Happy Birthday To Me

I get that having a baby is a lot about the mom. The chick either pushed or had sawed out of an orifice something the size of a watermelon. However, by the time the kids turns one there ought to be some focus on the child and less on the miracle of motherhood.

I have often given friends a congratulatory card on their child's first birthday that they "made it". No one died or suffered grievous bodily harm (and if you think I'm being flippant you haven't had those terrifying nights up with an infant who may or not be able to breathe). Passing that 12-month marker is huge; however, the focus and attention at a one year-old birthday party should be on the child or whatever topic of conversation the adults choose. It is not a mother-of-the-year ass-kissing party.

Apparently my sister never got the memo. My darling nephew turned one this month, and per family request I yanked my kids out of school and sports and flew the several hundred miles to attend the party. I did it for my daughter who adores her cousins and rarely gets to see them. I did it for my nephew even though he will never remember who was in attendance. I went even though people thought I was crazy to go that far for a one year-old.

My sister was a monstrous bitch the entire trip. Sitting like a queen in her chair, pointing and tell people what to do and how to do it better. I kept my mouth shut and chanted for the family, for the family but it chapped my ass that she refused to make eye contact with me. It was a slap in the face that she never thanked us for coming or told us it was good to see us. I still don't quite know what particular bug was up her ass that day, but needless to say I am back at my house safe and sound and very glad of it. I didn't expect her to fall over herself with gratitude for our presence, but a little common decency would have gone a long way.

I'm not being overly harsh here as someone else threw the party for her and cooked all the food to boot. All she had to do was show up. I don't know what she wanted from all of us, but she did her damnedest to turn a joyous occasion into a personal pity fest for herself. My kids didn't notice, and that's all I care about. Well, not really, but it sounds more enlightened that way.

One Tit Wonder

One of the more recent perks of being a parent is freezing my ass off in swim lessons. We've been teaching the kids on their own, but they haven't made the final leap to swimming independently. Hence, two kids in one class on Friday evenings. Me and ten other dimple-legged moms with 45° headlights in the shallow end of the rec center pool.

At the tender age of three, even after a full swim lesson my son is ready to jump and jump and jump off the side of the pool until we pack it in and call it a day. He doesn't really need me to catch him, it's more that it is fun for him to jump towards me as a target. I think I predicted my own fate when I warned him not to grab at my bathing suit. Wouldn't you know the very next jump his hand snagged the front of my swimsuit. Fabric down, tits up. I sank under the surface when I realized what was happening, but I wasn't fast enough. One of my girls definitely got a little hang time before I hit the water.

I don't think anyone saw, but I didn't look around to take a poll, either. The key to keeping your dignity is to not notice if other people noticed. You can't be embarrassed if you don't see the stares, right?

Parenting 101

Negative examples are an excellent way to parent. We see something awful or hear something that makes us cringe, and we are shamed into becoming a better parent.

This weekend we were at a birthday party, and one of the attendees was a shy little boy. He was so shy, that he was fighting back tears when his mom urged him to join the other children. After several attempts to nudge him over and across the room, she squatted next to him and in a terse voice began to chastise:

Do you see what you are doing? You are being different!

I blocked out the rest of her lecture because my brain completely stuttered on the world different. Of all the things she could have said to him, that was the word she chose? To make him feel badly for being different than the other kids? He's four years old for fucks sake! The damage this woman is wreaking on her son turns my stomach. He is either going to grow up to be the biggest sheep with no opinion of his own, or go so far off the path her head will spin around. Different? I'll show you different.

A little friendly reminder to be conscious of the things I say to my little ones. They are so vulnerable, and even when they act like little assholes they don't deserve to be belittled.

Parental Fork In the Road

We had an unexpected visitor last night at 11.15pm. We'd just come home from a Superbowl party and put the kids to bed. A coworker of my husband's showed up with food and beer, and so we stayed up until 2am shooting the shit.

