mighty messy mama

kiddo fun

Aquarium of the Pacific

Aquarium of the Pacific

Bits & Bobs: Weekend Inspiration

Talking with Townes

Me:     Townes, how old is Daisy?

Townes: One.

M:      And how old is Townes?

T:      Two.

M:      How old is daddy?

T:      Bigger.

M:      And how old is mama?

T:      Old!

M:      Is daddy old?

T:      No. Daddy bigger. Mama old.

 

Web inspiration for your weekend

On a budget? Who needs roses? I hate it in arrangements but on its own it is lovely…Ingenious idea for baby’s breath.

 

I’m a bit of a lookie loo. This site is an online magazine dedicated to showing people from all over the world in their homes and at work.  This guy lives in my neighborhood. Check out the outdoor photos especially. One of the things I love about Los Angeles that I feel is not communicated well if you haven’t been here in person (most people just think of the beach and the ever-present sun), relates to the city’s essential wildness. There is a somewhat unsettling but also quite beautiful sense that should all the people just disappear, the hillsides would just absorb all of the architecture and human detritus and revert back to its overgrown magic.

 

This is a couple of years old, but as manifestos go, it is hard to beat.

 

Happy Birthday, Edward Gorey!

 

Can’t wait for T & D to be a little bigger so they can help with cooking meals. Jenny Rosenstrach’s blog is full of great ideas for family dinners and I’ve got her book on my to-read list.

 

Have a fantastic weekend!

Celebrating Two

All photos except for cake and Townes indoors with Muno (those two by dad) are by Gina Clyne and Shane Pangburn.

Tip #451 for New Parents: Leave the Red Juice at Home

We went to a couples baby shower for some friends this weekend and were told it was kid-friendly so we brought Townes and Daisy with us. At first, I was in a bit of a panic because when we showed up there was not a single little one in sight. Not to worry, we were just the first wave and there was a mini army of babies and toddlers about to storm the beach. Townes (at two) was the elder statesman of the group so it was a little strange to feel somewhat seasoned as parents in mixed company. It was also a surprisingly chill group, considering just how many quite new parents were assembled in one place. Even the childless women seemed to have acute baby fever, all taking turns cooing and fussing over the bevy of kiddos.

When I visit Phoenix I know most of the kids I meet through my sister’s kids will have names like Ben, Chloe, Max, Isabelle, Charlie and Jack. In fact, there are usually at least two Jacks at every party, and usually not the same two, which makes for an even more confusing revolving door of kids. My sister’s neighbors and friends all favor the classic, the sturdy, the slightly retro in children’s names. Most of my own friends from college subscribed to what I consider the “As the World Turns” variety of kid names (you know, names that you’ve heard on any number of soap operas over the years.) I put Ashton, Ashley, Brock, Brook, Chelsea, Chas, Kylee, Connor, Harper, etc. in this category. Townes is usually an unusual name in any sort of mixed company, but I am always awed by Los Angeles parents for their sheer naming ingenuity. At this particular party, no one even batted an eye at Townes’ name and everyone got it right the first time! Of course there was a little girl there named Lyon. (Not a Leo and not born in March – in case you were wondering).

 

Daisy says "snacks are awesome".

Major props to the hostess whose tasteful décor was under siege. I had a dopey parent moment when I noticed that while we had arrived with snacks and sippy cups in tow, no one else had thought to do so. My sort of smug, internal “tsk, tsk” was almost immediately tempered with the realization that the stain-prone cranberry juice I had armed Townes with was probably a less than ideal choice to bring to any stranger’s home, let alone one with a coffee-colored deep shag living room rug and tweedy Room & Board sofa. The lady of the house was very gracious and was not at all fazed even when my son challenged one of the other little ones to an impromptu coaster shuffleboard match atop of her replica? original? Noguchi coffee table. Of course, eventually she did remove the adorable teapot that was doing double time as a flower vase from said table. Later still, as we were leaving, I noticed her husband on a stealth mission of coffee table removal to another less kid-overrun corner of the house. Probably a wise move.

