Who needs TRU?

When I was a kid, my little brothers and I were spoiled. Sure, at the time we were ignorant of our bliss, but I can now look back and see just how lucky we were. The eldest of the grandchildren on both sides, we were doted on constantly. To this end, we also received tons of gifts ... everything from Big Wheels to the must-have of 1984, the Cabbage Patch doll that my fabulous aunt waited hours in line and apparently tripped another woman for.

With all these glittering toys at our disposal, it only makes sense that our favorite play thing would be an empty cardboard box.

Image courtesy P&G

Remember that? The old-school Pampers boxes were massive, and had a preforated front to access the diapers within. Once empty, this hole was the perfect size for the butt of a four-year-old and the box could be instantly transformed into the coolest race car in the Northeast.

The brother and I would hold living room Indy 500s reguarly, my father providing the engine as he pushed us in our boxes across the carpeted floor. As in NASCAR, collisions were the best part.

It should be no surprise to me, then, that H's favorite playthings aren't really toys at all. Sure, he adores his Sophie and will play for, well, minutes with his Sassy rings. But H's most cherished objects are tissues.

If we walk by a box, H instantly becomes a gymnist, arching his back and twisting his arms so he can pull a puffy white square from the top before I notice. He waves it in the air like a victory flag, throws it up and watches with glee as it slowly flutters to the ground. Then he scoops it back up, hugs it (yes, he seriously holds it to his heart), then quickly shoves it into his mouth.

This is when the biggest grins begin. My guess is he digs the way the thin fibers stick to his tongue, but he'll just sit there, waving his arms up in down doing the happy dance, as the tissue hangs from his mouth. Eventually, he'll begin shredding the poor thing, which is when Mean Mommy steps in and declares play time over.

No worries, though. With six boxes placed about the house, H knows his next adventure is only a short time away.

Bad Mommy Blues

Yesterday at 3:15, I got a call at work from H's school, letting me know he had a fever of 101.5, was pretty flushed, and I should pick him up. Of course, I replied! I'll be there as soon as I can.

Yesterday at 4:45 (my normal pick-up time), I walked into H's classroom.

Why on earth would it take me 1.5 hours to get to my poor, sick boy? What kind of mother does that?

Public transportation, that's why. And me, that's who. Hence, the Bad Mommy sticker I feel like I have plastered on my forehead right now.

I work in the city, H's school is in the burbs. And this city's public transportation system is in the crapper. Trains are infrequent, often late, and enjoy breaking down on periously high bridges for no apparent reason. Despite the call, the next train available was the one I would have taken any other day. And so I sat at my desk for 20 minutes, then sat on the train for another 40 or so, while my overheating babe sat abandoned.

The entire train ride, I willed the car to move just a little faster. I shot death stares at passengers who seemed to take a century to get onboard. I kept thinking about my sweet angel and how he (and his teachers) must be looking at the clock and shaking their heads. OK, so maybe he wasn't looking at the clock, being 6 months old and not being able to tell time and all. But he was judging me!

Upon pick-up, I did what I could to redeem myself. We went to the doctor (clean bill of health, no issues, just probably a passing virus). We kept him home today (lucky W). I snuggled and kissed him to sleep.

But still, I feel like I'm in the wrong. I should work closer. I shouldn't work at all. I should know some secret mommy way to keep the germs away.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Dear crib manufacturers,

Hi there. Maxed-Out Mommy, aka Mel, here. What's up?

So, I know you are a part of the oh-so-special baby-gear industry, which automatically gives you the right to create recall-laden products with over-the-top pricetags. Congrats. Hope it's been treating you well.

I discovered this weekend that apparently this also allows you to produce totally inane instruction manuals and items that require the dexterity of a neurosurgen. Which is great because, you know, us moms have the time and energy for that.

See, it was determined by W and I this weekend that it was time to lower H's crib. He's a strong sitter and puller-upper (is that a real term?) now, and while he can't get from laying to standing yet, I assume the fateful day is near. And I'd prefer that when it does occur, it not be met with my son tumbling head-first onto the hardwoods. And so, the decision to adjust the mattress.

Here's where you guys come in. See, my hubs and I had some silly thought that this could be done in a five minute span by one person. Oh, not so. After tearing the crib apart and littering the nursery floor with sheets, blankets, crib skirt, and mattress, and then staring at the frame for an embarassing amount of time trying to figure out WTF I was supposed to do, I swallowed my pride and went on a hunt for the instructions. Which were of absolutely no help at all. You guys are worse than the mute Ikea monster.

Eventually, I came up with a plan of attack. But I was not strong enough to loosen the necessary wing nuts (or so that's what I'm told they are called). Neither was W (heheh). It took three different trips to the toolbox and a team effort to get those suckers lose. And then a trip to the medicine cabinet for some extra strenth Excedrin to move the diddly-bobs to the new hole-thingers.

Thankfully, H just sat on the floor watching us like the clowns we were, intermitently throwing the crib skirt on his head to hide his shame.

In the end, we achieved our goal. The mattress is lower. A whole 2 inches lower. How this is supposed to make a difference, I ain't got a clue.

So thank you for your bare-bones attempt at customer service and client retention. Way to be.

Hugs & Kisses,

You know you're a mom when...

... you pee with the door open while singing "How Much is That Puppy In the Window?"

... you consider Boudreaux's Butt Paste hand lotion.

... your car companions lets out a smelly one, and you reply with "Good job, buddy!"

... you notice you have dried boogers on your work pants, but wear them anyway.


Yea, all in the last 24 hours. :)

The little things

As one of my New Year's Not-Really-Resolutions-But-More-Like-Things-I-Want-To-Do-More, I decided I was going to stop being a complainer.

Yes, you read it right my dears, I am a complainer. I always have a beef with something. Or someone. Usually many someones.

