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Jan 8, 2008

Forgive The Bragging, Please

January 8, 2008 By

I know some of you mommy bloggers out there have been posting lately about your husbands behaving badly. Being wimps. Being lazy. Being selfish, condescending, and mean. The labels “assholes” and “pussies” have been thrown around lately.

I’m sorry, ladies, for the story I’m about to share. But maybe you can show your husbands the end of this post and the testosterone desire to compete shaming sweet tale will convince them to make up for their ways.

Sunday, Aaron and I were given a rare break from the children to see a movie. Aaron wanted to see I Am Legend. I was uninterested. I wanted to see this instead:


Uh-huh. A chick flick. And not just a chick flick, but one containing the actor who is at the upper-most, highest peak, tippity-top of my List of Five.

Allow me a moment of high school girl obsession: *droooooool*

And do you know what my sweet, loving husband said to me when I casually suggested seeing P.S. I Love You, trying to sound as if I was interested in the story and not that I just wanted to stare at Gerard Butler on the big screen for two hours?

“Sure.”

Even knowing I’d be searing every shirtless image, every sexy smile, every word spoken in that hot Scottish accent into my brain, he agreed to see a movie he wasn’t interested in on our one chance in weeks to get out together.

And he dislikes Hilary Swank.

And in a theater filled with women, he was one of TWO men.

And the other guy was so old he probably didn’t remember what movie he was seeing afterwards.

Not only did he agree to see this chick flick without complaint – he enjoyed it. Teared up at times, even! (Note: bring kleenex to this movie. No matter how stone-faced you think you are, it’s a four hankie tear-jerker.)

I’m a lucky woman.

Oh sure, he’s not perfect, and he can piss me off sometimes. Or a lot, depending on the week. (and I’m sure he gets sick of me, too) But I’m glad I have him, and after almost five years of marriage, he’s still willing to do little things to make me happy.

Now, mommy blogger husbands out there, listen up: I challenge you to top this. Do something totally selfless, something entirely for your lovely wives. Make these women unable to resist bragging about how great their guys are.

I want to see some happy mamas out there, because these wonderful women deserve a little special treatment!

Filed Under: Aaron, love, me me me, more than parents


Jan 6, 2008

Hey Gerber, Did You Think We Wouldn’t Notice?

January 6, 2008 By

While buying baby food yesterday – something I do at least twice a week, thanks to the bottomless pit we refer to as Mira – I found myself rummaging around looking for more organic choices. I usually don’t buy Gerber organic, but that’s all there was at this particular grocery. There weren’t many organic jars, so I chose a few non-organic jars as well.

Yeah, I know, it would be cheaper to make my own baby food, but I’m lazy and can’t even melt chocolate without nearly setting my kitchen on fire, so a little leeway, OK?

And then, when I got home and lined up the jars to put them away, I noticed it:


No, not my spotless stovetop (See? No cooking!) – look at the jars! Two jars of Gerber baby food. Both Stage 3. One organic, one, uh…non-organic. Or regular. Whatever.

Do you see the difference? Here, let me digitally enhance the picture to show you a little more clearly:


The regular Gerber Stage 3 baby food is 6 ounces. The organic Gerber Stage 3 baby food is 5.5 ounces. That’s 0.5 ounces missing from the organic jar.

Seeing this difference in jars makes me wonder:

  • Do pesticides weigh 0.5 ounces?
  • Is organic somehow more dense?
  • Do babies who eat organic not need as much food? If so, can you tell that to my devourer?
  • Do they assume that organic is fed only to babies of celebrities, who don’t want their kids to get too fat, cause, like, you know…fat cells stick with you for life?
  • Is the organic jar somehow edible as well? (the ultimate green packaging?)

I should also point out that the organic – the smaller jar! – costs 50% more than the non-organic.

What’s going on, Gerber? There is no reason why a jar of organic baby food should contain less food than a standard jar. My child needs that 0.5 ounces – I’m not cracking open another jar to give her that little bit extra. Besides, if I do, then I’m down an entire ounce for that jar, requiring me to open another jar to replace that ounce, and then more math is involved and my baby girl cries in hunger as I try to figure out how much food is just enough without being so much that she spits up all over me, thus requiring more food again.

Suddenly making my own baby food isn’t sounding so bad.

So do me a favor, Gerber: give me back my 0.5 ounces. Do you want this little face going hungry?

