Sugar cookies

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I am totally into Martha Stewart. I do not care about her jail time or her insider trading or whatever. I just like her. I wish I could cook and craft and bake just like her.

Alas, I am no Martha, but I possess many of her books, including the Martha Stewart Cookie book. All the cookies in this book look so yummy, I could not decide which one to make. Since it was coming up on my time to host playgroup, I figured I would go with sugar cookies because, well, I figured those would be the safests. No worries about allergies to nuts or dislike of chocolate. Sugar cookies seemed like a good bet.

So on a very rainy afternoon while Kate blissfully napped in her swing, I baked up a batch of the sugar cookies. They turned out a little different from what I expected. They were more chewy than soft and not really all that sweet. But, I did like the subtle lemon flavor of the lemon zest and lemon juice.

Overall, I would say, pretty good but not outrageous. But on a sad, rainy, gray afternoon perfect with a cup of cinnamon apple spice tea. Now, that’s a good thing.

Who needs expensive toys?

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Kate is not really too into toys just yet. Right now, I am her favorite form of entertainment. But I am not always available for non-stop baby entertaining, which sends Kate into a wailing fit. I just ordered a play mat for her in the hopes that it would provide enough stimulation that she might forget about me just long enough, so I can put the laundry away.

However, yesterday I determined that what Kate really enjoys playing with is a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos:

Living an authentic life

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It is easy to pretend that everything in my life is going swimmingly. When friends ask how we are doing, it just seems easiest to say “fine, great, we are all doing swell around here, no problems.” I am not sure if I just do not want to burden others with my complaining that might come off as shallow tales of woe or if I feel like I need to maintain a facade of perfection.

And while I love reading blogs, sometimes I feel like something must be wrong with me, with us, since these women never seem to have any problems. Their houses are put together so beautifully, they never disagree with their husbands, and it seems like their babies never cry.

Really? Am I the only one who wears the same sweatpants for a couple of days in a row? Am I the only one with dog hair on the floors? Am I the only one who disagrees with her husband? And for goodness sakes, am I the only one who has a baby who cries?

Normalizing my life is the number one reason why I love reading blogs and connecting with others. Realizing that other people with young children also find that their houses are overrun with baby paraphernalia and disagree with their spouses on how to spend an extra $100 puts my life into perspective.

So it is discouraging when I read endless blog posts about how much women love nursing (Really, you always love nursing? Not me.), their babies have slept through the night since the day they brought them home from the hospital (Umm…you have got to be kidding me), and the mommy and daddy split the parenting duties 50-50 and then they all sing kumbaya and remark on how awesome they are at parenting (Okay, now you are just lying).

Similarly, with friends, it seems no one wants to admit that they struggle in any way. That they just have everything together and never face feelings of insecurity, never worry, never face any dilemmas.

Why? Why do we do this? So others can think we lead a glamorous problem-free life?

Not only is that boring (Please, hearing about your perfect life leaves much to be desired. Tell me something interesting!), but then we never get the help we need or learn from other people’s struggles.

I stopped trying to hide my struggles and pass off my life as always sunny after I had Kate. I realized right quick that I needed help – for Kate’s sake – and I needed to speak up. So I never glossed over how I was feeling at her doctor appointments, telling my pediatrician my worries, concerns. Calling my mom just so she could tell me I was doing a great job. And attending a breastfeeding support group so I can share frustrations and help other moms.

So here is the best part about owning up to how you really feel — people love to help. People want to know how you really feel because chances are, they feel the same way. And they want to hear you out, help you, provide direction, or just be a sympathetic ear. And if someone would rather pass judgement on you, well, then I would rethink the relationship.

In the spirit of leading an authentic life, here are some truths:

-I am so ready to be done with nursing. For serious. It is so tiring. And I long to eat and drink whatever I want without worrying about how much could end up in my breastmilk. Plus, I am hoping and praying that my current chest size is only temporary.

-Why do bathrooms get so dirty? I am really tired of cleaning bathrooms. It is such a pain.

-Equally, floors are hard to keep clean. Want to know what I do when Kate spits up all over the floor? I call Belle over to lick it up. Whatever, I am doing the best I can.

-Kate does not really like to be held by anyone but me. This is frustrating because then I cannot “hand her off” to others because I cannot stand to hear the wailing. Dan and I are crossing our fingers that she will grow out of this stage. Our friends with older babies swear this will change at six months. Well, all I can say is, if they are wrong, I am coming after them.

-Clothes just do not fit the same post-baby (see chest size above). They just don’t. It seems like my organs have shifted around. And it takes hard work and dedication to get your body to go back to it was, pre-baby. This is why I hit the gym every morning at 6 a.m. No, the weight did not magically disappear. I am not that lucky.

-I always wonder if Dan and I are doing “the right thing” when it comes to raising Kate. And I am sure we will always wonder. Parenting seems like one-part guess and one-part do the best you can. All we can do is ask for advice, do some reading, and then decide what we think is best.

