Sick and Stuck Inside? Try This Toddler Project

Posted on January 25, 2012 by admin

Uuugggghhh. Sick with toddler. What could be worse? Maybe a hangover with a toddler? Naaah. I think a full-blown dead-of-winter death cold in January for a first-time mom with a very young child has got to be the most soul-crushing motherhood experience—even worse than shaving the pubes around your C-section scar. And ALLL you want to do is beg your husband to stay home from work; but you can’t because that would mean you too are a young, whining child who needs looking after, and you are not! You are a MOM!

This is how you handle it. Wake-up moaning and crying so your husband feels bad enough to do the early-morning potty time and get breakfast started with Elmo. Lay there for as long as possible, you will need every ounce of energy. When you are able to rise, go straight to the bathroom. Turn the lock. Take a hot shower until someone notices and impatiently raps on the door. Get dressed. You’ll only feel more sick if you stay in pajamas. Drink lots of coffee, take Robitussin and Motrin (which I found to be a great combo for a cold!). Eat something. Again, you’ll need your energy. Sit on the couch with your eyes closed until husband leaves.

Now, I have a thing about TV and my child. I like a little children’s programming but not too much. She turns into a zombie with the TV and it bothers me. On a sick day though, I let her watch an extra 30 minutes in the morning. Even if I’m dying, it still bothers me, so it’s off no matter what by 9:00. That leaves 4.5 hours until naptime (mine and hers). I find crafts are something you can do while sitting at a table and you can stretch it out for the entire morning if you’re creative.

Take this project for example: Josie loves to paint, so I decided to use an Elmo T-shirt that’s too big for her as an art smock. Then during my Robitussin-Motrin-Coffee trip, I had and epiphany. We could decorate her art smock and then she could wear it and make more art, and I could sit on the couch with a pile of pillows and talk to her with my eyes closed while she kept herself busy with art projects ALL DAY!

What you’ll need:
Lots of buttons
Small fuzzy balls
Fabric glue
An old oversized shirt for a smock

Sit at the table with your youngster, cough drops, kleenex, and hot tea. Rest head in one hand while you release drops of fabric glue with the other hand. Put glue all over that shirt and then let ’em at it with the buttons and fuzz balls! This will easily take up an hour and then when you’re done, she can wear it do another project that involves quiet sitting instead of running around the house—and you can kind of get the rest you need.

 

 

 

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Toddler History: Hitler and Potty Training

Posted on January 19, 2012 by admin

Oh, potty training. When to start? How to do it? What are the experts saying? What does it mean when my child tells me she wants to “see it,” and smell her poopy diaper before I throw it away? If you have a toddler aged 18 − 24 months, you’re probably wondering how to begin potty training. And let me tell you, techniques vary widely.

For example, I once met an all-organic and slow-talking massage therapist from Connecticut who claimed his 5-month old was starting to train. He also claimed they didn’t believe in using diapers at all. I asked him how she was able to communicate to him that she needed the toilet and he said he used elimination communication.

And I thought dog poop on the streets of Manhattan was bad...

I’m not one to judge, but I bet their house didn’t smell so good.  And while I know this is possible, with cultures throughout history using similar techniques where babies don’t wear diapers in the American sense (China for instance, see picture); for the most part, moms have been using diapers made from linen, wool, straw, or any absorbant material for hundreds of years, and consequently have had to potty-train.

So what’s the best way to do it? Speed training like Three Day Potty Training.com? One mom I know had amazing success training her 20-month old with this technique, another friend calls it a “complete nightmare” with a zero success rate. Or maybe this way? Fuggedaboutit! So what if your kid is turning 5 next week, wearing size 11 diapers, and on his way to kindergarten. He’ll just crap his pants at school and then peer pressure and relentless teasing can do the job for you. As I said LOTS of options.

If you’re a Freud fan, he determined that we all go through an anal stage where we derive much pleasure from our anus and pooping. Some of us, as toddlers, experienced pleasure holding our poops in until mommy demanded we perform on the toilet (anal-retentive), while some of us found pleasure in showing mommy our poop wherever it may have landed (anal-expulsive).

