mighty messy mama

drinking and quilting don't mix

 

Time to keep myself honest. I think I’ll check in on all my New Year’s resolutions. Eep.

1. Start a mommy blog. Check.
2. Take 3-4 weekend trips sans kiddos. Check. Bit of an exaggeration. Let's call this one "work in progress". We’re going away at the end of the month. So more later on whether or not we actually survive being across state lines from Townes and Daisy.
3. Get finances in order. Made some baby steps this week. Check.
4. Start a restaurant club. Not exactly. But made strides in putting together a drinking club with girlfriends from work. Does that count? One party pooper literally refuses to go east of the 405 (that's a freeway for the non-Angelinos) and states this with absolute  conviction. I’m not really feeling her, especially since her refusal means the rest of us (who all live east of the 405) would need to bring the mountain to Mohammed.
5. I also haven’t written a love note to an author BUT I am not presently reading anything swoon-worthy.
6. Make a gift-worthy quilt. Again, not yet but I am making overtures in that direction. Alyssa over at my new blog obsession, pileofabric. has started a block of the month club. For the uninitiated, this is a quilter’s club where you do a block or two each month and at the end (in theory) you are amazed and thrilled to find you have created an actual quilt. Nifty! This project does not start until January 17^th, so there’s still time to sign up. I’m scared to death, but elated at the same time. Kind of like I felt the first time I went paragliding. Alyssa is also kind enough to include a list of tools you need and video tutorials. Yay! and Yikes! In equal parts. There's still time to sign up too.
7. Lose 30 pounds. I can see this is going to be my biggest challenge. I’m so frustrated already because I have always been the “fit” girl, the “runner” girl, the one with the crazy commitment to early rising (4:30 am? No problem) and working out. My body is not healthy right now, but I'm more concerned about my mental health. Fact. If I am not physically fit, I am not emotionally and mentally fit. Right now, it is all I can do to fall into bed at the end of the night (sometimes I don’t even make it into bed.) I’m not getting enough sleep and I don’t have any energy. If I'm not working out and I'm eating like crap I'm obviously not going to have any energy, so logic dictates that something has to change. I glumly ate half a pie crust a couple of weeks ago by myself for no apparent reason, just sitting on the sofa. I wasn’t even hungry.  I’m mad at myself for not having the willpower to do this and for slowly becoming one of the millions of unfit masses in the country because I know better, but I’m also just kind of angry in general. I’m a little bit afraid at this point that I’m “pissy eating” which is not the same thing (I don’t think) as emotional eating. Pissy eating occurs because I’m pissed that I don’t have any time to allot to a fitness program. I don’t have the one hour a day required. When I have a spare hour, it goes to Townes and Daisy. It just does. I read about moms who say that they take a yoga class or Pilates or kickboxing and because when they are taking care of themselves first that makes them a better mom to their kids and better wife to their husbands. And I believe them. I really do. But I have a full time, demanding career outside of the home and a full time demanding career as a mom and I’m not convinced I’m doing either well at the moment. Waaaaaaaahhhhhh waaaaahhhhhhh waaaahhhh. Pity, party of one over here. Snap out of it, already.  Sheesh. If I was a Mormon mama, or a Christian mama this is where I would say that my love of Jesus will get me through. Or I'd go take a Christan yoga class and surrender to the Lord. Instead, because I am a heathen I will have to resort to buckling down and trying to be a big girl. But not too big. That's part of the problem. I need a fitness fairy to step in and kick my ass. In fact, for the next few weeks, I’m going to report right here on how my fitness quest is going. Just to stress myself out a little and hopefully get my rear in gear. This week, I will start with attending a class at Pop Physique. I see the butts coming out of their studio and I want to go to there. Let’s see what happens. If I'm doing it for the right reasons (to be a better mom and wife), maybe I can stick to it. 

cooking baby food (for dummies)

We’re talkin’ baby food production, yo! Before I even get started today, I should tell you that this post will not be a laugh riot. Baby food making is serious business. It’s also not going to be any sort of political debate. Our family eats local and organic as much as possible, but it isn’t like we’re going to yank Townes and Daisy away from a neighbor’s picnic if the hamburger meat didn't come from grass fed cows. I know we live in California and the rest of the country thinks we’re all a little cuckoo over here, but I haven’t really seen anyone exhibit that sort of rude behavior in a social setting – we save that nonsense for ordering in restaurants (the collective we, I mean.)

