Author: amberhj

Holiday sweetness

Posted on by amberhj

A couple days ago, Stella and I made a gingerbread house. Actually, I put it together following step-by-step instructions, while she ate the chimney, tree, and most of the roof’s structurally necessary frosting. Later, the same frosting would come out of my nose, because I can’t resist it either, and Stella made me laugh while I bent over to pick her up.

Even slightly off-kilter peace is worth striving for.The gingerbread house experience leads me to wonder how babies “know” about candy upon seeing it for the very first time. I opened the gingerbread house kit from Williams-Sonoma, and Stella immediately began gnawing on the package of gumdrops and clawing at sealed cookie components, whining and panting because she could not wait to eat them. Mind you, she’d just eaten a man-sized dinner. I thought she was absolutely full. Besides, this kid had never before seen anything resembling a gumdrop. I asked Cody how she knew instantly what the sweet gems were all about, and he gave a pretty good explanation: “It’s instinctual!  Gum drop detection is part of our evolution.” Of course it is. They’re like berries, but with high fructose corn syrup. Totally necessary for survival–of the holidays.

It’s not just the season’s sweets that get Stella excited. She loves the Christmas tree. She dotes on it with gentle, arms-wide-open hugs. She does laps around it, and inspects all the eye-level ornaments every hour or so, touching them while saying a nasal-y “no.” Because without realizing it, that’s what I taught her to do.

Our new tree bling.For the first several days, the tree was star-less. So I ordered a wonderfully simple star tree topper from Red Envelope, and it arrived during Stella’s nap early this week. I put it up atop the tree right away, admired it proudly for a moment, then promptly forgot about it. Not long after, Stella awoke from her nap. The first thing she did? Gazed up at her new best friend the Christmas tree, smiled, and with her sparkly blue eyes growing ever wider, pointed at the star in dramatic, overly excited fashion. She did the same when I hung my “PEACE” banner on the mantle. She not only smiled and pointed, but actually applauded. The banner isn’t exactly what I’d hoped it would be, but I did put some real work (not to mention money) into it, and the fact that Stella appreciated it so much almost brought tears to my eyes. She’s just so incredibly sweet.

As you can see, Stella understands holiday magic. So do I, and so does my mom. This appreciation, and a general affinity for wonder, has been handed down along with the most unruly cowlicks imaginable. On Tuesday, my mother’s latest act of kindness arrived. It was carefully tucked in tissue paper in the bottom of a large box, in which we also found a package of adorable, unbreakable (genius) ornaments and a classic, wooden, German ornament of a little chef holding a large wooden spoon, which Stella immediately grabbed and pretended to eat with.

This delivery is probably the millionth treasure–holiday or otherwise–that my mom has created for me during my 32 years. For example, on game day throughout high school, I’d consistently find a bit of crafty motivation in my lunch or backpack, like a construction-paper basketball with multi-colored flames shooting off the sides and a markered message along the lines of “Light ’em up!” or “You’re on fire!” Sometimes I really did light ’em up, and I think she’s largely responsible for that. She saved every newspaper article, even the smallest mention of me, and attended just about all of my games. Christmas? Well, that was always magical, even when my parents were young and completely broke. I know, I’m lucky.

I will probably wear the tree skirt to Cody's office Christmas party.So, you’re probably wondering, “What on earth did she give you? A giant diamond she’d made by crushing carbon with her bare hands?” No, it was better. I opened the box to discover that she’d made me the most gorgeous tree skirt ever in the history of Christmas. If Jesus Christ himself had a Christmas tree and accompanying skirt, I’m sure it was nowhere near as holy and beautiful as this. Honestly, I’d searched Etsy for tree skirts last week and found nothing that even compared to my mom’s work of art. In fact, this tree skirt is probably the most wonderful thing I own. It embodies my ideal style, with a design that’s charmingly simple but not at all stark, and plenty of cheerful but balanced color and splashes of bold, joyful pattern. The luxurious fabric and perfect trim are so incredibly stylish yet timeless, and even incorporate the specific colors or our decor. As anyone who has given or received a truly thoughtful, handmade gift knows, it’s more than a tree skirt. It’s even more than an heirloom. It’s a symbol of something much greater. Love, of course! And Martha-Stewart-esque skills that I’ll probably never have.

