Stuck Under a Baby

Tag: parenting

  • The Power of Mom

    Have you heard stories about mothers who muster up super-human strength when their children are in danger? I have often wondered (but hope never to be in the position to find out) if I would find that power within me if it were ever needed. I realize, though, that there are little moments each day when we DO possess that strength – even if it is not as extreme as lifting a truck. No matter the circumstances, big or small, we just do what needs to be done for the well-being of our children and families.

    For example, when we were at the beach this summer, I was watching my son play in the ocean. It was a cool out and the waves felt uncomfortably cold on my toes. On brutally hot days, I often wade in up to my knees, but on this particular day, I had absolutely no interest in getting wet. However, when my son got knocked over by a wave while playing in the surf, I was unaware of the icy cold water and felt nothing as I practically dove into the ocean to help him get back on his feet. I did what needed to be done. I was, in that moment, a supermom.

    A few weeks back, my son wanted to ride his bike. So, we strapped on his helmet and I managed to finally figure out how to get my daughter into the back carry position in my Ergo. I was exhausted after a long day on my feet and was not looking forward to the walk. My bones were tired. My muscles were aching. I just wanted to be off my feet and unstrapped to a baby. We went anyway. Every step away from home meant another dreaded step back. But, when my son stumbled off his bike and scraped his knee and hand, I practically sprinted home with a baby on my back, a toddler and my hip, and a bicycle under my other arm. I could have walked miles… uphill… without regard for my throbbing feet, sore back, and overall lack of energy. I did what needed to be done. I was, in that moment, a supermom.

    Recently, I made some hard-boiled eggs that were to be turned into egg salad for lunch. I put my baby girl down on the floor to play, but she had no interest in being there and let me know by wailing every time she was set down. I was without my Moby Wrap and Ergo, so I was not hands free. With a baby who needed some love on my hip, I managed to figure out how to crack and peel hard boiled eggs using only one hand. I even used chin to help me open the jar of mayonnaise and my toes to pick up the dish towel I dropped. I made the egg salad and it was delicious, all things considered. I did what needed to be done. I was, in that moment, a supermom.

    You may be thinking that these are trivial events which in no way compare to the moms who can lift and move a car off of a child, and you’d be right. But, I am proud of these tiny victories nonetheless. You know how adults applaud the littlest achievement of children, like “Hooray, you ate all of your peas!” and “Hooray, you lifted your arms over your head when I asked you how big you were!”? Well, perhaps our tiny mommy (or daddy) victories should receive such accolades too (and heck, I ate all my peas and no one even noticed). These moments should be bragged about – “Hooray, you made it home from the supermarket with both children AND the groceries!” or “Hooray, you somehow managed to make a home cooked meal for dinner,” or how about “Hooray, you took a shower today!” (okay, maybe that last one’s not a great example.) My point is that we should all receive pats on the back – even just for making it through the day sometimes – because when all is said and done, we all do what needs to be done. We are all supermoms.

  • The Sad Tale of the Paper Towel

    Today I wrote a grocery shopping list on a paper towel.  Then I forgot and used the paper towel to sop up some spilled water.  Then I threw it out.  Then I remembered.  Then I took it out of the garbage and rewrote the list on an actual piece of paper.  Then I left the wet, crumpled paper towel on the counter.  Then I went shopping.  Then I came home and started to prepare dinner.  Then I turned on the stove.  Then the ceiling fan blew the paper towel into the flames.  Then I smelled something burning.  Then I grabbed some tongs and dropped the paper towel into the sink.  Then I doused it with water.  Then I turned on the garbage disposal and pushed it down the drain.

    It wasn’t a good day to be a paper towel.

  • Mamas Can Fix Trains, Too!

    I fixed the train table.  I did it.  Me.  All.  By.  Myself.  The train tracks have been both a blessing and a curse in my house.  I found a train table on the curb one day.  It wasn’t in the greatest condition, but I figured with a little love, we could fix it up and make it like new again.  Well, that hasn’t really been done yet, but it’s clean and functional.

    We bought a basic set of trains and tracks at IKEA just to get us started.  Then, we bought a few Thomas pieces and were glad to inherit many more trains and buildings from a friend whose sons had outgrown them.