Tim and I try to be reasonable – yes, we realize that the debate over whether organic foods are actually better for you (or less dangerous for you) is ongoing and backed by compelling studies on both sides. I think we’re just trying to do a bit of CYA with our family – why expose the kids to pesticides if we have an alternative when the jury is still out on long-term effects? Also, I’m kind of a food network obsessive and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching Ina Garten, it’s that you don’t need to do much to food to dress it up. Farm fresh ingredients prepared simply will often give you the most delicious outcome. So in an effort to raise kids healthfully and  not disgusted by vegetables, we buy local and organic when it makes sense. We’re lucky in that there’s pretty much a farmer’s market every day of the week in L.A. so we can stock up on locally grown produce selections for the family. And because there are so many farmers' markets, they really aren’t more expensive than the grocery store offerings much of the time.

Daisy is our little eater. She likes just about everything that is put in front of her. We’ve become pretty adventurous as a result. No hard sell here, but if you’re thinking that the time-suck factor might keep you from making your own baby food, I'm here to tell you it’s not that bad. In fact, I think it's kind of fun! I have it down to a pretty straightforward system – I can knock out a week or two’s worth of meals in one evening. It takes about two to three hours in all. I mentioned before that we invested in a Beaba Babycook Baby Food Maker, and it has been invaluable to me. The Beaba helps streamline the whole process and keeps the kitchen mess to a minimum. It's is an all-in-one steamer, blender, defroster and reheater. Yay! Here’s most of this week’s produce selection (a mix between Trader Joe’s and the farmers' market), and what everything looks like before I get started:

When you start out with feeding your little one solid food, there is a generally standard progression your pediatrician will share with you. Long story short, you start with cereals for a few days each and then once your baby demonstrates that he or she can tolerate those, you will move your little bundle of joy on to fruits and vegetables. You can certainly mix it up, but we decided to start with veggies so that the kiddos wouldn’t get a taste for sweets before they experienced all that delicious vegetables can be.

If you're thinking about taking the DIY leap, it’s probably a good time to mention that there is still a bit of stigma surrounding making your own baby food. Be prepared for some people to think you and your partner are a couple of hippies, expect others to treat you a bit like you’re part of an oddball religious sect or a kinder, gentler coven. You should have some fun with the ones you suspect are judging you in this way. It’s a hoot to pretend to put hexes on people – ask that nosy Pentacostal neighbor if she knows where you can purchase some eye of newt.

Our nanny tries a bit of reverse psychology from time to time, remarking that Daisy doesn’t really like the baby food I make. She used to say the same thing about Townes quite a bit. I just took these remarks at face value with him since Townes, while a good eater in general, definitely had moody food moments. But I know she’s up to something with the “Daisy doesn’t like this” nonsense. Daisy likes EVERYTHING. She is an indiscriminate little glutton and she most certainly does not dislike the beets with blueberries. 

I’m not sure why making your own baby food seems like such a weird thing to so many. But the cool thing is that this is America. You have 20 different brands of processed baby food available at the local grocery store. Have at it! More groovy homemade vegetables for me and my kids. Peace and love, man, peace and love.

The next step in making your own baby food is to chop it all up and purée, purée, purée. Commit to trying some adventurous combinations. Remember I said that your pediatrician will recommend you start your baby foods on a schedule? Well, once junior has proven to not be allergic to anything on the list, you can start mixing it up and making little tiny yummy one bowl meals. For example, Daisy loves cored, baked apples stuffed with reconstituted prunes (that’s just a fancy way of saying boil the dried prunes for eight to ten minutes to rehydrate them before stuffing the apples). You lightly dust the apples with cinnamon, bake at 350 degrees for thirty minutes with the skins on, purée the whole deal, and then mix with cereal in the morning. You can also add yogurt if your baby is a bit older. Daisy is also a devotee of the parsnip, apple, carrot and squash purée. You use two parsnips, two apples, one carrot and a bit of squash. Chop, steam, blend and go! This one is a big hit with the grown-ups too. Tim thinks it tastes like pumpkin pie, and the last time my mom was here I swear she had one or two of Daisy’s little purée bowls for dinner herself.

