Author: sajbat

*sniff*

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Who would have thought that this would be the source of tears? It’s so cute!

Yes, that’s a toddler bed.  Where a crib once stood.  I posted the crib on CraigsList and it was gobbled up in a week, drop side and all.  (If you’re not a parent, you may be aware that drop-side cribs have all been recalled.  Then again, if you’re not a parent you probably have no clue what a drop-side crib is in the first place.)

But the crib is gone, which means that the little one is growing up and is not a baby anymore.  There’s a bit of me that’s sad about not having another baby in the house. (Grandparents, don’t see this as an invitation to remind me that another baby is entirely possible.  I’m done with the baby-making business.) It’s more that I can’t believe that my little baby girl is old enough for a bed.  It’s just so….grown-up!  The transition to a bed was seamless.  The first couple nights she got up and just walked over to the gate at the top of the stairs and stood there.  We went up to tell her that she needed to go to bed, and she toddled down the hall, back into her bed and fell asleep.

Yes, that’s it.

Don’t be jealous.  The boy gave us no END of trouble at bedtime, and still only falls asleep begrudgingly and usually in our bed.  I remember when there would be a couple hours of screaming tantrums at bedtime, eventually followed by silence.  We’d go to check on the boy and have a moment of panic when we saw nothing in the bed.  He’d taken his pillow and covers and gone to sleep in his CLOSET. Yeesh.  I’ve paid my dues in non-sleeping children.  That the girl is such an easy sleeper makes me feel so much better about myself–the boy’s terrible sleep habits have little to do with me as a parent, and are basically just how he is.  Of course, the girl’s wonderfully easy sleep habits have everything to do with my amazing parenting.

The next frontier…the potty!

Feast or Famine

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You may have noticed that it’s somewhat feast or famine when it comes to the blog.  Two weeks go by and…nothing, then all of a sudden there’s three posts in a week.

As it turns out, this is a fairly good reflection of my work schedule.  As  a hospitalist, I work for somewhere between four to seven days in a row and then have a chunk of time off.  When I work it can be consumptive and then when I get to the breaks, it’s time for me to resume life as I enjoy it.  For the most part, it’s worked well.

Lately, however, work has been nothing short of oppressive.  Due to a convergence of circumstances, we’re short-staffed and busier than usual, especially for summertime.  I’m so frazzled by the time that I get home, that I can’t stand for anything not to go perfectly.  I mean, I leave work to go home and be with my family, which is what I really want to be doing, right?  But my four-year-old and two-year-old clearly did not get the memo and proceed to behave horrifically, which means that I spend the one hour I have with the girl  (who still goes to sleep at seven) and two hours with the boy–I spend this time irritated, annoyed, and angry.  Voices are raised.  Okay, my voice is raised.

Hospital work also occurs at a constant decibel level of about one trillion.  This means that when I get home, all I want is silence.  Again, my children did not get this memo either.  I really need to work on a more effective intra-home mail delivery system.

Of course, this all adds to the guilt I feel in that I’m spending so little time with them when I work.  In general, I don’t feel a lot of guilt as a working mom.  Almost all of the studies I’ve seen show that parents (stay-at-home or not) nowadays spend more time with their kids than stay-at-home moms (because back in the day there were almost no stay-at-home dads) used to.  For me, it’s important that my kids see that their mom works outside the home.  I don’t mean to discount stay-at-home parents at all, and I know that this is a sensitive subject, but for me personally I want my kids to know that both mom and dad can have professional careers.

But when I’m feeling overworked, the guilt really sets in.  I tear out of the house early, hoping that I can leave work earlier (which never happens) so I barely see the kids in the morning.  Then, when I get home, I’m so exhausted and in such a bad mood that I can’t even enjoy any of the time I have with them because the kids fail to act as if they’re in an episode of “The Donna Reed Show” and act like normal preschoolers, which involves a lot of screaming and the word, “NO!”

To add to the plate fullness, I’m training for a sprint triathlon, and the girl’s Montessori teacher has decided that she’s ready to potty train, which means that our laundry load has increased exponentially.