My holiday banner is too busy and warped by over-gluing. Martha would not eat leftover gingerbread house frosting “glue” straight from the bag, and she probably wouldn’t allow her edible creation to be smudged on all sides with sugary toddler handprints. But who cares? What I lack in skill I make up for with holiday cheer. More importantly, I’ve got an amazing daughter and mother with whom to share it.

Enjoy a quick holiday “hi” from Stella, on one of her rounds…

“Babies”

Posted on by amberhj

(Update: YouTube took it down, so here is the Babies trailer on Moviefone.com, all legal and whatnot.)

I can’t wait to see this documentary.

I suspect that “Babies” will provide some much needed perspective for neurotic U.S. moms like me. For example, lately I’ve been a bit worried about whether Stella will be completely safe when, over the holidays, we stay in a home with a very large dog. Meanwhile, in “Babies,” little Ponijao of Namibia plays on an open, dusty African plain and casually explores the open mouth of a dog. And in Mongolia, Bayarjargal travels in his mothers arms on a motorcycle and has his bath water stolen by a goat. How can you not fall in love with this film?

I wonder, will “Babies” focus only on the magic and wonder of babyhood, or attempt to reveal the full reality? Either way, I’m in. You had me at “Babies.”

Today’s menu: Waffling

Posted on by amberhj

Stella loves fruits and vegetables. The catch? She prefers the plastic kind.Am I the only mom who waffles more than IHOP? I have a feeling the answer is no, but I had to ask.

Because there are days when Stella and I are in a groove, the house is cluttered but not too messy, we have an deeeeelightful outing to Gymboree or the library, Stella sets a new smiling record, and I sink a flag triumphantly into the top of Good Mom Mountain. Then there are the days in which Stella wakes up at 4:30 a.m., eats nothing but cheese and carbs, we don’t leave the house, Stella’s whining reaches epic heights, and I feel like I’m putting FEMA’s Brownie to shame. “Hek of a job, Mommy. Hek of a job.” I get depressed, usually only very briefly but it doesn’t help the rally effort. (That’s when I turn to my sidekick, Coffee.)

Of course, Stella’s eating is an easy trigger for me. When I think back about what she ate today, I don’t feel great. (Why am I thinking back on it then? Great question! Also, ever notice how “not great” is always used as a huge understatement and rarely in a literal way?) My posture reveals that I feel “less than” today. I want to confront it right now to see if my guilt is even justified. I want to look this sinking feeling in the food-covered face. So, LET’S DO THIS…

She had cottage cheese for breakfast with maybe 4 ounces of OJ and a couple bites of wheat toast with the best apricot jam ever made on this planet. Then she had half a banana and water as a rather minimal snack considering the size of breakfast, the kind of snack you might enjoy if incarcerated. Followed by a large helping of my own mac n’ cheese (at least I use whole wheat pasta) and some canned-but-organic baked beans (“lots of iron” I tell myself every other second while she’s eating the sugary legumes) and whole milk. I diced some granny smith to go alongside, knowing full well it was pointless. (I think she had one piece the size of a pea.) She reluctantly had a small serving of oatmeal cooked in cider (with apple sauce and canned pumpkin or squash and milk mixed in after cooking) for the second snack. Then, as seems to be the trend, she didn’t really have a proper dinner because it wasn’t ready by the time she got hungry, so I just fed her many bits of leftover turkey, and a couple grapes as she ran around. (Stella will only eat grapes standing up, she will only spit them out while sitting in her highchair.) As always, we sat down as a family for supper, and I think she had half of a baked sweet potato fry, a few bites of toast (not even close to whole wheat) and more turkey, and milk.

