Brand new or retro?

Last weekend, I cleaned our closets. Summer clothes went in boxes and out came sweatshirts and snowpants. Somehow, Anika came across an old tape player. 

I haven't seen or used a tape player in years, but there it was. Anika's world looks a lot different than mine did at her age. At 2 years old, she has never seen such a device as a tape player. She still gets frustrated at the play phone with a cord. 

After the big find, I immediately went into the basement to unearth an old cardboard  box of tapes my husband has been begging me to get rid of for years. I could never do it, though. It was too much a part of my youth.

In grade school, my best friend Brandy and I made a radio station: WGGN. WGGN "aired"  songs, commercials, soap operas, movie clips and infomercials. There were dozens of WGGN tapes, but to my knowledge only one exists today. 

Not that long ago, an old friend emailed me to ask if I remembered taping  Michael Jackson's Thriller album for her. I didn't, but she reminded me that her dad wouldn't let her have the album, so I played my RECORD into the phone receiver, which she taped on the other end. 

In high school, all my friends were in bands, who made tapes to promote their music. In college, I spent all my free time in dark basements throughout the Midwest listening to any kind of indie music that would end up in the basement scene. 

Give up the tapes? Never. Much of this music never made it to a CD, even though some of it evolved into bands that actually got popular. This stuff is priceless to me. 

So when my girls unearthed my old prized possession, I couldn't wait to share my music with them. Unfortunately, my box of tapes was smaller than I remembered. Maybe there's another one in the depths of the basement, but that's a project for another day. 

When I looked through the selection, I didn't find many that would be appropriate for my little girls' ears. They'll find that on their own when they are older. But I did find a few tapes that I deemed family-friendly. 

So their favorite brand new toy turns out to be my old favorite thing — something I didn't even think would work anymore. They think it's hysterical to flip a tape to the other side, and press the buttons that don't produce a digital readout. Each morning, the first thing Anika goes to is the tape player. And each time she hears a tape "click" at the end, she gives it a skeptical look, like next it just might explode. 

Even with just a few tapes, it seems like a new excitement for them each time they put one on, bounce around and giggle like it's their secret toy. But when that excitement  runs out, you'll find me in the tape aisles at the thrift stores looking for more.


NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on November 4, 2009.

Organizing the organizers

People who know me may say I am organized. People who know me really well will know it’s one of my biggest struggles to stay that way.

 Right now, my purse houses a few mini-organizers. It’s also overflowing with papers. 

One is a weekly calendar where I log birthdays, work meetings, doctor appointments, school functions and day-to-day activities. My next calendar is a monthly calendar in which I write down all our bills and account information. Then I have a checkbook billfold and a wallet. These are the four things I need to have with me at any given moment.

 At home I have the kitchen wall calendar, in which I write just about everything on my personal calendar, but my husband also contributes to this one, albeit occasionally. Then I have a smaller hanging calendar (of bill information), a kitchen notebook (of house info) and numerous file folders (of more house info) in my desk.

 The funny thing is that all those calendars keep me less organized. I’m always scrambling from one calendar to another, noting something on one, but not the other. My friends tell me I need a Blackberry or an iPhone. But I really just need one, perfect organizer to write on, not type on. I decided it was time for me to merge my calendars, grow up and get more organized.

 I began the hunt for one comprehensive organizer, with all the info I need, weekly and monthly views, no address book (too bulky), and wallet slots and checkbook insert. And it had to be compact, because I didn’t want to buy a new purse, too. And it wouldn’t hurt if it was cuter than a standard black or brown. After all, I do have to carry this around for a year.

 I was firm in my decision to get one immediately. I found a black and white spotted booklet with that met my standards. It was medium-sized, but not packed with extra information I won’t use. And it was under $20. Perfect.

 I bought it, sat down and started thinking how I was going to transfer information. I did have concern that the fabric cover wouldn’t last 16 months through kids, dogs, or the open lipstick in my purse. But since it matched every other particular detail I outlined for myself, I let it slide.

 Then I realized the calendar went from August 2009 to July 2010 - a college calendar. I started feeling anxiety that I’d have to find a new personal calendar considerably sooner than usual, and possibly not be ready for “the switch.” My year doesn’t involve summer break anymore, so I need a calendar for all of 2010.

 I told myself to get over it, not to be so concerned about every minor detail and make the best of my new a organizer. But I couldn’t.

I returned it, and defaulted to my 4-calendar purse system. I haven't given up hope that my perfect organizer is out there, but I did give up hope on finding it in one day. 

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on September 1, 2009.

Something i never thought would happen

My new office is so close to home, I've taken to riding my bike every day. Our previous office was about a 15 minute drive and it was near a Target. I frequently picked up huge boxes of diapers on my lunch break. Diapers, diaper cream, baby soap, toddler toothpaste, you name it - it was right there. 

While I think not being next to Target saves me money, I miss the convenience of it. 

