If you look up the word terrible in the dictionary this is what you find:
Terrible - adj. For definition please ask the parents of a two year old.
I used to think, "Come on, what could be so terrible about a tiny two year old...?" Even though Arden is only 20 months, terrible is beginning to take on a whole new meaning for me.
Here is a list of things she did this morning:
(Please note she was given a warning each time not to continue doing that thing.)
Kick the dog, repeatedly
Grab the computer mouse, hold it over her head and say "Yay!"
Put Kyle's boxers on her head covering her eyes and start walking around
Put a hat over her eyes and try to step off the couch
Walk successfully from the bathroom to the kitchen holding her baby potty over her face (thankfully it hadn't been used)
Throw her fork, twice
Throw egg at me
Wipe yogurt on the back of her high chair
Run away from me naked
Scream in my ear for no apparent reason
Pinch me, timeout number 1
Hit me, timeout number 2
Stand up on the chair repeatedly while in timeout eliciting a longer timeout
Pick pieces of foam off from underneath the air conditioner, timeout number 3
Draw on her leg with crayon
Draw on the tv with crayon
Draw on my face with crayon. Yes, I finally took away the crayons.
Eat stickers
Scream at me, "No baby!!! (meaning, let me put my own boots on)
Chase Mew our cat screaming "Ahhhhhh!"
Spill water on purpose
Spill soup on purpose
And my favorite of the morning..., chew up a pea pod and spit it out all over Penelope our dog's head. I take the blame for that one because no one really wants to eat pea pods anyway.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Confession #12: Blame it on the Supermoon
“Don’t you blame it on the lame nap,
Don’t blame it on the diaper rash,
Don’t blame it on the terrible twos,
Blame it on the Supermoon.”
We barely sleep Saturday night and not for any fun reason. Our little girl decided to scream her head off at intervals inhibiting rem sleep all night long. I’ll take this opportunity to remind folks just stopping by that we all sleep in the same bedroom. City living. Na na na na na. Kyle did an extraordinary job of trying to calm down our night-time banshee, unfortunately to no avail. She wanted to be in bed with us and if she didn’t get what she wanted, she was going to go nuts.
We tried to wait her out but after it was clear she was not going to calm herself down, we headed out of the bedroom. That always results in a dramatic increase in the decibel level emitting from our child. Then, thinking we are so rational, we begin to discuss what’s going on. “Well,” I say, “She didn’t get a good nap in...”. “Argh,”, Kyle says, “This wouldn’t be happening if we had a house.” We give her sufficient time to make sure she’s back asleep and we head back in.
Now it’s egg shell time. Arden is in a state where the slightest movement or sound wakes her up for more screaming so we don our invisible astronaut suits and attempt to move weightlessly back into bed.
We make it but can’t fall asleep. It’s so hard to fall asleep without making any adjustments to get comfortable. If I even smell Kyle thinking about turning over I silently yell at him. You see, Arden is like Zool from Ghostbusters. If you even think that she might wake up and start screaming again, she will.
Just as I was telling myself, “clear your mind, clear your mind,” it just popped in there. I couldn’t help it. I started to think about her waking up crying and sure enough, she stood up an started wailing.
By now it’s 1am and the Supermoon is having it’s maximum effect on all of us. We leave the bedroom are now completely irrational. Instead of turning into werewolves we turn into sailors letting every swearword we know rip off in true sleep deprived form. After 20 months of trying to cope in the middle of the night we still haven’t figure out a good way to do it. We totally loose it at some point every time. I believe I take top prize this time by my declaring that I would, “get dressed and walk out the door,” if Kyle blew up the air mattress for me. I should record a video of my 8am self (post-Americano when I am most completely with it) warning my 1am self that, “if you are watching this video you should go sit down and shut up!”
Don’t blame it on the diaper rash,
Don’t blame it on the terrible twos,
Blame it on the Supermoon.”
We barely sleep Saturday night and not for any fun reason. Our little girl decided to scream her head off at intervals inhibiting rem sleep all night long. I’ll take this opportunity to remind folks just stopping by that we all sleep in the same bedroom. City living. Na na na na na. Kyle did an extraordinary job of trying to calm down our night-time banshee, unfortunately to no avail. She wanted to be in bed with us and if she didn’t get what she wanted, she was going to go nuts.
We tried to wait her out but after it was clear she was not going to calm herself down, we headed out of the bedroom. That always results in a dramatic increase in the decibel level emitting from our child. Then, thinking we are so rational, we begin to discuss what’s going on. “Well,” I say, “She didn’t get a good nap in...”. “Argh,”, Kyle says, “This wouldn’t be happening if we had a house.” We give her sufficient time to make sure she’s back asleep and we head back in.
