Desperate times

Desperate times today called for desperate measures, and DS lost his screen time privileges, first time in a long time and first time since my brother gifted us with an iPad.  (No, my brother is taken and you cannot have him.  Unless you are marriage minded, intelligent and attracted to tall geeky guys young woman.  Then give me a call. )  DS whined, whined some more how unfair life was to him, tried to promise me everything our planet had to offer and some more and then quietly disappeared.  I had a sneaking suspicion that he snuck into my bedroom and was using some electronic device under covers.  He was.  I found him playing with the calculator I brought from work today.  Calculator!  Does that count as screen time too?  I mean it does have a screen, teeny tiny screen, but nevertheless there's a screen...  Poor kid.  I guess he was having his own "desperate times call for desperate measures" moment.

On life being predictable

To Whom It May Concern:

When I was young and somewhat stupid, my biggest fear was that life would somehow turn boring.  And in the young and not yet fully developed brain, boring = predictable.  Life was supposed to be full of surprises and adventures.  And butterflies.  Now that I am older and wiser, I appreciate some predictability that at times is lacking in my life.  Actually, I crave it.  For example, I would love to see my girls in the morning with the same hair length they had the night before.  A rather modest wish, no?  Or, if having my makeup untouched by little hands is too much to expect, at the very least I would love to find it in usable condition and in the same place/room/house I left it.

So when I feel like I can't take anything for granted and there's nothing I can count on in this life, life/God/Universe shows me that things are not as dire as I thought.  For example, just last Saturday I was reminded that if for some reason I don't clean the table after the meal, I can fully expect to see dirty plates and food still on the table hours after the meal has ended.  Or that no one will refill toilet paper in the bathroom except for me.  Or that there will be dirty clothes in all corners of kids' rooms, except for hampers.  Or that kids will take hours to find scissors for school projects, but somehow manage to give themselves haircuts in those three minutes you turned your back on them.

And there's my message to the life/God/Universe.  If you feel the need to remind me that I do have things in life I can count on, could you please not send all the reminders in one day?

Thank you very much.

Your truly,

SW

Are you cute?

"Are you cute?" I asked my baby.
"No," dramatic pause, "I'm adorable."

Consumerist stole my post!

Ever wonder why baby products cost more - and often MUCH more - than their adult versions? And if there are no adult equivalents, then the one can be guaranteed to pony up a lot of dough for almost nothing. Examples? Just off the top of my head - baby food, formula, diaper rash creams, toys, children's books, clothing, shampoos, baby bottles, breast milk bags ... the list could go on and on and on.

On the other hand, this creates a bright business idea. Just add the word "baby" to your product - and voila! You can charge 30% more without any justification! Too bad, there's no accounting for babies, or I would get seriously rich seriously fast. Hey, there's an idea - Baby Accountant video series! Guaranteed to teach your baby how to count, use a spreadsheet, get comfortable with debits and credits, and as a bonus feature - how to defraud the government and your shareholders. We do not guarantee results, but if your baby doesn't show any interest in the above activities, he will definitely fall asleep!

Anyone willing to invest?

Day off/relaxation the SubWife way. Don't try this at home...

