Momoirs of a Rookie Mom

Speaking of “the best things in life are free” — aside from the wild chickens on Kauai, I think Holden and Milo most enjoyed the built in jungle gym of climbing around and under the condo’s kitchen table.

At first we tried to keep them away from the glass-top table for fear of it falling or breaking (or smudging?) but after a while, boredom is the brother of invention and Holden discovered the merits of the hidden play structure. Milo was quick to follow.

Lucky me
I just got back from a week on the North Shore of Hawaii with my husband, two sons, mom and step-dad and I’d be totally lying if I said it wasn’t great. It was awesome. The weather was in the mid-eighties all the time; when it rained it was fun or refreshing; nobody was wacked in the face with a surfboard; and both Milo and I stayed relatively pale and un-sunburnt.

And did I mention that we were there with grandparents? Wow. Alec and I enjoyed a full day away from the kids, one afternoon, one after-dinner dessert, and one dinner (but who’s counting?!).

Ok, but seriously, what am I doing wrong?
Now that I have all that mushy gratitude out of the way, let me get right down to it. What is the secret to having a fun vacation with a 3 year old and a 1 year old? Does it even matter where you go and what you do? At this age, they don’t have any patience or common sense.

I resisted my impulse to plan the crap out of the trip in advance and fear I lost my chance to be prepared. In the effort to go with the flow, we missed boats, mis-timed lighthouse open hours and drove back and forth a TON between various activities and attractions.

Best stuff of the trip
I know if you ask Milo what he liked best, he would say “roos” — his favorite thing was clearly chasing chickens and roosters. He wouldn’t go to bed until you assured him that the fowl was no longer frolicking.

If you ask Holden what he liked best, he would say the airplane. He was afraid to go in the water, even up to his ankles, until the last day preferring instead to dig in the world’s largest sandbox (AKA the beach).

As for kid-friendly activities and restaurants, I would be hard-pressed to give you much advice, but let me try anyway:

Best beach: Lydgate Beach with it’s waist-high on a 3 year old rock enclosed fish filled enclaves.
Best burger: Bubba’s Burger in Kapa’a. I thought it was fine, but Holden liked his first dining experience the best and kept wanting to go back.
Best tourist trap experience that’s better with kids: Boat-ride to Fern Grotto. This is a very lame boat ride with a short hike through plants with some traditional Hawaiian singing and dancing… which is good especially if you’re too young for luaus. Also, we enjoyed feeding the birds for $.50 at the Smith Nature Preserve when we missed the boat the first day.
Best of the best: Wild chickens running everywhere. Find an open lawn away from driving cars and let your clueless toddler run themselves straight for an early nap.

I never did find a particularly kid-friendly swimming pool. Anyone else have any (young) family favorites on Kauai?

Yesterday was Indigenous People’s Day in Berkeley. Yes, that’s what we call Columbus Day. Seriously. That’s what it says on public school schedules and parking meters.

So anyway, no preschool is the main point. My mother-in-law was available, however, so she watched Scarlett (15 months) and I took Julian (3 years and 11 and a half months) on a very big adventure.

First we took BART, our local train system, to San Francisco. Julian wore a black hooded sweatshirt with spiders on it, his backpack and a huge clown-style bow-tie. Why? I don’t know, but why argue with that? Julian’s highlights were putting the ticket into the turnstile and taking it out by himself and standing up when I told him to sit down. As if some sense got into him all of a sudden, halfway through the train ride, he took off his bowtie and put it in his backpack.

We got off at Powell, right in front of the cable car stop. We joined the line of tourists and waited to board a cable car. Luckily we got an outside seat with a great view. I was thinking we’d just ride up the hill a few blocks beyond Union Square and then come back and head home on BART, but made a quick decision on the cable car to just go all the way across the city to Fisherman’s Wharf. Woohoo!

photo: ThomasHawk

I had no stroller and no real lunch for him, so I did have a small pocket of fear in the back of my mind of a worst-case scenario in which I would have to carry him a long ways, ride in a cab without a car seat, or endure incessant whining about hunger, but none of these things happened. Everything went smoothly.

When we got to Fisherman’s Wharf, we took our time walking past the tourist shops. I let him look at and touch everything, from life-sized Barack Obama standees to $2800 statues of cranes and cheetahs. Why these are so popular with tourists, I am not sure.

photo: nice tourist who put up with using my blackberry as a camera

We headed toward Pier 39 where I thought we could peek at the sea lions, but I ultimately decided it was just one block too far and didn’t want to push my luck with tiring him out for the aforementioned reasons.

