Goodnight, Playground.

Do your little ones have a favorite playground, rec center, or pub? (Kidding. Okay Leo loves Zeitgeist. They have 48 different milks on tap). In all seriousness: the playground pictured above might not be Leo's fave, but it's definitely mine. There's sand, but only in the contained sandbox (why does this matter? Because some days, I just don't want to have to bathe him after we play. So I steer clear of said box.) In addition: it's got tons of great stuff for little kiddies, and there are rarely bigger kiddies to mow the little kiddies down. Add in spongey floors and small plastic slides, and it's love at first play.*

This is going to be a short week for me here at Mommyproof because I am treating tomorrow (Friday!) like a vacation. I hope you all have great weekends, but before you go – check out this truly brilliant adaptation of Goodnight Moon.** Read it while sipping an artisanal coffee. And maybe throw in a sustainable scone. You won't regret it.

xo,
Rebecca

*Can I seriously, seriously ask something, and I hope all of you civic-minded people are listening? Why, oh why don't all playgrounds have lights that can pop on once it gets dark? I get that we don't want vagrants and the cast of Oliver there at all hours. But 5:30? On a winter weekday? I don't know about you, but I am not ready to take my wee one home just yet. Lights. One extra hour. I'll pay!

**Leo's most favorite-est book. We've had to keep it going by creating an extended version. This has included "Goodnight Obama, and goodnight Mama. Goodnight Mommy, and goodnight Romney." Ethan also said something about "goodnight snails," but that was weird.

The Milk Trick

The funniest thing happened this week. Leo finally caught on to the sign for "milk" (squeezing your hand like you're milking a cow, of course — isn't American Sign Language pleasantly straightforward?!) and started doing it with both hands. The only problem? He thinks it's a game or a neat-o trick, like clapping or waving. He starts "milking" over and over again, cracking up as he does it (probably because we get so unnecessarily excited to see him do it)... but I don't think he wants milk at all. In fact, I'm not sure that he really knows that it means milk. I think he knows it means "milk," the word — but not the white liquid gold that comes out of his bottle. Or maybe he does know, and this is just a little joke he's playing on us. I wouldn't put it past him.

Have you taught your little ones sign language? How'd it go?

Music, and More

I'm a little behind today (what's new?) because I fell asleep last night not feeling so great and, though I woke up feeling better than I thought I would (I was imagining myself in a SARS type of situation), I still felt kind of ick. So I gave myself a (small) pass to take a nap this morning instead of hitting the ground running. I feel like every once and a while, I just have one of these days where I can't keep the hamster wheel turning. Wake up with the sun (and The Bear), get him (and myself) washed, dressed, fed, out the door. Get email checked, chores completed, writing accomplished, groceries bought, exercise...exercised, etc, etc. By the time 9:30pm rolls around, I'm near the end of my proverbial rope. Then I rush myself into bed so that I don't wake up even more tired the next day. Sound familiar?!

I did manage to take a short run yesterday which was lovely on several accounts. It was a gorgeous sunny day in San Francisco and I took a couple of snapshots of my hood and reminded myself that I'm a lucky, lucky gal to live in such a striking city. Then I took Leo to his first ever "Music Together" class, which was super fun for me, but Leo looked like he had literally been deposited in the greatest place on the planet. He seriously adored every second of it. His expression (see photo above) was one of rapt attention FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES. Needless to say, that's kind of unheard of. He just sat there staring at the guitar-playing teacher like he was a god (a god who makes "moo" noises and clucks like a chicken). It was truly mind-bending.

Until tomorrow!

Post Thanksgiving Wrap-up

Source: instagram.com via Rebecca on Pinterest

Source: instagram.com via Rebecca on Pinterest

Source: instagram.com via Rebecca on Pinterest

Source: instagram.com via Rebecca on Pinterest

How were your Thanksgivings?! Did you eat so much pie you felt sicker than a dog afterwards? (I actually managed — uncharacteristically — to not overeat this Turkey Day, thanks to my one-year-old who kept me so busy during the dinner, I didn't have time to get seconds). Note to self: babies don't like long meals. They're more the in-and-out types. It's amazing to think about how quickly Thanksgiving dinner could get eaten if everyone had an under-two-year-old with them. You could scarf down that stuffing in about 80 seconds flat and call it a night.

