White tank from H&M // Vintage “Popcicle” overalls from Sweet Threads // Red Converse, thrifted
Get the look: try these or these or these (eekkk!!! so cute) overalls. You can buy the same shoes here.
Bits + Pieces, from the LA County Fair
We went to the LA County Fair the other day and it was… in-SANE. I was still on a high from the Ventura County Fair, which was completely and utterly awesome. I had high expectations and figured that going on a weekday would help meet these expectations. Man, I was wrong. Total flunk. We had to park what felt like a mile away. And it was deathly hot. We had avoided going to the fair in the weeks prior due to the heat but figured since the weather has been cooling down, now would be the time to go. Only cooling down still equated to 90+ degree heat. In any case, Van was fine and he was the one I was concerned being too hot. I digress. We parked. We walked. And walked. Then we stood in line in the hot hot sun. Slowest line ever. We paid an unreasonable fee of $50 to enter (this included unlimited rides for Hooper and me, assuming I would have to ride with him as I did at the Ventura County Fair). Once we entered, we had to wait in another long line to get the wrist bands we had already paid for. Why it was a separate booth, I don’t know. Why some lady chose to cut in front of us, I don’t know that either. Just walking from the car and waiting in the two separate lines took an hour. And don’t forget, it was hot.
Once we got the damn wristbands, we started making our way to the kid area. Again, no easy feat. I almost felt like there was a hidden camera on us and the point of the joke was to try as many ridiculous ways to keep us from our destination because as soon as we put the wristbands on our wrists, the band started marching. And fair officials, as they call themselves, asked people to step to the side. So we had to wait for the marching band to pass. Then the cheerleaders. Then the long line of classic cars. Then the flag people. Then the fire engines. It was never ending. Hooper was quite unsure about it all. I think the loud noises scared him. Some of the horns and sirens pierced my ears. He kept covering his eyes, like he was playing peek-a-boo, but in reality I think he was counting on the whole if I can’t see you, I’m not here notion. In any event, one parade ended. Then there was a break as we made our way to the kid area. Then there was an entirely separate parade that stopped us in our tracks once again. And then we made it to the damn kid area.
Not sure why it would be any different, but this fair required the kids to be 36 inches to ride any of the rides. As luck would have it, Hooper was an inch or two shy. One nice lady let him ride regardless, but we got turned away at all the other ones. And it happened to be the one ride I didn’t have to go on with him, so we wasted money by purchasing an extra wristband for myself. Fail. So Hoop rode the same ride over and over and over again, which was fine by him. I’m fairly certain he was pretty stoked either way. It wasn’t all bad… Willy won Hoop a light up stick that he paraded around like it was the coolest thing on earth. We ate fried Twinkies, which never fails to land a smile on a frowny face. And we got out and about on a Wednesday evening, which always helps hump day along. So there you have, the bad and the good wrapped into one sweet fried Twinkie, I mean review. Man, I can’t get that Twinkie off my mind.
Oh yes, and no petting zoo. Actually, I’m quite sure there was one somwhere… but kudos to whoever has the patience and energy to find it among the gazillion wandering fair go-ers. Too big, too many people. We’ll pass on the LA fair next year and hit up the Ventura one more than once.
Fasten Your Seat Belts
This post is dedicated to first time moms traveling for the first time because I’ll bet any mom that has traveled with an infant more than once will have additional tips and tricks of the trade. Feel free to share by using the comment link below. Here we go…
-When you purchase your flight, you’ll need to let the airlines know you are traveling with an infant. If you buy your ticket online, some sites will have a box you check but others won’t. Sometimes you have to pick up the good ol’ telephone and give em’ a little jingle to inform them of the parasite traveling on you. They don’t need to know if you have crabs or lice, however, just a baby. You’ll also need to make a copy of your baby’s birth certificate or birth record or immunization record (anything that has his birthday on it). Bring this with you, as you’ll need it to check in. I usually leave a copy in the diaper bag because it’s easy to forget. If you do forget it, they can call your pediatrician’s office and have them fax something over… but that only works if the office is open and even then there is the obvious delay. It pays to have your shit together, trust me.
-Pack the night before. Leave a little note for the time fairy begging and pleading for this to be made possible. Leave a list on top of your suitcase for things you’ll need to add in the morning. For me, this list included things like the white noise maker (which we use every night), the swaddle sac (also used every night), pumping supplies (used every morning).
-Come up with a breastfeeding game plan. I like to feed just before we leave the house and then during take off and landing. Make sure you pack your hooter hider or blanket in your carry on. Or let it all hang out. Seriously, the seats are so close together that the weird guy next to you would probably have to lean forward and kink his neck in your direction to sneak a peek of your ta-tas anyway. And if you do spy a creeper, just tell em’ your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And then squirt em’ in the face.
-Have your travel companion (if you’re so lucky) drop you off curbside with all the stuff… because lets face it, if you’re traveling with a little munchkin, you’ll have the dreaded “stuff” I speak of: luggage, stroller, car seat, car seat base, sanity, good attitude, patience… it call gets dropped off curbside. As a side note, it’s easier to travel with a snap-n-go. I leave Van in the car seat/snap-n-go until boarding and then check the whole contraption in at the gate. You can pick up the proper tags at the gate. I check the base of the car seat in (which is always free of charge), along with the big luggage (not always free of charge. Screw you, Delta.), before going through security. As a side note, if you’re not knowledgeable about hooking the car seat into the car, you should review this before you leave to make the transition into the car at your destination smooth. I always review it with Willy before I leave if I’m traveling by myself. There’s nothing worse than getting to where you’re going only to be held up by trying to figure out the car seat. This situation is made worse if you have a crying baby to top it off. Save yourself the frustration.
