a few weeks of lugging around a little animatronic bag of goo.) (Yep, animatronic bag of goo.)
Sunday morning I padded into the living room and was greeted by Josh, holding Mansie so I couldn't see his head, saying grimly: "He's fine, but I want to prepare you for what you're going to see." Which, you know, you don't typically want to hear when you're the Jewish mother of a one-year-old. Apparently he didn't learn Saturday's lesson and he brained himself on the coffee table while trying to take a step. (I hear you murmuring under your breath, "Well, Liz, it seems that he's having some trouble negotiating the coffee table. Why don't you move it or wrap it in one of those foam corner covers they make for just this reason?" No. Because.)
The egg on his lil' noggin was an inch high and purple. It looked for all the world like a horn had cropped up on his heed. I thought I was going to throw up at the sight of it. (I did not.) I did, however, hustle the entire family off to the emergency room where we waited for triage with 1. a kid with an earache, 2. a guy with a backache and 3. a little girl who hurt her elbow on the slide. I heart the suburbs. Anyway, the baby is fine and now we have a funny "mommy went nuts and took him to the emergency room" story.
He walked his ass 15 feet down the hallway after we got home.
Also! Also! I figured out how to make fast homemade mac & cheese so I don't have to freak out about what's in the boxed stuff! (I say fast because although Martha's is the best, it's a pain in the ass and not really appropriate for babies)
Non-Scary Mac & Cheese
(I do this with organic everything. You don't have to.)
Melt a tablespoon or so of butter in a saucepan. Add a teaspoon or so of flour. Cook for a few seconds to get the raw flour taste out. Add about 1/2 to 3/4 c. whole milk. Whisk until thick and creamy. Remove from heat. Add small handfuls of grated cheese to taste and stir until melted (I ended up using about 1 c.) Pour over about 1/2 lb. cooked whole wheat rotelle pasta and mix well. (I hide pureed veggies in this. Don't tell the baby.)
Saturday morning we were having brunch with Josh's cousin, her husband and their nine-week-old when Dash went down. Smashed his lip on the coffee table and bled all over his Manwich t-shirt. (Although I hate that my little man suffered an injury, it was slight and I'll consider it a public service for those who, like Josh & me 11 months ago, smugly think they have the baby thing wired after a few weeks of lugging around a little animatronic bag of goo.) (Yep, animatronic bag of goo.)
Sunday morning I padded into the living room and was greeted by Josh, holding Mansie so I couldn't see his head, saying grimly: "He's fine, but I want to prepare you for what you're going to see." Which, you know, you don't typically want to hear when you're the Jewish mother of a one-year-old. Apparently he didn't learn Saturday's lesson and he brained himself on the coffee table while trying to take a step. (I hear you murmuring under your breath, "Well, Liz, it seems that he's having some trouble negotiating the coffee table. Why don't you move it or wrap it in one of those foam corner covers they make for just this reason?" No. Because.)
The egg on his lil' noggin was an inch high and purple. It looked for all the world like a horn had cropped up on his heed. I thought I was going to throw up at the sight of it. (I did not.) I did, however, hustle the entire family off to the emergency room where we waited for triage with 1. a kid with an earache, 2. a guy with a backache and 3. a little girl who hurt her elbow on the slide. I heart the suburbs. Anyway, the baby is fine and now we have a funny "mommy went nuts and took him to the emergency room" story.
He walked his ass 15 feet down the hallway after we got home.
Also! Also! I figured out how to make fast homemade mac & cheese so I don't have to freak out about what's in the boxed stuff! (I say fast because although Martha's is the best, it's a pain in the ass and not really appropriate for babies)
Non-Scary Mac & Cheese
(I do this with organic everything. You don't have to.)
Melt a tablespoon or so of butter in a saucepan. Add a teaspoon or so of flour. Cook for a few seconds to get the raw flour taste out. Add about 1/2 to 3/4 c. whole milk. Whisk until thick and creamy. Remove from heat. Add small handfuls of grated cheese to taste and stir until melted (I ended up using about 1 c.) Pour over about 1/2 lb. cooked whole wheat rotelle pasta and mix well. (I hide pureed veggies in this. Don't tell the baby.)
