I KNOW HOW IS BABBY FORMED!

On the Eve of Away for a Rainy Weekend

2013-05-24T10:35:00.000-07:00

It's so easy to feel down.

I'm tired. Bo sleeps through the night more often than not, but he tends to go to bed late and he does still wake up some nights.

I'm busy. Like so busy I haven't even thought about socializing with friends, much less had the brainpower to miss it, because when am I possibly going to fit that in, anyway?

Sometimes I feel almost totally demoralized.

And then I stop before 'almost totally' turns into 'entirely'. Maybe I don't have the time or the energy to whip up a ladies night extravaganza, but I do have to take care of my family. That's one of those non-optional to-dos.

So I have to suck it up and move even when it feels like there's an anvil on each shoulder. I move a centimeter. Then an inch. A foot. Another. And then I'm moving again, slow or not. Doesn't matter as long as I'm pushing forward.

Most of the time, with a smile on my face because I wouldn't want to disappoint these folks!

Happy almost weekend!

P.S. - Are you dealing with mom guilt? Click the link to find out why you shouldn't give in!

A Sunny Fun Day for a Rainy Week

2013-05-22T09:30:00.002-07:00

This week is not winning any points for weather, that's for sure!

When it's not actively raining, the sky is gray and there has been thunder pounding somewhere far off over the ocean. I have walked to pick up P. at my workday's end on afternoons where the radar says we won't get soaked along the way - but I'm still feeling cooped up.

Thank goodness for last week, when the sun was shining and the weather was hot and both of my littles were home with me to play and bask and shout and swing and and picnic.

I suppose the gray days being the busy ones isn't so bad. At least I'm not missing out on a gorgeous summer day!

A Not-a-Shower Surprise Party for Jess

2013-05-21T05:41:00.001-07:00

What do you do when your pregnant friend doesn't want a baby shower? Throw her a surprise not-a-shower, of course! So what if she kind of knew something was going on? She certainly didn't know it was not-a-shower!

Big thanks to all my co-conspirators who all managed to keep mum during the roughly three months it took to figure out a date that worked for most of us. I guess we are all busy people!

Have you ever thrown a surprise party for someone? Or had a surprise party thrown for you?

A Deep Talk About Death

2013-05-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

"Mama, who's buried in there?"

We were walking by a graveyard.

I started to read some of the headstones. Jebediah. Lydia. Anna. Nathanial. 1806-1870. I didn't read the dates for those who died at 6 months or 10 years, but read names and ages for grownups as we walked along the sidewalk running parallel to the fence.

That wasn't good enough; P. wanted to know who they were.

What kind of people.

"I don't know, lovebug," I said. "They lived and died before I was born. Before babushka was born or even GG was born. We never met them."

P. chewed on this for a while as we walked along past more rows of markers. I knew she was thinking about the people in the graveyard, but her next question surprised me.

"Why do people die when they get old?"

"Well, because bodies are like machines and after a long time parts start to wear out. Bodies only last so long."

"But why do they have to die?"

I was suddenly thinking about lobsters, which have self-repairing DNA, but thought that particular information would be less than helpful in the moment.

"Everything that's alive dies. People and animals and plants all die after a while. People live a long, long time. Different things die at different times."

Why, why, why - so many whys. No good answers. So I speculated.

"If no one died, if no thing ever died, the earth would get filled up and filled up and there'd be no space left to move."

"Why?"

"Because more and more people and things would be born, but none would die."

We walked on and P. was uncharacteristically quiet. I asked her what she was thinking about.

"I wish no one had to die" she said.

You and everyone else, little one.

What have you told your children about death?

P. the Photographer III

2013-05-17T00:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was just oh so gorgeous. I know it's May and so we are due some lovely weather, but I am just so used to weird northern Mays where the heat is still coming on mid-morning that it's an absolute delight to be outside in the sun in a tunic and shorts. P. was ecstatic that she was allowed out of the house in a dress sans undershirt, which is a real treat when you're four and winter seems to last forever.

I edged. She played. I pushed both her and Bo on our swings for what felt like ages. We had a picnic lunch and popsicles and re-potted plants and put seeds to start in itty-bitty plastic cups that are now lining the living room sill. Then we both got out our cameras to take pictures of a beautiful, perfect, wonderful day.

Here are some of P.'s:

What have your littles photographed lately?

Hope you have a brilliant weekend!

So Far This Morning

2013-05-16T05:14:00.003-07:00

I slept through my early, early work alarm and then Bo woke up early-ish anyway so *poof* there went my plans to kick today's butt by 7 a.m.