You don’t want me hungry. I’ll eat your nose off.
Filed Under: domestic zero, Mira, rant


Jan 4, 2008

Haiku Friday: The Power of a Hug

January 4, 2008 By
A major event:
Two little people hugging
Watch the video

I can’t even begin to tell you how my heart was nearly bursting witnessing this small interaction between these two. It came out of nowhere, too, making it the first (fully) unprompted affectionate gesture that Cordy has shown Mira.

This has been a long time coming for me. Mira is now seven months old, and for most of those seven months, Cordy has largely ignored her little sister. 95% of the time, Mira didn’t exist to Cordy – she was only an object that mommy was obsessing over. (You know, like a new computer.) She wouldn’t hold Mira, wouldn’t help me with her, and generally pretended like this small, screaming being was not right in front of her. I wish I had that power of denial sometimes.

Mira noticed Cordy long before Cordy noticed Mira, and it’s easy to see how much she wants to be seen by this bigger kid who is around her all the time. At the same time, I wanted Cordy to notice and love her little sister. I’ll admit that for awhile, I was afraid she might never care for Mira, but now I’m starting to see the bonds form, and it makes me giddy.

And so I grabbed the cameras as Cordy wanted to hug her little sister, and Mira gladly put up with a little rough handling.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below or at Jennifer’s blog with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your generic blog URL). If you need help with this, contact Jennifer or myself.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button above.

Filed Under: Cordy, family time, Haiku Fridays, Mira, sisterhood


Jan 1, 2008

2008 Un-resolutions

January 1, 2008 By

Everyone out there is writing about their New Year’s resolutions for 2008. I tried to think of some, and there’s none I can think of that aren’t 1. obviously easy for me to keep, making them no challenge at all, or 2. so hard that there’s no way in hell I have a chance of keeping them.

So I’d like to present my list of un-resolutions for 2008 – things I will not be doing in the new year.

1. Go to the gym. We have a gym membership and I haven’t used it yet. Why start now? Besides, we have Dance, Dance Revolution now. It has a workout mode. I’ll get fit and fit in at the local arcade at the same time.

2. Wear more makeup. Hahahaha! It’s not that I’m a total slob (please, people! I do brush my hair and teeth every day!), but any morning prep that takes longer than five minutes is too long. For now, I’ll stick with my current makeup routine – only for holidays and maybe my anniversary.

3. Stop procrastinating. It’s 9:25pm as I write these un-resolutions, less than three hours before the new year. I somehow doubt my procrastination tendencies will improve.

4. Blog more. I wish I could write more, maybe even every day like some crazy people. But then there’s nursing school. And a preschooler with special needs. And a baby who demands that I do a song and dance for her every five minutes to keep her entertained. And I have a house that occasionally needs cleaned. Now do you see why I can’t get to the gym and don’t have time for makeup? I do hope to at least keep up the pace I currently have of 2-4 posts a week.

5. Clean my house. See #4.

6. Learn a new hobby. See #4.

7. Lose weight. Nearly everyone says this, don’t they? I could make some valiant declaration about dropping x number of pounds before 2008 is done, and then silently fail as Valentine’s chocolates lead into St. Patrick’s Day stews and soda bread, which then is followed by Easter chocolates and those evil Cadbury caramel eggs. Better to not set a goal, enjoy my food and if I happen to lose a few pounds, great! After all, I weigh 20 pounds lighter than I did at this time last year. Of course, I was pregnant then, too.

8. Allow less TV time for the girls. I possibly could have accomplished this one, until Noggin announced they were going 24/7 as of tonight. Knowing there can be Dora at 4am almost makes me want to put a TV in Cordy’s room in the hopes that I could get more sleep. It’s all about survival, people.

That’s enough for now. The big hour is getting near, and there is champagne calling my name.

What about you? What are your un-resolutions?

Filed Under: holidays, me me me


Dec 31, 2007

Tougher Skin

December 31, 2007 By

Over the weekend, we went to a big gathering hosted by some friends. Most of us have kids, so all of the kids got to play together. Cordy has played with the hosts’ two children several times before without any problems. The five year old sometimes gets annoyed with Cordy, but in that case he usually just ignores her.

But the dynamics were different this time. The five year old had a seven year old friend, and the two of them were playing together. Cordy and the two year old were also in the playroom. Now, looking at these four kids, you’d think Cordy belonged with the older two – she is only slightly shorter than the five year old, and may outweigh him. And of course the older two were having a great time making up their own games and creating imaginary worlds to play in.