Our friend was too drunk to drive, so we told him to stay on our couch. He didn't argue, and we were glad. However, it led us to make our first decision in regard to overnight guests.

See, I have had very in-depth discussions with a friend over where to draw the line with it comes to appropriate behaviour and protecting our little girls. We probably come across as more paranoid than most, but bad shit happens to good people. I will do everything in my power to protect my kids when it is in my power to do so.

With our friend asleep on the sofa, Hubbie and I were in the bathroom getting ready, and I had to lay it out for him. I told him I knew it sounded over the top and overprotective, but we do not know this person all that well. I did not want there to be even the slightest possibility that he could walk into one of our children's room. Son included.

My husband agreed. He was one hundred percent on board and had no problem with bringing our kids into our room for the night.

Were were paranoid? Probably. But there is no way in hell that I am going to take a chance with my kids. Every situation is different, and there are levels of comfort when people stay in your home. We have had other people spend the night, but this is the first time we had to have this talk. I am relieved that we were both on the same page. I respect my husband all the more for it.

I Take It All Back

I wrote last night's post in an attempt to articulate the frustration and trepidation I felt starting a new week.

I take it all back.

My son just looked at me while having lunch and said Mom? You know what? When my penis wiggles I catch it.

My kids are awesome!! With a start like that, how can the week go badly?

They Call Me the Working Man

Hubbie has been in the Midwest this week for a training seminar. Because I knew that I would be single-parenting it for a few days, the kids have been on a fairly strict dinner, brush, story, and bed routine.

The past two nights? Both children have been asleep by 9.30. A miracle by our standards. Now, other families might find putting kids to bed at 7.30 and having them take two hours to fall asleep a nightmare. It is. But to have them asleep by 9.30 instead of 11.30 is a miracle.

It has proven a point to me that I have hereforto not wanted to accept. Our kids need an earlier bedtime.

We have been keeping them up later at night so that Hubbie can spend time with them. They are often not in bed until 9pm, which means Hubbie and I spend the next 2-3 hours trying to keep the kids in bed. We get nothing done. There is no quality time for the two of us. We don't have dinner until 9.30-10, and no matter how much we joke that we are Mediterranean at heart our ever expanding girth is proof positive that eating so late at night is taking its toll.

Hubbie will arrive home in the wee hours of the morning. He will crash for a few hours and then head to the office. The kids will never see him. Par for the course on nights his boss keeps him obscenely late.

This weekend, we have a decision to make. Do I keep the children on the 7.30 bed schedule? If I do, Hubbie will never see them awake. As it is, he leaves before they wake up and comes home after they've had dinner. He is in charge of their bath and bedtime routine so that they have some modicum of daily interaction. If we stick to the earlier schedule, I will have to assume those responsibilities. And I don't want them. If I wanted to be a single parent, I would not have fought tooth and nail for my marriage.

With school letting out next week, the kids can stay up and sleep late without repercussion. It does not solve the issue of our time together. That a post of a different color. With no end in sight to the hours my husband is currently working, it is difficult to be proactive in finding a solution to this issue. How does one choose between a healthy sleep schedule and quality time with their father?

Suck It In and Suck It Up

Of the two people in my family that I loathe the most, my asshole uncle is one.

The other is coming to my sister's baby shower this weekend.

LittleBird and I are flying to the ATL tomorrow to celebrate my sister getting knocked up and having a shotgun wedding hurry up before the baby is born the newest addition to our family.

My cousin, Nurse Ratched, is invited. She and my sister get on like flies on shit. The two of them together are like the girls in Heathers except bitter, overweight, insecure and unpopular. My sister (and I use that term loosely), is already seeming to turn into the mom-to-be version of Bridezilla. It is going to be a long fucking weekend, folks. The idea of my going down early was for LittleBird to play with her cousin. Oh wouldn't that be adorable, my mom effused.

I agreed wholeheartedly until last night when I realized three days of LittleBird playing with her cousin meant three days of me in my cousin's company. Though the fact she usually foists her child off on others may work in my favor this time.