Bo, standing up against the back cushions to play with the plants, barfed on the couch. And it was full of solids and slime and hard to clean up. (I'm kind of afraid it's going to stink...)

P. had an epic lie-in, which would have be amazing on a weekend but isn't so good on a weekday when I ought to have gotten some work done already.

I got poop all over my hands and it wasn't popcorny baby poop but stankier oatmeal-eater poop, which is good, I guess, because it means food is going in, but still. Ick.

Early-riser Bo has laid on my lap just grumbling and grumbling. He's either tired or working on making more poop for me to accidentally rub into my knuckles.

I found some old, secret spit up in the exersaucer that had dried to a paste in the hardest bits to clean.

We had a staring contest. Guess who won.

How's your morning going?

Oh, Hey, I Kind of, Sort of Launched a Business Today

2013-05-13T07:32:00.002-07:00

No kidding.

I am actually totally freaking out this morning because Mom Meet Mom Beta is now live and officially open to any Boston-area mom or caregiver! We have started to get comments from some of our first users and we're frantically spreading the word.

Are you a mom? Do you know one? Then please sign up or share the love by passing us on to your mom friends. In Boston. Or anywhere, really. If you have a project you want promoted, let me know and we can s4s.

We're not limiting the beta to Boston-area moms, in case you're curious. No matter where you are, I'm inviting you in. Feel free to sign up and create an account, then poke around and tell us what you love/hate. You just need to know that if you're not a Boston-area mom, you may not see any or many geo matches yet.

But they're coming! Soon enough, moms everywhere are going to be finding their new besties through Mom Meet Mom. *pinky swear and cross my heart*

To Moms: Remember, You've Been Given a Gift

2013-05-12T01:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, one of my Mom Meet Mom co-founders and I were at the Boston March for Babies to meet moms and spread the word about how we'll be opening the site to Boston-area moms... maybe today. Here's me and Bo at the Hatch Shell, ready to set up our table - which turns out is not so easy when you're babywearing.

Once Meg arrived, things went a lot more smoothly. Don't you just love our duckies?

The best part of the event was getting to talk to moms (and dads) who were so proud of their amazing miracles!

These are parents who were dealt a heavy hand. Babies born at 23 and 24 and 28 and 31 weeks along who spent weeks or months in the hospital before ever breathing fresh air, but they did. It just took some time. Maybe now they wear glasses or don't talk much yet or maybe they have a long road ahead with CP or some other challenge, but they came home.

Not every preemie does. Not every baby does.

Later that night, after P.'s story and second story and her song, she called out from behind her bedroom door for this and that toy. None of which we could find, and she ought to have long since been asleep anyway. Then she called out and when I asked what could possibly be the matter now, she said "I was just wondering if someone wanted to cuddle with me." And yes, I did, even though it was after 9 p.m., because life is precious and the privileges that come with being a mom are some of the best gifts I've ever received.

Happy Mother's Day. Make it a special one.

Baby Brows: What a Difference Eyebrows Make!

2013-05-10T14:00:00.000-07:00

A little eyeliner and, boom, Bo becomes the most nefarious baby on the block.

P.S. - Check out Mom Meet Mom on BostonInno. How exciting is that?! Speaking of, if you happen to be going to the Boston March for Babies event, look for Mom Meet Mom in the family tent! We're going to have duckies and you can enter our iPad Mini raffle. Sweet!

P.P.S. - Have an AMAZING weekend and the BEST Mother's Day!

Check Out Mom Meet Mom on BostonInno

2013-05-10T08:18:00.002-07:00

Read all about the upcoming launch here! And if you're a Boston-area mom, sign up at Mom Meet Mom to be included in our upcoming Boston beta launch!

P.S. - Do you want to see a Bo with baby brows? I know you do! Check back tonight for one nefarious baby.

Old Computers, Found Writing

2013-05-09T06:54:00.000-07:00

I have a laptop that I haven't used since 2009.

Hadn't even turned on since then. Possibly because the power supply is bad and it may randomly turn off. We never recycled it or gave it away because it contained tax documents and other potentially personal information in its folders, and then over the course of four years of it sitting in the attic I'd started to assume that it was just plain dead. But not so! On a whim, I powered her on and she booted right up after I adjusted the clock.

This is good, actually. We might have her repaired - but only after the ThinkPad power supply and wireless is fixed and then the Toshiba hard drive and power supply is fixed and the mister has replaced his MacBook hard drive. For the moment, my old laptop can be P.'s for rainy days and weekends when Netflix is allowed. if it randomly turns off, we'll just turn it back on.

Aside: Why do we suddenly have so many laptops?