Last night, something happened I thought could never happen to me: I ran out of diapers. Completely out. I didn't even realize how low we were. How is this possible? I've been buying diapers in semi-bulk for almost two years and all of sudden there are none left? Not a one?

My first thought, as I diapered Anika with the very last diaper, was that this lone diaper could be out of commission in the blink of an eye. 

It was late and we were all in pajamas; but we had to take action and move fast. We all put on tennis shoes and dragged/walked over to the nearest convenient store for a tiny box of diapers at a higher price.

All in all, we averted any diaper crisis. So there it is - something I thought I'd never have to worry about: running out of diapers. Never again will I let the diaper stash out of my radar. And I'm going to find more excuses to shop at Target more frequently.


NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on August 11, 2009.

a mom's child-challenged wardrobe

I try to keep up the appearance of being relatively put-together and professional at the office. Some days, I pull it off. Other days, it’s questionable. Most days, I’m happy if my clothes are free of baby drool or the imprint of messy toddler hands. 

Now I’ve recently changed up my wardrobe routine a little. Since my office moved downtown, I’ve started biking to work. It takes a little extra preparation, but it’s coming along nicely. Each morning, I put on an old T-shirt and pack a work-appropriate outfit in my backpack. My morning routine instantly became more care-free. First of all, it’s stopped me from changing my clothes more than once in the morning because I’ve decided it doesn’t look right, fit right or feel right.

More importantly, in the almost two years I’ve been back to work since my daughter was born, I’ve never escaped the house in an outfit that looked at all like it did when I took it out of the closet. But with my work clothes packed away, I worry less about the messy obstacles in between me and the door.

If my daughter grabs me with hands full of oatmeal and banana I don’t care as much. (In fact, some days I don’t even change the shirt.) If my she puts stickers on my clothes, it’s OK. If my shedding dog rubs up against my legs, I can lean down and pet her without concern. If I spill coffee on myself, I don’t have to bring my clothes to a dry cleaner.

I thought I hit the wardrobe jackpot. Each day, after my energizing bike ride to the office, I change into my clean work clothes. Sometimes I even remember a change of shoes.

Today as I changed into my clothes, I took a quick look in the mirror to see a huge glob of something on my pant leg. A closer look revealed it was peanut butter. Peanut butter?! Anika had apples with peanut butter for breakfast. I suspect she looked through my folded outfit before it reached the backpack.  

I wiped it off with soap and water, but there is still a substantial light brown mark on my black pants. Turns out the routine isn’t fool-proof after all (I did walk around with a suit and tennis shoes last week). But it seems it going to be even harder to get it baby-proofed.

On the way out of the bathroom, feeling slightly defeated by sticky baby hands, my co-worker said, “Good morning, you look great today!”

So maybe I’m not as wardrobe-challenged as I thought. Or at least I can fake it well enough to make it look that way. 


NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on July 7, 2009.

Don't challenge a 5-year-old's intellect

I was playing a letter game with Kyle, my nephew. We started with the letter A and went back and forth naming things that start with that letter. When someone was stumped, we went to the next letter. You get the idea.

After Zebra, Zinc, Zipper, Zoo, Zit .... Kyle was stumped. He paused, then said "Zicky!"

Zicky? Yes, zicky. I asked him to repeat it. Zicky. I asked what zicky was. He replied: "a word."

I asked him to use it in a sentence. He said, "Sometimes I use the word zicky."
He answered all my questions, so I had to accept it. Skeptically, I did and the game went on as we made up more words.

On the off chance it really was an obscure word, I referred to my Webster's dictionary. I thought it would be a great punch line to this blog to end with the definition of zicky.

But it wasn't there, so I have to end with this:
Zicky (zick-ee) n.: A word Kyle sometimes uses.

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on June 17, 2009.

Princess manners

Our friends live two blocks away from us, so when they invited us over for a get-together we responded with an enthusiastic yes.

Generally, I talk about our expectations when we leave the house: what’s going to happen when we get there, what we’ll be doing before and after, and the behavior I expect to see at said function.

I used to talk about “Restaurant Manners” with Anika. Then I'd would implement Restaurant Manners at home. That worked for a little while, but what’s really stuck was teaching “Princess Manners.” She loves to “play” royalty, so I followed their lead.

On our walk to our friend’s house, I told her that I would insist on her best Princess Manners. Then I asked her for examples of Princess Manners.

“Hmmmm….. I can say, ‘ Will you be my friend?’”

Not a bad start. I requested some more examples. 

“ I can say 'please' and 'thank you' and 'may I ' and …”

I was glowing at her responses, until ...

“ ... and I can say ‘I’m sorry I kicked you in the leg.’”

My glow came to a screeching halt. While it’s nice to apologize, even when it's an accident, I asked her if we could agree NOT kick anyone in the leg at the party. She smiled, shrugged her shoulders, said OK, and skipped off down the block to our friend's house.