I do my best to turn everything around, and realize that in every negative there is a positive.  Perhaps my job is busy and stressful, but at the end of the day my work is meaningful and helps people, and moreover I have a job when so many are struggling to find one.  My kids may stress me out also, but this means that I have two kids, when some struggle to have any.  That I can train for a race means that I’m in good health and can find the free time to do so, even if time is tight.  And even the laundry means that I have clothing to wash, easy access to a washing machine, and constant electricity and water that I never have to think about.

I’ve been away from work for two days now, and the depression is just beginning to lift thanks to a combination of hanging out with friends, exercise, time away, and just remembering how much I love these little kids.

Tonight, the boy was sick.  Probably some generic virus, hot fever.  He called for me.  As he lay in bed and I daubed his forehead with a cool cloth, I said, “You know, kid, I love you more than anything.” “I know,” he replied.

I thought he had drifted off to sleep and I began to walk out of the room.  I heard a scratchy gravel voice call after me, “Mom, I love you so much too.”

And that sort of brought everything right again.

Rain dance

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The other night, sitting on the porch watching the floodgates of the sky open and pour down, crashing thunder punctuating the rain.

The boy’s eyes open wide and he exclaims, “Mommy! I know who’s sending us all this rain!! It’s Indra!”

I reply, “No, I think he’s the sun god.”

“No, he’s the thunder god! I know he is!!”

I pull out my trusty reference guide, The Little Book of Hindu Deities, and dammit if the kid isn’t right.

Often, when he is upset or has been in a screaming match with me and gets sent to his room, I will go up a few minutes later and find him surrounded by his books on Ganesh, Hanuman, and the Ramayana.  He calls these his “God books.”

“Mommy,” he says, “I’m going to ask Ganesh to help me calm my body.”

Wouldn’t you know, it works.

The kid’s a better Hindu than I’ll ever be.

Garden Stage V

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June 26 Garden

July 6 Garden

You know, I was feeling really disappointed in the garden this week, but comparing the two pictures makes me feel a little better.  People are posting on facebook about their amazing garden yields and what do I have to show so far? A salad.

Oh, and like, 20 peas, or enough to make about 4 bites of a dish.  Huzzah.

I even gave them little trellises for support, and this is how they repay me? For shame, peas, for shame.

While I was on my trip to NYC, it rained heavily.  I think this sad tomato plant got too much water and just didn’t recover.  I also realize now that it’s in the direct path of the tree trunk behind it and thus gets a LOT less sun than most everything else.  Every time I see it, I sing the R.E.M. song “Crush With Eyeliner” because it has the words “sad tomato” in the first verse.

The other ones look robust and are flowering, though no little tomatoes yet. 

At least the lettuce has had the decency to grow well.  Ungrateful plants.  After all the time and water I’ve spent on you.  Sigh.

Maybe I should have amended the soil more when I started out.  Or maybe this is just pretty normal for Colorado.  Or maybe, just maybe, my expectations of a perfect garden when I have no idea what I’m doing were a tad unrealistic.  Nah, that can’t be it.  These hands are golden! (Or, are they supposed to be green? Perhaps therein lies the problem.)

Next year, though, I’ll definitely move some things around.  I bought a couple more basil plants to replace the pepper (Susan, you were right about that.  Little pepper plant never got any bigger than the start I put in) and will see how they do in a sunnier spot.  I need to start the spinach earlier–it was an afterthought this year and bolted already, so I ripped it all out.  I did also apply a light fertilizing of an organic fertilizer about two weeks ago, and that did seem to help a bit.

I’m also going to plant some fall veggies now, such as Brussels Sprouts and another round of spinach.  Hopefully by next time, all those little flowers will have turned into fruits.

