TALES FROM A (PURELY) SIMPLER LIFE

I was perusing the aisles of a specialty food store the other day, waiting for 10 sandwiches to be made to bring home to my extended family.  As I went to check out, the lady behind the counter and I started chatting and she got around to asking me if I had any kids.  "Ya" I said, nonchalantly "A two year old.  She's in the car right outside," gesturing over my shoulder.  The woman turned white and fell silent.  It took me the trip home to realize that she thought I left my baby in an unattended car, running, while I shot the shit.  Of course I didn't do that; my mom was in the car with her.  But it did get me thinking about how nice it would be if stores offered a "car-sitting" service while moms ran in to buy something quick (maybe even getting to sneak in a 5 minute adult conversation with a check-out lady, as sad as that sounds.)  

Everyday life is not easy with a little one.  And living in a city makes things extra hard.  I want my dry cleaners to offer a drive-thru service so I don't have to pull up on the curb, roll down the window and throw my shoe at the door to get his attention.  (Okay I don't do this but don't think the thought hasn't crossed my mind.)  I want my dishwasher to sense when it's full and start automatically.  I want a lady to come to my house during nap time and give me an eye-brow wax.  I want someone to watch my baby in the car while I'm a good citizen and return the Target cart back to it's rightful position in the parking lot.  I think of something new that would make my life easier with baby everyday.  Now that I'm gearing up to have another one I'm scared of two things: having my husband come home and finding me in the fetal position every night, and not being able to provide the same undivided attention to my future child as I have given all along to my current one.  I think my Dad said it best when, upon sharing this fear with him he replied, "Well honey, that's usually why first kids are a little messed up and second kids are a lot more balanced.  No one should be getting that kind of undivided attention their whole lives."  I'm a second kid, so I liked that sentiment.  

This time around, I'm committed to finding things that will help me simplify my life when BQ#2 arrives.  I want to be able to enjoy both of my kid's babyhoods without the fear of dirty dishes or overgrown eyebrows.  Maybe it just means the laundry and dry cleaning sit a little longer, or the dishes don't get done that week, or my eyebrows start to look like Rob Pattinson's:

Recently, I was lucky enough to be sent samples from a Boston based baby food delivery service called Purely Pears (purelypears.com).  The owners are moms themselves and understand how hard it is to get through a to-do list.  So they've come up with a way to take the burden out of one of your arguably most important To-Do: feeding your baby!  Basically, they take all the work out of homemade baby food by providing fresh, homemade, organic purees (locally sourced when possible!) delivered to your door in either three or seven-day supplies.  

Oh, and might I add that the food is delicious?  Like, really, really good.  They delivered it during Miss P's nap time (eyebrow waxers, please take note) and I managed to finish both samples before she woke up.  Don't judge me, my excuse is that I have a baby inside my belly that seemed to like it.  Enter to win a FREE 3-day supply of Purely Pears organic baby food (nine, 5-oz. containers delivered to your door, free delivery within 20 miles of Boston) by  "Liking" Purely Pears on Facebook www.facebook.com/purelypears and then telling me what would make your life simpler in the comment section of my page: www.facebook.com/misadventuresinmommyhood.  

Purely Tipsy: At home wine delivery service anyone?    

DISCOUNT ALERT 

3-day supply of Purely Pears organic baby food delivery (nine, 5-oz. containers delivered to your door) for $25. Use the code Mommyhood at checkout and simply order online at www.purelypears.com.

ABOUT PURELY PEARS:

Purely Pears is an organic baby food delivery service. The mission of Purely Pears is to give your baby the best, most nutritious options for starting solids while giving you the gift of time back with your family. Flavors are seasonal and include options like Classic Apples, Deliciously Golden Beets and Spring Peas & Cinnamon in both Stages 1 and 2.

TALES FROM THE FIRST TRIMESTER: "I AM COMPLETELY MISERABLE SAN DIEGO"

So I'm pregnant which means this blog could go one of two ways:

1.  Uphill, because of all the new material pregnancy brings.  

2.  Downhill, because I can no longer consume alcohol and write.  

Either way I hope you'll stick with me through October.  This was written in my first trimester:

Sometimes I wish we could just shorten pregnancy to three months.  More specifically... the three months in the middle.  I could handle that; the nine (really 10) months feels more like a jail sentence.  Some women say they love being pregnant.  This used to baffle me but lately I've come up with a theory:  You get a ton of attention when your pregnant.  People (even strangers) take a huge interest in the way you're feeling, the way you look, what you wear, how you walk, what you're eating, you get the point.  I guess some women like that kind of attention.  I can't stand it.  I miss normal conversation when I'm pregnant.  Here's a list of my first trimester pregnancy dislikes:

Restrictions.  I don't do well when I'm restricted.  I love my freedom.  And I love red wine.  I don't care what anyone says or if you're think I belong in AA, weddings are not fun without booze.  Either are vacations.  Or holidays.  Or summer. Or cooking.  Or...well, life.  

"Morning" Sickness.  Worst name for a condition ever.  Can we please just start calling it All Day Sickness?  I equate this feeling to taking a multivitamin on an empty stomach.  Or being really hungover without the fun memories from the night before.  

Cravings.  There is an age old argument that cravings don't really happen.  Whoever agrees with this has obviously never been pregnant and also I'd like to punch them in the ribs.  Mmmm McRibs.  All I want is Mac N Cheese for breakfast lunch and dinner and I want to follow that up with gummy candy until my teeth fall out of my head.  If I can't get access to Mac N Cheese and gummy candy I'll feel sick...just like I'll feel if I do have access and consume them.  There is no winning here.      

Work-Outs.  I normally like to run to stay fit.  But I can't run when I'm pregnant because I feel like my uterus is going to fall out of my Vajay.  So I walk fast instead but then it feels like I have to pee every 5 steps.  I'll run into a business to go and 3 drops come out.  It's like I lose all muscle control when I move past a leisurely pace.   

Body Changes (Are You There God?  It's Me, Margaret.)   I don't mean like that.  Actually the no-period thing is pretty awesome.  But before your belly pops it just looks like you let yourself go.  You get all doughy and flabby before the hard "bun" shows.  This is especially challenging for me because I own a yoga studio and I'm constantly in tight lycra.  You're not big enough for maternity waist bands in the first trimester; they hang weird unless you're in your second and third trimester.  And you're still in the closet about your news so you can't even defend the new jiggle around your middle.  

Extreme Tiredness.  I honestly believe that you should be able to quit your job during the first three months of pregnancy because this initial gestation is, in itself, a full time job.

Being A Certified Crazy Person.  The other night I was sitting with my family at a Mexican restaurant.  I was really excited to eat a plate of wet juicy cheese piled over a tortilla filled with rice, guacamole and sour cream (aka an Enchilada.)  In my haste I ordered the Empanadas.  I took one bite of the dry dough full of dry meat and burst into tears at the table.  I was uncontrollable.  Then I started laughing hysterically (tears still streaming down my face) at how ridiculous my outburst was.  I don't think I will ever live that scene down.  

TALES FROM MY BELLY

I'm in the throes of trying to plan a fun birthday for Little Miss P. this month and I keep swallowing big gulps of nostalgia.  Here are some of the random thoughts that keep buzzing through my head: 

I always knew that becoming a mother would change me; but not like this.

People say time goes by quickly and on some level it has; but her birth seems like forever ago.  We've just done so much living in 2 short years. 

I can't stop re-reading this:

TALES FROM MY HEART: LITTLE MISS TURNS 1

I will never ever tire of watching her experience things for the first time.  It's fascinating, and fun, and all-consuming in the best sort of way. 

The layers of love I keep finding for her within myself are endless.  How lucky I am to have that special feeling be mine forever.

