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.

Mmmmm..

I am pretty stoked about this milestone..

although there is a good chance she's just demanding "more" food..

A sixth sense .. in the face of danger

When you become a parent, especially a mother, a strange phenomenon occurs. Suddenly you are solely responsible for the well-being of this tiny, fragile, living, breathing person. Any illness or injury that baby incurs will inevitably reflect poorly on your pristine, super hero parenting status, whether it’s laser beaming from outside judgment or your own self-inflicted ridicule. It shouldn’t be that way, but it just is.

There’s that cheesy overused quote by Elizabeth Stone about how having a child is like deciding to “forever have your heart go walking outside of your body”. I hate to use it since it’s been sucked dry of novelty. But it doesn’t make the sentiment any less true. Suddenly the care-free, nomadic, life on the edge of youth mentality is replaced with a long, anxiety stricken, thoughtfully treaded path down the next 18 years. Whether it’s watching your clumsy little lady painfully power through another banger as she learns to walk, or waiting up past midnight because your newly dating teenager is a few minutes past curfew. It really never ends. But I’m jumping ahead of myself.

In the last few months I’ve recognized my new-found power – this uncanny ability to look around a room with a disturbing awareness of lurking danger. I’ve noticed my vision cuing in on interesting details, like the giant plastic sign that rested delicately above our window, unsecured, just waiting for a light breeze to sweep it into a fit of Edward scissor hands. Or the rickety highchair at Marlene’s Deli that weeble-wobbled around like a bad game of Jenga. The crinkle appeal of that bagel bag from the coffee shop might distract her long enough to process payment but wait too long and the tissue paper will dissolve and lodge itself in her throat like a cotton ball ... hypothetically speaking, of course. Additionally, my imagination spirals me into nightmarish visions of cars veering off the road as we take a casual neighborhood walk. Or I could stay off the main roads and opt for a nature trail tangled with the possibility of wild brush lunging out at your unsuspecting child because you’re using the front facing stroller. It’s understandable that becoming a parent can age you ten years into a future of grey hairs and crow’s feet. That is a lot of pressure!!

Here are a few baby-proofing, or generally life preserving tips and resources:

1. Secure all hanging decor. Picture frames, signage, wreathes made of thorns, weaponry, heavy iron sculptures, shelves with burning candles and glass figurines, that sort of thing. They may seem secure when you're in a room with full grown, weathered adults but put a "porcelain doll" baby in the middle of the space and it's just a matter of time before the next earthquake or shoulder swipe. All the sudden shutting the front door becomes a game of Russian roulette. We quickly came to our sense and traded the pyramid shelf system I had jury rigged over the changing table for this peace of mind:

1. Go ahead and splurge on one of those baby proofing kits they sell at BabiesRUs or any baby good store. These kits are a gold mine of plastic pieces intended to keep our juniors from the other side. Why not buy survival supplies in bulk. Just be sure to baby proof the baby proofing kit. That thing has choke hazard written all over it.
2. Check out these neat ideas for do it yourself baby proofing secrets. Café Mom on The Stir features 12 clever safetyhacks using items like tennis balls and pool noodles. In the meantime, literally get down and check out exactly what enticing mischief lies outside of our normal sights.
3. Rather than fear for your child’s life every time you think about the harmful cleaners and chemicals lying around the house, consider switching to more natural methods. Here are a few recipes from Wellness Mama.
4. The art of distraction. (My mother used this trick on me) There’s nothing more tempting then a bunch of drawers and cabinets that are off limits. Reverse the psychology and leave one cabinet full of small pots, Tupperware and baby friendly utensils as a successful means of keeping that munchkin out of the glass wear and knife sets.
5. A good rule of thumb, although easier said than done, is to teach responsible, safe behavior. Hopefully when the day comes that your child does come across a screenless window or a door to the other side, they will have a little sense instilled to make good decisions.

And then you started to crawl.
April, 14, 2015.

Please remove your shoes before baby eats their trail mix

Ladies and Gentlemen we're about to have a crawler.

