Thursday, November 12, 2009
My reason
Reason #273 to have a baby: During rush hour, you get to use the HOV lane. Even if you just went shopping, and not to work.
A milestone minute
I don't read parenting books, so I have no idea what all the "milestones" for babies are. And I have no idea when they are supposed to occur.
This has its pros and cons - the biggest pro being that I get excited about everything Bjorn does that is new and different from the day before. I'm not searching for the next written "milestone" and I don't get worried that he hasn't sprouted a tooth/crawled away/spoke in complete sentences yet.
Today's Mama Loves Milestone:
He can sit up. All by himself.
Of course, it is only for about a minute, and then he slowly weeble-wobbles and topples to the floor.
Then we all laugh, sit him upright again and do it all over again.
Yes, I laugh when my baby boy falls over. But he's very durable. He can handle it.
This has its pros and cons - the biggest pro being that I get excited about everything Bjorn does that is new and different from the day before. I'm not searching for the next written "milestone" and I don't get worried that he hasn't sprouted a tooth/crawled away/spoke in complete sentences yet.
Today's Mama Loves Milestone:
He can sit up. All by himself.
Of course, it is only for about a minute, and then he slowly weeble-wobbles and topples to the floor.
Then we all laugh, sit him upright again and do it all over again.
Yes, I laugh when my baby boy falls over. But he's very durable. He can handle it.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Mama's advice
Oh yeah, I have absolutely no self-motivational skills.
I have skipped three days of NaBlogWritingMo and have yet to begin on the novel stuff. Oops. I've got to figure how to motivate myself! Eh, who am I kidding? It will happen when it happens. . . . and knowing me, not anytime soon!
Last Saturday was my 10 year HS reunion. It was also only the third time in Bjorns short life that I have left him with someone else for more than two hours.
The first time was less than 2 weeks after his birth, when Grandma watched him so Daddy and I could go out to celebrate my birthday. It was heaven for me, as I was an emotional wreck for the first six weeks, but Daddy missed him immensely.
The second time was when Bjorn was 3 months old and I had a bachelorette party that lasted all weekend. This almost doesn't count, for Bjorn spent the weekend with his Daddy. It's not like I left him at a baby-sitter's all weekend. But I didn't see him for almost three whole days.
Then, this last time, I left him at 7 pm and returned home at 1:30 am.
Mama had some fun.
Being a Mama, I knew that Bjorn was going to be giving me an early morning wake-up call. I knew that if I wanted to be in top form, I needed to be home early so I could get a good night's rest and be able to deal with him.
But I also knew that if I didn't take advantage of this baby-sitting opportunity and milk it for all that it was worth, that I would regret it. I need that social time.
Turns out, I am actually a better Mama when I have gone out, partied hard and only slept for three hours before my crying alarm clock goes off.
When I woke up at 5 am, I immediately took Bjorn, soothing and calming him. Seeing as we were both still sleepy, I took him into bed with me, where he promptly fell asleep cuddled against me. From then until 9 am, Bjorn would wake up once an hour, and we would play and tickle for about ten minutes before he would fall asleep on me again.
I actually had fun. I didn't mind when he woke me up. I didn't mind when he wanted to play. I even didn't mind when he cried a little. Because I knew that I had gone out and had a blast the night before.
Moral of the story?
Take those nights out. Take that time away. Let someone else deal with the crying and the pooping and let someone else have fun with the playing and the laughing. Get away.
What makes you a better Mama?
I have skipped three days of NaBlogWritingMo and have yet to begin on the novel stuff. Oops. I've got to figure how to motivate myself! Eh, who am I kidding? It will happen when it happens. . . . and knowing me, not anytime soon!
Last Saturday was my 10 year HS reunion. It was also only the third time in Bjorns short life that I have left him with someone else for more than two hours.
The first time was less than 2 weeks after his birth, when Grandma watched him so Daddy and I could go out to celebrate my birthday. It was heaven for me, as I was an emotional wreck for the first six weeks, but Daddy missed him immensely.
The second time was when Bjorn was 3 months old and I had a bachelorette party that lasted all weekend. This almost doesn't count, for Bjorn spent the weekend with his Daddy. It's not like I left him at a baby-sitter's all weekend. But I didn't see him for almost three whole days.
Then, this last time, I left him at 7 pm and returned home at 1:30 am.
Mama had some fun.