The little things I love about you, Missy Moo, now that you are two:

The way you smile with your whole face:

How proud and brave you are when you go to school:

The creative ways you play:

Your uninhibited displays of happiness

The way you love your Daddy

And for all our Misadventures together past, present and future with your new sibling due this Fall ...

Happy 2nd Birthday, my little muse,

Miss Paigely Baker Quinn. 

-

SELFLESS TALES: IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU ANYMORE

I have a friend that is nervous about getting pregnant because she still has her own issues to work through.  I told her that's the perfect time to get pregnant because once the baby comes she won't even have time to think about them.  Like most people, before having a baby I was completely self-consumed.  It was all about me.  But not anymore.  I was shopping with my mother recently, helping her look for a Mother Of The Bride's dress for daughter number three.  I watched as the sales woman in Neiman Marcus doted on her for hours.  And the whole time I thought to myself, my God does she deserve  this.  Now that her kids are grown up she finally has "me-time" after giving up so much of herself to raise daughters.  It made me think of the things that have changed in my life just after a short two years...

• I used to consider it a successful day when I sailed through a presentation, answered all 75 emails, and got at least 60 minutes in at the gym.  But these days I measure success in different ways.  If I look down at my hands before bed and see marker residue and a left-over Dora sticker I consider it a win.  (Even if the reason my hands are dirty is because I didn't get to shower that day.)

•  I used to love reading gossip magazines while taking a long steamy bubble bath.  Now I read "The Happiest Toddler On The Block" on the rare occasion I get to take a crap alone.   

•  I used to manage my meals.  I planned my breakfast every night before work.  I made sure to pack healthy snacks like cut-up apples and nuts in plastic bags for the car ride.  I always knew where my lunch was coming from and took pride in cooking lavish meals for Hubby and I at night.  I hate to sit and it gave me something to do when I got home, plus it was a nice excuse to drink wine.  But now this attention to food management has entirely shifted to the needs of Little Miss.  I practically kill myself to make sure she's getting the right roods during the day.  And some days that feels like a full time job.  Meanwhile this has wrecked havoc on my diet.  Today for example I had the 3 blueberries that fell out of her bib, a half an apple because she wanted to share it with me, 5 bites of left-over whole wheat organic Mac & Cheese (which she insisted on feeding to me) and an uneaten half of a veggie burger post night-time routine.  

• I used to spend money on me, but now it all goes to Miss P.  New clothes, toys, and shoes every week.  I just can't stop myself.  Diapers.com doesn't help my situation.  They make it way too easy to shop from my couch along with free shipping.  There's a new box on our doorstep practically daily.  I've considered inviting the UPS guy in for coffee.  At the mall with mom, I passed right by Banana Republic and spent a half an hour at the Baby Gap instead.   

• I used to be really good about getting enough sleep.  I would aim for 7 hours, every night.  But now I can never remember how many hours I got because I'm usually up wondering if Miss P. is getting her adequate shut-eye.  The focus has completely shifted.  I've been this way since she was born.  I've been called the Nap Nazi and I deserve it.   

Hubby loves to quote movies and TV shows.  When we first started dating I thought he was witty.  But than as he eventually made me suffer through some of his favorites, I began to realize that his clever remarks were all stolen lines.  I was the first one to tell him that I loved him.  He answered me with:  "Wow. That's a BIG Matzo ball to put out there..." (hand cupping the air).  Any diehards out there will know that is a quote taken directly from Seinfeld; a fact that I did not know at the time.  I just thought he was a weirdo and (thankfully) too drunk to remember the conversation the next day.

Anyway, one of his favorite lines is from The Girl Next Door, when the nice kid is explaining moral fiber after scoring the porn star (if you haven't seen the movie don't ask).  The "Juice was Worth the Squeeze" he says.  And that's  how I feel here.  This post is not a complaint but an observation.  When I put in my all, my 100%; I get 200 back from Miss P.  The juice is absolutely worth the squeeze.  I look forward to one day shopping with her, when she's a new mom herself.  I'll be enjoying the luxury of time and smiling just a little when I see her walk past the J.Crew into a Baby Gap.

Got more? 

MIM would love to hear from you ...

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TALES FROM THE MASSAGE TABLE: How I gambled and lost

Despite what this title might suggest I did not accidentally shit on the massage table.  Sometimes I ask Hubby to rub my shoulders and he does it so poorly that I end up begging him to stop.  He acts surprised like he thought he was doing a good job but I know it's his master plan to never have to give a back rub longer than 60 seconds. He sent me to get a massage yesterday because I've been complaining about major neck and shoulder pain.  Apparently lifting 30lbs up and down three flights of stairs all day isn't that great for your upper body.  I would have really appreciated a stair-lift but hey, you take what you can get, right?

I had a total of 60 minutes before Miss P. would be up from her nap looking for me so I cheated on my go-to, affordable Bodywaves Therapeutic Massage in the North End of Boston and went down the street to a no-name spa instead.  In the words of Vivian Ward: "Big Mistake.  Huge."

Right when I walked into the room the woman asked me a question that I don't even remember.  But I guess my answer had the word "masseuse" in it because she interrupted me to tell me that the correct term is "massage THERAPIST."  Whatever lady, I didn't make you call me a domestic engineer did I?  Give me a break.  I laid down on the bed and tried to "let go" but the sheets were so cold it hurt my boobs.  So I tried to focus on the music but quickly realized it was old Christmas songs without lyrics.  The worst.  Plus It's February for Christ's sake.  (I think that pun was intended.)  She starts the massage and her hands are so dry they scratch my skin.  I didn't ask for an exfoliation.   And then she starts talking...and talking...and talking.  I was giving her one word mumbled responses to try and make an obvious point to  no avail.  What I wanted to remind her is that she wasn't an ACTUAL therapist and to stop asking me about my childhood.  It was a 60 minute massage.  40 of those excruciating minutes were spent on one knot in the center of my back.  Sure, that knot is gone but 4 more cropped up in protest.  I should have stayed home, tied a sack of potatoes around my torso and asked Hubby to rub my shoulders while I marched up and down the stairs.  It would have made for a much nicer experience. 

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FOOT-IN-MOUTH TALES

The MIM edition of

WHAT NOT TO SAY

To a new mom or pregnant woman

"A closed mouth gathers no foot."

10.  "Your baby is beautiful.  Does she look like your husband?" 

9.  "I'm so surprised your baby didn't get

(eye color, eye shape, hair color, hair style, freckles, moles, temperament, nailbeds, bellybutton, left ear, third toe, etc.)

  Everyone knows that no one knows what a baby is going to look like when they come out.  You are just as surprised as everyone else.  Almost 2 years later and I'm still being asked: "

Why didn't Miss P get your red hair?

"  This will likely be my answer the next time this happens: "We planned it that way to spare her a lifetime of idiotic carrot-top/fire crotch/ stepchild jokes. 

Duh

." 

8. "When are you having another baby?"  When people ask you this right after birth you want to cry.  When they ask you a year after birth you feel like you're being pressured.  When they ask you two years after birth you want to punch them in the labia.

 7.  "How long did you breastfeed for?" 

Hey Boob-Police...no one invited you.

6.  "When are you due?" And/or "Congrats on your pregnancy!" A woman MUST confirm pregnancy first before you utter these words.  The only other option here is to witness a baby coming out of her vagina. Then by all means congratulate her.

5. "Blah, Blah, Blah, Work."  Never ask a new mom her plans for going back to work, if she's heard from work, who is filling in for her at work, how long she has for maternity leave from work, or anything remotely related whatsoever to the notion of work.  It's too overwhelming and emotional of a topic to talk about.

4. "You look tired."  Thank you Captain Obvious.