Anyway, going through the old girl was like a trip back in time. I found a silly poem a friend wrote in college. All of the emails and journal entries I composed when I lived in Costa Rica. Old silly photos I found on, ahem, MySpace.

And this. This was one of the last things I wrote before powering my little laptop down, stowing her away in the attic, and forgetting all about her... and possibly one of the first things I ever wrote about P.:

Nursing. It's the most natural things in the world. That's what "they" tell you. This particular "they" is a seemingly endless parade of midwives, nurses, nurses' aides, lactation consultants, pediatricians, and self-proclaimed breastfeeding gurus who fancy themselves experts because they nursed children continuously for nine years.

But platitudes are not terribly comforting at three a.m. when I'm trying to convince a very sleepy four pound baby that some idiot at the hospital let me take home open her mouth so I can stick my nipple into it. Apparently, the neonatologists in the NICU were under the mistaken impression that I knew what I was doing.

"Mouth. Boob. Now," I say, never having imagined that I'd ever have to convince someone to take a mouthful of my bosom. But it's a no go.

"Just a minute for mama?" I whine. My daughter's eyes flutter dreamily up at me, reminding me that I've never seen anything so beautiful as this red, skinny, chicken-legged little thing I'm cradling in my arms, but her mouth stays firmly shut.

I consider bribery, but at fourteen days old, this baby is immune to the allure of hundred dollar bills and ponies and trips to the spa.

Meanwhile, P. ended up eventually refusing bottles altogether and self-weaning at 18 months. And Bo latched on like a hoover immediately after birth and hasn't slowed down since. Funny how these things work out.

I Don't Want to Rush Things. But I Do. And I Don't.

2013-05-07T18:21:00.000-07:00

Some things. Having a baby is a wonderful, exhausting, glorious experience that I wouldn't want to trade for anything in the world. In fact, I love having a baby - especially a six-month-old baby who I can send into spasms of joy with nothing more than my very own kissy face or a gentle tickle on the chin. Bo is a delight, as babies go. Capable of charming not only me, but my various clients and random strangers whose eyes he loves to catch with his own bright, sparkling orbs.

Seriously sparkling. So much that poor P. came to me despondent because, as she said, she "wished she had sparkles in her eyes like Bo has."

I also have wishes. I want to slow down time so that Bo's first two years feel as lengthy and as glorious as P.'s, which will never happen because in those years I was doing everything for the first time. I'd changed diapers but I'd never mothered before. I want to slow down P.'s next two years so I never have to live in a world where she'll say no to one more nighttime cuddle or another game, but I know that's silly since watching your babies turn into grown up people is kind of the point.

My darlings. They will be both be living their own lives in what for me will feel like moments, leaving me wondering how my own timeline could have lagged so far behind. This I know.

And yet still, I'll be happy when this:

Turns into this:

I've admitted before that my least favorite part of being a mom is having to feed my darlings over and over and over again. Mere hours after one meal there comes another, and it's my job to prepare them and to clean up after them and to monitor their relative healthiness against the Standard American Diet (which we all know is just awful). And when they are young, mealtime is a messy affair. I swear, we still have Cheerios or puffs - some circular foodstuff, anyway - trapped under our baseboard heating where even the slimmest vac attachment can't touch them. There are still stains on the kitchen wall from P.'s puree days.

Someday I will regret feeling this way. I will wish for one more day of Stage 1 prunes flying through the air and finding its way into ears and nostrils. I will think wistfully about finding a pile of shredded cheese underneath the table. I will stroke the cold, hard surfaces of an impeccably clean kitchen and wonder why I ever worried about sticky fingers. I will meditate on mealtime through the forgiving lens of years gone by and sigh and remember the good times and the bad times, which were also good times that I just couldn't see as such in the moment.

This, too, I know.

What I Like About Getting Older

2013-05-06T07:31:00.000-07:00

When I think about it, 33 seems like a lot of years. At 33 years old, my mom was readying a 13 year old me to travel to Zehlendorf, where I'd spend a whole year mostly doing my own thing under the permissive eye of my aunt and uncle. At this same age, various relatives yet another generation removed were running their own businesses, inventing things, and finishing up their childbearing years with not a pair, but a brood.

I suppose, unless lifespans change dramatically in the next few decades, that I am one-third of my way toward my eventual death, and when I think about it that way 33 years seems like an astonishing number of years. I am not one of those people who will feel forever 16 because even when I was 16 I think I felt about 45. (A childhood in which the weight of the world rests squarely on your shoulders will do that to you.) But still.

