Unsolicited Parenting Advice #6 (Sorta)

I remember the first time I took Charlie to the store by myself. Well, I don't actually remember if it was the exact first time, but to be fair, at that time in his life, I often didn't remember to eat, shower or urinate regularly. What I do remember was he was very, very little. As in, unable to focus on anything further than 3 inches from his face, little. And I imagine I just needed a couple things and thought to myself, "He'll be fine. How long can getting four items from the store take, anyway?"

I was such a fool.

He slept the whole time I was shopping. In other words, while the cart was moving. But, as soon as I entered a line to buy my groceries and the vibrations of the wheels stopped, he woke up. And since newborns are still are unclear as to why they are not swimming in around in a nice, warm water bath and receiving a constant supply of nutrients from the sandwiches and bowls of ice cream their mother is shoving into her face-hole, he got mad. Really mad.

As he started to scream, it felt like all eyes were on me which is not that far from the truth, considering we were trapped in a grocery store cue with no where to go. I could feel my pits moisten and that all too familiar tingle of my milk coming in. I tried to stay calm and just gently shush my sad little boy even though what I really wanted to do was start uncomfortably cry/laughing and say, "Ha! I just...it's just that, the thing is, hahahahahaha, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I"M DOING!"

I am not sure if everyone in front of me with paying with a check or if time was actually standing still for a brief moment, but after what seemed like hours, it was FINALLY my turn to pay. The checker then proceeded to tell me that my baby was crying.

Yes, he is. Thank you.

"He is hungry." She told me. I think I laughed nervously while awkwardly fumbling for my ATM card.

"I think he needs a bottle. You should bring a bottle with you because he is hungry." While trying to fight the puddles that were beginning to well in my eyes, I said, well, probably nothing. Or simply, "yeah" or "okay" and then took my bag of groceries and got the hell out of there. At the time, I remember thinking that maybe that lady was right. The truth was he probably woke up and felt hungry and started to cry. But that is not what I thought she was right about. Should I have a bottle with me all the time? I mean, I know I have chosen to exclusively breast feed but maybe I should have a a bottle of formula ready to go just because the random checker at Safeway says so. Because clearly I am a terrible excuse for a mother because my infant was crying for 17 seconds.

Of course, now that I am more experienced (and more rested on a daily basis) I realize that that lady can shove it. If I could go back in time I probably would have something something like, "Oh!!! Hungry!! So that is why he has been crying like that for the past four weeks! I mean, I fed him at the hospital but no one told me I had to keep feeding him! Thank you random lady and yes, I would like paper bags, please."

Why having a child also means that you are wearing a giant sandwich board that reads, "I NEED ADVICE" is so strange to me. Wendy Molyneux was able to explain exactly how I felt most times I went out in public with my newborn here. This is probably my favorite quote:

"Yes, he IS crying, isn’t he? You are right. He’s probably hungry. Should I feed him? And if so, where do I put the food? His eyeball? His butt? What kinds of cuts of meat do babies like? Should I not give him hot peppers? How much salt is too much, and when can I expect him to use a knife? If he spits up, should I have him put to sleep?"

 I speak only for myself, but what came to realize as I navigated the daily ins and outs of being a new parent is this: We have have no idea what we are doing and exactly what we are doing. We don't know what our child needs but know exactly how to fix it. And we are all just doing the best job we know how to do.

So please, parents of the world, have a little confidence in yourself because you know what you are doing. And if you don't, you'll figure it out. But rest assured that no one knows what your child needs better than you do.

And to the random lady in the office supply aisle at Target. Yes, my son is crying. And yes, he is probably hungry or he crapped his pants or I just told him that Santa isn't real. But you wanna know what I think? I promise you I know what I am doing and I don't need your help. So please, admire how adorable my child is and aside from the off chance that I leave his car seat on the hood of my car and start to drive away, kindly keep your big trap shut. And go with the mulit-colored post-it notes because, hey, go crazy.

Smart Boy

(To be fair, I usually opt for a savory breakfast if given the choice. )

"Charlie, what would you like for breakfast?"

"Um, I think...a hot dog."

"We don't eat hot dogs for breakfast, silly!"

"We eat them for lunch?"

"Yes."

"OK, then I would like lunch."

Stuffed Zuchinni

A friend of mine has a garden that produces way more veggies than her family can eat. This works out well for me because I don't have a garden or the ability to keep most plants alive. If you know anything about summer squash, it grows like a weed and if you turn your back on the suckers for even a moment, you'll get giant freak-show sized vegetables. This is not far from what happened in her garden and one day she presented me with this one:

I considered it cancelling my gym membership and just dragging this thing around with me for the the rest of my life.(Because if it wasn't already clear from my duck lips, that was one heavy son of a bitch.) But I decided to keep paying my monthly dues so I can use their elliptical machines for 45 minutes every couple days and instead, this zucchini was headed for the food processes.  I ended up making two loaves of bread and freezing half of it for bread another day. Since I still had leftovers, I saved those to hide in Charlie's scrambled eggs because I can be sneaky like that sometimes.