Or else, garden, or else.

brooklyn/manhattan

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After a great few days in Westchester, we headed to Brooklyn to spend a few days with my sister.  We hopped on the train and the girl waved goodbye to her new friends, who waved from the platform.  At every single station from Westchester to Grand Central, the girl looked at me and asked, “Friends? Where go?” She didn’t quite get the principle that we were at different stations every time…

We met up with Sapana –who, I’ve since learned, is called “Panda” by most of her workforce after multiple clients have written to the office for “Sapanda.” That’s how I’ll refer to her for the rest of this entry, and perhaps for the rest of the blog–anyway, we met up with Panda at Grand Central and dropped our stuff off at her office and headed to the Natural History Museum.  That place is HUGE.  Massive.  We got lost quite a bit until we got our bearings and made our way to the dinosaurs.

It’s nearly impossible to get a decent picture in there, partly because the girl never stops moving:

and because the lighting is terrible! (This is remedied by the awesome flash that my parents got me for my birthday, which I can’t wait to try out!)

Look at that hadrosaur!

We hopped on the train back to Brooklyn, and got to Panda’s apartment.  It’s a rather large (by NYC standards) 3 bedroom apartment, which she shares with two other people.

Do you remember being in college, or living away from home  (or if you still live at home, this is every day), when your mom would come visit and would, well, go into mom-mode?  I don’t remember this because my mother never once visited any place that I lived away from home until the day I left, so I never got this benefit. (Sorry, Mom, but it’s true.) My roommates’ parents, however, would often visit and I’d see the mom-ing take place.  Shortly after arrival would be a trip to Target and back would come bags and bags of shower curtains, and floor mats, and furniture.  When I was in high school, we got the mom-ing from my aunt! She came to visit us in California and was apparently so horrified that we used reusable sectioned plastic dishes as dinnerware that shortly after her departure, boxes and boxes of matching Mikasa dinnerware sets showed up at the house.  I used to wonder how one knew how to do that stuff–was there a mom class that you took?

Apparently, I’ve taken this class at some point because my first instinct on going to Panda’s place was to take her to Target, Ikea, and Bed Bath and Beyond and buy new stuff for her.  She’s been there for 9 months but on a shoestring and hasn’t been able to get a lot of the home furnishings she’d like.  We didn’t manage to go because it was just impossible with a two year old in tow, but I’ve learned that sometime after actually becoming a parent, I’ve become a Mom. Fantastic.

The next day we went to the Prospect Park Zoo and met up with Eric’s family, who drove up from Pennsylvania!

Here’s the girl with her adorable cousins:

The older kids were so good with the little girl, and they all clearly loved being together.  The Zoo is a bit scaled-down from your typical zoo which was perfect.  There’s a petting zoo that the girl just loved.  I think she fed almost all the animals except the alpaca and some dwarf cow thing, because they were over 4 times her size.  Anything smaller than that, she had no problem with.

The next day, we took a visit to the MoMA. The girl was NOT very impressed, though I did get her to sing “Twinkle Twinkle” while looking at “Starry Night,” which I got a kick out of.  

Then the girl posed in front of a wall describing all her finer points:

After that, a trip to Central Park and then, finally, back to Brooklyn to pass out.  Panda and I were exhausted, so we thought we’d watch a movie together and just choose from one of her roommate’s 100+ titles.  Unfortunately, this particular roommate is a documentary producer-type and doesn’t own movies, only films.  We ended up watching “Memento” and going to sleep with a quite unsettled feeling.

The next day the girl and I bid farewell to Panda and set off for Denver again.  The flight home was not as much fun, and culminated in the girl spitting into her hands and then grooming herself like a cat.

It felt good to get home.

A few thoughts after the trip as a whole:

I’ve been to New York plenty of times, and have always loved going there and just feeling the general excitement of the place.  Being there with a two year old is an entirely different phenomenon, however.  I was struck by how much of just getting around was a struggle.  Here, we live in the city but  aren’t fighting the crowds and noise right outside our doorstep every moment of every day.  Even if you’re a wealthy New Yorker and live in a beautiful apartment overlooking something green, as soon as you get on the street you’re back in the middle of it all.  And as for that “something green,” Denver is rife with green spaces and flora, even just in the front yards.  In New York, those spaces are relegated to small community gardens, balconies, some roofs, and Central Park.  You have to make an effort to get there–it’s not just in front of you all the time.  Before I had kids, I never would have noticed these things, since my main focus was on museums and, well, the bars and clubs.