I doubt I am going to have any time to blog in the depth that I need to stay sane, but I promise to take notes. I am sure it will make for snarky, completely judgmental parenting posts on my part in the future. Instead, I just added my mobile phone to my Twitter account.*

My goal is to get through the weekend with my head down, my eyes permantly rolled up into my head and my fingers bleeding from bitchy tweets that save my sanity. See you on the other side, my friends.

*Of which if you would like to follow, the link is in my sidebar

The Playground Bouncer

I owe Coalminer Heather an apology and a hearing exam.

I took my kids to the playground today. I needed to get them out of the house. I needed to get out of the house.

While they galloped around me in the crisp autumn air, I gave Coalminer Heather a ring to catch up on loads of girlie talk.

The conversation went well until I shrieked in her ear.

Three fucking little brats had come storming into the toddler play area (which is gated-off, no less) and one of the boys had hoisted up the sand table and was about to dump all of the sand into the mulch.

Now, this playground is the playground where my kids attend school. Their tuition pays for this equipment, including the über-expensive sandbox sand they have delivered.

So when Fuckwad #1 lifted the sand table and tried to upend it, I shrieked HEY!! THAT IS A SAND AND WATER TABLE! YOU DO NOT DUMP THAT SAND ON THE GROUND!!

And I totally had the mom-finger pointing at him.

The kid stopped and looked at me.

On my Bluetooth? CMGD egging me on: You GO girl!! Tell him!!

She heard the entire exchange with the kid and got to hear me rant how the mother was on the other side of the playground and didn't do a damned thing.

So, Heather, I apologize for shrieking in your ear and making you listen to me rip that little fucker a new one.

There were several lessons learned this afternoon.

LittleBird learned that big kids make bad choices. She learned that moms make bad choices. When Hubbie came home she told him That boy's mamma made a bad choice and she should have told him "you get outta here!"

Fuckwad Brothers and their friend learned that I am going to call them on their shit.

I learned that Mamma Bear will snap out in a split second. Don't fuck with NATUI. Don't fuck with the NATUI kids. Don't fuck with the playground that I pay for.

What did Coalminer Heather learn? I'll leave that to her to relay.

Just Let That Child Nap!!

Running errands today took longer than expected. Poor LittleMan was hours overdue for his nap but was hanging in there like a trooper.

Hubbie and I ran in to TRU to take a quick look at strollers. It was immediately evident that they did not have what we were looking for. We turned to leave only to see LittleMan headed for a nearby aisle.

We followed him--to find him scaling the side of one of the display cribs in an attempt to lay down.

Oh honey! we told him, are you that tired?

His response? Sleep here.

We had to pry his fingers from the bars to get him off the side of the crib.

We put him in the car and took him directly home.

The Scream Heard 'Round the World

Last night, my mom let out a blood-curdling scream from her room. I knew my daughter was up there with her, and as I ran up the stairs in a blind panic I just knew that the time had finally arrived.

My daughter was injured, dead, or dying. All the panicky, paranoid fears I have had, had come to fruition.

The world absolutely stopped.

The five second span of time it took me to dash out of the kitchen and up the stairs was enough time for me to play out every single disastrous and fatal scenario that haunts my darkest nights. The palpable fear of losing one of my children.

I could taste it in my mouth.

I am sure we will laugh about it one day. Not soon, but some day. LittleBird had opened up a bottle of dark maroon nail polish and inadvertently cast its contents in a sweeping path on my parent's new carpet. A perfectly reasonable event for my mother to scream like a banshee. I would have done the same.

How this played out left me with several important things to ponder.

If I had done this as a child, I would have had the wooden spoon on my butt so fast and gotten the spanking of a lifetime. I would have been yelled at. Berated. My mom never yelled. She never scolded my daughter. LittleBird was absolutely terrified because she knew that she had done something awful. My mom told me to go comfort her because she did not understand what she had done. And when I brought my daughter back into the room, my mother told her that she knew it was an accident, and that everything was going to be okay.