Oh, just reading that, I feel like an idiot. I can see that it’s not a big deal. I can do better, sure. A consistent serving of vegetable would be ace. She’ll do zucchini and cauliflower if I sautee them in olive oil and throw some grated Parmesan on them. Sometimes, peas. If I roast them in just the right way with tomatoes while the planets are aligned with the sun, she’ll have a few pieces of soft carrot. She’ll eat broccoli if we pretend it’s only for us and not for her (I wish I were joking). I’ll work on it. Or maybe I won’t “work on it.” I’ll just try to cook up a batch at the beginning of the week, freeze/refrigerate servings, put them out with her meals and do very little working or worrying on or about it.

So the only other thing hanging over my head at the end of this somewhat “off” day is our activity–or lack thereof. I’m still so unsure about what Stella needs in terms of activities and outings and socialization at this age. I wish I could be more confident in regards to what we do or don’t do. I’m still a bit overly concerned about making sure she snacks and eats well at meals, and this prevents me from being more adventurous at times. I wind up feeling like a lazy ass, or that I’m dooming Stella to my legacy of social awkwardness. But again, I waffle. Sometimes I’m utterly convinced that a 15-month-old does not need expensive “lessons” or other structured programs and that we all need to chill the hell out. Then the next minute, I’m terrified that Stella is missing out or not getting what she needs.

I guess I have some questions: Is mothering confidence even achievable, realistically? How do you know that your toddler is really getting what they need, as they’re moody regardless of what we do? Stella is 15 months old and not in preschool yet–is she going to fail out of kindergarten?

To complete this waffling cycle, I’ll end on a high note. Cody, Stella and I had a fabulous day on Friday at Seattle Center. We hit the Children’s Museum, then walked around the International Fountain, which Stella and I both love and could watch and listen to for hours. (The sky-high and dramatic waterworks are set to sync up with music in mesmerizing fashion.) While at The Children’s Museum, we watched Stella have a ball. Then it happened. In the kid-sized mock grocery store, she played in an amazingly collaborative way with a slightly older boy. OH MY GOD. They were an awesome team. Totally in tune. She unloaded plastic produce (totally eschewing cans and packaged goods, by the way) and handed it to this kid one by one so he could scan it. They were a MACHINE. The timing was amazing. Just as he was done scanning the last item, she was there with the next. He said, “Thank you!” (Stella’s favorite thing to say) every time. She smiled. This was more than mere parallel play and it went on for a very long time. We were ridiculously proud and impressed.

So, what am I worried about? Clearly, Stella is already more socially adept than me. And she’s obviously ready for part-time employment. She’s wonderful. I’m doing something right. Or maybe we parents think we’re more important than we really are. What a relief that would be. At the end of the caffeine-laced, near-veggie-less day, I just want her to be healthy and happy, without my going insane.

A rare moment of peace. Followed by an overwhelming desire to pee.

 

 

Tree’s up!

Posted on by amberhj

 

Stella lights up the room, as per usual.

 

And we only broke one ornament so far. Stella tried to put ornaments on the tree, even getting the right grip on the hook, but then would just turn and hand the ornament to me, as if to say, “Oh you know what you’re doing, why don’t you take care of this for me?”

So, as I come down from a mulled-wine-induced sugar high, I just wanted to post a quick update. We are over-the-top “in the spirit” of the holidays this year. Christmas was always such a magical time for me, and I am very excited about creating some good ol’ wonder for Stella Bella. Our halls are almost completely decked–and I even put a small pink decorative tree in the bathroom. Because I want to make sure we are jolly at absolutely all times. I’m making a holiday banner that looks like it’s on crack–it’s insanely busy with like ten different patterned papers and barely legible because there’s so much going on but, damn it, that thing is going to hang on our mantle as a testament to our enthusiasm for the season.