Getting older, the media will tell you, is a slow descent into irrelevancy and invisibility. First, I strongly disagree. Yes, ageism exists, and I'm sure someday I will be on the receiving end of it and it will make me mad, but the media only shows one side of the getting older story. The worst side, of course, because it wants to sell you something. Face cream. Hair dye. A "lifetyle". And second, I've worked hard to be mostly invisible anyway!

So if you're totally super scared of getting older - and I don't blame you - here are some of the upsides I'm enjoying at 33:

Cut back to, say, 10 or so years ago, and I was catcalled and harassed fairly frequently. Going out might mean having some half-drunk idiot get mad at me because I didn't want to dance and didn't want a drink and maybe didn't even want to talk, but telling someone straight out "I don't want to talk to you" is hard. I'm not bad looking a decade later, but I am 33 looking and married on top of that, which means I essentially have a protective bubble shielding me from the kinds of creepy guys I used to have to deal with all the time.

I would never want to be in high school again. And I've never understood people who look back on their teen years with unadulterated fondness. Being a teenager is hard, even when you're popular. One huge thing I like about getting older is that I just don't care as much about what people think. Of course I want people to like me and think I'm pretty and fun, but I'm not going to chase approval down - or sob into my pillow when it's not there. I care about what the mister thinks of me. And my kids. Family and friends and next on the list. Everyone else can suck it.

I'm more comfortable in my own skin. I may not be utterly thrilled with what I see in the mirror, but the mister seems to like it well enough and everything works just fine. Health is pretty important and I have it. In fact, I'm probably healthier now than I have ever been in my entire life, save for certain points in childhood.

At this point, I am far less afraid of failure than I have ever been. Mainly because I know that most people who have achieved great things failed many times before succeeding. And then many have failed again after. If you're not failing, the saying goes, you're not challenging yourself. There is no perfect age at which to finally succeed so I may as well keep trying. A certain John Lowe took up ballet at 79 and at 91, was quite the dancer.

I am no longer many marketers' target demographic. Madison Avenue is looking to grab the eyeballs of teenagers and twenty-somethings. As a mom, I am also in a coveted demographic but I'm media literate enough to ignore the messages when I want to. (Not having cable service goes a long way toward avoiding advertising in the home, if you find yourself easily swayed.)

None of this, of course, is a balm for the absolute terror I feel as I watch more lines show up on my face. How the skin around my eyes now crinkles up when I'm feeling joyous. What was once a tiny crop of gray hairs hiding among my naturally brown locks has recently become quite obvious, leaving me at a crossroads at which I need to choose: to dye or not to dye, that is the question. My body is somewhat... looser than it was once upon a time. Not heavier. Leaner, in fact. But looser. And do NOT even get me started on my boobs.

That said, there is a lot to like about getting older. My physical self aside, I'm a better person than I was five years ago, ten years ago, or even before that. I have my moments of feeling off kilter, like we all do, but I am generally good at this game we call life.

What do you like about getting older?

Or do you hate every minute and wish you could transport yourself right back to high school?

Mais les yeux sont aveugles. Il faut chercher avec le cœur.

2013-04-30T20:07:00.003-07:00

P. broke my glasses. My prescription sunglasses, to be specific. It was an accident, of course. These glasses have a sort of hole just at the hinge and said hole is perfectly sized to receive pokey four-year-old fingers. Her finger actually got stuck for a while - I only know this because I heard a spontaneous "Mama, I am so so so so sorry" coming from the kitchen.

Quick question: Does your child apologize for small things with the kind of fervor most of us would reserve for accidentally flat tiring the president of the United States? The way she says she's sorry... you'd think I beat her.

Loosing the finger from its hinged prison took some degree of yanking, during the course of which one of the totally-not-regulation-size hinge screws flew off into nowheresville rendering my prescription sunglasses less than suitable for daily wear. Now, perhaps you don't know that I wear corrective lenses. Mostly because I usually don't wear them. Inside my house, which as you know from my recent house tour, is far from cavernous, nothing is far enough away to render me blind.

In the outside world, however, it becomes clear how compromised my vision actually is. For something like two week's now I've been stumbling through life wearing a pair of the mister's counterfeit Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

(Which is actually kind of painful because I would love a pair of black Wayfarer Squares but can't justify spending $250 on sunglasses when I'm fairly hooked up in that regard and know I could get gorgeous prescription sunglasses for a lot less. Doh.)

Anyway, for me - someone with so-so vision that's never been entirely terrible - this whole not being able to see business is horribly disorienting. I was starting to be afraid I was going to clip a pedestrian while driving. People's faces weren't resolving into, well, faces, making our recent trip to the sheep shearing festival fairly unnerving. Imagine being surrounded by hundreds of pod people.

