YIPPEE-KAI-YAI-YAY

I just hired my first ever babysitter. This is MAJOR cause for celebration. I thought about taking the whole fam out for a celebratory dinner, but decided to make a regular fiesta dinner.

I never thought it would take 13 months for me to get around to hiring a babysitter. I never thought we’d go on only two dates in one year. I also never thought it would take me 13 months to realize this was a problem. A MAJOR problem.

But she’s coming and I promise not to scare her away. Or at least I’ll try.

Get a Job

It’s that time. I wasn’t sure it would happen. I thought maybe I’d be little “mother earth” for the next 10-odd years and raise babies into creative and amazing little kids and cook three course dinners and learn to sew their clothes and knit socks. I thought I’d be happy to spend 24 hours a day, nearly every day, with my little tiger and all the future mini monsters I conceive (and I use the term “monsters” with the utmost affection - the kind you use for a 2 1/2 foot person who one minute grabs you in a bear hug and buries his head in your neck and the next minute hits you over the head with a board book and lets out a huge belly laugh....yeah. monster).

But I’m not. It’s taken me 13 months to realize it, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for that life. Maybe it’s just our recent trip, but I suddenly crave distance from my child. And that’s not something I like to admit!

My therapist says I’m jumping the gun. She says I shouldn’t be thinking about a job. Yet. She says I should just seek ways of getting a break. A break from the house, the kid, the life I currently lead. So apparently she’s offering an all-expense-paid trip to Vegas for a month, right? Wrong. I soooo wish.

No, she’s suggesting a babysitter, a date night here and there, a(nother) mommy group, a gymboree class or 3. All on my dime. Or more accurately, on Veggie’s dime, since without a job I do not actually contribute to our monetary income unless of course you consider depletion a contribution. I sometimes do. consider it.

But I’m still gonna think about a job. Maybe something part-time, fun, pays just enough to cover child care, interesting enough to keep my mind sharp but not so much responsibility that I get fired cause there’s a sale at REI and I just have to go use my 20% off coupon before it expires! That’s not too much to ask, is it?

So if you see any job listings that I might be interested in, send them my way...

“Portage Bay Cafe - our favorite so far”

I’ve let my “Over Easy” breakfast spot reviews fall by the wayside, so here’s another for all the Seattlites out there...

I discovered Portage Bay Cafe (PBC) on my first morning ever as a Seattle resident and I’ve been addicted ever since. I know I won’t do a good enough job describing it here, you’ll just have to see for yourself. But here are some of the high points.

The wait may be long, but that’s often the sign of greatness, and PBC is no exception. If you’re an early riser (or junior is) the wait is less than 15 minutes before 9 am. And while you wait, busy waitresses multi-task at the coffee bar filling double lattes and drips into hefty mugs, and they trust you to tell your server so you won’t have to get your wallet out twice. Once you’re seated, coffee is topped off, orders taken, and food delivered by the time your little one finishes his O cereal appetizer.

Food is generous and hot, and features local and organic produce. Pancakes and french toast come with an open invitation to the breakfast bar, a decent spread of fresh and previously frozen fruit and whipped cream. My favorites are the pancetta cake and saffron sauce Benedict, and the once a year pumpkin-filled french toast. Veggie likes the cinnamon twister french toast, and his only complaint is the scrambles tend to have dry eggs. But most of the time we go with the specials - they’re often the most interesting mix of local and delightful ingredients.

Tables in the banquet room are geared for large groups and families, with paper-topped tables and jars of crayons. The waiting area has a bin of toys, too. The staff is friendly and happy. And best of all it’s dependable - I have yet to have a bad experience at PBC. So for that, we compare nearly every other breakfast spot to Portage Bay.

A Bonus: about a month ago we dropped in at PBC just before 9am on our way to drop relatives at the airport. But the 25 minute wait was going to make us late for their flight. Luckily we’ve somehow become regulars, so the guy with the list just shuffled us right in to a table. Past 20 or so hungry, waiting, would-be diners. Just. Like. That. Now is that service, or what? Become a regular and you’ll get the rockstar treatment too ;)

Fly Away Home

I used to love going home. Love it. In college, I’d stick my stressed out brain and a bag of laundry in the car and head home and the minute I walked in the door all the tests and other crap would just disappear and I’d happily let my mom cook for me while I downed wine with my dad and let the dog slobber all over my jeans. But I’m not a college kid any more, and home is here, in Seattle, with Veggie, Kdog, my crappy kitchen and my basement drowning in 18 loads of laundry. And now when I go “home” to see my family, I bring my stress with me...in the form of a 33 inch (give or take) munchkin who randomly decides to nurse like a newborn and keep me up all hours of the night. I should have known I was in for trouble when mealtimes with Punkin became a losing battle just days before we headed east. But how was I to know his erupting molars and wonky tummy would send him on an all out hunger strike? And no amount of tylenol or infant motrin would seduce him to sleep more than 2 or 3 hours at a time?

