When people ask me what I do, in the capitalized sense of Do, as in, (whilst smiling without their eyes), "What is it you Do, Redpanda?", I sometimes have a nearly irrepressible urge to tell them that I spend my day picking up soup cans. Really, it's not exactly a lie. It's just that it makes me sound like a grocery store stocker in a starched, unflattering blue smock when really I'm just the mom to a toddler. A resourceful toddler. One who enjoys carrying around soup cans. One who screams loudly and stamps his tiny feet if said soup cans are removed from his vicelike grasp. One who drops aforementioned soup cans around the house like breadcrumbs of Christo-like proportions.
That is all.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Monday, June 09, 2008
Things you never thought you'd say before becoming a parent
My favorite thus far is: "Do NOT blow your nose on the elephant!"
Today's unlikely entry comes via the excellent Sesame Street:
On broken beds:
Harry Monster: I'm Ok, but I have to ask, did you test this bed before you bought it?
Maria: You mean, did I exercise on it like a monster? No!
Today's unlikely entry comes via the excellent Sesame Street:
On broken beds:
Harry Monster: I'm Ok, but I have to ask, did you test this bed before you bought it?
Maria: You mean, did I exercise on it like a monster? No!
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
"Work"
I loathe the phrase "stay-at-home-mom" (and the acronym SAHM actually causes me to retch), but it is some of my current (retch) SAHM brethren that I feel compelled to write about today. Not all of them, just those who verbally stamp their feet begging for recognition and the corresponding verbal back-pats. I take exception to women who cry, stuffed full of righteousness and self-induced martyrdom, that they do work! They work at home! All day!
Ladies, you disgust me.
I am home with my fantastic son now. I am not working right now, period. I'm not even dabbling at freelancing or dribbling through any contracting. I am just home with my son. (Notice how I don't describe myself as a 'stay-at-home-mom'? As if that's all I am and all I do? But that's another topic...) He is an often-challenging toddler. And I would never, ever, unless you pulled at my ears and jabbed things into the soft flesh under my fingernails, describe what I do with him all day as "work".
"Work" is something you do because you have to. You do it because you need the money, you need the validation, you need to justify your student loan debt. "Work" is a somewhat unpleasant requirement that tends to get in the way of how you'd really like to be spending your time.
Being home with my son is not and never could be "work". Is it difficult? Yep. Is it rigorous? Sometimes. Do I occasionally fantasize about being on a no-children-allowed tropical island with unlimited umbrella drinks instead? Oh hell yeah. But that doesn't make it "work".
Spending my days and nights with my pint-sized tornado, my wee imp who can and does undo all the steps I've taken towards cleanliness with a mischievous grin, that's not work. Witnessing him learn to chase the dog, laughing gaily with unabridged mirth? Not work. Beckoning him to me enthusiastically as he took his first tentative, wobbly steps? Not work. Holding his chubby hand as he gingerly picks his way up the stairs, focusing intently on not falling? Not work. Sitting placidly as he screams his indignation at being confined to his high chair and not being permitted to play with the kitchen knives? Again, though not my favorite past-time, still not work.
Sharing my days, my nights, my life with my son is a privilege. It is an honor of the highest level. I can't imagine taking such a precious thing for granted by flippantly calling it "work".
My husband spends his days at actual "work", coming home weary but game shortly before our son's bedtime. He wears his heart on his sleeve, his love for his son painting his face with joy. Their time together is sweet but scarce. I can tell him about the first wobbly steps, about the first taste of crimson strawberries, about the new songs sung in the car. But he can't be here to see those small momentous occasions. That is the sacrifice he makes every day. That is work.
Raising and loving my child is not.
Ladies, you disgust me.
I am home with my fantastic son now. I am not working right now, period. I'm not even dabbling at freelancing or dribbling through any contracting. I am just home with my son. (Notice how I don't describe myself as a 'stay-at-home-mom'? As if that's all I am and all I do? But that's another topic...) He is an often-challenging toddler. And I would never, ever, unless you pulled at my ears and jabbed things into the soft flesh under my fingernails, describe what I do with him all day as "work".