If your meddling parents get in the way of either of these fascinations too much with harsh training, abuse and shame, it can cause an anal-retentive personality characterized by obsessiveness, tidy-ness, phobias about germs and frustration that can turn into hostility. Take Hitler for instance. His mother was a serious clean freak and most historians believe was a severe and abusive dictator-like potty trainer. She most likely beat him when he pooped on the floor, as was the norm for the Victorian parenting styles of the time. Parents were even encouraged to use soap suppositories to make their babies poop on a strict schedule. Scary shit, huh?

Conversely, if your parents are too lenient and you are permitted to poop freely and how you want for too long, according to Freud, you could develop an anal-expulsive personality where you grow up to be messy, overly generous, but also destructive and defiant, among other traits. (This explains a lot of people I know, namely, my husband.)

If you don’t want the panic attack of screwing up your kid because you feigned disgust when she took a dump during bath time, there is also the common-sense way. Potty-training will happen when the nerve connections between your child’s bladder, sphincter and brain are fully developed, usually around 2 − 2 1/2 years old; but many children develop these nerves earlier, so it doesn’t hurt to try when they are 12-months old either.

While Freud might be right about the anal stage of defecating enjoyment, it could just be that your child loves pooping on the potty because he’s experiencing a really cool new thing that his body can do. Just like when they discovered their feet for the first time.

 

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NYC Subway Without Stroller: Awesome

Posted on January 13, 2012 by admin

Lately, every time my daughter and I walk by a subway station in our neighborhood, she’s been very anxious to run down the stairs and take a real ride on a “Choo, Choo, Train.” She even pretends she hears the subway from our apartment. Since the MTA in New York City seems to have it in not only for mothers of infants but also handicapped people, I tend to avoid the subway with a stroller. But I’m starting to feel guilty about it. I mean, trains are like the number one most awesome thing for toddlers and I have a train about half a block from my front door.

I avoid the subway for good reason though, there’s only like three elevators working at any given time throughout the 735-MTA-bus-and-subway-station system that touts “unprecedented levels of efficiency.” I guess efficiency is only important for people without wheelchairs or strollers.  It’s certainly not efficient when a subway elevator is randomly out of service, requiring you to bump-and-lift, bump-and-lift, bump-and-fucking-lift your giant jogging stroller up three flights of stairs at Columbus Circle.

So today, I took my daughter on her first NYC subway adventure without a stroller. Our destination was Harry’s Shoes at 83rd and Broadway. We entered at 181st in Washington Heights and waited for the A train.

On the way, we switched to the 1 train and quietly ate Graham Crackers while staring at another small boy who was riding the subway too. Overall, pretty uneventful. She sat in her seat like a big girl and held mommy’s hand in the station, just like she was supposed too. We quickly bought some deeply discounted shoes at Harry’s (wanna know what the full prices are? $87-$100. For toddler shoes! It’s an outrage, Harry!) and went to lunch.

After a delicious lunch at French Roast on 85th, we popped back down to catch the train home. It must have been something she ate, because on the way back, Josie really spread her subway wings. It’s a well-known fact among my friends that I hate subway singing. I don’t want to hear your Broadway tune! No one will discover you at 175th street! But, I ADORED it when Josie belted “Jingle Bells” at the top of her lungs on the platform at 86th street. She also sang “Wheels on the Bus,” on command for a Dominican grandmother at 168th street. We both got a “God Bless You” from her, and really, no trip through Washington Heights is complete without a friendly blessing from a Dominican grandmother.

The best was when we saw the bongo drummer from this viral YouTube video at the above ground 125th station in Harlem!

This drummer is Internet famous.

She clapped when he finished and then to my surprise checked her pockets and told him she was all out of quarters! She’s the littlest straphanger you ever did see! She was holding the pole and everything. I have to say, years ago when I would ride the A Train home, drunk off my ass at midnight, I never thought I’d be saying to a little subway singer of my own, “watch the gap,” “hold on when the train starts,” “DO NOT TOUCH THAT URINE,” “you know how that 12-year old next to you just said ‘shut the fuck up, asshole!’ to his buddy? yeah, try not to say those words.”

I guess it’s all in a day’s work when raising your kid in the “best” city in the world. Beats dealing with a damn car seat everyday—that’ll drive you to drink mimosas in the morning, for sure.