I loved travelling with my daughter.  It’s so different to visit places as an adult and make an impression of them, and then think about those same places through your child’s eyes.  I know that she’ll remember little, if anything, of this trip when she’s older, but there is value in the experience and the exposure.  I don’t buy the argument that you shouldn’t travel with your kids before they can remember it–I mean, if you extend that argument why expose them to anything before memory sets in?  The girl LOVED all the newness and the thrill of being somewhere new, taking the train, having a daily adventure.  We give our children experiences that shape and form who they are as adults, even if the experience itself becomes nothing but a faded impression.

And one last thought–all you second and beyond children, your suspicions have been correct all these years.  You completely missed out.  The girl’s language developed exponentially during this one week trip, and I think it’s because she had my undivided attention.  I’ve realized ever since the boy came back home that he gets about 80% of my verbal attention and the girl gets the rest.  (Eric and I basically just communicate in grunts at this point, so that doesn’t factor in.)  It really made me realize that both Eric and I need to spend more one-on-one time with our small one.

Overall, a fantastic trip! I loved getting back to my garden, and can’t wait to update you all with the next post!

NYC-Westchester

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The girl and I took a trip last week to NYC, first to visit my good friend Rebecca in Westchester, and then onto visit my sister in Brooklyn.  I’ll talk about the Brooklyn half in the next post because this one gets a bit long.  Stick with it though, for the incredible, never-before-heard, toddler travel tip that will guarantee a smooth journey with your small one.

First, a few notes about the girl.

This is a 2 year old who skipped naps, skipped meals, ate all sorts of sugary crap, had leaky diapers, was a stranger in a strange land, and through it all, was her usual smiling self.  She is just remarkable.  If I had subjected her brother at the same age to all these disruptions, he would have been an absolute disaster. No fun at all.  With few exceptions, the girl was a pleasure to travel with and clearly loved the excitement of being somewhere new and making new friends.

We got into town last Wednesday night and went to Rebecca’s very nice house in Westchester and played with her delightful kids for three days.  Her daughter Sari, 51/2, is a real take-charge type (just like her mom) and made sure that the girl was well attended to.  At one point, my girl was outfitted with a baby-filled stroller, toy cell phone, purse, and play shoes.  Sari took one look at her and said, “You’re the mommy now, so you need a camera.  Here–let me get you one” and promptly plopped a camera around her neck, to my little one’s delight. This is the best picture I got of her, so you can’t properly see how adorable Sari is.  You can, however, see Rebecca’s playroom, complete with trampoline (!), that my girl went gaga over.

The next day we went to the Children’s Museum in Norwalk, Connecticut.  It’s a fabulous kids museum with a lot to do for the toddler set, which is a nice change since so many Children’s museums are often more geared to the 5-9 year old set, with the exception of a fomite-filled infant/toddler play area, from which your child is sure to bring home some novel germ and infect the entire family.  Of course, as luck would have it, 3 big school groups showed up at the same time we did and the place was insane.  The kids didn’t seem to mind at all, but it was maddening for Rebecca and I.

There was a great water play area.  My child is the one who refused to wear the protective apron.  See if you can spot her.

Sorry for the blurred out faces–it’s a little creepy, I know.  You know what I always think, though, is “What if someone is in the Witness Protection Program?” Then I go and post their picture on my little site with identifying local information and the mafia tracks them down and kills them.  I couldn’t live with myself.

The outdoor play area is awesome.  It’s a big area filled with giant blocks, noodles, and walls that can all be built together to make a DIY play structure.

See the older kids making the incredible sculpture in the background? Those were the some school group members I had to mildly chastise for trying to run our children over  in the “Tot Spot.”  When they all came out for lunch onto the playground, it felt like the Running of the Bulls had been let onto a field of baby bunnies.  Rebecca and I saw the doors open, and as if in slow motion, we saw the 8 year olds exploding out the doors. We jumped and swept our baby bunnies into our arms, seconds away from being trampled on by  size 6 sneakers.  After the bulls had been appropriately shooed away from the bunny field, our kids went back to playing peacefully.  On a side note, you may also notice that my daughter has undergone a wardrobe change from the water play area.  You figure it out.