Lea is embarking on her 7th month in the world and while her valiant push-up attempts are just shy of welcoming mobility, she has certainly decided that she's sat still for long enough. It's frustrating to be a baby and achieve a sense of awareness regarding the playground of chair legs to chew, electrical outlets to prod and meaningless decor to swat at, all long before your motor skills can actually transport you through that wonderland of mischief. (As you can tell mom is thrilled about the new prospect of baby proofing.) Soon enough she will master the army crawl or the one-legged zombie scoot or some other version of the awkward beginner's crawl.

In the meantime I look around our little cubbie of a living room at the floor that I vacuumed yesterday. I've always been thankful for our cammo-tan rug and its ability to disguise disgust for artistic "dimension." But now I watch my daughter paw at flakes of dried dirt on the floor and I find myself pulling feathers and hair out of her curious mouth. I can't help but cringe and lunge for the vacuum. It will inevitably become a daily duty and sometimes a second run over will be necessary. All in a day's work.. maybe I'll squeeze it in while I brush my teeth in the morning.

Our home is a dwelling of active adventurists, in and out of the front door all the time. Additionally the lion king of this castle comes equipped with a bike that sleeps indoors and work boots that sprinkle wood chips and dirt debris like fairy dust. It's a hard transition to make and I've never been one to require it on my own accord but I'm afraid this may soon become a shoe-free zone. I think I'll have to make a custom welcome sign:

"Please remove your shoes before the baby eats their trail mix."

Cold season

I must say, this blog was quite the undertaking. I'm not sure how successes like Abbey do it.. and not just mildly manage a blog but transform it into work of art and mini enterprise! Good God woman. My aging last post becomes the least of my worries as the laundry piles a mile a minute and tiny people demand to be held around the clock. (Did I mention I just added baby food chef to my list of aspirations.) It's a wonder I have much time to think at all let alone tap those thoughts out on the keyboard. But if there is one thing we know as parents, it's that time keeps a steady pace and sometimes the best you can do is put one foot in front of the other.

On a day like today the rain comes down and my head fogs up like our single pane windows thanks to this little bugger of a cold I caught last week. In the intial first time parent phase I decided that middle of the night baby duty wasn't all that bad. Lea's sweet little cry would pierce my heart and I was up and hovered over her bed like a stealth aircraft. Motherhood infused me with a new source of energy in those moments when I needed it most. But looking back now I have to admit that it's a doozy of a thing to go six months on mere 2-4 hour stretches of sleep. I am now a complete stranger to a healthy REM cycle. My dreams always end in "to be continued.." It seems my mighty immune system has met its kryptonite.

Today I rise to my 12 am, 3 am, and 6 am wake up calls and feverishly try not to leak a face full of snot into my daughter's hair. But I'm afraid it's inevitiable that she'll catch what I catch, since she's rarely more than five feet from my germ infested bubble and she has a new fasination with trying to put her hands in my mouth while she's eating. At least it's a good excuse to stay in sweat pants for the afternoon, eat frozen pizzas and catch up on Redbox releases (Yesterday we gave two thumbs up to Whiplash and The Imitation Game). I think I'll just sleep in the basket of unfolded laundry at my bedside so I don't have to look at it. Let's hope this baby of stihl is as strong in body as she is in spirit. .. to be continued ..

Thrifty mom

I am the ultimate thrifter. A penny-pinching treasure hunter.

Urban Exchange is next door to Indochine, my downtown restaurant gig. Half of my wardrobe was fostered there. It's a good thing I'm now working nights because my old lunch time tips hardly ever made it home.

Goodwill celebrates the holidays by marking all donated apparel half-off. Veteran's Day, Memorial Day, President's Day .. you'll be on vacation and I'll probably be shopping. Sunday and Monday are always double tag days - one color half-off, another for a $1.29. I've purchased a down winter coat for mere pocket change. All of my skinniest skinny jeans have come from second hand stores because a few pounds down the road and you're back up a size. Moms have to be resourceful. It's just part of the job description.

In terms of larger, utilitarian household and baby goods, I have fallen in love with Offer Up. This photo collage version of craigslist will scan your neighborhood and track down just about any item you need. I've not only found our baby swing, changing table and the coolest armoire but have also made a few dollars myself. Heck if you have the time and attention span you could potentially turn this into a SAHM business opportunity. Don't say I didn't tell you so.