7.30 - wake up. Discover that the baby has a 101.5 degree fever. Ugh.
7.30 - 8.15 - Get the kids, who woke up half hour before us and are already wild, ready for school all the while juggling whining pre-Tylenol baby. DS has a Chanukah play, so I need black pants and white top. Something I completely forgot about yesterday. So I settle for brown pants, blue shirt and blue/white vest.
8.20 - Last minute decide to get a ride from SubHub to the supermarket, so dress myself in 2.5 minutes - not bad for winter, huh? - though do have for some time a nagging feeling that I forgot to brush my teeth.
9.10-10.05 - food shopping
10.00 - 11 - driving class (Yes, you are reading this right, I was 5 minutes late)
11.00-11.30 - go to the bank/additional food shopping
11.30 - 1.15 - DS's Chanukah play
1.15 - 2.00 - went to the liquor store and pharmacy with DS on the way to home. Must've repeated the line, "No I can't buy it for you, please don't touch anything" 50 times. Had to distract DS from tiny liquor bottles as he reasonably thought those were for babies.
2.00-3.30 - feeding DS, unloading groceries, cleaning up.
3.30-4.00 - walking to pediatrician with the baby and DS.
4.05 - reunited with DD and SubHub at the pediatrician's office.
4.00 - 5.30 - at the pediatrician with all 3 kids and - thank Heavens and SubHub - SubHub. The main reason for the visit is to give all the kids flu shots and catch up on baby's other shots.
5.15 - Informed that due to baby's fever she won't get ANY shots and thus the visit must be repeated preferably sooner than later because who needs flu shots in the middle of January? (Why couldn't she spike the fever tomorrow? Sigh)
5.20 - Informed that older kids' swine flu shot needs a boost in about a month from now. So the whole, "Please don't destroy the good doctor's office and YES, that includes the very expensive scale, telephone and medical equipment." will be repeated sooner than I would've wanted to or expected.
5.25 - SubHub asks the good doctor for the used syringes, she obliges and this time we don't get the "did you think about rehab" vibe.
6.00 - HOME at last.
6.00 - 7.00 - making supper while juggling supervision of baths, brother- sister fights, doing homework with DD, fighting organized attempts at illegal snacking all the while juggling whining baby whose Tylenol already wore off.
7.00 - 7.30 - supper with whining and at the same time incredibly wild kids.
7.35 - SubHub has had enough and sends the kids to sleep. As long as he gets to be the bad guy, I might as well enjoy...
8.00 - Unbelievable, but they are both asleep.
8.10 - 9 - enjoying peace and quiet, writing this post while eating cold soup.

And the day is not over yet since cleaning up/laundry/tons of other stuff must be done.

I wanted to finish this with the cliche of looking forward to relaxing day at work tomorrow, but towards the end of the post I must admit - it was fun! Tiring, annoying, crazy busy - but overall fun day! I so wish I could stay home with them and have more of these days... (Note to the Al-mighty, please don't interpret this as a hidden desire to be laid off...)

Where SubWife admits that she needs to grow up, but refuses to.

DD's last year teacher was a very nice woman and no doubt good at what she does. She put a lot of effort and creativity into her work, which did not go unnoticed by us. For example, every time she would introduce a new letter, the teacher would dress up as a certain character to get the kids' attention.

However, we didn't always see eye to eye on certain things. One of the complaints the teacher had was DD's lack of maturity across the border - her language skills, her cutting, even the way DD played was scrutinized and considered below her age level. I found the whole thing ridiculous. Nevertheless, DD was evaluated, teacher was proven wrong on pretty much all accounts, we had relived a few panic attacks about the future of our firstborn, and so far had moved on.

DD's school was on my mind recently when we were reviewing Aleph Beis. I asked DD if she missed that Aleph Beis character her teacher did because next year she wouldn't have it. DD laughed and very firmly said, "No!" I was surprised. "How come?" I asked. DD looked at me and said, "This character was so silly and doing all the silly things. I really didn't like it, it was just too silly." I knew the teacher meant for this character to be fun, but I am sure "silly" wasn't part of the intention. I knew I should be a bigger person and all, but all I could think was, "How's that for immature? Hehe."

Got milk?

We have been long time Ikea patrons. As a matter of fact, most of our furniture at home is from Ikea. For the longest time our living room looked like a page out of their catalog (that is before kids started ruining it). We were very happy when they opened their store in Red Hook, which meant we no longer had to travel to New Jersey if we wanted to go to Ikea. What we discovered very quickly though was that the staff in the new location is less than friendly. Security guards reminded me the Soviet era customer service and why exactly everyone hated it. A few times I had an argument with guards when they insisted they knew better than me where I needed to go in a store and whether or not I can take a shopping cart there with me. Whatever. Ikea in Elizabeth is so much friendlier. And sales tax is only 3%.