Here is the finished product. I make a variety of meals to  last a couple of weeks and freeze most of it. They reheat in a snap. Yum!

 

 

 

 

Sunday morning

I feel like most of my life has been a series of graceless and mortifying events with short periods in between where I fly under the radar and manage to barely hold it together. You know how some women have four kids, run the school parent’s group, bake homemade goodies every Christmas for all of the neighbors and family friends, keep an immaculate house, make partner in her law firm while eight months pregnant, AND do it all with a sort of matter-of-fact nonchalance, 26-inch waist and salon-worthy blow-out? Yeah, that’ll never be me. I’m like my seventh grade teacher, Mrs. Michelmaus. Mrs. Michelmaus would come to class with a safety pin holding her skirt together where the button should be, and she always seemed to have perfectly formed chalk handprints – her own handprints!--all over her backside. Mostly, I’m okay with who I am. But I do strive to be a more together person, to not be such a scatterbrain, to clean out the purse my husband has taken to calling the “trash can” – for obvious reasons. My dad probably put it the best. Whenever I had been caught out doing something particularly nonsensical, dad would always remark with an exasperated and weary sigh, “Shannon. Would you please use your head for something besides a hat rack?” I think one junior high teacher, in an attempt at equanimity said on one progress report that “while Shannon is clearly book smart and academically gifted, she is not often in possession of much common sense.” Ouch. My dad also referred to this phenomenon as “being bird-brained.”

Being a parent puts someone like me, already operating at a clear common sense deficit in some serious hot water. Every day I am reminded in some new way of my shortcomings. It seems to me each day is like a live-action IQ test, administered to test your mettle. I’m trying so hard to be Atticus Finch and 95 percent of the time I’m forced to face the fact that I’m actually Lennie Small. It would seem like it would help, but it actually doesn’t that each day resembles the hamster habitrail wheel, small kids not just preferring but actually requiring the monotony and routine of the most regimented anti-terrorist unit in Hamas. It lulls someone like me into a false sense of confidence, because what could go wrong when one day stretching out ahead of you looks precisely the same as the last. It’s freaking Groundhog Day over here! The problem with relaxing into this theory is that a child, let’s call him Townes for the sake of argument, by his very nature is highly unpredictable. He, for example, might exhibit all the signs of adoring strawberries for months. Some of these signs might look something like this:

1. Singing “Strawberries, strawberries” loudly and doing a little "strawberry dance" whenever you ask him what he wants to eat;
2. Eating all of his strawberries on his plate FIRST and then asking for seconds. Eating all of the “seconds” strawberries before moving onto the more boring cheese and/or protein portions of the dinner;
3. Saying, “Mama, wha’ happen a stawbees” when he finishes the last of said strawberries.

In this scenario, and I PROMISE this will happen, there will come a day where your monkey will wake up, wipe the sleep from his adorable little eyes, and arbitrarily decide that he will never eat a strawberry again. Let me repeat. He will never eat a strawberry again. Now, I made this story up for effect. Townes actually really likes strawberries. But there have been countless other instances in which he has done a 180 degree reversal for no apparent reason. You can choose to laugh it off and just move on, or you can choose to flip the eff out. Either response is completely reasonable. Tim actually has a better handle on this than I do. (Big shocker.)  Whenever I’m trying to commiserate with him over one of these instances, “He loves strawberries. How can he just decide he doesn’t love strawberries? I don’t get it! What’s happening?" Tim just calmly reminds me that our kids are PEOPLE and that people are NOT predictable. PEOPLE change. Sigh.

There are so many moving parts and so many places things can go wrong in your day, that to just make it to bedtime without someone ending up in tears (myself included) quickly comes to seem more of a Olympic-caliber victory rather than just a run-of-the mill Tuesday.