    Suddenly, the basic figure eight track layout seemed so dull.  In an effort to spruce it up a bit, we started changing the design.  But then it got complicated.  Once we started adding stations, water towers, and the like, things started not fitting well.  Before I knew it, we were back at the toy store getting connector pieces and more tracks.

    It was difficult for my son to play with these broken up tracks.  Finally, my husband began designing a new layout.  However, now we were missing stanchions (you know, those things that hold up the raised track).  As a result, every time my son went to drive his train, the tracks would fall apart.  It became very frustrating for all parties involved!

    My husband finally made some wood blocks to serve as stanchions, but due to many late nights at work he didn’t have a chance to work on fixing the tracks.  For weeks, the tracks remained relatively unplayable.  I tried to come to the rescue.  I attempted to fix the awesome layout my husband had started but, well, one thing led to another and before I knew it, the whole track was changed and unsalvageable.  To make matters worse, I didn’t take a photo before reconstruction began.  I have yet to live this down.

    My in-laws came to visit and stay for a weekend.  Grandpa was tasked with trying to undo the damage I had done.  He ended up starting from scratch and made a perfectly fine track.  Then, he tried to make it fancier… and fancier… and ended up having to go back to basics with his original design as he encountered the same problems we all had.  This layout got us through.  Trains were able to move around and we were able to play, so a special thanks to Grandpa for his time and effort.  Somehow, though, it didn’t last.  My son wanted to spruce it up a bit on his own and ended up making lots of tracks to nowhere.  Sigh.

    About a year ago, friends of ours donated a brand new Thomas train table to our local library.  It was great.  Although it is still there, trains are missing, pieces are broken, and the tracks are falling apart despite them being glued to the table.  Even still, the train table is a major highlight with all of the neighborhood kids when hanging out in the children’s section.  My kids and I went to play with it as we do after every weekly story hour and I suddenly had a brilliant idea.  “Take a photo.  This layout works.  Sure, we don’t have all of the same pieces, but maybe we can sort of replicate it.  Heck, it’s worth a try.”

    We went home and gave it a go.  Of course, each time a new track was placed on the table, there was immediately a train on top of it.  This slowed things down a bit.  And little baby fingers that came out of nowhere kept grabbing pieces and pulling them back down to the ground to be slobbered on – also not helpful.  Still, I persevered.  I used the photo from the library as my guide and watched in amazement as it started so come together, piece by piece.

    There are uphills.  There are downhills.  Tracks split then come back together.  Stanchions keep the raised track from falling.  There is a suspension bridge, a station, a water tower, a coal chute, a crane, and even a pirate ship.  I swear I heard an angelic chorus singing , “Aaaaaah,” as I placed the last piece on the track, realizing that it all fit.  No more tracks to nowhere.

    Trains zoomed around the track.  A little boy giggled with excitement.  A baby girl clapped hooray.  A mama was proud.

    When Papa returned from work, my son grabbed him by the hand and pulled him upstairs to see the new train setup.  On their way, I asked my husband if afterwards he would take my son outside to run around a bit before bed.  “Wow!” I heard from below.  “Screw taking him outside!  I’m playing with trains!”

    Mama done good.

  • The Kindness of Strangers Experiment (Because We All Need a Helping Hand Sometimes)

    Being a mom with a toddler and a baby is a difficult job, there’s no denying that. As hard as it is, it is also difficult to admit sometimes that we occasionally need a helping hand. We are all supermoms in our own right, so to ask for help can be frustrating and make us feel less capable than we really are.

    I have recently had situations where I have needed assistance and did not receive it from passersby or the folks around me. Two stories come to mind.

    First, I was out for a walk with my children – my baby girl was in the wrap and my toddler son was walking along side his stroller. I stopped to tie his shoe and didn’t put the brake on the stroller since no one was in it. As I bent down, the stroller began to roll off the sidewalk and into the street. Before I could catch it, the stroller toppled off of the curb and flipped over in the street between two parked cars, spilling coffee and whatever was in the bucket underneath everywhere. There’s me, trying to keep my curious boy from walking into the street to see what happened, keep my baby girl’s head from flopping around too much as I try to right the stroller, and keep whatever coffee was left in the travel mug from spilling all over me. Two women walked by this ridiculous scene. Instead of asking “Are you ok? Can we help you?” or anything like that, I heard one of them “Tsk” and say to her friend, “Good thing there was no kid in there!” Thanks, lady. They did nothing to help. They just walked on by. I managed, which I always do, but some assistance (or even just them checking in with me) would have been appreciated.

