Stuck Under a Baby

Tag: adventures in mommyhood

Camping in the Living Room

We were supposed to go camping today. It was just going to be for one night. Monkey was excited – not only did it mean sleeping outside, it meant time with his cousin (and favorite person on this planet). But Bear got sick. She had some kind of stomach bug and could barely keep anything down. Although she showed signs of improvement and would most likely have been on the mend by the time we went, being relatively far from civilization with a sick toddler didn’t seem like the best idea… especially with the amount of clothes and sheets we would have had to pack just to get through the night (if the previous nights were any indication of things to come).

Monkey was disappointed, especially because, as expected, Bear no longer showed any signs of being sick (thank goodness, the rest of us seem to have escaped this bug). All the same, it was the right decision to stay home.

But, how do you make up for missing out on a camping trip? Set up a tent in the living room, of course!

I brought Monkey upstairs to get ready for bed, and while we were getting his pajamas, Papa brought his tent, lantern, and sleeping bag up from the basement. Not wanting to deal with a real fire in the fireplace tonight, he set up several candles inside – it was enough to simulate a campfire. Monkey went downstairs and was thrilled, especially when he got to help his Papa assemble the tent.

They shared a snack, played a card game, told some stories, and cuddled up in their sleeping bags.

I kissed them goodnight and told them I’d be on the lookout for bears (but that they were on their own if any skunks came by). The candles were blown out, the lantern turned off, and the tent zipped up. I can hear gentle snores in the living room down the hall and I know that my boys went to sleep happy.

July 27, 2013
But, Oh, Oh, Those Summer Nights

I hate the winter. Sure, I love the holiday season and the twinkling of Christmas lights (which, by the way, I feel should be required to stay up until at least Presidents’ Day), but the whole getting dark at 4 o’clock thing really sucks. The day seems to be over so quickly, I want to be in my pajamas before I’ve even had dinner, and I feel as if I should be asleep by 6 pm. I hate the short winter days and long winter nights. Well, I did. Then I had children.

Oh, how I used to long for these summer nights. The sun setting after 9 pm, having dinner and drinks outside on a patio, going for walks, and basking in the glow of firefly lights. But now that I have kids, I am finding it harder to enjoy these summer nights. Our days are great – we’re playing, we’re learning, we’re enjoying our time together. Our nights, however, are much more challenging. At 7 pm, bathed and fed, my children want nothing more than to go back outside to play and get dirty in the garden or go for yet another bike ride. With the sun still shining so bright, it is hard to convince them that it is actually nearing bedtime.

Keeping the lights in the house low does nothing. Blackout curtains do nothing (the light still seems to find its way in). Using “The Force” to try and make the sun go down earlier does nothing. It has become next to impossible to get my kids to bed before 9 o’clock. Of course, this also does not mean that they sleep in the next morning. Oh, no. When the light peeks in through the “blackout” (yeah, right) curtains, they start tossing and turning. They may doze on and off for a while longer, but every stir reawakens me.

At 5:01 am, I lay there and pray that they will fall back asleep. At 5:38 am, I wonder why Bear needs to nurse again when she just did for the past half hour. At 5:59 am, I think that no one should have to be up this early. At 6:02 am, I debate whether or not I should get up and go to the bathroom, knowing that if I move an inch, I will wake someone under the age of five. At 6:42 am, I am thankful that Bear fell back asleep for almost another hour (and so did I, for part of it at least). At 6:58 am, knowing that both kids will be up for the day soon, I think how nice it would be if they each had a snooze button on their forehead. At 7:15 am, I try to ignore the fact that I am getting jumped on by one or two tiny creatures. At 7:16 am, someone lands on my bladder, making me rethink my 6:02 am decision. At 7:30 am, everyone is awake and I wish I hadn’t gone to bed at 2:00 am… again.

My point is, I guess, that I still love the summer – ice cream, beaches, carnivals, fresh fruits and veggies from our garden, and much more. But, I could really do without the daily bedtime battle. So, summer solstice, can you do me a favor and stay away for the next 10 years or so? Because if you keep this up much longer, I’m going to turn into a crazy lady who starts boarding up her windows come March. Much mahalos.

June 21, 2013
Dandelion Wishes

An essential part of being a kid is picking yellow dandelions and giving them to everyone you know. As a parent and former teacher, I have received my fair share of dandelion bouquets, worn dandelions in my hair, and even put dandelions in a vase full of water.

But the quintessential part of being a kid is picking the whitest, fluffiest dandelions you can find, making a wish, and blowing off every last possible seed (stomping on them is super fun too).