So I am not surprised that a nursing mother in Ikea, Red Hook got a less than stellar treatment. Thankfully, such an incident never occurred to me, but now I wonder if I should continue patronizing this location. If not as a matter of principle, then simply because I don't want to be herded asked by a rude security guard to nurse in their bathrooms.

P.S. the article has a very comprehensive guide on the rights of nursing mothers. Some things might come as a surprise even to seasoned moms. For example, did you know that employers are OBLIGATED to provide breaks for pumping? I only found out a few months ago, and this guide has this info.

First tooth!!!

I saw it yesterday, but wasn't 100% sure because the baby didn't want to cooperate with inspection. Today it's cofirmed!!! We got first tooth, barely four months of age. Spoke to Mom, and she asked me why I was so happy. As far as she can remember, that usually means biting while the baby nurses. And I had to concur.

Still, first tooth!!!

On wearing big sister's hand-me-downs

Ooh, ooh, new pajamas! Yellow with pink flowers - a bit girly and babyish, but after all that's what I am.

Wait a minute, they look worn! Don't tell me it's another big sister hand-me-down. Ugh, such is my fate. OK, OK, put them on me. These are still preferable to the one I spit on. Careful with those tiny hands; fingers, fingers, phew, disaster avoided.

What do you think you are doing? Stop tickling my tummy. I will not smile, not with those hand-me-down pajamas any way. MOM, stop it! She is not giving up. OK, there, happy now? OMG, she keeps on going; serves me right for encouraging her with my smiles. Goodness, it's finally over. Just snap up those pj's and let's move on.

Hey, what is this? Oh. My. God. There's a hole! There's a hole in my pj's! Why is no one noticing? It's huge! Look, I can stick my entire big toe through it! See? See? Hello, anybody looking at the baby? Looks like I caught their attention! Car seat? They are not taking me to public dressed like THAT! I will not go anywhere unless they change me. I simply refuse. Bwahhhh!

Where am I? I must've dozed off for a bit. Ooph, what a nightmare. It was a nightmare, right? Right???? Nope, big toe is still sticking out. I must've tried to block this out of my memory. They are pointint at my toe, looks like they've finally noticed! Why is he laughing? She's laughing too. They think it's cute! Oh, no, now they'll never change me. Look at those two - I think they have been entertaining themselves with this for hours. They are so easy to please. Let's throw them a bone - I'll wiggle the toe. They are squealing with delight! Let's try again. Wiggle, wiggle - squeal! Wiggle - squeal, wiggle - squeal. This is down right Pavlovian! Parents are so weird.

Ahhh, home sweet home. Where are you going? Aren't you going to change me? Camera? No, no, no, no, no. You are not taking a picture of me looking like that, oh no. She insists. Gotta move so that she won't be able to focus. Move those legs. Bet she regrets teaching me that bicycle move. Move those legs, move those legs, move 'em. My tiny chubby body tires too fast, I can't keep this up for much longer.

Does she ever give up? I must distract her. I got something up my sleeve, well, not per se, but that should catch her attention. There's a reason why they are called explosive diapers. Ugh, flash. I think she got it.

Hope she won't put this on her blog, there must be some decency left in her, right?

Phew, finally changed and in different pajamas. Aren't you going to pick me up? Yes, you are! You are so warm and nice. You are the best! I love you, mom. Yes, that's a real smile, not just gas. I think I am dozing off again...

Our answer to Chamberlain - Part II

Found this while looking for something else.