This morning the kids were being particularly adorable and the weather was cold and crisp, but not rainy. I decided get them out while the weather was cooperating (every mom knows that getting kids out of the house is mandatory for all parties' sanity). I got everyone dressed in outfits that met the approval of the wardrobe inspector (Townes) and I was able to get breakfast prepared and consumed without any issues. Daisy did not projectile raspberry out all of her cereal at/on me; Townes did not ask to use the potty every five minutes (We are toilet training. When you are toilet training, you just say YES to the potty question. No matter how many times he asks and has to be undressed, and redressed.) Even the run-up to the actual walk went relatively smoothly. No one bonked themselves at all this morning. No one got bonked by their big brother with either maracas or a golf club (a tiny, plastic golf club is a surprisingly effective bludgeon in the hands of a toddler). So I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I had been feeling so good in fact that I donned a pair of navy, girlish patterned tights with a cute, figure-forgiving A-line sweater dress from Anthropologie. I strolled through my neighborhood, wearing Daisy in her Baby Bjorn with Townes in his stroller, feeling if not stylish, at least relaxed and content. I’m waving to the neighbors and making small talk with strangers. I stop in at our local hipster coffee shop (picture wall-to-wall horn-rimmed glasses, wannabe Zooeys and Goslings, the constant tap tap tapping of fingers on keyboards and not a PC in sight). Belle & Sebastian wafted out moodily over tinny speakers. I get to the counter and order an iced chai latte. There is an uncomfortable moment when Townes excitedly starts semi-shrieking, “Big Cock, Big Cock!” I remark to him,“Yes, buddy. That IS a big CLOCK.” My son is obsessed with timepieces. But he cannot yet pronounce the word properly. It’s become an inside joke between me and the baristas. We exchange knowing and understanding winks. As I leave the coffee shop, I realize it has happened. I am actually living one of those perfect, elusive days where everything just unfolds effortlessly. I fantasize that strangers watching me with my kids classify me as one of those “together” moms whoever she is. I stroll on. I walk along a busy section of Sunset Blvd. I watch a homeless guy boogie joyfully to his radio while standing amongst his bags of personal effects; the 70's era boom box emitting "Getting Better" by the Beatles. I stop in at a bookshop. I go to the grocery store. I cover a lot of ground. Perhaps a couple of miles. On my walk, more than a couple of cars with male drivers smile at me as I cross the street. I even get a couple of catcalls from fools in moving vehicles. When you are single and childless, the hooting goober in a muscle car is pretty much just an irritant. When you are married with two kids, it’s a little bit flattering, I’m not gonna lie. Anyway, as I turn the corner to my block after this leisurely hour and a half walk all through our neighborhood, I happen to glance down at myself and see that the entire front of my dress has been completely tucked into my tights the whole time. So that happened. 

Free + Fun + Family

One of the reasons I chose the blogging path (ok, virtually slap me already--I deserve it), stems from basic desperation. My husband and I are new at the parenting game and there seems to be a lack of basic resources for people like us in this city. I mean, if I need to find Daisy a psychic chakra alignment specialist to assist in weaning her off breast milk, I’m sure there is a woman named Areola in Malibu who has this as a specialty when she isn’t administering colonics. If I want to get Townes into Harvard I can certainly hire him a special tutor and mentor and probably a therapist and Ivy League alum that can assist us in grooming him for greatness. I bet there is a superb improv group at UCB for the toddler set.

I’ve already had a couple of legitimately concerned parents sit me down to discuss getting Townes and Daisy into the right school. Now, I did not just fall off the turnip truck. I know that in this day and age, and especially in this city I needed to start the preschool search and screening process around about the time Tim and I were hunched excitedly over the pee stick in the bathroom. But one well-meaning mom a few weeks back completely freaked me out when she informed me that I was already behind in accumulating enough points to get Townes into the right middle school. Points? Wha? WTF. He’s one-years-old. I’m so confused. She tried to explain to me in a series of steps that I need to first write to the Board of Education and then…. right around here is where I glazed over into panic catatonia.

