Strange Bedfellows

Thanks to some large-scale home improvements, all three of my beloved offspring have been sleeping in my room for some time now. Most nights Beloved Offspring #3 snoozes in his crib beside my bed, leaving me to battle #1 and #2 for a bit of pillow and a speck of sheet. But many nights #3 joins the party, and we shuffle and resettle frequently. I remember seeing all three umbilical cords being cut at the time of each delivery, but for some reason it is not enough for them to be sleeping with me - they have to be sleeping ON me. The Chinese got it wrong - surely this is the Year of the Possum.

A Quick Pick-Me-Up

I recently bought a new Bali bra through Avon. It's a very uplifting experience! Now if only I could get my husband to be so supportive.

I Don't Have The Genes for Jeans

Originally posted on The Health Blog, 12/28/05

This morning I read that carmakers are starting to make the seats bigger to fit the expanding American bottom line. Which leads me to ask, “When is the fashion industry going to get the memo?” Specifically, I am referring to the folks who make jeans.

I spent a frustrating morning shopping for denim. Although I am far from a waif, I am also much smaller than the Plus Size category. For now, anyway. I’m just your average height-challenged fairly fit mother of three. I headed for a store that specializes in jeans with different fits, thinking surely something there would work for me. When I liked the way the pants looked around my knees and thighs, the waist was flapping in the breeze. When the waist was right there was so much extra material I thought it was Hammer Time. I tried the Curvy fit, the Petite length, the Boot Cut, the Flared Leg and even the Ridiculously-Overpriced-So-Certainly-They-Must-Look-Fabulous Cut. I returned home even more faithfully devoted to my leggings and sweats. As far as jeans go, I’ll wait until they come out with the Thunder Thigh Leg, the Ample Room in Trunk Cut or the Mommy-Tummy Rise.

Carmaker article at: http://aolsvc.news.aol.com/business/article.adp?id=20051228075109990009

My Son, The Jedi

As a parent, I feel it is my job to gently guide my beloved offspring in life, so I try not to force my own personal tastes on them. In one area of my life I have been especially careful about this – Star Wars. Sadly, most of my treasures have been sold off or given away as my need for space (and money) demanded. Even so, I haven’t actually hidden my passion for the saga from my children – they have certainly found the remaining DVDs, videos, books and other collectibles on their explorations of their environment (not to mention my childhood blanket which now covers the window in the room my sons share and the matching pillow I try to make comfortable when I am called in for nightmare duty). Maybe I was planning to hold off until they reach the age I was when it took over my life. I’m not sure I would have held out that long, but certainly the films are not age-appropriate for babies. But I did start a little collection of Young Jedi training books from Episode one. Not exactly a hand-me-down lightsabre from a long lost parent, but it’s a start.

One day I was with the then-three-year-old Beloved Offspring #1 in Blockbuster. The store was running a Star Wars promotion, complete with a six-foot cardboard standup of Vader’s mask. I was headed out the door when I heard that squeaky little voice pipe up. “Look, mommy, Star Wars!” For a moment I was more frozen than Han Solo inside that block of carbonite. And yes, I was very proud. But this had happened without my input…so how exactly had this happened? He told me that he had seen some Star Wars toys at school, courtesy of Burger King. In fact, his friends at school like Star Wars a lot, and did I know there was a golden robot in it? Yes, I knew. And did I know Star Wars (Darth Vader) was a little scary and did mean things? Yes, I knew that, too, and a thousand other little bits of trivia that would mean nothing to a three-year-old so I shut up.

Fast forward. Now Beloved Offspring #1 is four and a half. One night he hit me with this, in a conspiratorial whisper: Mom, did you know that Anakin is Skywalker’s father? Yes, I did. I left out the part about waiting for three years for that little cliffhanger to be resolved (thanks a lot, George Lucas!). He launched into a full-body reenactment of how Anakin fought the “Roger Roger” robots. I wished for popcorn. When he was finished – or exhausted, I’m not sure which – we had a nice little talk about why people (Anakin/Vader) do mean things, so that was a nice little morals lesson (thanks a lot, George Lucas – sincerely this time). The Force is definitely with him.

Product Review: Ball Pit

Did you know that many teachers and parents refer to Ball Pits as Germ Pits? Maybe that's why most McPlaylands and indoor playgrounds have removed them. But no matter how filthy those bright spheres of plastic get, kids love to dive into them...over and over and over again. And since Beloved Offspring #2 is "gravitationally insecure" according to her physical therapist, Beloved Offspring #3 is a daredevil, and Beloved Offspring #1 is a four-year-old boy with boundless energy, we got them an inflatable Little Tykes Cozy Cottage Ball Pit. In all fairness to the Little Tykes company, the product was adorable and did exactly what it was supposed to do...but only for three months. Then the incessant diving and climbing in and out got the better of the poor vinyl thing and it leaked air, drooping sadly and looking very much like my beloved offspring had beaten it up...or down. Actually, it lasted two months longer than I expected!