3. "Did you deliver naturally?"  I so badly want to respond: "No I did not delivery naturally, the baby came out of my Anus."  If you MUST know whether or not a woman took

pain medication

during her delivery it's a three step process: 1. Ask yourself why you care.  2. Ask the question without a tone (you know who you are.) 3. Never judge the response.  

2. "Did you plan the pregnancy?"  You would not believe how common this question is from normal, smart people.  Here's a couple of ways you could answer it: "Yes, we were banging like jackrabbits planning this kid, thanks for asking!"  Or, "No we didn't...BUMMER, huh?"

1.  "Are you

sure

you're not carrying twins?"   Here's what to do if someone asks you this: Take the foot of that someone, place directly in that someone's mouth; preferably with shoe on.

Got more?  Tell me!

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TALES FROM DATE NIGHT (WITH A CHANCE TO WIN YOURSELF ONE)

We were driving in the car the other day listening to

Toddler Favorites

when "I'm a Little Teapot" came on.  Hubby said: "There's something about this song that seems really dirty."  I hope you are all now singing the lyrics in your head and laughing your ass off because I did.  His comment made me think we desperately  needed a night out alone - sans nursery rhythms, diaper bags, kids menus and highchairs.  Just us, alcohol, and semi-coherent adult conversation.

Little known fact that Hubby and I have known each other since diapers.  Our parents were best friends at the University of Vermont in the late 60's.  Post college, the four of them (plus a couple of stragglers) all lived together in Boston.  Some may call this type of arrangement a hippie-commune but they refer to it as "budget living."  (Tomato/Tomahhhto). My now Father-In-Law was my Dad's Best Man.  Here is a picture from that wedding.  Don't they look like a Simon and Garfunkel cover band?

And here is a picture of our beautiful mothers (lucky guys):

After we were born my parents moved to Upstate New York but we still saw saw each other every year for family vacations.  One time we met up to go skiing when I was 12 and Future-Hubby was 13.  My hair was in a ponytail the whole day as I sped down the slopes with him and my sister.  His mom tells me that when we met up for dinner later that night my hair was down.  Future-Hubby saw this and ran back upstairs to douse himself in Cool Water cologne.  Now, I don't remember what I had for breakfast this morning let alone a story from the early 90s; however, I married Rain Man and he remembers it along with this one: He was visiting us from Boston when I was 4 and he was 5.  I had already learned how to ride a bike but he hadn't yet

(city kids

.)  Apparently I was showing off gunning it up and down the hill but no one was paying attention because they were focused on him trying to learn how to pedal alone.  When he finally mastered it, everyone clapped.  My bossy-ass ran over and announced "Now you have to clap as loud as you did for HIM as you do for ME" as I got back up on my bike and sped down the hill.  (I would deny this but it sounds way too much like me... sonofa'...)

Anyway, I guess this is a long, disjointed way of telling you that I married my best friend.  We had a blast growing up together and a blast entering adulthood together.  It's so easy to forget that you married your best friend when life happens.  Especially when you are all-consumed (in the best way possible) with a life you created together.  I implore you all to get out of the house together, sans child, before nursery rhythms start sounding naughty.

I have recently become obsessed with  UrbanSitter.com. It's free to sign up and I can read ratings, have a conversation back and forth with potential sitters, and see who else in my circle of friends has used them. The best part for me is that there is always someone available to book last minute.  Like when your baby is sleeping and you get the urge to go down the street for a drink with Hubby to reminisce about the good old days when you dominated him in skiing and riding bikes.

Could I be less impressed?

URBANSITTER is giving away $60 in babysitting credits plus a $40 restaurant gift card ($100 value) to one of my Facebook fans.  Go over to my page, ("Like" it if you haven't already) and tell me why you need a night out to be entered to win. 

MISADVENTURES IN MOMMYHOOD FACEBOOK FAN PAGE

 https://www.urbansitter.com/

 https://www.facebook.com/urbansitter

The author may be compensated for her posts, but the views and opinions are her own. 

DECEMBER TALES: GLITTER, GUILT & GIVEAWAYS! (R)

I love to buy things but I'm not a fan of Christmas.  The whole "Be A Good Boy/Girl Or Santa Won't Come" drives me nuts.  What happened to being good for the sake of being intrinsically good? Hubby rolls his eyes.  I also struggle with the guilt that Christmas makes me feel.  As a kid I would cry in my room for hours after opening gifts on Christmas morning.  I cried for the kids who didn't get gifts at all that morning, it was depressing.  Hubby is cross-eyed.  Also, Christmas comes with a lot of glitter and I can't stand glitter.  Christmas stuff is usually cheesy and red and green aren't colors that even go together.  I passed a bum on the street the other day shaking a cup and grumbling "Merry Fucking Christmas."  I wanted to scream "YES!  THANK YOU!"

Hubby obviously thinks I'm a heathen and refuses to let our daughter grow up hating Christmas.  We were in Home Depot the other day looking for a Christmas Tree when he took a sharp turn with the cart into the ornament aisle.  Practically exploding with glee he kept trying to put acetate packages of glitter balls in our cart.  I kept taking them out.  After hearing my anti-glitter rant for the 100th time he turns around and yells,  "It's Christmas!!  Glitter is SUPPOSED to be all over the house!"  He scoops Miss P. out of the cart, spins her around, and points out all of the blow-up dolls overhead.  I avert my eyes so cheese doesn't drip in them.

I know Hubby's right.  I want my daughter to love and experience the magic of Christmas.

I'd just like her to do it guilt and glitter free.

I will admit seeing her eyes light up at her first "TIS-MEE TEE!" made my icy disposition melt.  So here I am, going balls to the wall Christmas.  Literally.  Here is a picture of those damn glitter balls, up against our wall:

Oh, why are they still in the packaging you ask? This is called a compromise people.  Hubby gets to keep his balls and I stay glitter free.

Back to my original statement: I love to buy things.  And giving free stuff away helps me with my Christmas guilt. So listed below are some of my favorite things and some great give-aways for my Facebook fans.  Rules on how to enter are at the end of this post. Good Luck, and Merry Fucking Christmas.

BARE MINERALS by BARE ESCENTUALS

Pre-kid, my beauty routine used to take me an hour.  I was meticulous.  Now I'm lucky if I get deodorant under my left armpit and eyeliner under my right eye.  Enter Bare Escentuals.  They offer great tools to make you look like a human being in less than 60 seconds.  My favorites: "Well-Rested" (Because Lord knows I'm not) and "Fab in a Flash." Thanks for understanding, Bare Escentuals.

GUILT & GLITTER FREE GIVEAWAY:  "Fab in a Flash" Kit from Bare Escentuals 

(2 Winners)

Exfolikate by Kate Sommerville

Every time I get a facial (like, once a year) the Estethician casually asks "So, what are you using to exfoliate?"  I never had an answer, until I met Kate.  I use this sucker once a week, just a dab.  It gives my skin a healthy glow and gets rid of the "Oh, you must not sleep well" look.  You can actually feel it working and it smells like pumpkin. I kinda wish it was edible.  

GUILT & GLITTER FREE GIVEAWAY: Exfolikate Tubes by Kate Somerville (2 Winners)

CRISTALLISTE BY KERASTASE /  MY HAIRDRESSER

I have long hair that I will never cut.  I made that bet with my hair dresser when I became pregnant.  She thought for sure I would be like everyone else and come in 8 months pregnant begging her to chop my hair off.   But here I am, Miss P. turning the corner on 2 years old and my hair is still long. (Plus it's curly and red so I'm afraid if I cut it I'll look like this:)

Or worse, this:

Cristalliste is the only product that actually works for my long hair.  It gives me that Kardashian Redheaded Stepchild look I'm striving for. 