-When you check in, inquire if the flight is full. Try to hold your infant in your arms when you ask (to rake in the sympathy points). And if your baby is cute (ha! I joke, they’re all cute), turn him toward the lady (fingers crossed it’s a lady… or an older man… or just a sympathetic person) and lift up baby’s arm to give em’ a little wave. If the flight is not full, ask if they could kindly leave the seat next to you open. This has happened to me several times and each of these times I felt like a lottery winner. Seriously, it’s the best.
Some airlines don’t assign seats and allow you pick your seat as you get on to the plane. If this is the case, don’t clean the spit up off your baby’s onesie and fart so there’s a nice aroma in the air as they pass you (because they will pass you. No one wants to sit by a baby, let alone a smelly baby. Despite their reluctance to be your neighbor, these will be the same people that tell you how cute your baby is and praise you for how good your baby was. These lovely compliments only come after the plane has landed and only if your baby was seen and not heard. No one says anything nice beforehand, carefully reserving the right to hate you and your child should your child ruin their flight).
If your baby does cry, try all your tricks (duh, right?). If nothing works, get over it. It’s not your fault. You don’t have any more control than the drunken fool two rows behind you. Hate the game, not the player = Hate the high altitude ear poppin’ pain, not the baby. If you get a dirty look, give em’ the good ol’ tongue. You thought I was going to say finger, huh? Nope, the old-school stickin’ your tongue out like a sassy second grader is the card I play in this situation. Really though, as you walk off the plane leave it all behind and enjoy your trip.
-How did we already get on the plane without mentioning the dreaded security? Back to before you get the whole shebang on the plane… Going through security can be a pain the ass with or without a baby. As fate would have it, it seems as though every time we wheel up to security, the baby is asleep. When the sleeping baby was Hooper and I was a first time mom, I couldn’t believe they’d make me wake a sleeping baby. I thought for sure I’d be an exception to whatever rule. Turns out the TSA agents are not the ones gloating over a sleeping child. Nor are they the ones responsible for getting that child back to sleep. Thus, they don’t give a shit about you and your sleeping baby. Just like the shoes and the belt and the wallet and every last straggling dime in your pocket, the car seat goes onto the belt. As a result, you must wake your little one up and carry him through with you. This never fails to piss me off and I always have to remind myself that I ought to hate the terrorists, not the TSA agent. But, without fail I leave security wanting to slap someone. In any case, this is why you pack your patience and good attitude.
-If you’re traveling with breast milk, review both the law (you can bring milk on a plane, even if it exceeds the 4oz. limit) and storage instructions. While I was in Utah, I kept to my pumping schedule (I pump 2 to 3 times a day in addition to breastfeeding) and thus had milk to bring back with me. Because milk cannot be frozen, then thawed, then frozen again, I stored my milk in the fridge while in Utah, then packed it with a bag of ice for the flight, and then froze it when I got home. If you’re going on a long flight with milk, it’s best to bring a zip lock bag and refill the ice as you travel to keep the milk cold. You can get ice from a restaurant near your gate as well as from the flight attendants. If you’re worried about the TSA agents giving you trouble, you may want to print out a copy of what the law says to keep with you. I did this once for piece of mind, but honestly have never had a problem.
Hope these tips are helpful. Feel free to share your tips and tricks too! Best of luck and hope I’m not the unlucky lady (did I really just refer to myself as a lady? I prefer girl… adult girl) who gets stuck sitting next to you and your crying smelly child. I’ll totally give you the stink eye. Just kidding.
As a side note… If you are a man reading this… or even a nice non-child totting woman… help the lady and her baby out. Hold the door, help squish her carry-on into that much too tiny overhead compartment, offer to hold her baby (only if you really want to hold him, of course) while she buckles her seat belt… I cannot tell you how many people have walked right past me while I’ve struggled to get a stroller up stairs. I silently say very mean things to them and if, by chance, they trip… I laugh and roll past them.
Meet Your Mom.
Dear Hooper & Van,
You’ll experience things in life that have a great impact on who you become. For me, it was the summer of 2006 and it was the trip you will hear stories from for the rest of your lives. It wasn’t just any trip, it was the trip. Much of my perspective and outlook on life today was built on those few months of that summer when the sun scorched our skin and our curiosity lead the way.
We arrived at the pyramids, crossing one more wonder of the world off our list of “yet-to-see”(We arrived in Egypt after visiting the Taj in India). We’ve all seen the pyramids photographed in every light and from every angle, but seeing them through my own two eyes was like being taken back in time. Cross the road to the entrance and poof!, magically you’re taken back thousands of years. The seemingly endless Sahara desert stretched further than my eyes could wander and off in the distance camels and horses roamed up, over, and across the sand dunes. Every so often I was tempted to wipe the dirt from my eyes and turn around on my camel to glance back across the street at the KFC in an effort not to play games with my mind, which was suddenly confused as to what year it was, what land I was in, and how the hell I mysteriously ended up in King Tut’s neighborhood. “Walk like an Egyptian” kept playing in my head. That, and the thought that the seven dwarfs may have been involved in the pyramid building process; For the entrance into the pyramid was made for none other than Dopey, Sleepy, and Grumpy alike. I remember being taken back by the grand scale of the outside versus the claustrophobic inside which was seemingly just enough space for Snow White to rest peacefully.
But my memory of the pyramids themselves is not what I want to share with you. Instead, I’d like to talk about the bottle of Coke you see me holding in the picture above. If you look closely, you’ll notice the Coke is full. Why, you may be thinking, is the refreshing Coke full when I’m on a camel in the desert in 100+ degree weather? Because the Coke was also hot. Very hot. Too hot to drink. Which begs the question I know you’ll be asking next: Why would I buy a warm Coke? To which I’d answer, I didn’t buy it. Well, not initially at least. It was kindly given to me by the man leading us around on the camel. Only “kindly” isn’t really the right word. He insisted I take the Coke, even after I sincerely said “No, thank you”. And by “given to me”, I quite literally mean placed in my hands. So to be polite, I took it. And, to be polite, I took the smallest of sips. It was flat and warm, as I suspected. When the camel tour was over, the man helped me off and held out his hand for more money. He didn’t speak English, but it was made quite clear that it was the Coke I owed him for; The Coke I initially refused. The Coke I only took one sip of. The Coke that was flat and warm. Just as the situation started to get heated, I gave him some money and vowed never to be polite again.