While we were there, I am proud to say I heard some May I's and Pleases and Thank Yous and even a Bless You after the host sneezed. I'm also proud to report no one got kicked in the leg.
 

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on May 28, 2009.

My first not-so relaxing day off

Any regular reader of my column is well aware that amy normal relaxed self become a little Type A before we travel with the family.

So, as we are approaching our first road trip of the season, I'm trying something new: relaxing. I'm just going to do it, no matter how hard I fight myself to do otherwise.

I took a full day off work before my vacation, so I can have eight child-free hours to clean my house, find the kids' swimsuits, pack our bags and run any last minute errands.

The morning was perfect. I slept in a little and then watched my little angel, Anika, sleeping peacefully.

When she woke, we played some games and shared lots of giggles. Then dressing her was the battle of all battles. Her little voice yelled, "NO! NO! NONONONO..." for almost a half-hour. All she wanted was her pajamas (which were the chosen boycottelast night).

After changing her diaper , I decided I was completely OK with losing this battle. I put on her shoes and hat , brought her to daycare in her pajamas and hoped for the best.

But before we got to the daycare,  I couldn't get her buckled in her carseat. She just wouldn't let me. And this is one battle I won't lose.As I'm reaching my limit, I see a friend walking down our block. He came over to the car, gave Anika a hug and buckled her in with not even a flinch from the screaming thrashing Anika I saw just moments ago.

At daycare, it was another screaming fit to UNBUCKLE her. Excuse me, Anika, but isn't this the buckle you DIDN'T want five minutes ago?

Well, I got her unbuckled ... sloooowly .... dropped her off ..... slowly...... and went shopping for a new pair of flip flops and sunscreen. It felt like it took an hour to find the sunscreen, don't ask how it's possible because I don't know.

So, hours later than I expected, I'm starting to clean the house and pack for everyone - as minimally as possible. I just made a super-strong pot of coffee and I'm going to try again. I'm going to relax (no matter what!), pack (for everyone) and  try not to feel bad about how many times I've called the office on my day off.


NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on May 21, 2009.

What i have in common with obama

wWhat do I have in common with President Obama? Neither of us like ketchup. 

Last week, Barack Obama was seen ordering a burger in Virginia – without ketchup. It sparked some controversy, generally among the political blogging scene (most of which I hope was tongue in cheek, no additional pun intended). 

I too, like President Obama, can’t stand the sight or smell of the popular condiment. Maybe it started in my teenage years working at a fast food joint. Or maybe it’s just because “it’s really, reeeeally yucky,” to borrow a quote from my 5-year-old stepdaughter. 

Realistically, it’s just a smell I can’t stomach. And I think are far more superior condiments out there – mustard being one of them. 

In sticking with my total avoidance of ketchup, I try not to let the kids have ketchup (even though it’s a discussion I sometimes lose). I don’t believe that everything needs to be smothered in ketchup or cheese to be kid-friendly. 

I do, in fact, love just about everything in ketchup: tomatoes, vinegar, salt, but I can pass on the high fructose corn syrup. Give me a chopped tomato salad in vinegar with a pinch of salt and that’s fine. 

But when it comes to burgers, I’m mustard all the way.


 NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on May 11, 2009.

Spicing up my weekend

It's been one week and I'm proud that I've adhered to my new fitness routine, and as minimal as it is , it's better than nothing. 

18-month-old Anika has her own ideas of how I should spend my time. And "Exercise for Mom" is not on her agenda. 

But on Sunday afternoon, Anika was completely entranced by a puzzle, so I took advantage of the opportunity and did some sit-ups. 

I did ten reps before noticing the potential situation developing in my kitchen. Anika opened the refrigerator and in her hands was a bottle of hot sauce with a flaming skull on it. She ran to me, jumped on my stomach and touched the bottle to my cheek. 

I splashed water on my burning skin and grabbed the bottle away from her. But before I was able to get the bottle, she had opened it up and spilled it all over the kitchen floor. 

After I wiped up the spill in record time, I saw it: a huge fingerful of hot sauce heading directly into her mouth. I tried to stop it, but she was too quick. 

I waited for the reaction. 

No tears, no crying, but instant puking all over my shirt and her dress. Cough, cough repeat. Cough, cough, repeat. 

I tried to get her to drink milk, knowing it could tame the burn. I cut up a banana, but Anika didn't want anything near her mouth. 

I didn???t know whether to call the ER or Poison Control, but I was not looking forward to explaining this to anyone. I was ready to dial Poison Control when it stopped. She cuddled up next to me and we sat there for a half hour.

Eventually, she got her energy back and returned to her favorite puzzle. 

I sat right next to her and played with the puzzle, too. I did not go back to sit-ups or any other exercise promise I made to myself for the day. I did not pass go, I did not collect $200.

By dinner, the trauma wore off and Anika was back to her hearty appetite.  Me? Well, I'm still trying to recover.