I finally couldn't take it anymore and brought my sunglasses to the closest eyeglasses shop and begged them for a screw, which they sweetly gave me for free. Because how do you even charge for something like that? It took just a moment, but in that moment the world came back into focus for me.

And now I'm back in action, and thank goodness. As wonderful as it is now and then to see with le cœur, sometimes... maybe most of the time... I really need to see with les yeux.

My Weekend of Productive Procrastination

2013-04-29T10:11:00.003-07:00

You know what makes it harder to blog? A broken camera. Way too often I am inspired to share something here because I snapped a great pic of my little ones and want to share it with the world. But recently our poor little abused point-and-shoot's display has been slowly dying, and I've found myself taking more photos with my phone than with my actual camera. Mostly because it's annoying to frame a shot through lots of rivers of dead pixels.

Consequently, this is what my weekend looked like in Instagram photos:

On Saturday, there was dance class and then there was a sheep shearing festival out some ways. We missed the actual shearing and my prescription sunglasses need a new (specially sized, aaargh) screw, but we did pick up a adorable pink kitty from Alette Laan and a bottle of amazing ginger wasabi finishing sauce from Bittersweet Herb Farm. I mean AMAZING. It's the kind of thing I could easily use up in two days because I can't think of a single thing it wouldn't be amazing on as a finishing sauce.

Sunday was all about pink funfetti pancakes and a trip to the toy store in honor of P. staying dry overnight for a whole week! I am going to be so happy when pull-ups are a thing of the past - which they may be soon. *crosses fingers* Then we went to the garden shop where we bought too many impulse plants and bunches of yard supplies because I am not going to just let things go like we did last year. That meant we totally spaced on the Big Mike's Bikes grand opening gala party cakefest - so to make up for that, if you're in Gloucester, go buy like a hundred bikes, okay?

So that was my weekend - how was yours?

P.S. - Y'all would not believe how excited I am that Stephanie from Urban Flowerpot is the first-ever Featured Mom at the Mom Meet Mom blog today! Her story is intense!

P.P.S. - Pediatrician appointment this morning... Bo, a snapshot at 6 months: 14 lbs, which puts him in the third percentile for weight, but otherwise all good. Since he has never taken a bottle (save for that one time) we've been advised to move straight to sippies if we need to get milk into him in some way other than straight from the, ahem, source. And because his percentile has dipped, it's suggested that we push food a bit more versus letting Bo take the (slow) lead. I guess the mister and I just make our babies tiny, huh.

The BabbyFamily House Tour Pt. III: Where Kids Play (and Don't)

2013-04-25T08:32:00.002-07:00

Next up on my house tour are the kids' rooms, which are more often than not in a state of utter disaster. P.'s, because she plays like a whirlwind. And Bo's, because it's not really even his room yet. There's still a full size guest bed taking up most of the room - and now a dresser blocking half a window, too. Eventually the guest bed is going to go... somewhere. But we haven't figured that out yet, and Bo sleeps between us so the only thing that lives in his room full time is his clothing.

Anyway, onto the tour!

We like to save a memento from P.'s birthday parties and either keep it around or save it (like her P with the pea) for future parties. Those mini rainbow buntings are from her rainbow themed second birthday party. And I was about to say everyone gets a letter on their doors, but I don't have a letter. What the heck?

Family photos. Family photos everywhere. And P. even has a collage just of her baby pics. Poor Bo. There's practically no space where I could put a Bo collage and I don't have a photo printer anymore, anyway. At least I'm working on his baby book, right?

We have a C for me, a T for the mister, and a P for P. But no H. And no space. Poor kid is going to think we bought him fully formed.

So here's a bit of P.'s room. The light was weird so her paint looks orange-y when in fact, it is pretty much bubble gum pink. And yes, I chose the color, but in my defense pink was her absolute fave way before I ever gave into the pinksplosion.

I love that wee piano. And the mirror that used to be mine, darn it. I think I even paid money for it once upon a time. Just like the lamp, which my mom bought for my college dorm room.

So many books. I swear, they are overflowing into every room of the house. There are two books on my piano bench and one on the piano and some in Bo's room and a whole shelf in the living room right this minute. There needs to be a Kindle for Kids. (Amazon, please credit me for the idea when you implement it.)

I made that.

And now we're going to see a little bit of Bo's room. But not the guest bed! P. has her name on the wall, too, and the same bed, just in white. I wanted some parts of their rooms to be even-Stephen.

I love that print, and the little coat hook (which is currently hanging over the head of the guest bed, yeesh).

I've nursed in that rocking chair once or twice. It's actually not really a part of Bo's room but since P.'s easel came to live in the living room - which is fine, it means she can draw whenever she wants without having to ask for supplies - it had nowhere else to go.

