TheMommyBlog

Sunday, October 12, 2008 Site of the Day, Role Models

You may have noticed that I’ve had the Site of the Day up there pointing to the Gal-to-Gal Foundation’s Virtual Walk for Breast Cancer for almost a week now. Normally I stick to the time allotted, but for some reason I couldn’t let that one stay for just a day before going to archives. Also, I goofed on the link, and promised Jeanne Fitzgerald, Founder and CEO of Design-her Gals that I would give it some extra time.

Well, just tonight, Jeanne wrote again with very sad news, sadder still that it came during this year’s Walk:

“I am sad to post that this afternoon Dorit Shapiro - our President of the Foundation lost her brave battle to Stage IV. It was her only wish that we meet our goal of $250,000. Please… go and join now! We must make it for Dorit. Watch her speech only 6 days ago!”

Dorit left two daughters, four and eight years old.

Saturday, October 11, 2008 Bad Mood Dude

I had to bear the ultimate humiliation when I asked my ten-year-old if I could borrow his AC/DC CDs to put on my iTunes. I still can’t get over it. This is not right. I had my first kiss while listening to “Back in Black.”

Just now, as I punched up the volume and let ‘er rip, Logan glanced up from his game and asked, “And who do you have to thank?”

I replied, “Hopefully the same person I’ll thank for picking up the wet towels in the bathroom.”

What’s that? Can’t hear. Music’s too loud. Plus, I’m old.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008 Family

Tuck-ins are a BIG deal in our home. Like, a VIP deal. I know that it’s my own doing; I made an informed decision long ago to start only what I was willing to continue. I keep telling myself that this is better than placing a cloth diaper over my head to keep it warm while nursing the baby to sleep and then timing my rise out of the glider to slip into the walking rocking motion, which was timed with the leaning forward, dipping my head to let the warm cloth fall into the crib to be smoothed as I rocked my baby into position on top so as not to be shocked awake by the cool sheets.

I know. But how many times do you want to do this whole placing-in-crib thing? It’s like swapping that bag of sand out for the priceless gem in Raiders of the Lost Ark. You have to get it right the first time or things will get hairy, and fast.

Ten years on, it’s still the final nail in the day’s coffin—and I mean that in the most loving way—that has to be secured before I can go out to the kitchen and survey the wreckage that has to be sorted before I can go to sleep. Usually I make a pit stop at the fridge for a glass of wine to keep me company.

It’s important to have just enough substance in the tuck-in ritual to keep ‘em interested, but not so complicated that you want to plunge safety scissors into your temple. On top of the straightening of the covers, placing of the pillows, kiss and hug, and promise to snuggle in the morning, we’ve got a new wrinkle.

Until about a year ago, Daphne had never really slept in her bed. Alone. You see, my ex stayed home with the children, starting with her birth. His job went away in the downturn just as mine was revving up, and it happened that I started to earn enough to support us and keep us in good benefits (Ahahahahaha, can you imagine? Me? With good benefits? Good times, as my daughter would say.), so we decided to leave it that way for a few years.

Wait—did I mention that we intended to stop at two children? And that we’d converted the nursery into a home office? Um, we did. And then we had Daphne. For whom we bought pretty, pink bedding to go with the grass-green office armoire. Only, it was hard to work in that room with a baby sleeping three feet away. Or make business calls. So, heck, my ex thought, why not just put her down for naps in the master bed? And since she was so used to that, why not let her sleep there too? Eventually, we took the crib out and put a double bed in that room, and for simplicity’s sake my ex took up residency there. You see, we were still living together for over a year after the divorce ball got rolling.

So basically, my daughter thought that she lived with me, and had a fabulous, extra room for her big-girl bed and treasures. Gil slept on pink sheets covered with thistles (printed, not real) in the brass bed in the pink room, next to the green armoire.

Fast forward through a lot of stuff I can’t think about without getting the rest of that bottle. Years went by while times got tougher, and after a few years of dating, Phil and I figured we needed to get her out of that bed and into her own.

Easier said than done.

So. I modified the routine. With the kids spending half their time at Dad’s, I always let her sleep with me the first night back, and the last night before she leaves again. Soon I’ll cut that in half, but for now it’s stable. Dylan’s no fool, and very sweetly asks from time to time to have the second night with me, because he can’t sleep when it’s hot and there’s a fan over my bed. I could tell him to stop wearing flannel pjs but that would be calling his bluff.

