Not for the Squeamish

You're doing it all wrong!

Actual conversation in my house tonight:

Me (talking about G-man): He ate really well today.

Scott: Yeah, lunch and dinner. What about breakfast?

Me: What about breakfast? What did you make him?

Scott: I didn't make him anything. Didn't you?

Me: I wasn't here for breakfast, remember?

Scott: Um, I don't think I made him anything.

Me: You didn't feed him breakfast?!

Scott: Wait, you gave him a [energy] bar before you went to work. Wasn't that breakfast?

Me: No! That was a snack.

Scott: Oh, well, I didn't give him anything else. I guess that was his breakfast.

This was followed up by an observation from Scott that we are turning into my parents. While they did/do their best, being on top of things isn't always high on their list. I have a sneaking suspicion that I really have other siblings, but they were the ones that didn't get picked up from the gas station/church/mall where they were left behind (unlike my remaining two brothers and I that have always been retrieved). Or, they were accidentally left on top of the car as it drove away, stuffed in a drawer with the laundry, passed out as halloween candy. You get the picture.

But this reminded me of something that I consider one of my mommy mantras: the G-man doesn't know if we're doing it all wrong.

Let's face it, he has no idea he missed breakfast or we made a mistake. Other than a slight possibility he was hungry (a stretch for him), nothing was out of the ordinary today.

This is sometimes what keeps me going. Sure, I've made a lot of parenting mistakes, but get this: he doesn't know! He's not keeping score. I don't have to beat myself up for it and can give myself a break when I reflect on what a terrible mom I was that day.

When we're late for playgroup, he has no idea. Ditto if I put him in dirty clothes because the dryer didn't get turned on. Peanut butter on a hot dog bun? Fine with him.

While I lament that he didn't come with an instruction manual, he also didn't arrive with a checklist for what his parents should do. I think that balances it out a bit. No points deducted for forgotten rain boots, skipped pages in a book, lack of parental artistic talent, mismatched socks, soap in his eyes, giant boogers in his nose or shoddily placed diapers.

So to you moms of 2 year olds who missed breakfast with santa because you couldn't get out the door in time, skipped the craft project at the library because it involved glue or simply forgot to change your kid out of the jammies all day, it's ok. They don't know.

Now what will I do when he's older and I don't have this safety net?

A Christmas Story

Having the G-man born right before xmas is not what we planned, although at first on paper, it didn't really matter too much. Scott and I haven't done a real xmas celebration in years, choosing to focus on our anniversary that's just a few days later. So it seemed that a birthday on the 20th just gave us something new to enjoy during the traditional holiday season. But kids have a way of changing plans and we realized last year that xmas needs to come back for his sake, complete with tree, decorations, visits to santa, music and more. So now prep work starts really early, as in a span of 11 days we have his birthday, xmas, our anniversary and new year's.

I should tell you that one reason we didn't do a big xmas thing is that we're atheists. Hard to be sometimes in a judeo-christian culture - heavy on the christian - with people proselytizing about "the reason for the season". Although we both really enjoy the message of the holidays, promoting peace, love, charity and goodwill, it seemed a little hypocritical for us to celebrate what was once traditionally a religious event. Of course, that tradition seems to take quite the back-burner now, so fear not those worried that G-man will miss a big part of American childhood, the pageantry is back.

The funny thing is, the universe tried to give us our own reason for the season when he was born. It's something I never would have put together, but my mother pointed it out while we were still searching for his name. Jokingly, she said we should call him Jesus, then proceeded to say why. And so, I bring you the xmas story of the G-man's birth:

When I went into labor, there was no room at the inn. Our pre-registered, pre-toured, pre-everything christian-named St. Luke's hospital was full and we were diverted. To Menorah. That's right, as in hanukkah lights.

Unless the hospital has a helicopter pad with a light on it, I don't think G-man had a special star, but it was a beautiful, cloudless night (the ice storm came as we were taking him home) to guide us on our momentous journey to a place we'd never been to, where we would eventually have to register his birth and our status as a family.

Once there, our Jewish OB delivered the wee one, while our Jewish pediatrician gave him the seal of approval.

Throughout it all, our primary nurse was named...Angel.

And of course, we didn't expect him to come in December, much less before the 25th, so we had no presents on hand for his first holiday. But not to despair, as a wise man in the form of my father arrived on the 24th bearing three gifts - hooded towels, a ball glove and a onesie outfit. I'm pretty sure these are the modern forms of gold, frankincense and myrrh, right?