Cristalliste by Kerastase

I get my layers/ends cut once every 6 months.  I try to plan it before a big night out which is perfect because I usually have one of those every 6 months too.  Alex Craig works at Bradley & Diegel on Newbury Street which made Best of Boston 2012.  She is the only stylist I've had that doesn't try to convince me to do something I don't really want.  Hubby never noticed a haircut until I started going to her.

GUILT & GLITTER FREE GIVEAWAY: Call 617.266.7707 to book an appointment with Alex at Bradley & Diegel.  Mention Misadventures in Mommyhood during your haircut and she'll give you 10% off.  (Must book with Alex to get discount.)

MY MASSEUSE

I know that sounds obnoxious but let me explain.  For 18 months after delivery my body was in pain.  Miss P. is 20 months old and my body is

just now

feeling back to normal.  When I was pregnant I treated myself to a twice a month massage.  I figured I wasn't spending money on wine so why not.  I found Frances Masterson at Isis Parenting and dear God did that woman know her way around a pregnant body.  I never felt more calm  than I did on her table. And that's important because your boobs will probably fall on either side of it.  Frances recently helped start a brand new local massage business in the North End:

http://www.bodywavesboston.com

(Of course she did; she's just that good.)

GUILT & GLITTER FREE GIVEAWAY: A 60 minute Swedish massage with Frances at Bodywaves Boston with a Coconut Oil upgrade.

QUINNY BUZZ STROLLER

Need I say more? 

GUILT & GLITTER FREE GIVEAWAY: A QUINNY BUZZ STROLLER

RULES:

Want something?  Head over to my Facebook page and tell me why you need each of our giveaways in 1 comment. (Please no sob stories though, let's keep it light.)  If you can not benefit from the massage (meaning you don't live in Boston/Surrounding or don't know anyone from Boston/Surrounding you can gift it to) please do not include it in your comment. 

EXAMPLE:

"FREE MASSAGE.  Because my body hasn't been touched since giving birth.  EXFOLIKATE.  Because the only exfoliation my face receives is when I kiss my husband.  FAB IN A FLASH.  Because I'd like to be.  QUINNY BUZZ: Because who doesn't need a new $700 stroller?" 

You can steal mine if you are really at a loss for words and still want to enter.  It's Christmas, afterall.    

Six different winners announced after Christmas: 1 massage winner, 2 Fab in A Flash Kit winners, 2 Exfolikate Tube winners & 1 Quinny stroller winner.

Since this is a random drawing what you say will have no bearing on whether you win, I just like hearing from you. 

CLICK HERE TO GO TO MY FACEBOOK PAGE AND POST A COMMENT

Disclaimer: Although the author may be compensated for her posts, the thoughts and opinions are her own.

DUCK TALES, PART TWO

We thought it would be fun to take Miss P. to go feed the ducks in the Boston Common today.  It's cold, but nothing a big pink parka and purple hat can't handle.  After searching the nether regions of our refrigerator to find some stale bread we were all in the car on the way to the park listening to the

Wheels on The Bus

for the trillionth time.  Mid way through a "

move on back

" I looked down at the bread and realized it had a blue hue to it.  Upon further inspection I saw that it was covered in blue mold.  (Yes, this speaks volumes for my lack of refrigeration organization.)

Me: "Is it okay to feed ducks moldy bread?"

 Hubby: "I don't know, Google it."

Commence the Google search. 

Me: "AH!  You aren't supposed to feed ducks bread at all!  It can lead to malnutrition, disease, and behavior problems."  I will not be responsible for a bad duck.  "It says we should feed them lettuce instead."

Hubby has a field day with this and rambles on about even the Google search engine turning "hippy dippy."

Commence the purchase of an organic head of lettuce.

Back in the car...

Hubby: "Wait.  It's Winter.  Don't birds fly south?"

Me: "Crap."

Commence the drive around the pond in search of a duck that decided not to join his friends.  (Maybe he was fed moldy bread and branded with bad behavior.)  Spotted.

Outside the car...

Hubby: "Wanna feed the ducks sweetheart!?"

Miss P: "Duck! Yessh!"

Me: "What do ducks say, P?"

Miss P: "Woof! Moooo!"

Hubby: "Close enough! Duuuucks!"

Commence the duck chant between Hubby and Miss P. for the next five blocks: "Ducks! Ducks! Ducks!"  where we were greeted with the following sign:

Duck Tales. Part Two.  Epic Fail.

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THANK YOU, TALES

I love Thanksgiving because you get to:

1. Reflect on the things you are thankful for

2. Stuff your face

Number 2 has been accomplished, so here is number 1: 

The Things I'm Thankful For

My dustbuster; because you make me feel sane in a sea of crazies. Organic food pouches; because you make me feel like a good Mom while buying me some carseat time.  Take N Toss; because you are so inexpensive and easy, I never feel guilty when I forgo cleaning you to throw you away instead.

Do you use Take N Toss products?  Tell me what your thankful for on my Facebook page for a chance to win this set, courtesy of THE FIRST YEARS:)

My 7pm glass of Copertino wine; because you allow me to type things to strangers that I wouldn't dare tell a shrink.  Miss P's naptime; because you give me the energy and recharge to enter the second half of the day with as much enthusiasm as the first.  My Quinny stroller; because you make me look like "a cool mom" not a "regular mom."  Diapers.com; because, like Lindsay Lohan, you are fast, easy, and offer it all.

The People I'm Thankful For:

You.  Thank you for reading without judgement.  Thank you for your support and encouragement to keep writing.  Thank you for sharing my stories and then sharing your own.  Thank you for your laughter, and for some of you, thank you for your tears.

My little sister.  She had the courage to start a food blog and encouraged me to start a "Mommy" blog.  Thank you for the motivation and for the idea.  I can't wait to see you walk down the aisle this summer.  

My big sister.  Who reads my posts before they go live and in the most supportive way possible tells me exactly what I need to hear.  Thank you for knowing me so well.  Thank you for being my support system.  

My mother, "Vovo".  Who has given her whole life to her family.  It took me having my own child to truly appreciate everything you've done for us.  I don't know what I'd do without your love and guidance.

My father.  Who worked his whole life to provide the perfect one for his three daughters.  It worked, Daddy.  Happy Retirement.  

My husband.   Who gives his undying support to everything I throw myself into.  Thank you for making my dreams come to life. 

And for my daughter,  Little Miss Paigely Baker Quinn.  You inspire me.  You fill my heart with love.  You are everything I ever wanted and more.  I would trade any possession in the world for your high fives and wet kisses. 

Happy Thanksgiving

,

Live Large & Barefoot

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TALES FROM CENTER STAGE

I did ballet for 6 years before I got all curvy in middle school and quit.  But my dream of being a (tiny) dancer never died.  I still dance in my living room.  And sometimes after 6 or 7 drinks I can convince Hubby to lift me up a la' the end scene in Dirty Dancing which is magical and horrifying all wrapped into one. Years ago my parents lived in Brasil as Ex-Pats.  On one of our visits down there my mom and I went to a yoga class together.  I didn't understand one word that instrutor de ioga was saying.  But there we were sitting on the floor, my flexible ex-dancer legs wide open; my torso on the ground. I noticed instrutor de ioga lean over to my mother and whisper something.  Mom nodded back. I cock my head around to Mom (torso still on the ground between my legs) and eagerly whisper "Did she just tell you that she thought I was a dancer??"  Mom let out a snort and whispered back an exaggerated "Noooo."  I will never live that moment down.