The prime purpose of being four is to enjoy being four - of secondary importance is to prepare for being five. ~Jim Trelease, The Read-Aloud Handbook, 1985

You are worried about seeing him spend his early years in doing nothing. What! Is it nothing to be happy? Nothing to skip, play, and run around all day long? Never in his life will he be so busy again. ~Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Emile, 1762


Courtesy of www.quotegarden.com

Our answer to Chamberlain

I asked DS Wednesday night about what he was doing in the playgroup that day. Immediately, his response was, "I slept." After a few seconds of pondering, he added that he ate too.
SW: Anything else?
DS: I ate. I ate chicken. And then I slept.
SW: Was that it?
DS: Yeah.
SW: Did you learn anything?
DS: (blank stare)

Yep, I can see how all this developmental and education stuff is leaving its mark on my son.

Since then I learned that the daycare owner is planning to add some educational program in the afternoon. I am furious and planning to have a serious talk with her. Not my first one on the topic, mind you. Enough already. Given how much impact the morning "leaning" is making, maybe it's time to let kids be kids?

What are you looking for?

Seems like we are doing a pretty good job at indoctrinating the kids. While at my parents, DD was watching a cartoon (I remember watching that cartoon when DD's age, LOL) where all the animals brought Rabbit all different kinds of delicious food: nuts, fruits, cakes and pies. DD looked at it and told Mom, "Grandma, this is a beautiful shabbos party."



On another occasion, I was reading the kids the book about Kipper and his flashlight. Both kids looked at the flashlight and asked me, "Is Kipper looking for chametz?"

Today is SubHistory's Mysteries

Mystery #1.

I just looked over my blog and realized that I have misspelled the title of my previous entry. It was supposed to be "it" not "I". But even spelled correctly, the title still made little sense. What I really meant was ,"She could've been so much worse", but something tells me that even that is not very right, so I am leaving things as they are. Let the title remain a mystery of some sort.

Mystery #2.

When DD still wore size 2 diapers, our pediatrician recommended Triple Paste diaper ointment. We followed with the recommendation and bought a 1 pound jar, which lasted throughout DS's diaper years and was finally finished last week. A few weeks ago, anticipating the ultimate demise of the jar that lasted 4+ years, I bought another one in Target. The jar was exactly the same, and the price, though still rather steep, didn't change since our last purchase. Upon closer examination though, I found that the jar war marked as a 10 oz, not 1 pound. Here's what I find fascinating: the jars are identical and the 10 oz jar is filled to the top and not half empty as I have expected. I was so intrigued, I went on company's website only to find out that they don't manufacture 10 oz jars, only 8 oz and 1 pound. So is Target selling counterfeit butt cream?

Mystery #3.

I am still on Weight Watchers. (How I haven't stopped is a mystery on in itself.) After starving for a week, I lost 3 pounds, only to regain 2 pounds a day of starvation later. How, I ask you, how???? On the other hand, after allowing myself to "live" on Shavuos, cheesecake and all, I only gained a pound. I guess stuffing myself pays off better than starving. And so much more enjoyable!

On that note I am off to solve yet another mystery: is there any leftover cheesecake?

I could be so much worse

Today was the first time I heard about America's Worst Mom, title given to the woman who allowed her 9 year old son ride NY subway by himself. You can read more about her here or simply Google America's Worst Mom. Basically what she says is that today's streets are safer than 30 years ago yet children are not allowed to do many of the things their parents were allowed at the same age. And she attributes this mainly to the fear mongering media.

I have been thinking about this ever since DD started walking. Lenore (America's Worst Mom) has all the facts straight, and statistically speaking children are lot more likely to be abducted/abused by a relative or a close family friend than by a stranger, in their own home, where parents relax their watchful eye. I see the logic behind what she says and wholeheartedly agree that freedom is very important to children. And I soooo much want to give to them as early and as much of it as I was given. However, emotionally I am incapable of letting go because if, God forbid, something happens, I will never forgive myself. No matter how statistically unlikely the worst case scenario is, I cannot ignore the "what if."

Overall, I find the topic extremely sad and depressing. What do you think?

