Just a few pics from a recent park visit. I have a love hate relationship with sand, I can tolerate park sand, but I despise beach sand. It’s just one of those things. Gets everywhere, in everything and everyone. In your car, your shoes, your nails. And I leave with the gross sandy feeling like I need to bathe very badly very soon. Hence, you guessed it. . .my children love sand. It figures doesn’t it?
My tough guy. . .
And some blue skies. . .
A little bit more of what kind of mom I am. . .I don’t do the family bed thing, but I don’t do the cry yourself into exhaustion all by your lonesome in your crib thing either. With all 3 I have rocked them to sleep until they are in regular beds, which for my first was 2 years, 2nd was 20 months, and Greta is on her way to a full size bed this weekend. She’s 19 months by the way.
So I’ve been kind of relishing the whole rocking to sleep thing with her lately. Just knowing these are the last few nights I will probably do this makes it so final. My last baby, that’s it, nada, no more, zilch, get the point? This evening I volunteered to take the girl, one parent takes the boys, one the girl and do the whole brush teeth, story, goodnight ordeal. Usually for about the first 5 minutes she is a spazz, flailing uncomfortably, talking, singing, and so on it goes. Tonight she did her usual toss and turn, nudge, talk nonsense. Then she began to repeatedly say, “hamburber”. I ignored it for about a dozen times then I realized I need to acknowledge or she will not stop.
Me: Greta. It’s nigh-nigh time. Stop saying hamburger.
Greta: Hamburber. . .Hamburber.
Me: Yes, hamburger. Now lay your head down and go to sleep.
Fifteen seconds pass. . .
Greta: Hamburber.
Me: Greta, you don’t even like hamburgers, stop talking about them.
Again, about 15 seconds pass. . .
Greta: Doe a deer.
Me: Ok. I will sing you Doe a Deer one time. And that’s it.
My daughter thinks I have a voice like Celine Dion, and I’m not going to correct her, she’ll soon find out how wrong she is. So I go through the entire Doe a Deer song from the Sound of Music but can never get to Ti because she is anticipating the end of the song and saying again again again. I sang it about 5 times and that satisfied her.
If you’ve ever rocked a baby to sleep you recognize the heavy weight of their head lying on your shoulder, their nose nuzzling in your neck to find the sweet spot, their limbs get heavy and their movements less and less. Their breathing slows and they kind of melt into you. This is when I like to close my eyes and just rock. I’m not rocking because I like it! Of course not! I’m rocking because you have to get them into that rem cycle of sleep where you can do a successful transfer into their crib.
We hit that dead weight spot where I know she’s gone. Totally gone. I slowly rise and creep over to her crib, knowing exactly which planks of wood to avoid on the floor for fear of the creaks awakening her.
I do the swift “lift and lower” onto her blankie. She stirs, nuzzles into her blankie as I pat her back for a few seconds. I slowly glide ever so quietly to the door where I turn the knob at just the right degree to prevent the hinge from making a sound. I am about to make it, I can see the light of the TV downstairs, I reach to close the door and I hear a rustle. OH NO! I peek back in the room and don’t see anything, she probably just rolled over. As I am about to close the door I hear in a clear and distinctly devilish voice,
“hamburber?”
So what did we do with my crafty finds from my Michael’s field trip? See for yourself.
Ok, they didn’t quite come out exactly how I envisioned them. And maybe Greta eating the blue acrylic paint wasn’t so good either, but the kids had a ball and play with these little wooden creatures more than I ever would’ve imagined.
Next up. . .glue gun. Yep, Aaron purchased a glue gun and I’m pretty excited to start using it! Stay tuned.
I don’t get a ton of time alone with Gunnar. He’s at school all day and then when he is home I have the little ones home as well. And because of this, I really enjoyed taking him to the doctor today. It was for a rotten cause, he has a sinus infection, but it was great to have him sit in my lap in the waiting room and just talk to him. On the way home he asked me to turn the music off, uh oh, what’s wrong. . .what happened today.
Gunnar: Mama, I’m afraid of dying.
Me(I knew it!): Sweetie, why are you afraid to die?
Gunnar: Because I’m afraid to go to the Philippines.
Me: Huh? I don’t understand. Do you know the Philippines is a country?
Gunnar: Yes. But you can’t ever leave the Philippines because of the white tips.
Me: Now I’m really lost. White tip what?
Gunnar: The White Tip Sharks. They’re everywhere in the Philippines. And if you take a boat you will die.
Me: But babe, if you’re on a boat how can a shark kill you?
Gunnar: These sharks can eat a hole through the boat and kill you. I saw a special on it in a movie.
Me: I’ll make you a deal. How about we don’t make any plans to go the Philippines?
Gunnar: Ok.