The long weekend was exhausting but a lot of fun, and I finally jumped on the Instagram bandwagon and took the above pics during a stint around Bernal Hill with Leo in the jogging stroller. There are these super-neato mazes made of rocks that we stopped and looked at, along with a bunch of other families. Leo started messing with a little girl's creation, and I had one of those parenting choke moments when I didn't know whether to apologize and put the rock back where she wanted it, pick up Leo and drag him off, or simply explain to her that he was just checking out her maze and that we wouldn't *ruin* it (she kept using the word ruin over and over, as in "he's ruining it! he's ruining it!". Her mom looked on silently but didn't give me an indication of whether or not she, too, thought my baby was ruining the creation. Is there a mom code for this kind of stuff? How do you know when the other parent is pissed that your kid is screwing with their kid's random rock art, or when they're just thinking about Breaking Bad? Help!)

PHOTO CAPTION: Instagram makes your snapshots look vintage-y cool. Yeah, you already knew that.

How Many Do You Want?

This is a completely personal question that I don't expect you to answer out loud (unless you want to, in which case I'm all ears): how many kids do you want? Zero? Two? Seven? I want seven... not. Um, yeah, Maria von Trapp is the bomb, but those kids were already potty-trained by the time she got them!

First off, this goes without saying, but life doesn't always work out the way we all want it to. We're lucky to have healthy, happy kids (if we want them) and lucky to have the choice to not have them if we don't. But taking all of those "real life" factors like fertility and timing out of the equation (not to mention overpopulation and expense of raising kids in 2012), and speaking completely hypothetically – do you envision yourself a calm family of three? A raucous, lively family of five? I've *heard* that four is the new three. And it does seem like three is the new two. BUT DON'T PEOPLE REALIZE THAT THREE KIDS WILL TAKE UP THE ENTIRE BACK SEAT? And, as a lovely friend and supermom of three recently pointed out to me... A FAMILY OF FIVE CAN'T RIDE TOGETHER IN A NYC TAXI (unless it's of the van variety). I don't even know what you'd do on an airplane and I kind of never want to find out. Another wise friend informed me that if you think subsequent kids are going to entertain the first ones (or vice versa), you might want to consider that that's a big lie.

After yesterday's post about the eternal struggle to juggle, a few readers commented that managing one child is a piece of cake compared to two or more. Apparently, the "free time" I have now is way more than I'll ever get if/when I have a second munchkin. I guess I'd better go appreciate it.

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: Leo inspecting the underside of the wagon at the zoo.

How do you juggle it all?

Ethan and I keep finding ourselves in conversation deja vu: How do we juggle Baby, our careers, exercise, sleep, chores, social commitments, and life "stuff" — all without completely sacrificing our own sanity (and maybe even finding a few precious minutes for relaxation, or seeing an edifying film like Breaking Dawn)?

Before we have kids, we prepare and prepare for Baby's needs — but what about our own? No one teaches you how to get your life organized and running like a well-oiled machine so that you can put in those extra hours at work, get your kid to swim class, find time to take that (quick) run, and go on a "date night" — all while taking good care of yourself and not snapping at your husband, wife, or (worse) your baby.

I know there's that saying about how you can't prioritize family, work, and your social life all at once (or is it family, work, and your health? I forget) but I'm not willing to accept that just yet. Sure, we can't all literally "have it all" — if you work a 100-hour week, chances are you don't have rock-hard abs and oodles of time to take your daughter to the playground. But can we achieve some amount of balance if we make the right compromises and adjustments? And is an ongoing conversation the only way to make it happen, by constantly reevaluating, trial and error, and a lot of "I'm gonna go to the gym — you take the kids this time" negotiating?*

How do you do it?

*Has anyone else noticed that it's way more enjoyable — even highly entertaining — to do baby tasks together with your significant other (like bath time, the bedtime routine, the playground), and yet, that's entirely less efficient than having one of you bathe the baby while the other makes dinner? Sometimes I hate being an adult 'cause it makes me think of stuff like this. I'd rather just be impractical. It'd be a lot more fun.