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on April 6, 2009. 

when your day gets turned around

Yesterday, I didn’t need the calendar to tell me it was a Monday. I could tell the moment I woke up, got out of bed and put water in the wrong compartment of the coffee pot. I didn’t realize it until it started pouring out everywhere.

I know, it’s a clear sign I should start getting more sleep. But instead I drank an extra cup of coffee.

When it was time for us to leave the house, Anika ran to the door screaming with her hat, sweater and jacket, socks and shoes. What was missing? A diaper and pants.

A full-on tantrum ensued at the mere suggestion of putting on pants and a diaper. Every part of her little body participated in the veto of pants and diapers. I like to choose my battles, and I choose very few, but diapering my 18-month-old is one thing I’m going to stick to.

A few tantrums later, we eventually made it outside, clothed kids and all. As I tried to lift Anika into the car, she gave me The Look – a look I know I’ll see again when she’s a teenager with a curfew. But instead of staying out all night, all Anika wanted to do was climb into her carseat herself. Despite our impending lateness, I caved and let her do it (and was surprised at what a good job she did).

While she tried to buckle herself in, I began the task of cleaning the snow off the car. What I thought was fluffy snow was a solid mass of ice that had formed into my car’s windshield. My scraper broke while I tried to remove the ice mass, but I was still able to use it – until it broke again and was as useful as a toothbrush in removing the ice mass.

I turned on my windshield wipers to remove the remainder of the ice/snow/iceberg. They broke, too!

Expecting that to be the worst of the morning, as I parked at the daycare, another mom informed me my tire was almost flat. I ran to the gas station to fill up the tire with air, hoping it would last until I got home from work.

It was an eventful Monday morning and I was thankful it didn’t get any worse as the day went on.


NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on March 31, 2009. 

A welcome return to winter

iNOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on March 27, 2009. 


We’ve only had one day of great warm weather this year. It was refreshing – and a sign that spring really is almost here!
All the kids on our block reunited with their scooters and bikes and began going up and down the block, corner to corner, yelling gleefully with each other.

But this week we are looking at a snow forecast. As much as I’m not ready to revert back to snow, wind or temperatures below 50, I am slightly relieved that it is going to stay cold for a few more days.

Why? Well, to be completely honest, I have some work I’ve been postponing.

The first warm day of the year is the day we learn what foods the kids have dropped on the car floor over the last few months. Foods that were once fresh, then frozen are now thawed, rotten and smelly. Yep, the first warm weather day brought about not only a rise in spirits, but also a smell in my car that I could not identify.

I do try to keep an eye on the food coming and going in the car, but sometimes I’m sad to admit it’s just not possible. I’m even sadder to say I haven’t made the time to clean out the car, although I’ve taken the winter blankets inside and washing the blanket underneath the carseat. I’ve been slowly getting rid of the garbage that had accumulated on the car interior and bought some upholstery cleaner.

So, the cold weather has bought me some time to investigate while the smell doesn’t get any worse. I’m ready to fit in the annual cleaning of the car (AKA finding the food). I am determined, this weekend, to find the source of the offensive smell in the car — before it warms up again. 

what people aren't talking about

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs in one spot. This one originally ran on March 16, 2009. 

People don't know what to say when someone has a miscarriage because there are no real words to say. While I felt fortunate to have supportive people around me after my miscarriage, what people don't talk about is what happens next. It's different than your "average" grieving experience, if there is a "normal" way to grieve.

I took some time off work and thought I had allowed myself to experience the grief and pain of the loss. Truth is, even after being back a few weeks, I still couldn't keep myself together. I'm a complete mess - physically, emotionally and hormonally. And apparently, this is more common than I knew.

I cried all the time, not just at home and not not just a teary kind of cry, but constant crying fits that are usually accompanied with some hyperventilating or throwing up. After two weeks back at work, I was plagued with physical pain, emotional meltdowns and the general feeling that my body was working against me at every opportunity. I went to my doctor.

Medically speaking, I was certain there was nothing that could be done. I didn't want any prescription medications because I'm still nursing my 22-month-old older daughter. The weaning my daughter and I had started when I found out I was pregnant didn't seem to matter to me as much as it did 13 weeks ago.

I told my doctor that I was NOT myself. I couldn't describe it, leaving me more frustrated. Like I did every hour of every day, I cried. I felt out of control, as if there was an erratic, emotional stranger inhabiting my body.

Exhausted, agitated, depressed and anxious, I didn't know how to tame how I was feeling-which varied by the hour. I couldn't balance being a working mother with the wild emotions that left me in a constant state of despondency. (Like anyone really balances working motherhood, anyway.) Bedtime was the same for me as it was for my daughter:  8 p.m. But I'd wake up by midnight and stay up through the next day. There I was, sitting like a robot, awake. And silent.

Once, after my husband and I had a minor disagreement, I actually threw dishes around the kitchen. I've never purposely thrown a dish in my life. Luckily for us, we have already replaced our "nice" dishes with plastic ones until the kids get older.

