Home Depot v. Toys R US

Jam is obsessed with tools. I've got four brothers and they aren't particularly handy. Neither is my father, although he seems to think that he is. Big D on the other hand is really into fixing things. He and his father built Jam and Mudd's crib and toddler bed by hand. I don't mean that they ordered it out of a catalog and had it assembled, rather, they cut the wood, sanded it, and did a whole bunch of other stuff I'm not entirely certain of, but the finished product is of such high quality and it looks that way too.
Jam is really into helping his daddy around the house. I bought him a set of pretend tools with this own tool box (more on this later). Jam follows Big D around the house and he knows all of the names of the different tools. Perhaps I am feeding this obsession slightly by reading him "Power Tools" and "Hand Tools" before he goes to bed at night. He loves to look at the different hammers and knows the difference between a mallet and a tack, although I certainly don't. Mudd picks up Jam's tools and Jam says (in his supremely cute two speak kinda way) "that's a wrench."
Here's the deal with the tool box: it is a talking tool box and there are different icons on the front and when you press the hammer button, for example, it says something like "this is a hammer, we use it to hammer in nails." This is all fine and good, although the voice is somewhat irritating and slightly loud, but that I could handle. It's the Home Depot icon that kills me. When you press it, it says "welcome to Home Depot where you can find any tool for any project." Talk about blatant marketing to tots. Big D says it's my fault for buying it, not Home Depot's fault for making the toy (spoken like a true Republican). Nonetheless, my kid loves Home Depot now.
Today, Jam went with his grandparents (Big D's parents) on some errands and to the park. They had to go to Home Depot to pick out some fixtures. Big D's mom told me that when they walked into the store, Jam recognized the Home Depot sign and shouted "Depot!" and then proceeded to clap....like a kid in a candy store, or maybe, a kid at Home Depot.

Baby Styles

I love it when my little guys exude coolness. It's just so much fun to rock them out in miniature studs. I can see the appeal of a Juicy Couture tracksuit as pricey as it is, so I guess that I'm super fortunate that they don't make them for boys. Boy clothing generally isn't quite as becoming. Girls get tutus, frills, lace and patent leather. Boys get plaid, khakis and stripes...C'mon! In my quest to find clothing that turns Baby Gap on its head without emptying out my pockets, I've started accessorizing. Yesterday, the boys both got fabulous Diesel trucker hats. What is wrong with me???

Bag Lady

My mom told me that when I was younger, I loved to carry around purses filled to the brim with anything and everything that I would find around the house. To be honest, I'm no packrat but sometimes I'll switch purses and diaper bags and then end up with thirty bags each with their own lip gloss, diapers in various sizes, gum (even though I've got a bad case of TMJ), sunglasses, Luna bars and spare keys. Why I can't just keep everything organized and shift the miscellaneous items as I move from bag to bag is beyond me. I like my stuff. Big D is a neat freak and he doesn't like piles of any sort. Everything has a place, and if it doesn't, then we really don't need it (according to him!)I'm learning to let go of my piles and "stuff," but it ain't easy. What's crazy is how much Jam has inherited this exact trait. He loves carrying things around the house and he collects things in boxes, tupperwares, and bags. Today he took a Huggies box and put a toothpaste box, his toothbrush, and some soap inside of it and just carted it around the house. We have a ridiculous amount of toys to play with, so why he thinks that this Huggies box of goodies is fun is really beyond me...but then again, I'm the recovering bag lady, so am I really one to talk?

How Fast Time Flies...

I can vividly remember bringing Jam home and being so overwhelmed and underprepared for this whole motherhood thing. As he cried in the middle of the night, and I tried everything possible to soothe him (including making Chamomile tea bottles and gripe water cocktails), I thought that the night would never end. I wanted so badly for Jam to reach the next milestone whether it was sitting up, crawling, or walking. I just couldn't wait. And everyone told me to cherish the moments, as trying as they may be, because they really are fleeting. Now I see what they mean. As Jam sits on the couch intently "reading" his books, Mudd struggles to sit up. His furrowed brow and his pursed lips give way to grunts. I watch him discover his miraculous body and all of its abilities. He moves his fingers and watches his fists move from side to side. This goes so fast...all of it. I want to take it all in and I don't want to forget any of it. Whenever Mudd sits up is fine with me, I'm not in any hurry.