Friday Round-up (or WHAT. I. LEARNED.)

What I learned this week:

1) Being busy is good, but being so busy that you have to schedule brushing your teeth is not.

2) You can't do everything. You just can't. (But you deserve to congratulate yourself for crossing one item off your to-do list. Even if it was just "buy Kleenex.")

3) Moms move at warp speed, and the rest of the world does not. The next time you're in a meeting and the other people are chit chatting about pie, while you watch the minutes (and your free time) ticking away, remind yourself that you are not alone. (You may be technically alone in that moment. But other moms commiserate).

Happy weekend! And thanks for reading. I am totally flattered, overwhelmed and verklempt by how many people keep pinging (or, like, real life telling) me that they're checking in on Mommyproof. It means a lot. Now go "like" my fan page (kidding. Except not here's the link).

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: That is a dinosaur. Now that I'm the mom of a toddler boy, I need to learn the diff between stegosaurus and you know, that other one.

Least Stressed Mom on the Block

I made it to page sixty of Harvey Karp's "Happiest Toddler on the Block," and I think I get the general gist: when your toddler freaks out, you need to sympathize by listening, letting him "talk first" (ie. scream, kick his legs, yell, point), then repeat what he's upset about. But you don't do it in a calm voice; instead, you take on some of his upset tone (even stomping your feet or gesticulating to get your point across — whatever works). And you have to speak in Toddler-ese, which Karp describes as "your little caveman's native tongue." Reasoning, rationalizing, explaining why we need to share — none of that's going to cut it. Baby wants the ball? You say, "Leo wants ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!" That's supposed to get his attention long enough to calm him down. Only then can you distract him with a new toy or explain why sharing is cool.

Karp's premise is that toddlers aren't little adults, so we shouldn't treat them as such. They're actually live cavemen. They're primitive, and the right sides of their brains (which are already larger than the rational left sides) totally take over when they're angry or upset. Speaking in short, simple sentences is the only way to get through to them. And acknowledging that you understand why they're upset by repeating their frustration back to them is apparently the key to raising a healthy child with high self-esteem who feels that his complaints/fears/concerns have been heard.

This all sounds peachy. But the last couple of times I've tried it (like when Leo was mad in his car seat and I yelled, while driving, "Leo want out! Leo want out. Out! Out! Out! Out") I'm not sure that it really worked (and it almost definitely made him yell louder). Can Karp's theory work on a baby this young (he claims it can)? Have any of you ever tried it? 

PHOTO CAPTION: Leo's second hair cut. Mommy messed up and let them cut the curls off the back. Leo, would you please grow your curls back right away so I'm not sad?

Bathtub Shopping 101

These days, "bath time" really only means one thing to me: plopping Leo in his whale-shaped tub and getting out his blue rubber ducky (we actually call it a "schnucky," not to be confused with the authentic yellow ducky). I haven't taken a bath at home in years, since I've never had a bathtub decent enough (or truly clean enough!) to climb into. We'll have space for one in our new place, though, so I've been looking around, trying to get a read on the "tub" scene. The short of it? There isn't really much of a tub scene here in SF. Most showrooms have, like, two on the floor because there just isn't room. And you can scout the nets all day long, but do you really want to order a bath tub you've never sat in? That sounds like one of things where everyone's like, "it'll be fine," but then you end up with a giant hideous white monstrosity that you can't return.

All of this led me to one of the most simultaneously fantastic and frightening places to exist on this side of the Mason Dixon: Tubz. That's right, with a "z" (classy). I drove all the way to Fremont (no, I don't know where that is, either) to check out a warehouse that claimed to have 400 bath tubs on display... and, in case you were wondering, that claim is not a lie (not that I counted). I even got to go in the "back room" (ie. the stock room, but "back room" sounds much sketchier and more fun) to see a tub that was wrapped up for a customer,* and I sneaked a photo of the bathtubs on those metal racks wrapped up like eggs in cartons. That last picture is a shot of the bathtub we're interested in, which they actually had on the floor (yes! 2-hour total car ride was worth it!) Would I recommend Tubz? Sort of. Do I hope I never have to go back? Absolutely.

