Confessions of a Tacoma mom

After last weekend I now have these pictures of slightly significant while less than proud or profound moments in my life. But if you’re from Tacoma and you own a child, or four, you may recognize these environments …

The first is from Friday night on the outdoor deck at Whole Foods. I’d arranged a couple
hours of my evening to catch up with an old friend. We were limited on time and for that reason preferred to stay local in the University Place suburbs which feel like a damn Rat Race challenge getting in or out of. But with an increasingly sleepy baby in tow and a puny puddle of options for wine by the glass, if you count Applebee’s and Grassi’s two-fork boutique, we opted to meander a few aisles at Whole Foods.

Now, in all honesty, I have not been a huge fan of the big, high-priced grocer and would only dare enter if I had less than three things on my list and wanted to feel fancy that day. Otherwise I find Whole Foods is only good for free samples and the fresh-baked cookie aisle. But that paired with a heavy pour fit the bill for the night. Walk-up beer and wine service plus an outdoor deck with wooden lawn chairs and heat lamps … equals ... mom spot. I could sit without the veteran-server-guilt of our late night, last minute, wine only, plus baby scenario.

And for just a few moments I felt like it was my very own wrap-around porch and outdoor fireplace on a warm summer evening when a bunch of late night grocery shoppers parked in my paved lot. Needless to say, we were ushered out by the staff when 10 pm rolled around and Lea was about three cookies deep. Now we’re both big fans of our neighborhood Whole Foods.
**Side note: 3-6 pm happy hour and free Wi-Fi. Case closed. J

The second photo is that of my not-yet two-year-old daughter overlooking the first floor of Tacoma’s infamous Chuck E Cheese. If you’ve ever been a kid or have had one of your own in the South Sound Area, you know the place I’m talking about. It’s free to enter but a paycheck to participate. Neon lights and dancing mascots give off the feel of a Vegas strip for youngsters, except you’ll leave smelling like old socks and bad pizza instead of booze and cigarettes. I’m not sure which is worse.

It’s kind of a zoo at Chuck E Cheese. As you enter they stamp numbers on your hands to match you with your child. You know, for security purposes, so you feel both safe and alarmed at the same time. The jungle gym rattles in its anchor to the ceiling. Children’s shrill screams and fits of cries fill the air with an eerie uncertainty as to their joyous or torturous cause. Should you ever drop a token or ticket reel, greasy little fingers will snatch unclaimed loot before you even know it’s gone.  When in Vegas … ammaright?

And all the while I was taken back to days when this was my playground. When the center of the room was engulfed by the pool-sized ball pit that my older cousin would chuck us across so we could swim through the plastic waters screaming “Again! Again!” And now we’re here, me with my own little lady for that cousin’s son’s third birthday party. Life sure comes full circle. And some things just change in time, like the omission of that ball pit after rumors of unmentionables being found. Like the remodel of the old big toy to make room for a new one plucked straight from some McDonalds (in my opinion) or the creepy animatronic band reduced down to the one Chuck now with a facelift that’s left him looking less like our beloved mouse and more like a cheap counterfeit.

That’s just the product of time and age, working our brains, our interests, our perceptions, until those childhood holidays seem far less magical. But that day, thanks to coffee and Lea, I felt her fits of joy bring it all back. We filled our pockets with tokens and made our rounds for etch-a-sketch pictures and coin slot rides. We threw basketballs and aspired to blow ten bucks on a 25 cent toy. But you know what, it was worth it. To kick off a childhood memory with her. To celebrate the circle of life and spend our day together in a delirious play land. We won’t be back for a while. But I guarantee, we will be back.

Parenting hacks

In my whopping 15 months of motherhood I’ve adopted a few tricks of the trade. Some I stumbled upon in my own child rearing journey and others were inspired by outside sources, but in the end these have all struck me like little light bulb emojies. I thought they might bring another desperate parent good luck in their time of need and depending on your parenting strategy you just might adopt some too. It takes a village. Share your secrets.

1. If you let your baby play with your phone (like you said you wouldn’t) but freak about the possibility of baby unknowingly speed dialing a work client or ex, then use airplane mode.
I find this works wonders when I need to bribe Lea into the car seat. I let baby play with airplane mode for a tear-free commute, meanwhile I’m not driving with my phone tempting me from the passenger seat. Everybody wins.