I imagine the summer squash will keep coming for a while, and while I am in no way complaining, I need to get creative with my preparation so as not to get board. Besides the bread and the scrambles I have sauteed it, roasted it and most recently, stuffed it. And, really, what doesn't taste better filled with meat and cheese? Dare I say, nothing does.

I sauteed an onion, scallions, garlic and fresh mint until tender, then added the ground beef and cooked until browned.

This is one of my favorite kitchen tools. And I have never used it for it's original intention. But look it how well it handles gutting a zucchini.

See? Gorgeous.

Once the meat as cooled, add crumbled goat cheese, toasted bread crumbs and chopped tomatoes (the ones I used also happened to be from her garden and they tasted like what candy would taste like if candy was made from tomatoes.)

Stuff the squash (don't be shy, really pack in in there). Top it with some more of the toasted bread crumbs and bake in a 350 degree oven until heated through and bubbling. Basically, since I have made this, all I can think about are other things I can stuff with meat and cheese.

The things I learned today

1. I still got it.

2. I actually no longer have low back pain everyday. (Some days, sure. Just not everyday anymore and that's a big deal.)

3. I discovered the only way I will ever make Rice Krispy Treats again. EVER. You're welcome.

Salted Brown Butter Krispy Treats. Sweet mother of all things holy.

Um, Goldfish

 (Disclaimer for my family members with sensitive ears: There is a swear in this post. You know, a "cuss". A "naughty word." Sorry. Sometimes I enjoy a well placed curse word for comedic purposes. And what can I say, cats have potty mouths. Read on.)

It is a well known fact that kids are terrible at naming things.

How do I know this? Because when I was about eight years old, my sister gave me a stuffed cat for some gift giving occasion. I will never forget this cat. It was about the size of a real cat and was positioned much like how a cat would be if it was say, snobbishly sitting on a marble pedestal. The look on it's face seemed to say, "I am cat. Don't fuck with me." Why my sister thought that this screamed "Heather" I'll never know. I didn't even like cats. So, I am sure it also goes without saying that children are also terrible at giving gifts.

Either way, I liked the present as much an any kid would who was handed something free. And like most children I had a desire to name all my inanimate object so I decided to name this cat, Givalen.

Yes, that is what I said: Givalen, pronounced give-uh-lynn. I figured I would go ahead and help you sound that one out since it ISN'T A REAL WORD!!! My reason behind that name was because my sister "gave" me the cat. But based on that logic, the cat should have been named "Gavalen." I suppose you could argue that the cat was "given" to me...but that is not the point! The point is that the name was ridiculous and why my mother did not immediately kick me out of the house with a blanket, juice box and a note that read, "Free daughter. Comes with this cat," I'll never know.

After the death of our beloved little friend, Ernesto, Charlie was really looking forward to adding a new fish to the family. And like a freaking idiot, I asked the two-year-old what he thought would be a good name for our new fish.

"Um, I think, um, Goldfish."

"Right. We are going to get a new fish, but what do you think we should name it?"

"Um, Goldfish."

Goldfish? This is even lamer than my stupid cat name! At least mine was original! We tried to explain to him that while it is a goldfish that we would be buying, he could name it anything he wanted. For example, my mom (aka, Mimmi to Charlie) has two dogs named Lily and Tippy. They are dogs but they have names. So, we asked again, "What would you like to name our new fish when we get it?" His response:

"GOOOOOLLLLDFIIISHHHHH!!!!!!!!" Alright. Fine.

Finally, the day came and it was time to get our new little fish and Grant asks, one last time to be sure. "So, what do you want to name her, Charlie?"

"Um, I think, Orange." A little better I suppose.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet our newest family member, Madame Orangina the 14th, Orange (or Orangie) for short. You have thirteen years worth of big shoes to fill, little lady.

Unsolicited Parenting Advice #5

These days, Charlie needs a lot. For example, he NEEDS to jump off of every curb he sees. He NEEDS to hold all the groceries in his part of the cart. He NEEDS to eat the cereal out of my bowl instead of the exact same cereal in his bowl. All very valid needs, indeed, and I deal with them on a case by case basis.

Sometimes these needs of his make it even more difficult to leave the house on time. And while I understand that he probably really does need to touch every single one of his toys on his way out the door, the doctor doesn't tend to buy that excuse when you are twenty minutes late and they have given your appointment away. In a perfect world, this would never be a problem because I would be just that organized, leaving plenty of time for all the toy fiddling needs but that is not real life and I would rather sleep to the last possible second than be "ready ahead of time." Since that is just not realistic most days, sometimes doing whatever I need to so we can get out the door on time is what this mama "needs" to do.