 

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Book Review: Is Your Mama a Llama?

Posted on January 13, 2012 by admin

I love this book because it’s one of the few that I actually picked out myself for my daughter. We get soooo many gifts from so many generous people that I find myself rarely needing to buy books, so this one is a little special. It’s also special because the first line of the book goes, “Is your mama a llama? I asked my friend Dave?” I chuckle every time I read this line, STILL, and I’ve read this book to my daughter about 4,378 times.

Written by Deborah Guarino and Illustrated by Steven Kellogg, Is Your Mama a Llama uses rhymes, riddles and watercolor to help baby Lloyd the llama finally find his mama.

After a few readings you’ll be surprised how quickly your child will pick up on the rhymes and start finishing the riddles for you as you read. Or, my kid is just way more advanced than yours. I love this book, because it reminds me of what I would write if I ever write a children’s book.

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What Your Husband is Really Thinking

Posted on January 10, 2012 by admin

Dinnertime. It always starts the same: I look at the clock and realize, fuck! I better start cooking, it’s 6:00! And right about this time, Junior’s stomach starts to growl because I really should’ve had dinner ready BY 6:00. But my husband doesn’t get home until 7:00 and, as you well know, family dinners are the only thing that’s gonna keep my daughter off the stripper pole! So, 7:00 it is…

Around 6:15, I give my child a nutritious, but low-calorie snack. Something like blueberries and crackers—just enough to stave her off until dinner’s ready and we can sit down to a REAL meal. But children’s stomachs don’t work like ours. They want dinner, now. The concept of a light appetizer just doesn’t work with a damn two-year old. (I really, really wish it did.)

It’s at this point where I either master the delicate dance of cooking a reasonable meal and restrain myself against all odds from giving my child her 3rd Stoneyfield
Yo-Toddler Yogurt of the day; OR, I end up huddled, in dark corner, ordering a pizza as shards of dried play dough hit my face, and my daughter is somehow standing over me, laughing. My daughter loves to throw play dough at me while I cook, she really does. She’s also particularly fond of attaching herself to my thigh while I’m standing in front of a hot stove. And every once in while, she’ll poop on the floor somewhere to get my attention while I’m making dinner. Those are the BEST days.

Now, what does this have to do with what your husband is thinking? Cooking dinner under these types of circumstances would make anyone feel like they just ran a fucking marathon by the time dinner ends up on the table. And like marathon runners, what they look like at the end of the race ain’t too pretty. While you may think every dinner you manage to scrape together should earn you a trophy, this is what your husband’s really thinking:

  1. A cold chicken/feta/spinach sausage from Costco and macaroni ‘n cheese left in the microwave for me to heat up is not really an acceptable dinner
  2. I’m pretty sure that 3 carrot sticks and some sliced cucumbers do not count as a “side”
  3. Those Cornish hens you tried to make? They were undercooked, but I ate them anyway because you looked crazy! I did not sign up for this shit!
  4. Have you ever heard of any other type of meat besides chicken???
  5. I firmly believe you dirty every dish in the kitchen while you cook because you relish the thought of me doing dishes ALL NIGHT. Don’t you know the GAME is on, bitch!

 

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Can’t Stop Cursing in Front of Your Child? Try Duct Tape

Posted on January 4, 2012 by admin

Sometimes, I feel like this.

Ever feel like you need a piece of duct tape slapped across your mouth? If not, then you’re probably not a parent. Or you’re one of those perfect parents who never cursed even before you had a child. Or you’re Catholic, born before 1950 and think using the “F” word is extremely unladylike—just like my mother.

My generation, on the other hand, completely embraced curse words during middle and late adolescence. Definitely as much as any other generation, but I would have to say with more fervor and enthusiasm than others before us. We were the first to grow up with rap songs like, “A Fuck is a Fuck,” by Two Live Crew, heard on tapes, in 8th grade! We laughed in 4th grade when the evil Fratelli brothers and Mouth from The Goonies said variations of “shit” and “bull shit” 19 times. And then there are all the John Hughes movies like Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, etc, where all the really, really cool kids said more than a few swear words. As if this weren’t enough, we went to college and watched Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs on a weekly basis!