Hubby knows I love all things dance.  I think it really sunk in for him when I equated the smell of roslin on toe shoes to his love of stank-hockey equipment.   A month before Miss P. was born he presented me with tickets to Balanchine/Robbins happening exactly 6 weeks after my due date.  I looked forward to it every day.  It ended up being my first time out of the house without her.  When the time came I got way too dressed up for a matinee and sported three back to back nursing pads inside the ugliest maternity bra you can think of.  I told myself to even indulge in a full glass of wine.  (I had three.) Our seats were amazing.  If I was hungry I could have taken a chunk out of the flutist stick.  We were that close.  At half-time, (as Hubby called it) we checked in with my in-laws and heard Miss P wailing in the background.  Hubby mumbled something about seeing enough balls in tights to last him a lifetime and beelined it to the car; allowing me the opportunity to stay and see the whole performance.  The wine goggles I was wearing allowed me to think that that was a great idea. Thank God for the nursing pads.

Last Monday the Children's Museum had members of the Nutcracker Ballet there to put on little snippets from the show.  I was so excited to bring Miss P and point out the details like the Ballerina's pretty tutus, the hair buns, and the toe shoe ribbons.  All of the things that make me smile.  When we got there the live stuffed bear was waiting outside and P was not a fan.  She didn't even try to high-five him which was a bad sign considering she tries high-fiving every bum we see on the street.  We went into the theater early and I let her choose her own seat.  She chose the back row and I was crestfallen.  I explained that if we sat closer she might enjoy it more.  That didn't work so I resorted to playing a game of chase to land in the second row.  I claimed our seats and gave Miss P a snack in the hopes it would occupy her while we waited for the mini-show to start.  She was immediately squirmy and ready to ditch the hard benches for a ride in the "Car-Car" upstairs. But then the music started and the curtain rose and I noticed her eyes grow wide and her movements calm.  My heart melted.  Her hand patting her heart.  The mesmerized glare.  I would pass up watching any ballet in the world to watch my daughter do this.

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HEADS. I MEAN TALES. HAVE YOU SEEN MY BRAIN?

I spend 3 full days with my daughter during the week.  That means I'm talking Toddler-ease for 12 hours a day.  That's 36 hours of rolling up my sleeves, getting down on my knees, and playing...hard.  In full disclosure I just had to use a calculator to figure that out.

Little Miss P. is non-stop.  She is engaging and curious and determined and I love it.  But that's not easy work.  And because I love to see the look of glee on her face when she discovers something new, I kill myself coming up with activities to keep her stimulated.  Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.  Like the other day when I introduced Play-Doh for the first time thinking I'm about to slay at least an hour with colorful doughy fun.  But after spending 10 minutes setting everything up and plopping her down in front of it I got a lousy 4 minutes in before she dramtically announced "ALLLLLLLL DONEEEEE" and walked away.  Sigh.

Thankfully the chalk project we invented went over much better

And luckily girl can get real creative with a sheet of stickers:

Now I spend 2 days in an office with adults.  Real, live, dressed adults.  Sometimes it takes me a good hour just to figure out how to talk to them.  Once I talk to my first live adult of the week I often just sit there afterwards, mouth wide open, with a little drool coming out.  Basically, I serve Mommy-Brain Mush up all day long.  Here's a little recap of my week so you know what Mush tastes like:

•  Last Friday I walked in to get our dry cleaning...paid...and walked out without it.  I got half way down the block when I saw a number I didn't recognize on my cell phone and didn't answer it.  Turns out I will walk 7 blocks home before listening to the dry cleaning clerk tell me the obvious.  Mush.

• On Monday I went grocery shopping with Miss P.  The groceries were scanned and in bags waiting to be taken home .  I had 2 people with big carts full of frozen groceries waiting behind me and a check-out clerk that was less than amused.  Who has 2 thumbs and left their wallet at home?  This Momhole.  Panicking, I spend 2 minutes (a long time in this situation) rummaging through my bag and thankfully find a blank check with a 7 year old address on it.  Accepted.  Mush.

• I was sitting in a meeting on Tuesday and naturally, the election came up.  I wanted so badly to participate and be engaged.  Desperately tired from being up with a sick child the night before, I pathetically offer: "SO, I was trying to think who else from Boston has ever run for President and couldn't think of anyone. Does anyone know if someone ever has?"  I got a bunch of sympathetic, awkward stares back at me for what seemed like a long while before someone finally leaned over and whispered "Um, Kennedy, Kristin."  Dear, God.   Mush.

• This morning on my way to daycare, I drove through a Dunkin Donuts drive-thru while it was raining.  I rolled the window down to give my order than rolled it up for the short drive to the pay window.  Little Miss had just chirped "COCKEY!" apparently recognizing my ordering voice.  I was so excited and yelled back "Yes Honey That's Right, MAMA'S ordering COFFEE!"  As I pulled up to the pay area, (with my window still rolled up) I turned to the right to take my credit card out of my wallet and turned back to the left to hand it to the lady but smashed it into the car window instead. Lady dies of laughter.  Hand is throbbing.   Mush.

Other random examples of how my once sophisticated mind has now turned to Mommy Mush:

• I have no idea how old I am.
•  I can't, for the life of me, remember what comes after "If that diamond ring don't shine."  This is P's favorite nighttime song so lately I've been making up my own lyrics: "If that diamond ring don't shine, Mama's gonna buy you a porcupine.  And if that porcupine isn't Hmmm, Mama's gonna buy you some Turpentine." 
• People ask me how many teeth P has all of the time.  I hate this question because I never have any idea and it makes me feel dumb.  I often feel like asking back:  Do you know how many teeth YOU have?

Today I came home to my cleaning lady holding a statue we got on our wedding day from a couple who lived in Brasil.  She was holding the head with one hand and the body with the other saying "sorry" in Portuguese (ironically).  I started laughing out loud.  The head was sliced clean off:

My endearing, sweet little daughter did not take the decapitation very well.  She couldn't stop staring and with a broken face whined "WHOA NO MAMA." 

Sans Super Glue, I tried to make the best out of it:

And now I'm sitting here staring at the statue thinking, "I hear you Lady, I hear you." 

Do you have Mommy Brain?  Tell me your Mommy Mush story in the comment section of my Facebook Fan page.  Start with the words "Bottle" or "Sippy" in capital letters (depending on your needs) for a chance to win a free one from Tommee Tippee.  15 random winners announced on Monday, enter as many times as you'd like.  

 Please "Like" TommeeTippee's Facebook  page by clicking here:

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A TALE WITHOUT A TAIL

Little Miss P loves her 'Gentle Giraffe' by Cloud b.  I'd like to meet the toddler that isn't obsessed with either him or the Sleep Sheep, actually.  They have a corner on the market for sleep crutches.  Because of this I kind of feel like they have an obligation to keep all well known appendages in tact.  But, alas:

 THE CASE OF THE MISSING APPENDAGE

 SLEEP SHEEP LINK

GIRAFFE LINK

For the first three months of her life we tied "Raffe" to the side of her crib and played it's lullaby music.  When she hit 3 months and was finally unswaddled she loved to nestle her face up to it.  Around 5 months we untied it, took the hard speaker part out of it and let it loose in Miss P's crib.  She learned that if she tickled it's tail under her chin it felt nice and lulled her to sleep. We thought anything that helped avoid bouncing on an exercise ball and shushing in her ear for an hour was fine with us.  (PS: If you can get them to figure it out, self-soothing is where its at)  It's pretty cute to watch the process happen.  We put Miss P. in her crib where she falls face first on "Raffe", rolls over on her back with him in her arms and begins a strip search until she finds the tail.   She points her little chin up to the sky and tickles herself underneath it with his tail; her eyes rolling back in her head.