Since I know this about myself, I try my best when I am not rushing to make an extra effort to not pull him away from an activity because of my insane time schedule. Tonight, at the end of his bath, I told him it was time to get out and to go push the lever to let the water out. Getting out of the bath is a similar to trying to get out of the house. All of a sudden he remembers all the toys he "forgot" to play with and maybe he should wash his belly one more time and Mommy, since we are just sitting here doing nothing, let me tell you about my entire day in great detail. This evening was no exception. When he swam over the drain on his belly and pushed the lever for the drain. Probably by accident, while trying to push himself up to standing so I could get him out, his hand covered the drain and the sound of the water leaving the tub slowed almost to a stop. He did it again and again, until finally he looked up at me with a giant smile that seemed to say, "Mom, I just discovered the coolest thing ever!"

When the tub finally drained and I did get him out of the bath I asked, "Charlie, what happened when you put your hand over the drain?"

"It was going little."

"And then when you took your hand off?"

"It got big."

A completely organic discovery by my two-year-old about how a drain works, all because I gave him an extra 30 seconds to figure it out. So awesome.

Camping or Bust(ed foot)

Growing up camping at least once a summer, I knew it was something that I wanted to be a part of Charlie's life. As a child, the only thing I remember about camping was it was days filled with playing in the dirt, eating sugary cereal and never having to be interrupted by a pesky bath. What I did not remember was all the work that went into camping. There is a lot of prep ahead of time that basically goes something like this:

• Making To-Do lists
• Making shopping lists
• Organizing
• Forgetting my lists while shopping
• Questioning why I am doing this at all
• Deciding to bring more booze to the campground

I made the mistake of telling Charlie we were going camping several weeks in advance. Since he has no concept of time, when I said, "Charlie, in a few weeks were are going camping! Aren't you excited?" He heard, "Charlie after you finish that snack we are going camping! So hurry up and choke it down so we can get on the road for a trip of a lifetime!!!" And every day after that it didn't matter what I told him we were about to go do, it was unacceptable unless it was camping. Want to go to the park, Charlie? No, I'm going camping. OK, how about the toy store? Camping, Mommy. Disneyland? I SAID CAMPING!!!!

My favorite part about all of this, besides trying to talk him down from a tantrum about not going camping yet even though he has no concept of time or what it means to be patient, is the fact that he has no idea what the hell camping means. For all he knew, "camping" actually meant, "being poked repeatedly with electric cattle prods" but goddamn it, he was going.

And then this happened:

Yes, that's right: mere days before camping, my graceful child tripped over a little plastic toy which maybe (and this is a big maybe) resulted in a hairline fracture in his foot. Based on the diagnosis, the doctor wrapped up the foot in this brace that he was not to walk on at all and smiled at me meekly and said, "So, yeah. You are just gonna have to carry him all the time." It took everything in my power to not beat him senseless with the heel end of Charlie's cast.

"So we are going out of town this weekend."

"Oh, you can go out of town," he said.

"We are going camping."

He giggled under his breath. "Uh, you can go camping if you want."

That is when Charlie started beating him with his cast.

So I can go camping. I can do anything I want, but I'LL JUST HAVE TO CARRY HIM ALL THE TIME. Are you out of your mind?? No, but really, it should be fine, considering most two-year-olds have the ability to listen and understand reason. You see, he actually said to me that he could get more injured from trying to walk on the cast. For example he could get a head injury from tripping and falling. All for a foot that MIGHT NOT EVEN BE BROKEN. Anyway, doc, that's great. So, where can I pick up my prescription for Valium again? Generic is fine, just so long as I don't have to wake up until my VERY BUSY TWO-YEAR-OLD CAN WALK AGAIN.

Even though walking was out of the question. Charlie did figure out how to get around:

Here you see him dragging his bum leg behind him toward a bowl of yogurt raisins that I kept moving just out of his reach. What?!? The doctor wouldn't let me get the Valium so a mom has to have a little fun now and again!

We saw a specialist the next day and were hopeful that he would tell us the splint was not needed and he could go on his merry toddler way. That is almost what we got; the splint was removed and he was fitted with a walking boot.

Here is a picture of Charlie sporting his boot while he helps organize the garage. The doctor said he can walk in it so he can work. He's the one who wants to go camping anyway and those tents aren't going to set up themselves.

So the Shellens went camping, boot and all. It was a long drive, it rained, was only sort of warm but it was worth every single second. Camping FOR THE WIN! 

Charlie and Ella, clearly up to no good.

The Falls. Just stunning. 

The Meyers.

 The part you can't see is the kid crying on the side of the trail because Brittaney stole their bike. JUST KIDDING!! (It was her own kid she left crying on the side of the trail.)

STICK!

The Shellens. (It's almost cute enough for our 2012 Christmas card)

Nah, this one is way cuter.