While I know part of me will never be the same, I felt I should be able to leave the house without getting sick, that I should be able to slowly get back to my normal life. Sometimes I thought I was doing OK, but most of the time I knew I wasn't.

Well, it turns out my doctor had plenty of advice, reassuring me how common this is. It made sense: the combination of first trimester hormones and exhaustion come to a screeching halt, then add postpartum hormones, a broken heart and a boatload of grief. It's just not the natural physical progression of things. Along with the roller coaster of hormones, my doctor noticed signs of postpartum depression along with the natural grieving process. She opted against treating the depression for now, but started me on a heavy diet of vitamins, some diet observances and a mild medication to help me get some sleep.

In under a week, I'm seeing the differences. I'm sleeping soundly, but not so deeply that I snore through crying children or a barking dog. I'm rested,-maybe for the first time in years. The physical pain has subsided and the whirlwind inside of me has started to calm down.

It would be a lot easier if the grieving process had a set time frame. But it doesn't, so I'm thankful I listened to my body, talked with my doctor and took action. I'm also happy that action didn't involve heavily medicating myself.

And, finally, I'm getting a little better every day.

Just when I thought it was safe to leave the house

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm reposting some old blogs to keep them in one spot. This one originally ran on February 20, 2009

After being in daycare for six months, my daughter has began — again — screaming and clinging to me when I leave. Really, it’s almost unbearable.

This is the girl who still immediately runs up to knock on the daycare door, giggles as we arrive and plays and dances all day with her friends and cries a little when I leave. We had just gotten into a great routine.

But something has changed. I’m not ashamed to admit that last week was the very first day I cried the whole way to work. I just felt something was wrong if she was reacting that strongly to my departure. What if she was getting sick and needed a little extra love and time with her mom?

Then our daycare director told me it was common for toddlers to go through a second stage of separation anxiety.

What?? That is completely not fair. We just got over round one of separation anxiety (hers and mine), and drop-offs just started going smoothly. Things were going so well that I had my mom babysit so I could go out for my first child-free dinner since Anika’s birth 17 months ago.

And now it’s back? Separation anxiety again? I better start to toughen up because this stage is news to me. I’ve never heard of a second round of separation anxiety, but now I hear it’s normal.

Even if it’s normal, it’s still not fair.  Now I'm the one who wants to scream and stomp her feet each morning!

How one becomes six

NOTE: I like to keep organized,so I am reposting some blogs so they are in the same spot. This guest post by my sister, Tracy, ran on February 2, 2009.

I love to tell a story. And so does my sister. So say hello to Tracy, my guest blogger, sister and mom to two boys. 

At my son's birthday party, he received the exciting gift of not one, but two Webkinz. Now, until just a few months ago, I had no idea what a Webkinz even was and had no idea of the Webkinz world we would be entering. So, when seeing TWO Webkinz, my son immediately cuddled a Webkinz fish and then said, “I want to give one to my cousin!” Well, his cousin of the same age was thrilled and exclaimed, “I love this frog already!” All were happy and I was filled with motherly pride at the children’s behavior.

I should have treasured that feeling while it lasted. As bedtime and the end of the party approached, my son decided that he wanted the frog back because it was part of his present (true enough). However, we talked about how when you give a gift, you can’t it back. He understood, but then said if he was in his cousin’s shoes, he would be sad and would want to give the Webkinz back. However, he was not wearing those shoes.

With tears all around, I gave the frog back to my son with a cross-my-heart promise to go to the store and buy my nephew a Webkinz frog in the morning. Problem solved.

Except the store did not have any frogs … so, I told my nephew I would order the frog online. But, the thought of waiting days for a package was an abstract concept for a 5-year-old. So, I said I would still order the frog online AND buy him a Webkinz that day. This sent my son into a hysterical crying fit. He also wanted a Webkinz that day in addition to the two he had already received.

I caved. $18.50 later, everyone was happy and peace filled the 5-year-old world.

So, maybe I made all the wrong decisions: I gave in at the store, I gave the gifted Webkinz back to my son. But, I am still proud as a parent that his initial, immediate response was to share and be generous. 

Ending 2008 with random kindness

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm re-posting some of my blogs to have them in one place. This one originally ran December 31, 2008.

Here's the scene right before the holidays: My daughter was terribly sick, I picked up the worst flu in the history of flus, nobody had slept in days, papers were piling up on my desk and everyone was beyond cranky.

We trekked to the doctor’s office and left with numerous prescriptions for all and headed to the pharmacy. There our agonizing 20-minute wait began.

As we waited, we walked through the aisles to pick up a few small items in hopes of brightening our spirits. Anika picked fruit snacks and stickers and I opted for several products boasting promises to cover the black circles under my eyes.