Not everything in the world is fair and not everyone in the world is nice. Don’t be afraid to trust people, but know there are scam artists. Don’t become one of them. Offer your guests a cold and refreshing beverage and tell em’ it’s on the house.
Oh ya, save your money and visit the pyramids. And go with your best friend. It’s worth it.
Love,
Mama
Hooper @ 22 Months
Growth & Appearance: You had your first haircut. It was great. You look like a little boy, just as you did before minus the mullet. So before you were a redneck little boy and now you’re more of a gonna-go-surf-the-waves little boy. I like the latter much better.
You’ve just about grown out of your size 6 shoes and we’ve been on a mad hunt for a size 7, scouring the flea markets and thrift stores with no such luck thus far. Tell your feet to put growth on hold. Diapers are still size 4, clothing 2T with the exception of some shorts/pants that fall right off your little waist.
Feeding: You finally understand bribery, which has worked great with eating. I allow you to watch Yo Gabba Gabba so long as you eat, but if you refuse to eat, I turn the show off. It’s worked like a charm every time. I should mention, however, that it works on a bite by bite basis. This means I have to pause the show the get you to eat another bite. And then repeat. It would be much less tedious if you I only had to threaten one time and then you ate everything, but it doesn’t work like that. I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do, per say, but it works, so whatever. It’s made eating time much less of a battle and for what feels like the first time ever, there is some peace at the dinner table.
Still, in general, feeding you is nothing short of difficult. Anytime you have to resort to strategy, there is an underlying challenge. Feeding you is the challenge. It’s not even about getting the food simply in your mouth. Some times you take the bite with no problem and the food just sits there in your mouth. You forget to chew. Or you keep chewing but don’t swallow. I watched you sit with a single bite of cereal in your mouth the other morning while I simultaneously polished off my entire bowl. Then I had to coax you to chew and swallow… and that’s all for one stinking bite. Papa had to run to the store to pick up some fruit for a BBQ and when he returned, you had the same bite of food in your mouth as when he left. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink… or I can put food in your mouth but I can’t make you swallow. Same same, but different. Not a struggle, per say, to get the food in but talk about tedious and time consuming trying to get you to swallow. I should also note that you are fully capable of using utensils to eat but due to the struggles I’ve touched on, we end up spoon feeding you most of the time. Otherwise, it’d never get done.
When Auntie Kiki came to visit for the weekend, she restored my confidence in feeding you by pointing out how healthy you eat. Sometimes I just need a pat on the back to keep motivated. You do eat healthy, it’s just a struggle. And the struggle at the table leads to a general impatience on my part and the rest of the day kinda goes to shambles from there. On the days you eat good, I have a grin from ear to ear. You’re happy, I’m happy, the day goes smoothly. On the days where you are a pain in the butt, I’m frustrated, you act out, and the day ends with me needing a break. I hate that it seems to all be centered around food, but that’s the way it feels. We’ve both gotten better and the bad days seem to be fewer and further between ::fingers crossed::
Oh yes, I should mention (because I’m neurotic about documenting all the mundane things) that you still drink your milk out of a bottle. We give you watered down juice in a sippy cup at lunch and on occasion I’ll give you a small amount of water in a cup. You do fine with a cup, but the bottle is safest since it seems that I spend so much time breastfeeding your little brother that I’d be losing my mind watching you spill your milk all over the place when I couldn’t do anything about it. Then I’d be crying over spilt milk and, well, they say you shouldn’t do that.
Development: You are still an organizing fiend. In fact, there are five things we leave on your bed: a decorative pillow, a stuffed smurf, a stuffed clown, a stuffed raggedy Andy, and a vintage Dapper Dan doll. Almost every morning, I come into your room to find them neatly piled one on top of the other. We have named the stuffed smurf “Niles” and the stuffed clown “Jeff”, after your grandpas. Your Papa and I find this funny, get used to our humor.
You are coming out of your shell at your gym class, showing a bit more personality each time and dare I say actually enjoying the activities. You’ve gotten much better at hanging from the bar. Before, you’d turn into a limp noodle anytime I’d put your hands on the bar. You also do a better job at following instructions given to you by the instructor and when the instructor is showing a skill or telling a story, you actually listen and follow along. You can jump with two feet on the trampoline, but have yet to jump off an elevated surface with both feet at the same time.
You’re shy with most new people you meet, but a high five always breaks the ice. You have yet to refuse a high five. You love to laugh and are drawn to wherever the laughter is. Sometimes your Papa and I will be having an adult conversation in the front seat and laugh about something you wouldn’t understand anyway only to hear you giggling, or mimicking us, in the backseat. You love a good laugh and when you make someone laugh with your game of peek-a-boo or your wild shenanigans, you want to do it over and over and over and over. I can think of worse things to be addicted to, so keep laughter as your drug of choice. Oh my god, are we already talking about drugs? Stop. Get out. Don’t get another day older. You hear me?! I said STOP!
You’ve been a dancing machine as of late. You love the song, “Young, Wild, and Free” by Wiz Khalifa. We discovered this when it came on the radio on the way home and you started head banging to it. Your head banging, by the way, is a cross between A Night At the Roxbury and Snoopdogg, or Snoop Lion, or whatever.