Feeling Smart

I love to read. I am also a wannabe New Yorker. To my credit, I spent one semester in college at Columbia University and I just adored the city. I would have stayed longer but I was having a problem getting my credits to transfer. I loved hopping on a subway and getting lost downtown. Living in LA, I feed my NY craving by getting The New York Times every morning on my doorstep. There is nothing like getting the kiddies situated and then spreading out the paper so that they can climb all over it as I attempt to pretend to know what is going on in the world. Mudd has taken to grabbing fistfuls of the paper and then ripping them ever so gently. Jam wants to look at the cell phone ads on the back cover, and gets furious when I try to fold up the paper. But, I haven't given up. In the playroom, as the paper is spread out every which way, Jam sits on the very article that I am reading and runs his Hot Wheels along the edge of the columns. Someone suggested that I read the paper online when the kids are napping, or even wait to read the paper at another time, but I love opening up the paper first thing in the morning and seeing how far I can get. It's a little game I play with Jam, Mudd, and my thirsty brain.

The Smell

Jam is a thumb sucker and blanket loving guy. He didn't choose to attach himself to some plush chenille throw or lovingly handsewn passed down from generation to generation blanket. Instead, he is in love with the thin cloths meant to be used as diapers. They are of such poor quality that they are no longer sold in stores, as they have long been replaced by the thick hospital grade material. We have fifteen and at first I was really excited because it meant that Jam wouldn't get attached to any one in particular, and I always had a couple on standby. There are a few problems with this notion, however. The first being that since they look so raggedy, when Jam drops them on the floor, or they fall out of the stroller, no one even offers them a second glimpse. So, we've lost quite a few this way and when I try to come home and replace them with the nice, freshly folded blankets in his room, he's not interested. Apparently, there is a certain smell that he is looking for which the washed blankets don't have. First I thought that it was the dryer sheets I love and buy in massive quantities at Costco. So, I started washing his blankets sans the yummy fresh breeze scent. Nope, still not interested. Big D thought that it had something to do with the dirt factor. So, when we ran out of clean blankets (yes, I do wash them despite his protests otherwise), Big D (and I kid you not) took a clean blanket and wiped it under his arms... yuck. Thankfully, Jam wasn't buying it. "Not that, Daddy." One thing about Jam is that he is certainly adamant and can hold his ground, no matter the issue. Today I smelled one of his beloved dirty blankets before I put it in the wash. There must be a way to replicate the smell and still keep the cleanliness intact. The blanket had a whiff of Coppertone's Water Babies suntan lotion. My mind started to work in overtime. As soon as Jam got out of the bath and began tearing apart the house looking for the blanket that I had already put in the wash, I made a quick swap for a clean one and then sprayed it with Water Babies. Guess what? He took a whiff and said "here it is." Phew.

Same Page?

I just got done reading Jam his "goodnight books," which started out as three per night and have morphed into approximately thirty five. For some reason, he was absolutely stuck on this story about a father who makes his daughter and her friends pizza for dinner. The story was only a few pages long, and it's from an early reader book (I'm a teacher and Jam has looted my bookshelf). But Jam didn't want to hear the entire story, only the first page, and he wanted to hear it seventeen times. At first I thought that he was kidding when he said "same page, again." I turned the page and started reading, but he flipped it back and said "same page." So, I read it:
"Laura's Dad makes pizza. Do you like pizza? Do you know how to make pizza?" That's it. Three measly sentences. But he wanted to hear it...again, and again, and again. Every time I snuck in the second page, he flung it back to the first. Eventually I stopped trying and just kept reading that first page in all of its glory (or lack thereof). I tried to stifle the giggles because the sheer monotony was making me looney. Finally, after SEVENTEEN times, Jam said "all finished." Just like that, he was done. I'm praying he doesn't pull this tomorrow night because one can only take so much of Laura, her dad, and the cheesy 80's picture of kids in striped shirts and frizzy hair. Let Laura rest, my man...and mommy too.

In my face

I had an eye exam today...haven't had one in a couple of years and figured I was due. Kind of forgot how surreal the whole experience is. You have someone all up in your absolute personal space shining flashing lights into eyes that desperately want to close and then asking you to choose between letters that all look blurry, even when the lenses are swapped. The whole thing is exhausting. "Which looks better, one or two, four or eleven, thirteen divided by five?" Then you walk around in a daze because you can't seem to find the restroom because your eyes are all dilated and the funky Ray Charles frames don't seem to help in the least bit. But then I got some disheartening news. It seems that I have a retinal tear. They aren't sure how these things come about but have I been noticing any flashing lights, spots, or blurry vision? This is kind of like being in elementary school and being told that there is going to be a lice check. Suddenly your hair itches like it has never itched before, but you don't want to scratch because then maybe you do have lice and then everyone around you knows it. Oy. So, no on the blurry vision and flashes, but maybe spotting, I think, although I'm not sure which eye. So then I was referred to a specialist and it seems that I'm a prime candidate for laser surgery. This VERY costly venture is a small price to pay for vision, of course, it's just that spending that kind of money and not walking away with a new pair of Jimmy Choo heels hurts a little.