Now it’s egg shell time. Arden is in a state where the slightest movement or sound wakes her up for more screaming so we don our invisible astronaut suits and attempt to move weightlessly back into bed.
We make it but can’t fall asleep. It’s so hard to fall asleep without making any adjustments to get comfortable. If I even smell Kyle thinking about turning over I silently yell at him. You see, Arden is like Zool from Ghostbusters. If you even think that she might wake up and start screaming again, she will.
Just as I was telling myself, “clear your mind, clear your mind,” it just popped in there. I couldn’t help it. I started to think about her waking up crying and sure enough, she stood up an started wailing.
By now it’s 1am and the Supermoon is having it’s maximum effect on all of us. We leave the bedroom are now completely irrational. Instead of turning into werewolves we turn into sailors letting every swearword we know rip off in true sleep deprived form. After 20 months of trying to cope in the middle of the night we still haven’t figure out a good way to do it. We totally loose it at some point every time. I believe I take top prize this time by my declaring that I would, “get dressed and walk out the door,” if Kyle blew up the air mattress for me. I should record a video of my 8am self (post-Americano when I am most completely with it) warning my 1am self that, “if you are watching this video you should go sit down and shut up!”
 | ||
| Thank you Supermoon. You are beautiful but if it's another 18 years until we meet again that's fine by me. |
Saturday, March 19, 2011
And the Winner Is...
Liza767! Congratulations! I'll be in contact by email to get your shipping information to send your copy of:
Gustafer Yellowgold's Infinity Sock Off-Broadway show was GREAT! Arden got to meet Gustafer in person since they had someone wear a very well done costume at the end of the show.
Thanks to everyone who became a subscriber and commented on my blog! I appreciate all the support so much. Looks like I'll soon pass 1,000 views, wow!
Gustafer Yellowgold's Infinity Sock Off-Broadway show was GREAT! Arden got to meet Gustafer in person since they had someone wear a very well done costume at the end of the show.
Thanks to everyone who became a subscriber and commented on my blog! I appreciate all the support so much. Looks like I'll soon pass 1,000 views, wow!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Gustafer Yellowgold Shout-Out and Giveaway!
Allow me to introduce you to Gustafer Yellowgold! Gustafer is a yellow creature who came to earth from the sun and landed in a Minnesota lake. He quickly makes many friends like Slim, the eel and Forest Applecrumbie, the pterodactyl. Two friends of mine, Morgan Taylor and Rachel Loshak, are the brains, music, illustrations and wonderment behind Gustafer. Morgan illustrates, writes, records and performs all that is Gustafer Yellowgold and Rachel sings, plays bass and masterfully runs the business.
Morgan is one of the best songwriters I know. The “soft rock” style behind Gustafer is so fun to listen to. Every song becomes a favorite. Morgan likes to rock out and also writes so creatively using different instruments like French horn (ahem) in so much of his music. Gustafer Yellowgold has become a success while being marketed as a great thing for kids but anyone will enjoy it!
You can experience Gustafer Yellowgold in many ways. There are currently 4 DVD/CD sets available. Each DVD consists of songs with animated illustrations, Gustafer music videos if you will. They ROCK! You can pick ‘em up here.
Also, if you live in or going to be visiting the NYC area in the coming weeks, you can check out Gustafer Yellowgold’s Infinity Sock, their new off-Broadway show (i.e. A BIG DEAL). Arden and I will be there (the DR2 Theatre at Union Square) with bells on this coming Saturday, March 19 for the 11am show. Please join us! Tickets can be purchased here. They've generously given us a discount code: DR2GUST. Gustafer Yellowgold shows are such a great time. I really am not sure who enjoys them more, me or Arden.
And last but not least, to show my love for Gustafer I am going to be giving away a copy of their second DVD/CD set Gustafer Yellowgold’s ‘Have You Never Been Yellow?’ You can check out one of my favorite songs from that DVD called “Pinecone Lovely” here. I’m sure that song is the reason why one of Arden’s first words was pine!
To be entered to win all you have to do is either become a follower of my blog, Confessions of an NYC Mom, or comment on one of my other posts. Please comment. I really want to hear from you! Do you like what I am writing about? Can you relate to it? Am I just annoying? Let me know.
You’ll be entered into the drawing once per subscription or comment with no limits. Arden and I will pick a winner literally out of a hat next Saturday afternoon after the Gustafer show.
Good luck everyone and I hope to see you on Saturday!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Confession #11: More is More is More or (I have everything I ever wanted so why am I still unhappy?)