We approached the checkout counter with $100 of prescriptions and treats, and the woman behind the counter said she had a coupon for my cosmetics. I told her I had already read the store flyer and, sadly, there was no coupon. Then, she pulled out a small box of coupons, organized and labeled, and explained they are from the Sunday paper. Huh? She continued to say that she likes to cut coupons and share them, sort of like a hobby.

I am used to paying more for convenience. I have honestly spent more than five dollars for a gallon of milk at a gas station just because I did not have time to make run one more errand. And here is a woman who cuts coupons from the paper for other people as a hobby?

That coupon saved me two bucks on my total bill. This savings may not sound like a big deal in most people’s world. 

However, that day at that moment, it was like winning the lottery. We left the pharmacy with medications, fruit snacks, stickers and cover-up products in hand. But thanks to the random kindness of this woman, we left with more than that. We left with a belief that we WOULD heal, we WOULD be healthy again, we WOULD sleep through the night once more, and my complexion WOULD return to the normal .

This inspiration made me promise to myself that, in 2009, no matter how small the deed, I would “pay it forward”— hopefully to a mom with puffy eyes and a sick kid behind her.
 

Three days

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm re-posting my blogs to keep them in one place. This originally ran  November 5, 2008.

Our family took three days to adjust to daylight savings time. I was hoping it would be longer.

I used to think casual smooth mornings were a myth. For two days I knew what it felt like to get up and watch a little of the news as I crawled out of bed and had a cup of coffee. I knew what it felt like to get kids to daycare on time and without tantrums.

Monday was great. Everyone was up early, made it to daycare on time and in a relaxed fashion. The girls and I read a book before we left. Everyone was dressed and ready to go —minutes before we had to leave. After dropping everyone off, I had time to stop at my favorite drive-thru coffee shop for a coffee. 70 degree weather aside, the barista and I decided it was the best Monday ever in the history of Mondays.

On Tuesday, I felt I could sustain this new system. I had easily been up at 5:30 a.m. for two whole days, without the help of the alarm clock. I'd watch a little of the morning news, take a minute to myself before the kids woke up. Yes, it had been a relaxed two days. I was ready to commit to this new schedule. 

Today is Wednesday. And things went back to normal. Anika (13 months) went sleep early and woke up at her classic hour of 1 a.m., insistent that we play peek-a-boo for approximately 60 minutes.  By morning we were tired and cranky and struggling to start the day. Time to leave rolled around, and it was tantrum city due to a show crisis. What happened to our two relaxed mornings? I wanted more. 

We were all late today.  Perhaps with a little determination I can achieve them again one day. Then again, maybe I'll just dream about it as I snooze the alarm one more time.  

An unexpected adventure

NOTE: I like to keep organized, so I'm re-posting my blogs so they are in one place. This one ran October, 3,  2008.

 When I came in to work today, I learned that I had an adventure yesterday. Or an "almost adventure."

In the afternoon, I went shopping for an upcoming photo shoot with our creative director.We perused the thrift store racks and found perfect clothes with even more perfect accesories. I had an idea in mind for a hat, but didn't find one. As we were checking out, this great hat appeared out of nowhere! It was fate. We were feeling pretty lucky and we checked out and sparked more ideas back and forth for upcoming Metroparent covers.

As we left the building, got into the car, there was a backup of traffic. We couldn't get through. We waited. And waited. We saw a handful of policemen standing around and the road was being blocked off, but we didn't see any reason for it. "All this for a hit and run," I thought.

 Turns out someone donated a box of items to the store, including a live grenade and smoke canister. And the police everywhere? Yep, that was the bomb squad, fire department and police officers.I read online that the police detonated the grenade in a field without incident.

 WOW!!!! All the potential disasters ran through my head and today I'm feeling pretty lucky that none of them came to fruition. I came home, gave Anika big kisses, "just because." You really never know what's in store each day, so it's a damn good reminder to make the most of every day and not get held up by the little things that make us stress out and worry .

Next time I'm held up in traffic, instead of cursing under my breath, I'll take the extra minute to count my blessings!

one year ago

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on Sept 17,2008.



My daughter Anika turned one this week. I go back and forth feeling like she just came home from the hospital yesterday, or that we've had her forever.

I've been nostalgic and sentimental; it's really been a great year. Not an easy year, but a great one.  Every single day she surprises me with her discoveries, inspires me with her enthusiasm and warms my heart with her joyfulness.

All week I've found my self saying things like ... "One year ago today, I told work I'd be right back after my doctor's appointment."

Well, that was the day my doctor's assistant chased after me when I left the office, saying the doctor needed to see me right away.  I was having some complications and they decided it was time to induce. I was hoping to grab a sandwich on the way back to the office. Actually, I figured since we were inducing I could go back to the office, go home pack a bag and Nate and I could get ready to have a baby in the morning. But they said I had to go right to Labor & Delivery, do not eat a thing, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

And that was how it all started.

luck is in the eye of the beholder

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on August  21,2008.