As an F-Market train, our vintage light rail streetcars, went by and Julian admired it, I decided we should hop on. We crossed the street and the next one came immediately. We took it around the edge of the city to the Ferry Building, stopped to eat gourmet sandwiches (ok, mine was triple cream brie, jam, arugala and black pepper; Julian’s was just a hot dog bun, but one made by a fancy bakery), and watched some boats. Finally, after taking advantage of the clean, lovely bathrooms in the Ferry Building, we walked two blocks into Market Street to catch BART back to Berkeley.

photo:telstar

Julian proudly told his grandma about our trip when we got home. He seemed exhausted, but happy. I was on a bit of a high, feeling like I had a spontaneous adventure with a friend, a la my collegiate travels to Latin America, and amazed that my little friend was my own son. He was so agreeable and easy to please. He found points of interest in every sight we saw. There’s no way I could have managed this trip with Scarlett in tow, so the next preschool holiday will probably be a lot less exciting.

I named my son Holden. Ok, Alec and I together named our son Holden. We liked the sound of it. Alec goes by a derivation of his middle name and really hoped to avoid that fate for our son. He spent all his school years correcting teachers and substitutes about what to call him.

The problem is that we had no forethought. We didn’t imagine how a young, articulate 3 year-old might pronounce his own name for well-meaning adults asking the innocent, “what is your name?” question and we certainly did not plan ahead for when we had a younger, less-articulate one-year old struggling to pronounce his big brother’s name.

Milo says “Oldie” when he wants his brother. Then again, Milo calls me and Alec both “MommyDaddy” or “DaddyMommy” so we probably shouldn’t go by him.

When grown-ups inquire, he might say “Holden” (sounding a little like “Olden” “Alden” or “Eldon) or he might say one of his recent nicknames given to him by his BFF at school, Miles (AKA Boo). They have named each other:

• Pachacho (always said to strangers with remarkable clarity, making it seem like I must have kidnapped this child if I insist on calling him something odd like Holden)
• Chicken Coop (again, pronounced clearly and distinctly, making strangers wonder why my kid is such a liar)
• Rhinoceros Goat (said well, but leaves people wondering if they’re mishearing a complicated family name)
• and now, inexplicably Flippy Cup (and we’re back to making little old ladies think I’m raising one adorable, shaggy haired liar).

During these phases, they call each other the chosen name and create a little exclusive club of 3 year old hilarity. It’s Flippy Cup that has me both scratching my head and declaring his hilarious imagination. I don’t know why Rhinoceros Goat didn’t strike me as funnier at the time.

Do any of your preschoolers answer only to a bizarre self-invented nickname?

When you have a new baby, you really should never admit if your kid is a good sleeper. Admitting that will make other parents hate you (or mistrust you, or both) and it will certainly jinx your child to a few nights of turning you into a liar.

This is also true if your baby is a good eater (breastfeeding easy? toddler not picky? keep it to yourself!).

And when potty training begins, it is true of the the potty. Kid sleeps in undies? Never wore a pull-up? No accidents out in public? Keep that to yourself or only admit it in some private online chat room where you don’t use your real kid’s name or face.

Hopefully — because I’m talking about the past and making no prediction of future success — I can tell you a few things about Potty Training.

Once Upon a Potty was an instrumental book for us. It’s practically the gold standard of potty training kid lit. Holden liked it a lot. We read it A Lot. At the time, my only wish was that it was a board book because of all the wear and tear it got. Now, it is out as wipe-clean board book and we love it even more!

It comes in separate “Girl” and “Boy” edition so that each child can identify the cartoon versions of their own parts. There is also a helpful author note at the beginning that suggests you sub in whatever words you use at home (for parts and ummm #1 and #2).

Last week, we also received a copy of the audio cd. It includes a reading of the book and some related potty songs. I think this would be great to have in the car when you want to reinforce the message without reading it over and over and over. Holden responded to the cd with unexpected enthusiasm. He told me that not only does he like it, but he wants to start hearing it all the time. I’m sure when Milo begins flirting with our potty, we’ll be hearing it more and more.

Thanks to Parent Bloggers for sending me a fresh boy edition for my little guy and an anatomically appropriate book for Scarlett.

For some reason, when I had a new baby (Holden 3 years ago), all my old church camp songs came flooding back into my head. When he was fussy, I would go to “this little light of mine” out of some long-suppressed instinct.

When Milo was fussy, I turned it up a notch and busted out with “Do lord, oh do lord, oh do remember me (oh lordy), do lord…” and when that got to be a little too well, church camp for my taste, I started switching up the lyrics. I’d sing about whatever was nearby or whatever was on my mind to the same soothing tune such as “Alec, when will youuuuu return from this bike ride (oh lordy) return return return from this ride… ” or “Warm and hold oh hold the warm and hold… hold the warm…” (sung lovingly to my oven’s warming feature).

Whenever either of the boys would get the old “this little piggy” treatment, I always switch around the roast beef to something else: vanilla milkshake, broccoli, tofu, or whatever was on my mind.

Ok, than you for this bizarro journey into my brain. Why am I telling you this?