Hitting and throwing has been a bigger issue than ever. We had a play date with a friend from high school and I swear I’m scared to call her after you whacked her super cute and ubber polite little boy on the head with a toy phone. Hard. I used to have some reservations about disciplining you and I used to have sympathy when Papa would scold you in the corner. Now I do not. It sucks to see another boy cry because you hit him. Now I take you to the corner faster than you can say skipidy doo, which in fact you can’t say at all, but do trust that I take you over to that corner at lightening speed. The other day I scolded you for hitting Sarah (we have a zero tolerance issue now) and you walked yourself to the corner. I died laughing (inside, of course). When you’re in the corner, you do this blatant stare off to the side refusing to make eye contact. Other times, you have no sense that we are punishing you and you look us straight in the eye and let out a big “hi-yee”. Either way, we get your attention and make you look us in the eye, we count to ten, we reiterate that you cannot hit and we end with walking you over to Sarah or Van or whoever your victim is and making you say “sorry”, which you say with a hug instead because, well, “S’s” are hard.
You won’t stop making noises by sticking your tongue out and blowing. This results in a ton of slobber all over your shirt. I’m considering going the bib route. I know you’re awake from your nap because I hear you making noise with your tongue in there. In other news of things you can do with your mouth, you now smile on command. You just don’t follow the command all the time. But, you don’t follow any command all the time… except for when Papa commands you to put your nose on things. You do that every time… like when we were out to breakfast the other morning and Papa instructed you to go put your nose on an old lady’s leg. You did, of course. Again, you should get used to our humor.
We’ve tried the potty a few times but haven’t pushed it. The other day I saw you get into the squat position to push a load out so I scooped you up and brought you over to the potty. Almost immediately a little nugget fell into the hat, but I quickly realized you had already pooped and that piece was a little pellet that had stuck to your butt and simply fell off when you sat down. Total fail. Oh well, one of these days you’ll get it.
Sleeping: I sense you are transitioning from two naps to one. This means you are slowly and more consistently refusing your second nap, then needing to go to bed early, sleeping in later, and taking your morning nap in the early afternoon. So your schedule seems to be shaping out to waking up around 9am, napping from 11-1 or 2pm, and going to bed around 8:30pm. But, being that it’s in a state of transition, this isn’t always the case. Some days you still take two naps. These are good days. You’re sleeping in your bed at night, but we still have you in your playpen for naps. I’m pretty sure you need to be held prisoner in order to take a nap.
Whatever the case may be, nap or no nap, bed or play pen, you always wake up happy. As soon as you see the door opening, you eagerly glance over and greet us with a bundle of “hi-yee’s” as if you thought you were never going to see us again. I dread when I hear you first wake up because it means I have to stop whatever mom chore or activity I’m doing, but as soon as my hand grabs hold of that knob I’m like Pavlov’s dogs and my whole body tingles with excitement. Every time I open that door I feel so loved. Thank you.
Talking: Your on the brink of a language explosion. You always seem to be saying something and the jibber gabber is at an all-time high. Your favorite word has been “hi-yee!”. You say it to all of us numerous times a day and by numerous I’m literally saying somewhere in the ballpark of 200x per day. Some days even more. We were on the car on the way to dinner and in the ten minutes it took us to get there, I counted six times you enthusiastically blurted out “hi-yee”. You love to get right in Van’s face to say it too. It doesn’t stop with your family, however, you also say “hi-yee” to your stuffed animals, the moon, the plants, and lots of other inanimate objects. I had a mickey mouse sweatshirt on and you said “hiyee” to mickey. You don’t even know who mickey is. You do a quickened version of “hi-yee” each time we go into your room after you wake up. It sounds like a chopped, “hi hi hi hi hi” in very fast succession.
You say the word “love”, only it sounds nothing like love. It sounds more like “va”. The only way we know you’re saying “love” is because you do this head nod every time you say it.
You also say flower (which comes out as “flow-nay” or “flawn”), again (“ghin”), and dog. You’re started to put some words together… You say, “Papa doo-doo” and “Papa si” (Papa sit… you’re so demanding). You’re also adding two syllable words to your vocabulary.
Your answer to how many anything is is always two, which you answer by putting two fingers up. Any question with the word color in it is still answered with “boo” (aka blue).
Favorites: Cars, cars, cars. Big ones, small ones, fast ones, slow ones. You are obsessed. You like lining them up. You like making them go “voom”. You like throwing them. You like carrying them. It’s been all. about. the. cars. You’re even smitten with Dr. Seuss’s “Go, Dog, Go!” because the dogs are riding in cars. Your more into books, in general, than ever before.
You love giving kisses. You kiss everything. At your gym class, you took the stuffed beanie babies out one at a time, kissed each one, and then lined them up thus combining your loves for organizing and giving kisses. I was coloring with you the other day and drew a flower on the paper. You proceeded to lean over the picture and give the flower a kiss. But I think your favorite thing to kiss is still your brother. Hands down, he gets the most unsolicited kisses.
You also love stickers. We can get you to do a lot of things, like allowing the hairdresser to cut your hair or even getting you to finish your food, with the promise of a sticker. You like tattoos too.
Tuesdays and Fridays are your version of our Saturdays and Sundays, aka the best days of the week. That’s because the gardeners come on Tuesday and the trash trucks come on Friday and, well, it’s the highlight of your week.
In Conclusion: Each month gets better and better. Your Papa and I look at each other in disbelief every.single.day. We’re eager for Van to reveal his personality as you’ve taught us that newborns have nothing on toddlers. Don’t get a big head though, we love your brother too. But seriously, you are so fun. I don’t want you to get another second older.
And now two bonus videos of your now infamous “grandfather” walk and an extra little boogie video too.
Side note: Thank you to everyone who voted yesterday for The Stork & The Beanstalk as the Top Baby Blog. I know at one point we were in the top ten, but I believe we’ve dropped since then. You can vote daily by clicking on the link below or the TBB icon on the right. Many, many thanks!!
Mama Style
Dress, from TopShop (no longer available, but they have tons of other cute ones worth checking out. I wore this dress while pregnant too.) // Belt from Modcloth // Sandals, Seychelles // Purse, vintage (check out this one from etsy)
We’re still enjoying summer weather here in California. In fact, I still have tar on my heel from the beach that does not seem to want to come off. Truth is, I kinda like the black spotted reminders of sand and sea stuck on the bottom of my foot. Dear summer, you’re welcome to linger as long as you want.