2. I.. I mean, Lea has fallen in love with frozen grapes during teething season.. which is not a season but rather the life span of infancy. Poor babies. Help them cope with these healthy, mini popsicles. Mom can volunteer to bite the first half in order to avoid a full grape shooting down into your infant’s throat like a cannon ball. (Sorry. Mom visions…)

3. We’ve become toothbrush hoarders since our kid started teething.  By one year, my daughter was already obsessed with brushing her teeth, or rather chewing on a toothbrush, because she always saw us doing it and it felt damn good on those tortured gums. I couldn’t say no to her grunted requests so I just started buying Lea her own adult-sized tooth brushes. I’m confident that it’s instilling good habits, toothbrushes are cheap, and peace and quiet is priceless.

4. Between the ages of say 6-9 months, when baby was crawling but neither of us were very confident in her abilities, we took great comfort in the Bumbo seat. And when mom realized she could no longer take a five minute shower without the threat of baby crawling under the kitchen sink and ingesting a package of dish detergent candies. (Another vision) we decided that Bumbo bathes, too. While I finally dismounted my hair from the mother bird’s nest on top of my head, baby got to play, in mom’s shadow, in the warm water and enjoy a snack. I strategically feed her the messy foods during shower time so that she stays happy and easy to clean.

5. Speaking of mom’s washing their hair (Myth). Dry shampoo has seriously become a best friend of mine. She’s seen me at my worst and somehow brings a little life back when I need it most. I found this brand on sale one time and it’s kind of saved my self-image.


6. It’s no secret that little ones will often choose bags and boxes over the fancy toy inside. I almost recently convinced myself that I “needed” to drop 20 bucks on some better bath toys for Lea. Then I thought twice and tossed the plastic purse of colorful Velcro curlers into the tub. She likes them more than I do, and they float. As new parents, it’s important to exercise the imagination muscles in preparation for the preschooler parent years. Start now and turn everyday objects into the next best toy set.

Big Kid

Halloween. We really made a comeback from last year's cute-yet-cliche pumpkin pajamas. For 2015, you wobbled around in a fuzzy pink bunny suit, swinging that Energizer drum left and right like you were born for the marching band and powered by a full battery pack of snack-size candy bars. For now you'll have to cling to the satisfaction of collection because consumption is still a few years out.

Yesterday we played dress-up with some new hand-me-downs from Parker, who is pretty equal in age but double-wide in size. It works out well for us. She's a buddah baby. You're a pixie doll. So you and I play dress-up when dad is out. I realize I'm taking advantage of your pint size and compliant demeanor but really, it'd be a shame not to. In a few short years you will have wardrobe full of your own preferences, probably a long list of flannels and Carharts. But for now, you are mine. So we play and mom snaps a hundred new pictures of you, many of them blurry now in the chase of trying to capture your sparkle before you're another second older.

On last night's living room runway you dawned a crochet cap and a silk Asian dress with a hem to your knee and side slits to your diaper. I laughed myself into a fit. You kept pulling the hat off your freshly fluffed hair and handing it back for me to put on you again. I can see different parts of your personality peak at me with new eyes. I've already started filling a treasure box of costumes to feed your imagination and nurture every drop of unabashed innocence bursting from the inevitably unraveling seams of your childhood.

As with any activity, the novelty only lasts so long before it's worn thin and your patience dissipates. I used all the dressing tricks up my sleeve, like putting my hands through the ends of your sleeves to guide your little arms through. Or the top-to-bottom peel strategy provided by the envelope shoulders on onsies (which I only learned to utilize six months ago). But in good time, the game was up.

You shuffled into the kitchen and stood at the sink. "Meh," you repeated in a soft cry. Then you opened 'your drawer' a messy mix of utensils and toys. Reaching in to your elbows, you pulled out a nipple with one hand and it's bottle with the other and held them up to me verbally affirming "meh," just to make sure there was no miscommunication.

And that, all that, was yesterday. You are a bottomless box of surprises these days.

Today we make breakfast in the soft gray light of a rainy Sunday. I swoop you from your banter on the floor and into the highchair clamped to our wooden kitchen table, the one your dad made that time. I buckle you for safety and give you a handful of melon bites before turning back to the stove. We both get to our business. A few minutes later as I conduct the breakfast bit at my station I hear you at yours, happily exerting a soft sound, or two, then three, each in it's own key. It's the first time you're singing a song of your own. I share this time and space with a little girl seranding her thoughts in an original melody. Just me and my little girl, a baby grown and nearly gone.