Four minutes later. . . .
Gunnar: Mama, how do you go to college?
Me: Well, you work really hard in high school and get good grades and then you apply.
Gunnar: How do you get to play on the college football team?
Me: You have to try out for it.
Gunnar: And then after college you go to the NFL?
Me: If you are really good you can.
Gunnar: Can you go back to college after the NFL?
Me: You can go back to college to get a degree, but not to play college football.
Gunnar: What happens after the NFL then?
Me: You retire. Because you’re old, injured, just not as good anymore.
Gunnar: Can you pick how many years you stay in college?
Me: I think you can only play 4 years, but you can be there 5 years, but one year you have to redshirt. . .I think.
Gunnar: Okay.
Me: Sweetie, I think it’d be a good idea to explore other careers other than being a USC college quarterback.
Yep, you read the title correctly. Yep, it’s what you think they are. That’s what we call boobs in our house. Greta is learning to count and she also just got the hang of “yours” “mine” “I” “me” “you”. The other night she was sitting on my lap while I was checking my email.
Greta: Your nurnies. My nurnies.
Me: Very good Greta.
Greta: My nurnies, one two. Your nurnies, one two three.
Sawyer (laughing hysterically): HA HA HA! She said you have three nurnies!
Me: No Greta. Two. One two.
Greta: Your nurnies. One two three.
Gunnar (giggling): Ha Ha! She thinks you have 3 nurnies! Maybe she thinks your belly button is the third one.
Me: Okay. I have two. One two. Now can my nurnies stop being the topic of this conversation!
There’s really no need to ask how my children break their arms, is there?
Sawyer: Mama, I’m gonna have a dream tonight.
Me: You are? Is going to be a good dream?
Sawyer: Yes, it’s going to be a beautiful dream. I’m going to dream about a room full of comfy warm foxies.
Me: Oh, that’s a nice dream. Foxy will be soooo happy.
Sawyer: Yes.
For those of you not quite in the “know”, Foxy is Sawyer’s beloved stuffed animal, who in reality is a wolf, but we don’t have the heart to tell him.
Okay, I tried to think of the last time my husband and I were invited to someone’s house for a dinner party sans children and I couldn’t remember. Because I think it’s been since before I’ve had children. We’ve been out to dinner with couples without kids, but a real dinner party, at someone’s home. Been awhile. . .
Until tonight. We had a lovely time at some friend’s home with a few couples, there were 9 of us in total. (thank you by the way, if you’re reading this) But I have a big confession, my brain hurts a little. I haven’t had 4 straight hours of adult conversation in a loooong time. Seriously, the topics were not what I am used to speaking about on a daily weekly monthly regular basis. We had a variety of cool professions there tonight, from landscape designer to life coach to fashion designer to architect, I could go on. There were some stimulating people there. But to talk about global warming versus bottle warming took some adjustment. I was a little unnerved because I could speak to people using eye contact. Normally my eyes are scanning for 6 little legs going every which way, I have one eye on one child, one eye on breakables, and I can never give someone quite my full attention. We had cocktails and appetizers, then I was politely told by my husband to stop eating all the appetizers, more food would follow. But it felt like I haven’t eaten in 6 years, and let me tell you, food that is fresh and warm tastes so much better than my daily diet of Clif bars, half chewed string cheese, soggy cheerios and partial grape pieces about to hit the floor. Fortunately our hosts understood my predicament and just kept refilling the brie and salami. Thanks again.
Dinner was wonderful and so well thought out, from the soup to the homemade dessert. But the best part was seriously the conversation and company. I think I am mentally stimulated for months now. I definitely have my research to do on topics such as Frank Gehry, LA Live Project, and Apple’s new generation iphone. And I was very proud to only have brought up my children a handful of times. The ambience was awesome, and I forgot that most people can light candles on regular surfaces and not put them on top of surfaces with a minimum clearance of 5 feet. There’s no little people to create fire hazards! The music wasn’t from The Sound of Music or The Wiggles. And the drinks weren’t apple juice and milk. They were drinks.
I had to fight the urge to cut up my tablemate’s steak into tiny pieces and hand feed him. I also had to look twice in the bathroom because I was in a bathroom alone. I wasn’t taking someone pee, except myself of course. You better believe my handbag still had diapers and wipes in it, but what mom doesn’t?
Most of all I appreciate being seen as a person, a separate entity from my offspring. I am a mom, but I’m also a woman who enjoys things that most people take for granted everyday, whether that be a hot cup of tea that is actually hot and not cold because by the time you drink it it’s no longer hot warm lukewarm drinkable to speaking about topics like our environment and government. And not just speaking, but speaking to people over 3 feet tall and who actually know what the environment is and that the president isn’t Martin Luther King, Jr. just because they have school off on Monday for Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday.