I’ve been compiling some birth links for a few weeks now and rather than touch on each one, I thought I’d provide the links for those of you that are interested. I may no longer be pregnant, but I’m still passionate about birth. I believe strongly in a woman’s right and responsibility to be informed and educated and think everyone ought to take a closer look at the current state of childbirth in the US. Here’s the links:
-Consumer Reports published “What to Reject When You’re Expecting”, detailing 10 overused procedures during pregnancy and birth. They also offer 10 things you should consider while pregnant and delivering.
-If you can ignore the narrators creepy voice, this is a great poem/video that draws much needed attention to the fact that birth has become more surgical than ever.
-On labor day, several “Improving Birth” rallies were held all over the nation. You can watch this footage from the one in Arlington here.
–Here is a great article on doulas. If you’re not on-board with a home birth and feel more comfortable in the hospital setting, look into hiring a doula. I promise it will change your birthing experience.
Happy Monday!
pssstt… The votes for Top Baby Blog reset today. Be sure to vote by clicking on the link below or on the TBB icon to the right. I sure do appreciate all your votes and special thanks to those who voted throughout this last round (The Stork & The Beanstalk finished 13th out of nearly 600 blogs, so I’m incredibly honored).
Bits + Pieces
I spent this past weekend in Utah, visiting my best friend and her new baby (Carla is one week older than Van). Years ago, Janet and I were road trippin’ scoundrels. Back then was my first time visiting Utah and I came to associate the state with freedom, the open road, and pleasantly lost souls. We spent our days back then scouring the outskirts of cities big and small for a campground to rest our road heavy and stoned eyes. And now we’re adults, or whatever, looking for quiet corners to breastfeed our young. My oh my how things change and evolve. I’ve spent the last week contemplating and appreciating the beautiful ebbs and flow of life.
In case you missed it, you can check out the videos we made here and here. Happy Saturday!
A Nibble Tray Experiment
I feel like all I do when discussing what Hooper eats is complain about what he didn’t eat or how long it took. So I’ve reached out to Sarah (Sarah Dyer, not our dog silly), whom I mentioned before, and suggested that we do a post swap and pay a little visit to one another’s blogs. So, you know, you can hear someone else with a horrible eater complain. Sarah writes about the frustration of feeding her little Stanley in much the same way I write about Hooper. Only when I see her posts of what Mr. Stanley is eating, I’m jealous. He seems to eat pretty well. But I know all to well that it’s all about what happens in between the before and after photo. I’m talking about the struggle people. You can’t photograph the struggle. It’s like taking a picture of someone before running a marathon and after. Yeah, they did it, but can you feel the burn in their legs or the deflation in their lungs. No soiree. So despite my jealousy over what Stanley appears to eat, I have nothing but sympathy for the struggle in between. So with no further adieu, here is the lovely and talented (check out her illustrations) Sarah who bravely did her own nibble tray experiment…
Hello!
My name is Sarah and Ashley suggested I popped over from my blog ‘Sarah Illustrator‘ to say “Hi” and to give my take on the whole feeding a picky little eater. I found such a love for this blog because Ashley writes so honestly and with such humour. There are a lot of blogs out there that have no real substance, but this one definitely isn’t that kind. Anyway I digress. The main reason I’m here is that Ashley and I seem to have bonded in the internet world over our troublesome eaters. I started these posts a while back on my blog but quickly realised I was trying to fool myself (and maybe my readers) with a perfect idea of what my little boy Stanley ate. The real truth was most mealtimes are a battle. If he does want to eat I mainly have to spoon feed him and at almost 21 months I think he should be able to do that himself. He is generally fussy about things and always wants to get down after about 10 seconds of being in his high chair. I then spend the time like Ashley running around the house shovelling more mouthfuls of food in his gob, or letting him play with his cars at the table to distract him into more mouthfuls.
Since starting these more honest food posts I’ve received some great advice. One of the best bits was to look at what he was eating over a whole week not just a day. In recording a before & after shot of his food I’ve also realised his eating has improved and really isn’t that bad. In fact I think I’m beginning to make real progress with him. He is trying more and more things and getting quite adventurous with his tastes. It makes for a happy Mummy to see this. Recently Ashley did a ‘nibble tray experiment‘ and so I decided to do my own. I like the idea behind this feeding attitude and think it makes a lot of sense. I think I will try to do this type of relaxed feeding at lunchtimes, letting Stanley pick at what he fancies and then do a more ‘proper’ meal for his evening dinner.
This is what our nibble tray looked like. I used a paint palette to get the little sections.
I, like Ashley, included things I was pretty sure he liked and a few foods he’s only had occasionally to test him out. He was pretty excited when I put the tray in front of him, and there was no instant request for a toy to play with. Good start I thought. He straight away went for the cashew nuts which is a food I don’t think he’s EVER eaten before….I’d already put money on the egg or cucumber going first. I was soon to find out that these would be the last thing he’d eat. This boy does like to keep me on my toes 😉
I did have to try one of everything on his tray. I don’t mind doing this though. I never put food on his plate I wouldn’t eat, and he is good sharer which I think is important to encourage.
We were doing pretty well. Every now and then I had to ask which one he was going to try next, and he would say “that one” and then go ahead and eat it. If there was a slight lull again then I would ask him again what he fancied next and list the food on his plate. He’s quite a parrot with his speech so he enjoys listening and then saying the word he wants to eat next. “Owive”. This continued well, only a slight distraction in standing up for a bit and a light attempt at escaping over the highchair and onto the table.