I really hope I’m not dooming my kids to careers in food service or the airline industry due to my inattention to their middle school prospects. I mean, have studies been done? Is there a generation of adults out there working menial jobs who can identify their substandard middle school experience as the place where it all started to go terribly wrong? Things I remember doing in middle school: practicing kissing at recess, faking the results for my science fair projects, making sugar cube replicas of various historical buildings (the Alamo, Lincoln’s birthplace, the Spanish Missions of California), and writing what seemed like thousands of book reports on some of the most patently uninteresting topics ever. 

Another problem with Los Angeles: this town believes itself to be chock full of family friendly activities. While this may be true in theory, I don’t know where to begin to look to find the information. I’m not convinced. So I am taking matters into my own hands. From time to time, I will share a feature called Free + Fun + Family with the sole aim of giving you a three to four hour block of afternoon activities to do in the city with your kids that won’t break the bank.  Here is the first Free + Fun + Family.

1. We walk to the park a lot. Townes brings all of his construction vehicles plus his purple shovel to the “Sand,” otherwise known as the playground and he just goes to town. Elysian Park is our pick for favorite park on the east side, mostly because it isn’t trendy at all and doesn’t get the traffic of places like Griffith Park. Along with a number of playgrounds (Tim’s favorite is gated for ease of kiddo wrangling), Elysian Park has a selection of mild hiking trails that are not overrun with people no matter what  time of the day. ModernHiker has a nice overview of one of our favorite hikes here. Bit of an odd side note: When I met Tim and the kids at the park today after work, they were actually doing some filming for the television show Suburgatory. As I walked up to Tim in the playground, I noticed a full grown man perched at the top of Townes’ favorite slide having a chat with Tim and Townes. As I got closer, I recognized the person hanging out with my husband as the star of the show. I will not call him out here, but it was one typically surreal moment illustrative of life in L.A. Normally though? Not a lot of people and no film crews in the park.
2. After a frolic in the park, jump in the car and head to Yang Chow in Chinatown for lunch. Eat the restaurant special, Slippery Shrimp and then take a stroll through the Old Chinatown Plaza. If you have really small kids like we do, there is a small selection of coin-operated rides to thrill your toddler before having to get back into the car after lunch. There are plenty of kitschy shops and even a verifiable Los Angeles landmark watering hole, Hop Louie. It’s been the set of countless films over the years and it’s worth a pop in to drink in the musty history. For a taste of the vibe, check out Hop Louie’s cryptically zen website.
3. On your way back to the car, stop in at Ooga Booga to pick up some cool and clever items for mom and dad from this carefully curated shop. Books, music, clothes, mixtapes, all categories of ephemera. This shop was pop-up before there was the concept and it's still one of the most innovative shops in town.
4. Get your some fresh produce from the Echo Park Farmer’s Market which is every Friday from 3:00-8:00 pm in parking lot #663 on Logan Street, south of Sunset. As a bonus, there’s usually a kid-friendly troubadour or two on site.

I’m off for the weekend, tiny readership! Speaking of parenthood, I plan to start this book that was a lovely gift from the husband for Christmas this weekend, and I’ve been promising a friend I would finally watch a couple of movies in the ole’ Netflix queue. Posts next week on making baby food, the Great Quilt Project, and what we read as a family. Talk soon…                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Townes says g'night.

What I Wore in '74

I was a little out of sorts today. I’m not going to get into why. Maybe later this year, when I’m really mining for material I’ll feel better about oversharing. I’m only three days into this blogging deal though, so I’m going to try to forestall turning into Howard Stern just yet.

Let’s just say that I was extremely relieved that the Mayan street art in my neighborhood provided me with a physical representation of my mood to appropriate and immediately instagram. I knew when it was happening that I was being a jackass. But as soon as I took a photo and posted it, the metaphoric clouds parted, the glorious sun came out to shine down on me, and all was right with the world. I’m not kidding. 

