Miguelina

Super Zinnias

I bought a packet of zinnia seeds the other day. (I swear this isn't going to turn into a gardening blog.)

Let me explain why I bought seeds: My husband was out of town and I thought that planting them and watching them grow would be a fun educational activity for my three-year old. And I was desperate for something to do with the kid, so a $5.99 packet of seeds seemed like a great idea at the time. (The time being at the grocery store with two hungry kids and an entire afternoon to fill. All by myself. Did I mention that already? WOE IS ME.)

This may come as a shock to you, but the kid lost interest in planting the seeds after 3 minutes - coincidentally, the amount of time it took me to open the seed packet. He got bored with the seed-plant-flower life cycle and became fascinated with an earthworm. I wouldn't let him torture it with a twig, so he got angry and emptied the entire packet of seeds in one spot. And then we went inside the house because his screaming tantrum was scaring his little brother, and two screaming kids in the hot sun is No Fun At All.

What happened next? Nothing. I completely forgot about the flowers...until yesterday that is, when I noticed a bunch of seedlings growing in the general area where Sebastian had emptied the packet of seeds. I was honestly surprised that the seeds managed to thrive since I never watered or fed them or even bothered to cover them in dirt. Since those seeds survived such neglect, I figured the least I could do was thin them out. And that is how I spent a lovely Sunday morning: Carefully digging the seedlings out, prepping the earth, and replanting them in neat little rows. I then watered them and admired my handiwork for a bit.

It was a lot of work, but it was worth it. They looked so happy now that they could breathe!

My hands were already dirty, so I thought I might as well go back and tackle the scary corner of the yard that has become overgrown with weeds. (I should tell you, that's where the brown hairy spiders have made their home. Funny how that works.) However, I'd been such a gardening rockstar all morning that I wasn't going to let some furry insects stop me, no matter how scary and jumpy.

So I took a deep breath, got on my knees, and go to work.

It didn't take long for me to notice that the weeds looked...familiar - VERY familiar. I ripped one out of the ground and headed to my "zinnia" patch.

It was a perfect match.

I've either spent a perfectly fine Sunday morning lovingly and carefully thinning weeds or the spiders have been growing zinnias, and they're better at it than me. I'm pissed off either way.

The Perfect Red

Tuesday mornings are the one day a week I have a sitter - i.e. the only mid-week day I can get some work done. Some days I'm so spent I just greet her in my PJs, hand over the kids and let them fend for themselves as I collapse back into bed and pay an exorbitant hourly rate so I can get some sleep.

And then there are days like today, when I greet her at door ready to leave the house in a black 50's skirt and B&W striped tee (my husband said I look like a cross-dressing mime - I do not!); days when I leave the contacts in the case and wear my nerd glasses (-6.5 right eye, -5.75 left eye - yes I'm blind) and I head out the door to get my first pedicure of the year.

Is there anything more decadent?

Probably. But I have small kids, and at this stage in my life it's about as good as it gets.

I always spend WAY too much time reading the names of the OPI and ESSIE bottles at the nail salon - tempted by new colors and funny names like "Argenteeni Pinkiny," "High Maintenance," and "My Chihuahua Bites!" But I always go with my favorite color, a red so sexy and classic and candy perfect that today a stranger at the coffee shop where I'm working asked me for the name of the color.

Because we're friends, I'll tell you guys too: My go-to fail-safe pedicure color is Opi's Chick Flick Cherry (see it on another woman's toes here because I don't have a camera with me.) Trust me, it'll look awesome on you.

Tell me, what's your favorite polish? Maybe I'll try it next time I get a pedicure...

My harshest critic...

"You are not a princess today!"

What my three year-old said after seeing today's outfit (sweatshirt+jeans+slippers - SO SUE ME.)

Priceless Work of Art

We're proudly displaying this original piece over the family room fireplace:

"Fishy" 2008

Artist: Sebastian, aged 3

Medium: Tempera on Wood

Purchase price: One LU "Little Schoolboy" cookie and a chocolate milk. Before dinner.

Turns out I'm brilliant instead of lazy

Anxious parents: its time to put your feet up and relax.  It’s OK to dump the flashcards, shut off the Mozart, and turn off those obnoxious Baby Einstein DVDs.  Turns out the very best thing you can do for your child’s intellectual development is to let them play with plain old blocks.

