Never attempt to out-think a toy maker. That's what The Esposo and I did and we ended up with a plastic pond of murky water and a small hill of beans in our yard.
We decided we needed to buy a bunch of entertaining, water-based crap for the back yard so that Peapod and The Edge would be amused throughout the heat of the summer. We are now the proud owners of a brand new inflatable kiddie pool with an accompanying inflatable, attachable kiddie slide, a Krazy Sprinkler Hose Thingie, and a Water-And-Sand-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella.
Now, the Water-And-Sand-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella had a very compelling picture on the box. It showed three impeccably clean toddlers standing around it, sharing the toys and smiling at the camera, but I was not fooled by this for one second. I knew that this miracle was accomplished solely through the magic of Photoshop. Immediately I began to concoct a plan to avoid what was sure to become the Mud-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella.
So I put said table in the car, took it home and discussed it with The Esposo, who I find to be particularly crafty when it comes to solving puzzles like these. Together, our Experienced and Clever Parent Brains came up with the idea of beans. We would put beans in the half of the table where the sand was supposed to go! Beans, we reasoned, do not make mud. Beans can be poured and scooped and plus they feel really cool in your hands. Beans would be the answer.
So I went to the grocery store and spent $21 on six very large bags of pinto beans (they were on sale).
Back at home, I poured them into the Water-And-Bean-Table-Complete-With-Umbrella and watched smugly as our kids scooped them up with glee and tossed them happily into the water side of the table. This was good! It went on for about 2 minutes and 14 seconds, then The Edge started to put the beans in his mouth. This was not as good. Peapod and I spent the next hour barking "No Mouth!" intermittantly to The Edge until he seemed to get the hang of it.
Two days of cloudy and cool weather would keep us from the backyard water crap and so we did not see what was happening to the beans in our absence.
When we returned, the water side of the table, which was now actually about 78% water and 22% beans, had become disturbingly murky. A dark ring had formed at the water line and very small flying bugs had started to breed. Apparently we were supposed to drain the thing after we were done playing with it. But that was not all. Left unsupervised for just two days, the beans had sprouted. Of course they had.
I decided to put an end to our agricultural experiment, dump out the beans, scrub the table clean, and start all over using just water on both sides. What I did not count on is that both kids had more fun with the plain old hose that afternoon than they had with all our fancy new crap.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Ritz Raff
Every now and then we breathe rarefied air.
Fortunately we have kids to bring us back down to our rightful places before we let the staff at the Ritz Carlton allow us to believe that we actually deserve to have our ski boots whisked away and replaced by slippers. Slippers!
Now let me explain.
We just got back from a fabulous family vacation to Lake Tahoe and San Francisco. While in Tahoe, we met a family friend for lunch at the brand new and, at the risk of being redundant, totally fancy, ski-in-ski-out Ritz Carlton at North Star. Mind you, we were just there for lunch, we were not hotel guests. But these Ritz Carlton people have a way of making you feel not just like you are on vacation, but that you are in fact a whole different person. In my case, even though I had both Peapod and The Edge with me, for a short while I forgot that I had frozen boogers on my right shoulder and poop bags, little green socks and a pink plastic necklace in my pockets.
The lobby looked like a cross between a ski lodge and a spa with throw pillows more expensive than my whole couch. When we arrived at the restaurant, they made our stroller disappear and replaced our skiers’ boots with slippers.
Halfway into The Esposo’s bloody Mary, Peapod asked him if he would take her to the potty. We continued our chatter in their absence about how gorgeous the restaurant was – weren’t the exposed wooden beams so pretty and wasn’t the etched glass something?
Then they came back and Peapod made her big announcement about the bathrooms.
“Hey guess what? The bathrooms here are really clean. Nobody wrote on the potty!”
The whole table cracked up, of course. Sure, it’s fun to be fancy, but it’s even better not to forget where you come from.
Fortunately we have kids to bring us back down to our rightful places before we let the staff at the Ritz Carlton allow us to believe that we actually deserve to have our ski boots whisked away and replaced by slippers. Slippers!
Now let me explain.
We just got back from a fabulous family vacation to Lake Tahoe and San Francisco. While in Tahoe, we met a family friend for lunch at the brand new and, at the risk of being redundant, totally fancy, ski-in-ski-out Ritz Carlton at North Star. Mind you, we were just there for lunch, we were not hotel guests. But these Ritz Carlton people have a way of making you feel not just like you are on vacation, but that you are in fact a whole different person. In my case, even though I had both Peapod and The Edge with me, for a short while I forgot that I had frozen boogers on my right shoulder and poop bags, little green socks and a pink plastic necklace in my pockets.