CHILDPROOFING

When you have a baby, you start thinking about childproofing your environment. You may put away some crystal treasures and buy the plastic clips and outlet covers – but you’re still way off base. Beloved Offspring #1 had those allegedly childproof clips figured out before the tender age of one. While many of those products are extremely useful and, like the one that locks the under-the-sink-where-the-deadly-cleaners-are-stored cabinet, a parenting necessity, I have learned from experience some common sense approaches to child proofing. And you will, too – as you go along. As grown-ups we are blind to many dangers that lurk right under our noses, because we use items the way we’re supposed to use them. We follow the rules. Infants and toddlers don’t even know the rules yet, and don’t usually care about them even when they do know them. Shoes can be sand shovels – or water goblets – to a toddler. We love their imagination and nurture their creativity, but sometimes it’s downright dangerous.

The most obvious way to keep a little one out of a dangerous room like a bathroom is to close the door. It’s quick and it’s free but it’s sadly temporary – it only works until the child is tall enough to reach the doorknob and old enough to figure out how to work the doorknob. Beloved Offspring #3 is halfway there already.

I’ve also become much better at improvising child safety techniques. While at an appointment, I protected Beloved Offspring #2 and #3 by covering the electrical outlets with adhesive tape. And a trip to Grandma’s was almost a disaster until we used electrical tape on her under-the-sink-where-the-deadly-cleaners-are-stored cabinet. At another appointment I had to turn the garbage can around so the little swingy door (aka coolest toy on the planet) faced the wall and went unnoticed.

Another example is sharp corners, like the ones on the footboard of my bed. I always have bruises on my hips and thighs from bumping into them. If that’s what those edges can do to my toned, muscular body (stop laughing!) imagine what it would do to the tender little heads and bodies of my beloved offspring! Cheap and quick solution – when I make the bed, I pull all the blankets over the edges. Again, a sadly temporary fix. The first bed-bouncer will muss the covers enough to expose the evil right angles once again. But who knows how many bumps and bruises we have been spared by my new bed-making strategy.

Thanks to the area where we live, we need to add earthquake straps to tall pieces of furniture. But even parents who don’t live on a fault line are encouraged to add these reinforcements to bookcases and armoires, because children eventually learn how to climb. And if they don’t learn they have an older sibling or visiting cousin who teaches them. To a child determined to reach something on a top shelf, bookcases are really just nice, deep ladders. And anything desirable that is not on a bookcase can be reached with the help of a climbable chair or even something stackable, like books.

Even after you have searched high and low for dangers to your child, the little rascals will find ways to invent new ones. They might stretch a little arm around a corner and pull on something connected to a dangerous object, like a cord or a tail. This is how my youngest son almost dumped our recently used, still hot and greasy indoor grill on his head – despite our carefully installed kitchen gate.

Whenever I put down a cup of hot coffee, I carefully and lovingly make sure it is out of reach of my precious offspring. But my precious offspring are crafty, and will attempt to reach it anyway – or make it reach them. They do it with cups of cold beverages, too, but it’s more of a safety issue with hot ones. Their latest tactic is to pull at the item on which the drink rests, like a placemat or a newspaper or a rickety end table.

As a last resort, my kids will feign injury or launch into a tantrum in order to be picked up and thus be closer to the prize. But we as parents (or grandparents or babysitters or caregivers) must be vigilant. It only takes a moment for

Ps – While I was working on this entry, Beloved Offspring #3 pried off an outlet cover. Good thing I work from home!

"Special Needs"

Beloved Offspring #2 has a mild disability and has been labeled as a child with “special needs.” It was a daunting phrase to hear at first, but the reality is that every child has little quirks and specific preferences, like having the crust cut off of their sandwiches, needing to have their forehead stroked to help them fall asleep, seeing Daddy do a special monkey dance before heading off to school (preferably outside in the driveway where all the neighbors can see it, too), singing their favorite Wiggles song to stop a tantrum or having their hotdogs peeled (thanks, mom). These particulars are part of what makes each child “special” and unique.

Waxing Nostalgic

Despite their tiny attention spans, kids are remarkably observant and anything new that has appeared in a room will attract them like a moth to a flame – especially if it happens to actually be a flame. I miss my candles.

Michael Finnegan

Sometimes while singing childrens' songs for the thousandth time, my mind starts to wander....

"Michael Finnegan, he had whiskers on his chinnegan.
The wind blew them off but they grew in again...."

(Where exactly does this Michael Finnegan live? Will this wind work on my legs? When will I find time to take a shower?)