Remember Jay of Jay and Silent Bob in Clerks?

Many new mothers and fathers with toddlers right now in the US belong to the youngest side of the Gen X generation (those of us born 1973-1976). It’s pretty clear to me we came of age in unique times—our formative years were a Goddamn Renaissance of foul-mouthery with even David Bowie saying “damn” and “hell” in Labyrinth. And now, NOW, I’m expected to rewire the neural-language paths in my brain built with cuss words delivered by movies of the 80s and 90s I enjoyed as a teenager while my brain was still growing? I just don’t think I can do it.

What the Experts are Saying About Cursing Around Your Kids
One of the best tidbits I’ve ever read online about swearing in front of your kids was a 2008 CNN.com interview with Kevin Smith, creator of Jay, from above. He said about his real-life daughter,

“We’re raising our kid in a household where people curse, as an experiment. And I think our experiment is working, because I don’t tame my language around the kid. I don’t run up to her and yell [expletive] in her face, but I don’t go out of my way to like not curse in front of her. And honestly, ironically, she doesn’t curse. And I’ve tried to get her to curse for like friends and family, because it’s always entertaining to hear a child curse, and she doesn’t do it.”

I would say Kevin Smith, along with Quentin Tarantino, are our country’s foremost experts on cursing. What you thought I’d share something by a parenting expert? Ha. While I do try hard not to use profanity in front of my sweet daughter, I do tend to yell “Fuck!” when I crack my shin on a piece of furniture because we live in such a tiny fucking apartment in New York City!

I agree with Kevin Smith, it IS hilarious when children curse, but only if you’re not their mom. And I have proof! This year during Christmas dinner with my conservative parents, my daughter dropped a piece of gooey ham on her lap. That’s not all she dropped. What did she say? You guessed it, a perfectly pronounced “FUCK,” used in the right context and with all the right inflection. I was proud that she knew how to use the word correctly—for about a nano-second—and then? My first thought was how UNLADYLIKE it was! And I was mortified! This, my friends, was the day I turned into my MOTHER. Who, by the way, was laughing her ass off.

 

 

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Retro Toys of Christmas Past

Posted on December 21, 2011 by admin

Japanese pinball machine my dad bought us for Christmas one year. It has an ashtray.

Now that my childhood home has become “Grandma and Grandpa’s house,” I get a little confused every time my daughter says this phrase, which she has been doing a lot since we arrived at my parents’ house this week for the holidays. My thoughts always return to MY grandparents’ house and memories of looking at naked tribal people in dusty issues of National Geographic from the 1920s and ’30s.

Also in my Grandpa’s basement was a long-abandoned bar that I’m sure saw some fun Mad Men-esque neighborhood parties. During long, boring visits where there was no TV and no Atari, my brother and I used to spin on the barstools, play “banker” with an old cash register and pretend to make drinks with some empty whiskey bottles and a cloudy martini shaker. I guess this type of child play and the National Geographics explains a lot about my love for cocktails and naked people.

While pondering this thought and another on how to get Grandpa to babysit for just one Goddamn hour so I can get a Christmas pedicure for once, I realized something. Josie was going to start finding weird treasures from my childhood in my parents’ house to play with, the toys of my Christmas past…

Aaaa!

Why not start with the creepy doll? I hate this doll. I don’t know how old it is, or who’s it was originally, but my daughter loves it. It’s always lurking somewhere in my parent’s house and she always finds it. I don’t know if I’m more scared of the Chucky-ness of the doll or of what I’m sure is a toxic BPA-plastic doll body that is poisoning my daughter every time she touches it.

Smartypants McSmarty

Remember encyclopedias? This was my Dad’s present to to us in 1982. Again, I was drawn to the anatomy section and would try to learn all the bones of the human body. I also remember asking my dad questions, and he’d reply, “I don’t know, Kathie! Look it up in the encyclopedia for Christ’s sake, that’s why we bought them!”

Is Christmas ever complete without a little Garfield and Jon? Odie? Anyone? Man, I could read about a sarcastic, narcissistic, and sadistic cat eating lasagna for hours when I was 11. And Jon could never get laid! It was soooooo hilarious!