When I put my sweet child to bed that night, she looked at me and said I made a very bad choice, but Gramma still loves me.

It wasn't a question, but a statement. It made me feel good to know that she understood that even when she does something wrong, she was still loved.

I am proud of my mom for not flipping out. As I said, this would not have been the case thirty years ago. I am proud of my mom for having grown as a person.

As for me, the question remains When will the fear stop? When will that visceral fear of losing my children disappear? At every stage of their development, there is new danger. From the choking on food, to running into the street, to kidnapping, to mobbing at school, to driving in a car with friends. The list is never-ending, and a person could go mad thinking about it all.

I aged a lot this weekend. Those five seconds of pure terror took five years of my life away. I am just grateful that my daughter is alive, well and no worse for the wear. Truth be told, I pray every night that I will not hear that scream again.

Merry Christmas! God Jul!

We wanted to wish everyone a happy holidays from us at NATUI!! My wish for you this Christmas:

May you all find a moments peace--even if that means hiding in the bathroom for two minutes before the children notice.

May you catch yourself humming a Christmas carol and it brings a smile to your face

May you find the strength to slough off the trendy Christmas Cynicism even if just for an hour or two. In doing so, may you recapture just a few moments of Christmas innocence through the eyes of your children.

I wish you all gratitude for what you have. The world is tough enough. We can all bitch and moan about how much stress we have put upon ourselves this holiday season. I wish for you the realization that as wretched, tired and crabby as our children and family members may be, you have that family and those children to piss and moan about.

I know that when I want to say fuck the whole thing and throw the presents in the trash, I hear the peals of laughter coming from the living room and know that it could be so much worse.

Find the good. Celebrate it. (i.e. Don't be a crabby bitch and ruin it for everyone else. )

My Latest Project

I've been a bit inattentive to this blog the past few days. And for good reason. I have been busy building my new message board, Bilingual Bazaar.

I have been so sick and tired of not being able to find good language resources for my kids. Of having to beg my ILs to help us out. I have had this idea percolating around in my brain for quite some time. Now it is a concrete entity. I do not know if it will be successful, but at least it is out there.

The idea was to create a "classified ad" type of message board for bilingual families to trade resources. Whether it is swapping books or sending something to another family. There are a lot of good people out there, and I thought it was high time that there was a place online that allowed these families to barter/buy/sell their book, toys, dvds, or whatever language resources they have.

So check it out. And if you know of anyone who might find it useful, please pass it along!

Have Yourself a Fast Food Breakfast

I have never been a fan of the egg-on-the-go sandwiches. But man oh man, do I have a recipe for those of you who do.

What better than to be able to make one of these at home with the kids screaming in the living room instead of screaming in your backseat? The recipe looks weird, but we have tried and tested it and it WORKS. If you don't mind sticking your face in front of the microwave while it is cooking it is pretty cool to watch.

You will need:

• 1 English muffin, split
• 1 large egg
• 2 strips of bacon (already cooked)
• 1 slice of cheese

- Place English muffin bottom on a microwavable plate.

- Crack egg carefully onto muffin (meaning don't let it slop onto the plate people).

- Heat on high for 40 seconds (also very important, 40 seconds means 40 seconds, not 45).

- Open microwave place bacon strips and cheese on muffin bottom. Place muffin top on top of cheese.

- Microwave on high for 30 seconds or until egg white is completely set and yolk is thickened around the edges.

Folks, this recipe is so cool. You can actually see the egg rise up and fluff itself out of the muffin. Lazarus, rise up and walk!!! LOL

So if you have a hankering for a fast food breakfast but don't want to spend the effort getting in the car (or you want to know that the food is actually food and not some weird processed concoction), try this recipe and let me know what you think!

Happy Anniversary To Us

Ahhhh. The best laid plans.

We were headed in to the big city to get hubbie a new pair of glasses. Maybe hit a few stores. Drive back up the mountain get the kids put to bed and enjoy a little snuggle on the couch.