Profile: Beloved Offspring #3

Favorite Maneuver: Face-Down Full Body Slam

Advantages: Very effective for adding extra drama to tantrums and extra affection to hugs and cuddles.

Disadvantages: Disastrous results when used after vomiting in crib

Taking Care of You First

All the Mommy Magazines have articles about taking care of yourself, because you can’t take care of anyone else unless you take care of you first. I thought they were referring to making time for a massage at a spa once in a while or joining a weekly book club. Those are good quick fixes, but taking care of you has a bigger meaning. The reality is, it means making time for an annual physical and an occasional dental appointment. And if you need to meet with a therapist, go to a 12-step meeting or get new glasses, it means that, too.

This whole concept can be seen in the safety speeches given by flight attendants. While explaining the oxygen masks, they always say that if you’re traveling with a child you should secure your mask first, then assist the child with his or hers. Before I was a mom, I always thought that was odd. If I had an uncomfortable, squirming child in my lap it seemed to make more sense to get him or her settled and safe as soon as possible. But then I realized that in that situation, I’d be unconscious long before I finished with the child. I certainly wouldn’t be able to care for the child while I was passed out, no matter how much maternal instinct I have. So, if I’m ever on a plane with any or all of my beloved offspring and we loose cabin pressure I must take care of myself first or I literally won’t be able to take care of them. Lesson learned. Buh-bye.

A Strange Male Habit

There must be something about the hormone testosterone that forces males to show off their knowledge. I first noticed this as a teenager while watching TV with my father. Whenever someone on screen toted a weapon, my dad would identify it. “That’s a .45,” he would chime in from the couch. It went way beyond enjoyment – he actually seemed compelled to do this. He would often wake up from a sound sleep to announce, “That’s a semi-automatic.” Then he’d resume his snoring. Naturally, since I was a teenager, I found this habit slightly annoying.

A few years later a friend started dating a musician. As we sat around at her parents’ house watching music videos, he would identify the guitars. I found this, and him, intolerable. Since then I’ve noticed other males doing this identification thing with cars in driveways, trucks on the road and bands on the radio.

Then one day my train-obsessed toddler son pointed to the TV and squeaked, “An Amtrak!” This time I found this habit to be cute, charming and endearing. Not to mention a sign of his genius.

I realized that my attitude toward this particular male-trait depended highly on my attitude toward the particular male. I hated the musician, so I hated the guitar labeling. I adore my son, so I adore the train identifying.

Babies of both genders go through that labeling phase, and when a chubby finger is pointing at an object and a drooling little mouth utters some baby talk all the grownups cheer and applaud. Maybe these males never leave that stage. Maybe they are still longing for cheers and applause. But I still don’t like the musician.

Sandwich Geometry

We all have fond memories of the foods we ate as children, and if those yummy PB&Js happen to be cut diagonally then that is probably what we prefer as adults. But try to serve a diagonally cut PB&J to a child who is used to the down-the-middle style of sandwich and you will immediately have a meltdown on your hands…not to mention lots of PB&J on your hands (and on the walls and on the floor…).

Back when I only had one beloved offspring I presented lavishly cut sandwiches as an early lesson in shapes. Yes, my dear son learned the difference between a square and a triangle. He also learned that mommy will spend lots of extra time and waste lots of extra bread while making his lunch. I sentenced myself to a lifetime (or at least to the length of an early childhood) of fun-shaped sandwiches. Apparently I had set a precedent.

Most children will swear that their preferred shape of sandwich tastes better. Maybe it has to do with the amount of air that hits the contents of the bread. I’ve done taste comparisons and honestly can’t taste any difference. But I’m not a four-year-old so my results are irrelevant.

It’s not just sandwiches, either. Apparently Mac and Cheese must only be made with elbow macaroni. Try using ziti, wagon wheels or spirals and chances are it will be refused – loudly. And chances are you’ll be up late making cheese sandwiches for your starving child. Triangular ones, of course.

Welcome to Rosie Reality

I’ve been a lot of things, and been called a lot more. My occupations have included switchboard operator, actress, writer, singer, waitress, bartender, receptionist, teacher, babysitter, choreographer and nanny (not exactly in that order). Now I am a mom. Not just a mom – a STAY-AT-HOME MOM. I went from a washboard stomach to dishpan hands.

Many of my experiences have been exaggerated for dramatic effect – although I usually do it for comedic effect. Please don’t think that I am actually complaining about my life…well, okay, maybe I am, but understand that I understand how incredibly lucky (read blessed if you’re into that sort of thing) I am to have this life, and these children. Yes, I feel that I have faced some hardships but I know that in the grand scheme of the universe my life has been fairly easy, and that I am spoiled and shallow.