We live two blocks from Kidz Kaboodle on 6th Ave. If you're less about contacting strangers and meeting up in parking lots for gift exchanges but you still appreciate saving a boat load of money on lightly used baby clothes, check it out. No need to empty your bank account for an outfit that you're child will only wear a handful of times over 3 to 6 months. Shop smart, and then sell the same stuff back next season. It's a win-win.

I've really only purchased one clothing item from the department store racks, and even that was half off. These cripplingly cute Osh Kosh overalls from BabiesRus. I mean, can you blame me?! Then again.. I had a gift card.

I also found her (mom's) favorite teddy bear beanie. On clearance. For 5 dollars.

My most recent score were these organic building blocks, now baby lion's favorite chew toy. Some moms will cringe at the thought of where these colorful cubes might have been but honestly with everything else she puts in her mouth these days, the toys I cleaned myself are the least of my worries.

Point is, being a mom doesn't have to break your bank (until private school.. or college).

Baby swing, aka the "third parent", $30
Baby bear beanie, $5
Tiny conductor demins, $15
Trash to treasure toy blocks, $3
No shame mom game and saving my money for days with this perfect little model, Priceless!

Wacky Hair Days

Dear Daughter,

I'm afraid you've inherited some wild hair.

It will probably always have a personality of its own. Good thing you wear it so well.

When skies are grey

Some days are just bad – terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. Maybe you wake up on the wrong side of the bed after three hours of sleep and stepping out of it is your first mistake. Your to-do list scrolls like Santa’s and the breather from one task to the next only fuels your anxiety, heating you like a teapot ready to scream. Or when the skeletons in your closet dare you to throw all your dirty laundry onto the front lawn like a true Hollywood story. Sometimes the matter is out of your control, like when the invite finally arrives for your ten year high school reunion and you realize it falls on the same day as your best friend’s wedding. Coincidence, or shit for luck?

I love that opening scene from Office Space when the main character is stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on his way to work and no matter what lane he pulls into the others move faster. Sometimes you just can’t catch a break.

It was one of those days .. Thankfully, I diagnosed the symptoms early (a post-partum skill) and wrote out a prescription:
1. Avoid too much eye contact with your sad reflection.
2. Take those tired eyes and curl up under a down comforter.
3. Drink a fish bowl of wine.
4. Watch children’s movies you rented “for your (infant) daughter”, because everyone knows those always promise happy endings.
5. Remember, everyday can’t be the worst day.

Truth is part of the secret to happiness is enduring the ugliness and heartache and finding natural beauty in a messy life and sometimes tattered spirit. That’s what makes cloud nine feel so high.

Babies manage to make those days more difficult and more manageable all at the same time. It's a force that drives you to keep on keeping on and reminds you that there is more to life then selfish souls and grey days. It’s as if she knows. Like when she stores her farts or fussiness for those pivotal sun-setting seconds. Her timing is impeccable. I'm feeling like a puddle of crud so little lion puts on a show debuting a new trick. Suddenly the world could spiral out of orbit for all I care because she and this moment are all that matter. And amidst a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I find my happy place.

 

 

 

.. this went on for nearly an hour ..

Northwest is best

 

 

 

Sometimes you just have to pull over onto a residential road, sit on the hood of your car and watch the sunset over the Puget Sound. And it sure helps you look less creepy to the neighbors when you're accompanied by a baby dressed as a teddy bear.

Extra small socks

I said I would never wear mom jeans. But now I’m a mom and I have bigger concerns than what you think about my jeans, as long as they stay up past my crack. I also don’t care if my sneakers are synched and double knotted like I’m suffocating two hairy ankles. I’m just joking, I still shave .. sometimes. Some days I even manage to shave both legs.

I also said my kid wouldn’t be the one walking around in high water pants hula hooping around mid calf. We get it, kids grow a mile a minute and you’re too tired to keep up. “Tomorrow he’ll be two sizes up anyhow.” I didn’t want my kid’s laundry looking like it suffered massive shrinkage in the last load.

