For real though I guess passing out on the couch is just his thing now. He’s gonna make a great dad someday.
For real though I guess passing out on the couch is just his thing now. He’s gonna make a great dad someday.
We took the boys to the Natural History Museum today, along with all the other NYC parents desperate to get their kids out of the house. More crowded than we’re used to ( we usually go midweek), but it killed the day in a satisfactory way. Now what are we going to do for the next two days? How do you all pass winter weekends with your kids? Especially those of you who live in similarly cramped spaces?
Zachary, you are very cute and sweet and a really top-notch cuddler. But if you don’t knock it off with the 5am wake-ups, you’re going to have to find another place to live. Maybe Monique will take you in. She already has four boys, what’s one more? She clearly loves chaos and you’re pretty good at that.
(But seriously guys, he woke up at 4am this morning and was ready to party. Like, 5:30am is one thing, but 4am? NO. I brought him into bed with me and ohhhhhhhhhh instant snuggles and bliss. He fell back asleep almost instantly, and the sweetness of the cuddles and extra-sleep-for-me sort of made up for the fact that I was squished in the middle of two lightly snoring dudes.)
I stripped Milo’s bed the other so I could wash his blankets and sheet. I remade the bed with a clean sheet, but had to put a spare blanket on for the night. It’s kind of ugly (tan cotton), but it’s warm when folded over (and it’s queen-size, so it folds over a few times), which was my only concern. Milo was asleep when I transferred him from our bed to his, so I guess he hadn’t realized that the bedding was different before he went to sleep. I came into the room yesterday morning to find him sitting up in bed, looking at me reproachfully. “Good morning, sweetie. Did you have a good sleep?” I asked. “No, I didn’t,” he informed with a hurt tone. I was surprised, and asked him what the problem was. “But because you took away my blanket and made me sleep under an old towel! I don’t like to sleep under towels!”
So basically that’s what my kid thinks of my parenting, that I would just make him sleep under towels because I can’t be bothered to put a blanket on his bed. This probably speaks volumes, somehow. Maybe I need to step up my parenting game.
Today and all days, I’m thankful for this little guy right here.
At just about 18 months, he’s still my Sweet Baby. He might always be my baby. I’m so thankful that I’m getting to fully experience this age this time around because 18 months is delightful. I feel like I missed out a bit on this stage with Milo because I was pregnant, and I was so miserable and sick for several months. It makes up a bit for the fact that I feel like I missed out a bit, emotionally, on Zach’s early babyhood. I was so busy trying to keep Milo occupied and dealing with serious sleep deprivation that I feel like I was sleep-walking through all those long winter months.
I’m thankful that I get three days a week now of one-on-one time with Zach. I’ve seen his personality bloom so much over the past few months. He makes me laugh constantly with his inherent comic qualities, his facial expressions, his merry little smiles, the way he says Mama in a dozen different tones. I could do without being attacked by every stuffed animal or animal toy (in Zacky’s world, even toy elephants enjoy growling and attacking mamas), but I suppose that’s what you get when you grow up watching your big brother play with dinosaurs.
"Juice!" he demands. The determined and extreme cry-fest when he’s told he’s not allowed any more orange juice makes me a little afraid for what we’re in for over the next few years, but we’ll deal with that when we come to it. Other favorite demands include: "I want down!" "Peeeeeeas! "Cheese!" and, when he sees or wants a train, "Doo doo doo!" The train obsession has started early in this one, and boy does it run deep.
His current favorite eating method is to stand by the refrigerator with his mouth open. “Bupbis?” He asks, pointing to the hummus. He opens his mouth like a baby bird and waits for a spoonful to be inserted.
Considering how poorly he slept for his first 14 months, his love of sleep now is a true gift. We were sitting on the couch this morning reading some books, and all of a sudden I felt his head go heavy against my arm. I looked down, and there he was, fast asleep, his little head buried in my arm, cheeks puffed out blissfully. I knew that the smart thing to do would be to scoop him up and put him in his bed, but I couldn’t resist sitting there for a few minutes with my arm around him and my face buried in his soft hair, just breathing in his perfect little baby scent.
Why we need Reproductive Justice:
Once the boy was born, Ms. McKenna filed in New York for temporary custody. But on May 30, a Family Court referee refused, rebuking Ms. McKenna for “unjustifiable conduct” and “forum shopping” and making the unusual decision to leave the case in California even though the baby was born and lived in New York.