As it turns out, my laissez-faire approach to parenting is actually a brilliant strategic move.  Phew!

This article in the Boston Globe Magazine brings up a couple of interesting points about the wisdom of letting children develop at their own pace; the theory is that children that peak too early academically suffer from “neurological crowding” where too much information too soon actually clogs up synapses in the brain that could be used for more creative tasks in later years.  Late bloomers tend to outperform early achievers because their brains develop later, say at around 12 years versus 8 years, so their brains adapt to a more complex world. 

Makes sense to me.

The author also warns about the very real risk that late bloomers, despite having greater potential than early achievers, may never realize that potential because they don’t meet the unreasonable expectations of today’s competitive childhood academic environment. 

Remember kids, all work and no play is stupid.

Sick, sicker and sickest

There is nothing more boring that reading about stomach viruses and nasty colds, so I'll spare you.  Just imagine me and my two children passing the viruses back and forth like hot potatoes.  Then imagine the baby's fourth and fifth teeth breaking through simultaneously.  Oh, and don't forget my garage door breaking, trapping us in the garage for a bit.  And then when we finally make our escape (to a fun trip to the pediatrician's on a Saturday morning) discovering that both my front tires are dangerously low on air.  Cue me having to beg for someone (anyone!) to help me figure out what to do.  Thank goodness for kind strangers (who still took the last $10 I had in my purse because I felt I had to tip and thought it would be tacky to ask for five bucks back.) 

(It would've been tacky, right?)

Then imagine my husband being far, far away (in Europe), missing all the fun.

This has been going on since Wednesday.  I've lost 3 pounds already.  Bah.

I do have really exciting news that I can't wait to share.  It's great, trust me.  But both kids are asleep, and I'm going to join them.

See you next week.  Be good and wash your hands after you're done reading.  I wouldn't want you to catch this too.

A Very Soggy Story

With a four day weekend tantalizingly ahead of us, my husband and I discussed how we could fill that time.  A short getaway to Montreal?  Shopping for much-needed furniture perhaps?  Sleeping in?

Wrong!

While those things sound fantastic we're now knee-deep in this parenting gig and that means that our precious stretch of "free" time would have to be filled up with more important things.  Things like teaching a 2.9 year old the art of making "pee-pee" and "poo-poo" in the "potty."

(Those of you looking for some erudite discussion on...anything really should cut your loses and click away now.)

Yes my friends, this would be the weekend that our toddler would be potty trained SO HELP US GOD.

We were optimistic as we started the process Thursday morning.  We gave Sebastian his first pair of big boy pants -- teeny tiny blue Bob The Builder underpants. 

"Such a big boy!"  We cooed with proud tears in our eyes.  "No more diapers for you!  You tell us when you have to make pee-pee, OK?"

"I big boy!"  he said, and ran off to play in the living room.

My baby.  Gone!  Just like that.

Except that my husband spent the entire day changing our son's clothes and mopping the floors.  Because our big boy thought that he was supposed to tell us he had peed AFTER the fact.  He did this over and over again.

Thankfully there was a turkey keeping me busy all day, so I simply couldn't be bothered with the unsavory job of cleaning up after a pottier-in-training.  I only tell you this so I can include a picture of the fruit of my labors:

My mother asked for evidence that I can indeed roast a turkey.  This one's for you Mom! 
(and Martha Stewart)
(OK, so my Lil' Butterball looks a little bit naked.  It needs some dressing it up, don't you think?  But that's neither here nor there.)

As you may have guessed, Friday wasn't spent shopping for bargains.  I was busy sprinting between the laundry room and the potty room all while keeping Sebastian off the furniture.

Saturday was more of the same.  Except that we gave up just a tiny bit and put diapers on the boy, since we still had to catch up on all the laundry from the first two days.  Oh, and Sebastian had not pooped once since this whole ordeal began.  Things were not looking good.

I woke up on Sunday determined to give my husband the "we gave it a shot, but clearly he's not ready and we should try again later" speech because I was tired of this.  I was trying to figure exactly when "later" would be (would his 15th birthday be too late?) when Sebastian jumped up from the breakfast table and announced, "I need to go potty! I need potty!"