The lobby looked like a cross between a ski lodge and a spa with throw pillows more expensive than my whole couch. When we arrived at the restaurant, they made our stroller disappear and replaced our skiers’ boots with slippers.
Halfway into The Esposo’s bloody Mary, Peapod asked him if he would take her to the potty. We continued our chatter in their absence about how gorgeous the restaurant was – weren’t the exposed wooden beams so pretty and wasn’t the etched glass something?
Then they came back and Peapod made her big announcement about the bathrooms.
“Hey guess what? The bathrooms here are really clean. Nobody wrote on the potty!”
The whole table cracked up, of course. Sure, it’s fun to be fancy, but it’s even better not to forget where you come from.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Put Me in the Zoo
Peapod had her first-ever school field trip today – they went to the zoo. This was something that had been scheduled once before, but it had to be postponed because big rain showers were predicted for the original date. When I shared that particular information with Peapod, she sank into her car seat and considered it thoughtfully for a few brief moments. Then she declared “I’m ok with that Mommy” and moved seamlessly onto the topic of whether baby ducks were wild or not. Which is actually not that easy to answer if you think about it.
Anyway. The re-scheduled zoo field trip date was back upon us and this time the weather would cooperate. Unfortunately my brain would not. It went sort of like this:
8:00pm the night before: tucking her in for the night.
Peapod: “Mommy, will the polar bears at the zoo be able to get me?”
Me: “No Sweet Pea. The zoo is actually designed to be very safe for people to look at the animals.”
Peapod: “But what actually stops the polar bears from getting me?” (She really likes to use the word ‘actually.’)
Me: “Well, they built a moat around the place where the polar bears hang out.”
Peapod: “What’s a moat?”
Me: “Um. It’s like a big, long hole. Sometimes they fill it with water, like a river. The polar bears would fall into it before they could get to you.”
Peapod: “What about the gorillas?”
Me: “I think the gorillas are in cages, Sweet Pea.” The gorillas are definitely not in cages.
Peapod: “Ok.”
Me: “Ok my angel. You’d better get to sleep fast because tomorrow’s a big day! Your first ride on a real school bus!”
10:15pm – 1:35am.
I repeatedly dream that the school bus inexplicably rolls over on the freeway.
8:37am Field Trip Day.
I walk her into the classroom and am paralyzed by the decision of whether to leave her jacket on or off. It is too chilly to go without it, but it's supposed to warm up later. Plus the jacket is very special – a gift from her godparents (and quite expensive) and I am sure she’ll lose it if she brings it. Why I did not consider this before, I cannot tell you. Her track record on being in charge of past jackets is 0/1. In my own defense, I am not the only mother behaving like a complete spaz over the jacket decision.
8:41am. Still in the classroom.
I gather The Edge, who is flirting like a madman with his favorite teacher, Ms. Dangerfield, up off the classroom rug and decide to take Peapod’s jacket with me. I kiss her goodbye, wish her well on her field trip and spend the walk back to the parking lot wondering if I imagined those goose bumps on her neck.
9:00am. Back at home.
I tromp down to the The Esposo’s basement office and bust through the door. He instinctively rolls his chair to me and reaches his arms out to take The Edge. And waits for my story.
Me: "I’m freaking out. I dreamt last night that the bus crashed. Help me."
The Esposo: (smiling) "In the history of LA Unified there has been only one school bus fatality and that was because a garbage truck malfunctioned right at the moment that a school bus was crossing it’s path. A total freak accident. It’s going to be fine."
Me: "She doesn’t go to an LA Unified school."
The Esposo (still unfazed by my lunacy): "You get the idea. Buses are safe. They’re huge and the drivers are very impressive. You don’t need to worry. Really."
Me: "But it’s cold and she doesn’t have a jacket and I have to put The Edge down for a nap right now..."
The Esposo: "Do you want me to go bring a jacket to her?"
Me: (incredulous, handing him one of Peapod’s less precious jackets) "Would you?"
I’m not sure what he said next, but there was some mumbling and eye rolling and sighing but then for some reason he hugged me and then would you believe that fabulous Esposo drove right back to the school to take that jacket to Peapod!