As a grownup, I now know the effects of making those wishes, as more and more dandelions sprout up all over our lawn. But, I still know the magic that lies within and don’t feel that I have the right to stand in the way of anyone’s wishes.

And so, my children pick their dandelions, both yellow and white. And so, I do my best to appreciate every bouquet, hair decoration, and centerpiece I am given. And so, I watch both in horror and in wonder as hundreds of new dandelion seeds take their journey in my backyard and beyond.

My neighbors must hate me.

May 5, 2013
Mommy Fail: Misadventures with Tomato Sauce

I’ve been a mom now for four years now. You would think that will all of this experience I would have learned one of the most basic rules of parenting: Never ever give your children spaghetti AFTER they have had their bath.

When you do, this is what happens:

And then this:

Duh.

**************************

For more of Amy’s misadventures with tomato sauce, click here:

April 25, 2013
Mama Foofed!

My daughter, Bear, had quite a vocabulary by 17 months of age. At 17 1/2 months, she was trying to put two words together, but they were often separated by a very large pause as she tried to connect the two ideas in her head.

One evening a few weeks ago, I took Bear upstairs to put her to bed. I decided that it would be best to go to the bathroom before getting stuck under a baby for the next hour or so. I happened to, well, um, pass some gas, which my family has given the endearing term “foofing.” It wasn’t a remarkable foof (rhymes with hoof) or anything – just your average, every day, run of the mill foof.

Bear giggled. “Foof!” she exclaimed. And she laughed some more. “Mama!”

“Yes, honey, Mama foofed. Excuse me.”

“Foof… … … Mama… … … Mama… … … Foof… … … Foof… … … Mama… … … Foof.”

“Yes, Bear, Mama foofed.”

“Mama… Foof. Foof. Foof. Mama… Foof.”

“I know, love. Mama foofed.”

“Mama foof!”

Her first true sentence.

“Mama foof! Mama foof! Mama foof!”

“Yeah, I know. Mama foofed. That’s enough now. Time for bed.”

I brought her into the bedroom and began nursing her down for the night. She got drowsy and I thought that she was nearing sleep. All of a sudden, she popped off, sat up, and yelled, “MAMA FOOF!”

She was so proud.

******************

Note: Since that day, Bear has made sure to report everyone’s foofs – mine, her Papa’s, Monkey’s, and even her own. No one can escape. And it is now impossible to blame your foof on the baby. Perhaps we should reconsider getting a dog…

March 17, 2013
1,461 Days (A Letter To My Son on His Fourth Birthday)

My Dear Son,

For 1,461 days I have held your hand, carried you close, and stroked your hair.

For 1,461 days I have wiped away your tears, kissed your boo boos, wrestled with you, and tickled you until your belly ached.

For 1,461 days I have nursed you, nourished you, protected you, and bonded with you.

For 1,461 days I have watched you grow, learn, and develop your own unique personality.

For 1,461 days I have laughed with you, cried with you, and worried sick about you.

For 1,461 days I have cheered you on when you won and comforted you when you lost.

For 1,461 days I have watched you become more confident, develop a sense of humor, learn how to share and play well with others, and grow your imagination.

Photo on left: One minute old, February 18, 2009 / Photo on right: 4 years old, February 18, 2013

For 1,461 days I have pushed you to explore the world and have offered a warm lap and open arms when it was too much. For 1,461 days I have rocked you, walked with you, and driven you in circles just so you could get the rest you needed.

For 1,461 days I have cooked for you and re-cooked for you when you weren’t happy with the first selection.

For 1,461 days I have watched you crawl, walk, run, jump, hop, and ride a bicycle.

For 1,461 days I have slept by your side, listened to you breathe, and rested my hand on your beating heart.

For 1,461 days I have read to you, played with you, given you opportunities to investigate and make your own discoveries, and tried to empower you with knowledge.

For 1,461 days I have sung to you, made up stories for you, and listened to your every word.

For 1,461 days I have wished for you, prayed for you, and dreamed big dreams for you.

For 1,461 days I have loved you more and more.

For 1,461 days you have made my world… this world… a better place.

Happy fourth birthday, my darling boy.

Love,

-Mama

*************************

If you liked this post, you may also like:

Mama’s Yellow Chair:

You Can’t Spoil a Baby:

February 20, 2013
The Ace Bandage

Last week, I had a small procedure done on my right wrist. When it was over, the doctor wrapped my wrist in an ace bandage and advised me to keep it dry. In his mind, I’m sure he meant for me to take off the bandage or wrap it in a plastic bag when I showered.

Little did he know that I barely shower, so it wouldn’t really be an issue.