Anyway, when you start a blog primarily about your family, it calls into question the appropriateness of publicizing images of your kids. There are a LOT of weirdos out there. At least that’s what the Republicans tell me. Also, it’s possible that Future Daisy and Future Townes will be mortified and irritated by my dopey blog musings. So I apologize in advance Future Daisy and Future Townes. Here are a couple of ancient photos of your old mom when she was little in case that helps to take the edge off a bit.

I think it's pretty obvious in this photo that while my sister is appropriately freaked out by the creepy man in the red fuzzy suit as any normal child should be, I am oblivious to her panic and literally boring Santa Claus to tears with my laundry list of requests. Also, isn't my coat pimptastic? 

This is me and Erin and my mom at the beach. I would have been almost five in this photo. I kind of wish I still owned that swimsuit.

Finally, I just want to make you this solemn promise, Future Daisy and Future Townes: I will NEVER EVER post photos of either of you on the potty. Because that's just wrong.

 

This speech is my recital, I think it's very vital

I’ve always been a bit snooty about buying a ticket on the resolution train. I prefer to stand in the station with my overcoat and steamer trunk, obsessively pore over all the complicated timetables and then, after becoming overwhelmed and slightly terrified, return to my quaint, unheated but charming garret flat that overlooks both the Seine and the Eiffel Tower simultaneously. (In my procrastination daydreams, I’m a minor character in an F. Scott Fitzgerald story, apparently.) I’m just not really a resolution style person. That’s the story I always tell myself when I am paying attention to myself, anyhow. I think what I’m smugly and cynically selling year after year to anyone who will listen to me in the run-up to the new year can be summed up like so: if you need a so-called “resolution” to commit to a task/idea/major life change you should have been doing all year long (and probably for a whole heck of a lot longer than that), you probably don’t have the stick-to-it-ive-ness to make it stick.

But now that I have kids(Oh yes, dear reader--stick with me and that phrase will become more so much more annoying than any Carly Rae Jepsen summertime jam), anyway NOW that I have kids every good or bad decision I have made in my life has taken on much more weight, more psychic heft, more power over me. I’ve never been an example to anyone, THANK GOD (just ask any of my oldest friends). I once made the best looking and most promiscuous guy on campus blush when I STRADDLED him on the dance floor in a fuchsia velour miniskirt at a sorority function (don’t worry, nothing happened). I once climbed into my best friend’s bed naked (as you do) after a night of drinking and woke up with another visiting friend’s husband (don’t worry, nothing happened). It was actually mildly offensive to find out in the cold, harsh light of day that Vicki (the visiting friend) had woken in the middle of the night, seen my condition and debunked to the much less crowded sofa, probably snickering to herself at how appalled I would be with myself in the morning (she would have been correct). I once chipped my tooth on a beer bottle while dancing on a bar in Mazatlan, Mexico.

And now I have a little baby girl. And a little baby boy, but let me be clear. Townes is going to be just fine. Girls just need more help in the self-esteem department. So for the very first time in my life, I want someone to be proud of me. And my fear of her not being proud of me as her mom has somehow superseded my fear of being a failure at any of my life goals. I can’t expect her to believe in magic if I’m the little man behind the curtain and not the Great and Powerful Oz. I want my daughter to not only hear that she can accomplish anything she sets her sights on accomplishing, I want her to see that I tried some of my own cockamamie ideas.

So this year, 2013, in the Year of the Snake I’m putting up or shutting up. I’m still throwing up a little in my mouth at the idea of RESOLUTIONS though. So I’m just calling this list, “Things I’m Probably Going to Do in 2013, No Big Deal.” I hope that’s not a cop-out.

1. Start a blog (whew! I feel so accomplished already). Get a readership going that extends beyond the charitable girlfriends I already have (ah, there’s the rub).

2. Lose 30 El bees. That’s almost all of the baby weight. I’ve always been a small person. That's her on the left. I miss that delicate little flower. I’d like to see her again. I will save “run a marathon” for next year. Baby steps. Baby elephant steps. Whatever.