-Being married gets harder after having a baby. Everything becomes about the baby. I think 95 percent of the conversations between Dan and I center around Kate. We need to take time for just the two of us. This is hard to do. And it is normal to feel this way. We disagree, we put each other last, and on any given day, one person may do 90 percent of our life work while the other does 10 percent. This is also normal. And we just keep trying to talk it out, work our way through each issue as it arises.

We do not have all the answers over here. Far from it. And we are okay with that. But it helps to know that others feel the same way, that life can get you down, and it is okay to struggle. Because that’s why we are all here for each other, is it not?

Change of scenery

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It’s finally fall around here. A change of seasons – finally – after a summer so hot I start to sweat just thinking about it. I am all for the change in seasons. Because I love change. Or else I get bored.

Since my occupation as a SAHM requires that I…well…stay at home, I have become bored with my surroundings. Seeing all our same stuff in the same way day after day is dragging me down. So I am swapping out pictures and changing up accessories and planning a project a month. Time for some fresh paint, some rearranging.

The trick is to make these changes on a limited budget. So a can or paint here, some inexpensive frames there. Do you get bored, too? How do you change things up on a budget?

Dear mommy friends: I love you

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Finding new mommy friends feels like I am back in the dating world hoping my current interest likes me back.

Mommies are a whole other culture, much like our own ethnic group with mores and values and customs. And after Kate’s arrival, I desperately wanted to be part of the Mommy Club. I needed other mommies to tell me I was not crazy when I agonized over her health, sleep, schedule. I wanted other moms to reassure me I was doing the best I could, that I was a good mommy. I craved the camaraderie, like we were all in this together, that is was okay to not really love being a mommy 100 percent of the time.

I waited three months until I joined a Mom Club, and those were three months were painful. When I was finally ready to rejoin the world, I gathered my courage to enter the Mom Club. I was intimidated. I had only been a mom for a matter of weeks, and I did not know any of these women. Maybe they would not like me. Maybe they would think I was a terrible mom. Maybe I would be blacklisted if I did not subscribe to a certain baby method.

But the feeling of being alone seemed much more painful than taking a chance, so I dove into the Mom Club and crossed my fingers that we could bond over sleepless nights, teething troubles, and explosive diapers. And it took a little while to feel comfortable, warm my way into the group. But slowly the guards fell off as I shared The Now Humerous Tale of the Night Kate Refused to Sleep and The Case of the Exploding Pampers Diaper. It seemed everyone had been there, got pooped on, and also lived to tell the tale.

I love them because they don’t judge me for wearing the same nursing tank a couple of days in a row. If I am wearing pants with an elastic waistband. If I show up to playgroup looking like I walked through a car wash and then rolled in fertilizer.

These other moms are my lifeblood. Being a mom, and for me a SAHM, can be isolating. And you think you are the only one who sometimes just wants one minute alone without the threat of poop or spit up taking residence on your shirt or worse…in your hair. I set up playdates like its my job. Because I suppose it is. I want to give the support as much as I need it for myself. We are Warriors in Motherhood, these mommies and me, and we owe it to each other to be essential support people.

Yo Gabba Gabba what?

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Confession: sometimes I need just a minute to myself. You know, when your family is dangerously close to running out of clean underwear, the floors could be considered a biohazard, and unless you get that dishwasher emptied, it is paper plates again.

What takes a baby-less person 10 minutes to do could take me over an hour.

So, I confess, I plop my four-month-old in her swing in front of Nick Jr. so I can sprint around my house, clearing clutter and wiping away grime.

Oh, Nick Jr., you are a salvation. I sing your praises. Because of you, I can keep my house from being a baby-stuff dumping ground. You know how much I cannot stand dishes left in the sink. Your brightly colored shows keep Kate occupied so I can clean up all the dog hair and spit up on my floors.

But I have to say, I just do not understand most of the Nick Jr. programming. When I was little, I remember cartoons with talking animals teaching me to recycle and be kind to my friends and all that warm fuzzies stuff. And those talking, do-gooding animals are still around but now they are joined by a line up of almost psychedelic creatures of unknown origin.

Yo Gabba Gabba what? The Backyardigans? WHO ARE THESE CREATURES? Some of them look like bacteria. Oh, they carry the same messages about kindness and taking care of the Earth. But their whole look is just so different from the cartoons of my youth.

And before each show, Nick Jr. tells the parents what the children will learn that episode: sharing, caring, and of course THE EARTH! There was never a specified message when I was a kid. And they sure do push THE EARTH a lot. As I Swiffered around the TV the other day, I caught part of a Yo Gabba Gabba show about recycling that just about had me shaking in my slippers. I was pretty sure the police were going to show up any minute to make sure I recycled my Yoplait yogurt container.

Anyway, Kate finds these programs amusing enough to forget about me for 20 minutes, so I can get stuff done. And I hope she is learning about the environment, too.

Pumpkin Patch

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Kate is at the age where she is more fun. Between zero and three months, babies are just…kind of…well, blobs. At just over four months, Kate seems to realize there is more to the world besides the four walls of our home. So we are trying to do more things, have more fun. Kate is also at the age of maximum portability. Pretty soon, she is going to want to crawl and hoist herself up, not hang around in my arms. So time is of the essence.