Being a Mama, I knew that Bjorn was going to be giving me an early morning wake-up call. I knew that if I wanted to be in top form, I needed to be home early so I could get a good night's rest and be able to deal with him.
But I also knew that if I didn't take advantage of this baby-sitting opportunity and milk it for all that it was worth, that I would regret it. I need that social time.
Turns out, I am actually a better Mama when I have gone out, partied hard and only slept for three hours before my crying alarm clock goes off.
When I woke up at 5 am, I immediately took Bjorn, soothing and calming him. Seeing as we were both still sleepy, I took him into bed with me, where he promptly fell asleep cuddled against me. From then until 9 am, Bjorn would wake up once an hour, and we would play and tickle for about ten minutes before he would fall asleep on me again.
I actually had fun. I didn't mind when he woke me up. I didn't mind when he wanted to play. I even didn't mind when he cried a little. Because I knew that I had gone out and had a blast the night before.
Moral of the story?
Take those nights out. Take that time away. Let someone else deal with the crying and the pooping and let someone else have fun with the playing and the laughing. Get away.
What makes you a better Mama?
Saturday, November 7, 2009
LIfe is a chew toy
Like a dog with a bone, Bjorn likes to chew on anything he can get his hands on.
And now that he can deliberately reach for things, he can get his hands on alot.
Like my glasses, my earrings, my necklaces, my hair. He has learned how to unbutton buttons and zippers. That has led to a few embarrassing situations. He finds the zipper and gnaws on it as he pulls it down. Doesn't quite realize why it's moving, but you can see his little mind thinking,"Well, this is cool - it slides right into my mouth!"
But for this little 'un, life is a chew toy.
Everything head straight into his mouth, and if I thought I was an observant Mama before, now I've had to up the ante.
When I am on the computer, he sits on my lap. I throw about ten different stacks of brightly colored post-its on the table in front of him, giving me about 7 minutes of blog-reading before he gets bored.
Recently, I noticed he was even quieter than usual, for longer than usual. After taking a look at him, I realized why. He had grabbed a single post-it and slowly, but surely, stuffed it accordion-like, into his greedy little mouth. By the time I had caught him, only a thin little edge poked out.
I immediately grabbed it out, and unfurled it (spit and all) to see if any pieces were missing and how much had been swallowed.
Since the little guy doesn't know how to chew quite yet, it was disgustingly wet, but not a piece was missing.
Guess I will have to start keeping a better eye on him. Or else find an actual baby toy to amuse him with.
And now that he can deliberately reach for things, he can get his hands on alot.
Like my glasses, my earrings, my necklaces, my hair. He has learned how to unbutton buttons and zippers. That has led to a few embarrassing situations. He finds the zipper and gnaws on it as he pulls it down. Doesn't quite realize why it's moving, but you can see his little mind thinking,"Well, this is cool - it slides right into my mouth!"
But for this little 'un, life is a chew toy.
Everything head straight into his mouth, and if I thought I was an observant Mama before, now I've had to up the ante.
When I am on the computer, he sits on my lap. I throw about ten different stacks of brightly colored post-its on the table in front of him, giving me about 7 minutes of blog-reading before he gets bored.
Recently, I noticed he was even quieter than usual, for longer than usual. After taking a look at him, I realized why. He had grabbed a single post-it and slowly, but surely, stuffed it accordion-like, into his greedy little mouth. By the time I had caught him, only a thin little edge poked out.
I immediately grabbed it out, and unfurled it (spit and all) to see if any pieces were missing and how much had been swallowed.
Since the little guy doesn't know how to chew quite yet, it was disgustingly wet, but not a piece was missing.
Guess I will have to start keeping a better eye on him. Or else find an actual baby toy to amuse him with.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Leavin' on a jet plane. . . . . .
So here we are, the day of my 10 year HS reunion, and Bjorn and I are in Dallas. Minus Daddy, who has to work all weekend. Boo. :(
But Daddy probably had a very good night's sleep last night, while Bjorn and I didn't sleep at all. Sigh. The joys of traveling with a baby.
He slept both flights from Phoenix to Dallas, as he has the other three times we have flown. He is fantastic on planes. But, then, when we pulled up to my brother and sister-in-laws at midnight, he woke up and was happy as a clam.
(Are clams really that happy? How do we know that clams are happy? Do they smile? Do they laugh? I digress. . . . . )
From midnight until after 2 am, when we finally went to bed, this kid was playing and laughing and enjoying his godparents.