In One Piece

Well, we got through the day's festivities in one piece, although Jam was starting to unravel by day's end.
Things I wish that I thought of:

1. call myself "Stan the Fan" (name changed) and play with a bunch of kiddies for an hour and charge $300 and do three parties in one day and make $900 bucks...cash.
2. Strawberry Shortcake. I love Strawberry Shortcake. It's actually one of my favorite cakes. That and fruit tarts. They are so yummy. Maybe because I think that I am eating healthy because it's fruity, and well, fruit is good for you.
3. Parachutes. How much fun are they? I mean, this is real community building stuff. You gather around a color, shake up and down and side to side, throw a ball in the middle for good measure and the kiddies go wild. What's up with that?
4. Colored chalk. It's really a great way to get messy and do something that feels really wrong, like tag outdoor furniture, but is amazingly not harmful nor permanent.
5. And lastly, moon bounces. Because who doesn't love jumping yourself silly on a tummy filled with pizza and ice cream and cake...yum, did I mention that I love cake?

Another Party....?

Okay, it's official... Big D and I do not have lives. I just checked our calendars and they are filled to the max with birthday party after birthday party...and no, we're not talking about crazy booze filled evenings. We're talking Sunday morning brunches with thirty other whining and screaming one, two and three year olds. Our weekends look like this from now until September. And at that point, they start a new school year with new friends and new invites. It's not that I'm not grateful that my children are included, it's just that I want a life. I love my kids, but I need my groove back, at least for one Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow, we're triple booked...three parties in one day, and I really don't know how Jam will fare. Mudd is still really little so we can still pretty much tote him anywhere. But Jam...so many children, so many opportunities to push. I hope that he calms down with that business already. Today I caught him pre-push. He looked petrified when I caught his arm about to shove the absolute sweetest little girl at our friend's house. Whew, that could have been nasty. I'm on guard with Jam, but I think I am asking way too much of him for tomorrow. Maybe Big D and I will split the parties between the two boys, or maybe I'll let Big D hang with his guys and I'll go see a movie?

Darn Overachievers...

There is nothing like a first time overachieving parent. You know the type- they are constantly engaging their child in developmental play, they shun baby food that comes from jars, and they deck their kid in clothes that never seem to get dirty. Maybe I was like this a little with Jam (although I really don't think so!), but with Mudd I just have no patience for the overachievers. Mudd had his first Mommy and Me class today and I sat next to a first timer that I am friendly with. I was actually sitting in the circle time frankly a bit bored because at five and half months, his attention span and mine weren't holding up after the first "Twinkle Twinkle." But Les, as I will refer to my friend, was at it with full force. She was having a full on conversation with her son as the teacher moved from song to song. "Eddie," she'd say "isn't this great? I can't wait to see what Maura brings out next. This is all so exciting." I looked at Mudd. He was having a grand ol' time just chomping away at this thumb. He was just chilling. But Les kept talking to Eddie and then I felt like, as ridiculous as this sounds, that I had to play along too...So I rolled my eyes and talked to Mudd. "Hey buddy, isn't this great? Class is so fun." He looked me straight in the eyes and let out the biggest burp in the world. Big D would have been proud. Conversation over.

A little privacy here...

Just because my little guys made their grand entrances into this world via my private parts does not mean that I don't get to reclaim them as my own. I want to go to the bathroom in peace! Jam follows me into the bathroom and practically sits on me as I try to do my thing. Now, when I thought that he was expressing interest in potty training, I thought that this was a great way for him to learn how things work. But, after a few failed potty training attempts insuring me that he is not indeed yet ready (posts to follow, I promise), he's not learning anything here and I need a few moments to myself. Mudd doesn't have separation anxiety yet, so he's cool about me jetting to the restroom. So, I've locked the door a couple of times. Jam doesn't like that one bit, but I assure him from the other side of the door that "Mommy is right here, she just needs to pee in peace." At first, that didn't jive with him and he screamed "open up." But lately he's giving me some much needed space. But, there is a time limit and should I exceed a three minute allotment that Jam has so generously bestowed upon me, wrath will follow..."Mommy out, no more potty." Three minutes is nice, but five would be golden.

Up all night...