Arden loves to play with my jewelry. She likes to play with the jewelry of mine she is allowed to play with but she loves to play with the jewelry she is not supposed to play with. I believe that sums up the problem with human nature. She’ll scamper across our bed making her way to my jewelry box saying, “Neck, Brace, Ring!”, and after reminding her to say please, I start to open a drawer when she shouts, “No, No, NO! Mamma, Mamma!” I am immediately on to her and I almost immediately give in to her wishes. I let her try on a ring and she utters her favorite exclamation, “Wow...” sounding like a cross between a stoner and a valley girl. Then, I offer a bracelet which is received with the same wonderment. You can guess what she said next. “More!” I tell her, “That’s it. That’s all the bracelets,” and she shouts, “more, moRE, MORE!!” I busted out laughing. Even when we get a little bit of what we want, we always want more.
I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s true. I have a husband who loves me and a healthy, beautiful daughter. Maybe it seems crazy but that’s it. That is all I truly longed for in this life. Of course other things are very important to me like being a good daughter, sister and friend but growing up, as old fashioned as it might sound, I wanted to be a wife and a mother.
So, why is it that I have days like last Wednesday. It was one of the worst days I can recall. I honestly thought I might be going crazy and not in a funny way. I felt like a complete emotional wreck and no, unfortunately I couldn’t blame this on some female thing. This was way past waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It was like I was undergoing some sort of emotional warfare. I was off balance, uncentered and felt out of control which is no way to feel as a mother.
But that’s just it. Judging. I shouldn’t feel out of control. I’m a mother for goodness sake. What kind of mother lets herself lose control... and on and on and on. I had come down with a bad case of the i’m-not-good-enoughs and I was currently on trial. Every whine, fuss, “NO!”, hit, pulling of an animal’s hair, throwing of food after I’ve asked you not to nicely how many times... felt like an addition to the list of accusations. I was on trial as defendant, prosecutor and judge and there seemed no escaping the verdict: You are not a good mom.
Why was I doing this to myself? The answer was revealed to me while reflecting over a mountain of dishes.
Arden was becoming my meaning in life. She wasn’t just a wonderful, good part of my life to treasure, nurture and love, she was defining me. I was taking everything she said or did so personally. I was unforgivingly hard on myself in my mothering of her because if I wasn’t a good mother, I wasn’t anything.
We all long to feel important. To have worth. To be known and accepted and loved. But paradoxically, by placing the weight of my self worth onto being a good mother I was destroying my ability to do the very thing I most longed to do.
We’ve all got to derive our meaning in life from something and it seems safest to place it in something of eternal value. I believe Sting said it best:
“If you love someone. If you LOVE someone. Set them free. Free, free, set them free.”
I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s true. I have a husband who loves me and a healthy, beautiful daughter. Maybe it seems crazy but that’s it. That is all I truly longed for in this life. Of course other things are very important to me like being a good daughter, sister and friend but growing up, as old fashioned as it might sound, I wanted to be a wife and a mother.
So, why is it that I have days like last Wednesday. It was one of the worst days I can recall. I honestly thought I might be going crazy and not in a funny way. I felt like a complete emotional wreck and no, unfortunately I couldn’t blame this on some female thing. This was way past waking up on the wrong side of the bed. It was like I was undergoing some sort of emotional warfare. I was off balance, uncentered and felt out of control which is no way to feel as a mother.
But that’s just it. Judging. I shouldn’t feel out of control. I’m a mother for goodness sake. What kind of mother lets herself lose control... and on and on and on. I had come down with a bad case of the i’m-not-good-enoughs and I was currently on trial. Every whine, fuss, “NO!”, hit, pulling of an animal’s hair, throwing of food after I’ve asked you not to nicely how many times... felt like an addition to the list of accusations. I was on trial as defendant, prosecutor and judge and there seemed no escaping the verdict: You are not a good mom.
Why was I doing this to myself? The answer was revealed to me while reflecting over a mountain of dishes.
Arden was becoming my meaning in life. She wasn’t just a wonderful, good part of my life to treasure, nurture and love, she was defining me. I was taking everything she said or did so personally. I was unforgivingly hard on myself in my mothering of her because if I wasn’t a good mother, I wasn’t anything.
We all long to feel important. To have worth. To be known and accepted and loved. But paradoxically, by placing the weight of my self worth onto being a good mother I was destroying my ability to do the very thing I most longed to do.
We’ve all got to derive our meaning in life from something and it seems safest to place it in something of eternal value. I believe Sting said it best:
“If you love someone. If you LOVE someone. Set them free. Free, free, set them free.”
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Stay Tuned!
I'll have a new post up any day now. I'm hoping for this evening but the baby has a cold so you never know. Also, I'll be having my first give-away! That's right. Details TBA by Monday so stay tuned!