More toys. So many toys. But every time we try to get rid of anything, P. remembers it six months later and then goes on frantic hunts to find it before getting upset that it's really and truly gone.

And that's it for the kids' rooms! Beckoning Cat says "See ya later, alligator!" Tomorrow, with any luck, we'll take a stroll up to my and the mister's room. If I'm feeling extra clean-y, I might even show you my real office nook.

But don't count on it.

Looking for the kitchen tour? Or the living room tour?

The BabbyFamily House Tour Pt. II: Have a Seat!

2013-04-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

The next stop on my house tour is the living room! Since going back to full-time freelance writing and editing work and getting starting with Mom Meet Mom, I've been spending a lot more time in here. It has wonderful big southern facing windows so the room is bright and cheery practically all day long. I actually have a workspace upstairs, but haven't sat at my "real" desk in ages.

You may, like many visitors do, ask who plays! Well, the mister took lessons when he was five. I took a short course in college when I was a freshman music major with specializations in voice and euphonium. So I guess the answer to 'who plays?' is whatever four-year-old is strong enough to open the lid and start banging away. I hope to find time to practice myself someday, and it's a great starter instrument for kids. (Plus it cost me like a hundred bucks.)

I like masks and family photos. What's hanging on your walls?

All the light makes our living room sill a great place for plants, but we're limited to containers the size of a solo party cup. Right now we have sunflowers, zinnias, basil, cosmos, and dessert rose growing there. If I wasn't starting seeds right in the garden this year, this is where I'd sprout them.

Here's where I work! I'm sitting right there, right now!

I have a big purple elephant that sometimes lives in the living room but is currently hiding in the mister's office because P.'s easel is next to the couch. The elephant is made of plaster and I've broken it twice but epoxy glue is my friend.

Details...

Right now, there's a three story dollhouse living on our linen chest because I can't for the life of me figure out where to put it. I call it the Dollhouse of Horrors because things like carnivorous dinos and sharks are always ending up inside.

Pull up a pillow!

And here's the last corner. I love my vintage sphere light - and we can use all the lighting we can get because that's one thing our living room did not come with. Seriously, there are no overhead lights in here so we've done what we can to add lighting.

Did you miss my kitchen? When are you going to let me into your house?

The BabbyFamily House Tour Pt. I: Welcome!

2013-04-23T00:30:00.000-07:00

At my house, 99% of visitors come in through the kitchen, so I thought it makes sense to start my house tour in what is clearly the heart of my home. Is your house like that, too? I swear I have a living room, but guests nearly always end up in the kitchen!

It's weird, too, because we don't have like epic levels of seating. Two grownup chairs, the Tripp Trapp, and the hairpin leg bench I made, plus Bo's way too big highchair now. People are so drawn to the kitchen that they don't mind standing! Can you tell I love red? I also love having the art supplies out where we can get at 'em.

Here's my kitchen clock, and here's where I say 'I made that!'

We have bright purple kitchen cabinets. The mister was originally anti purple but I convinced him and now he loves it. Before the purple, we had dark brown wood cabinets. Dark brown in a tiny south-facing kitchen. Seriously.

Free printables, woo!

I originally wanted to put some kind of framed picture over the stove - where there's not enough room to put much anything else. But I didn't have any frames and I did have paint, so this was the result. We <3 coffee!

A certain someone convinced me that repainting with chalkboard paint would be a bad idea, so I compromised with a chalkboard panel. We have fun posting recipes and messages to one another so I consider it worth the hassle of wiping up chalk dust.

It's a fridge. It's an art gallery. It's a strategic planning center. How much stuff is hanging on your refrigerator at any given time?

And that's my kitchen! Stay tuned for House Tour Pt. II, coming tomorrow... probably. I'll be giving you a glimpse into the kids' rooms!

Oh Yeah? I Know What THAT Means!

2013-04-20T00:30:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gents, it is frank question time.

Does anyone else out there ever get a little embarrassed when someone says "We're trying for a baby"?

I am totally not talking about couples who are going through an IVF cycle here. These are people who are, well, going about things the old fashioned way.

Maybe I'm just a total pervo in prude's clothing, but my brain... it goes there. I can't help it.

Now, I'm not saying I picture anything. I don't even continue to think about it much after the encounter. But in that moment, when they're excitedly explaining how they're finally ready to conceive, my brain is going wink wink nudge nudge know what I mean eh?

Worse still, again in that moment, my first inclination is to give an enthusiastic thumbs up. You go, girl! Get yer freak on!

I guess while we're on the subject, I can also ask this gem of a question:

Am I the only one out there who, every now and then, looks at babies and thinks "Sex made that... ew..."?