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Up
Baby's gone. Replaced by a toddler.
Josh called this morning after the daycare hand-off to say that Dash is scheduled to transition out of the infant room into the toddler room starting on Monday.
I can't say why I dissolve into tears every time I think about him moving up. I mean, it's the only thing you want as a parent, to see your child grow and flourish and hit milestones. And, too, I enjoy him so much more at this stage than I did when he was a teensy infant. He laughs and is starting to talk and have opinions. He holds his arms in the air when he wants to be in our arms (which is always), he has figured out how to use the mallet on the xylophone, he knows now to push the lit button on Baby Tad to hear a song. All things I enjoy deliriously and that only come with toddlerhood.
And yet, and yet, I mourn. Baby's gone. Replaced by a toddler.
Josh called this morning after the daycare hand-off to say that Dash is scheduled to transition out of the infant room into the toddler room starting on Monday.
I can't say why I dissolve into tears every time I think about him moving up. I mean, it's the only thing you want as a parent, to see your child grow and flourish and hit milestones. And, too, I enjoy him so much more at this stage than I did when he was a teensy infant. He laughs and is starting to talk and have opinions. He holds his arms in the air when he wants to be in our arms (which is always), he has figured out how to use the mallet on the xylophone, he knows now to push the lit button on Baby Tad to hear a song. All things I enjoy deliriously and that only come with toddlerhood.
And yet, and yet, I mourn. Baby's gone. Replaced by a toddler.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Nuts and Chews
You took your first steps on Superbowl Sunday at the Pookies' house. I was outside with the girls, so I missed it. Twice. Then, I missed it again on Monday (I heard a loud crash and an even louder wail and ran into the room to find you face down on the floor. That's not how I left you, so, you know, you were probably trying again.) There's been no evidence of further attempts since the shit-eating incident. I don't blame you.
You were sick again. First the stomach flu (oh my God, it was so pathetic--watching your sad, tired little face register surprise then resignation as you were puking up all that banana), followed closely by a double ear infection ("raging," said Urgent Care Doctor). During that time of infirmity and suffering you took the opportunity to cut four more teeth. Fun times. But! You're all better, and you are so fucking effervescent when you're well and whole! We sometimes get so bogged down in your misery that we forget what it's like when nothing hurts. You are spectacular and there is nothing I enjoy more than the minutiae of our time together.
You have discovered the kitchen light switch, but can only reach the "off" position. So while I am making dinner I am also running back and forth to you to switch the lights back on. It's like cooking in a disco. But you love the light switch game and you are totally impressed every time you hit that thing and it goes dark. You are making magic happen.
You haven't slept in like three weeks. I don't know how you're surviving. You must be missing whatever biological imperative for sleep the rest of the human race possesses. Which is great news for you. You'll get through medical school or whatever lickety split. The bad news is that your father and I are genetically inferior and still require a few hours of slumber every now and again. We will begin to address this situation on Friday night. Let me apologize in advance. I don't think it will be a pleasant experience for anyone.
But you eat! Those lovely women I wrote about a few days ago gave me some useful suggestions that I immediately put into effect. We put the highchair in the kitchen and I let you nosh in it as soon as I come home from work. We get to hang out while I'm making dinner, and your nibbling distracts you from the fact that you are not in my arms every second that we are together. By the time your father gets home and our dinner is on the table, you're mostly sated and you kind of wander between us stealing bites from our plates. It's not civilized, but it works and we're all getting through the evenings without any hysteria, which is a nice change.
That is all for today.
I love you,
Mama
You were sick again. First the stomach flu (oh my God, it was so pathetic--watching your sad, tired little face register surprise then resignation as you were puking up all that banana), followed closely by a double ear infection ("raging," said Urgent Care Doctor). During that time of infirmity and suffering you took the opportunity to cut four more teeth. Fun times. But! You're all better, and you are so fucking effervescent when you're well and whole! We sometimes get so bogged down in your misery that we forget what it's like when nothing hurts. You are spectacular and there is nothing I enjoy more than the minutiae of our time together.