3. Make a quilt that is gift-worthy. And not ugly sweater party gift-worthy or co-worker white elephant exchange gift-worthy. I want someone to go, “Holy moley, Shannon. This is an amazing fucking quilt. I didn’t even know you owned a sewing machine!” (I do). Or alternatively, “I really thought when you bought that sewing machine from that girl at the garage sale that it was going to go directly from her garage to your garage without any stops in between.” (It did. What’s your point?) This one worries me. I’ll get back to you on my progress. Did I mention I’m not crafty?

4. Start a restaurant club. Full disclosure: this one is complete highway robbery becuase it is my husband and his friends’ intellectual property. It is an exceedingly cool club. More on this later.

5. Take three to four weekend trips this year sans kiddos. We have our first planned for the end of the month. We already take 3-4 yearly trips WITH kiddos, so we've got that angle covered.

6. Get our finances in order. This one is boring so I won’t put you to sleep you with the details. Let's just say things like college funds, family cars, hospital bills all factor into this item. Am I too old to start a Roth IRA? I once had a boyfriend lecture me on how important it is to have a Roth IRA. I would totally get one if I had any idea what it was.

7. Send authors I admire little love notes. I’m OCD in some odd ways, one of which is not being able to put a book down without finishing it. So from time to time I get suckered into reading a truly awful book. I’m always tempted to send someone who wrote a really shitty book that wasted my time a hate letter (especially now, when I may only get through a small number of books a year). This is my book nerdy way of paying it forward. Maybe Geoff Dyer is going to be having a really rough day this March 29th, and my little “atta boy” is going to put a smile on his face. It could happen.

A lot of this blog is going to be informed by if not directly related to my family. Some of this blog is going to cover material that scares me or areas of my life in which I feel a lack of control. I promise it will be superhonest, if not super, honest. Sometimes I might just write about my weight loss journey. Ahaahhaha. I am on a weight loss journey. That kills me.  Yuk it up, baby elephant. Yuk. It. Up.

 

In other news, Townes experienced his first run today. Run DMC, that is. Raising Hell, on vinyl. His favorite was "It's Tricky." And this is what Daisy spent most of today doing FOR THE FIRST TIME. Go, Daisy, go! 

meet the family

Hello friendly, mostly lady-people of the interwebs! Welcome to my little tiny blog “mighty. messy. mama.” Those folks in the pictures above are my family. Tim is my husband and partner in crime. He is also a part-time Mr. Mom three days a week. Our kids are Daisy and Townes. You will not be surprised to hear that we believe them both to be diminutive but wise little geniuses. Townes is almost two – but we like to think that he is less “terrible” and more “travieso”. Travieso means mischievous or naughty in Spanish. That’s Townes.

I guess to initiate myself into the ranks of the mommy bloggers I should tell you what my parenting philosophy is all about since I’m obviously a child expert, having produced two of them recently. Ahem. Ok – here goes. For us it’s all about making it up as we go along and doing what feels right for our family. So I’m just going to out myself for anyone who will choose not to follow me for any of the following reasons:

1.  We don’t co-sleep. We inadvertently co-slept with Townes for about six months when he started having teething troubles and it just felt like the most merciful route for everyone involved, but it was a decidedly un-fun side trip for us. Townes favors sleeping perpendicular to traditional sleeping positions with his little hands and feet digging into one or both of our backs. It was just like sleeping with adorable little baby icepicks poking you all night. He much prefers his own “big bed” now and we like having a “mama daddy bed.” This arrangement works for us fabulously.

2.  We make our own baby food and our kids eat almost exclusively organic except when ice cream seems like a nice treat (or the grandparents get ahold of them — It’s been a tradition since time immemorial – who are we to mess with that?) For baby food makin’ the Beaba Babycook Baby Food Maker is the one must-have investment item we purchased. It has been key to our kids not only tolerating, but enthusiastically partaking in adventurous foods. I will post more on this later. Daisy said to tell you she does not partake in the quinoa.