"Work" is something you do because you have to. You do it because you need the money, you need the validation, you need to justify your student loan debt. "Work" is a somewhat unpleasant requirement that tends to get in the way of how you'd really like to be spending your time.
Being home with my son is not and never could be "work". Is it difficult? Yep. Is it rigorous? Sometimes. Do I occasionally fantasize about being on a no-children-allowed tropical island with unlimited umbrella drinks instead? Oh hell yeah. But that doesn't make it "work".
Spending my days and nights with my pint-sized tornado, my wee imp who can and does undo all the steps I've taken towards cleanliness with a mischievous grin, that's not work. Witnessing him learn to chase the dog, laughing gaily with unabridged mirth? Not work. Beckoning him to me enthusiastically as he took his first tentative, wobbly steps? Not work. Holding his chubby hand as he gingerly picks his way up the stairs, focusing intently on not falling? Not work. Sitting placidly as he screams his indignation at being confined to his high chair and not being permitted to play with the kitchen knives? Again, though not my favorite past-time, still not work.
Sharing my days, my nights, my life with my son is a privilege. It is an honor of the highest level. I can't imagine taking such a precious thing for granted by flippantly calling it "work".
My husband spends his days at actual "work", coming home weary but game shortly before our son's bedtime. He wears his heart on his sleeve, his love for his son painting his face with joy. Their time together is sweet but scarce. I can tell him about the first wobbly steps, about the first taste of crimson strawberries, about the new songs sung in the car. But he can't be here to see those small momentous occasions. That is the sacrifice he makes every day. That is work.
Raising and loving my child is not.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
I Should Blog More
It's been what, a million years?
The thing is, I get paid to WORK using my laptop. I do not, on the other hand, get paid to BLOG on my laptop. Some people do. Me, not so much; and I've pretty much given up hope of being "discovered" like some gangly coltish teenager plodding down Newbury Street, head down to hide her height and oblivious to how lovely she'll be on the runway. Nope, in order for that to happen you have to 1) blog more often than once every 3 months, and 2) make me want to roll my eyes*.
Since I don't know that I'll be blogging more often, that's pretty much out. And since I hardly ever roll my own eyes at myself, that's probably out as well. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll do something so exasperating that I cannot withstand it and am forced to partake in self-directed eye-rolling.
Baby is fine, husband is fine, pets are fine, it's hot, I'm bored.
There, now you're more or less all caught up.
*Yes, I'm sure that there are paid bloggers who would not make me want to roll my eyes. But I haven't bothered to read any of their stuff. Thus, i will continue my blogger-eye-rolling in earnest.
The thing is, I get paid to WORK using my laptop. I do not, on the other hand, get paid to BLOG on my laptop. Some people do. Me, not so much; and I've pretty much given up hope of being "discovered" like some gangly coltish teenager plodding down Newbury Street, head down to hide her height and oblivious to how lovely she'll be on the runway. Nope, in order for that to happen you have to 1) blog more often than once every 3 months, and 2) make me want to roll my eyes*.
Since I don't know that I'll be blogging more often, that's pretty much out. And since I hardly ever roll my own eyes at myself, that's probably out as well. But hey, who knows, maybe I'll do something so exasperating that I cannot withstand it and am forced to partake in self-directed eye-rolling.
Baby is fine, husband is fine, pets are fine, it's hot, I'm bored.
There, now you're more or less all caught up.
*Yes, I'm sure that there are paid bloggers who would not make me want to roll my eyes. But I haven't bothered to read any of their stuff. Thus, i will continue my blogger-eye-rolling in earnest.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Things I Have Bought the Bug in the Last Week
Being a parent is an expensive proposition. When shopping for myself, I tend to be much thriftier (Ok, not really...), but when purchasing things for my adorable baby? Oh, nothing is too good. I've practically bought one of everything at Isis Maternity--it would really be easier if I could somehow arrange for our house to just annex the greater portion of the store.
Anyway, just for fun, I thought I'd share a smattering of my recent purchases.