See, today is our wedding anniversary. We can't afford to do a whole lot, but that has never bothered us in the past. We are just glad to be together on the same continent.

So we are on our way down the mountain. Switchback after switchback. LittleBird tells us her belly isn't feeling good.

She tells us she has to poop. We tell her we are almost off the mountain and that we can stop in a few minutes.

She looks more and more glum. Then she starts to cry. And I knew. I just knew.

Our daughter would only cry for one reason.

And the fountain of vomit started.

Copious does not even begin to describe the amount of puke that came out of this child. The poor thing just could not stop. Somehow she missed the doll that was tucked under her arm. But she hit everything else. Her lap, the back of my passenger seat, the floor, my VBAC bag, the back of the driver's seat.

Thank god there is no snow yet because I do not know how we would have managed. We found a turnout, stripped her down to her skivies in 40 degree weather and had her stand in front of the heat vents in the front seat while we tried to salvage the situation.

I do not know how we are going to get her carseat straps clean.

Eventually, we made it home. LittleBird is having chicken noodle soup with her pappa and asking to watch her Charlie and Lola dvd. Things are looking up. I hope. We'll see how the soup goes over.

So, happy anniversary to us. I guess I could be disappointed, but this what it is all about. Puking kids and ruined upholstery. We're already laughing about it. What else can you do? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thurs13: 13 Reasons Not To Bring Your Toddlers To T*rget

13 Reasons Not To Bring Your Toddlers To T*rget

1. There are no cup holders in the cart for your Starbucks
2. The dollars bins are too exciting, and they want one of everything
3. Your two year-old will want to help you push the cart, not ride in it
4. She will help you pick out clothes by pulling things off of the rack, telling you how pretty it is, then stuffing it onto the bottom rack of the cart
5. You will have to physically remove her from said clothing section because she wants to look "at just one more thing"
6. When shopping for "ballerina clothes" for her dance class, once you remove her sneakers you will not be allowed to put them back on without a knock-down drag-out fight
   
7. She will lay on the floor because she NEEDS a pretty belt, but you won't put it in the cart
8. One year old will wake up, want a taste of your Starbucks and scream when he can't have any
9. You will stand in the wrong line at the register
10. The one year-old will scream at the indignity of it all
11. Your two year-old will hop up and down yelling that she has to pee
12. The lady behind you will continually comment on how "He just wants to be picked up"
13. When you finally get the two year-old into the bathroom and tell her not to touch the toilet, she will immediately walk over to the seat and put her hands on it while you struggle with screaming one year-old
    

For more Thursday 13

Old MacDonald Has The Crabs

Ever sing a children's song over and over in the car until the words no longer have any meaning? Until you would rather gouge your eardrums out with a knitting needle than hear it one more time?

We have had a few episodes in the car where we have gotten a bit punchy. After singing Old MacDonald until we were hoarse and racking our brains to think of animals we had not already mentioned, LittleBird kept asking for "crab" because of her Dora book with King Crab at the beach. We had already incorporated him into the song 47 times --for those who need to know, a crab on Old MacDonald's farm says click click.

I just couldn't stand it anymore. So I ended up singing "Old MacDonald had the the crabs." My mom spluttered and thumped me on the arm, I was mentally rejuvenated, and LittleBird was none the wiser.

More recently, we ended up having to sing Baa Baa, Black Sheep while substituting every color imaginable. Baa Baa white sheep. Baa baa red sheep. Baa baa green sheep. Baa baa striped sheep. Oh my god somebody fucking kill me before I drive off the road.

Hubbie and I suddenly got that punchy feeling. "Have you any wool?" was followed by "No the bastards shaved it all off." and on and on about naked cold sheep. Hubbie and I ended up laughing hysterically, LittleBird couldn't hear us but knew that suddenly mom and dad were having a great time. And we had the energy to sing sing sing all the way home.

Have you guys come up with any interesting or adult versions of children's songs to entertain yourselves? Please share!