Off we went, and lo, there was much pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty.  And there was much rejoicing and videotaping and many long-distance calls were placed where a child's squeaky voice exclaimed:

"I use the potty!  YAY!"

And there was much flushing and very little diapering happily ever after. 

Don't you just love happy endings?

I do more than just complain...

Things I am Grateful for:

• My husband - my partner-in-crime, the one person who knows how I like things, the person from whom I can't hide my true feelings and who makes me laugh everyday - all while looking like James Bond his tuxedo. Rawr.
• Sebastian - my "big-boy" pint-sized ball of energy and wit.
• Benjamin - the baby who will soon take over the world.  He is charisma personified.
• My family - you're all awesome and you know it.
• My friends - for everything.
• That dark chocolate and red wine are actually good for you.  Thank you Jebus!
• How Clean is Your House - for making me feel like a domestic goddess while I watch daytime television instead of dusting or whatever it is you're supposed to be doing.
• All-Wheel-Drive
• That my cousin the Marine survived a bomb attack and got back from Iraq in one piece.
• Totally related to the above bullet point - that election day is less than a year away and people are (finally!) waking up to Bush's fundamentalist hypocrisy.  Amen!
• Luxe environmentalism.  God, I hate patchouli.
• Jeans that hide a multitude of sins
• That I actually enjoy yoga and pilates.  Because I also love brownies.
• Boxer dogs
• Size 7 diapers.
• Courtesy pre-boarding for families traveling with children.
• Pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin ravioli.  You get the picture.
• Figs
• Fall foliage
• That ballerina flats are trendy now, so I can add to my collection with abandon

And you!  Thank you for reading and for your comments and emails.  Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Variations on a Theme

My toddler says the most adorable things, I swear. 

While I'm convinced of his brilliance and wit (I am his mother after all) I also realize that a lot of the time what is adorable is not necessarily what he says, but how he says it.

For instance, Sebastian's latest expression is "Oh my goodness!"- it's adorable because it's the kind of thing I imagine a prim schoolmarm would say but then he says it like the toddler he is,  "Oh my guuuudness, Mama!  I drop my milk!"

You have to hear it in person to fully appreciate the cuteness.  Trust me.

Last night, we were in the car with my brother and sister-in-law and I wanted them to hear for themselves just how cute he sounds when he says it.

"Sebi,"  I said. "Can you say 'oh my goodness' for Rudy and Evelyn?"

A little voice pipes up from his car seat, "F*CK!"

Everyone in the car sat in stunned silence.  We've all heard about positive reinforcement blah, blah, blah, so we ignored him. 

Still, I shot my husband a dirty look.

"Um...I got lost in Cambridge once, and I forgot he was in the backseat," he said.  I could tell this wasn't necessarily his proudest moment in parenting.

"F***ck!  F*ck-f*ckety-f*ckety f*ck f*ck!  F*ck!  F*ck!  Freaking f*cking f*ck!  Faaaack!"

Sebastian paused and looked out the window at the lights on Newbury street.  You could hear the muffled laughter by now but we couldn't help ourselves.  He continued with his monologue without ever looking at us.

"Oh f*ck.  F*cking f*ck! F*ckety-f*ck! F***ck!  F*cking f*ckers!"

I was about to pee my pants at this point.  My husband gained a bit of composure and tried to defend himself: 

"Come on!  Have you ever tried to drive in Cambridge without navigation?"

(It didn't take very long to get some strange Google searches - so I added the asterisks, but you get the idea.)

I hate to say this...

But I told you so.

In the past few days I've been receiving a lot of traffic from people looking for toys that aren't made in China.  I'm so glad!  I love that people are FINALLY realizing that where you spend your money makes a difference.  Hurrah for us!  The safety record of Chinese-made toys (and the US companies that contract out production to Chinese factories) is completely unacceptable.  End of story.

Like I said before, right now it seems pretty impossible to find toys that aren't made in China, but you can do it.  Here's the list that's getting all the traffic - it took me all of 20 minutes to put together, so don't be discouraged if things start to sell out.

Also check Cool Mom Picks - they have discounts!