So thank you for making me feel like a regular person again. And now I’m so ready to do what I do best, be mom.
It’s a very big day in our house. Sawyer wrote his name all by himself, with no help, no tracing, no direction.
He brought me his drawing and then proceeded to inform me, “Mama, it sure is a good thing I know how to draw robots so good.”
It sure is. . .
Alright, I’m not a crafty mama. I’ve accepted this painful truth.
There are mainly two types of moms in the world, although there are always exceptions. One-you feed your children regular nonorganic milk, shop at major store chains for all your toys, and are a sucker for Nick Jr. commercials and give in to your child’s wants for what is advertised. Two-you are what I like to call “crunchy”, you wouldn’t ever consider feeding your child anything non-organic, you shop at Whole Foods, dismiss all battery-operated light-up commercialized toys in favor for wooden toys and think TV is a no-no.
I don’t quite fit into either perfectly, but I tend to be on the “crunchy” side. I try to shop almost all organic, I believe in breastfeeding, last I took count we only had 3 toys that took batteries, and I don’t let my kids watch any shows with commercials. On the other hand, I do like Target, although, I am drawn to the one aisle in the toy department that has the Play Wonder wooden toys, Schleich animal figurines, and Klutz craft books. BUT something that makes me stand out as very different than my “crunchy” counterparts is that I am uncrafty. . .
This is a crafty mama and I am amazed at what she comes up with and can do. I stumbled upon her blog and she even has a book coming out. I believe she homeschools her children, another “crunchy” quality I don’t confer with, and she is so talented. If you take a look at her crafting with children category, I guarantee you too will be blown away.
So, I wonder, can an uncrafty mama become a crafty mama? Can I change? I so want to be the mama who wears an apron and has cookie cutters in just the right shapes for just the right occasions, and when I gift someone a present the wrapping is more extraordinary than the gift itself. I want to own operate a sewing machine. Okay, I would settle for learning how to sew a button back on a pair of pants. But then, Aaron would be so bored, he loves to sew buttons on clothes!
This afternoon as I passed by Michaels (for those less crafty even than I, it’s a craft store) in Santa Monica and decided I would pop in and peruse the aisles. I have to say just entering the store made me feel quite creative. I didn’t quite understand the need for so many different colors of felt, but nonetheless, I decided I needed some multicolor felt. Then on to the wooden craft aisle, ohhh, little things to paint, I like that. . .but then I needed paint. Did you know that there are different types of paint? Yep. You can’t just paint wood with any ‘ol paint. So as I desperately picked up bottle after bottle and tried to define what a “porous” material was, I asked a crafty looking lady next to me what I can paint wood with. She told me acrylic, stay away from oil. Great. I got some acrylic paints. I picked up some random ribbon and a pack of tiny Chicklet gum on my way out. Those tiny Chicklets are extremely hard to find by the way.
I should however mention that I’m this type of mama: I did go into Michael’s, I did buy some fun artsy type items, but I should mention I only passed by Michael’s because that was across the street from Burke Williams Spa where I just spent the afternoon getting a massage. You see, I don’t know if I can be both mamas. Can I be the mama who enjoys going to spas and wearing her True Religion jeans and the mama who whips up a dinosaur diorama and sews little felt pouches together to store buttons in?
I’m conflicted.
I am the mama who is on the PTA and is the headroom parent, on the school Auction committee and volunteers to be art docent even when I have no clue what an art docent is, but I don’t look like that soccer mama you are envisioning. Maybe what I am trying to say is that I am not your typical mama.
I envision crafty mamas’ homes to be cluttered and full of tables with glue dripping down them, flour everywhere in the kitchen, and yards of fabric laying around the room waiting to be made into a dress that matches her daughter’s. I, on the otherhand, like an uncluttered, seemingly clean home, despise adult/child matching clothes and feel crafty means construction paper, washable paint and being outside.
I informed my husband tonight I want to learn how to sew.
Husband: What do you mean by that?
Me:Well, I don’t know, but I want to learn. And I’d like it to include a machine.
Husband: Why don’t we start by you letting me show you how to thread a needle.
Me: No, I think I need to take a class and get a machine.
Husband: I don’t understand. Why don’t you learn how to knit?
Me: No, there’s things out there I want to make. Things I want to sew.
Husband: Ok. So how was your massage today?
He distracted me and diverted my attention. It worked. But alas, still tonight I am contemplating it. Come to think of it, maybe knitting wouldn’t be so bad. But what’s the difference between knitting and crocheting, can I do these things and still be ignorant about sewing a button on?
I guess ultimately it takes a whole lot of mamas to make the world go round. And you can just add me to the list.