What he should have advised me was to keep it away from avocado, chili, ketchup, spaghetti sauce, chocolate ice cream, and boogers.

January 28, 2013
The Tomato Sauce Incident
Some people say that if you have trouble opening a jar, you should gently tap on the lid. Have you ever tried it? I think I had in the past, but I also combined it with running the lid under hot water, using one of those rubber no-slip grip type things, and eventually giving up and waiting for my husband. Someone, however, apparently taught my one-year old daughter, Bear, exactly how to do it.

After yet another exhausting trip to the grocery store where we went for four things (one we purchased, two they didn’t have, and one we forgot) and ended up with a cartful of randomness, we came home in the pouring rain. I got the groceries inside, set my son, Monkey, off to play and Bear decided she wanted to help me empty the shopping bags which were sitting on the floor in the living room.

I heard a tapping sound and realized that what Bear was holding sounded fragile. I peeked my head out of the kitchen and found her banging the lid of one of the jars of tomato sauce on the ground. It made a cool sound, as evidenced by the giant grin on her face. I gently tried to redirect by handing her the unbreakable plastic container of mayonnaise. She was less than pleased.

I stood up with the jar in hand, not realizing that it was upside down. Kaboooooom! The lid apparently couldn’t withstand the pressure and flew off the jar, launching tomato sauce everywhere.

Monkey came running and Bear immediately dove in to start finger painting. Then, in walks my husband. What a sight to come home to!

Papa stripped Bear down and I sopped up as much sauce as I could from the floor. I was already wearing half the jar (you should have seen my pants!). It looked like a crime scene from Law & Order. *gung, gung*

I tried to clean myself up once the floor was under control. No amount of paper towels was going to do the trick. I plunked myself in the shower, clothes and all.

So, if you ever have trouble opening a jar, just let me know. I know a one-year old who will be more than happy to do it for you!

**********************

If you liked this post, you may also like:
- Dinner for My Husband
- Car Hoarding
January 23, 2013
Why We Need a Dog

I think we need a dog.

I love dogs, but I don’t want a dog… not now, anyway.

I don’t want to take care of a dog.

I don’t want to walk a dog, feed a dog, or clean up after a dog.

I JUST want a dog to clean my floor after dinner.

December 5, 2012
Yes, I Used My Son’s Potty!

I can’t believe I’m about to admit this. Some of you might think it’s hysterical. Some of you may think it’s gross. Some of you may have done it yourselves and many of you may have thought about it.

My kids sleep in the car – a lot. I drive around for hours a day getting my kids to nap. I swear, between the gas being used and my Dunkin’ Donuts addiction, my children must have the most expensive naps in the world! It’s a good thing I don’t have to pay for mileage!

Anyway, that’s not the part I’m embarrassed to admit. We went to the zoo the other day while on vacation at the shore. By the time we left, we were all exhausted and I couldn’t walk another step. I finally got my son to pee in his portable potty that we keep in the car (best thing ever). I got both kids strapped in to their car seats. Then, I realized that I had to go too. However, I just couldn’t make it across the parking lot to the restroom in the playground area. It was too much of a pain to unstrap both kids, too far of a walk for my tired feet, and too risky having the temptation of the playground right there. I was going to have to hold it. You would think that by now I would have learned my lesson, but it seems that I am a glutton for punishment.

I started the car and headed out of the zoo with the intention of going back to the beach house where I could borrow another adult to watch my kids while I ran in to use the facilities. But then, my husband called. Since I had the car, he had taken a bus to a town about 40 miles north of where we were. He was looking for his next bus to get to us. I told him the kids had just fallen asleep and I’d be driving around for the next two hours anyway, I might as well come pick him up.

So, I went in the opposite direction of the house. I went away from all the people who could help me. I went away from the nearest bathroom.

The more I thought about it, the more desperate I got. But as much as I needed to go, there was no way I was waking up my kids.

I often daydream about all of the businesses that should have drive-thrus when I’m driving around with my sleeping babies. At this moment, a drive-in bathroom stall seemed like a really good idea.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my saving grace… my son’s portable potty. No, I thought. I wouldn’t dare. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. Should I? Could I? Do I dare?

I pulled into an unpopulated parking lot and stared at the thing. “You know you want to,” it seemed to say to me. It’s times like these that being a man would be so much easier.

I looked around. I was alone. No one would be the wiser.

I shimmied. I adjusted. I wiggled. I covered up. I peed. I sighed a sigh of sweet relief.

I put away and disposed of everything that needed to be put away and disposed of and I got back in the driver’s seat.

I giggled. No one would be the wiser.

August 28, 2012