While Ms. McKenna “did not ‘abduct’ the child,” the court said, “her appropriation of the child while in utero was irresponsible, reprehensible.”
Her “appropriation of the child while in utero” - as in, she left California with her own uterus and the occupant of said uterus to go to school in New York. And then a judge said she was forum shopping. Because she left California with a fetus, the occupant of her uterus, to attend Columbia University in order to get a college degree.
I read this article yesterday. I’m still seeing red. Unbelievable.
There are not a lot of things that I’m going to miss about this particular 3.5-year-old phase of Milo’s life. Like, even when they grow up and don’t call me on their telepathic Google mind reader phones, and don’t respond to my emails or my brain wave text or whatever method of communication we’re all using by then, no, not even then will I miss much about this stage of his life. The whining, the crying, the inexplicable mood changes, the moments of extreme brattiness. Nope!
But it’s not all bad. There are a few things I’ll look back on with fondness.
Someday I’m going to look back and laugh when I remember how he called farts “fresh air.” As in, “Oh sorry! My butt has fresh air.” “Ewww, Zacky’s butt has fresh air. I hate it.”
I’m going to miss his mis-hearing. “Who are your friends in your dance class, Milo?” “Calvin, Zoe and Banana Peel.” “Banana Peel?” (I later figured out that Banana Peel’s real name is Penelope.)
I suspect he’ll probably never truly grow out of being a bit melodramatic and theatrical, but I assume at some point he’ll tame some of his wildly theatrical body language mannerisms. (I mean, maybe? He’s definitely a lot more Rogers and Hammerstein than Einstein, so maybe not.) The extravagant shrugs with hands thrown up in the air (“Where are your shoes, buddy? “I HAVE NO IDEA MAMA” cue wild mannerisms). The back of his hand flung against his forehead, along with accompanying backwards fling of his whole body onto his bed/ground/couch/etc, when asked to do something he doesn’t want to do. “Sweetie, can you bring me that tissue/shoe/toy?” [dramatic body fling] “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Can’t you see I’m BUSY?”
I wonder if he’ll ever grow out of wanting to be the star of the show. Unless he specifically requests it, he does not want you to sing along to the song. He’s going to sing it, thank you very much. Like, he’ll want you to play Loudon Wainright’s Swimming Song twelve times in a row, but only he’s allowed to sing along to it. No, you’re not allowed to hum either. He’s even taken over his own bedtime routine. I used to sing songs to him, but now he generally sings the songs to me. I point out that this defeats the purpose and why doesn’t he just sing the damn song to himself and let me go out to the living room, but duh mama, what good is singing if you have no audience so please just lay there and let me sing ok.
Who am I kidding, I’m probably going to miss this age a lot. Time has a way of erasing so many of the unpleasant or patience-testing months of childhood, I think, so that we only remember the good stuff. Otherwise sensible people wouldn’t have more than one kid.
According to Google Maps, I walked 6.1 miles today.
There was a steady drizzle happening for the first 1.3 miles, after which we arrived at the Children’s Museum where I spent the next three hours chasing my two little maniacs. Once we left there, I speed-walked the next three of those miles at a very fast clip because I didn’t want Milo to be late to his dance class. Walked the remaining miles home in the dark and under occasional light mist, small portion of that again at a nervous fast clip because big kid had to pee “so so bad mama.”
All of this walking was done while pushing 90lbs worth of stroller, children and stuff. Usually, Milo is good for about 3/4 of a mile at a time of walking, which lightens the load considerably, but today he hated the rain and then was tired from the museum and told me he needed “to save my energy, mama. I can’t go to dance class with no energy. Whew, I need to sit and rest and be nice and cozy. Put the rain cover on, thanks.”
Not only are my legs feeling a little jelly-like, but my arms are all quivery and my wrists are achy because that stupid stroller kept listing to one side or the other, forcing my arms to compensate and hold ‘er steady.
Basically this is all to say, man, I should really get a driver’s license.
After a very trying past two days with Milo (seriously, ENOUGH WITH THE WHINING), I was ready to lose my mind by the time we got home last night. We’d really managed to get ourselves in a nasty spot where he’d whined/yelled so much that my temper knob was automatically set to 9.5, so that the least little thing pushed me up into ten territory. I need to figure out some real plans for this winter because this whole cold weather, enforced-insideness thing is not going to work for either of us.