With Boston So Close, I'm Glad My Babies are Little

2013-04-19T06:01:00.002-07:00

Right now, I'm uncomfortably close to the action happening in Boston... and Watertown, Waltham, Newton, Belmont, Cambridge (where the mister's office is, pretty much over the 7-11 that was robbed, so he is home), and Allston-Brighton (where the mister and I used to live). While the remaining bombing suspect at large is probably not going to rush the North Shore on foot, everything that's happening feels very close to home.

We don't subscribe to a cable or satellite service because broadcast TV these days seems full of sex and swears so there's no chance of P. turning on the television and seeing something awful. The radio will be staying off while she's home. And I'm being very careful about what sites I access this a.m. because some will have auto playing video of goodness knows what kind of ugliness.

But even if I slip and she sees or hears... something, she won't understand. She'll know that something is happening that is of much concern to us grownups, but chances are she won't internalize it in relationship to herself like an older kid would. A bomber in Boston, in her head if she even knew what a bomber was, would mean roughly as much as a bomber in Bahrain. People getting hurt doesn't yet make her think "I could be hurt" or "My family could be hurt".

And for that small blessing, I am grateful.

Stay safe today, friends...

Never to Old to Be Mothered: A Thing I Want to Do for My Adult Children

2013-04-16T11:56:00.001-07:00

Being sick when you're a mom is the worst.

Your kids keep needing to be fed and wiped and washed with no regard for the fact that you're on the third day of an awful migraine or you've been battling the flu for a week.Your other half might be able to bring you up some medicine (maybe) but he's kind of busy taking care of said kids. No one is lovingly mopping your brow with a cool cloth or bringing you a grownup sized blankie. Best you're going to get is 20 stuffed animals heaped upon you and the Strawberry shortcake bandage that your miniature doctor has apparently determined are the correct remedies for your condition.

Of course, being sick as a young adult is no picnic.

I can remember feeling deathly ill in my early 20s, huddling cold and feverish in the room I was subletting in a cramped Brooklyn apartment. And when I say cold, I mean cold. There was a hole right at eye height in the wall that let in the winter gusts. My windows were frosted, sometimes on the inside. No one was bringing me anything. If I wanted Nyquil, I had to bundle up and walk the five blocks to the CVS. If I wanted food, it was the same deal since I was too broke to afford delivery.

Heck, even the good thoughts behind the cartoon bandage would have been appreciated as I froze my buns off all by my lonesome.

So last night as I lay curled and cramped in P.'s tiny bed sometime in the middle of the night because she woke up and cried for "someone to cuddle with" I started thinking about how when my littles aren't so little anymore, one thing I'd like to do is airmail them care packages when they're sick.

Maybe there's some magic age where you no longer want to be mothered when you have a fever, but I haven't reached it yet and I am 33 years old.

And since these will be my adult children, it means I could send things like whisky nips and gift cards for takeaway, fancy chocolates and the kind of warm, fuzzy socks that are awesome to get for Christmas but that you never buy yourself. Nothing babyish or that will make them say "Aww, jeez, mom." Cookies. A gift certificate for whatever the Netflix of tomorrow is. More takeaway gift certificates. And yes, Nyquil, because sometimes it's the only thing that gets the job done and I'll be darned if my kids are going to have to walk five blocks to get it when they really need it.

What special things do you want to do for your adult children someday?

P.S. - I don't plan to write about what happened at the Boston Marathon yesterday. I'm sick to death of the non-update updates on the radio and TV. Suffice it to say, I hugged my kids a little tighter yesterday and we had sprinkle pancakes for dinner.

I Swear They Can Look So Much Alike Even if I Can't Find Photographic Evidence

2013-04-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

It's hard to find a pair of photos that reflects how really, truly, eerily similar P. and Bo can look. He makes so many of the same expressions she made when she was just a little bit older. (Their size and development are few months off because P. was a preemie.) In fact, Bo now is very much a carbon copy of P. during the two weeks when she was about seven months old where she was briefly kind of chunky before she reverted back to her usual slim self.

Naturally I couldn't find two really good pictures to show you what I'm talking about since so much of what I'm talking about is based on facial expressions that last roughly three seconds before changing completely. I look like a big liar. Best I can do are two photos that at least show that P. and Bo are probably blood relations.

My heart wants to say that they're similar in temperament, too, but then my brain butts in and reminds me that Bo is just generally happier than P. was when she was teeny and also more social. Seriously, we call him Partybaby because if there is a party going on - or P. is home for the day or it's a weekend or there's anyone in the house other than me - good luck getting him to sleep more than 20 minutes at a time.