Here’s Rebecca’s son, Donny, having a ball.  He would keep bringing in more and more foam blocks into the little fortress with the girl, and she would get increasingly disgruntled about it and promptly pick them up and throw them out as fast as she could.  It became very comical.

For me, it was just so nice to be around an old friend.  Bec and I have an easy time together and it was so relaxing to be with someone that I feel totally comfortable around.  I find that as I get older, it gets harder and harder to make that same sort of friend.  I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that Rebecca and I spent hours and hours together in medical school since we lived together, and also went through that difficult time together, which bonds you to someone.  Now with the kids, I just don’t have that same amount of free time or the ability to just sit on the couch for hours with a girlfriend watching dumb TV shows and talking about nothing.

I was pretty proud of myself for being a single parent travelling with a small child and not checking on any luggage.  I used bungee cords to attach the carseat to the carryon bag, had a backpack on my back and had one hand free.  As it turns out, the girl likes to walk everywhere and I didn’t have to carry her in the airport.  On the way over, the girl slept for an hour and a half, then woke up, drank juice, ate food and played with everything in the back of tricks I had brought.  The magical thing for small kids, I’ve learned, is stickers.  Lots and lots of stickers kept her occupied for a long time.  I also bought a magnetic playboard that was fun for a bit, as well as crayons and a few books.  It was one of those public “What a good mom I am” moments.  (It was not repeated on the flight back and I got plenty of “Why doesn’t she do something about that screaming child?” stares.  I’ll go into that the next post. For now, I’ll pretend like it didn’t happen.)

Are you ready for the never-before-heard toddler travel tip? It’ll change your life, I swear.  If you want to have easy travel with a small child, the trick is to….

Give birth to an easy child.

That’s it.  Just make sure that when you conceive, you are creating a future non-fussy, loves-to-sleep-and-eat, basically happy creature and you too can have many future enjoyable journeys.  You heard it here first.

Stay tuned for the Brooklyn half of the ex-po-tition!

Garden Stage IV

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It’s been a few weeks now and everything seems to be coming up well!

I noticed earlier that the pea sprouts were looking a bit chomped on:

After an email consult from a friend, I determined that it was the cheerful, yet sharp-beaked, robins that were after the tender sprouts.  I covered them with a floating cover, and now look at them:

I also couldn’t believe how quickly the beans came up:

May 27 Bush Beans

May 28 Bush Beans

June 6 Bush Beans

Tomatoes doing well:

And some carrots:

The swiss chard has had a little trouble, which is odd since it’s supposed to be the easiest thing to grow.  All the instructions I read said to put it in the most hostile part of the garden and it would still thrive.  I soaked the seeds overnight like the package said to, and had mediocre results.  I then took a second batch and soaked them for 48 hours and those did MUCH better.  I wonder if the seeds were a bit older and had dried out more being here in Colorado.  Anyone else here plant chard with the same experience?

One thing I’m not sure about, though, is how much to water them.  The area is mostly set up with drips that run at 2 gallons per hour.  Some of the tomatoes have 2 drips going to their bases, so they have 4 gph, I suppose.  The row plants have drips set up every 10-12 inches or so per row.  I’m currently running it for 10 minutes once a day, unless it’s a very hot day and then I’ll run it twice.  One person I asked said that this wasn’t enough water for the plants and I should be running it longer or even twice daily every day.  Another gardener said that I should run it only 3-4 times a week, but for longer duration.  So what to do? I mean, everything seems to be doing well so far but I wonder if I need to change it as it grows.  Thoughts? Advice?

Next update in a few weeks!

Chataqua Hike

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Last Friday we all went for a lovely hike up at Chataqua.  It was one of those perfect Colorado summery days–hot dry heat and blue open sky.

The wildflowers peppered our walk with sprays of purple, white, pink and blue.  Our champion hiker # 1 led the way.

About halfway up the trail, there was a cairn shrine of sorts.