First, since the Bug is a Giant Big Boy now, we finally broke down and got an Exersaucer. I think I was the very last mom from any of my moms' groups to get one, which is most unlike me. The pediatrician even suggested one. Still we waited. Finally, we broke down and bought the most expensive one we could find. Hey, if you're gonna cave, cave right. Bug loves it.
Now of course, we are in possession of the ubiquitous Winkel. And the Tizoo, which is really just sort of a foppish Whoozit. The Bug needed a little something different. I can't ever seem to resist anything dog-themed, so we are now the owners of a Take-Along Dog. He's not the favorite thus far, but is still a popular item.
Since you can never have too many Manhattan Toy items, we also picked up the Wiggle Ball and the Carosel Tiger Toy. Sadly, the other Manhattan Toy item we selected is not listed on their site. The salesgal thought it was called a "Ziggle". Who knows?
The Squish was out of stock, sadly. But we'll be back for you next week, Squish!
Now, moving on from toys, it was also time for us to get a new, more portable stroller. Since Sean is Unearthly Tall, no ordinary stroller would do. The Maclaren Techno XT happens to be just about the only umbrella-style stroller with adjustable handle heights, so the Techno XT it was. I've taken it for a spin around the block and can attest that it handles quite well for a midpriced stroller. Yay Maclaren!
Since the Bug has (happily!) finally deigned to allow himself to be fed from something other than boob alone, we were finding ourselves overrun in bottles and pumping accessories. Skip Hop Splash to the rescue! No more bottles rolling around the counter on a lame towel. We went with Poppy, of course.
We had planned to get another Baby Bjorn to supplement the old-skool one we got from Craigslist when the Bug was first born, either an Air carrier or Active. Neither one seemed particularly comfortable, however; and we read some slightly disturbing things about dangers of hip dysplasia and restricted bloodflow to the groin area when the baby is in a hanging carrier of this design for extended periods. It seemed like we'd have to settle for short spates in the Bjorn or longer ones in one of our Kelty Kids backpack carriers. Thank goodness I heard about the Ergo Carrier! I ordered this one, in black and green. I can't wait to try it out! The Bug has recently allowed something of a Renaissance of his Maya Wrap Sling, so I have high hopes that he'll welcome rides in the Ergo.
Between buying these things, there was of course the ever-present trip to Target for a giant box of wipes and a small package of diapers (although we use cloth almost exclusively at home, I do cheat and use disposables when we go out at times!) And probably some bottles and nipples of some descrip. And maybe numerous other things that I've managed to either forget or block from memory. Like the seersucker pants outfit and linen romper from Baby Gap. And the sun hat. And the sunblock. And the animal-print shortalls. And...
Anyway, just for fun, I thought I'd share a smattering of my recent purchases.
First, since the Bug is a Giant Big Boy now, we finally broke down and got an Exersaucer. I think I was the very last mom from any of my moms' groups to get one, which is most unlike me. The pediatrician even suggested one. Still we waited. Finally, we broke down and bought the most expensive one we could find. Hey, if you're gonna cave, cave right. Bug loves it.
Now of course, we are in possession of the ubiquitous Winkel. And the Tizoo, which is really just sort of a foppish Whoozit. The Bug needed a little something different. I can't ever seem to resist anything dog-themed, so we are now the owners of a Take-Along Dog. He's not the favorite thus far, but is still a popular item.
Since you can never have too many Manhattan Toy items, we also picked up the Wiggle Ball and the Carosel Tiger Toy. Sadly, the other Manhattan Toy item we selected is not listed on their site. The salesgal thought it was called a "Ziggle". Who knows?
The Squish was out of stock, sadly. But we'll be back for you next week, Squish!
Now, moving on from toys, it was also time for us to get a new, more portable stroller. Since Sean is Unearthly Tall, no ordinary stroller would do. The Maclaren Techno XT happens to be just about the only umbrella-style stroller with adjustable handle heights, so the Techno XT it was. I've taken it for a spin around the block and can attest that it handles quite well for a midpriced stroller. Yay Maclaren!