How are your kids similar when you think of them at the same ages or stages? How are they different?

Walking Them to Sleep Almost Daily

2013-04-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

Right now, I mean right this very second, both of my teenies are asleep in the stroller in the driveway. Relax! I have the door open and I'll hear one or the other as soon as they make a peep. Better to let them sleep if they're that tired, and moving either of them will result in one or both waking up.

This sort of thing happens because one of my favorite things to do is walk.

In fact, if it wasn't for needing to sometimes get to NY and medical appointments, I wouldn't even bother having a car since we're lucky enough to live pretty close to public transportation. But we need to get to NY and medical appointments, so I keep the car but I try to leave it in the driveway as much as possible.

That means that any time the weather is above freezing and it's not raining, Bo and I prep ourselves to face whatever the outside world holds in store so we can walk the almost two miles round trip to pick up P. at childcare.

It's why we have a double stroller instead of a single. Some days, P. is happy to walk the almost mile back home, helping me push or holding my hand or running ahead. Other days, she's tired and cranky and just wants to crawl into the lower seat and pull up the sun shade like a little rājñī riding in a litter. And some days I just want to get us to the grocery, bank, or post office in a timely fashion so I'm like "Come on, kids, let's ride."

Sleep, of course, is the sometimes intended, sometimes unintended consequence. Ideally, Bo would have continued sleeping and P. would have woken up but in the time it took me to write this the opposite happened.

Nuts.

Funfetti Pancakes On a Wednesday, Oh My!

2013-04-10T08:06:00.001-07:00

I'm working from home with not one, but two littles today. Yes, I am totally stressed out. No, I won't be linking to any Wordless Wednesday linky parties today because I have too much real actual work to do.

Then again, I did dawdle around this morning making pink funfetti pancakes with the P. and entertaining Bo as he practiced sitting in his high chair. (Which I hate. It takes up way too much space.)

And now the sun is peeking out, just a little. Maybe my plan of taking them both on a long post-lunch walk in the hope they'll fall asleep in the B-Ready stroller isn't so crazy after all...

How I Wake Up in the Morning

2013-04-09T06:54:00.002-07:00

At some point, my older child learned to open doors with standard doorknobs. Probably much later than your child, even though I swear we did try to teach her how to turn and push simultaneously. And well, she did learn eventually. What that meant was that when she woke up at 7 a.m. on the dot she was no longer limited to yelling "Helllooooo! Anybodeeeee? It's morning! Paaaaapaaaaaa?" into the monitor until one of us blearily shuffled downstairs to spring her from her bedroomy prison.

Nowadays, she springs herself. Usually still at around 7 a.m. on the dot, which is perfect from a logistics standpoint but generally about two hours earlier than I would want to wake up based on how Bo is currently sleeping (or not) at nighttime. As far as I can tell, her morning routine consists of getting out of bed and looking for some number of toys with which to delight me and Bo (or me, Bo, and the mister on weekends) before exiting her room and then making a beeline for the stairs.

How do I wake up in the morning?

I wake up daily to the sounds of stomping and squeaky-voiced counting. ZERO. ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR... all the way up to a triumphant ELEVEN! At which point, I have usually pulled the blanket up over my sleepy head and so I will either hear the muffled sound of my bedroom doorknob turning or the muffled sound of the doorknob itself slamming directly into the wall after a gargantuan push because we still have not installed a doorstop in our no-longer-new bedroom.

This is why every morning involves a singsong numerical narrative:

Now P. has officially arrived and begins to explain why on this day she has brought a stuffed dog, the world's smallest t-rex, a microscopic bouncy ball, one Strawberry Shortcake shoe, and a "cuddly worm" before putting it all on the end of the bed and waiting for me to lift the covers so she can climb in. This morning, in particular, I was reminded of a time not so long ago when she would need to be pulled up onto the bed because it was simply too tall for her to scale.

She is warm in footie pajamas and snuggles close to me on my right, relaxing herself into my curves. I will miss this someday. On my left, Bo has by now opened his eyes - if he wasn't already awake and gabbing to himself while I feigned sleep - and is grabbing handfuls of my hair in his fat little fists. He tugs, harder than you'd expect, in sharp little pulls that make me think he's ringing for service.

Hey! (tug) You! (tug) Get a boob over here, stat! (tug) I don't have all day! (tug tug tug)

P. will eventually decide "That's enough cuddling, mama." Bo will start to fuss. And then, after having both greeted the day, my two children greet each other.

I'm tired. So tired. But as much as I might like another two hours of sleep, I think I like this current wake up routine, hair pulling and all, even more.

How do you wake up in the morning?