Mama, on the other hand, could feel the trouble a-brewing.
Bjorn fought off sleep like a prize heavyweight fighter, kicking and screaming every time his eyes even threatened to close. The pack 'n' play (borrowed from a thoughtful friend) incited what could only be described as baby curses when I tried to lay him in it. Ah, what a fun night I had in store for me.
And, boy was it.
After two hours of trying to get him to sleep in the pack 'n' play, with rocking and shushing and singing and crying and all those things Mama's do when they are desperate, I gave up.
I pulled him out of the crib, and onto the floor next to me. He promptly rolled over, stuck his hand in his mouth and fell asleep. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly and completed exhausted.
So, of course, I couldn't sleep.
I watched the clock roll from 4 to 4:15 to 4:28, until finally I came to my senses and turned off the damn clock.
Bjorn slept through until 7 am, when he woke up, happy as a lark. (Again with the happy questions - how do we really know that larks are so happy?)
Mama needed an IV of coffee. This traveling thing sucks when the kids gets out of whack.
But Daddy probably had a very good night's sleep last night, while Bjorn and I didn't sleep at all. Sigh. The joys of traveling with a baby.
He slept both flights from Phoenix to Dallas, as he has the other three times we have flown. He is fantastic on planes. But, then, when we pulled up to my brother and sister-in-laws at midnight, he woke up and was happy as a clam.
(Are clams really that happy? How do we know that clams are happy? Do they smile? Do they laugh? I digress. . . . . )
From midnight until after 2 am, when we finally went to bed, this kid was playing and laughing and enjoying his godparents.
Mama, on the other hand, could feel the trouble a-brewing.
Bjorn fought off sleep like a prize heavyweight fighter, kicking and screaming every time his eyes even threatened to close. The pack 'n' play (borrowed from a thoughtful friend) incited what could only be described as baby curses when I tried to lay him in it. Ah, what a fun night I had in store for me.
And, boy was it.
After two hours of trying to get him to sleep in the pack 'n' play, with rocking and shushing and singing and crying and all those things Mama's do when they are desperate, I gave up.
I pulled him out of the crib, and onto the floor next to me. He promptly rolled over, stuck his hand in his mouth and fell asleep. I, on the other hand, was thoroughly and completed exhausted.
So, of course, I couldn't sleep.
I watched the clock roll from 4 to 4:15 to 4:28, until finally I came to my senses and turned off the damn clock.
Bjorn slept through until 7 am, when he woke up, happy as a lark. (Again with the happy questions - how do we really know that larks are so happy?)
Mama needed an IV of coffee. This traveling thing sucks when the kids gets out of whack.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Everyday Choices
Yesterday, during my never-ending quest for the perfect boots (which was futile, since apparently my perfect boots are not in style this season), I saw a homeless man standing at a red light.
Since Phoenix in the winter has practically perfect weather for the homeless, I was not surprised. This is the time of year when every corner has a man with a sign and a dog.
But this got me to thinking. . .
Fortunately, Bjorn is not at an age yet where I have to teach him anything besides how to reach for his feet so he can put his toes in his mouth. And that was quite easy to accomplish. But soon I will have to start teaching him discipline and strength, compassion and giving.
And I have a choice.
Do I teach him that everyone should work hard for what they get? Or should I teach him that we should give to the homeless just because they stand out there with a sign? These seem to contradict themselves.
I have heard the stories - that the homeless average about $35,000 a year, tax-free. That some "homeless" drive new vehicles and wear designer clothes. I even read an article a few years back written by a Director for a homeless shelter asking people not to give the homeless money. This would only encourage their actions, where there are plenty of government subsidized programs available to them. Ones that we are already paying for with our taxes.
It was the longest red light in the history of red lights, but I suddenly realized that I didn't have a choice. I didn't get to decide what I was going to teach.
Someone had already taught me the right thing to do. I would have to do the same.
As the light turned green, I reached into my glove compartment for my emergency granola bar and into my diaper bag for my emergency apple. (I get hungry alot, and when I get hungry, I get mean. Mean with a capital B. I carry alot of emergency food with me.)
It was 2:00 in the afternoon, and I had already had three cups of coffee, a bowl of cereal, a hamburger, some Cheez-its and a box of raisins. Had this man eaten all day? Yesterday, even?