12:30pm. Picking up Peapod at School
Me: "So what did you see at the zoo?"
Peapod: "Um. Monkeys that were big and black and maybe they were actually gorillas. And I saw a walrus that swam past us in the water. But Mom I didn’t see any bears."
It was sunny and warm by then, but she was still wearing the jacket.
Anyway. The re-scheduled zoo field trip date was back upon us and this time the weather would cooperate. Unfortunately my brain would not. It went sort of like this:
8:00pm the night before: tucking her in for the night.
Peapod: “Mommy, will the polar bears at the zoo be able to get me?”
Me: “No Sweet Pea. The zoo is actually designed to be very safe for people to look at the animals.”
Peapod: “But what actually stops the polar bears from getting me?” (She really likes to use the word ‘actually.’)
Me: “Well, they built a moat around the place where the polar bears hang out.”
Peapod: “What’s a moat?”
Me: “Um. It’s like a big, long hole. Sometimes they fill it with water, like a river. The polar bears would fall into it before they could get to you.”
Peapod: “What about the gorillas?”
Me: “I think the gorillas are in cages, Sweet Pea.” The gorillas are definitely not in cages.
Peapod: “Ok.”
Me: “Ok my angel. You’d better get to sleep fast because tomorrow’s a big day! Your first ride on a real school bus!”
10:15pm – 1:35am.
I repeatedly dream that the school bus inexplicably rolls over on the freeway.
8:37am Field Trip Day.
I walk her into the classroom and am paralyzed by the decision of whether to leave her jacket on or off. It is too chilly to go without it, but it's supposed to warm up later. Plus the jacket is very special – a gift from her godparents (and quite expensive) and I am sure she’ll lose it if she brings it. Why I did not consider this before, I cannot tell you. Her track record on being in charge of past jackets is 0/1. In my own defense, I am not the only mother behaving like a complete spaz over the jacket decision.
8:41am. Still in the classroom.
I gather The Edge, who is flirting like a madman with his favorite teacher, Ms. Dangerfield, up off the classroom rug and decide to take Peapod’s jacket with me. I kiss her goodbye, wish her well on her field trip and spend the walk back to the parking lot wondering if I imagined those goose bumps on her neck.
9:00am. Back at home.
I tromp down to the The Esposo’s basement office and bust through the door. He instinctively rolls his chair to me and reaches his arms out to take The Edge. And waits for my story.
Me: "I’m freaking out. I dreamt last night that the bus crashed. Help me."
The Esposo: (smiling) "In the history of LA Unified there has been only one school bus fatality and that was because a garbage truck malfunctioned right at the moment that a school bus was crossing it’s path. A total freak accident. It’s going to be fine."
Me: "She doesn’t go to an LA Unified school."
The Esposo (still unfazed by my lunacy): "You get the idea. Buses are safe. They’re huge and the drivers are very impressive. You don’t need to worry. Really."
Me: "But it’s cold and she doesn’t have a jacket and I have to put The Edge down for a nap right now..."
The Esposo: "Do you want me to go bring a jacket to her?"
Me: (incredulous, handing him one of Peapod’s less precious jackets) "Would you?"
I’m not sure what he said next, but there was some mumbling and eye rolling and sighing but then for some reason he hugged me and then would you believe that fabulous Esposo drove right back to the school to take that jacket to Peapod!
12:30pm. Picking up Peapod at School
Me: "So what did you see at the zoo?"
Peapod: "Um. Monkeys that were big and black and maybe they were actually gorillas. And I saw a walrus that swam past us in the water. But Mom I didn’t see any bears."
It was sunny and warm by then, but she was still wearing the jacket.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Applause, Applause!
The Edge just learned how to clap and it is totally delightful.
Since Big Sister Peapod is now almost 3 and a half years old and can sort the mail, make a cappuccino and use Bank of America's online bill pay feature, it's easy to forget how fun it is to watch a baby learn how to do new baby things.
It happened very suddenly during breakfast, sometime last week. Peapod was at the kitchen island eating Apple Cheerios, and I was at the sink, with my back turned. Then, out of nowhere, like balloons and confetti dropping from the ceiling to celebrate a store's millionth shopper, The Edge burst into applause in what I'm pretty sure was a commemoration of the millionth time I'd washed the high chair tray!