So, two nights ago, Mudd decided to stay awake pretty much the entire night. He's five and a half months old, and I knew that he was too old to being playing these games with me. I was really, extremely tired and every time I picked him up, he was content as could be, and the minute I put him back down, the screams came at full force. It was time for my little guy to meet the Ferber. Disclaimer: Now I know that talking about things like this on a public blog can fuel all kinds of criticism and harbor all types of negativity. I just want to say that I completely respect the decisions that people make for their own particular children, but I'm going to do what works for me and my boys. It doesn't mean that I'm right, or that my way is the right way for everyone. So, last night, my husband, "the big D," decides that we are going to let him cry it out. We did this with Jam and it really worked, but I had the luxury of skipping outta the house when the crying ensued. This time around, I was stuck at home reading books to Jam, as poor little Mudd cried his eyes out. Jam looked at me like I was insane (which I just might be). "Mom," he said in his beloved two year old babyspeak "Mudd crying." I told him that I knew but that we were going to keep reading. He didn't like that one bit, and could you really blame him? What was I doing to his brother? Would I do the same thing to him? Mudd started to wail and Jam said "MOM, HELLO." I peeked my head out and started to make my way to Mudd's room with Jam in tow. That's when Big D stopped me. "Don't go in there, we've got to do this." It killed me. I think it killed Jam more, and poor Mudd was the most upset of us all. We went back to reading books, and Big D got Mudd after what seemed like an eternity. After Jam and Mudd were finally asleep, guess who was tossing and turning until midnight? That would me be. What's up with that?

Let's see a movie...

I met two girlfriends at the park. One is married, one is dating, and neither one has kids. They show up in their Louis Vuitton totes and perfectly manicured fingers and toes, and hair that is so straight it's ridiculous. I look down at my shirt, Jam wiped his hands on my back, and I've got Mudd's baby puke on my shoulder. And I was just thinking that this was a good day. Jam is running around on the bridge and Mudd is in the Baby Bjorn. My friends coo over the kids, but they are both having a pretty bad time of it all. Jam missed his nap, and Mudd was up most of the night so they were not in perfect form. My patience level was waning...I knew that I should have rescheduled. Jam starts to dangle from the monkey bars, and I catch him and cushion Mudd (who is buried in my chest and crying on the top of his lungs). I know that the girls are thinking "Yikes. Certainly glad I'm not in HER shoes." So, they try to change the subject and make it less awkward for me, but I've got my hands so full I'm barely keeping up with the conversation. It seems that they are talking about what movie they are on their way to. And that's when the envy sets in. I've got to take these boys home, feed them, bathe them, introduce Mudd to Dr. Ferber so I can catch some much needed ZZ's, and shower myself, if possible. And they are talking about a movie...A MOVIE? I can't even remember the last movie that I saw. I don't even think that I know what's playing right now if I even wanted to chime into their conversation. So, I need to admit that I'm kind of feeling pretty jealous right now. No kids, a long movie, popcorn, a cocktail, perhaps. Or are they envious of me? Two kids...a park and some vomit. Probably not.

The Pusher

For the record, my son isn't a permanent "pusher," it's just a phase he's going through...please don't label him, I need your playdates. You all know the kid. The biter or the hairpuller of the group. He or she bullies the other kids and then gets forever blacklisted from the playdate black books of the world. I remember being at the park when Jam was still pretty little, and this little girl, "N," pulled his hair for no apparent reason. I've got to admit, I looked at her mother and thought "how could you let your daughter do that?" I remember talking with a girlfriend about "N" and we both agreed that we didn't want our little ones to play with her lest she be a bad influence on them. Now I realize how cruel I was to this poor mother...because now my son has a label, "the pusher." It could be that he was a late talker, and so the words are not where his brain would like them to be. When he can't verbalize (I'm hypothosizing folks..), he resorts to an all out shove. It's getting to be too much. I've tried rewarding him when he doesn't push, and we've talked a lot about how it doesn't feel very nice to get pushed. Nothing has helped, today he pushed three older girls and a little boy, all unprovoked. The little boy's dad told him he should push back. I don't know if that's such a good idea...but, I digress. Now, you may be thinking "what a bad mother," but I'm on it. I've disciplined him each time, and we cut our park day out early when the pushing continued after sitting on the bench proved fruitless. He's still pushing and I'm at wits end, cuz now I'm on the blacklist.

Beautiful Day

It is a beautiful Southern California day. The sky is an amazing shade of blue and the light is dancing off of the Pacific Ocean and inspiring me to run harder, and faster, with every wave that crashes onto the sand. I've got the ipod blasting out Coldplay's "Beautiful Day" and it is the perfect soundtrack to my life at this particular moment...
"It's a beautiful day...don't let it get away..."
My energy level is bumped up a few notches and I start to take longer strides as I become invigorated by the beauty of the landscape. As the sweat drips down my brow, I take another look around Ocean Avenue to survey the scene and then
"MMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!" The music stops playing as my headphones are ripped out of the socket and my very angry two and half year old peeks his head out of the back of the jogging stroller and screams "I WANT OUT....NOW." He is holding my headphones and I look down at my soundless Ipod and try to get back in the moment.
I look around again. I see a black cloud or two...it's time to go home.