You have discovered the kitchen light switch, but can only reach the "off" position. So while I am making dinner I am also running back and forth to you to switch the lights back on. It's like cooking in a disco. But you love the light switch game and you are totally impressed every time you hit that thing and it goes dark. You are making magic happen.
You haven't slept in like three weeks. I don't know how you're surviving. You must be missing whatever biological imperative for sleep the rest of the human race possesses. Which is great news for you. You'll get through medical school or whatever lickety split. The bad news is that your father and I are genetically inferior and still require a few hours of slumber every now and again. We will begin to address this situation on Friday night. Let me apologize in advance. I don't think it will be a pleasant experience for anyone.
But you eat! Those lovely women I wrote about a few days ago gave me some useful suggestions that I immediately put into effect. We put the highchair in the kitchen and I let you nosh in it as soon as I come home from work. We get to hang out while I'm making dinner, and your nibbling distracts you from the fact that you are not in my arms every second that we are together. By the time your father gets home and our dinner is on the table, you're mostly sated and you kind of wander between us stealing bites from our plates. It's not civilized, but it works and we're all getting through the evenings without any hysteria, which is a nice change.
That is all for today.
I love you,
Mama
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Craft You Like a Hurricane
You understand that I used to work nights at Al's Bar to make extra money while I was a publisher at an Eastside rag called Glue. I was there the night the White Stripes played to less than 100 people. I hung out with Bad Religion when they filmed their video there. Before that I worked in fashion. One night I got drunk with Marc Jacobs and his boyfriend at the Whiskey Bar at the Sunset Marquis. I used to take calls from members of Marylin Manson at all hours of the night (I don't recommend it). I was on the list almost everywhere almost every night.
This is how I amuse myself these days (click pictures to embiggen):
These are his birthday party invitations. I bought little cardboard jewelry boxes from Michael's, stuffed them with some dried grassy stuff and placed toy farm animals inside. I printed the actual invitations onto typing paper & stuck them to the lids with double-sided tape. Then I stamped "Hoedown" onto the top with alphabet stamps and voila!
The favors I made for the party (really, I promise that I will stop talking about the party soon). I bought little portrait boxes from Oriental Trading Co. and inserted scrapbooking cardstock that I stamped with "One" ('cause that's how many years he is). I filled them with mini candy bars wrapped with paper onto which I printed farm scenes & little sayings about babies. They were really, really cute, dude.
These are the Valentines he's giving out this year. Again, they're candy bars (this time the giant Hershey's) that I wrapped with scrapbooking paper and vintage Valentines images I printed onto label stock. (I have to admit I got this idea from a craft blogger). But the tags were all me: I Photoshopped Dash making a kissy face into a heart shape, cut them out & slapped them onto old-fashioned tags.
I'm having way more fun now.
This is how I amuse myself these days (click pictures to embiggen):
These are his birthday party invitations. I bought little cardboard jewelry boxes from Michael's, stuffed them with some dried grassy stuff and placed toy farm animals inside. I printed the actual invitations onto typing paper & stuck them to the lids with double-sided tape. Then I stamped "Hoedown" onto the top with alphabet stamps and voila!
The favors I made for the party (really, I promise that I will stop talking about the party soon). I bought little portrait boxes from Oriental Trading Co. and inserted scrapbooking cardstock that I stamped with "One" ('cause that's how many years he is). I filled them with mini candy bars wrapped with paper onto which I printed farm scenes & little sayings about babies. They were really, really cute, dude.
These are the Valentines he's giving out this year. Again, they're candy bars (this time the giant Hershey's) that I wrapped with scrapbooking paper and vintage Valentines images I printed onto label stock. (I have to admit I got this idea from a craft blogger). But the tags were all me: I Photoshopped Dash making a kissy face into a heart shape, cut them out & slapped them onto old-fashioned tags.I'm having way more fun now.
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