I'm not sure how he's been keeping track of it all this time, but it would explain that tattered notebook and pencil in his crib. Anyway, the effect was quite magical. Peapod and I both stopped what we were doing, looked at each other and shouted "He can clap!" We then spent the rest of the morning making fools of ourselves in an effort to get him to do it again.
Since Big Sister Peapod is now almost 3 and a half years old and can sort the mail, make a cappuccino and use Bank of America's online bill pay feature, it's easy to forget how fun it is to watch a baby learn how to do new baby things.
It happened very suddenly during breakfast, sometime last week. Peapod was at the kitchen island eating Apple Cheerios, and I was at the sink, with my back turned. Then, out of nowhere, like balloons and confetti dropping from the ceiling to celebrate a store's millionth shopper, The Edge burst into applause in what I'm pretty sure was a commemoration of the millionth time I'd washed the high chair tray!
I'm not sure how he's been keeping track of it all this time, but it would explain that tattered notebook and pencil in his crib. Anyway, the effect was quite magical. Peapod and I both stopped what we were doing, looked at each other and shouted "He can clap!" We then spent the rest of the morning making fools of ourselves in an effort to get him to do it again.
Friday, January 29, 2010
What I Ate Today (By: The Edge)
My parents have me on a very strict diet because I am a baby and I think also because I have only two teeth. I also have a dog named Sapphira.
I think they should let me eat more things like they do and I also think they should let me operate the microwave because it spins things around and dings and I am pretty sure I could do it as it looks quite simple. Here is a list of what I ate today so you can see for yourself that I am ready for more.
• Formula
• Bits of bread. Why do they tear it up for me first? I can tear it up myself! Have they not seen my prior work on catalogs?
• Something mushy that tasted like oatmeal and apples mixed together which my Mom then mixed with more oatmeal. Why?
• Star-shaped puffs.
• Lint from under the dining room table. My Mom thinks she Swiffs a lot, but she doesn’t.
• A Frosted Mini Wheat. Note that I had to get this myself from under the dishwasher. My Mom eats them – the hypocrite! – yet she will not share them with me. But I noticed that when she caught me with the Mini Wheat, she let me keep it and she also seemed sort of impressed.
• Formula
• Organic butternut squash and corn. Not that you could tell by the taste, but it said so on the container.
• More pre-torn bread.
• More star-shaped puffs. She puts them in a contraption that she calls a “snack trap” that she claims is meant to keep the stars from spilling out. But I really think the device on the top of this “snack trap” is meant to be a delay tactic to buy my Mom just enough time to do things like pay the cashier at Target or fish the wipes out of the diaper bag. She cannot fool me, as I was not born yesterday.
• Two pieces of Styrofoam from the blocks at Kidspace. My Mom got the first one out of my mouth, but she does not know about the second. I plan to poop it out later as a surprise. Ha ha!
• A rock.
• Formula. They feed me a lot of this. I think it is why I am chubby, but I am not sure.
• Organic chicken and pasta dinner. I wonder why they buy all this organic baby food for me? Maybe they think it will balance out the lint and the Styrofoam.
• Part of a catalog.
You see? I am experimenting with all kinds of things on my own and am doing just fine. If you have the time and would like to support me, please send an email to my Mom and tell her that I am ready to move past baby food and try things like waffle irons and mustard and fruit. Yeah!
I think they should let me eat more things like they do and I also think they should let me operate the microwave because it spins things around and dings and I am pretty sure I could do it as it looks quite simple. Here is a list of what I ate today so you can see for yourself that I am ready for more.
• Formula
• Bits of bread. Why do they tear it up for me first? I can tear it up myself! Have they not seen my prior work on catalogs?
• Something mushy that tasted like oatmeal and apples mixed together which my Mom then mixed with more oatmeal. Why?
• Star-shaped puffs.
• Lint from under the dining room table. My Mom thinks she Swiffs a lot, but she doesn’t.
• A Frosted Mini Wheat. Note that I had to get this myself from under the dishwasher. My Mom eats them – the hypocrite! – yet she will not share them with me. But I noticed that when she caught me with the Mini Wheat, she let me keep it and she also seemed sort of impressed.
• Formula
• Organic butternut squash and corn. Not that you could tell by the taste, but it said so on the container.
• More pre-torn bread.