But then I had one. And I was enlightened by this denial of what size my baby is. Her room is lined with dressers, half of the drawers stuffed with clothes that don’t fit her yet. And still I’m packaging her thunder thighs like sausages, squeezing rolls upon rolls into skin tight baby jeggings.

Or this one –

 

 

 

She got these adorable socks from Grandma Sue for Christmas. There are still a few pairs she’s never even worn, but they’re obviously begging to be added to the donation pile. I can’t count how many times I’ve thought , “eh why not one last time.” It's this sad complex you develop as a parent that results in your kids looking like mine. There is this denial about how big they actually are and how fast they continue to grow. It’s not like I don’t realize my daughter is two weeks away from the 6-month mark but there’s just something so official and irrevocable about opening the drawer to the next size and clipping tags. It’ll mean my tiny girl is half of a year old and that 3-6 month old bundle is gone forever.

Guess it’s time to add those ridiculously cute socks to the closet spilling with “just a couple of keepsakes” for the never ending baby book.

Cheesy Sunday

In the name of subtly celebrated holidays..
And cheesy Sundays.
Let’s call February 14 Valentine’s Day.

 

 

We’re bike people under this roof. For Christmas Santa surprised me with a Giant to dawn a new era after 8 years of pedaling a child-sized Schwinn. Let’s just say I’m very anxious for the return of long summer days and the chance to break that beast in with a baby wagon in tow.

I remember first seeing this corny pick-up line on a fellow mama’s blog, Along Abbey Road. She’s an old friend of mine and one of my main inspirations for being here with you.

The “s” on Wheelies is courtesy of the dude, who wanted to shout out to a local celebrity we know.. Check out their music.

Next Saturday some people will couple up and hit the town with nasty chocolates and blimp sized balloons. Others will play it single and eat an entire ice cream tub to themselves or sit in a steamy theater for the premiere of 50 Shades of Grey. I'll be with the love of my life, like I was last Saturday and will be for the next.

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
If your folks hadn’t knocked boots
there wouldn't be you.

A couple of years from now I’m sure this reflection will look more like this flash back to Norway.




 But for now, we'll mark the day with this. Simple and sweet, for all the days and ways I love thee.

Mom in the city

Fast forward 4 months and now we're here..

She is moving and shaking and demanding more and more attention as she starts to recognize how great it feels. Getting cuter and louder by the day. And I'm thinking, "hell, what a perfect time to start a mom blog!"

A mom blog.. typical. Part time working first time mom reserves an online platform to rant and rave about her own creation. I know, you're probably thinking, "Sign me up for that mailing list!" But seriously, for what it's worth this could be the run of the mill, seen it before, firecracker new year's resolution that fizzles out in a couple months when I climb out of a pile of laundry and decide to spend any free time** outdoors.

Note:
After baby, "free time" becomes any window in which both of your schedules coincide and for a few minutes there is no meal time, or work time, or clean up time .. just the two of you (and maybe nap) time. It's an endangered species of time.

Life get's away from us with every second. Why not Elsa those moments, the ones of your infant that you'll hold tight to when she's riding her first bike or introducing her first boyfriend. Oh good grief, don't let me go there. So in the name of all that is momentarily miniature, I'm going to blog again, motherly style.

Maybe it won't last but maybe it will. And we'll have a little fun and I'll sharpen my pencil and a super cute kid will star in a memoir of photos and short sentiments.

Welcome and thanks for joining me.

Sincerely,
Mom in the City.

Once upon a time

It's hard to know where to start.

Life comes in chapters.

Among them.. the coming of age. An education toward a dusty degree. The whimsical wanderlust of a moving away and back again. Late foggy nights and lazy mornings of single in the city. And then there's baby.

This I believe will be the greatest story I've ever told.

I'm not sure where it will lead. Like I said, I don't even know quite where to start. So let's just go with this..

That's my two week old daughter on a 1800 mile road trip along the scenic west coast. More specifically our stop outside of San Francisco where we captured a second glimpse of a recent meal against the backdrop of the vibrant Golden Gate bridge. It wasn't her cutest moment. But then again they can't all be. That's the true beauty. It's a moment I'll never forget. And thanks to modern technology and the world wide web, now neither will she.