Red McPatches

In our household we have three cats, one dog, 2.5 children - under 3 - and a second-hand couch I have no intention of replacing until the potential for extreme damage grows significantly less.

Before we had children, the beastly cats kept their scratching to the carpet we needed to replace anyway, and they've always stayed well away from my precious wingback chairs, so I paid their habits little attention. However, post-Monster-#1 the cats found another source for their clawed fury: the couch. The couch itself held up surprisingly well, and it took the cats several years to inflict real damage. Meanwhile, I learned the value of my hand-me-down couch, as I realized that, despite the light color, it hides toddler and pet dirt and grime shockingly well.

(See here the least of the damaged corners, and the second-worst of the damage.)

When Monster #2 started scooting in his walker the real problem (besides my occasional but fleeting embarrassment) surfaced: he found the (now giant) holes the cats made, and started eating the stuffing out of the couch. Oy. Obviously something now needed to be done, if only to keep the couch from killing my son. And that something wouldn't be a new couch to be destroyed.

So, I decided to patch things up. I've had some minor success with re-upholstery in the past, but I wasn't feeling up to covering the whole couch, so I resolved to hit the worst of the damage and leave it at that. The results, while not great, are at least satisfactory, and will keep the Little One from choking on fluff.

The job was relatively simple; I used red corduroy I had stashed with my sewing supplies, a curved upholstery needle, red thread, and a few light duty staples. Each corner took me 45 minutes to 1 hour to complete, and I recovered our (already read) throw pillows to match the same shade and tie it all together.


Of course, I'm certain the patches will quickly go the way of the couch, but it's a band aid that I'm capable of maintaining for awhile. It would be even better if I was capable of clipping cat #2's nails, but he hates anything that tries to touch him, so I have yet to catch the beast. Oh well. I do what I can, and for now I have a newly-patched couch and two cats with short nails.


And here are the culprits:


Mozart (An 18-pound cat in a small shoe box. Nice.)


Clutch, the one who won't let anyone hold him


Joplin, aka "The Miss"

Santa Love

I love Santa, but lately the jolly fat man has been catching a bum wrap.

Yesterday afternoon a (purposefully childless) friend posted a link to a mommy blog on Facebook, proclaiming that she thought the author "got it exactly right," and encouraged all her new-mommy friends to take a look. Now, I wouldn't consider myself a "new" mommy, but I value this friend's opinions and insights so I hopped over.

The post was composed by the mother of an 8-month-old little girl, lamenting the constant need to dodge Santa-pushers despite her daughter's young age. Parents avoiding Santa is nothing new; many parental units will decide to forgo the mythical elements of holidays for various reasons (everything from religious concerns to a belief in science and logic over all magic and myth), and I fully support the right to make that decision for one's own children.

Don't want all the holiday credit to go to a man in a red suit? Rock on - it's your holiday. Me? I like the magic and stories that figures like Santa inspire, so we hang our stockings with care and wait for the elf to slide down the chimney.


But that is all a bit of an aside. I reacted very emotionally to the original post (in part because pregnancy hormones make me very emotional), and the reason is this: the poster was lamenting the consumerism of the season and trying to stress the importance of the "birth of our savior." My frustration didn't come from the desire to emphasize one's religious beliefs as part of a family celebration - like Santa, I say go for whatever makes you happy - but a kind of hypocrisy that comes from such exclamations. A picking-and-choosing approach to holidays that marks some traditions as evil and others as perfectly acceptable, with little reasoning (that I see, at least).

"Santa as consumer Satan" image makes little to no sense to me. Want to fight consumerism? Do so all year round. Don't buy that sporty new mom-mobile SUV you've had your eye on. Limit yourself to store brands, and don't fall for new trends in electronics, clothing, etc. Donate to charities instead of giving gifts at holidays and birthdays. Why is Santa the only one getting a bum wrap? Blame corporations. Blame advertising. Blame your own American desire for new gadgets.

Want to support the magic of the season, but don't want to teach your child to be a little consumer? Maybe limit Santa to a couple treats in a stocking, or a single gift.

Let's keep Santa from being a scapegoat for our own insecurities.