I rolled up next to him and handed him all my emergency food. Healthy food that would sustain him if what he really wanted was sustainability.
But what I really gave him was hope.
This is what I want to pass on to my son. Although this man may be a sneak and a crook, he also may be a proud man, down on his luck. Although he may live in a house bigger and nicer than ours, he also might live under the highway overpass. And although he may snigger and chuckle at the sucker I am, he also might send up an extra prayer for me.
Every Christmas season growing up, when the homeless began to appear on the corners of our small Dallas suburb, my mom would head to McDonalds, where she would put $100 of her hard-earned money into 4 $25 gift books. She would dole out $5 gift certificates to each homeless person she could, knowing that with that money they could get a hot coffee, a burger, and maybe even an apple pie.
With a $5 gift certificate, they could get a meal. A head start. A promise of something better.
That is what I want to teach my son. That although you can stand back and be cynical, it is better to stand tall and be compassionate.
Matthew 25: 34-40 Then the King will say to those on his right hand, "Come, you whom my Father has blessed, take as your heritage the kingdom prepared for you since the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you gave me welcome, lacking clothes and you clothed me, sick and you visited me, in prison and you came to see me." Then the upright will say to him in reply, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and make you welcome, lacking clothes and clothe you? When did we find you sick or in prison, and go to see you?" And the King will answer,"In truth I tell you, in so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me."
Since Phoenix in the winter has practically perfect weather for the homeless, I was not surprised. This is the time of year when every corner has a man with a sign and a dog.
But this got me to thinking. . .
Fortunately, Bjorn is not at an age yet where I have to teach him anything besides how to reach for his feet so he can put his toes in his mouth. And that was quite easy to accomplish. But soon I will have to start teaching him discipline and strength, compassion and giving.
And I have a choice.
Do I teach him that everyone should work hard for what they get? Or should I teach him that we should give to the homeless just because they stand out there with a sign? These seem to contradict themselves.
I have heard the stories - that the homeless average about $35,000 a year, tax-free. That some "homeless" drive new vehicles and wear designer clothes. I even read an article a few years back written by a Director for a homeless shelter asking people not to give the homeless money. This would only encourage their actions, where there are plenty of government subsidized programs available to them. Ones that we are already paying for with our taxes.
It was the longest red light in the history of red lights, but I suddenly realized that I didn't have a choice. I didn't get to decide what I was going to teach.
Someone had already taught me the right thing to do. I would have to do the same.
As the light turned green, I reached into my glove compartment for my emergency granola bar and into my diaper bag for my emergency apple. (I get hungry alot, and when I get hungry, I get mean. Mean with a capital B. I carry alot of emergency food with me.)
It was 2:00 in the afternoon, and I had already had three cups of coffee, a bowl of cereal, a hamburger, some Cheez-its and a box of raisins. Had this man eaten all day? Yesterday, even?
I rolled up next to him and handed him all my emergency food. Healthy food that would sustain him if what he really wanted was sustainability.
But what I really gave him was hope.
This is what I want to pass on to my son. Although this man may be a sneak and a crook, he also may be a proud man, down on his luck. Although he may live in a house bigger and nicer than ours, he also might live under the highway overpass. And although he may snigger and chuckle at the sucker I am, he also might send up an extra prayer for me.
Every Christmas season growing up, when the homeless began to appear on the corners of our small Dallas suburb, my mom would head to McDonalds, where she would put $100 of her hard-earned money into 4 $25 gift books. She would dole out $5 gift certificates to each homeless person she could, knowing that with that money they could get a hot coffee, a burger, and maybe even an apple pie.
With a $5 gift certificate, they could get a meal. A head start. A promise of something better.
That is what I want to teach my son. That although you can stand back and be cynical, it is better to stand tall and be compassionate.
Matthew 25: 34-40 Then the King will say to those on his right hand, "Come, you whom my Father has blessed, take as your heritage the kingdom prepared for you since the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you gave me welcome, lacking clothes and you clothed me, sick and you visited me, in prison and you came to see me." Then the upright will say to him in reply, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and make you welcome, lacking clothes and clothe you? When did we find you sick or in prison, and go to see you?" And the King will answer,"In truth I tell you, in so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me."
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
November Goal
One of the Mommy Bloggers I stalk read on a daily basis, AnyMommy, reminded me in her post today that it is, in fact, National Blog Posting Month and National Novel Writing Month.