I also have to say, for the record, that your dance moves are really taking off thanks to regular dance parties on slow weekday afternoons and the wildcard bedtime routine. You have music in your veins and when you bang inanimate objects together you do it with rythym. And when you babble in public strangers approach me to compliment your singing voice because you're harmonizing with the music in the background. Yup, you are definitely mine.

Dear One

** It's been a good six months since my last post. I could write an entire entry of excuses but let's just get back to business.. I am now the parent of a one-year-old. A better late than never post. Written then, posted now. Just our style..

 

Dear One,

You woke from your late afternoon nap, a birthday girl with wild hair and tired eyes. Shifting out of sleep mode is hard on you but once in my arms you curled into my body like you still lived there. You pushed your chin up to mine for a kiss, and again. And you wrapped your little arms around my ribs and summoned all your strength to squeeze me tight. Don’t let go.

Last night you ate an entire plate of bite-sized food. Steak, tomatoes, mozzarella, mushrooms, spinach, peppers, all stabbed with a miniature fork by your own hand. It was almost ridiculous. I looked at you and thought, “Whose kid is this?” and wondered how much longer you’ll need me the way you do. It won’t be long enough. These seemingly never-ending days that flicker bright and then pass. I want each one back as soon as it’s gone. Remind me again tomorrow.

I remind myself now of that day that couldn’t come fast enough. Back when time sauntered carelessly in a means that now seems foreign. Back when an hour was plenty of time. I'll always remember Star Wars playing as I squirmed through contractions and your dad marked the clock. You were on your way. Ten days late. You must have known the life you were coming in to, the last minute whirlwind of a mother you would have to share it with. You were conditioning. Fashionably late. Brewing to perfection.

You came to us in that enchanting hour just before dawn on what would forever become your day, September 17. I was spun into a haze after finally accepting, or rather pleading, for medication 20 hours into a 25-hour long labor. But I was present. Completely consumed by and present in that defining moment. With your tiny warm body in my arms I would watch the sun rise over the Tacoma port from a big round window in the honey comb building, formally known as Saint Joseph’s Hospital. I’d spent so many months outside these walls, staring up to the structure that sat so loudly on hilltop, a regular reminder that this day was coming. That this sunrise was on its way to officially change my life and welcome yours.

And just like that. Life flashes forward.

Your first birthday was a hard lesson. The banana pancakes from my imagination never made it to the table. I prepped the bags (only to later forget them) and planned the play date where I would torture myself trying to wrangle you and Parker from climbing separate stairs at the children’s museum. I'd done my self a great disservice by inviting my Tacoma mom core to join us and witness an episode of my mental breakdown. My emotions ran high as I tried not to count how many days I’d lost in a similar sweat-drenched frenzy, worrying myself over the wrong things. I tried to hold on to your day as I watched it sift away like sand between my fingers. I knew from your first breath that I wanted to give you the world, all of the good, precious, little luxuries, wrapped in ribbons and bows. Like the headbands of lace you won’t keep on anymore. I’m learning to let go of perfection and expectation and find peace  and joy among the pieces, the stained clothes and the clutter.

Honestly, I’m just glad that in the last year we’ve managed to keep you alive, well and in good spirits. We really have no clue what we’re doing. It doesn’t matter how much childcare experience I can document onto a five page resume. It’s all a different matter when you're making the rules. Especially for baby number one. The guinea piglet. Do you vaccinate? We did. Do you come down firm with the ground rules from day one or do you grant infant amnesty? Your dad and I even the totem pole pretty well on this one, I think you'll turn out alright. Who do we entrust with your care? Thankfully we have a goldmine of grandmas living within city limits so we haven’t had to leave you with any of the neighbors. The list of questions is endless and in the end right and left aren't always the answers. We’re doing our best to say the least. And for that effort we get an A.

Maybe it's the mother in me but I've got to say, you're perfect. Thoughtful and affectionate. Playful and silly. Especially in the bewitching hour before bedtime when we all roll around on the big bed. Fits of laughter and raspberries blown from flushed cheeks. You bring out of me these animated voices I never knew before now, in our huddle, bursting with joy from our insides out. Every true sense of self in that space, whole heartedly loving you and knowing, this is ours alone, and ours to keep.

You started walking this month. A few steps turned into a few more and now you cross a room on wide, wobbling legs with your arms stretched for psychological support. Two-feet-tall, pushing furniture and large objects across the room. You light up and scream with delight at the top of little lungs.

I hope I never take these precious moments for granted, because they turn to days, to months, to years. And I'll wake to my dreams and it will be another birthday and another reminder to stop and celebrate you. To pay close attention. To hold and to cherish rather than wishing it all to a blur.