All Hail Cookie Monster--King of Bedtime Bribery

We are not a Sesame Street family, but I may have to soften my stance.

When LittleBird was around 18 months old, she went through a phase where she was getting up at an indecent hour. Before the sun. Before the birds. Before god. It was horrible. One morning during this phase, I saw that Sesame Street was on and felt a rush of guilt. How had we never watched it before? Had I been depriving my daughter of a classic American upbringing? I thought it would be a good distraction to turn it on, and educational to boot.

I switched channels and started to hype it up to LittleBird. Ooooh! Sesame Street is coming on! Let's watch!! She looked at me like I had grown three heads.

And what should the next sketch be, but Cookie Monster. He proceeds to yank a cookie out of whatever orifice he does and started yelling about cookies. Suddenly, LittleBird is interested. Very interested.

I don't think we were more than 30-45 seconds into the sketch when my daughter turns to me: Cookie.

Oh. No.

Wanna cookie!

I explain to her that we do not eat cookies before we have breakfast. And honestly at this point, she did not get cookies on anything close to a regular basis.

And the wailing starts. Cookie! Cookie! I wanna cookie!! In heartbreaking sobs.

I run over to the TV, turn it off and resist the urge to toss it out the window.

Who the FUCK decided to talk about cookies to toddlers at 7 o'clock in the morning? What sadistic, brain-dead moron woke up one morning and said Hey! Let's run a children's program at an obscenely early morning hour and sing about sugary treats that they can't have at breakfast time!

Assholes. The lot of them.

Needless to say, we have been a Sesame Street-free home ever since. Until two days ago.

Somewhere, somehow, LittleBird got her hands on a little blue ponytail holder that has Cookie Monster's face on it. Not Big Bird. Not Grover. Not Oscar. But our favorite cookie wielding devil himself--the Cookie Monster. She doesn't want to wear it in her hair, she just wants to have it in bed with her.

She puts it on her wrist like a bracelet, or she just clutches him in her hand. And it turns out that this is the best bedtime bribe we ever could have stumbled acrost.

Someday I will go into the horror stories that have been our nap and bedtime routine, but suffice it to say that we have never had it easy with LittleBird. Until now.

The first night she wanted to sleep with Cookie Monster I told her the rules. Here is Cookie Monster. If you stay in bed, you can keep him. If you get out of bed, I am going to take him away.

She got up, Cookie Monster was confiscated. Crying ensued. She eventually fell asleep without him.

The past two days, she knows the drill. And has followed it to the letter. Naptime and bedtime have turned into miraculously quiet events. We brush her teeth. She gets Cookie Monster. She goes to bed and puts her head down. And that is the end of it. Every now and then she asks for a tissue, but that is the extent of it.

Last night when I checked on her, she had him clutched in her little fist and I wanted to weep from the sweetness of it all. Hubbie wouldn't let me take a picture because it was not worth the possibility of waking her up, but that image is burned into my mind. She is napping right now, but I will take a picture and post it once she wakes up. It just goes to show how things evolve. Something that is the bane of your existence turns into a lifesaving strategy. So All Hail to Cookie Monster! Thank you for redeeming yourself. For as long as this lasts, you are welcome back in our house.

Third Eye Blind

No, not the band. Last summer we had the opportunity to borrow a video monitor from another family. I have never really understood the need for a video camera in a baby or toddler's room. I mean, what is wrong with a regular sound monitor?

Boy oh boy, did we learn. We have been so spoiled. We have been able to watch LittleBird and her antics when she has been in her room. Her bedroom is on another level, so it has been a godsend to be able to see what kind of trouble she is getting into without having to sneak down the staircase.

This weekend the family gave us a ring saying they needed their monitor back because they are having bedtime issues with their 3 year-old. Fuck fuck fuck. We are now on our second day without it, and I am going through serious withdrawal. I can't see if she is in bed. I can't see if she is burying herself and her toys under her covers. I can't see a thing, and it is driving me crazy. My proverbial third eye has been taken away from me, and I feel crippled.