 

My own fumblings with poor juice choices notwithstanding, being the parents with the most experience in the room made me reflect a bit on what we’ve been doing right. Townes is a pretty fun little dude. He’s not shown any sign of the Terrible Two’s to date, knock on every piece of wood in view. And knock on formica, glass, tile and laminate for good measure. He HAS discovered the power of “No!” so most requests, no matter how gently proposed are met with at least an initial, spirited “No!” (or often a chorus of “No no no  no  no no!”s usually while running away from whatever parent made the request). So I thought I would share one small sleight of hand that Tim and I roll out on a regular basis lately. Instead of throwing our weight around and copping to our benevolent dictator status, we instead offer little man a couple of options. If I need to change his diaper and I get hit with a “No!” I’ll just say, “hey Townes. We need to change your diaper. We can change it on the changing pad or on Daisy’s changing table. Which one do you want to do?” About 90 percent of the time he’ll make a choice. This gives him some say so in the matter and he seems to like that just fine. The other ten percent of the time he might say, “No mommy! Change Townes on the playmat” or “change Townes on the couch” which works for me too. You choose your battles. I got that tip from a friend a while back. I do think it's a good idea to switch up your game here and there and throw in some simple coping tips. Joanne Goddard has some good ones over at A Cup of Jo. During her regular series, Motherhood Mondays, a while back she shared a great post about the collective wisdom of parents and the sometimes surprising tips that have worked for her and her friends/family. This is why she’s pretty much the gold standard in mommy bloggers. 

Happy Valentine's Day

I;m not normally one for manufactured holidays. But lately, I can't help but be feeling the love because without the spark that Tim and I had starting out, we wouldn't have our current magic.

 

 

Geeking Out (and a Poop story)

So the other night Tim was working and I was flying solo with bath and bedtime. Townes and Daisy were doing “double tubbies” and I started to lift Daisy from the bathtub as I always do with Townes still in the water. She started to cry and twist and generally freak out. So I set her back down in the water where she obviously wanted to be, and a few minutes later lifted her out again. This time – no problem, serene little baby squeals and giggles. But something WAS NOT right. A most foul odor emanating from the vicinity of…oh no! So I quickly put her on the changing table on the bathroom floor (when you’re doing baths by yourself with two little ones, you bring the changing table to the bathtub), and turn my attention to Townes who was just obliviously playing in the filthy water, not a care in the world. I make him stand up, hose him down, pull him out of the water, wrap him in a big towel, set him on the floor and finish cleaning up Daisy.

In the meantime, Townes is looking into the tub, and noticing the multiple foreign objects. At first, he just seems to be taking it all in, gazing silently at the water, clutching his towel around him like a little Bedouin. Then, in a flash – complete toddler pandemonium. “Mama! There’s POOP in tubby! POOP! POOP in tubby! Daisy did it! Daisy did it! Townes NO POOP in tubby!” (He sounds genuinely annoyed and disgusted at this point, scowling and grimacing as you do at floating turds in a bathtub.) Finally, once he had gotten all the shouting and pointing and shocked gesticulating out of his system, with a sort of sweet melancholy tinge to it, he simply said, “Kinda weird.” Couldn’t have said it better myself.

When I was debating writing this post, top of mind were my single, childless friends who might not see the humor in a good poop story. I wouldn’t have either before I had kids. But it brings up an interesting issue I am presently wrestling with in my newish role as mom. Most of my previously childless friendships have taken a turn….almost exclusively for the worse. Part of the problem is my much less bendy schedule. If I want to see a movie or go to brunch it takes heaps of foresight and planning. My days of spontaneity are (for the foreseeable future anyway), largely a thing of the past. But as someone who was the perpetual “single girl,” attending weddings and baby showers for the better part of two decades – I know it takes WORK to not glaze over when your friends start telling one more adorable little toddler story. So I don’t tend to do that. That, in fact, is what this here blog is for. I do not whip out the scrolls of baby photos to weed through with people who don’t have children. Why would I? On the other end of the spectrum is that I now belong to this other club – this subculture that exists that I never knew was there until I had kids of my own. If there is a parent lugging a kid around, I have an immediate solidarity with him or her. We’re comrades. Kids dismantle that wall of cool and aloofness that envelops single people and keeps us cocooned against weird stranger conversations (for the most part – I mean this is Los Angeles). But parents KNOW we’re not cool anymore. And we’re happy to talk to others in the uncool boat. (This is somewhat less pervasive with dad to dad communications, but it’s still there).  

Sometimes it is a bit of a bummer to think I can’t have my cake and eat it too. When I’m feeling reflective I wonder why people without kids don’t just put me and the obsession I have with my children into the category where I put their particular brand of weirdness. You know, everyone has their peccadilloes: there’s the fishing freak, the geocaching enthusiast, the Disney obsessive, the vinyl collector, the adult Hello Kitty shopper, the coffee snob, the long-distance runner, the vintage eyeglass/shoe girl, the dog lover, the cat lover, the movie buff, the Burning Man attendee, the Anglophile, the Francophile, the Fantasy Football player, the world traveler. And so on…I have listened to people prattle on (and let’s face it, when you are geeking out about your obsessions, virtually EVERYONE has the ability to prattle) for (in some cases) 20 years. Who knew there were limits to the subject matter? Darth Vader, yes! Yo Gabba Gabba, no! And make no mistake, I count myself among the above – I used to watch all DVD extras and do internet research on films directed by people I admired. I traveled to Nepal, to Bosnia, to the most remote areas of Cuba mostly for the story.  My kids have just replaced my travel obsessions for the time being. You understand, single dude who loves Comic-Con, right? Married lady without kids who can’t miss Downton Abbey? It’s just a part of me the way those things are a part of you. Isn't there room for all of it?