Amazingly though he ate it. ALL of it! As you can maybe tell from the photos it did get DARK towards the end of the meal it had taken that long! I should have been clever and done a before and after of our clock like Ashley to show you. We started around 5pm (I tried it for his dinner that day) and he finished just before 6pm! I was happy enough though – I’d been sensible and made a cup of tea to sit down with before we began. In all though for us a major success. No distractions needed other that chatting about his next mouthful. No cars, no TV no silly music and me dancing like a loon. No begging, no pleading, no dashing round the lounge after him.
I’m sure I worry more than is necessary. My mother thinks I’m mad and says he eats very well. Perhaps sometimes just the tedious nature of doing it 3 times a day is what gets me down. He is my first child, I have a few friends to compare myself to, but perhaps like a lot of things with motherhood we all expect the best and then beat ourselves up when we don’t get it right – or it doesn’t quite go how ‘the books’ say it will.
Thanks to Ashley for letting me do a guest post on her beautiful blog. Hopefully I’ll be back here if this incident hasn’t ruined our new friendship!
You can pop over to Sarah’s blog to see my “Honest Food” post.
And Then There Were Two.
I’ve been in such a state of peace lately. I really didn’t expect this. I expected chaos and resentment and exhaustion and all those other things that seem to occur when you bring a newborn into a home. But, as it turns out, becoming a mother for the second time has been a much smoother transition than the first time. I’ve been sitting on this realization for a while and have come to attribute it to two things:
First, my perspective is clearer. I have witnessed, firsthand (because lets face it, it means nothing coming from someone else), that time flies. What’s a challenge one week is non-apparent the next. Breastfeeding feels never-ending… then you wean… and a week later it feels like it’s been a year since you breastfed your child and you suddenly miss it a little. Sleepless nights seem to come and go too. What I’m getting at is the fact that it’s all temporary and I’m much more aware of that this time around.
The second has to do with role change. There is a dramatic change in roles following the birth of your first born. For me, I remember thinking parenting Hooper would be a team effort. And by team effort, I mean fifty fifty. It was hard for me to take on the role of primary caregiver and accept the realization that fifty fifty really equals ninety ten. I felt like I was constantly having to sit on my ass to breastfeed and it bothered me to have to sit on my ass while I stared at a sink full of dirty dishes, dust collecting on the floor, a dog that needed to be walked, and so on and so forth. While I had to organize my day with some sort of strategy just to fit a shower and three meals into my schedule, it seemed like Willy got to sit on the toilet forever just to shit. It all seemed unfair (As a side note, it had nothing to do with Hooper. I bonded and loved him instantly with ALL my heart… I’m just speaking on behalf of the role adjustment).
With the birth of our second, I’m already acquainted with my role. I’ve already accepted the challenge. I know my place, Willy knows his. We’ve learned from our struggles the first time around and the kinks we had to work out then are already worked out. I am the primary caregiver. I say that now with pride and excitement. Although, I must admit, I’m still jealous of the fact Willy still gets to sit on the toilet forever when I’m just lucky to wipe my ass just in time to intercept a toy car Hooper’s about to throw into the toilet. But, again, it’s temporary.
Realizing that it’s all temporary and having experience in the role of primary caregiver has made me more relaxed. Being more relaxed, in turn, has made for less arguments, less kinks to work out, and less anxiety in general. I remember trying to shove food in my mouth as fast as possible because Hooper would be crying while Willy and I tried to enjoy dinner. This time around, if Van is crying during dinner it reminds me that he’s alive and I close the door and finish my dinner.
What’s your experience in becoming a mother for the first or second or third time been like? Can you relate?
Utah, part 2
I hope ya’ll enjoy watching this as much as we enjoyed making it.
Utah, Part 2 from The Stork & The Beanstalk on Vimeo.
Utah, Part 1
I spent this past weekend in Utah, with my best friend. My heart is warm every time I’m with her. I feel inspired by her mere presence. If it sounds like I love her, it’s because I do. Every girl needs a best friend they truly love. Mine is Janet.
When we’re together, anything feels possible. The world feels small again. I swear I hear opportunity knocking on my doorstep and the footsteps of ideas running through my head. She leaves me feeling motivated and confident. Every time.
Hope you enjoy this little video of our time together. And thank you, J, for an epic weekend… The weekend where your Carla met my Van. They don’t know it, but their lives will never be the same 😉
Utah, Part 1 from The Stork & The Beanstalk on Vimeo.
Mama Style
Get the look: Try this romper from Ruche (on sale) // Similar lace vest // Worishofer sandals
It may be Fall, but it still feels like summer here in southern California. And I’m not bragging, per say, but it is nice to hold on to the summer feeling a little bit longer. Time to cram in as many trips to the beach as possible before the summer sun gives way to the autumn breeze and before I have to return to work. But lets not talk about the latter.
Happy Monday everyone! Hope your weekend was splendid. I spent mine in Utah. Photos, reflections, and video footage (schwhat’d you say!?) to follow…
A Trinket, A Tasket
This ought to be co-titled “the Goldmine collection”. Willy and I happened upon a garage sale down a neighboring street the other day. Among the usual trinkets like an old lamp, some baby girl clothes, and some jagged picture frames was a cardboard box filled with records. Not just any records. Classics. Originals. I’m talking The Beatles, Abby Road original. We paid a dollar per record and came home with 15 super duper classics and a wee bit of guilt. No one should be selling records like this for a buck. Anyway, here’s some of the ones we picked up:
Not too shabby, right? Oh yes, and this cute little plate for the little ones…
Bits + Pieces
An oldschool Bronco = yes, please // Hooper’s latest obesession = cars // Sarah on our walk // A daily occurrence = Hoop lining up his cars // Enjoying Gabba Gabba on the sofa // Van loungin’ in my favorite balloon pants // Someone locked himself out and then cried about it. I, on the other hand, photographed it. I know, I’m a bad mom // I finally got the chance to flip through the latest Atomic Ranch magazine over a nice breakfast // Hooper playing in Van’s crib // My anniversary card to Willy.
Happy Friday!