*What is the point of showing somebody a tub wrapped in plastic that can't be unwrapped? The sales guy was so excited, though. "You can't really see it. But it's in there!" I played along.

PHOTO CAPTION: Isn't the Tubz sign sophisticated?

Renovation

We have another baby in our lives besides our actual baby. No, not a dog. Not a chia pet — a house renovation. A couple of lovely friends who know about the house sich have suggested that I "start a blog about house renovations," which sounds fabulous, but let's just say that Ethan would (justifiably) lose his sh** if I started another blog. (Two is quite enough). So... I thought I'd write periodically about the reno here.

The skinny on the house is that it's a teeny old Victorian (1886!) that survived the 1906 earthquake and earthquake-induced fire but had never really been updated in a whole century. It still had a creepy dirt basement running the length of the house that was only really usable for storing trash and skis and creeping people out. Space in San Fran is super scarce, so when we bought the house, we were psyched that the previous owners had started the permitting process to turn the creepy dirt basement into another floor, plus a garage. Three years later, we're finally doing it. It's probably going to give me even more gray hair than I already have. But if we pull it off, it means we can live in our house for a lot longer. (Those outside of SF: I know it sounds crazy to excavate UNDER one's house and take out tons (literally) of dirt so you can dig another floor or two. I know it sounds crazy that you have to do all this while not changing the facade of your house because it's historic. I know it sounds crazy to not just move to the suburbs and bypass all this trouble. We city people are crazy. I think it's something in the water. Luckily, we're living in a temporary apartment while all this is going on because our house is literally not accessible right now. It's probably for the best – Ethan (I mean, ahem, Leo) wouldn't like all the noise and sawdust.)

PHOTO CAPTION: The big hole under our house.

The Weekend Routine

This is a special weekend post about, well, the weekend. It seemed fitting. It's not that profound. Just go with it.

Most parents I talk to seem to agree that weekends are more exhausting than the weekdays, and let's face it — Saturdays and Sundays are these long, undefined spans of time with less routine, more "free periods," and lots of social activities that probably end up making you far more tired than actual work. (Not to mention later nights out that you inevitably regret, especially that second* margarita).

It's safe to say that for me, two nights "out" is far too much, so maybe I'm officially an old lady, but I really need to go to bed early on Friday night if I'm going to stay up on Saturday past 11 (yes, people, that's late when you're a parent. I hope I'm not scaring the non-parents. It's not that you can't stay out even later. It's just that when your kid rises with the sun the next morning, those amazing friends, that amazing food and the even more amazing conversation WILL NOT HAVE BEEN WORTH IT.)

We've had a great weekend so far — Leo went to baby sign language class, and before we got there, I jokingly said to Ethan, "What if all the other babies are calm, and Leo's the only one tearing up the room?" Turns out... all the other babies were calm and he was the only one tearing up the room. To be fair, he was far older than the other babies who were still discovering their feet. Since he toddles now, I guess he's really a toddler, and toddle he did in the center of the room while he went wild with a box of toys that kept him entertained for the entire 90 minutes. We also learned how to sign "milk" and "eat,"** so I'm thinking those might come in pretty handy before he learns actual speech. 

What is your weekend routine? Are you stay-at-home types? Adventurers? How do you balance your weekend activities with the all-important nap?

*Third.

**As well as the extremely useful "balloon" and "dinosaur."

Friday Round-up, or What I Learned

1) This New York Times article titled "How Do You Raise A Prodigy?" is not another parenting philosophy ala Tiger Parenting or French Parenting (I pictured flashcards for the womb, calculus for the under-two's, you get the idea). Instead, it's actually just an earnest question, "how do you raise a prodigy, if your kid happens to be one?" An interesting read.

2) I'm still on the third page of Harvey Karp's "Happiest Toddler on the Block," but so far, I'm digging it. Toddlerhood is like three parts fiesta mixed with two parts wrestling match and one part jungle safari. Um, yes, Harvey. I would have to agree.