    Second, while traveling alone with the kids in Washington DC while my husband attended a conference, my stroller got closed in the doors of the Metro. I was, once again, wearing a sleeping baby and holding onto a toddler who was, once again, walking along side his stroller, and I was stuck. I yelled for someone on the train or the platform to help me and no one did. I yelled again. Still no help. I yelled louder “Could someone PLEASE help me!?!” which made my son started to get a little scared. Finally, a little old lady got out of her seat and tried to pry the doors open while other very capable men and women looked on. One other person also eventually got the hint and got up to assist, but only after he realized that the frail gray-haired woman couldn’t pull the doors apart by herself.

    There are a number of other occasions where people have seen me struggling a bit and have not offered their assistance. I’ve had doors hit me when people can’t bother to hold them open, I’ve had people watch me scramble after a grocery shopping bag ripped open spilling canned goods all over the parking lot of the supermarket, and I’ve waited in intersections to cross the street with both kids in extremely cold weather or heavy rain or snow as cars sped by splashing us instead of allowing us to cross safely. What has happened to simple human decency?

    I don’t like needing help and I especially don’t like asking for it… I’m stubborn like that. But these experiences have made me curious about people and what some folks are willing to do for a mom they’ve never met. I am certainly no martyr nor will I ever be a damsel in distress. However, I have decided to start my own little social experiment in a series I’m calling “The Kindness of Strangers.”  My intention is to ask for help when I could use a helping hand or take people up on their offers to assist me. There won’t be any TV cameras nor will anybody be “served.” It will just be about people helping people. I’m curious as to what will happen and I’m hoping to have some of my faith in people restored. To be continued…

  • When a Typical Monday Becomes UN-Halloween!

    June 4, 2012, 4:00pm.  “Mama, is it Halloween?” asked my three year old son as he looked in the toy closet and discovered the green plastic pumpkin that he used to collect candy last October.  “No, honey.  Halloween is in the fall when it’s getting colder out.  It’s springtime now and getting warmer out.  We have to wait a few more months.”

    This statement caused his bottom lip to protrude into one of the saddest pouty faces I ever saw.  Then, as if in a cartoon, I swear I saw a lightbulb appear over his head.  “I have an idea!” he exclaimed.  “Let’s celebrate UN-Halloween today!”  I raised an eyebrow.  “Let’s go UN-Trick or Treating!”

    “What do you propose?” I asked, feeling that slight twinge of excitement in my belly and anticipating his response.  “Well, let’s get some lollipops, ring peoples’ doorbells, and give THEM candy!”  His eyes were bright and twinkling.

    “Do we have to dress up in costume?” I asked, wanting to make sure I celebrated this holiday correctly.  “No, Mama, because it’s UN-Halloween!”  He looked at me and shook his head.

    So, we took his green pumpkin, filled it with Dum Dum lollipops, put on our shoes, tucked the baby in her wrap, and set out on our adventure.  We started with our friends and neighbors, figuring that at least they would be receptive to the idea.  After we chatted with and amused them a bit, we went up to many other houses, rang the bell and waited, just as if it was the real Halloween.

    “Can I help you?” was a typical response from the confused person standing at the door.  “Happy UN-Halloween!” we’d shout… well, mostly I had to shout as my son suddenly became shy.  To this, the perplexed person would just look at me, then at my son, then at me again, not quite sure what to do with that information.  I, of course, would then have to follow up with, “We are UN-Trick or Treating today, so we are here to give YOU candy!”

    My son would then reach into his green pumpkin, pull out a Dum Dum, hand it to the person, then run on to the next house.  Many of the people still stood there, lollipop in hand, and uttered an unsure “Thanks?”  As confused as most people were, almost all of them ended up with a big smile on their faces.