Then & Now
Without a doubt, Hooper’s difficulty with putting on weight as an infant had a major impact on me. It’s the culprit behind my obsession with what he eats now as a toddler. I should preface this post with clarifying that Hooper’s weight was never an issue for anyone besides myself. His pediatrician asked that he come back more frequently to be weighed, but he never declared it to be an “issue” and never suggested that I supplement with formula. Taking him back frequently to be weighed, however, made me neurotic. I’d make sure to feed him just before entering the office in an effort to get just a couple ounces higher on the scale. Once he started eating solids, I’d give him as big of a meal as I could before taking him to get weighed. Secretly, I’d even hope that he’d forgo his morning shit just to add the additional ounce or whatever. I know, I’m a total wack job. I grew obsessed, and well, it’s stuck. I spent much of his first year wondering if I was giving him enough, if I was producing enough, if he was healthy. Then, after I stopped breastfeeding at a year and I could monitor completely what was going in and how much, I realized he was fine. If he was hungry, he would eat more. If you are a regular reader of this blog you know my son is difficult to feed and picky, but he does eat. After a while, I chalked his weight issues up to the fact that both Willy and I are tall and thin and it therefore only made sense that our child would be the same.
And then Van was born.
And he’s a beefcake. Coupled with the fact I don’t see much of myself in his appearance, I’ve wondered once or twice if I brought the wrong baby home from the hospital. My midwife told me that milk comes in faster and is more plentiful with the second child, but I didn’t believe her with all my heart. I don’t know the reason behind the difference in weight, but I’m oh so thankful to tuck those anxieties away in a memory box.
The onesie in the photos above is the same. Hooper is 22 weeks and Van is 6. Van has already grown out of it as evidenced by the amount of cleavage he is showing and the downward pull. I felt bad after a while of having him in it and actually unbuttoned the snaps to provide more comfort. I took it off at the end of the day and tucked it away in a bag in his closet labeled, “for the next baby”. Are you guys as astonished as I am… We’re talking about a difference of SIXTEEN weeks here people :: scratches head ::
1,095 Days Later…
Willy and I recently celebrated our third wedding anniversary. And we have yet to murder each other. Hell, the cops haven’t even been to our house. And trust me, they’ve been to the house down the street once or twice. Our marriage is far from perfect, but it’s perfect for us. There are things we both acknowledge we need to work on, but at the end of the day we love each other deeply and share an intense love similar to a fifth grade crush on crack. I’ve spent some time pondering what it is that makes our marriage successful. I asked Willy to do the same. And here’s what we came up with:
-Don’t keep score. I need to remind myself of this one constantly because it feels like I’m always keeping score and that I’m always ahead. Woman do things more efficiently, so instead of berating your husband for not being as organized, give yourself a pat on the back (because no one else is gonna pat it for you) and move the eff on. This also means not holding a grudge when you have to shit faster than you piss because of the two munchkins running around, while your husband makes it a priority to sit over his own feces and play angry birds while you breastfeed one and scold the other. No grudges, capiche? Let it go Ashley, let it go. Are you picking up on the fact this rule is my greatest challenge?
-Mind your manners. All because you’re married doesn’t mean manners go to the wayside. I think Willy and I both do a good job of being polite and respectful. He always asks my permission before making an appointment to have his tattoo worked on, recognizing that my days are busy too and that leaving me with both of our members could potentially create a problem. Running his plans by me first helps me organize and plan ahead and simultaneously helps things run smoothly.
I always try to remember to thank Willy on the nights he makes dinner, which are all nights other than the ones we eat out. Even though it’s something that over the years has become his duty and responsibility, thanking him for his efforts shows recognition and appreciation. Appreciating each other for things we do on a daily basis is important, for it’s those little things that are most easily overlooked but make a world of difference.
-Encourage hobbies and interests. It keeps a person sane, right? There’s nothing worse than watching a relationship develop where the two individuals seemingly morph into one and lose all individuality. Willy loves going to concerts. If there is a show coming up and it doesn’t interfere with anything else, I encourage him to go with a friend. This is because I’d rather step in a pile of fresh dog shit than have my poor ears subjected to the hootin’ and hollerin’ shit he listens to. If Willy Nelson’s playing, on the other hand, then there will be a problem if I’m not going too. If it’s a quiet weekend, Willy will take our members out so I can work on editing photos or scurry over to some of the local thrift stores or, on a rare occassion, get my nails did (uh huh, I said it. Now move past it). Especially with kids, it’s nice to help one another find time to enjoy things we like doing for ourselves.
-You can’t tell the other how to feel. This is somewhat connected to keeping score. When I get up in the middle of the night to feed Van, I’m tired the next day. It goes without saying, right? There is nothing worse than hearing Willy complain about being tired when I’m the one getting in and out of bed while he snoozes off in never never land. But if he’s saying he’s tired, it’s clearly because he’s tired. I have to watch out for it becoming a competition where only one of us can have the privlige of complaining about being tired and just accept the fact that dispite his nine hours of beauty rest, he may still be tired. So yes, you can’t tell one another how to feel. If you’re tired, you’re tired. Take a nap (me first though) and move on.
-Have a sense of humor. When Hooper was an infant, he’d cry a lot. Way more than Van. It was agonizing as first time parents to feel so helpless and clueless. To make light of the situation, we used to cusp our hand back and forth over Hooper’s mouth, making him sound instead like an Indian chanting. It didn’t solve the problem, but it made it more bearable.
What have you learned from the relationships you’ve been in? What works, what doesn’t work, for you?
Ready Or Not.