Back to reality

Unread emails in the in-box: 245
Number of people asking "Back already?": 8
Number of frantic phone calls: 6 (2 to the babysitter, 4 to SubHub)
Attempts to cry: 3 (2 mine, 1 DS's)
Successful attempts to cry: 0
Realization that we all survived my first day back to work: priceless.

T minus 7

It's back to work one week from now. As the time approaches, more and more reminders of this inevitable fact pop up: papers I need filled out by my doc, making sure I have something that fits and looks professional, frozen breast milk in my freezer. The thought of leaving my child at the age of two months with someone else brings this overwhelming feeling of sadness, so I put the papers away, shut the freezer and don't check my email. I procrastinate as much as I can, but I can't keep up this act for much longer.

One would think that leaving children in care of others somehow gets easier with each consecutive child. While I will say that #1 was extremely emotionally draining, I cannot say that #3 is easier than #2. Maybe even harder on some level. I keep reminding myself how much I hate housework, the social isolation, the feeling of being couped up in the house, especially when it rains for days, like it has been for the past few days. But everything fades in comparison to the loss of ability to pick up my baby when I please, nurse her, look into her face and beg her to smile. Instead I will have to settle for phone updates, picture on my screen saver and frantically looking for an empty office to pump.

Hey, here's another confession. When I say I would go insane staying at home, I believe what I say at that particular moment. I have to. Because frankly I don't have a choice. But deep down inside I know that given an opportunity, I would embrace that insanity.

Don't worry, eat heartily

I went to pick up DS from his playgroup, first time in a long, long time, and first time ever this early. As I was waiting for him to get ready and say his goodbyes, I met one of the teachers' assistants, a fifty something year old Russian woman. She started out conversation with nodding her head in the direction of DS: "Yours?" This reminded me of an old spy movie, so I decided to be true to the genre, looked around so no on could hear us and half-whispered back, "Mine." She didn't dig the genre though and started talking normally. Basically her point was as follows: DS doesn't listen, at all, oy vavoy, but eats well, so I shouldn't worry. I am still cracking up.

I say goodbye and you say hello

Okay, folks, don't get alarmed, but we are now officially members of a cult, the Hello Kitty cult. How could this have possibly happened? I don't quite understand. This pink atrocity of an animal has been around for years (if it were a real cat it would've been dead by now and buried to loud cheers of parents forced and manipulated into making regular monetary contributions to this cult). I remember being in my teens when I learned about Hello Kitty and that my friends' kids were into it. Right then and there I solemnly swore that I would not be a part to this rip off and my kids would not make me buy them this overpriced - what's the word, the printable word - garbage. I also hoped by the time I would have kids, the craze would be over. I was wrong on both counts, so hello, hello, stupid (Mom, that's a bad word) kitty.

The slope downward started when we went to Target and they had coloring and activity Hello Kitty books on sale, just a buck. I owed DD a prize for something, so a $1 book seemed like a bargain. Well, bargain my behind! It was a trap, TRAP!!! Once DD realized that she can get this stuff, stuff that I resisted to buy for months, she started begging for stickers, pencils, etc every time she saw them. Last Sunday my resistance was once again broken and I have been suckered into buying Hello Kitty stickers. And so it starts. I still hope to win this, but deep down I know I can win a battle or two, but the war is lost, and we will be bringing forth $$$ sacrifices and offerings to this feline from this day on.

Does anyone know if there are Hello, Bitch stickers? Would they help with our kitty situation?

Baby you can drive me nuts, but baby I love you

In my deranged state of constant sleep deprivation, I decided to keep DS home today - to save money and foster some mother-son bonding Well, really in the opposite order, but whatever. At 8.30 SubHub leaves with DD and we are on our own.

DS's baby sister refuses to cooperate and keeps on whining asking for attention. So in the absence of his big sister, DS has to find a way to entertain himself. He starts by raiding every kitchen drawer in search of candy and of course finds it. I allow one, he eats two and begs for more. I put my foot down and he agrees. I am surprised.