Since she's done that for every nap and every night's sleep for the last 10 months the tail is starting to wear thin.  Fearful that the thing would fall off  and totally over carrying it to daycare two days a week, I'm off to Target to buy another one.  I purchase Gentle Giraffe number 2 and without noticing anything, wash him and put him in her "Sleep Bag" for school.  When I picked her up from school last week she comes racing towards me, arms wide open.  (Best part of my day.)  After our celebratory hug and kiss she starts pointing over to her sleep bag with her arms up in the air, a "wtf" look on her face.  After realizing she's trying to tell me something about Raffe, I grab him and proclaim "Same

Same

sweetie!"  But she's on to me, pointing at his butt with her head cocked to one side and crooning "Whoa Nooooo Mama," a worried look on her face now.  I looked down and my heart sunk: Raffe was tail-less.  How could that be? I quickly distract her and before she knows it we are in the car singing The Wheels on The Bus.  But I can't stop thinking about the tail.  It didn't look like it fell off it looked like it was never sewn on.  Confused, I head to Babies R Us the next day thinking I must have gotten a knock-off at Target.  There were 12 of them on the shelf.  I took one out of the package.  No tail.  An overly-friendly man in a purple Babies R Us shirt pops over and asks, "Can I help you with something M'am!?" Blushing I say, "A bit of a weird question Sir, but.." He interrupts me with a bounding "No weird questions at Babies R Us!" Mkay. "Thanks. Well, it seems as though the Gentle Giraffe's tail is missing" holding the animal up for him to see.  (I'm thankful that the picture on the box shows him with a tail so I don't feel like a total jackass).  We proceed to open all 12 boxes and find 12 tail-less "Raffes."  Baffled he suggests I call the manufacturer and walks away from the scene.   I look the website up on the spot.  There is no number to call so I send an email from my iPhone:

From: Kristin

To:

cs@cloudb.com

Subject: Sleep Giraffe Question -  where is the tail??

Hi there,

My daughter is obsessed with your sleep giraffe (isn't every toddler?) :) She especially loves tickling herself under the chin with the tail of it.  I went to buy reinforcements at both Target and Babies R Us and can't seem to find one with the tail on.  Am I losing my mind?  She has the smaller version and we purchased it over a year ago. 

Signed,

Confused

I received an email back in no less than 5 minutes:

From:

Consumer Service <

cs@cloudb.com

>

To:

Kristin

Subject:

Re: Sleep Giraffe Question - where is the tail??

Good afternoon,

It was a design change in 2011 - no more tails on the Giraffe and none left in stock. Thank you - Cloudb, Inc.

From: Kristin

To:

cs@cloudb.com

Subject: Re: Sleep Giraffe Question - where is the tail??

Oh, dear. Cost reduction?  Crisis.  Does the larger version have one?

From:

Consumer Service <

cs@cloudb.com

>

To:

Kristin

Subject:

Re: Sleep Giraffe Question - where is the tail??

No to all....just a design change. Thank you - Cloudb, Inc.

ME:

Let me get this straight.  You chop a major appendage off of a giraffe and we're just supposed to live with it? 

Thank God your not in the doll-making business.

Signed,

Tail-less (And Soon To Be Sleepless) in Boston

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TALES FROM THE LABOR & DELIVERY ROOM: You want positive? I'll give you positive.

Disclaimer to 1st time pregnant women:

1.) Everyone experiences labor differently.  Don't go in with any expectations.  

2.) There is no one right way to deliver a baby; there is only your way. 

In "TALES FROM MY HEART: LITTLE MISS TURNS ONE" I spoke about the period of time up to but not including the actually delivery of Miss P.  I thought maybe I'd keep a little something sacred.  But that all went out the window after reading your hypocrite posts on my Facebook page (Re: TALES OF HYPOCRISY: GLASS HOUSES & BARE CHESTS).  Your openness inspired me.  Right after that post a company called

b Positive

Project

reached out.  Take a second to read about them:

They asked me to write about a time when I used positivity to help me get through a challenging time.  Naturally I thought of the most challenging thing I had ever done in life = CHILDBIRTH.

April 21st, 2011 9PM

I'm 19 hours into labor enjoying a magical thing called Mr. Epidural when Nurse Buzzkill tells me that it's almost time to start pushing.  She comes over to stick her hand up my crotch and I don't feel a damn thing.  I think:

Sweet! 

If I can't feel her fat forearm go up then I definitely won't feel a baby come down.  I'm golden

.  Hubby is in the ready position, holding my right knee.  Nurse Buzzkill lets us know that the baby is still Sunny Side Up and I'll need to push just to flip her before I push to get her out.  Trying to ignore the fact that she referred to our baby as a common breakfast dish AND the fact that I'd be pushing for no apparent progress towards getting to meet that breakfast anytime soon; I inquire where the Doctor is. I detect a small snort before she answers "Doc only shows up for the big show." Mkay.  So I start to push, and push, and push  and I'm thinking this isn't so bad.  But then enter Buzzkill who tells me it's not working.  I'm crestfallen.  I thought I was doing so well.  I feel defeated and way too sorry for myself for only having pushed for 15 minutes. Why didn't I get Nurse Warm & Fuzzy back for this part?  I know her shift was over and all, but didn't she want to stay and help me through this?  Surely she couldn't have something more important to do?  And here I had thought we bonded.

Back at the ranch Buzzkill tells me to roll over on my side because apparently pushing in that position will help turn the baby face down.  I look at her like her ass went Sunny Side Up.  First, there is no way I can move my 200lb body anywhere and Second, that position was not a good look for me.  I feel like a whale on a  forklift as the two of them work to put me on my side.

Did I just see a bead of sweat on Hubby's forehead? 

After 5 big pushes I get to lie back down taking the embarrassment level from 100 to 50.  I guess it worked and Miss P was now over easy. 

The contractions are coming quicker than ever and I'm starting to feel them like never before.  I have this little thingy in my hand that lets me turn up Mr.Epidural when I feel the pain come on.  I never used it once in the 19 hours of "inactive" (PS: Worst Term Ever) labor but now I'm pushing that thing like I'm in an epic battle of Tetris on level 29.  It's not working.  I ask why and Buzzkill replies: "it's probably wearing off." 

I'm sorry, come again? 

She repeats more loudly than necessary, "IT'S PROBABLY WEARING OFF."  

But can't we get that handsome resident fellow with the Boston College scrubs back down here to give me another dose? 

No dice.  I'm in panic mode.  The contractions start low and build high.  It feels like I'm biking up a mountain and then hit a part of it so steep that I can't pedal anymore and my legs are about to give out. Except they can't give out because I don't have control over them, they are moving without me and that hill is happening no matter what.  I'm entangled in a sheet of white pain so intense I think I might pass out.  And then it releases, slowly, and I'm headed back downhill.  I look up at my husband and want nothing more than to be standing where he is at this very moment.  I ask for water and chapstick and he returns with both before I get the words out.  He is so calm.  I grab his hand and tell him to never let go.  He strokes my head and tells me he never will.  I'm climbing the hill again; I can't take it.  I beg for Gatorade for the 5th time.  Nurse Buzzkill snaps back "You can keep asking me sweetheart; but the answer won't change."  I'm on hour 2 of active labor when the Doctor finally comes in.  She tells me my delivery has been text book; that my body was made for delivery. 1.

This shit show is TEXTBOOK

? and 2.

I'm not sure that's a compliment.

She tells me she'll be back in 30 minutes to start the delivery and I lose it.  I cannot do this for another 30 minutes, I can't even do it for another 5.  Mr. E packed up and left me,

the bastard

, and now I have no line of defense.  I'm helpless.  I can't believe this is happening to me.  Hubby puts a cold washcloth over my eyes and I love him for it.  Nurse Buzzkill inquires for the 3rd time if I'd like a mirror to check my progress down there; to which I snarl back with "You can keep asking me

sweetheart

but the answer won't change

." 