Pretty much, it's Write Your Ass Off Month.
I looked at the websites for both the Novel and Blog Writing and thought "Wow, well, I'm much too busy to participate in both, so I guess I will just see if I can possibly, maybe, do the blog writing. After all, I might be able to actually do that. I guess."
Talk about gung-ho! Look at that enthusiasm!
The Novel Writing is all about "quantity, not quality", which is something I can appreciate considering that I already have 3/4 of a novel sitting idly in Microsoft Word. And because the other 1/4 of the novel is in bits and pieces spread three computers, pieces of napkins from epiphanies in restaurants and any other piece of paper (receipts, toilet paper, etc) that is handy when inspiration has struck. I have alot of quantity, but I haven't actually read through it to see if any of it is quality.
The Blog Writing is simple. Write a post a day for the month of November. I first thought '"But, I have a 5 month old and my HS reunion and my house needs to be cleaned and I really wanted to go shopping today for those new boots I'm salivating over and. . . . "
Suck it up, Girl. It's time to put your writing cap on.
So, in honor of Write Until Your Fingers Fall Off Month, I have decided to participate in both. Unofficially, of course, as I am a fantastic starter at things (half-marathon training, that damned almost finished book) and horrible at finishing them. So the pressure is on. . . . but not really. I haven't signed up, and I haven't paid any entry fees. I'm still half-assing it. But that's why we have Bloggie friends, right? To keep us on our toes when we kinda, sorta, only halfway do something?
I'm still not all gung-ho about it, but I'm trying. C'mon, give me a little credit. (And also give me credit for finally figuring out how to cross out typed words like in the first paragraph. I've been wanting to do that since I first started blogging!)
By the end of November (Because I am going to cheat a little - I know Nov has already started, but the 30th is such a clean number, so I am going to forget about these first three days and start now. Pretend its February with only 28 days.) Anyways - by the end of November, I should have a post a day on this blog and a finished book. (Really? Finished? Can I really do that?)
I mean, really, what else do I have to do? My 5 month old can entertain himself for one hour, my HS reunion is only one weekend, this house will never be clean again, and those boots I'm drooling over? Well. . . I'm gonna buy those boots today.
I have to. I love boots.
Pretty much, it's Write Your Ass Off Month.
I looked at the websites for both the Novel and Blog Writing and thought "Wow, well, I'm much too busy to participate in both, so I guess I will just see if I can possibly, maybe, do the blog writing. After all, I might be able to actually do that. I guess."
Talk about gung-ho! Look at that enthusiasm!
The Novel Writing is all about "quantity, not quality", which is something I can appreciate considering that I already have 3/4 of a novel sitting idly in Microsoft Word. And because the other 1/4 of the novel is in bits and pieces spread three computers, pieces of napkins from epiphanies in restaurants and any other piece of paper (receipts, toilet paper, etc) that is handy when inspiration has struck. I have alot of quantity, but I haven't actually read through it to see if any of it is quality.
The Blog Writing is simple. Write a post a day for the month of November. I first thought '"But, I have a 5 month old and my HS reunion and my house needs to be cleaned and I really wanted to go shopping today for those new boots I'm salivating over and. . . . "
Suck it up, Girl. It's time to put your writing cap on.
So, in honor of Write Until Your Fingers Fall Off Month, I have decided to participate in both. Unofficially, of course, as I am a fantastic starter at things (half-marathon training, that damned almost finished book) and horrible at finishing them. So the pressure is on. . . . but not really. I haven't signed up, and I haven't paid any entry fees. I'm still half-assing it. But that's why we have Bloggie friends, right? To keep us on our toes when we kinda, sorta, only halfway do something?
I'm still not all gung-ho about it, but I'm trying. C'mon, give me a little credit. (And also give me credit for finally figuring out how to cross out typed words like in the first paragraph. I've been wanting to do that since I first started blogging!)
By the end of November (Because I am going to cheat a little - I know Nov has already started, but the 30th is such a clean number, so I am going to forget about these first three days and start now. Pretend its February with only 28 days.) Anyways - by the end of November, I should have a post a day on this blog and a finished book. (Really? Finished? Can I really do that?)
I mean, really, what else do I have to do? My 5 month old can entertain himself for one hour, my HS reunion is only one weekend, this house will never be clean again, and those boots I'm drooling over? Well. . . I'm gonna buy those boots today.
I have to. I love boots.
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