3) These boots are uber cute.

Hope you all have great weekends. We're headed to a sign language class in hopes that Leo might turn "aaahhh!" into a cute sign for "milk." Will let you know how it goes.

xo,
Rebecca

PHOTO CAPTION: Snapshots on my walk to the office (and by "office," I mean "Starbucks.")

Small, but Big

I've been thinking lately about how the world — your world — often feels so small when you have kids. All those months spent breastfeeding in front of the TV, when a walk down the block is considered a big adventure. All those hours logged on the same few playgrounds, over and over again. All those pre-nap and pre-bedtime routines trying to cajole Wee One into his/her crib. It can start to feel like your entire universe revolves around sleep sacks, coffee, the washer dryer and that plastic Baby Einstein toy designated for use only in the car (where it's most needed) that you simultaneously canonize and want to throw onto Highway 101.

Life seems "small" because you just don't have time for some of the intellectual pursuits you might have devoted your free time to in the past. This morning, for example, I was listening to NPR in the car and couldn't wrap my head around how anyone could possibly have the time to dissect the childhood comings and goings of David Foster Wallace. I wanted to shout, "He wrote a book! It was long! I don't have time to read it, though, and I don't know how you people do either!*" You also have to schedule your life around the smallest (seemingly) things, like naps, feedings, and play time. It makes you start to wonder why your own life doesn't just consist of naps, feedings, and play time. Have we** been wasting our time all of these years trying to write, invent, learn and discover? Maybe we're just supposed to drink milk.

So maybe life feels tiny these days. But I wonder — is life also much, much bigger once you have a child? Maybe you are stuck on the playground every afternoon between 4 and 6, but have you noticed those little kids giggling? How their imaginations run wild and nothing they say makes sense, and that makes it even more adorable than if it did make sense? Have you noticed that hey, the sky actually really is blue? A fire truck drove past said playground the other day, and the super nice firemen drove really slowly and honked and waved at the kids for what felt like an hour. The whole playground stopped what it was doing, and in that moment, just paused and totally and completely enjoyed that connection with those firemen, and not a single person even missed it 'cause he/she was on his/her iphone. "Huh," I thought to myself. "I didn't know firemen ever did that."

So maybe I don't have time to read a 1000+ semi-parodic novel, but I do have time to look at the sky, and wave to a bunch of firemen.

*I definitely don't have time to learn that the author was a tennis pro.
**By "we," I mean civilization.

The Elusive Transfer

Every day, after I pick up Leo from his nanny share, I race home to get back, give him his bottle, and deposit him in his crib BEFORE he can have a chance to fall asleep in the car. If he does (fall sleep en route), it's disaster, since the odds of me being able to transfer him from car seat to crib with any success are very, very slim. And the idea that he'll only sleep twenty minutes in the car, and NOT AT ALL in his crib (leaving me with no time to rest, pay a bill, or work) is a scary one, indeed.

When Leo was a newborn, it was a different story. We could often do this (and carefully timed and executed "transfers" were a part of our everyday vernacular), but now, they just don't happen, unless it's late at night and dark out, in which case we can transfer him (during road trips, etc) no problem.

What is it with babies only being able to sleep in perfect conditions? I CAN SLEEP ANYWHERE, ANY TIME. LIKE IN CARS. ON COUCHES. ON THE FLOOR. IN SPAIN. DURING WORK. DURING CLASS. Why can't my baby?!

PHOTO CAPTION: That's "The Friend." We put him in Leo's crib to make him feel at home, and we often hear ourselves saying things like, "Look, your friend!" Suffice it to say, Leo cares not a whit about The Friend. It could be a piece of rubber. He'd probably like that more.

A Few Things

I don't think I've ever been this excited for an election to be over. This darn thing has been so stressful, for everybody, that I've been anticipating it like I anticipated labor: with dread, with hope, and with a strong desire for meds.

A few other things:

1) We are trying out the Honest Diapers (pictured above —for the record, that's *not* my baby's butt, okay it is). We like them so far. Adorbs hipster patterns + biodegradable is starting to equal worth the extra 10-20 bucks per month in my mind. We may become converts.