Two minutes later, still surprised, I find him munching on chocolate, taking bites off an entire bar. I confiscate the chocolate, sigh, mentally compliment DS on his survival skills, and take a bite of chocolate myself when I am out of DS's sight. What? I need some mental and physical reinforcement, and in my book chocolate is better than Prozac. Right?

"Mama, may I watch a cartoon?" "No, we are supposed to bond"

While the baby is still whining, at 9.05 DS finally finds his toy plane. I am grateful for an opportunity to brush teeth when the baby finally falls asleep. By the time I am done with my teeth, the baby is awake (no, I did not take 2 hours or hid in the bathroom from the kids, not today). While she nurses, I mentally note that the apartment smells really nice. Nice. Finally a break. Mmm....

At 9.15 I find my underwear drawer turned upside down. Ugh, I hate organizing the drawers in my drawers. (My lame attempt at joking. Give me a break, I am sleep deprived, OK?) What was he looking for? Lucky for DS, my attention span is very short. I start a load of laundry and in the process realize why the apartment smells so good: DS's plane needed refueling and there's no better fuel than Mommy's perfume. You know, the one they sell only in fancy stores and that costs like $70 a sniff. I take away the perfume.

"Mama, may I watch a cartoon?" "No, we are supposed to be bonding" (A tad louder than the last time.)

At 9.25 I find my underwear drawer messed up yet again. Ughrrrrr! Did I mention I HATE HATE HATE organizing that thing? Especially after doing it only 10 minutes ago? What could he possibly be looking for?! I run looking for DS and find him with another bottle of my perfume. I finally make the connection between messed up underwear drawer and perfume - I hid my perfume from children so well that I forgot it was there. I mentally thank DS for finding my perfume and congratulate on his ingenuity though verbally I chide him for using half of my smelling supplies. I try to confiscate precious liquid, but DS breaks down crying: he needs something that makes pshh pshh to refuel his plane. A real tragedy might happen if he doesn't get where he intends to get on that plane. We settle on my deodorant.

"Mama, may I watch a cartoon?" "Nooooo"

Still hoping for some bonding experience with DS, I try something we can do together only to be derailed by a wailing baby. At least I will be in the same room with him. I enter the living room and immediately start sneezing uncontrollably - whatever makes deodorant go pshh pshh, also makes me sneeze until brains start dripping down my nose.

"Mama, may I watch a cartoon?" "No"

It's only 9.40, and I am ready to depilate my head. Good thing I cover my hair.

At 9.50 he finds my very fragile amber necklace. For a few minutes I pretend that I don't notice he has it. I can no longer do so when DS starts handling it with one of his father's tools. By the way, where is his father?

By 10 am , I am ready to give DS a very different bonding experience: I contemplate tying him to a chair to prevent damage to our apartment. I decide against it, but only after making a long list of pros and cons, all while nursing the poor baby who is still kvetching.

"Mama, may I watch a cartoon?" "No"

The next 45 minutes pass in a blur, I might have passed out from the deodorant gasses for all I know or from sleeping only in hourly increments for the past month. By 10.45 I break down and put a cartoon for DS.

At 11.15 am, SubHub comes home and starts on his woodworking project. He takes DS with him to the porch, much to DS's delight. They bond... (Why are these things easier for men? Or is there something wrong with me?)

It's 11.45 am, and DS and I are making faces through the window at each other while I rock the kvetching baby. Ahhh, finally some bonding experience...

Dilemma

Two days ago I discovered that DD's haircut is not even in the back. And now I have a dilemma that would probably occupy most of my thoughts if not for having an infant in the house. Nevertheless, I do have a dilemma: do I tell our in-house Edward Scissorhands or do I keep quiet? On the one hand, DD's hair is wavy, so the unevenness is visible only under careful examination. On the other hand, it IS uneven. But I am afraid that another trimming session might leave DD with her sister's peach fuzz, and no one wants that.



What do I do? (That is until I can take her to the professional hair dresser...)

Picture courtesy of Google images.