Lately, I keep thinking how different this holiday season is from last year’s. For starters:

  • No tube! This year’s holiday food issue seems to be how to cut Stella off from the cookies without prompting a melt-down.
  • No waking up every 2.5 hours to tube-feed. However, Stella did wake up at 4:30 a.m. and would not go back to sleep. When this happens, Cody and I take it almost a little too well. Because it’s an incredible night’s sleep when you compare it to last year.
  • No more being trapped at home. We’ll be traveling a bit this year, and for the most part, we are really, really looking forward to it.
  • No more easy holiday photo card shoots. A better camera and some toddler cement boots would help.

Oh and that banner? It will simply read, “PEACE.” Sums it up nicely, I think.

OPRAH!

Posted on by amberhj

I love Oprah Winfrey. I really, really do. But for as long as I’ve known him, because he is apparently not interested in living his best life, Cody has refused to watch more than 5 seconds of  her show. Even when Chris Rock is on. CHRIS ROCK! Okay, maybe he watched 30 seconds of that episode.

So I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when Cody sent me the following email, regarding her decision to end her network show.

 

Subject line:  OMG!

Message:

http://tv.yahoo.com/the-oprah-winfrey-show/show/32704/news/tv.accesshollywood.com/tv.accesshollywood.com-harpo-president-confirms-oprah-winfrey-ending-talk-show-run-network-tv

oprah!  Why!

Then, when he came home from work, we had the following conversation.

Cody: [In expectant, “aren’t-I-hilarious” tone] So, did you get my email?

Me: [In deadpan, unamused, “joke?-what joke?” tone] About Oprah? Yeah… Looks like I only have one more year to reach my goal of being on the Oprah show.

Cody: Better get out your vision board.

Stella hits the gym

Posted on by amberhj

Stella enjoyed her first Gymboree class ever today. By letting her go until 15 months without being enrolled in a “structured program”, I let her become a delinquent, apparently. Well I’m making amends! Not really. Stella’s just incredibly active and we were getting bored. I thought it would be perfect for her.

She just turned 15 months old yesterday. But mainly because she’s been walking for so long and is so good at balancing and climbing and other physical feats, I took her to a class for 16- to 22-month-olds, rather than the one for 10- to 16-month-olds. The woman at the front desk told me they were pretty flexible with the age ranges of the classes, which made me feel more confident about it. We arrived a couple minutes late and I was flustered and wondering if we should even be there, but the staff really put me at ease.

Stella watched solemnly from my lap for much of the time. Two teachers went above and beyond to assure me that it’s totally normal for kids that age who are new to the program to simply watch the others at first. Stella definitely stood back. She seemed awed, fascinated and, while not at all upset, a little nervous. She did explore a bit. She walked up some plank that you are supposed to crawl up. She jumped off a platform, went to town on a giant rocking horse contraption, slid down the slide, kept throwing two balls overhand at the same time with one in each hand (with impressive form, a small thing but I so appreciated it), and approached a couple of kids in a friendly manner.

I was reminded again today, in looking at the slightly older toddlers, how lean Stella is. She’s just as tall as they are, but appears small because she’s so thin. Perhaps that’s why she already seems like such an athlete. After all, her triceps are more defined than mine! (Okay, that’s not saying much.) While her eating has received way too much attention, I’m starting to believe that her build has less to do with intake and more to do with her insane activity level. I was reminded today that her leanness serves her well. Stella climbed up on a teeter-totter, with seats on both ends and bars across the middle. She climbed up onto it, unfazed by its rocking motion, and sat right the middle with her skinny legs stuck through the slats, arms outstretched and holding the side of the teeter-totter behind her, moving side to side. The teacher said she’d never seen anyone use it that way before. What a trailblazer!

At the very end of the class, as Jimbo the puppet said his goodbyes to everyone, Stella got up from my lap, ran away on her tippy toes and pointed at Jimbo. She was finally comfortable, and it was time to go. Of course. I had to peel her off of the rocking horse.