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Confession #10: Weighing In
I'd say I'm adequately thin. I currently fit into most of my pre-baby clothing. I weigh the same as I did pre-baby. But, I would not spend time looking at myself in the mirror naked. I'm no Natalie Portman (note: I wrote this before she won the Oscar and before I found out she was pregnant). In fact, I'm falsely representing my pre-baby weight now since fat weighs less than muscle and I worked out then while I barely hit a downward dog nowadays.
Then, I saw it. I saw it waving back at me. There it was in all it's glory, making itself known to me for the first time in baggage claim at lga: my arm fat. It called out to me:
“Hello! Hi! Thanks for all the chocolate, chips, cheese and other crap you've been eating. Keep up the good work laying off those tricep dips. Talk to ya."
I don't know who invented cap sleeve tees anyway...
Oy.
And then, there was the need for a new pair of jeans. God help us all. Girls you know what I'm talking about. Men, you have no idea.
Guys walk into Macy's, pick up your 34/34s or whatever and walk out.
Oh no. Not girls.
You gotta try 'em on and try on lots of 'em to find the right pair. It's a lot like finding your wedding dress. Do they have a "This is gonna make my husband notice me" factor? What about the "Can I squat down and wipe off my kids face without mooning people" factor? What shoes can I wear these with? What shirts? How much food can I eat and how much can I drink and still be able to breathe while wearing these? And on and on...
So me and the baby hoofed it to the Gap on Steinway Street (yes that's the one: "Get it on Steinway,....Steinway Street!") one morning for our jeans excursion. I had a gift certificate and hadn't eaten much that morning in hopes of looking thin, so it was time to get ‘er done.
I focused and picked up 4 different styles of size 8 jeans and prayed oh please let me not look like sausage links, oh please. Arden and I got into a dressing room and the fun began.
I put on the regular bootcut pair and shockingly, I don't look horrifying. I round up Arden, do another quick scan for anything fatal she could pick up off the floor and ingest, and I move on to pair #2. The curvy fit. Ah, home at last. My heart started to beat faster as I realized I made it to the undiscovered country of a perfect jean. The rise wasn't embarrassingly high or low. The fit not too tight or loose. I loved the wash and thought they'd still fit after being washed. A winner. Then I tried on the jeggings just for a good laugh and I good laugh I had.
All joking aside I accept and love my post-baby body. I have the telltale belly. I even still have a fine linea negra. My boobs, okay I won’t go there. They certainly earned their keep. I’m proud. I am proud to physically reflect the fact that I incubated and gave birth to a baby. Time to start accepting and embracing the chances that come along with being a mom. Thankfully there’s always a new fit to try.
Then, I saw it. I saw it waving back at me. There it was in all it's glory, making itself known to me for the first time in baggage claim at lga: my arm fat. It called out to me:
“Hello! Hi! Thanks for all the chocolate, chips, cheese and other crap you've been eating. Keep up the good work laying off those tricep dips. Talk to ya."
I don't know who invented cap sleeve tees anyway...
Oy.
And then, there was the need for a new pair of jeans. God help us all. Girls you know what I'm talking about. Men, you have no idea.
Guys walk into Macy's, pick up your 34/34s or whatever and walk out.
Oh no. Not girls.
You gotta try 'em on and try on lots of 'em to find the right pair. It's a lot like finding your wedding dress. Do they have a "This is gonna make my husband notice me" factor? What about the "Can I squat down and wipe off my kids face without mooning people" factor? What shoes can I wear these with? What shirts? How much food can I eat and how much can I drink and still be able to breathe while wearing these? And on and on...
So me and the baby hoofed it to the Gap on Steinway Street (yes that's the one: "Get it on Steinway,....Steinway Street!") one morning for our jeans excursion. I had a gift certificate and hadn't eaten much that morning in hopes of looking thin, so it was time to get ‘er done.
I focused and picked up 4 different styles of size 8 jeans and prayed oh please let me not look like sausage links, oh please. Arden and I got into a dressing room and the fun began.
I put on the regular bootcut pair and shockingly, I don't look horrifying. I round up Arden, do another quick scan for anything fatal she could pick up off the floor and ingest, and I move on to pair #2. The curvy fit. Ah, home at last. My heart started to beat faster as I realized I made it to the undiscovered country of a perfect jean. The rise wasn't embarrassingly high or low. The fit not too tight or loose. I loved the wash and thought they'd still fit after being washed. A winner. Then I tried on the jeggings just for a good laugh and I good laugh I had.
All joking aside I accept and love my post-baby body. I have the telltale belly. I even still have a fine linea negra. My boobs, okay I won’t go there. They certainly earned their keep. I’m proud. I am proud to physically reflect the fact that I incubated and gave birth to a baby. Time to start accepting and embracing the chances that come along with being a mom. Thankfully there’s always a new fit to try.
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