Family Vacation

Merriam-Webster defines vacation as:

1. a respite or a time of respite from something
2. a: a scheduled period during which activity is suspended b: a period of exemption from work granted to an employee
3. a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation

I recently went on a family vacation to a lovely lake house in New Hampshire. It was perfect. The pefect house; perfect weather; great food; good friends. Perfect. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I realized what was missing: the VACATION.

As a full-time mom, my job is pretty much being a slave to my eight month old little boy. He’s hungry; I feed him. He’s tired; I rock him to sleep. He poops; I wipe his hiney. Over my week long vacation, I prepared 22 baby meals. Since I’m making my own baby food – this requires more than popping open a jar of Gerber. I put the baby down for 15 naps (my husband would have helped but unfortunately his nipples run dry). And changed 35 diapers (I’ll give my husband 15 or so). And this isn’t including the 8 (normally 5) hour drive with an eight month old – not exactly the same as say a 90 minute massage. So, my “vacation” wasn’t really a respite, at all.

Is there really such a thing as a family vacation? Or is it a misnomer? Maybe it should just be called a brief change of location.

**Don’t get me wrong. I had a wonderful time. It’s just amazing how different things are when you have a 20 pound ball of love and energy.

Snap, crackle, pop

As my 30th birthday looms on the horizon, I’m beginning to feel like I am no longer a child. It’s funny – this feeling is NOT stemming from this birthday milestone, or the fact that I am now a parent, or even that the idea of a good night includes a glass of wine at home and being in bed by 10 PM. This feeling stems from a recent debilitating episode of getting dressed one morning.

As I was pulling on my pants something in my back snapped. “Awch. Oh god, I can’t stand up. Is that the baby waking up?” As I massaged my lower back and hobbled into the baby’s room, I felt like an adult. When I called my husband, 6 hours later in tears because I could no longer stand up and hold the baby, I felt like an adult. Two weeks later as I made my 7th appointment  at the chiropractor, I felt like an adult.

I’ve never before had back problems. Sure it was sore towards the end of my pregnancy – but that was to be expected – I had a HUGE belly in front of me. But this time my back was so strained I was forced to crawl on the floor. As an indication of my debilitated state I actually called my mother and begged her to be on the next flight to Connecticut to help me (those of you who know me understand that this is a big deal because I HATE asking for help).

When it all boils down – I realize that I’m not old (but I’m not young anymore either) and that my back problems stemmed from stupidity and not fraility. The day before my incident I carried my 20 pound son in a baby bjorn, a 20 pound bag of cat food, 3 gallons of milk, 5 pounds of chicken, and 5 pounds of walnuts (gotta love Costco) up the stairs from the garage and into my apartment all at the same time.

So, my back went snap; my spirit went crackle; and the bubble of youth went pop.

An out of diaper experience

Lately, I’ve been letting my little guy cavort around sans diaper. What can I say, “I like to live on the edge.” The little guy loves going nude and, well, he has developed a case of the diaper rash (primarily due to my frugality and sense of guilt for not using cloth diapers). I’d been letting him go hours without a diaper change. Do you know how much liquid disposable diapers can hold? About 20 gallons… And I was taking it to the brink every time. Poor little guy.

So, we’re having a lovely morning. The little guy’s happily playing on his tummy and doing his darndest to crawl. I’m in the kitchen preparing my morning latte. All is perfect is the world. With morning paper and latte in hand, I return to the living room to find a happy baby playing in his own poop. Oh crap!! My little 6 1/2 month old had managed to poop, roll over, scoot around, poop again, and continue to play. There was poop on his elbows and poop on his knees. Amazingly I caught him before the poop found it’s way into his mouth. Also amazingly, it was all contained on his quilt. So, after a gasp and around 250 baby wipes, our wonderful morning continued.

The hardest part

The hardest part of parenting isn’t…

the sleepless nights (and days)

the soar (I mean sore) nipples

the responsibility

the crying

the changing of very dirty diapers

or even the thought of what it will cost to send them to college

Nope.

It’s cutting their tiny little nails while they try to wiggle away from you.