Thank you for being here. I’m so blessed to watch you twirl around the sun. Happy birthday little lion.

The daily glamour of motherhood

Free flyer

**Warning, two Leas, one story.

Babies under the age of 2 fly for free (internationally).

That statement was music to my ears based on a desire to pass adventure-seeking traits to my kin. So when the Norwegian host family from my past life as an au pair offered to split a ticket and put us up in San Francisco where they were vacationing for 10 days, I immediately told the rest of my schedule to move over.

We'd only have 30 hours to spare from the weekly juggling act but any time would be time well spent in the Stang's presence and I wanted to do cartwheels at the thought of introducing my 7-month-old to my old surrogate babies. Little had I known during my last visit to Norway two years ago, it would be the last overseas escapade for a while. With a new limb these days I know another reunion with my favorite Scandinavian clan may be a good 5 years out. Someday I will take baby Lea to the land of sheep and potatoes where I first fostered a love for travel. The land where msadventures was born. But realistically it may be half a decade before this rambunctious cub is ready for the 10 hour commute. Lord knows that excursion will not only be far from home but also far from free. So San Francisco seemed like the perfect short cut, a skip down the block in comparison. No excuses. We were boarding our flight. On my back I'd packed my ten-year-old Jansport with one full size and one miniature change of clothes, half a dozen diapers and a pack of wipes that at the time conveniently doubled as baby's favorite toy. And across my front I packed baby in the Ergo, a soon to be soaked burp rag and a life preserver, I mean, pacifier.

We made the southbound leap after an hour and a half delay and plane change. It wasn't the best kick off to the trip but I will never argue with a flight's "check engine" light. The rest of the flying experience was positively attributed to the nice ladies we sat beside, both ways, the passengers who gladly gave up their aisle or window for the lady with a baby and of course because of my fairly easy going, rad kid. Everyone gawked over her courtesy smile and on our return flight, our neighbor Marie kept offering to hold Lea while I re-situated or dug feverishly through our things. Point is, we made it and I ran into the arms of big Lea and Bendik who met us at the airport and swiftly took us to our theatrical run hug reunion with Charlotte and not so little August, Zoe and Eva.

San Fran was old news for my new babe since we'd embarked on a week long road trip when she was merely 14 days old. It worked out well considering this would be the tail end of the Stang's time here and they had long exhausted most of the main landmarks and tourist attractions. The remaining stretch would be focused on simply being together, reminiscing over old times and catching up with the current. The bond you establish after just a year of living as part of someone else's family.. it's pretty incredible. I was welcomed into every part of their lives, from messy Monday mornings and lazy Friday nights to first birthdays and intimate holiday dinners. Unofficially adopted. Just like old times, we'd squeeze into a car like a three ring circus act. As I climb toward the back seat, hurtling over a carseat and a couple kids in the soccer mom rental, big Lea laughs that it's "so Kayla" of me.

Just like old times, we'd sit together around the table and have little fingers rummaging the contents of our plates. And just like old times we'd brave an outing (a trip to China Beach and the Easter Eggstravaganza in Golden Gate Park) to spend the afternoon counting heads because we were far outnumbered. For one perfect day my hands were full of smaller hands and my heart grew four sizes. It felt like home; almost like time had stood still, aside from the fact that these kids were all growing up far too fast.

My hair was untied from the "Kayla bun" and braided, my bag was accessorized with tiny treasures and homemade cards and my daughter was doted over by a bunch of little people. In case you were wondering, they all eventually got their turn spoon feeding the baby. I am well staffed with future au pairs.

In the end it wouldn't have been a true tale of msadventures if we hadn't run late on our return to the airport. We'd all fly out from the same location, with my plane departing first, but Oakland International is 33 miles out of town. Our family of 7, now 8, fully equipped with one carseat and a multitude of backpacks and suitcases, opted against a 200$ chauffeur and instead went in true Norwegian style - bus, subway and train.

We all clamber down a long stairwell into the Subway channel. Lea says to me in well versed grammar and a thick accent that coats her words in syrup to me. "I just love America! Everyone here is so nice.. that man just asked me if he could help with my suitcase!"

She goes on to act out how a Norwegian would respond if you asked for directions, nodding nonchalantly "that way", followed by the American response of enthusiastically pulling out a map and walking you to your destination.