These are just cool

The wooden guys to the right, are stackable man-blocks from the 1940s. They were my dad’s and we loved playing with these guys. I’m really happy we still have five of them left for Josie to play with. As you know, I hate BPA plastic and these are WOODEN, just like Plan Toys, before there was Plan Toys, so therefore safe, and you know all the moms will approve and you won’t be judged if your child chews on one. Unless that paint has lead in it. (Christ, here comes the panic attack…)

Awww, Fisher Price people. Don’t have much to say about them, except that they are cute, and bring back cute memories—like when I would throw them at my little brother for touching my stuff.

Speaking of my brother, he received a robotic rhinoceros one year for Christmas. See below:

Please note the backdrop. This picture was taken in front of a wall in my parents’ “Rec” room. It’s a forest scene wallpaper picture that covers the entire wall. It’s been up on that wall since 1976 and made the perfect backdrop for my T-rex smack down. It also served as a great backdrop for some pretty raucous high school parties that may or may not have involved someone drowning my brother’s pet iguana in beer.

And with that I bid you adieu until next time. Merry Christmas!

 

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Homemade Fish Sticks

Posted on December 17, 2011 by admin

So, I can’t bake, but I’m pretty good at cooking regular meals. And I’m obsessed with making sure my daughter gets enough protein. I can’t stand it when all she eats is Cherios and cat food off the floor. After a couple tries with frozen fish sticks (I actually tried organic Salmon Sticks with her and they are disgusting), I developed this easy recipe that your child can even help you prepare.

What You’ll Need
1 Fillet of Tilapia
Bread Crumbs
2 Tablespoons of Canola oil

Slice the tilapia like the photo to the right.

Pour some bread crumbs in a bowl.

Invite your toddler, who’s presently running around without pants and screaming at the cat, to come to the kitchen and cook with mommy.

Heat the oil in a non-stick pan. Wash your child’s hands thoroughly because she’s probably touched the toilet more than few times today. Let her dip the sliced fish into the bread crumbs. I read somewhere on the Internet that giving toddlers little jobs to do makes them feel important and builds confidence, so don’t freak if she happens to spill the breadcrumbs.

Pop the fish sticks into the hot oil. Cook until they are golden on each side. Using tongs is best to flip the pieces of fish around in the oil as they fry. What, you don’t own a pair of cooking tongs? Seriously, they will change your fucking life. They make cooking really, really easy!

Anyway, keep frying for about 5-7 minutes tops. White fish cooks very quickly and if you over do it, your kid might not notice, but they will taste more fishy…

Once the sticks are done, put them on a plate with a couple paper towels to sop up the extra oil, and then serve to your little hellion.

My little one wolfed down FIVE fish sticks. That’s some serious healthy shit for a toddler. Try it!

 

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Christmas Cookie Chaos

Posted on December 15, 2011 by admin

Yesterday, I left my daughter with a neighbor while I took a call with a client. When I went to pick her up, she had made a beautiful stenciled Christmas tree painting. Crap, I thought. I never do things like that with her. So in a moment of feeling completely inadequate as a mother, I decided we’d bake Christmas cookies!

I whipped out my Betty Crocker’s NEW Boys and Girls Cookbook. It’s the same one my mother has and I was lucky enough to find a copy at a vintage bookstore in Virginia. I decided we’d make my old favorite—sugar cookies. Jesus Christ, why I decided to do this when I freaking h-a-t-e baking, I’ll never know. I just wanted to be a good mom.

Baking with a two-year old in the kitchen is fun. Kind of. You need a stool. You need to keep them busy with their own baking project. And above all ladies, you need to know what you’re doing and either have an endless amount of patience or a full glass of Rioja. Your choice.

Mistake #1: I thought giving her a bowl of her own butter and flour would be a good idea. You know, for stirring while I made the real cookie dough? An experienced mother would tell you never to give your child flour under any circumstances, or butter for that matter, because, yup you guessed both ended up either in her mouth or on the floor.