It is easy to just want to stay home with a baby. To go out entails use of the car seat and the stroller and a diaper bag stuffed full with a change of clothes, burb clothes, ring toys, cell phone, wallet, keys, etc… And it can be tempting to be hermits. But we always have more fun when we get out. So we challenge ourselves to rejoin society, take some pictures, make some memories.

Stuff my dog ate

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Belle is mad at me.

I failed to walk her all last week because Dan’s schedule did not allow him to help out, so I would have had to walk Belle and push Kate’s stroller. Well, that just would not work out because Belle likes to bark crazily at the follow: Metro busses, squirrels, motorcycles, dogs she views as “threatening,” birds, the air. And she twists and barks and generally acts a fool. So I just cannot manage Kate’s BOB and a crazy coonhound.

To show her displeasure with me, she has taken to eating and tearing up items belonging to Kate and myself. So far, Belle ate:

-1 Peter Rabitt book

-1 nursing tank (my FAVORITE one)

-1 ant trap

-Bank statements

-Recycling

-Stack of computer paper straight out of the printer

-2 baby blankets

-And the attempted eating of my cargo pants and long-sleeve t-shirt

Between Kate and Belle, I spend a lot of time cleaning up messes. It is only a matter of time before Dan comes home to find the two of them tying me up.

The Bumbo Seat

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When I was registering for my baby shower, I found all the baby junk so overwhelming that I pretty much just stuck to the basics.

I figured there would still be stores around after Kate was born, so I could just get odds and ends as I saw fit. And hopefully second hand because most baby stuff last for such a short time frame. Before you know it, the once immobile baby is now trying death-defying moves like trying to propel herself out of her bouncy seat.

Since Kate is so eager to try to sit up, I decided to investigate the Bumbo. Yes, not only are there tons of crazy baby junk out there, but all the junk has strange names. Like Bumbo. When I called my mom to tell her about the Bumbo seat, she kept saying, “What, you got Kate a BIMBO seat?? What the heck is that? Bimbo??”

No, mom, Bumbo! Bumbo! I have no clue why is has that name. There is picture of an elephant on the seat, so maybe Bumbo means elephant in another language. Or manufactures thought it just sounded funny and imagined bunches of moms standing around the playground debating the merits of The Bumbo.

Anyway, one of my mommy friends kindly let me try out her daughter’s Bumbo seat, and Kate thought it was the best thing ever. She seemed surprised and delighted that she could sit up without me. Plus, she looked so funny I found it super amusing. So I decided I had to find myself one (because it is fun to laugh at your kid…oh, and Kate liked it, too).

Luckily, another mom in my mommy group was selling her Bumbo, so I snagged myself a half-priced, barely used Bumbo seat. And this little seat is SO MUCH FUN! Kate thinks it is awesome to sit up on her own. Plus, Dan and I just about wet our pants laughing at her. Double win.

I have to laugh or else I would cry

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You know when you have one of those days? Or one of those weeks? Well, it has definitely been one of those weeks at my house. When the dog misbehaves and the baby refuses to be anywhere but your arms and lots of stuff breaks. Yeah, one of those weeks.

Anyway, I realized this morning during a particularly terrible incident that my life right down can be distilled in one word: poop. I deal with a lot of poop. Kate poop. Dog poop. And stuff about life that is just…poopy.

So here is what happened:

It’s early. I just jumped off the treadmill, so I am looking nice and grunge. No makeup, hair in a messy ponytail, sweaty face. Belle needs to go out, so I take her out the front as it was the easiest thing at the time, thinking we would only be out there a minute. Of course, this is when all my neighbors are heading to their cars in their fancy work clothes and going off to their jobs. So everyone can see me. Which is fine because I was thinking Belle would do her thing and inside we will go.

But of course not. Belle begins to do her business when two large, black labs head our way. Belle does not really care for other dogs. She barks like a maniac when she sees other dogs come anywhere close to her lawn. To say Belle is territorial would be an understatement.

Anyway, so Belle did not like these intrudors, plus she was doing her business, and she seemed to be constipated. So there I was, trying to control my dog who was running around my yard, barking and howling like crazy, with poop stuck out of her behind.

And it is only 7:30 a.m.

And now we have the attention of everyone on the street. You simply cannot miss a big black howling dog spazzing out with poop hanging out of her backside pulling around grimy looking woman while her baby screams inside the house.

I knew I had to end this incident, and I knew it would require using my BARE HANDS to pull poop out of my dog’s rear end. Belle was not really a fan of this idea and kept trying to spin away from me. Finally I calmed her enough, held my breath and sucked in my pride and pulled poop out of my dog’s butt in front of all my neighbors while my child screamed inside the house.

Well, I successfully yanked out the poop, and it kind of serves Belle right because she found herself in this condition because she ate Kate’s Peter Rabbit book, which was what caused the tangled poop-paper mess. And it was as I was extricating poop that I realized so much of my life revolves around other’s poop and the mess it makes.

I also realized that I should laugh or else I would cry. And also how awesome I have become at dealing with bodily fluids. Nothing grosses me out now.

So in addition to all my other domestic duties, I can now add poop extricater to the list.