Update on Brokey Paci

I don't think I ever updated about ditching the pacifier, and I wanted to note our surprising success. Once the paci was down to nothing Monster #1 would balance it carefully between his face and his blanket (he refuses to use a pillow, and instead uses a folded fuzzy blanket) so that it was held against his face. However, after one or two nights of this pathetic attempt he lost the paci.

Yup. He woke up one morning and simply couldn't find it. I seized the opportunity with glee, clucked my tongue, and shook my head sympathetically as I said, "Sorry, kiddo - I guess brokey paci is all gone. No more brokey paci."

We have now been paci-free for three months or so without any setbacks. Once in a blue moon the monster will cock his head and slyly ask, "Brokey paci?..." but we quickly respond, "Nope, pacis are for babies." And he accepts it.

He even accepts the fact that his baby brother gets a paci and he doesn't. When Monster #2 drops his paci or loses it the Big One will help him locate it, and will even pop it in 2's mouth when the baby is crying. He hasn't once tried to take a paci for himself, and he's very patient with the little guy. He knows that pacis are for babies, and that the big brother doesn't need one.

I did find the brokey paci after it was "lost," and it's been collecting dust in my room ever since. I kept it for sentimental reasons, and will probably stick it in the Monster's baby box one of these days.

Things I Learned in the First Six Months of Motherhood

I wrote the following list when the Big One was six months old, which would have been sometime in July of 2008. It is a response to new-motherhood, and the unexpected changes that the little monster brought with him. It's still true, so I thought I'd post it here before I lost track again.

1. Don’t Panic.

2. This, too, shall pass.

3. Move beyond the birth – in the end it doesn’t matter how he got here, just that he’s here.

4. People always tell first time moms-to-be that they can’t even fathom how much they will love their child once they are born. That that love is indescribable, and heartbreaking. They’re right.

5. You will become oddly comfortable with bodily functions very quickly. And Oxyclean is magic.

6. You will do two out of three things you swore you would “never” do. And that’s ok.

7. It’s ok to ask for help – it doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom.

8. It’s also ok to ask questions – even the “stupid” ones.

9. You really can function without sleep. But napping when your baby does can be nice, too.

10. Hormones suck.

11. There will always be someone who does things different. They will think their way is the only way. You will think they’re wrong. But there’s no point in arguing – just take care of your baby.

12. Everyone has advice for new moms. And some of it is actually pretty good.

13. Some of that advice may actually come from the dad. Not all suggestions are criticism.

14. Four-month-olds (or thereabouts) hate life. And no matter how much grandparents/friends/internet strangers may try to convince you otherwise, very few babies teethe at four months. Yours probably isn’t. He’s probably just being a four-month-old.

15. The “cannibal stage” doesn’t mean they’re teething, either (no matter how badly you want something to “blame”). They chew. And drool. They’re babies.

16. They’ll outgrow “it” by the time they go to college. Don’t stress.

17. It’s ok to take some time to yourself. A few hours a week doing something for you will help you recharge, and give the kiddo some time with someone else who loves him. In the end, it’ll make everyone a little bit happier.

18. Establishing routines does not mean having to be a militant mom, and it can actually be a big help for everyone.

19. It’s very sad to pack up the clothes they’ve outgrown. Especially when you find you can do it every few weeks.

20. Enjoy the everyday – every smile, every laugh, every little milestone. I’m only six months into this, but I have a feeling that one day these will be memories to sob over, and I’ll be glad to have them.

The Problem of Standardized Testing

I loathe standardized testing with a passion that cannot be exaggerated. Simply hearing the phrase is enough to elevate my heart rate and get my blood boiling. So, when I came across this quote from The Times, my reaction was not favorable: ' "Parents have begun pressing their kindergartners and first-graders to leave the picture book behind and move on to more text-heavy chapter books. Publishers cite pressures from parents who are mindful of increasingly rigorous standardized testing in schools"' (qtd. in Tower).

How can this possibly help children? Forcing children to read specific material is a sure way to teach them to reject that material; instead of nurturing interests as they arrive and letting children explore the pleasure of reading, limiting children to certain forms of reading will alienate them from everything positive associated with the experience. Yes, there is a time in everyone's academic experience when they will have to read material they don't enjoy - but is kindergarten really the place to begin? And all for higher test scores?