The Doctor is back and getting suited up with gloves and a mask so I'm guessing this is "show time."  I'm pushing with what I think is all my might feeling sorry for myself the entire time.  And then I realize that Buzzkill is starting down at me.  We lock eyes and she whispers  "Okay Kristin.  You can either push like you've been pushing for the last couple of hours and we'll be here for another four or you can push like you mean it and I'll get you out of here in 20 minutes."  I want to hug her and punch her in the face at the same time.  It's exactly what I needed to hear.  So I stopped wallowing in my pity, bore down, and gave her the positive pushing she was asking for.  18 minutes later Miss P's head popped out.  I  throw my own head back on the pillow and she is on my belly. I suck in my breath.  I feel a lightness I hadn't felt in 5 months.  I look down and see Hubby's eyes and think it's the coolest thing in the world. 

I asked him to read this and tell me if it's how he remembers it.  His reply?

"Yea. But the resident wasn't handsome." 

________________________________________________

The b Positive Project is giving away their famous burn-out shirts. Moms or Dads, tell us something positive about your time spent in the delivery room (before the baby came) in the comment section on my Facebook page.  Every time we get 10 posts the b Positive Project will give away a free shirt to a member of my page. 

Contest runs through next Saturday, good luck!

 http://www.facebook.com/MisadventuresInMommyhood

PS: Men, one of their shirts says: "The Only Difference Between A Good Day & A Bad Day Is Your Attitude." 

Do not wear this shirt in the delivery room while your wife is in labor unless you feel like eating it. 

________________________________________________

To purchase apparel on your own please go to

www.bpositiveproject.com

.  They will donate a portion of all online sales back to local non-profits.

www.facebook.com/thebpositiveproject

TALES FROM A WANNA BE/DERANGED SOCCER MOM

I was a fairly competitive soccer player back in my day.  So when I saw that Coco Baby in the South End of Boston was offering a soccer class for Toddlers I was all over it like white on rice. When Hubby found out the price of it his jaw hit the floor and he asked me to repeat it twice.  I told him that when Little Miss eventually got a full ride to play soccer at Duke the cost would be totally worth it.  And somehow that worked.  Men. The day before it started I was showing Little Miss my old uniform and trophies while practicing kicking a foam ball around her playroom.  She didn't show much interest but I couldn't hold it against her; these were my glory days after all and most adults don't care when I casually mention I may have been a State Champion semi-finalist in 1997.  Hubby always reminds me that this is not the same as winning.  It's 45 minutes before class and I'm waiting outside the door looking way too eager than anyone should about a toddler soccer program starring two dolls named Mimi and Pepe.  So we take a little walk around the block and talk about our normal stuff - trees, birds, planes, trucks, and dogs.  I've noticed that as her vocabulary is growing, mine is shrinking substantially. When it's finally an acceptable time to show my face I bring Little Miss P inside and downstairs.  She's wearing a bright green shirt that reads "Soccer Star."  Of course she is.  I'm sizing up the competition of 16, 17 and 18 month old's when all of a sudden I smell Little Miss's brand of poo.  Ithink to myself - "Really P, right NOW !? but then quickly thought it better to get it over with than interrupt her impending goal scoring.  I bring her upstairs, change her diaper, and sit down to get a quick pee in myself.  When I look up I think she is playing with the extra toilet paper rolls in the corner but at closer glance realize she is chewing a dog biscuit she found under the sink.  Awesome P, good start.  Let's get our head in the game here. 

Back downstairs the group is ready to begin the "fundamentals" of soccer with Mimi and Pepe.  I am loving life as the coach starts to put out mini cones for the kids to run around.  It takes all of my strength not to circle them myself and kick every single ball into the little nets.  I'd just be so GOOD at it.  The kids are let loose and start to charge towards the cones, winding up before they let the balls fly all around the room.  It's as if I was back on my high school field with the sweet smell of shin guard and leather soccer ball, it all came flooding back.  I officially turn into a deranged parent.  "Go for it P!!  Kick kick kick! No like THIS P! See?  Not with your HANDS P, your FEET.  FEEEEEEET.  Kick P, Kick.  Use your Toes!  Where's your shoes?  Your SHOOOOES"  I can't stop myself; I'm so annoying.  After showing her 9 times how to kick the ball and watching in dismay as each times she picks up the ball and carries it into the net, she finally gives me a look like I'm nuts and starts waving goodbye to everyone in the room, shouting "BYE! TAnk U! Bye-BYE! Allllll doneeee" as she struts towards the door.  My shoulders shrinking in disappointment I go over, pick her up, and drop her into the ball pit to have her own fun.  Except she is done with balls.  She instead walks over to the only mirror in the room and starts checking herself out, spinning in front of it.  She heads over to the stereo and starts shaking her head a la' A Night At The Roxbury to the music.  She finds a red-headed boy chasing soccer balls with his feet (show-off) and blows him multiple kisses. Parenting is a humbling experience.  Hope Solo she was not.  But man did my little girl poop, flirt, dance, and eat a dog biscuit like the best of 'em.         

 Please don't tell my husband.  

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Boston Area Parents: Coco Baby is a great little store in the South End for kids.  Carefully hand-picked merchandise, a friendly owner, and a play space downstairs for a $5 drop in fee that might come in handy this Winter.  They also offer several programs for kids involving gym, music, and language.  Tell them Misadventures in Mommyhood sent you.

http://www.cocobabyboston.com/

TALES OF HYPOCRISY: GLASS HOUSES & BARE CHESTS

“People who live in glass houses should not throw stones.”

Hello, my name is Mommy and I am a total f'n hypocrite.  Here is where I tell you all of the things I thought pre-pregnancy and/or pre-baby (hereafter known as PP&/B) and how all of that changed after getting pregnant and giving birth (AP&/B).  To break the ice let me just begin by confessing that I do most of my thinking for this blog in the shower.  Sometimes I run out of it butt naked and write down my thoughts; like just now.

PP&/B

: I wanted to use a taser gun on Moms who used baby talk in public.  You know that high pitched annoying voice that narrates everything the kid does? I used to buzz around the supermarket priding myself on getting all groceries in the cart within 30 minutes flat.  Once in awhile I'd take a shortcut thru the baby aisle and get stuck behind a mother doing some sort of skit with her kid. "Oh YES Johnny those ARE the diapers you wear, GOOD FOR YOU. And yes they have kangaROOS on them and kangaROOS jump like THIS! (proceeds to jump like a dumbass kangaroo) HOP HOP HOP"  Now can you go ahead and put them in the cart for Maaa-Maaaa?!"  Hurl.

AP&B

: I am now this deranged mother.  Not just at the supermarket; everywhere we go.  It's incessant and I can't stop myself.  On Monday I was walking through the city around 10am, strolling Little Miss along the water.  Right in the middle of me shouting: "Look Look, there are TWO birds, that's right TWO!  Oh my and an AIRPLANE wayyyy up high.  Can you stretch your arms WAYYY up high!?" I noticed a couple of guys in suits drinking coffee and discussing work.  My annoying voice in juxtaposition to that adult conversation made me want to take a billy club to my own knees. 

PP&/B

: I told myself I would NEVER allow kid music in the car.  My sister has 2 kids and every time we visit their was always some obnoxious kid-song playing.   Hubby and I would leave having full on discussions about how we would never allow this to happen to us.  We loved our music too much.  And WE would teach our dear baby how to love the likes of Aerosmith, Pearl Jam, Bob Marley, and Dave Matthews.