I dream about having a large enough home to set up a little “teaching” area. Somewhere I can sit with the boys and read or help them with their homework. I know, easy to say when you don’t have kids in school. I’m sure homework will be the last thing I want to do when the time actually comes. But anyway, it hasn’t stopped me from designing my space in my head. Here’s the general vibe I have floating around up there in the galaxy of my imagination. It almost, I said almost people, makes me long to return to the school days. 
one // two // three, spotted from here // four // five // six
Mama Style
Get the look—> Same dress: Victoria’s Secret // Similar gray tee: Gap // Similar sandals: Saychelles // Purse: try this one // Same Necklace from Etsy seller shoprarebird // Similar bangles: try these or these
In my experience thus far, I’ve ended up hating things I wore during my pregnancy after-the-fact. Like if I had a dress pre-pregnancy that I worked into my pregnancy attire I couldn’t stand wearing it postpartum. Not sure if it was the thought that wearing it would give me instant nausea or a sudden break-out of acne, but for the most part I end up donating much of what became staples in my closet during my pregnancy. This maxi dress is an exception. I wore it throughout my pregnancy and it was even something that worked all the way to the bitter and emotional end. And I still can’t seem to part with it. It’s incredibly comfortable. I paired it with a knotted gray tee that I’ve had for years. In the past, I’ve paired it with a jean jacket or a lace vest. It’s versatility also makes this dress a keeper.
I wore this for a special date night on Friday evening. Our first time out and about without either of our members, as we call them. We went to a bar in Ventura to see a friend play music. I sipped on shirley temples and cuddled up next to mi amor and it was a splendid evening. Willy keeps suggesting that we find a babysitter, but when all is said and done, it’s hard for me to leave my boys. Does anyone else struggle with this?
In other mommy news, my thighs and I are friends again as I have yet to find the time to do another workout. When the members are napping, I feel like I have to scramble to decide amongst showering, eating, blogging, napping, cleaning, editing photos, working out and well, gosh dang it, there just isn’t time to do it all. I need the time fairy to come visit me. If you happen to see her, please send her my way.
Pregnancy Stats
{I’ve been meaning to share this for a while, so with no further adieu, here are some tidbits for my pregnancy with you, Van}
How I Found Out I Was Pregnant: We were just coming back from Hawaii and I was anxiously waiting for the perfect time to test. The test sticks aren’t the cheapest things around, so I held off on testing as long as I could. The first time I peed on the stick I saw only the faintest of lines. Later, the line seemed to disappear all together. I looked up “faint line” on the Internet and was encouraged to test the following day, giving the pregnancy hormones one more day to multiply. I said nothing to your Papa and kept it a secret over night. I love surprises, so I was hoping for a big one the next day.
How I Told Your Papa: Sure enough, I tested the next day and the line appeared cleared as day, signifying a positive result. Your Papa was at work, but we had plans for a date night later that evening. I took the stick and wrapped it up numerous times. I covered it in foil, a t-shirt, wrapping paper, newspaper, bubble wrap, whatever I could find. I weighted the little stick down with different items to throw him off as best I could. I included a toilet paper roll and a banana. It was a funny looking “gift” when all was said and done. But nonetheless, it was a surprise. We both looked at each other with similar feelings written all over our faces: “uhhh… what the hell are we doing?” and “yyyayyyyy!”.
How We Told The Rest Of The Family: It was your brother’s first birthday and we had everyone over to our house to celebrate. I bought a bunch of different disguises to take silly pictures with. I asked everyone to gather together for a group photo and asked Janet (who was in on the news) to take the picture. The countdown went something like, “On the count of three say ‘Ashley’s pregnant'”. It took a few minutes to sink in. I think everyone was shocked. Excitement soon set in.
Worst Parts of Pregnancy: The nausea in the very beginning wasn’t fun, nor was the food aversion. But, they passed quickly and gave way to horrible skin problems. The acne started on my back and eventually settled on my chin. It resolved around the 22 week mark and has yet to return. I took off work in the beginning of April due to horrible back pain. I had the worst kind of knot in my left mid to low back. The pain radiated all the way around to the front of my rib cage at times. The pain brought me to tears. Worst back pain I’ve ever had, hands down. And who can forget the emotional turmoil of going past my due date, again. I’m not even ready to re-visit that agony even as a memory.
Best Parts of Pregnancy: Like your brother, you moved a lot. I never worried about your well-being because you were always active. You also settled into my pelvis early on and thus much of the rib discomfort that bothered me with your brother’s pregnancy didn’t affect me until much later in my pregnancy with you (it was, however, replaced with horrible groin pain and pelvic pressure, but whatever). I also loved being in the care of midwives again and was so appreciative of the fact your Papa chose to support me in my decision even though it wasn’t what he was comfortable with.
Total Weight Gain: 32 pounds
Total Weeks Pregnant: 41 weeks, 1 day according to the latest due date based on ultrasound (due date of July 15th). 41 weeks, 5 days according to dates (due date of July 9th-ish).
Favorite Foods: I went through different phases of eating the same thing. I had a long stretch where I wanted banana pancakes all the time. I never liked bananas before. I also started eating pickles, which kind of grossed me out before. I drank a lot of vanilla flavored milk that was high in protein, partly because it tasted like a milkshake and partly because I knew the protein was good for me. Toward the end of the pregnancy the vanilla milk grossed me out and I could no longer stand drinking it. I have yet to buy another bottle. I also ate a lot of scrambled eggs with cheese, again partly because of the protein content. Otherwise I ate a lot of yogurt covered raisins.
Bits + Pieces
Van straight loungin’, cuz that’s what he does best // Hoop on a play date // A little picnic at the park // Scavenged goods (Van may just be a Sheriff for Halloween) // Van has smiled three times. I have pictures of two of these times // Hooper, the madman, running through the kitchen (I promise a before and after kitchen remodel one of these days… would you believe we’re still waiting on a few things to be finished!?) // Fall may be here, but the beach is still a splendid way to spend the day here in SoCal // Hooper lining up his cars // Feet that have yet to be walked on // How our morning walks look these days (fyi, we use the City Select Baby Jogger and I have no complaints) // A family breakfast date (even Sarah came along) // Someone loves to read Dr. Suess “ghen” and “ghen” // That same someone likes to revisit his old stomping grounds.
Happy Friday!