Since the Bug has (happily!) finally deigned to allow himself to be fed from something other than boob alone, we were finding ourselves overrun in bottles and pumping accessories. Skip Hop Splash to the rescue! No more bottles rolling around the counter on a lame towel. We went with Poppy, of course.
We had planned to get another Baby Bjorn to supplement the old-skool one we got from Craigslist when the Bug was first born, either an Air carrier or Active. Neither one seemed particularly comfortable, however; and we read some slightly disturbing things about dangers of hip dysplasia and restricted bloodflow to the groin area when the baby is in a hanging carrier of this design for extended periods. It seemed like we'd have to settle for short spates in the Bjorn or longer ones in one of our Kelty Kids backpack carriers. Thank goodness I heard about the Ergo Carrier! I ordered this one, in black and green. I can't wait to try it out! The Bug has recently allowed something of a Renaissance of his Maya Wrap Sling, so I have high hopes that he'll welcome rides in the Ergo.
Between buying these things, there was of course the ever-present trip to Target for a giant box of wipes and a small package of diapers (although we use cloth almost exclusively at home, I do cheat and use disposables when we go out at times!) And probably some bottles and nipples of some descrip. And maybe numerous other things that I've managed to either forget or block from memory. Like the seersucker pants outfit and linen romper from Baby Gap. And the sun hat. And the sunblock. And the animal-print shortalls. And...
You Know You're in Boston When...
...out of the parents sitting in a circle and chatting at playgroup, it comes up that 4 of the 12 or so of them have PhD's.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
I Don't Know Whether to Laugh or Cry
The Rack, undoubtedly the very worst bar in Boston, has closed up shop and is now set to become a Hard Rock Cafe.
Now, I won't mourn the loss of The Rack. The Rack was one of those establishments that most people with an IQ over 40 outgrew their senior year of high school, the kind of place that got by on lame promos and appearances by "Boston Sports Figures". I went once and danced on the 10' square makeshift dance floor while people milled about the (covered up) pool tables. While I danced, a small latino man about 4'8" in height began repeatedly smacking my ass while yelling "Whee!
(I am not a carnival ride. But since I had never been treated as such before, I frankly was too flabbergasted to do much more than look surprised. Dude, that is so beyond the level of appropriate pickup behavior that I can't even begin to address it.)
So, yeah. I think that experience pretty well sums up The Rack.
But now, a Hard Rock Cafe instead? Yet another watered-down chain littering Faneuil Hall? Ick.
I'm literally sitting here mentally debating about which establishment I loathe more--The Rack or the Hard Rock Cafe. One is yet another representation of the Disneyization (is that a word?) and over-franchisement of America, one sucks with a virulent suckage generally reserved for things like reality TV and fast food. Really, I'm not sure you could win either way. Just avoid the area entirely. Nothing to see here. Look away from the carnage. Move along.
Now, I won't mourn the loss of The Rack. The Rack was one of those establishments that most people with an IQ over 40 outgrew their senior year of high school, the kind of place that got by on lame promos and appearances by "Boston Sports Figures". I went once and danced on the 10' square makeshift dance floor while people milled about the (covered up) pool tables. While I danced, a small latino man about 4'8" in height began repeatedly smacking my ass while yelling "Whee!
(I am not a carnival ride. But since I had never been treated as such before, I frankly was too flabbergasted to do much more than look surprised. Dude, that is so beyond the level of appropriate pickup behavior that I can't even begin to address it.)
So, yeah. I think that experience pretty well sums up The Rack.
But now, a Hard Rock Cafe instead? Yet another watered-down chain littering Faneuil Hall? Ick.
I'm literally sitting here mentally debating about which establishment I loathe more--The Rack or the Hard Rock Cafe. One is yet another representation of the Disneyization (is that a word?) and over-franchisement of America, one sucks with a virulent suckage generally reserved for things like reality TV and fast food. Really, I'm not sure you could win either way. Just avoid the area entirely. Nothing to see here. Look away from the carnage. Move along.
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