    My son was delighted.  This made him feel so good inside and he can’t wait to do it again (I guess we’ll have to take a different route).  It was wonderful to see him having such a blast with something that was entirely his idea.  Not only did we spread a little cheer on what happened to be a nasty fall-like day in June, we ended up meeting some nice folks in our neighborhood, and created a brand new holiday.

    Not bad for a Monday!

  • A Public Service Announcement from a Toddler

    We all look for teachable moments.  Of course, toddlers always have a knack for asking questions very loudly and not always with tact.  “Mama, where is all that man’s hair?”  “Mama, why is that lady in a wheelchair?”  The possibilities for awkwardness are endless.

    My three year old son is notorious for this.  I always try to answer his genuine curiosity in an age-appropriate yet truthful manner.  Recently, he noticed someone smoking.  “Mama, what’s that guy doing?”  So, I went on to explain what cigarettes were and why they were bad for you (sparing the really ugly details).  The question of “If it can make them sick, why do they do it?” was a lot harder to answer.

    Since our teachable moment, my son has pointed out every cigarette he sees on the ground and every person he sees smoking.  He has also decided that it’s important that we let people know that they shouldn’t smoke.  Coming from a child, I could see people being receptive to the suggestion that they quit, but my son takes me by the hand, walks me up to the smoker, and says, “Mama, tell them.  Tell them that they shouldn’t do that.  Tell them that it can make them sick.”  And I stand there flabbergasted.

    I have to think quickly.  What do I do?  If I tell them what he wants me to tell them, I’m being a self-righteous (in the eyes of the other adult) know-it-all.  If I don’t say something, then the lesson I’ve tried to teach him doesn’t hold its importance.  I look down at him holding my hand and he looks up at me with his big brown eyes and what else can I do?  I take a deep (smoke-free) breath and approach the “offender.”

    “Hi,” I say sheepishly.  “My son asked me about cigarettes and smoking recently and I told him what they were and that they aren’t good for you.  Because of that, he wants me to tell you that you shouldn’t do it.”  (Yes, I feel the need to give the background story so that they’ll understand where I’m coming from.)

    So far, surprisingly, I haven’t been yelled at or had a beverage thrown in my face.  The smokers we’ve approached (about six already) have all nodded in agreement and have said something to the effect of, “You’re right.  Smoking IS bad and I shouldn’t do it.  Don’t ever start.”

    I then thank them for their time and walk away hoping that I did right by my child.  I can’t say that our Public Service Announcement has convinced anyone to quit, but I wonder if they go home and tell someone about the little boy and his mommy who told them they should stop smoking.  I wonder if this experience makes them think of what kind of example they want to set.  I wonder if it changes their idea of the kind of role model they want to be.  I wonder if our teachable moment taught someone else too.  I wonder.

     

  • Milk by Any Other Name is Still Milk!

    I had the breast pump out.  I was going to be out of the house for a while the following day and my kids were going to stay home with my husband.  I figured just in case my baby daughter woke up and needed milk, I’d try to have some available to her, although she isn’t really used to taking a bottle.  I don’t pump often because I don’t have the time, I’m almost always home with the kids so I don’t need to, and I have that excess lipase issue which just adds an extra step to the whole storing thing.

    During my daughter’s nap the other day, my son began examining the pump.  “Mama, how does this work?”  So, I began explaining as best I could.  He wanted to see it in action.  I found the pieces I needed which were clean but not sterilized.  I was able to pump about an ounce.  I was thrilled.  He was fascinated.

    As I have been desperately trying to wean my son, I suddenly had a brilliant idea.  “Hey,” I said, “Why don’t I put this in a cup for you?”  I got out a special cup and a crazy straw and poured the milk from the bottle.  I handed it to him and watched.  Then, my son (who is addicted to nursing) examined it closely, turned his nose up at it, and handed the cup back to me with a “No, thanks!”  He actually seemed grossed out by the whole thing, which is weird because he begged to start nursing again immediately afterwards!

    I would have loved to save this pumped milk for baby girl, but it had sat out too long without scalding so it was already beginning to spoil.  I ended up pouring the milk down the drain which, as anyone who pumps knows, breaks your heart a little as each drop disappears.