This could be the beginning of a lot of gym time for Stella, and I am prepared to be alternately dazzled and supportive.

Boots for standing up in

Posted on by amberhj

Babies and toddlers are social magnets. Compliments zing through the air to make their way to you. Strangers swoon in your direction. Silly commentary slides along the sidewalk and lands at your feet. It warms my heart to see people react in an open and friendly way to Stella and all children for that matter.  That’s the way it should be.  Children, especially little ones, are still deciding just what this world is all about and gauging their place in it. A warm reception to this planet is what they need and deserve.

But that magnet sure is powerful. I’ve noticed that once in a long while, a baby’s magnetic magic can draw out the ugliness in some not-so-well-adjusted folks, the ones who perhaps were not warmly received here on earth themselves. So, not all of our run-ins with people on the street have been positive. Maybe it’s because we live in an urban area, where there are many people living very close together yet somehow with much distance separating them.

I’m still processing what happened, but while strolling Ballard this morning, we had a disturbing run-in with two men. I really don’t want to ever repeat what they said, which apparently seemed to them to be a harmless, hilarious joke.  It was too disturbing. Beyond inappropriate. Pretty much unfathomable to me or any parent.

Here’s what I’ll say about the interaction. They said something friendly to Stella. They seemed happy to see her. I said hello on behalf of Stella and myself, Stella stumbled, they reacted in a jovial manner, and I smiled and moved Stella along. They laughed a little too hard as we walked away.

Then, a block or two later, I processed their jovial response. And I got the joke. And it was not okay, not remotely okay. And I’d smiled at them as we parted. Did they think I was in on the joke? Oh god, no. No, no, no. I turned around. They were nowhere in sight. I made a quick, admittedly unfair judgement based on the way they were dressed that (at that non-commuting hour) they may have been headed for the bus stop. Two or three blocks later, I found them there. I confronted them. I confronted them because it was not right in any way. Because that kind of bullshit toward children can not be tolerated, and because I desperately, desperately needed to defend Stella (and me).

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt as confident heading into any other confrontation in my life. I was so calm, so lucid, so certain of what I needed to do. With Stella in my arms, I approached them and said, “Excuse me. Did you make an inappropriate joke about my daughter?” There was a brief but possibly telling pause. Or maybe they were in shock. They denied everything, and explained what they’d said. They made very sad expressions. I looked them both dead in the eye, I told them I’d heard the joke and heard their laughter. Again they tried to explain it. I took in their solemn faces and their responses. I so, so wanted to believe them, but upon reflection, my gut did not. There was nothing more I could do, and it didn’t really matter. I’d done what I had to do. I told them, “Okay, I hope not. I’m a protective mom and I needed to stand up for my daughter.” The more vocal of the two said, “That’s good.” We turned and left them there, waiting for their bus.

This had not been on my agenda, but I proceeded to walk into the boutique behind the bus stop, where I bought a pair of ass-kicking Frye boots for me, and some rain boots for Stella. Somehow, it seemed entirely appropriate.

Moving on.

Look what Stella can do!

Posted on by amberhj

Stella says “Thank you.”

Originally uploaded by codatious1

I wanted to share a few of Stella’s latest tricks…

She not only uses the more sign (that’s old hat) but she says “more”, with the inflection of a question, while she does it.

She’s starting to string words together. Stella says, “Thank you!” a lot. We were at the park the other day, and saw a baby. When the baby was carted away in her stroller, Stella waved and said, “Bye, baby!” I also heard her say “Bye, daddy!” when Cody left for a basketball game.

She can climb anything: rocking chairs, pianos, couches, dining chairs, benches, parents, etc. The core strength required for this is impressive.

Stella’s been giving us kisses for a couple months now, but it’s starting to happen more and more often, and we relish it. The kisses are mostly tongue, and sometimes snot is left on my cheek, but I love them so much.