It reminded me of the incredible balanced rock sculptures that we’d see along the San Francisco Bay as we walked from Ghirardelli Square to to the Golden Gate Bridge along the water.  Once we even saw the artist plying his trade, so to speak.  He’d pick up a rock, turn it over so its pointiest edge was facing the ground, and gently set it down on top of a flat rock.  He would hold it in place, looking completely still, until he found the perfect balance and would let go.  It was as if he was stilling the rocks from within himself and waiting for a harmony to ring clear from the stones themselves.  It was heart-stopping, and if you’re ever in San Francisco you need to find this small bayside rock garden and wonder at it.

Back here in Boulder, the boy made his own cairn to add to the pile.

The girl, in contrast, did nothing to find the inner stillness of sandstone and instead did this:

See? This is a perfect representation of her personality. You know she’s going to throw the rock, she knows she’s not supposed to, but she has an expression that seems to say, “If I look as cute as possible, they won’t be able to get mad at me and I’ll get away with murder.  Or at least throwing this rock.”

She then threw the rock, and only got a mild rebuke, proving that we are well-trained parents.

As I was going through the pictures of the hike, I saw this one and my heart leaped–when did she get so big?! I even get a little teary just thinking about it. When did she get to be a beauty? When did she grow to be so tall?  Wasn’t it yesterday that she…was…smallllll?

Before this becomes the blog version of a musical, I’ll stop myself. 

Chataqua is a great place for the little ones, with lots to discover along the trails and is just challenging enough–I think we’ll head out there a lot this summer.  Any other hikers want to come along?  For the hiking-averse, I’d like to remind you that hiking is just walking, only you have to avoid the snakes, wasps, and bears you might find on the trail.

I’ll Have Ye Walk the Plank!!

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No, this isn’t a post about using Facebook in Pirate mode, though we’ve all done it for about five minutes before it got annoying.  If you have no idea what I’m talking about, then go do it now.  If you are thinking, “What is this ‘Facebook’ thing she’s talking about?” then I applaud your ability to live under a pop culture rock for this long.

The boy LOVES pirates.  And not just ANY pirate, but Captain Hook, the mother of all pirates.  Captain Hook holds a special place in my heart, because he was the monster that my parents terrified me into submission with.  For example, “If you don’t go to sleep right now, we’re going to send Captain Hook to get you!” Of course, telling me that if I didn’t go to sleep I’d be attacked by my worst nightmare was basically a great recipe for turning me into the insomniac I am today.  Once, I am told, I got so scared I refused to leave the house so my Dad told me that Captain Hook had moved to Hawaii.  This was all fine and well until we took a flight that required us to change planes in Honolulu.  I refused to get off the plane, convinced that Captain Hook was waiting for me at the gate.  My Dad told me that he had moved to Australia.  I still haven’t been to Australia.

Back to today, we’re generally a pacifist household, and don’t have any toy guns or weapons in the house.  We were once at a flea market and saw a two-year old in a stroller with a very lifelike machine gun, which was shocking.  Still, I’ve ceded some ground on this and acknowledge that there’s no way to keep a four-year old boy from making a gun/sword/machete/cat-o’-nines/brass knuckles out of whatever available objects he can.  So I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him disappear for a while and then return with this creation, modeled the following morning before he went to school.

That’s him as Captain Hook.  The hook is created from an old Quaker Oats container, a table football goalpost, and plenty of tape.  The sword is drawn and then cut out of cardboard.

The outfit is just what he happened to want to wear to school that morning, and not associated with Captain Hook in any way.  I guess you’d call it a sherwani dhoti? Indians, help me out here.  The kids are often completely insanely dressed by the time they get to school, as I generally let them pick out what they want.  My philosophy is that if it is weather and activity appropriate, why not?  I have on occasion stepped in to tone down the ridiculousness, I admit, but not often. I sort of love it.

And the pirate love has inspired some great artwork! Check out the drawing below, which I think is quite impressive.  Captain Hook, pirate ship, alligators, all in one place!

And I’m only the tiniest bit scared.