I am of the belief that standardized testing helps no one - least of all the children who are being forced to endure the process. Evaluative testing can be extremely helpful, especially when it is necessary to gauge the understanding and capabilities of a group of children. Evaluative testing can tell a school whether a student is ready for AP calculus, or whether they'd benefit from further instruction before moving on. Evaluative testing tells an English teacher that he needs to focus more on commas before moving on to verb tenses. But standardized testing as it is utilized today shows only how well a student is capable of sitting at a desk for six hours filling in scantrons. Standardized testing tests only a student's ability to take a test, and is in no way an accurate marker of an individual's intelligence, ability to applied knowledge learned, quality of education they have received, nor their ability to succeed in the world of higher education. Two-hundred multiple choice questions cannot inform a panel how well an individual can communicate, the strength of their analytical thinking and reasoning, nor their ability to apply mathematics and scientific information to relevant occupational and academic problems.

I would be willing to suggest that most adults would have a difficult time sitting at a desk for six hours straight in a highly regimented environment. School children are forced into an environment in which most adults would fail, and they are required to perform for not only the benefit of their school, but also for their own well-being. Schools now require passing grades on standardized tests in order to receive passing marks from the school itself, while denying youth basic instruction in a number of fields because, simply, the material won't count on the standardized test.

My arguments can go on, and on, and on. In the end, what I really want to say is this: educators, and not politicians, are the ones who should be maintaining our education system. Until that happens, our children will continue to suffer.


Work Cited
Tower, Tara. "If letting kids pick books fosters love of reading, let's let them." Statesman.com. Statesman.com, 15 Oct. 2010. Web. 17 Oct. 2010.

On Quilts and Repurposing Receiving Blankets

I have two collections that are more-or-less out of control: books and fabric. I have been known to drop ridiculous amounts of money on both, only to have growing collections I'll never have time for (because, you know, I work, have two small children, cook when I have to, clean, blah blah life). Recently I resolved to a) read more books than I buy (yeah, that didn't work, but I'm getting better) and b) use up some of my fabric stash before stepping foot in a fabric store for anything.

This second resolution presented an interesting problem this week: I decided that Oldest Monster needed a quilt for his toddler bed (and I wasn't going to shell out for $189 for the Pottery Barn one), and I dug up plenty of materials ... with the exception of batting. I thought about using some old muslin curtains, but as I was piecing the quilt something even better came to mind: receiving blankets.

Like many first-time mothers, I received a fortune in receiving blankets when I was expecting my first monster. While they're useful for those who have their swaddling-skills down, I quickly ran out of ways to use the darn things, and after the first month or two they ended up in the linen closet.

Our receiving blankets are soft, cozy flannel ... and they were perfect for quilt batting. Unlike artificial batting, the receiving blankets have a lot going for them: they add a nice cozy weight to the quilt, they're reasonably warm, they're not puffy (so they won't ruin the look of a hand-made quilt), there's no artificial noise, they're natural material, and I already had plenty sitting around the house!

Over three days (a total of just six hours) I ripped 7.5" squares out of fabrics that would work with each monster's room, pieced them together with my serger, and tied them with embroidery floss. And voila! Inexpensive, cozy, mommy-made monster quilts, perfect for toddler beds.

Monster 1: Two plain cottons, one printed cotton, one flannel for the top (greens and blacks to match Tolkien room). Back is remaining flannel and decorative border. Batting consists of 5 receiving blankets.
























































Monster 2: Two plain cottons, one printed cotton, one plaid (blues to match Wild Thing nursery). Back is an old two-layer muslin curtain. Batting consists of three receiving blankets and two burp cloths.

Ditching the paci

I swore my child would never use a pacifier.

I promised myself I'd take it away at six-months - after all, that's when babies learn to self-soothe.

I patted myself on the back when we backed down to sleeping-only at one-year; the monster would toss his beloved pacifier in his crib when we picked him up, and wouldn't ask for it until he was ready for bed.

I didn't want to take it away when we switched to a toddler bed.

And now, at 2.5, I'm finally getting rid of the darn thing.