The Parent Bloggers are inviting us to join the contest to rewrite the “beans beans, musical fruit” jingle and I’m pretty sure I can do that considering all the lyrical silliness that abounds in my house. But before I use brain for that, I want to tell you a true story from yesterday.

I was trying to show off to my husband that Holden, at age 3, knew a little about the presidential race. Holden said something like “Obama” so I asked him, “what is Obama’s first name?” and Holden answered confidently, “Barack.”

Pushing my luck a little, I asked if he knew who was president now. He answered, even more confidently, “Bush Beans.” Because we have a picture of President Bush in the garden alongside the plant for Bush Beans… that’s what he thought.

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What songs get stuck in your head to the point that you sing them to your kids? I told you mine for this weekend’s PBN Blog Blast, sponsored by Bush’s Beans.

It started innocently enough. When Holden was about 17 months old, the daycare suggested that pull-up pants (read: sweatpants) are much easier for potty training kids, so I started buying only those.

I still have a preference for good-looking kids clothes. For tops, I like solids, simple patterns, funny screen prints (of robots, dinosaurs, kitschy funny things), and all the trendy snazzy clothes that Julian sports. And each boy still has at least one or two pairs of (contraband) pants with buttons and zippers and some jeans.

But all my “good intentions” fly out the window when they go to preschool. Between water play, mud play, rolling in sand, sloppy eating, and pee accidents, they very seldom come home in the clothes they went to school in.

Whenever they choose their own clothes at school, both Holden and Milo invariably pick flowers, pink, and purple in all combinations.

It’s funny seeing them all decked out in pink if only because I realize that they could easily pass for girls with their pretty little faces. Is that so wrong?

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This momoir on the fabulous wardrobe choices of my sons was brought to you by a blog blast hosted by Polly Pocket and the Parent Bloggers

Let sleeping dogs lie, right?

And never wake a sleeping baby, right?

Whitney gives us some excellent tips on photographing those angelic fall-asleep-anywhere newborns, but since I don’t currently own one of those models, I had to try a different approach.

About an hour after bedtime (7:15ish is bedtime around here), I tiptoed into Holden and Milo’s bedroom and put the dimmer on very low. This is a common routine for me. I love to watch these boys sleep. It is precious to me… an antidote to some of the frustrations and fits that occur naturally throughout the day.

Anyway, I was sneaking and quiet and DIM when I decided to USE MY FLASH to take their pictures. Seems dumb, right? Yes probably. My sons go to sleep fairly well most nights and sleep well throughout the night (the last two nights being exceptions because I was caught bragging about these facts).

They are not like Julian.

Whitney’s son, Julian, can be picked up, dragged, hands dipped in water, buckled, unbuckled, sat upon, or drawn on and he will not wake up! He is really just asking for it once he gets to college.

This is funny to me because… Whitney’s son would not wake up if she were to take a picture of him sleeping with full flash. But Whitney’s visual aesthetic would never permit such a picture.

With my kids, I was playing with fire. But I did it anyway, and they didn’t wake up. And I love these pictures of their precious sleeping moments. I only wish they didn’t have the broad-daylight-flash thing going on.

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This silly photo adventure was inspired by Sam and her rookie moms weekly challenges! My choices were:

Activity #18: Take a Picture of your Sleeping Child

Activity #34: Rub Your Baby Down with a Message

Activity #69: Sleep Late

Take the challenge with us and win a little prize (maybe) and the chance to do something a little different (for sure!).

For some odd reason, even when I have a newborn of my own and I see another one, my heart gets all ooey gooey and I melt and want to pick it up and love it and squeeze it. I assume it’s a biological imperative that makes new babies so loveable and delicious (despite their appearances as plucked poultry without neck control) to ensure the survival of the species.

When my baby brother (now 24) tells me that he wants four kids — I say “yay! (at least it’s not me)” and when Uncensored Kristen and Wild Rebecca each add to their brood with a third and a second respectively, I wish we all lived close enough that I could hug and squeeze the new babies before sending them home with their newborn screams.

Hmmm, as part of a collective bloggy baby shower, we’re reminiscing about those sweet cuddly baby days. Here are the things I do miss:

• Sweet little hands and feet
• Squishy kissable cheeks
• The softest skin ever invented
• The ability to fall asleep anywhere, even upright (him or me!)

When you’re bringing a newborn into a home with a young child (or two!), it’s amazing to see how far that they’ve come as children and you’ve come as a parent. The big one(s) went from being your little guy one day to being a teenage-size monster overnight. Good luck with that!

Milo at 19 months is two months younger than Holden was when we brought him home, and I’m obsessed with that little fact. But enough about me… And I won’t go into the things I don’t miss, the things that are hard or culture-shocking or confusing (the whole rest of this site is dedicated to that), I’ll just wish these fine ladies and all families expecting to add more members the very best of luck.

Take lots of pictures!

For more bloggy shower love, visit shower.mothergoosemouse.com