I woke up this morning at the startingly-late hour of 9:45. The house was completely silent. Matt got up with them bright and early this morning, and took them out to breakfast and then a trip to the park so I could have some downtime.
I have the place to myself, and the silence and hot coffee (not a been-microwaved-twice) are glorious, folks. Have I mentioned how I love my husband? I do.
The boys were in the bath last night, and I was in their room getting their pjs ready. I heard a small splash, Zach start to fuss, then heard Milo say “Oh JEEZ LOUISE RELAX it was a accident, man.”
And I just felt so happy that he’d seized on this one phrase that I say and not one of the more jesus-fucking-christ-will-you-stop type things I may have let loose a few times in recent months.
Oh, you know, just procrastinating on writing this application essay for preschool. Just not really in the mood to write an essay lauding myself/Matt/boys right this moment.
Please, please, please just let Milo get accepted into public pre-k next year. Zacky can fend for himself (poor second child!), right?
bujnik said: ….That’s what a babysitter costs?
Yes. $18-20 an hour for two kids is pretty standard in my neck of Brooklyn, sad to say. Keep in mind, my kids are in bed by 7pm, so they’re asleep by the time the sitter gets here 99% of the time. But hey, I guess if there’s an store dedicated to nothing but artisanal mayonnaise a few blocks from here, why not charge $20 an hour to sit on someone’s couch and watch Netflix, right?
Tonight a friend of ours invited us to a party at his place. He and his girlfriend (who’s still in her 20s) live with someone else in their 20s, so I assume it will be an actual party with loud music and lots of attractive Brooklynites in their 20s not showing up until 10:30 at the earliest. And some of you might think that sounds like hell on earth, but I don’t know, I’m feeling a little wistful right now that I didn’t go. I have a fairly active social life, but it’s definitely of the 37-year-old-SAHM type — some wine in the afternoon with friends, the occasional dinner out, a brunch at someone’s house with the kids every once in a while.
But alas, I am too cheap to spend $75 on a babysitter so that I can go lean up against someone’s counter in the kitchen and drink whiskey and cheap beer and talk about the first Cosmic Psychos record or something. I sent Matt over there though because why should two of us sit at home bored on a Saturday night, right?
Although now that my night is consisting of sitting on the couch sorting through my yarn stash and winding up some skeins that unraveled, pairing up errant needles and drinking white wine while flipping around through the HBO Go offerings, I have to tell you that leaning up against someone else’s counter drinking whiskey and cheap beer actually sounds pretty fucking appealing. But hey, at least I won’t be hungover tomorrow morning at 5:30am when I get up with the boys, right?
The lighting is terrible, and for some reason, I turned my phone sideways a few seconds in, but I think this clip gives you a good sense of the post-trick or treating scene in our house.
Milo the Brave and Zacky the Terrible.
Despite Zach’s face in this picture, they both had a pretty good time of it last night.
Being highly motivated by candy, Milo caught on right away. “Twick or Tweat!” he’d chirp, root around in the bowl for candy (not sure what he was looking for since he’s 3.5 and doesn’t know jack shit about the differences between good and low candy), throw out a loud “THANK YOU” then race on to the next house. Zach, being highly motivated by imitating everything that Milo does, was determined to follow suit. He’d toddle up to the door, solemnly hold out his pumpkin, then waddle back to the sidewalk, nary a smile in the showing.
We have a neighbor in our building who loves the boys. We saw her in the lobby on our way out, and she reached into a bag of goodies that she had with her to give them some treats. Into their buckets went a box of crayons and some lollipops. Then she put an apple into Milo’s bucket. “An apple?” said a dismayed Milo. I tried to shush him, but there’s no shushing a three year old sometimes. “You love apples,” I pointed out. He took it out of his basket and put it in Zach’s bucket. “I don’t want that apple! Zacky can have the apple,” he said, turning back to our neighbor for another lollipop. Zach peered into his bucket at the apple, pulled it out, examined it and dropped it disdainfully on the floor.
What can you do? Even kids who normally fight over who’s going to have the last apple know that apples are a low offering on Halloween.