Stella refers to some of her books with appropriate words. For example, one of her favorites is called, “Is Your Mama a Llama?” She points to it and says “Mama” when she wants to read it. She points to “Daddy’s Girl” and says “Daddy” when she wants to read that one. She roars when she wants to read the book featuring a lion.

By now she can make a good number of animal sounds: pig (really sounds like sniffing as opposed to snorting but you get the idea); lion, bear and tiger (all are scruffy roars); dog; cat; snake; cow; bird. If you ask her what an animal says and she doesn’t know, she’ll make something up. To me, that’s just as fun to see as her getting it right.

Stella can point to her: bellybutton, toes, head, hair, nose, eyes, ear, and elbow, and she can say most those words too. If I say “cheek,” she’ll kiss me on my cheek, causing me to melt into a puddle.

She waves to random people on the street. Some people respond by brightening up and waving back. Some people don’t notice or pretend not to notice, so I wave back to Stella myself.

Stella is getting more demanding and can throw one heck of a fit. I refer to this development area as her “tantrum skills.” They are excellent, very advanced.

She says new words just about every day, even if she doesn’t use them very often. Hearing her say a new word never gets old. I can’t wait to have actual conversations with her.

Goodbye, breastfeeding guilt.

Posted on by amberhj

I destroyed the structural integrity of my boobs–what little there was–with an expensive, rented hospital grade breast pump in order to collect 500 ounces of milk that Stella would never drink. It sucked in every way.

Worse was the guilt and anxiety. None of it made any sense, but thankfully, it’s over. I was not able to breastfeed Stella past 11 and a half weeks and I am officially 100% okay with that. I feel a new sense of freedom and confidence. I really, really do. This can only be very good for me and Stella.

In an attempt to completely resolve any lingering bad feelings, I’ve been reading a blog called The Fearless Formula Feeder, where I found a link to this article in The Times. Against a backdrop of breastfeeding mania, this article is explosive. This exploration of the data (or lack thereof) behind breastfeeding’s benefits seems more comprehensive and credible and less emotive and debatable than Hanna Rosin’s notorious Atlantic article,  “The Case Against Breastfeeding”, which I also greatly appreciated. The bottom line is that it’s just not that big a deal. Breastfeeding is wonderful for some women and their babies, but its benefits have been greatly and widely overstated. Guilt and judgment toward formula-feeding moms has been unfair, out of control, and as it turns out, baseless.

I overthink things. So naturally, instead of letting go, I’d been doing a bit of research that helped chip away at my disappointment and breastmilk’s holy image. When you look closely at the actual studies, the mirage disappears almost completely. Of course there are some benefits to breastfeeding but they appear to be relatively small.  Furthermore, while there’s no way to know for sure, most of the benefits shown are likely due to the fact that breastfeeding moms are a self-selected population and are simply “the kind of moms” who tend to be more educated in general and in regards to childcare, more responsible, interested and engaged as a whole, and more financially ABLE to give their kids “the best” in many areas. It’s difficult if not impossible for studies to account for this.

The media tends to jump on any studies that suggest potential breastfeeding benefits, while completely ignoring the many, many studies that show no difference between breastfed and formula fed babies. Science has not been able to back up the “breastmilk as miracle cure” message. The main advantage of breastfeeding, in my experience, is that you don’t have to deal with the hassle of preparing and cleaning bottles, and you avoid the cost of formula. On the other hand, if you are frustrated with a feeding or parenthood in general, plastic bottles are great for throwing across the room–a major plus that can’t be overlooked. Ahem.

Like Rosin and the author of the Times article, the Fearless Formula Feeder is by no means anti-breastfeeding. She simply wants to defend formula feeders, and cleverly calls herself a “factivist.” It’s interesting to now look back and think about the “facts” I received about breastfeeding from all kinds of people and sources. I remember hearing in childcare and childbirth classes, in broad terms, that “breast was best.” This message is also plastered on every can of formula (thanks for rubbing it in, by the way). I was told that breastfed babies are smarter and healthier, and have better bonds with their mothers. More specifically, I heard that breastfed babies have fewer incidences of diarrhea and ear infections.