• More star-shaped puffs. She puts them in a contraption that she calls a “snack trap” that she claims is meant to keep the stars from spilling out. But I really think the device on the top of this “snack trap” is meant to be a delay tactic to buy my Mom just enough time to do things like pay the cashier at Target or fish the wipes out of the diaper bag. She cannot fool me, as I was not born yesterday.
• Two pieces of Styrofoam from the blocks at Kidspace. My Mom got the first one out of my mouth, but she does not know about the second. I plan to poop it out later as a surprise. Ha ha!
• A rock.
• Formula. They feed me a lot of this. I think it is why I am chubby, but I am not sure.
• Organic chicken and pasta dinner. I wonder why they buy all this organic baby food for me? Maybe they think it will balance out the lint and the Styrofoam.
• Part of a catalog.
You see? I am experimenting with all kinds of things on my own and am doing just fine. If you have the time and would like to support me, please send an email to my Mom and tell her that I am ready to move past baby food and try things like waffle irons and mustard and fruit. Yeah!
Friday, November 20, 2009
He Speaks
For the first 6.8 months of his life, we thought our new baby boy, whom we shall refer to lovingly as "The Edge," might actually be a rooster. He crowed. He grabbed things with his claws and threw them. He was messy. He flapped his wings.
But yesterday, completely out of nowhere, he spoke to me like a little baby human. Just like that. Not actual words, mind you. He's still much to young for that. But it was that sweet baby babble where we had previously only heard screeches, grunts and howls.
The morning started just like every other morning: I went into his room and lifted him out of his crib, greeting him with a cheerful "Good Morning!" and "How was your sleep?" I engaged in what has become diaper-changing jiu jitsu. We settled into the rocker for his morning bottle.
After he'd gotten a few ounces into him, I propped him up onto my shoulder for a burp. Then I held him out in front of me to get a good look at his sweet baby face. And that's when it happened. He just started talking!
"Gaa gaa daat daat daat. Yeah I had a pretty good sleep but I have some boogers stuck in my nose as you can see and maybe you should change my crib sheet. Gaa ga daat."
I stared at him in amazement then hugged him so hard that I foooshed all the air out of his little body.
Since then I have been dropping pots and rushing to his side every time he does it, just so I can hear what he might say next. And I changed his crib sheet.
But yesterday, completely out of nowhere, he spoke to me like a little baby human. Just like that. Not actual words, mind you. He's still much to young for that. But it was that sweet baby babble where we had previously only heard screeches, grunts and howls.
The morning started just like every other morning: I went into his room and lifted him out of his crib, greeting him with a cheerful "Good Morning!" and "How was your sleep?" I engaged in what has become diaper-changing jiu jitsu. We settled into the rocker for his morning bottle.
After he'd gotten a few ounces into him, I propped him up onto my shoulder for a burp. Then I held him out in front of me to get a good look at his sweet baby face. And that's when it happened. He just started talking!
"Gaa gaa daat daat daat. Yeah I had a pretty good sleep but I have some boogers stuck in my nose as you can see and maybe you should change my crib sheet. Gaa ga daat."
I stared at him in amazement then hugged him so hard that I foooshed all the air out of his little body.
Since then I have been dropping pots and rushing to his side every time he does it, just so I can hear what he might say next. And I changed his crib sheet.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Hang On...
There is a picture, among my parents’ zilliondy pictures of our family, that I have a crystal clear memory of being taken. My Dad took it of my Mom and me. We are in the driveway of our house, with our backs up against the car. My hands are stuffed into my pockets, and I am leaning slightly away from my Mom, stifling a grin.
If you looked carefully at the photo, which I am describing now from memory, you’d notice that the car is packed to the ceiling with all my belongings. We are about to drive to my college campus, where they will drop me off, for good. And if you looked carefully again, you’d see that my Mom’s arms are wrapped tightly around me and that she seems to be hanging on for dear life.
Peapod’s first day of preschool is tomorrow. And now I know for sure that in that photo, my Mom was in fact, hanging on to me for dear life.
If you looked carefully at the photo, which I am describing now from memory, you’d notice that the car is packed to the ceiling with all my belongings. We are about to drive to my college campus, where they will drop me off, for good. And if you looked carefully again, you’d see that my Mom’s arms are wrapped tightly around me and that she seems to be hanging on for dear life.
Peapod’s first day of preschool is tomorrow. And now I know for sure that in that photo, my Mom was in fact, hanging on to me for dear life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)