Now I'm not saying anyone worships him yet, although he is damn cute, or that he'll grow up to inspire stories of peace in his name, but to us he is special and worth celebrating any day of the year.

Mitten War claims first casualty

This morning, a minor skirmish in the daily battle of the Great Mitten War of 2009 turned into a major setback for the offensive forces as a Mommy Mitten went missing in action.

The loss occurred somewhere about 30 minutes into the journey during a failed attempt at a sneak attack when G-man's hands looked like a prime target - cold, exposed and not holding on to a toy. Sadly, said mitten vanished in just a few moments. When the air cleared and the screaming died down, it was nowhere to be found. Not in the stroller, not on the sidewalk, not hidden in a pocket.

Sigh.

So farewell to thee, super soft, super warm, super wonderful left mitten. You will be avenged.

Thoughts on two

Today is the G-man's second birthday! He doesn't seem too fazed by it, but I, for one, am amazed.

Of course, I knew I had to do a posting to mark this momentous occasion. But there's so many directions I can take this and I thought about it this weekend as we celebrated. Should I talk about how it's all gone so fast? How he's changed so much? How I've changed so much? What I'm looking forward to this next year or what I liked best about this past one?

I'd almost settled on a reflection of how I've never been bothered by toys that make noise until we were bombarded with a seemingly endless supply of LOUD sound effects when he opened his many, many noisy gifts. Seriously, he has a puzzle that could make you want to blow your eardrums out. A puzzle. Let's not get started on the tractors, trucks, airplane, magnets and more that make the THX sound test at theatres seem like a whisper. And when the clamor dies down, where to put them all?!

But then, as I was cuddling and rocking him at bedtime, my last thoughts were how lucky he is and how lucky we are.

For two years, he's had plenty of food, toys to educate and entertain, an extensive wardrobe, friends and activities to enjoy, a comfortable, safe environment and an enormous amount of love showered upon him. We, in turn, have had the privilege to provide these without hardship, be with him at the big and little moments in his life and feel love in return.

Sadly, not everyone can say this.

There are children his age that don't have enough of one or more of these, be it love, money or safety. Who aren't rocked to sleep because their parent is at their third job of the day, or they don't have a house of their own or they simply don't have someone that cares to do it.

There are parents that dream of more for their kids - not the dream of upgrading their bedroom to a play suite, but the wish for comfort, security, good health, a full tummy and the opportunity to spend more time with them and see them thrive. For these parents, the challenge of finding space for all of the toys is one they'd gladly take on if it meant having toys for their little ones. Perhaps they wish to be woken in the middle of the night a million times to bring yet another drink of water instead of saying goodnight as they leave a child in a hospital.

With everything going on in our lives, it can be hard to remember that others aren't as fortunate. As G-man's birthday is near xmas, it's a little more on everyone's mind at this time of year, but I'll admit it's a topic that I've thought of many times as I've held him or shopped for him or wondered about his future.

These past two years have been an eye opening experience. While not every moment can be called blissful (hello colic! good morning tantrum! ooh, blowout!), every moment is ours to cherish, share and build upon. I thank the G-man for helping me connect more with myself and my world, and I look forward to what tomorrow brings, as long as we're together.

Sweet melody

One of my fantasies is to be the lead singer in a band. At the very least, maybe a member of a show chorus or have a decent voice in the shower. I don't think any of these will ever be true. But I've loved being a mom, partly because I can sing unabashedly whenever, wherever and not have to worry about what I sound like. If someone at the market hears me, so be it. I don't care what they think and I have license to croon.

Until now.

The G-man used to love it when I sang. He would calm down as a baby, and then as he learned to talk, he'd ask me to sing certain songs. It was wonderful. I don't care if it's the same song over and over and he didn't care if I only knew one verse and it was out of tune. Then one day, he said no.

No sing. NOOOOO! (feet kick, hands thrash)

Now my go-to distraction and my feel-good parts of the day are gone. I knew someday he'd realize mommy can't sing, but I never thought it would be so soon. Does this mean he's a musical genius with a keen ear for melody? Or that my voice can make a toddler, who thinks the sound of a trash truck in reverse is glorious, cringe in despair.

So now I guess my only outlet is serenading the dog and cat, and trust me, I do this already. I can only hope they don't file a petition with the ASPCA over it.