    As for my son, I have tried cow’s milk, coconut milk, almond milk (plain and vanilla), soy milk, chocolate milk, Pediasure, Kefir, etc.  Nothing has worked as a substitute – not even my own milk in a cup!  I know it’s also about the closeness and bonding which I take very seriously, but come on, kid!  You can sit on my lap and snuggle with me while drinking my milk from a cup, can’t you?  Apparently not.  Sigh.

  • From Pumps to Crocs: A Thank You Letter to My Feet

     

    Dear Feet,

    I know I haven’t taken good care of you recently, but I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for all that you have done for me. As a baby, you helped me take my first steps. As a toddler, we ran and jumped together and touched sand and ocean for the first time. As a child, you helped me leap, skip, climb, twirl, and dance – you even got to wear ballet and tap shoes. As a teenager, you put on toe shoes and never once complained. You danced me through proms and walked me through several graduation ceremonies. You persevered when I had to travel from class to class on different college campuses and when I started commuting to my first job. You didn’t give up on me when I switched from an office job to a teaching job where I stood on you all day long. My fondest memory, however, is when you walked me down the aisle on my wedding day.

    I know we used to have a good thing going. I’d dress you up in fun boots, different colored Converse high tops, Doc Martins, and pumps. I’d get you all pretty with smooth heels and shiny red nail polish and show you off to all my friends. Occasionally, you even wore some of my jewelry. And now, you are almost always either bare or in Crocs. You haven’t been gussied up in a long time. You have rough edges and cracked polish. You’d be embarrassed to be seen in public, yet you’re stronger than ever.

    I know that our relationship began to get strained when I became pregnant with my first child. I couldn’t see you anymore and had a hard time taking care of you myself. Still, you supported me through the pregnancy, even as my body got heavier and you got swollen. Once the baby came, I paid even less attention to you… not because I wanted to, but because I had a new little one who needed me more. However, you never gave up on me. You took countless steps as I rocked, paced, and walked my baby to sleep in my arms. You came with me as I took my son on his first adventures and you were there as he took his first steps, learned to run and jump, and touched sand and ocean for the first time.

    I know you thought that as my son got older, I’d have more time for you. I tried to squeeze in a pedicure a few times, but then I learned that I was expecting another child. You didn’t resent me and you showed me that by not swelling up this time around. We were very active during this pregnancy, since we had a toddler to chase after. You didn’t get to rest as much and were often very tired, yet you fought through the exhaustion and still took us on nature walks and ran around the playground. Now, you help me carry my daughter in a wrap as I push my son in the stroller for our daily walks. It is hard work and I know that by the end of the day, you’d love to be soaked and rubbed, but that doesn’t happen often. Sometimes, you’re even too tired to stand in the shower!

    I am sorry if you have felt neglected. I will try very hard to schedule some bonding time soon and get you cleaned up for the summer. You have worked countless hours to get me where I am today. I am so proud of where we’ve been and thoroughly excited for where we’re going. I could say something cliché here about my children following in my footsteps, but I won’t. I will, however, once again say thank you for supporting me, taking me off the beaten path, and carrying me through this crazy ride called life.

    Love,

    Me

  • The Rice Storm: When a Mess Comes Pouring In

    I should have taken a photo of the scene of the crime.  But, I didn’t take a photo.  I was too busy trying to keep my cool.

    Last night, my son requested to play with his rice sensory bin.  I was happy to oblige.  We spread out the white plastic tablecloth we use as a play mat and took out his bucket of tools (utensils, cardboard tubes, different shaped containers), construction trucks, and coffee stirrers (he pretends they are candles on an all rice birthday cake).  I reminded him the ONE rule for play… he can make as much mess as he wants ON THE MAT.  He can pour out every last grain of rice onto the floor as long as it stays ON THE MAT.  He can mix it, dump it, sprinkle it, and even put his feet in it as long as it stays ON THE MAT.  One rule.  That’s it.