There are no pacifiers at preschool, so we are making efforts to make Monster Land a paci-free zone. Simply taking it resulted in vomit, so we went back and considered our options. What did we decide?

The Necro-Paci. Night by night, little by little, the paci is dwindling down to nothing. It started when I cut the tip off the pacifier (behind the monster's back). That night he was very confused, and insisted the "brokey paci" stay on the floor. He snatched it up again at some point during the night, but we were off to a start.

Every other night or so - and sometimes nightly - I trim a little more off the pacifier. The Monster always looks at it with confusion when I hand it over at bedtime, but never questions what's happening to it. He's accepted it as simply "brokey paci."

As of tonight he's down to a paltry 1/3-inch of nub attached to a dragonfly base. He's determined to hang on to it, but in another night or two there will be nothing left for even the most determined toddler to hang on to.

Is it too early to say we're in the home stretch?

Amazing Women

I am so blessed to have a number of amazing women in my life.

I have two best friends. I met one when I was in seventh grade, and the second when I was in eighth grade. Lately I have not been able to see either as often as I'd like, and tonight both were supposed to come over to hang out.

Well, this morning my toddler woke up with a fever. Once I realized that he was ill I gave him ibuprofen (generic, given the current state of things), and I figured things would be fine. Well, just as my friends were supposed to arrive I discovered that my toddler's fever had skyrocketed, and I ended up canceling with them to take the monster to the doctor.

Amazing woman #1, my mom, ran over to help me with the boys, and offered to keep the little one while I ran out with the big one.

Amazing woman #2, a best friend, offered to do the job mom already volunteered for, and then popped over to say hi to mom while I was gone.

Amazing woman #3, other best friend, popped into the exam room bearing my favorite coffee and two cookies for the monster. She kept me company while we waited for the doctor, and then ran out to meet up with other best friend.

Having such caring people in my life is amazing. Nights like tonight confirm that.

I am a mom of boys

I am a mom of boys. I have bruises on my legs, and joy in my heart. My living room and ears are full of "cars!", and "be gentle with your brother!" is always on the tip of my tongue. There is dirt to be dug, paper to be colored, and animals to be pet. Dances are free and wild, alligators are dinosaurs, and books are treasured. I have little arms around my neck, little hands on my lips, and big eyes laughing at me through long lashes. I am a couch, a bandaid, and a form of entertainment. My favorite words in the world are "heeeyy baaabby!" and "mommy!", because they are spoken with honest love and joy by my son. I call them monsters, but only because I want them to be wild and free. I am a mom of boys, and my boys bring a joy to my life that I never imagined.

Creative Use of Space

My family lives in a small, but very comfortable, home. For years I've lamented our close neighbors and lack of back yard, but recently I've learned to really enjoy the space we have. The basics that are most important to us are covered: we have separate bedrooms for our children, 2.5 bathrooms, and an open floor plan that allows us freedom of movement. Lately I've been focusing on making small repairs, and each little change makes me happier and happier to live here.

First of all, I rearranged furniture, and moved my desk from the living room to our bedroom. It's not necessarily conventional to have office space in the bedroom, but it takes up no extra room, and opens up the living room to allows for more room for our boys to play, as well as a very comfortable reading nook. I hung a banister, and suddenly our stairway feels more finished. I hung shelves in our kitchen that opened up some much-needed cabinet space, and allows me open access to my tea goods and cook books. I hung bird feeders on the windows to attract birds for the boys to watch, and I got the ball rolling on installing closet doors.

But my favorite change so far has been the creation of a vegetable garden. One of my most frequent complaints about our house has been the lack of yard, and my desire to have a vegetable patch. Sure, I'd still like to be able to let my dog out without walking him, and I'd really love to be able to let my toddler run in the sun, but I realized that I can make better use of what I have by expanding my front garden.

So, where I would usually plant useless flowers, I now have thriving tomato plants and green beans. I've added containers with cucumbers, zucchini, peppers, strawberries, and four kinds of raspberries. I planted broccoli and onions between some dahlias, added a row for basil, thyme, rosemary, sage, and oregano, and created space for garlic and spinach. Our front yard gets plenty of sunshine for things to grow, and each bed is surrounded by stone to mark the area for the lawn care company. Just seeing my new garden makes me smile, and I take special delight in watering my plants once or twice a day. I look forward to teaching my toddler to water and weed, and I can't wait to feed my children good food that was grown right in front of our house.