3.  I breastfed Townes for about two months. It was not good. He had a poor latch. He had an attached frenulum so we had to have it cut to see if that would help. It did not work. He was cranky and squirmy at feeding time and I never did produce enough milk. I went to lactation consultants and specialists and doulas and spent lots of money on an industrial sized breast pump with all kinds of supplementary feeding apparati (is that a word?) and the end result was a negligible amount of milk. I was 150% committed and my body just said “whatever, major loser.” I felt inadequate. I always thought I had good boobs and now I understood that my boobs were not capable of doing the one thing they were actually supposed to do. More about this later, but if I could go back in time and NOT have a 3 month postpartum cage fight with myself about this I totally would. I’m quite sure the La Leche League and the entire community of doulas and midwives that I know would beat me over the head with their “Breast is Best” paraphernalia if they heard what I was about to say, but the day I decided to give in to formula made me a much more relaxed and therefore better mother to little Townes. Yes, I know breast milk is better for him. Knock on wood, he has had one very minor ear infection that resolved on its own and he has been a very healthy little guy so far. His pediatrician tells me that the amount of breastfeeding I was able to do for him probably gave him most of the benefit (the antibodies) he needed and that is all the reassurance I need. Daisy on the other hand was born and about two minutes later latched on. She has been about 85% breastfed from day one. Plenty of milk production, no drama. I guess Townes just must be an ass man.

4.  While we admire and respect Dr. Sears as much as the next parental type people, we do not take his theory of attachment parenting to be the be-all and end-all of good parenting. Townes was not into baby-wearing. He did not like the sling. Daisy is a huge proponent. You put her in a BABYBJORN or Ergo Baby (we have them both), and she knocks right out. I cannot recommend the Moby to anyone because I spent at least 2 hours watching videos on how to use one, and I still managed to find myself standing in various parking lots pulling and twisting the giant swathes of fabric around my exhausted torso while Townes watched me sagely from his car seat with a look of bemused wonder. His Buddha-like expression read “good luck with that, lady.” When I was finally able to get the mother-mind-f***ing thing working, he invariably responded to finally being put into it with the ungodly shrieks of a banshee. This would cause any passersby within earshot to peer worriedly at me as they went about their business, mentally repeating the mantra of the non-parent to themselves, “THIS is why I’m still single." If you’re going to get all hippie mama and wrap your baby in a giant scarf, just go to the local fabric store, buy some jersey knit and save yourself the exorbitant $50 price tag. Sorry Moby manufacturer. You get no love from me. Namaste.

5.  On the other hand, Townes luuurves him a backpack. He adores hikes with Tim perched up real high where he can point out any and all forms of transportation and random construction vehicles. He talks nonstop from the moment they leave our house to the moment they return when he is in his “backapacka with daddy.” Go figure. As a bonus, it’s a great workout for Tim.  

6.  We vaccinated our kids and on a normal schedule. I think in the beginning we were somewhat reverse psychologized by our pediatrician. She didn’t try to sell us on or against any particular schedule and she would have worked with us on something of our own devising. She was just so darn accommodating about it that in the end there didn’t seem to be much to argue about. We think if you choose to vaccinate your kids it is a good thing. 

7.  I’m embarrassed that we didn’t go the cloth diaper route. It is not green of us at all and I’m not even trying to get over it. You should use cloth diapers. I know this. RATIONALIZATION: I am a working mom and I already don’t have the time to do laundry that is required and it is a pretty big time commitment. AND we share a HE washer and dryer with neighbors so it just didn’t work out for us. I feel very bad about it. There are some very good biodegradable options out there now and you should check them out.

That was a lot of blog for my first try. I’m kind of long-winded. Fault #76 in my list of faults and/or idiosyncrasies. Which all goes to say that I hope this is a different kind of blog experience for you if you are pregnant, or already a mom or even are a dad. I am not “perfectly imperfect” or “pregnant in heels” or rocking my Birkin as a diaper bag. I do not aspire to hang with Kim Kardashian, bless her little Kanye-packin’ belly. Though I read a lot of aspirational mommy (and fashion) blogs on the web and ooh and ah over their amazing lives, I don’t find a lot to relate to out there. Hopefully, some of you will join me in my misadventures with my beautiful family and in celebrating women around the world who are raising kids while working. Tim and I are fairly reasonable and fun. Our kids are much better people than we are. Thanks for reading.