Fortunately, Logan hasn’t asked to be part of the Musical Beds. He loves his bed. He’s a den animal. No, really—he used to spend most of his time in a burrow he made out of the couch cushions, with his head poking out just enough to watch David Attenborough’s Life of Mammals three thousand times a week. He’s cut that down to just a few times a year, but his bed is definitely his den.

Just now he was totally burrowed in when I made a pretense of shuffling and pulling up his covers and he stopped me, saying, “No! Do it through the speaking hole!” Oh dear Barbara. I pulled the covers back a little and he said again, “No! Here, there’s a little breathing hole right here.” And so he kissed me goodnight through the bedding. Alrighty then!

He was cracking himself up, and I could hear him moving things around. “Mom. Wanna come see my little lookout hole?”

“Um, not really, I already saw the show, but thanks.”

”But it’s going to be really, really cute, like a little baby bear…” His voice dropped a register. “…chewing the flesh off a deer that its mother caught it.”

P.S. Awww, I just noticed that Dylan fell asleep on the couch, waiting for me.

Saturday, October 04, 2008 Fun, Family

Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say.

When David Oskardmay, founder of BitWorksMusic.com, wrote to ask if I felt like checking out some new music that rocks for kids AND their parents, I gotta say, I really didn’t. I’ve done my time with The Wiggles, Barney, Dora, The Babies Einstein, Van Gogh, Bach, and Beethoven, not to mention Hap Palmer, crooner of unforgettable tunes such as “Today I took My Diapers Off” and “My Mommy Comes Back.”

Pop quiz: what will make you cry harder than leaving a child in daycare? “My Mommy Comes Back” by Hap Palmer.

David gave a nice pitch about Hank and I could tell that he took the time to read my contact page because he volunteered to forgo breaking my kneecaps if there was a lesser appendage that would do just as well. People get major points for reading before writing. I can’t tell you how many people go to the Contact tab, skip the bits describing how to advertise on this site, and jump right into the contact form to ask me if I take advertising and how one might go about it. I don’t even want to respond. It makes me wonder if I really need the money. Which, incidentally, is another thing I never thought I’d hear myself say.

Hank Hooper is a musician and multimedia artist who creates great original music and art for kids. Collaborating with Hank, we have released the multimedia album download edition of his latest work, “Playground Fortune Teller”, 17 awesome songs and a narrated eBook by Hank, all presented in an interactive, easy-to-use, downloadable format.

Yeah, yeah. I was still iffy until I got to this line:

Please give the free single a listen!

”That’s My Chicken”

Whoa. Back up the golf cart. That’s your what? There are all sorts of places we can go with that one, not all of them good. Now I had to check it out. I couldn’t go to bed without knowing exactly what kind of inflection the question carries. Is it asked with a leer? In surprise and alarm? Anger? Tenderness with a dangerous hint of jealousy? Or is the singer slapping the listener on the head and saying, “NO, doofus, that’s my CHICKEN.” The possibilities, they stagger.

He gave me the link to post, along with one to the publicity page, so I clicked and waited as the song buffered.

First thought: did I just click on my They Might Be Giants album in iTunes? Second thought: Heyyyy, that’s my chicken!

I listened and agreed that I could indeed have used songs like this one instead of “Daddy be a Horsie” and “Baby’s Good Doggy.” Hell, I could have used an icepick to the temple in hindsight, though at the time I thought they were cute and they did entertain the babies. I could sing the “Rolling” song and they’d immediately clam up and stare at me, wide-eyed, until I finished, and then they’d pick up screaming right where they left off.

Phil walked in the door as I sat down to write this, and I said, “Hoooo boy, Phil, have you got to hear this. I’m going to listen to it again.” About halfway through, he came over and asked if I could please turn it off before it got stuck in his head and he couldn’t get it out. It’s catchy. I’m sitting here, humming, “Mmmm mmm mmmm that’s my chicken!”

Which reminds me: time for dinner.

Go check it out. I definitely want to hear the rest of the album based on the single. Everyone needs a break from Amy Winehouse now and then.