There are several more repairs I'm hoping to work on this summer, but as it stands our house feels like the home I really want for my family. And I'm so grateful that we have such a place to call home.

Parenting Choices

I don't want to ditch the pacifier. And I hate pumping.

I'm struggling with both of these realizations right now. My partner and I have been discussing taking away first-born's pacifier since he was six-months old, and we thought 2 would be "it". Well, I started working right after the monster turned two, and I didn't want to stick an exhausted, cranky toddler into childcare. So I decided spring break would be the perfect time to work it out.

But now that spring break is coming up I'm second-guessing myself once again. He loves the darn thing so much, and he's actually fairly good about it. Once he was able to walk we limited the pacifier to bed-only, and to this day he's great about giving it up when he wakes up. We stick it up on his shelf when he's awake, and he only asks for it when he's ready to go to sleep. As soon as he gets up he takes it out of his mouth and hands it to us, and goes on his merry way.

When I'm honest with myself I realize that the pacifier doesn't bother me, and I see no good reason why I should rush him off of it. Seriously, what harm does it do? It makes him happy, it helps him sleep, and it never leaves his bedroom. I am perfectly comfortable packing him off to college with the darn thing.


My other issue is pumping. After the newborn rush I learned to enjoy breastfeeding again. I love cuddling up with my Squishy Love Child, and knowing the benefits of breastmilk makes it even more rewarding. I know that I'm doing the best that I can for my child, and giving him a good head start on things.

But dear god do I hate pumping. I've always been a bad pumper. I might get three to four ounces each time I pump, and Squish goes through 5-10 ounces every time I leave (I am gone twelve hours a week for work). I quickly ran through the stock I started right after he was born, and I'm down to three 5-oz. bags in the freezer, which will last through, well, Friday.

And pumping can make me dread actually feeding the Squish. I usually wait an hour after he eats to pump, and then an hour after that he's ready to eat again. He sleeps so well that he eats every two hours or so during the day, which means putting something to the boob every forty minutes. Not. Enjoyable.

So now I am considering supplementing with formula when I'm out of the house, and it makes me feel so guilty. I didn't want to introduce anything before six months, and he's just five months today. But in the long run I think it may be the best choice. Three to four formula bottles a week certainly won't hurt the little man, and his primary source of nutrition will still be breastmilk. It may help me reach my goal of one-year, too, because I enjoy it so much more when I don't have to pump. I nursed first-born for 9.5 months, and that's my mental-minimum, but I'd like to actually make it through that first year.

Parenting choices are hard, and they're full of uncertainty and second-guessing. In the end it's a matter of doing what's best for our family ... and hoping that it all works out for the best!

Dining Out

Toddlers do not belong in restaurants.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. Someone could have a positively angelic toddler that is comfortable eating sushi and delighting wait staff with her use of chopsticks and perfect table manners. There are also family-friendly restaurants, like pizza joints and burger joints, which are almost defined by their loud atmospheres cleverly designed to mask your child's screams and demands for more french fries.

But let's face it: if an eating establishment uses cloth napkins, then your toddler doesn't belong there. No, not even if they provide a children's menu and booster seats. Nor do they want to go there.

Let's take a look at dining out from two perspectives: ours and theirs.

Adults: Dining out means enjoying a meal you don't have to cook - on dishes you don't have to clean - while enjoying the atmosphere and the company of your dining companions. Perhaps you select a restaurant based on its exceptional menu, or maybe you are just looking for a place to unwind. Most people don't eat out out of necessity; going out to eat is a treat, and something to be enjoyed for a number of reasons.

Child: Strapped into a carseat, a drive (that is always long, even if it's just across the street), maybe a short walk to the restaurant from the parking lot, strapped into a booster or highchair, not allowed to touch anything on the table, dinner takes longer to arrive, and it's probably a bit strange, fussed at for noise, fussed out for dropping things, and a meal that lasts 2-3x longer than any meal at home.