The Great Mitten War of 2009

Lately it's been freaky ass cold here. Mid/late January cold when it's only December. Below zero wind chills and all that jazz.

Still, the dog has to be walked and the G-man isn't old enough to stay home on his own with a cup of cocoa and crossword puzzle yet. So every morning, we pack into the stroller and head out. For these freezing days, he's been squished into a variety of layers, coats, hats, pants, sweaters, then tucked into a few blankets. Which he immediately kicks off.

And there lies the problem.

Turns out, G-man doesn't like blankets. Or hats. Or shoes and socks. And most of all, he hates mittens.

Just mentioning mittens can toss him into a frenzy. I tried to tell him once that they kept his hands toasty. Now he loudly complains, "No toasty! No toasty!" if I even bring them out. I have three different pairs for him and all are met with overt distain.

Every low-temp day is another battle in the mitten war. Let's face it, I need to win. Not for pride, but for his own safety and my sanity. I simply can't let his fingers freeze off. He's going to need them. Actually, he needs them now, he just doesn't realize it.

I'm not an ogre. For trips in the car or going in and out of places, he can be mitten-free. But the walk? That's a long time, made longer when I have to stop every three feet and either replace the mittens on his hands, pick up the mittens, quell the screaming dervish rebelling against the mittens or wait for the dog to find the perfect blade of grass to pee on. There's a reason we need an hour to cover 2.5 miles.

One day, while being annoyed by insomnia, I realized if I walked the dog before G-man woke up, I could avoid the daily drama. So that's how super-pooch and I came to be roaming the streets at 4:00 in the morning. Poor Tino, not only did I wake him up and get him out from under his warm covers, I didn't even offer him mittens.

Lately, we've reached an unsteady compromise: he wails, fights and wriggles for a while, then succumbs to wearing my mittens. Sure, he can still shake them off, but it takes longer. And I have the patience to keep at it. Sometimes I can even distract him for the first few moments and he'll forget he's wearing them. But really, I just need to book it and get this over with, knowing that spring is only three months away.

Happy, healthy, safe and sound

There's a superstition that says when you see that the time on the clock has all the same numbers (2:22, 3:33, 4:44, etc.), you make a wish. I didn't really start doing it until the G-man. Now it's the same every time: that he's happy, healthy, safe and sound.

Why is that my wish? There are so many other things I could wish for; for the world, myself or G-man. But it comes down to those four things. I think it started when I was still pregnant - that was the wish I had for my baby. It covers it all.

Happy

Of course we want our kids to be happy. But I'm not talking about the "got what I wanted" happiness, but true internal joy. I wish for him to be happy with who he is, the kind that is secure in the knowledge that he is loved and he is worth it. It's first because I think it is my overarching wish for him. Even if the other three didn't really materialize the way I think they should, I want him to enjoy his world, whatever that is, and simply know happiness.

Healthy

Truth be told, sometimes I do switch the order with Happy because I selfishly want Healthy first. If he's healthy, that's one thing less to worry about and then I can focus again on happy. But this one is pretty obvious. Other than those, uh, unique people that inflict Munchausen's by Proxy, no one wishes for their loved ones to be sick. While I know G-man is going to come down with his share of obnoxious germs, I wish I could spare him from the smallest cold to a catastrophic illness. Above all, I hope he has a strong immune system and that sickness doesn't rule his life and, you guessed it, make him unhappy.

Safe

Another broad topic that covers the big and the little. I wish for G-man to have a safe environment, from stuff like splinters in his finger to toxins in the air. I want him to feel safe and be safe. I try not to let this turn me into an overprotective parent (in fact, my mother says I act more like I'm on my sixth than my first). I do the "right" things of babyproofing and keep him from running into the street, but I'll admit I let him eat off of the floor and run on concrete. Yet one of my biggest fears is that he'll be in a situation where he's scared and doesn't feel safe...or gets hurt/sick (unhealthy) or is not happy.

Sound

At first, this point wasn't Sound; it was Strong. But when I really thought about it, I realized that while being strong (in character, spirit and maybe physically) can be important, I'd rather he be sound. Sound in mind, sound in body. I hope that he is able to think, learn and do. Knowing who he is, how he can grow and having the ability to achieve his goals can make him safe, keep him healthy and lead to happiness.

So now you know what I really want for xmas...and beyond.