Mistake #2: Once the dough was made, I felt nostalgia for the baking-days of my youth and gave her a small taste of the cookie dough (which was delicious, I used fresh lemon peel!). This was bad, bad, bad. For the rest of our baking experience she threw tantrums because she wanted more cookie dough. And then I freaked out after the warm nostalgic cookie dough moment because, SHIT! cookie dough has raw eggs in it, now we both have Salmonella…

Mistake #3: In an effort to save on dishes, I decided to line the cookie sheet with parchment paper. The recipe didn’t say to do this, and I’ve never really heard of this before, but dammit, it seemed like a really good idea.

Baby teeth rotting

Mistake #4: Little teaspoon drops of cookie dough are on the cookie sheet and I decide Josie should get to decorate with the jar of sprinkles. After all, this is her first batch of Christmas cookies, but instead, this and more tantrums happen:

Mistake #5: Decide to take picture of her DRINKING sprinkles. This startles child and she drops the whole jar on the floor and it explodes into a rainbow of crunchy sprinkle floor mess on top of the butter and flour from earlier. I was hyper ventilating at this point or I’d have taken a picture of that too.

Mistake #6: Oh God Fucking Dammit!! There is smoke and burning smells coming from the oven! Muther fucker! The smoke alarm is going off and it’s really high up on our stupid 14-foot pre-war ceilings. Quick hit the smoke alarm with the broom until it stops! I know Josie, that is LOUD! Oh fuck, get the cookies out of the stove. What? What the hell? I used WAX paper instead of parchment paper? Jesus, get the melting wax cookies out on the fire escape so the smoke alarm doesn’t sound again. Josie! Stop eating the sprinkles off the floor!

The only thing I did right with this whole fiasco was hold back enough cookie dough to make eight, count ’em, eight perfectly delicious sugar cookies.

This was far too much work.

 RECIPE:

1/2 Cup butter, margerine or shortening
1 Cup Sugar
1-2 Teaspoons of fresh grate lemon peel

1 Egg (if you use butter or margerine, add an extra egg white or whole egg or your cookies will be too crunchy)
2  Tablespoons milk

2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon soda

Preheat oven to 400. Mix butter, sugar and lemon peel in mixer first. Add the eggs and milk, then gradually add the dry mixture. Use a teaspoon to drop dough on cookie sheet, decorate as you wish, and pop into the oven for 6-8 minutes. They cook fast so keep an eye on them.

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Your Child is Singing Violent Songs About Bloody Mary

Posted on December 7, 2011 by admin

A couple of times a week, I watch silly toddler You Tube videos with my daughter. Letting her satisfy her laptop curiosity once or twice a week is enough to keep her dirty peanut-butter hands off it the rest of the time. So we watch videos of owls, cats, and pandas mostly. But one day we discovered this, and I had to close it immediately because it was so crazy in a really scary computer-Internet kind of way:

This got me to thinking, what the hell are our kids singing about? Ashes? Ashes? We all fall down?? It’s bizarre to watch your sweet baby singing about ashes and death. She doesn’t even know that scrambled eggs aren’t people (she literally says “good morning, eggs!”).

Below is a breakdown of where those rhymes you’ve been singing for what seems like an eternity originated. Think of it as a good way to start teaching your child to appreciate history. If you live in Manhattan, this is very important because four-year-olds are required to recite 16th-century British history while juggling in order to get into a good kindergarten.

Three Blind Mice:
The same lady who cuts off mice tails in this rhyme is also Bloody Mary! This song is based on Queen Mary the 1st‘s rule of England. She hated Protestants because she was Catholic. So she burnt them (clever). Now we sing about burning Protestants to 6-month old infants at library sing-alongs.

Violent Lady Your Kid Sings About Everyday

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
OK, so more Protestant death. This one too is about Protestant torture, guillotines, and more burning at the stake by Bloody Mary.

Ring O Ring of Rosies:
This one is about the bubonic plague in London. My daughter LOVES this rhyme, but she’s singing about circular skin rashes (Ring O’ Roses), the cremation of dead bodies, and ye old Englishman’s ignorant medical remedy of choice: Posies.

Jack and Jill
The French Reign of Terror in 1793 and the be-heading of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. A lot of people lost a lot of heads and somehow our children are still talking and thinking about it, broken crowns and all.

I think this says something about violence in our culture starting at an extremely young age, but I’m way too busy changing shitty diapers to really delve into it right now. I’ll just leave it to the child-violence experts.

 

 

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