    He was playing so nicely with his rice.  I even heard him making up dialogue for his trucks as they worked together on the construction site.  Since everything seemed under control, I stepped out of the room to clean up from dinner.  Then I heard little bursts of a sprinkling sound.  It’s fine, I thought.  He’s still playing on the mat.  He’s probably just dropping handfuls of rice back into the bowl.  Then, I heard a ting sound that wasn’t as familiar.  I didn’t recognize the noise of what the rice had bounced off of and I started to get concerned.  I checked in with him from the kitchen.  He assured me that he was just playing and everything was fine.  Since I wasn’t in a position to look into the room (soapy hands), I took his word for the moment.  But then I heard the sound again and I knew something was up.  As I quickly washed my hands so I could go investigate, in walks my son.  “Come,” he says, and takes me by the hand to his toy room.  “Look!”

    And there… all over the toy room floor… were hundreds of grains of rice.  Rice on the carpet.  Rice on the hardwood floors.  Rice on the couches.  Rice in my shoes.  Rice in my baby’s swing.  Rice on my laptop.  And the ting?  Rice on the television.

    It was everywhere.  I took a deep breath and how I managed to stay calm, I’ll never know.  Inside I wanted to scream or cry or run away and join the circus.  I quietly said, “What happened in here?”  His response was, “It was raining.”

    As a mother of a toddler, you have to be prepared for anything.  Toddlers are still learning self-control, and many of them have a hard time with this skill.  In this case, the desire to create a thunderstorm was so overwhelming that it could no longer be contained.  Of course, I knew this could happen, but still didn’t expect this level of destruction.  I asked him if he remembered what my one rule was for playing with the rice.  He remembered and was matter of factly able to repeat it back to me.  It seemed, however, that this storm came surging through the toy room without much warning – like a flash flood or a tornado.  And, as with most bad storms, cleaning up the devastation is tiresome, disheartening, and really hard work.  Everyone pitched in to help put the room back in order.  Still, somehow, I managed to never raise my voice.  My son, knowing he had made a boo boo, apologized to my husband and me and said he would try harder to remember next time.  Then, he picked up his broom and began sweeping.

     

     

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    You may also like:

    Independently My Way

    Other (non-disastrous) play adventures:

    “Eggcellent Adventures”

    Tissue Paper Art

    Sink or Float: An Experiment with Seltzer Water

     

  • Please Wake Up So I Can Go Go!!

    This happened a while back, but I was reminded of it recently and thought I’d share:

    I live in a small, pedestrian town.  Everybody walks everywhere – to restaurants, to the park, to the supermarket, and to the library.  I meet someone I know every time I’m out.  If I am driving through town on the way home from somewhere, I almost always see friends pushing strollers or wearing their babies for an afternoon stroll.  My neighbors are usually out gardening or walking their dog.  So, why was it that on this day, I was stuck in the car with two sleeping kids, my garage was unusable due to boxes in the way, I really, really, really had to go to the bathroom, and there was not a friend or neighbor in sight?

    I drove by the restaurants.  I drove through the park.  I drove past the supermarket.  I drove by the library.  I circled my block several times figuring that at some point, one of the neighbor’s dogs was also going to have to pee.  I contemplated driving twenty minutes away to my husband’s office and asking him to come outside and rescue me.  I couldn’t, however, imagine not finding anyone in town that I knew.  Where was everyone?  Why was I suddenly in a ghost town?  It was a beautiful day – why wasn’t anyone outside?

    I’ve done some crazy things as a mom.  I once brought my son home from a nursing support group in “drag” when he pooped through his clothes and his blanket and I had to borrow clothes from my friend’s daughter.  I’ve asked a pizza parlor to deliver pizza to my car when both kids were sleeping and I couldn’t stand to eat another fast food hamburger.  But what was I to do in this situation?  I couldn’t leave my car and my children unattended, no matter how desperate I got.  If I had already purchased my son’s travel potty (which wasn’t gotten until this weekend), rest assured it would have been utilized… somehow.  Even my son’s diapers and my empty disposable coffee cup were starting to look good!

    It’s times like these (and only these) that I wish I was a boy and could, as my husband has put it, use nature as my urinal!  Ultimately, I just sat tight (pun intended) and waited until the kids woke up.  But seriously, where was everybody?  What’s a girl got to do to pee in this town?

    Is there an app for that?