As I walked away from my screaming daughter at daycare today, one of the other moms looked at me and said, "You're so lucky, my son runs away when I come to pick him up at the end of the day."

The last two days have been the worst yet—for me. The screaming unwilling goodbyes, the knowledge that Anika is in teething pain and just wants to cuddle with her mom.

The mornings seem rough for Anika, too, in the beginning. But after she calms down, she'll find some fun toys and play with her new friends. I know she's in great hands and the director tells me every day that she is doing better every day. (And I believe her.)

In fact, she said yesterday was "super!" Her first super day started off with a screaming goodbye, too, so I try not to let worry consume me. I left quickly, gave Anika a kiss and an "I love you" and calmly walked out. Then I ran to the car and sped off.

It's a rough way to start your day. As miserable as it is for me, it's nice to think that other moms call it lucky. Maybe they miss the Separation Anxiety Stage. I can't imagine it, but I maybe I will too.

The incredible adventures of a non-sleeping baby

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on August 15, 2008.


We made it! All of us (mainly me) survived our first week of day care.

Anika is adjusting well and I’m getting into the swing of our new schedules. My daughter amazes me every day with her new feats and how she's beginning to decipher the world. But what amazes me most of all is the fact that she seems to need no sleep.

As far as daycare goes, I understand her non-sleeping tendency. I know how she is in groups of kids: When we visit my nephews she doesn’t nap, either. She doesn’t want to miss any potential excitement.

Reason would have it that a non-sleeping baby in the afternoon would be a sleeping baby at night. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

After 5 days in daycare, Anika has barely napped and she has gone to bed late and woke up early … for 5 days in a row. Did I say 5 days? If not, I’d like to mention it’s been FIVE days for my non-sleeping baby.

I count my lucky stars she isn’t fussy when she wakes up in the middle of the night. She giggles and starts crawling around, wide-eyed and ready to play!

Last night was the longest night of sleep yet — 4 hours.

Although she’s happy overall, I can tell from the slight shift in her demeanor that she’s nearing the end of her sleep protest. She can’t hold on much longer … or can she?

Maybe she will finally tire out this weekend when I bring her to the waterpark with her cousins. Hopefully we can all squeeze in a nap before we squeeze in the car.

Daycare, day one

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on August 8, 2008.



Not much rattles me these days, but I'm a ball of nervous irrational energy today.

It’s my daughter’s first day of day care.

Realistically, I have little to complain about. I am fortunate to have a relationship with a trusted day care professional, who was able to fit Anika in quickly. I’m excited for Anika to meet, socialize and play with other children. I’m happy she is in a small environment where she will get a lot of individual attention.

But I still have that feeling in my stomach. Not a gut feeling that something is wrong, just a feeling that is … mom nerves, I guess. I know in my gut that Anika will do great in a day care environment. She loves other children and of course, loves to play. We spent a little time at the center to get her prepared. When we left together, she fussed!

This morning as we walked up the steps, she giggled. And she didn’t cry when I left, (which is a completely new phase in the last few weeks).

What am I nervous about? I can’t put a finger on it. Why can’t I put a finger on it? Because there is no logical reason to be nervous. (Mothers don’t have to be logical when it comes to their children, right?)

This afternoon I called the day care center, just to make sure that Anika wasn’t in the midst of a crying fit, missing me or unhappy in an unknown place with new people. Before I heard a hello, I heard Anika’s giggles in the background.

Yep, she is fine, just like I knew she would be. I didn’t even have to ask.

The mom nerves have yet again got the best of me. I think I may never be comfortable and calm without my daughter in my arms – or at least in direct view. And until that day comes, I will still unreasonably count the minutes until I can pick her up.

Embarrassing, irrational fears

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on July 10, 2008.



I've jumped out of planes numerous times, climbed rocks, slithered through small caves, walked (and danced) on a tightrope and done more tricks on my bicycle than I can count. In my head, I've been planning a scuba diving trip for my next adventure. There are not many things that strike a chord of fear through me.

Until my last experience at the dentist. I've always been diligent about going to the dentist, brushing and flossing. But the last time I went to the dentist (the first time at that dentist), I coud tell something wasn't right. Blood was gushing from my mouth. For three subsequent months after a general cleaning, my teeth constantly ached and I could only eat soft food.
I had been to the dentist twice a year for my entire life and I couldn't believe it, but one bad experience left me fearful.

Six months after the ordeal, we discovered I was pregnant and I stopped the new dentist search in favor of searches in baby registries and baby name books.

As with many pregnant women, my teeth and gums became sensitive. I just couldn't muster up the time and courage to make another dental appointment. With everything else going on in my body, I thought more tooth pain might just send me over the edge. I planned to go right after the baby was born.

After being on my to-do list for a year, I finally made an appointment. (What will my mother say if she reads this?) I tried to be rational. I asked myself how I could expect my children to not fear the dentist when I couldn't go myself. I had to be the adult example. I reminded myself if I could birth a child with minimal medication, I can get my teeth cleaned. Now that I think about it, I was less nervous for childbirth.