2) Anyone else starting to feel anxious for their babe to eat like a real person? I am trying to get Baby away from the baby food jars, pouches, et al and move towards actual food. Yesterday, Leo tried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He seemed to approve of it, until he didn't and threw it on the ground (luckily, we were in the lovely outdoor parking lot at Whole Foods where somebody's dog quickly devoured it).

3) Is it okay if Baby insists on drinking his bottle standing up before bedtime and naps? Is this rebellion I should put a stop to? Or if he's drinking, should I just go with it?

That's all. Happy Election Day (slash not).

xo,
Rebecca

I Live in Fear

I live in fear nearly every day (and every moment of every day) of my baby hating me.Perhaps this sounds extreme, irrational, or alarmist. I could see how you might think that; I would think that, too, were I not in this position myself. Oh, I know what you're going to say. "You're his mother. Of course he loves you. You breastfed him until you literally could not watch another episode of Tori & Dean. You take him to the playground and let him chew on stuff out of the recycle bin. You buy him things like shoes. You transfer all of the good thoughts of the world into his little brain every day through osmosis. You read him Goodnight Moon."

All of those things are, for the most part, true. But I also force him to nap when he doesn't want to. I force him to eat things he'd rather not (who wants spinach when you can have baby gouda?) I won't let him eat Cheerios in the car. I make him go with me to Home Depot. I only sometimes let him play with my keys. I won't let him rifle through the medicine cabinet. I wouldn't let him hit that girl at the park.**

In all seriousness – I know, rationally, that it's not my job to play with my baby all day long. Sure, he'd love to be at the playground (pictured above) for all of his waking (and probably his sleeping) hours. But life needs to happen — grocery shopping needs to get done. And naps need to be taken. Peas need to be eaten. And I know I read somewhere that children like and need limits, even if they don't know it. But that doesn't mean I don't feel guilty about it.

**I just reread this and thought I wrote "hit on" that girl at the park. I won't let him do that either.

How do you deal with the endless "no"?

Friday Round-up (or what I learned)

My one-year-old says "Mama" (finally!) but only when he's mad or frustrated. (I love what my friend* said the other night — Mama is like air and water to kids, so that must be why they often say "Dada" first. Mom is like, obvious, so there's no need to say it (I'm going with that explanation).

Squishy playground floors are genius.

Library book covers are laminated for a reason.

Children don't like trips to Home Depot, as much as you (and by "you" I mean "I") might hope that they'll view it as a great adventure.

Little versions of coats and jeans just never get old.

Happy Friday!

xo,

Rebecca

*Heather

Aftermath

I realized as I was looking at yesterday's post that I had said it would be brief, and then it was anything but. So this one will be.* Halloween was a wonderful, chaotic trip. This is true of many, many things once you become a parent – and it sounds utterly cliche — but it's amazing to look at a seemingly mundane or been-there-done-that holiday (like Halloween) or an activity (swings!) through the eyes of your child. Our little frog had no clue what was up, but he "walked" all over the place, trick-or-treated for the first time (he put the candy back — could it be? Do we have a non-sugar-lover on our hands? Wishful thinking), and just generally enjoyed being alive, which is mostly what he does all the time anyway.

We were lucky to be in the company of some other adorable animals, like a fox, a dragon and a lion. The costume award, however, goes to my friends who dressed their cutie as a shark. Hello, irony much? I love it.

Hope everyone is coming off of their sugar highs in the aftermath of All Hallow's Eve. And, on a serious note, I hope everyone on the East Coast is staying sane and safe in the wake of this devastating storm.

PHOTO CAPTION: I can walk. And I'm a frog. Daddy, what's a frog?

PHOTO CAPTION 2: My Katniss costume was an epic fail. My friends only knew what I was because of yesterday's blog post. When I pointed out, "look -- combat boots!" or "Look, an army jacket!" they just said, "but those are your boots. And your army jacket. You look like... you." Ah, well.

*Egads! What is wrong with me? This post is long, too. Stop me. Please.