But I am so very, very blessed, and I know this, and so I decided I really need to redirect my energies and focus on those good things I've got going.

Most nights, this comes into play when I have struggled through another day at the bee hive, rushed home to spend some time with H, gotten him down to sleep, and am running around loading laundry, cleaning bottles, picking up toys, and making dinner before W comes home. I'm stressed, I'm tired, and I'm wondering when I actually get to live. You know, instead of just getting through the day.

So I make myself stop for 5 miliseconds. I think about those things I have that make me so very lucky. Usually, my mind goes right to W & H. Those boys are the best ever and I don't know how the universe paired crazy, complaining me with those angels.

Other times, I think about my great parents, my hilarious friends, my health, the roof over our heads.

Last night, my eyes drifted over to the kitchen island. And I suddenly had my "Life is good" moment:

Oh. Hell. Yes. Irish potatos are delish. They are divine. They mean spring. Instant smile! If you live in a sad part of the world where these are not available every March, I am sorry. I have a recipe if you need it. And you do need it.

Foooood!

So W and I are most certainly what you would call foodies. Back in our pre-baby, who-cares-how-much-it-costs days, we would spend our evenings gallivanting through the city. Perhaps that's an overstatement, but if there was a new restaurant or an "in" ingredient, we'd tried it. We'd have 7-hour marathon cooking sessions at home, topped off with bottles of wine from the fancy temperate-controlled section of the wine store. Those were good times.

Since the arrival of H, we have calmed ourselves more than a bit. We still love to cook and grab at the opportunity for a dinner out, but most dinners are straight outa the fridge.

H is now eating "real" food, though, and I see a light at the end of the freezer aisle. A day where we cook and H can join us in our culinary delights. A meal where the most flavorful thing on the menu isn't whole grain rice mush.

H has discovered his new favorite food:


Not impressed? Yea, I know it's from a jar. But it's organic! And it's mangos! One hell of a step up from strained peas.

Anyway, H cannot get enough of his pears and mangos. He usually considers meal time a game of "Where can I shove the spoon now???" and half the food ends up in his hair or ears come clean-up time. For this, though, his mouth eagerly opens, he swallows, and the mouth is right back open again. He powered through the entire 4 oz jar in minutes. And looked a little sad when I turned it upside down to prove it was "all done."

So what's next? Bluefin? Caviar? Escargot? Maybe one day. I think for now, we'll tackle blueberries. That should be good, clean fun.

MOM's gotta-have baby gear

OK, you don't HAVE to have these. Hell, I've read tons of articles on how little you really do need when it comes to an infant. But with six months under my belt, I've been through the aisles of BRU more times than I'll admit and have learned what works, what doesn't, and what should officially replace sliced bread as the best thing ever. I also have a number of friends who will be first-time parents soon and have been asking me what they ::really:: need. So, behold, Maxed-Out Mommy's picks.

Boppy

Who knew a silly-shaped pillow would be such a lifesaver. During the marathon nursing sessions of H's first weeks, the Boppy saved my poor arms from falling off. As he got a little bigger it was his first recliner, and when he was mastering sitting we'd wrap it around his butt for some support. I still use it to nurse - it's just so freakin easy why not?

The Children's Place Stetchies PJs

No matter how chill your little one, place a baby on a changing table and suddenly they are a wiggle worm. At night, I get to add screaming to the mix as H knows the routine by heart and knows as soon as the PJs are on, he gets to eat, and he wants to get to that point NOW. However, so many PJs on the market come with 3733863 snaps up the legs and chest, resulting in a 20 minute changing. These zip right up the front: baby is in and happy in 20 seconds. Plus they are darn cute.

Halo Sleep Sack Swaddle

AKA the Baby Straight Jacket. AKA the Baby Burrito. W and I had plenty of names for this contraption, but it's no joke. Babies love to be swaddled, and swaddling with a traditional blanket can be like oragami. This makes it so simple and easy, plus it keeps baby warm all night. H has now moved up to the classic Halo Sleep Sacks and I'm still a fan.

Baby Trend Snap N Go

I was amazed at how much research simple things like car seats and strollers require. I'm so glad I did my reading, though, and found this little gadget. Remove carseat holding sleeping baby from car, pop on top of this, and go! Suddenly stroller! Plus, it's sooo light -- I can hold it with one finger, no lie. H is getting bigger so we'll be moving to the "big boy stroller" soon, but for the first few months, this is the bestest.

Sophie The Giraffe

It's a rubber giraffe. And it's like $20. And it looks like my dog's chew toys. I know. I had the same look on my face when I received this at a baby shower, but the cult following is justified. Sophie is the best lil teether. Her gangly legs are great for molars while her beaked nose helps out in the front. H loves her and when his gums are screaming, he goes right for her. Who would have guessed?

Boogie Wipes

The phrase "snot-nosed kid" is no lie. At any given moment, H has a crust of boogers around his nose, some tear streaks by his eyes, and probably a chunk of sweet potato in his neck rolls. Tissues and wet paper towells are quick fixes, but they don't break up the mucusy gunk -- these do! It's simple saline, so it's safe for the little ones, but it cuts through the crap quickly and without scrubbing. Which means my kid doesn't look like he was just riffling around in my garbage can.

Fisher Price Rainforest Soother

I wasn't a fan of most mobiles on the market when I was decorating H's room. Plus, knowing I'd have to taken it down by 6 months for safety reasons made me question spening the dough on something at all. Enter the soother. It has all the interest and sounds of a mobile -- a swinging monkey and bubbling fish with a nature sounds and music track -- but can be placed in the crib. H loved it from day one and now he can push the button himself when he wakes up from naps for some entertainment while mom gets her butt up the stairs.

Have a product you don't think you would have made it this long without? Lemme know!