The trouble started when the five year old brought out a new magnetic fishing pole. He and the seven year old girl immediately threw the fish on the ground and started fishing. Cordy – having little self-control – loved seeing the pole and grabbed for it so she could fish, too. The older kids screeched at her and yanked the pole back.

I stepped in at this point and reminded the older kids that Cordy was younger than them, and had trouble understanding the concept of waiting for her turn. I then focused on Cordy, explaining that she had to wait until they were done before she could have her turn, and that she couldn’t take away toys from other kids. I also tried to redirect her to another toy, but she was obsessed with the fishing pole.

The older kids went back to fishing, laughing with excitement. The energy the two of them generated could have powered half of Ohio. Cordy, still standing on the sidelines, couldn’t take it anymore. She again reached out and put her hand on the fishing pole, saying “Cordy catch a fish? Cordy catch a fish?”

The older kids again removed her, although in pushing her away from them, Cordy pushed back. I reminded Cordy that she shouldn’t push. I could see the frustration on her face. “Cordy catch a fish!” she cried and reached again for the pole.

“No!” yelled one of the older kids. “Cordy will NEVER catch a fish! Never!” They then picked up a fish and ran around the large wooden puppet theatre in the room to “cook it”. But they took the pole with them, too.

Cordy looked confused and hurt. Those harsh words hurt me, too. This social situation for Cordy was quickly turning bad and I wanted to pluck her out of it. But she was determined to get that fishing pole. As I tried to talk to her, she walked around the puppet theatre to join the other two. They had set the pole down for the moment, so she took the opportunity to pick it up. They quickly noticed, and a round of “No, Cordy!” erupted as they both grabbed her and pulled the pole from her.

The cartoon steam was coming from her ears at this point. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t have a turn, she didn’t know why they were being mean to her, and she really wanted to play with this toy. I could see the inner workings of her mind on her face – she was furious, frustrated, and what little reason and logic she had were no longer accessible. I watched her progress to the edge of a full-blown, out-of-her-right-mind meltdown, teetering ever so close on the precipice.

Cordy reached out and grabbed the (very heavy, and a little unstable) puppet theatre and started shaking it violently. The older kids yelled at her to stop. I also firmly told her to stop because it was rocking enough that I worried it would fall on them. In those seconds, I knew what I had to do, but also knew the results: the first person to touch her was going to set her off into a screaming, kicking meltdown, but it was important that she didn’t knock down the wooden structure.

I told her once again to stop, and grabbed her hand. As if I had some kind of jelly touch, she immediately collapsed and began wailing. I scooped up the seemingly invertebrate preschooler and moved her to another room. Aaron heard the screaming from upstairs and joined me as we held Cordy tight to prevent her from hurting herself as she flailed and screamed wildly.

She calmed down faster than I expected. After 15 minutes, she had calmed down enough to join the adults and sit with me, sniffling and coughing. We again talked about toys that belong to other kids, and how she could only play with those toys if the owner said it was OK. But the situation had turned into more than a fight over a toy.

“Do you want to go back downstairs with the other kids?” I asked.

“Nooooo!” she cried, hiding her face in her hands. She was scared to play with them again. Her attempt to play in a social situation was a disaster, and she didn’t want another try. She was happy to remain with the adults, close by my side.

There is a somewhat happy ending, though. Later in the evening, she did venture downstairs to play again, this time abandoning all attempts to interact with the older kids. They had moved onto a different game, so she quietly took the fishing pole and caught several fish, proudly showing me each one.

And I in no way blame the other kids for what happened. They were acting like average five and seven year olds – I wouldn’t expect them to act any other way. I can see how Cordy would annoy them. Cordy’s new attempts to play with other kids often results in her approaching kids older than her, and these kids don’t know how to deal with her. (Let’s be honest – I don’t always know how to deal with her.) She looks like she’s as old as them (even though she’s three), but at the moment she can’t understand the rules of social interaction.

I think I was the one most affected, though. In true kid fashion, she seems to have forgotten most of what happened, while I play it over and over in my head. I wonder if I should have stepped in sooner, or not stepped in at all and let her navigate the murky social waters on her own. I know I can’t always be there to interfere, and I don’t want to be some helicopter mom. But every injury to her feelings seems to strike me twice as deep.

This is a whole new area of parenting that I’m not sure I’m ready for. Helping her learn to crawl and eat solid foods was much easier than helping her deal with the world of best friends, you’re-not-my-friend-anymore, teasing and cliques. I was never any good at that area myself, so I have no idea how to teach her how to deal with it. We’re both going to need tougher skin, I think.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy, growing up