Like watching baby discover her surroundings for the first time, I listen to Lea experience the US for the first time. And I feel that rush that overtakes you as a parent. Just complete, obsessive, all-consuming love.

oldie but goodie

 

Needless to say, we made our flight home. But not before losing baby Lea's beloved binkie while sprinting through the fortunately small airport and requesting a free pass from everyone in the baggage check. I've noticed that for the most part, strapping a cute baby to your body improves your standing in many scenarios. And should that not apply, such as when you're par coring to your terminal while still strapped to that baby, you'll be far too distracted to notice the evil glares.

Hints for backpacking with baby:
1- Baby wearing. If you happen to be traveling for a short enough period of time or to a destination equipped with laundry facilities, make the most of a hands free experience and wear your luggage.  You will thank me as you stride past all the weary mothers trying to yank their toddlers off the "merry go round" as they await the heavenly delivery of their checked belongings. And you know that'll be the time they re-routed your bag to the wrong destination. Believe me, msadventures has been titled with good reason.

2- We LOVED Alaska Airlines. Not only did they let us cancel our return ticket for free within 24 hours, only to rebook it (don't ask) for the same cost, and must I say, likely the lowest cost. But they also gushed over baby, somehow provided a changing table in the 2-by-4 of a bathroom, and switched us out of the middle seat both times, all with huge smiles. Two of our stewardesses playfully argued over who would give baby her first wings and in return I gave them 5 stars and 2 thumbs up.

 3- If you are lucky enough to have a baby who takes a pacifier, you should probably bring a few spares. In the hours before our flight home we lost that binkie. Knowing that it would be our saving grace on the plane, Charlotte and August retraced our last half-mile to retrieve it. Then of course it escaped us yet again somewhere outside of our terminal, a fate I only realized as we boarded the plane in near defeat. Thank goodness the milk supply comes stock.

Dear Daughter

I thought last year was my first mother’s day, but I must admit my job was much easier when you were still in your fetal state. You were safely close by but I always had my hands free, I slept all night aside from bathroom breaks and I could take you anywhere and everywhere. Back then I could feel your tiny heart beat but life had hardly begun ... for either of us.

Today I woke up to the sound of your cry, the same way I start most days now. In those moments you remind me that I’m alive and you define so many reasons why. To hold your ever-growing body in my arms. Arms that have never been stronger. Or more gentle. Because they’ve never held anything so valuable. This sweet girl who smiles at me every time I open her car door, mirrors her dad as she pulls on her ear, gently touches my face when I cradle her, loves to hold hands as she falls asleep, scrunches her nose in excitement when we call out to her. You’ve turned your dad into a body guard with a baby voice. You’ve turned me into a mother. Our girl.

I thought I knew what being a parent entailed. I thought I’d taken the classes and read it all. I’d put in the hours and stood in the middle of the beautiful chaos that is motherhood that year as an au pair. Back then my responsibility was four fold and yet I didn’t have a clue. Life comes equipped with so many lessons and you are a catalyst and the best of them all.

You will come to know me as many things, but timely isn’t one of them. In a perfect world I would have written this to you at the stroke of midnight or as the sun rose on this imperfectly perfect occasion. Instead another 24 hours creep by and we are both another day older, another day wiser. I reflect today on what to say in such an important letter, as we venture about our morning in a pile of laundry, in a pool in the bathtub, among the pages of your story books, knotted on the floor as I cuddle you to sleep. How can you possibly put something so intangible into words? I will spend the rest of my life attempting to express how much you mean to me.

Timeliness is a struggle for me. But you came at the perfect time – surprising and unexpected, like the best treasures. I spent most of my life imagining you, as a kid who toted her baby dolls everywhere, to an adult gazing up at the sky in search of a glimpse of your face. I’m rarely early and so often late. But you had perfect timing, shifting mine and your dad’s world into perspective and teaching us the meaning of love.

This is the hardest role I’ve ever taken on, but that’s because it means so much. Because you mean so much. I will certainly fall short of perfection. I will lose my temper. I won’t have all the answers. I will be late when I shouldn’t be. But I will always love you and I will never stop trying to be all that I can be as your mother.

The day you called out to me as mama was the second best day. Second to the first day I held you. And many days will come close as you continue to learn and grow and grace us with your beautiful spirit. You are the very best of me. And I pray that I continue to seed into you all of the good things that this life has to offer. There will be grinches to meet and messes to clean. There will be wounds to tend to and hard days to endure, but we will always have each other and what a story we will share. I am so eternally grateful to be yours, to spend my days with you and to call you mine. Little lion of mine.