AP&/B

:  Not only do we have every toddler soundtrack under the sun, we rock out to it even when Miss P. isn't around.  In fact, the other night right before I fell asleep I think I heard Hubby softly sing  "Rain Rain Go Away" to put himself to sleep.

PP&/B

: I watched a very pregnant woman have a glass of wine at a restaurant and proceeded to judge the living crap out of her with my eyes.  I gave her the death stare and maybe even pointed once or twice.

AP&/B

: 6 months pregnant and I'm drinking a half a glass of wine every single Friday night until my due date.  (And still ended up with a really smart kid.  That just happens to love saying

shit

all the time.)

POT. KETTLE. BLACK.

PP&/B

: I used to roll my eyes at women that were germ-a-phobic with their kids.  Like, Jesus Christ lady it's a dollar bill not a syringe, why don't you buy him a bubble to live in while you're at it.

AP&/B

: I am a sanitizing junkie.  When P was an infant I bought a separate type of wipe for her butt, hands, nose, nails, bottles, and pacifiers all the while thinking they should make special baby sanitizing wipes for strollers and toys and cribs!  Oh, my.  I would greet people at the door with a bottle of hand sanitizer.  When Hubby gently suggested this might be a little too forward I instead left it on the table, right in front of the couch.  What I  really wanted to do was put a big sign on it that read: "WHETHER YOU JUST WENT TO THE BATHROOM, TOUCHED MONEY OR BREATHED IN AIR PLEASE COAT YOUR HANDS IN THIS SHIT MULTIPLE TIMES AND LET ME WATCH YOU.  THANKS, THE MANAGEMENT.

PP&/B

: Whenever I saw a toddler throw a temper-tantrum in public I immediately thought the parents were total failures.  Get a grip on your kid, would ya?

AP&/B

: There is literally nothing you can do once your toddler throws herself into a downward spiraling tantrum.  I'm reading this book where they suggest you mimic your child's frustration on her level - bang your fists in the air, stomp your feet, scream "I want it now!" so she knows you understand where she is coming from.  If not being able to control your child's fit isn't embarrassing enough, stooping to her level and faking your own tantrum certainly doesn't help the situation.  Epic Fail. 

PP&/B

: God it was annoying when new parents got so excited about their own kid's small accomplishments. Awesome. Johnny peed on the pot. I'm so excited for you I could burst.  Can we all go back to our lives now?  Cool.  Mary learned how to wave.  I'm beside myself with glee.  Want a cookie?

AP&/B

: We threw a soiree when Miss P. learned  that her sippy drink goes in the cup holder on her highchair.  We took pictures with our phone and sent them to everyone we knew.  We even called our parents on Skype to show them live what she now mastered.

Sidenote: I think we've created a monster.  Miss P. now claps for herself and shouts "Chob" for "Good Job" after every little thing she does.  Oops.

PP&/B

: I thought I would only MAKE all of my own organic baby food.  And I actually did this for about 2 months when Miss P was learning how to eat solid foods.

AP&/B

: I peel her a banana and pat myself on the back.

And there you have it folks.  Miss Judgy Judgerton herself ends up being the hypocrite.  (Now that it's off my chest I guess that makes my chest both figuratively

and

literally bare right now.)

I'm pleased to announce that Quinny has offered to give away a Moodd Stroller in Black Irony worth, wait for it, $700, to one of my Facebook Fans.  (I happen to have this stroller and love it.  Except I get a little bitter when it gets more attention than my baby.)  I'm going to make you work for it while allowing you an opportunity to get shit off your chest, too.  Post your

PP&/B - AP&/B

hypocritical thoughts on my Facebook Page and you will be automatically entered to win.  If you had the same thoughts as any of the above feel free to use one of those.  If you have your own you'd like to share, go for it.  You can post as many as you'd like but your name will be entered into the drawing once. And don't worry my SINKS & DINKS (Single Income No Kids or Double Income No Kids) you can play along too.  Tell me what you think is the most annoying thing new parents do.  Who knows, maybe one day you'll be that parent.

The contest will be live for 2 weeks with the winner announced on Friday September 28th.

So go ahead, get it off your chest.  Posting naked purely optional.

Good luck!   

www.facebook.com/misadventuresinmommyhood

http://www.quinny.com/us-en/products/strollers/mooddus

www.facebook.com/quinny

How To Cure Toddler Condoitis in Boston, MA

I was recently asked to post a guest blog explaining my favorite things to do with kids in Downtown Boston.  Here it is for my Boston mama's or Boston area visitors...

What’s A City Mom To Do?

How to cure Toddler Condoitis in Boston.

by guest blogger

Kristin Quinn, Author of “Misadventures in Mommyhood: The Truth & Nothing But The Truth (so PLEASE help me God!).

Kristin’s daughter, “Little Miss P” is 16 months old.

You’ve just picked your head up from playing Horsey and realized you can’t see your hardwood floor underneath the blocks, pots, pans, and puzzle pieces.

Your arms start to shake from the 20 rounds of itsy bitsy spider when the walls start to cave in.

Sounds like it’s time to strap your toddler in the stroller and get out.

There are so many wonderful things to do with kids in Boston, many of which are unknown because mothers are too busy to put on deodorant let alone truck kids around the city to find entertainment.

Here are some of my favorite little city gems to cure what I call, Toddler Condoitis:

The Museum of Science Infant Room & Butterfly Garden

1 Museum Of Science Driveway  Boston, MA 02114

The Infant Room features lots of little tunnels to climb in and out of as well as different discovery stations for little ones.

There is a huge stuffed bear that Little Miss P could play with and jump on forever and a water station at the perfect level to play pretend boats.

Make sure to grab the conveniently placed smock behind the water table.

The Butterfly Garden is extra but it’s worth it.

It’s a small room with 100’s of butterflies flying all around.

One may even land on your toddler’s nose if you’re lucky.

Bonus: the flowers and fish make for excellent toddler conversation.

Northpoint Water Park & Playground

I LOVE this playground nestled in between Cambridge and Charlestown.

It’s truly an oasis in the city for kids.

Charlestown Yoga Family Yoga Classes

191 Main Street, Charlestown

Sundays starting September

16

th

4-5pm

Sundays around 4pm seem to be the “witching hour” at our house.

Check out Family Yoga at this studio for an hour of fun with your child (you can even bring Hubby).

For mobile children and their caretakers (mom, dad, grandparents, you name it).  Participate with your kids as they turn into favorite animals and objects: Cat, Cow, Dolphin, Tree, Mountain, Triangle, etc.  Learn the meaning of Sanskrit words like "OM" and "Namaste", Create Mala Art and Learn poses to do together at home!  The whole family is invited to this fun and playful one hour class with musician and certified kids yoga teacher, Colleen Kleya of BlissKids Yoga.

Purchase online in advance or at the studio.  $16/adult, $8/kid.

No yoga experience necessary.

Children’s Museum of Boston

308 Congress Street, Boston

No duh.

But check out the included-with-admission-price “Music & Movement” class put on by the folks of Baby Wiggles on Wednesdays from 11-11:45am on the second floor.

Babycakes of Charlestown – New!

330 Main Street, Charlestown

Catering to the many young families of Charlestown and its surrounding communities, BabyCakes of Charlestown offers classes for babies, toddlers, preschoolers and young children to help them reach developmental milestones. New mom and dad support groups and classes are also offered as are play group activities and birthday parties.

The Rose Kennedy Greenway: Water Sprinklers & Carasoul Rides

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

Two months ago we tried putting Little Miss P on a carasoul horse but she screamed bloody murder.

When we tried again a couple of weeks ago, she was skeptical at best, holding on for dear life:

Seriously, Mom?

But once the carousel made a full circle, she was loving life, holding on with only hand and blowing kisses to adoring fans with the other.