Well, I didn’t, and he did, and after many days of sleepless nights and letting him literally suck me dry all day long I finally came to several conclusions (which I may or may not disregard in my fickle way once we’re back to some semblance of normalcy).

1) From now on nursing will be on my terms, dear sir, and no more than, oh....3 times a day? Or is that too harsh? I’ll come up with a number...maybe tomorrow...and then, dammit we’re stickin to it, ya hear me? No more slamming yer head into my chest every time you’re thirsty - you’ll get water and like it! No more furious grunting each time you bonk yer head - can’t we just cuddle and not drain mommy of every last drop of energy she has? Do I sound a bit mean and undone. Well, perhaps that’s because I am. Undone. Thanks to you, little man, I walk around supermarkets with my bra hanging loose cause my brain can’t be bothered with remembering silly details like that.

2) Git out of my bed! Give me back my husband. I want to snuggle with him for a change. You need to learn to sleep. On your own. I’ll be hear for nightmares and sick times, but nothing more. I am drawing the line and taking back my sleep...tomorrow....or maybe next week?

3) I’m taking back my brain. The fog has been lifted. I am not pure-mom material. I must use my brain for things other than feeding, folding, fierce tantrums and foolish fun. I must take time to be away...from the house, the chores, the child, the endless hours of sitting on the living room floor. I am going to seek employment and I wish my boss, for at least part of the week, to be over 4 ft tall and speak in full sentences. Or maybe not. Maybe just for now I’m going to take a few hours each week for myself.

Will I finally cut that umbilical cord? I never bother making New Year’s resolutions...Check back in a few weeks and I’ll tell you just how fickle I really am.

Correction

I said in an earlier post that Punkin was 95% bigger than other 1 year olds. While I would love to tell you this is indeed true because then you might understand just why my arms fell off yesterday and must be surgically reattached to my body, he is not actually 95% bigger. This would make him, oh, about 47 lbs and over 4 feet tall. yeahhhhhh....no.
He's just bigger than 95% of other 1 year olds. Thanks for the correction, Veggie. My brain has officially left on permanent vacation.

One step for mankind...

Yesterday Punkin took a step. One step. No help. One step. Nothing to hold onto. One step.

Veggie and I attempted to restrain our excitement. You know, so we didn't scare Punkin away from a repeat performance. We didn't do such a good job. You would have thought the taxman had come to our door and said "HERE'S A MILLION BUCKS, TAX FREE, GO CRAZY!!"


I whipped out the video camera, Veggie propped up the little man again, and we prepared to document step #2 properly.

All we got was a giggling, noodle-legged baby that thought this ridiculous game was just too funny but ok parents now that's enough and I have toys to play with so LEAVE ME ALONE. thank you.

All attempts to elicit more steps have been mocked.

Flying the friendly skies

I gotta buy some plane tix for this summer and my over-analyzing, sleep-deprived brain is making this simple task an enormous project. I'm flying with the Punkin, alone, across the country. This is not something I look forward to, but since I've done it already I know there's not much to worry about (besides a crap-filled diaper at the beginning of take-off, but Punkin usually shows respectful restraint in the untimely poop category).

Stressor #1 = Price: With the outrageous price of jet-fuel and the pending major airline mergers, ticket prices look astronomical to my budget-minded brain. Despite that, I really want to get the little monster his own seat this time. At +/- 24 lbs and a body 95% larger than most 1 year olds, he literally swallows up my lap, kicks neighboring passengers in his sleep, and comes dangerously close to losing a few toes when the drink cart comes by. And he's not getting any smaller.


Stressor #2 = baby friendly airlines (aka flight attendants that don't scowl at a +1 year old breastfeeding without cover-up). I gotta admit, the Delta airlines scandal of 2006 makes me wary, not to mention their pending merger with Northwest and all the potential for royally screwing up something as a result.

Stressor #3 = sleep sleep sleep. Red-eyes are not a practical solution for me. I do not sleep on planes unless drugged (not an option when flying with a toddler) or sacked out in a fully reclining business-class seat (a one-time luxurious experience that may never be repeated...sniff). And flying from Seattle to Texas to New York to Boston is, like, dumb.

So what would you do? What's your favorite, kid-friendly airline? Is one stop and a break from the airplane better than flying 5 hours straight with a cranky toddler? Please help. Please. Pretty please?