Anyway, the relationships I have with a handful of my childless friends have stayed strong. I figure these are the friends I’ll have when I’m old and decrepit and my kids are long gone from our house. Is it a coincidence most of this group have shaggy, four-footed family members? I'm starting to think, most likely not. It’s great when a childless friend can have a hoot at a good poop story and most dog lovers have at least one. Here’s a tip for everyone else: Sometimes your friend with kids might really just need to tell a disgusting poop story. Can you man up and lend an ear? One of my oldest college friends has recently been trying to organize our little group for a “girls’ trip”. These were the girls who used to close down the bar with me and on long road trips, pee into something called a “Buster Bowl” to avoid pulling over – I’ll leave out the details on that one.  We are scattered all over the country now with a wide variety of different lives and married situations, but have at least one thing in common - every last one of them has kids of her own. I’m going to do everything in my power to make it to that party. 

celebrations with family

Hello, tiny readership. Though our boy’s birthday was last weekend, we are celebrating it again this Saturday with friends, or as we like to consider them –our Los Angeles family. I’m going to bake a sheet cake and also continue the cupcake tradition we started last year with the cookie monster variety. We’ll post some photos later to share with everyone.

As always, we will be missing our family members who live too far away to make it to the party like Grandma, Papa and Meema, the cousins and all the aunts and uncles. We especially miss Grandpa Marvin, whose birthday is today. He would have gotten along famously with Townes and Daisy.

 

Clown Mom

My son thinks I’m funny. REALLY funny. As in I can often make him hysterically collapse in paroxysms of laughter just by twisting my face into a grimace or sticking out my tongue. Sometimes I might throw in a farty noise or two for good measure. We goof off far too much at meal time, to the extent that I’m a little concerned I might be setting a dangerous precedent. Will tandem rump shaking and chair dancing (as we call the in-chair boogie that he, I and recently Daisy engage in every dinner) be required of his girlfriends (and later wife) before they can finish a meal?  We have an odd nonsense language we speak when out on walks – just because. We pretend to be robots because robots are the coolest, naturally. As far as Townes is concerned, I am hilarious. The only time I can’t be the sun to Townes’ orbiting planet is when daddy is in the room (or really, whenever daddy is home), which is as it should be.  I’m not oblivious to the fact that I will never be as entertaining or fascinating to Townes as I am RIGHT NOW. And I’m a shameless opportunist. I’ll take the adulation while I can get it.

I’m can already see chinks in the armor. Whereas, little man used to make exclusive all-encompassing, declarative exclamations like, “Mama funny!” or “Townes go sand! (meaning Townes is going to the park), now his opinions are growing nuanced and even a little blasé. His latest favorite is the languid “pretty fun.” If I ask him if he had a good time today with his babysitter, my little man might now say, “It was pretty fun, mama.” Pretty fun? Pretty fun? How can he have already moved so quickly to just “pretty fun.” My mind made the semi-panicked realization that someday soon, when I ask Townes if Mama is funny he is going to say, “Mama pretty funny” and then later still, “funny, mom” dripping with sarcasm. Not so long after that he might just roll his eyes at the question.

Daisy also thinks I’m a hoot, but I’m not convinced she isn’t just operating on the “anything Townes thinks is awesome has to be awesome because my big brother is the coolest dude EVER” premise. The best sound in the world has got to be those musical peals of laughter and squirms when I’m holding Townes down to snuggle him, snorting into his neck to make the giggles even louder. There is nothing better. I’m trying to think of a way to game the system in my favor – to keep this window of pure, unadulterated joy open as long as possible. 

Daisy's Favorite Things

1. Turtles (toe-toes)
2. Dancing (all musical genres)
3. Beat-boxing (really)
4. Launching herself backwards into pillows headfirst
5. Playing bizarro peekaboo (you cover your ears instead of eyes)
6. Confidently directing mom and dad (“Up! More!)
7. Saying bye-bye to EVERYONE she meets
8. Raspberries (the food) and raspberries (blowing them-preferably with a mouth full of food)
9. Belly laughs
10. Townes

happy birthday townes

Dear Townes,

Today you are two-years-old. How on earth is that possible? With each passing day I see you growing up and it fills my heart to see what a gentle, kind little man you are becoming. Tonight, when I was getting you to bed, you looked up at me and simply said, “Mama, Townes is happy.”  Right back at you, buddy. 

with all my love, 

mama