It is amazing how dependent we can become upon something we didn't think we needed in the first place. We are going through serious growing pains, but we got by without it the first time. I am sure we will adapt to life without it again. We are not a Star Trek family for nothing.

Rediscovering Denny's

Traveling with children is not cheap. Our trip this past week was a testament to overpriced and oversized children's meals. Portions that no toddler could, or even should, eat. Grilled cheese sandwiches the size of a lunch box. Bowls of macaroni and cheese you could bob for apples in. I suppose as our kids get older, these menu items will be more appropriate, but at one and two and a half--it is a waste of food and money.

We had intended to revisit a cafe in Santa Cruz that we dined at last year. And like the morons we are, we had not bothered to bring directions or even the name of the place. We assumed that we would find it as easily as last time. Yeah. Hungry and road-weary, we succumbed to the tourist spirit and stopped at a place I had not set foot in since prepubescence. Denny's.

What a phenomenal rediscovery this was! Denny's was by far and away the best time we had at lunch the entire trip. We sat down, and I expected the crayons and kids menus. But then Heidi, our kick-ass, groovy waitress plunked down two extra, colorful sheets of cardboard. My sweet, yet culturally ignorant foreign-born husband was like what the fuck is that? It only took me a second before the memories came rushing back...masks!! They still have the masks! Those flimsy, poke-your-fingers-through-random-
holes masks that you wear during lunch and fight over in the car on the way home. No freaking way!!!

Of course our kids are too young to wear them for any length of time, but we sure had a fun time trying to get them put together.

And as if that were not enough, the kids drinks came in a souvenir rocket ship cup. It was seriously the coolest thing ever. Definitely worth the extra dollar. Hell, I wanted one. One of their favorite stories at bedtime is about an alien and a rocket ship. It was like the Gods of the Milky Way had smiled upon my family. Their food came fast, was an actual child-sized portion, and cost what a child's meal ought to. I swear I would start my kids on a weekly trip to Denny's if we had one in the area.

We get into such cynical places sometimes as adults. I often see the other moms around me making snide remarks about restaurants like these. Maybe their parents only took them to chic restaurants where there were no crayons, only crepes and bisque and Would you like some horseradish creme fraiche with your salmon, madame?

Fine with me. My kids are going to wear the goofy masks. They are going to order things with stupid names like Galactic Grilled Cheese Sandwich. We are going to ask the waitress to take our picture and make silly faces and act like tourists when we are on vacation. My kids will grow up knowing how to use a shrimp fork. And they will grow up knowing how to poke that cardboard circle out of the mask with just the right amount of force to make it fly across the table and hit their sibling in the arm.

Little Man with his rocket ship


Little Bird with her rocket ship

If This Vacation Doesn't Kill Me It Will Be A Miracle

We survived are back from our week-long vacation to Monterey and San Francisco. There is nothing more relaxing than being trapped in a car driving for five hours with a 13-month old and a two and a half-year old. The one continuous thought I had running through my head the entire week was that if this vacation doesn't kill me it will be a miracle.

From the incessant I want Raffi! I want Raffi! to the random screeches from my son who wanted out of his carseat I thought my ears were going to start bleeding.

But, isn't this what childhood is all about? Our parents dragging us from one locale to another telling us how much fun we are having? Dad white-knuckling the steering wheel and mom quietly sobbing into her Starbucks latte--Look at the beautiful scenery, kids.

These are the moments we treasure.

Actually, it was not all horrible. We will get the pictures printed and put into scrapbooks. We will selectively filter out the stress and headaches and completely ignore the fact that we blew out the shredder getting rid of the mountains of receipts from all the crap we bought along the way. We will remember the oohs and aahs of the new things the kids encountered and it will bring a warm fuzzy glow to our hearts.

Thank god we do not have to go on vacation again until next year.

And remind me to bring my rose-coloured glasses with me next time.