Kiwis make funny haha

Insight into married life...

Inflatable Husband

I need a blow up hubby. A backup. Just in case. Don’t take this the wrong way, Veggie, I’m not being morbid. Just practical. Because I’ve realized I’m seriously inept without you. I spent 10 days being a single parent and I’m really really bad at it! But it’s not just that I can’t do it alone. I truly don’t believe anyone else could do what Veggie does - whether it’s soothing Punkin back to sleep at 3am when I’m ready to drop kick them both out of my bed, or insisting on hugging me every day, no matter what, and always remembering. Ok maybe a clone would be better. A blow up doll would be crushed under the weight of Punkin’s 24 lbs. Although he might make a good punching bag when Punkin reaches his hitting and kicking phase...

Important Public Service Announcement

Ben and Jerry's has brought back from the dead Coffee Heath Bar Crunch! I'm treating myself to a cup...no, a bowl...slathered with hot fudge, and some Bachelor (one of my few...ok MANY...silly indulgences). Ahhhh.....I highly recommend treating yourself to something scrumptiously yummy chocolaty and some silly chick tv. It's a good night for it.

Monthly Punkin: 13

There are certain things I should write down, for the sake of posterity, so when you’re thirty and maybe have your own kids I can actually tell you what you were like as a one year old. So here’s the list:

Favorite Foods: Blueberries, hands down. Followed closely by grapes (aka Baby Crack). Raisins, dried blueberries and Goji berries are tied for third. Yogurt, by itself, or mixed with anything you thought you didn’t like. Everything else is just dog food.

Your many wiles: Master at applause and slippin’ some skin. Recently achieved a manual sayonara (that’s bye-bye). Practicing ambulation, with a little assistance of course.

And your wills: Smell the flowers. All of them. Over. And over. And over again. Drink from your mama’s cup, or dad’s. Put the top on. On anything. And take it off again. Chase and be chased. Open and close doors. Never be cleaned, except if it involves full body immersion, duckies, and splashing. Lots of splashing.

Sounds: Mamamama. Dadadada. Dah. Ohhhh. Ommmmmm (my little buddha).

The greatest thing(s): Your sound effects as you careen through the living room behind your trusty steed, the chomp n’ clack.

In rare moments, lucky moments, you remember how, and briefly, without barely noticing, you give me a kiss on the cheek.

Your contagious belly laugh.

Diet: Making parents go bananas

I just came across a website listing all the foods my child should not eat now that we know he has an egg allergy. Here's the list:

• baked goods - breads and rolls, pancakes, cakes, cookies, cream-filled pies, meringue, French toast, waffles, doughnuts, muffins, crackers, pretzels, baking mixes, and dessert powders; the shiny yellow glaze effect on many baked goods is achieved by using eggs or egg products
• beverages - eggnog, beer, root beer, Orange Julius, Ovaltine, wine, coffee, latte
• breaded or batter-fried foods - breaded meats (such as chicken nuggets), meatballs, meatloaf, sausage
• commercial egg substitutes - many of which are made with egg whites
• desserts - chocolate candies filled with cream fillings, marshmallow candy, fudge, icing, custard, pudding, ice cream, sherbet, gelatin desserts
• pasta - egg noodles, vermicelli, macaroni, spaghetti
• salad dressings and sauces - béarnaise sauce, hollandaise sauce, Newburg sauce, Caesar dressing, mayonnaise, cream sauces, tartar sauce
• soups - clear soups and broth, noodle soups, consommé, Chinese egg-drop soup

Yeah, anyone notice a problem here?? Like, what isn't on the list? Breeding paranoia much? So now my kid is supposed to live off edamame and cheerios? You'll be glad to know I plan to actively IGNORE this website and (almost) everything it has to say. The exception being all those weird names they use for egg derivatives, like albumin and ovomucoid. Sounds like a disease, not a food product.

Thankfully Punkin has decided bananas are his new best friend. Whereas before I couldn't get him to eat them unless they were artfully disguised as mush in yogurt, he now eats bananas by the 2 inch chunk. He has singlehandedly consumed an entire bunch of bananas in under a week. He also grips things with his toes and swings from the banister by his tail while simultaneously screeching and itching his armpits. OOOOH OOOH. ooh ooh ooooooh.

Hiatus

It's been seven (7?) days since I last posted and I'm really really sorry to be so negligent but you see I have several excuses. Which I'll get to later. But for now I'll just let you know I've been traveling, with a teething, sick kid, who got me sick, and I think we're both homesick. And now he's just woken up at 11pm and I must go. Too-da-loo.