The poor kid is antsy, uncomfortable, and bored out of his or her mind. Tempers are quick to rise when there are other people involved, and just one loud child can ruin an evening for every guest. The toddler doesn't enjoy the meal, the primary caregiver does not enjoy the meal, the other guests will not enjoy the meal, and the wait staff won't be very happy, either. In the end, no one wins.

As a mother of an active and vocal toddler, I decided that it's probably best to limit our family outings to restaurants with cartoon mascots for the foreseeable future. Everyone will be happier for it.

Screamers and Shriekers: Things that make me want to hide under the bed

My kid is a screamer. He has the amazing ability to reach inhuman decibels, and everyday I find myself surprised that the windows in our house haven't shattered. The high-pitched shrieks seem finely-tuned to make me want to crawl out of my skin, and they are let loose at any (and all) moment.

We begin our day with screaming, usually over closed doors or diaper changes. You'd think we were chopping off toes as opposed to giving the Bear a new diaper. The shit-fits continue on and off for most of the morning, and it sometimes seems like the kid spends a good half of the day in time-outs.

These days my partner and I try to avoid taking the kid out in public because we never know when he'll lose it. It's humiliating and frustrating to be out in public with a poorly-behaved child, especially when that behavior affects others. This week I attempted to take both boys to the mall for the first time in forever, and I was very pleasantly surprised by their good behavior. The big one didn't throw a fit until we were checking out, and I was able to quickly whisk them away to the safety of the van. Our family trip to swim classes that same evening was another story, and we found ourselves giving time-outs in changing rooms for a good twenty minutes after a thirty minute class. Why? Because we took him out of his wet swimsuit, of course.

No form of discipline has worked so far. For a short while we tried spanking, but all that seemed to do was teach the kid to lash out when he was angry (which is even worse than screaming!). These days we use time-outs, but it does little to resolve the problem. Sure, it lets him know that we don't like his behavior and that there is a consequence for that behavior, but time-outs aren't enough of a threat to actually prevent the behavior.

I love to throw around theories about his screaming. My partner and I circle around the idea that it's connected to his expressive speech delay like salivating sharks ready to pounce on anything that wiggles. This morning I suggested that perhaps he's not getting enough sleep at night, because most of his fits take place in the morning, and I can occasionally hear him moving around late at night.

But who knows. Not me, that's for sure.

So what's the point of all this? Just the fact that I have a screamer, and the future looks loud and grim. If you have a screamer you're not alone. It looks like it's time to pull out the earplugs and brush up on the ASL.

Bread and butter

I've always had a thing for making things by hand. For years this translated into costuming and corsetry, and a fairly sizable wardrobe for the Renaissance Festival. But then I got pregnant and suddenly I wanted to make ... bed skirts. And curtains. And baby pajamas. Not to mention baby food ...

But I've never had a desire to cook. Well, that's not entirely true - I've occasionally thought it would be nice if I enjoyed cooking, but I don't. I make brownies from a box, and I have a special talent for burning things in the slow cooker. This past holiday season I was bitten by the cookie bug for the first time in years, and I blame the desire on the fact that I suddenly had a toddler that could help me gobble them up.

And then, out of nowhere, I was blindsided by an alien desire. I wanted to bake bread. Not banana bread or muffins, but regular yeast-and-kneading bread. Making something for my children has always given me a special kind of joy, and recently I started thinking about food in a whole new way.

Yesterday I took the plunge, and the experiment was a success. I used this white bread recipe from AllRecipes.com, and it came out beautifully. My loaves weren't as picturesque as those included with the original recipe, but the process was relaxing and the end result was very tasty.

The original recipe suggests letting the bread rise for thirty minutes in the bread pans before baking, but I ended up letting them sit for fifty minutes before I was satisfied that they would actually bake into loaves. I baked one loaf in a stone pan and one in a metal pan, and they both seemed to bake evenly (although I have yet to cut into the metal loaf.

This satisfying experience has inspired me to take another look at cooking. Next week I'm going to try to make homemade butter to go with more homemade bread, and I have grand plans for homemade pasta, salsa, sweets, and field trips to farmers' markets. Come on spring, my mommy gears are kicking in!