As the hygenist cleaned my teeth, there were a few squirmy moments, but all in all it wasn't that bad. I'm also glad to say I've finally conquered my embarrassing, irrational fear!

Say what?

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on July 10, 2008.





I am not usually shocked by people's behavior, but every once in a while, I still find myself speechless. This was the case at our recent excursion to the July 4th fireworks.

As children do, my 4-year-old nephew started jumping around and was getting closer to the water. My sister held his arm, told him not to roughhouse by the edge and to, instead, play by our blanketed area. There wasn't a moment when he was not under a watchful eye.

An older man sitting next to us leaned forward and sternly said: "He's playing a foot from the water. You need to be a better parent to that boy."

His tone was extremely snotty, like that of a child's. It amazes me what people will say to one another, especially about a subject as sensitive as parenting skills. I can't help but wonder, what's the point of saying something with such judgement? To argue with a stranger? To make a scene at a family event? It certainly wasn't to make friendly conversation or lend a helping hand. Had no one ever told him "if you can't say anything nice ...."? Or how about putting the Golden Rule into play?

There was no imminent danger. My nephew was never in harm's way and any potential danger was squashed by my sister before it ever became an issue. You know, what parents do.

For being so concerned about children, this man certainly wasn't concerned about the example he was setting our three children listening to his every word: That's it's OK to talk rudely to other people.

I guess it's up to the good parents to teach children to treat people better than that.

i'm a sucker

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on July 3, 2008.


As with every July 3rd, there will be fireworks tonight. And as with many summer activities this year, I felt I had to pass. It just seemed to risky with a 9-month-old.

It's late and it will be crowded at the lakefront. It will take effort to beat the crowd, park, find a place to sit ... and if all that trouble leads to an overtired cranky baby who finds the fireworks too loud (even with ear plugs), I'll be the cranky one.

Case closed, so I thought.

My sister and her two children, ages 4 and 7, found a great spot to watch the fireworks - right on the lakefront - and then they invited us with their most enthusiastic "woop, woop!"

My soft spot is for my nephews' woop woops. My sister and I have changed many a plan, stayed later at a festival, stayed extra days on a vacation due to the woop, woop. I'm sure Anika will someday learn the secret of the woop woop from her cousins.

Sure, call us suckers. It would be true, but it always ends with more fun, so you can't blame us. We're suckers for family fun. So now I am faced with two woop woops and everyone is excited. How can I say no to enthusiasm?

When I get home, I'm going to encourage Anika to take a very long nap, pack her up for her first Independence Day celebration and cross my fingers. May the woop woops be with us -- all night!

Forgetting to say no

NOTE: I like to be organized, so I'm reposting my old blogs to have them all in one place. This originally ran on June 24, 2008.

I’ll be honest, when I was first approached to write a blog, I responded with a firm no. 
 
My answer was most likely inspired by some self-help book I vaguely remember reading (skimming) in my 20s about busy women who are not able to graciously and guiltlessly say no. As someone who worked three jobs while writing a college thesis, I was never that woman to turn down an opportunity/job/volunteer project. 
 
Still a new mom, I worried how I could fit it in. Or worse yet, how I could remember to post.
 
When I was pregnant with Anika, a veteran mom asked me if I was suffering from “Mommy Brain.” I was completely unfamiliar with the term, as my silent glare revealed.
 
“It’s true,” she said. “You get forgetful and flighty, but don’t worry, you’ll get it back—mostly.”
 
Mostly? It didn’t make sense then, but now I get it. I can testify to the existence of the urban legend of mommy brain, even though I hate the terminology.  
 
I "officially, for the last time" leave the house at least twice (on a good day). I’ve misplaced the electric bill. Three times. I’ve even forgotten to put diapers in the diaper bag. 
 
Yesterday, for example, I tried to mail a birthday package to Anika’s grandmother. Overlooking the fact that her birthday was two weeks ago, the package was ready to go—photos of the children, a birthday gift and card. I planned to hit the post office on my lunch break, but before I left my office, I realized I’d forgotten the envelope with her address written on it. 
 
Of course I can't remember her address, so I looked it up and wrote the address on the back of another envelope. 
 
As I walked in the door to the post office, I did a double- and triple-take through my purse. The envelope I wrote the address on (minutes ago) was still sitting on my desk. 
 
Through clenched teeth, I planned to call a co-worker for the address. But as luck would have it, my cell phone was sitting on my desk at work next to the envelope. 
 
As of today, her package still sits in the back of the car for when I re-attempt to send it, hopefully within the month of her birthday. 
 
Even with my forgetfulness, I’m hopeful I can write a blog people will find interesting enough to read. And I must have forgotten about my firm no, because when I was asked a second time to do a blog, I responded with a firm—and enthusiastic—yes.