At the end of the day, I know my child better than any study. Here’s what I’ve experienced: Stella’s brilliant, ahead of the curve in every area. We share an incredibly close bond. She’s 14 months old and has never had an ear infection. And, drum roll, please… her eight-week bout of diarrhea STOPPED with her first bottle of formula. Just sayin’.

At this point, my only regret is that I didn’t stop breastfeeding sooner, so as to more quickly relieve her pain, prevent her feeding aversion, and end our stress and suffering. I was not able to stop until all hell broke loose and Stella wound up with a feeding tube. Why? Because of all the “facts” I heard about breastfeeding. It simply wasn’t possible that we could fail at breastfeeding, because breastfeeding is perfect and miraculous. I contacted a La Leche League leader and the very rude Jack Newman and several other breastfeeding experts over the phone or via email, and these well-known experts’ conclusion was that I must be doing something wrong. One supposedly all-knowing Ph.D. / IBCLC, after hearing the horrors of our situation, suggested, “Hold her more securely–don’t let her feet dangle. Babies need to feel secure.” If I could have punched her through the phone, I would have. Other high-profile experts said the problem was latch and that at Stella’s advanced age (10 weeks), it was too late to fix. This was stated with disapproval and disappointment, because clearly I hadn’t enforced proper latch. I cut out dairy and soy and tried even the dumbest suggestions. This led to a lot of crying and failure and desperation. To all that, I can now officially say, “BULLSHIT.”

I must  note that thankfully, at that difficult point in our lives, not all voices of authority shared an insane breastfeed-at-all-costs mentality. A renowned lactation consultant and a wonderful pediatrician helped me make the decision to stop breastfeeding. They said I may want to consider formula-feeding and that it would be okay. That breastfeeding’s toll was clearly too high, and that it simply wasn’t the be-all-end-all of child health. I didn’t believe them at first. But eventually, I was able to do what was best for us. I will always be grateful to them for being so sane, for being a voice of reason and compassion not just for Stella but for me, too. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

All is not lost.

Posted on by amberhj

How can a mere misplaced item spark such rage?

This morning, I could not find:

  • My boots. The ones I wear all the time. Eventually found them in the front closet with the rest of our shoes. I’m pretty sure Cody put them away just to mess with me.
  • Stella’s right shoe. It was nowhere near the left one. Later discovered in a far, dark corner of the living room between our hutch and the wall. Of course.
  • The ERGO carrier. Turns out it was in the same place as always.Where it belongs. In the kitchen by the back door. Hadn’t used it in a couple weeks, and it hadn’t moved in that time.
  • My mind. Still looking.

Minor inconvenience? To most. For me, it resulted in clenched-fist fury! I could not see straight, which only made the hunt more difficult. I was so angry, because we’d already been awake for two and a half hours without doing anything semi-productive or quasi-enjoyable (productivity is  not how I measure a morning, trust me) aside from picking at breakfast. Where do those hours go? I remember reading Stella a few stories, which slowed down my post-breakfast clean-up efforts. Then I sort of just hung out with her on the couch in the office for a while, helping her do somersaults–she recently figured out how to climb up on the furniture and treats couches as gyms. At some point, I wet my hair and dried it about halfway so I didn’t look quite so nuts and disheveled. We brushed out teeth together. I rinsed off my face, which is close enough to washing it–I’m out of cleanser and moisturizer and resorted to using olive oil last night. From the permanent pile of clothes on top of my dresser, I unearthed yesterday’s jeans and deemed them clean enough to wear. I cobbled together an outfit for Stella that passed my minimum cuteness standards. I packed a makeshift diaper bag with the bare essentials. And that’s precisely when steam began pouring out of my ears as I tried to pinpoint the location of our footwear and ergonomically superior baby backpack. Of course, as I searched high and low for these items (ie looked in the same potential hiding spots over and over again expecting them to suddenly appear), Stella grabbed books, brought them to me, tugged on my pant leg, and cried. The entire time.

At one point during the morning’s madness, I actually stopped and listened to what I was saying to myself. I’m pretty sure I called myself an idiot about a dozen times, not to mention a frighteningly disorganized failure and lazy mom whose shoe-losing ways are no doubt eroding Stella’s potential and endangering her even foot development. And to make matters worse, I’m pretty sure that the stack of thank-you cards on the bookshelf, with names written on them but no addresses, looked at me and nodded in total agreement with these negative thoughts. Not only is my mental dialogue insane and uncool, it’s melodramatic.

I have phases where I get so down on myself so fast. Examples abound, but Facebook comes to mind. I want to quit Facebook, but can’t. I’ve noticed that the oh-so-sunny and wonderful virtual representations others create of themselves using pictures of their gorgeous new homes and perfectly happy children and new cars and other symbols of “success” lead me to feel crappy.  Don’t get me wrong, if we owned a lovely home, I’d be showing it off for sure, because due to the hard work and pride naturally involved. But status updates like, “Feeling so grateful for my life. Everything is wonderful!” kind of make me want to vomit, especially when posted every other day. I hope that these are genuine expressions by well-intentioned people, but come on! No, Facebook is not all bad. I do enjoy some fun banter with Facebook friends which helps me feel less isolated, but sometimes, I log off feeling “less than.” It sucks. I’m reminded of a brilliant quote along the lines of, “Don’t compare your inside to someone’s outside.” I try to keep that in mind, but it doesn’t help. I’m holding myself up to some high standards, and I’m not sure they’re even possible to meet.

Well, after a couple of emails to my husband, who has nothing better to do at work than help me find things that are right in front of me, I found all the “missing” stuff. Almost three hours after waking up, Stella and I headed downtown on a birthday mission for Cody. He turns 38 today. Happy Birthday, sweets! (I’ll report on the birthday festivities once they are complete, this weekend.) While he and Stella attend Waterbabies, I’ll be cooking a German feast for him, with ingredients sourced from Pike Place Market, to be followed by his favorite dessert in the world: Dahlia’s coconut cream pie. We won’t eat until just after 8:30, when Stella goes to bed. You know, so as to spend more than five minutes with a meal.

Our morning completely turned around once we were out and about. Funny how that happens. Stella clearly loves Pike Place Market, and being downtown with all the people, sights and sounds, and I love that about her. We had a fabulous time. The ladies at the bakery were fittingly sweet. We snacked on Dahlia’s sour cream vanilla bean coffee cake and sampled organic plum and pear. We stopped to listen to a piano man, and Stella particularly enjoyed (judging from all her bouncing) the old timey tunes by The Tallboys. One of the gospel singers that are stationed near the original Starbucks cheerfully called Stella “a bottle o’ joy” and pretty much made my day with his enthusiasm. Stella took a stroll down the less-busy Post Alley, where she tried on some boots and an old woman in a tall leopard-print hat stopped to chat with her. We watched and waited as someone spent about $500 on ingredients for an Oktoberfest dinner at Bavarian Meats Delicatessen. I was inspired but all I had left on my list was swiss cheese for spaetzle. On our way out of the Market, I grabbed some plums and pluots and Stella and I shared a smoothie in which every single ingredient was grown at a local farm. They use their own cider as a base and Stella and I agreed that it really worked.

Then I saw it:  the parking ticket. We were ten minutes late. But to my surprise, fire did not shoot out of my eyes. I simply didn’t care. We lingered at the car, continuing to enjoy our smoothie. It dawned on me in that moment to appreciate how content Stella had been throughout our long-ish adventure. It was worth an extra $25.

This calls for a new Facebook status: “Wow, what a fabulous morning. Life is good and I’m truly blessed!” Gag me with the truth.