The BIG day

Tomorrow is the big day. I’m going to feed my little 17 pounder his first tastes of food. I’ve had all these grandious ideas about what his first solid food experience should be. I’m thinking pureed organic sweet potatoes cut with the freshest of mom’s milk or maybe it should be sweet peas or there’s always applesauce. But, after much talk and consideration, I have decided to go down the heavily trodden path of rice cereal. I know it taste like cardboard and could constipate him – but my pediatrician recommended it (as did all family members). In my defense, I did spring the extra dollar for the organic whole grain rice cereal… poor little guy. It will only be for a few days and then we’ll be on to bigger and much better things.

Tomorrow is a momentous day for so many reasons. First, my little boy is growing up. Second and even more emotional, this is the first step towards weaning. Even the mention of the W word makes me choke up. Also, this is HIS first experience with eating, something that is near and dear to me. And finally, it’s going to be so damn cute.

Wish us luck!

My baby boy has become a man

Last week was a pivotal week in my household. My baby didn’t crawl, walk, talk, or get his driver’s license. No, he discovered his male anatomy.

It was a normal night. Exactly like every night. Play time until 6:00ish and then bath time until 7:00. (Yes, I milk bath time for all it’s worth. My husband travels all week and I need all the help I can get at night.) So, after our usual rolling around on the rug naked, we moved on to the bath. Everything appeared normal. There was splashing and the initial urination (warm water does it for him every time). And then he suddenly went quiet… I wondered “What’s going on?” And then I saw it. My little innocent baby boy was pinching and pulling on his little frank and beans. Awch! Anyone who has a baby knows they have a heck of a grip. But, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact I think it fascinated him. Since then it has become a nightly ritual.

Is it terrible that I find this absolutely adorable?

Calling all “stay at home” mothers**

This is a call to all mothers** who have sacrificed their careers, resumes, paychecks, and a tiny bit of their soul. The next time you are asked to list your occupation mark “other” and write in Super Hero*.

Frankly, I’m tired of feeling judged because I have chosen to stay at home and raise my children. When I say judged, it varies from “Oh, poor un-liberated woman” to “Is there any other way to properly raise your children?” We each make the decision that is right for us and our family. Period.

But, I must admit that when donating money to Barak Obama last week, I hesitated when asked about my occupation. Was I a “housewife” or a “homemaker”? Are those really my options? GAG. I’m a full time mom**, right now. And it’s the toughest job I’ve ever had. If you’ve never tried it, you have no idea how all consuming and absolutely exhausting it is. I love “Pop goes the weasel” as much as anyone, but seriously 27 times in a row… And I’ve only been a mom for 5.5 months. So, when filling out Obama’s form I decided to declare myself a “Super Hero”. And it felt pretty darn good.

To all you stay-at-home mothers** out there, let’s start a revolution. We ARE Super Heroes!

It’s a small step for mothers**, one giant leap for mother**-kind.

*I must give credit to my husband who truly started this revolution with our taxes this year. According to the IRS my occupation is Super Hero. Who would dare to audit a super hero?

**I should say PARENTS

Succumbing to temptation

All mother’s want what is best for their child(ren). It is one of the most basic tenets of motherhood (hopefully). However, sometimes this desire is overshadowed by the need to do what’s best for me (the mother). While this might seem paradoxical, mother’s are also very adept at rationalizing. So, for a baby to be happy and healthy, he NEEDS a happy and healthy mother. This translates into “What’s best for the baby is for mommy to watch 6 hours of Desperate Housewives which requires succumbing to the temptation of buying yet another large brightly colored plastic thingy to entertain you while I do this.”

After reading an article that claimed exer-saucers (aka activity saucers) hindered motor skill development (something about babies not being able to see their own legs), his father and I decided that we would NOT be purchasing one of these large plastic circus-like things.

Oh, how quickly resolve falters…

At a play date two weeks ago, my little guy was introduced to the exer-saucer. He LOVED it. Squeals of delight, cooing, and best of all a mother with two free hands. SOLD. I didn’t care that I was about to spend yet another $100 (yes, it appears that everything baby related costs at least $100) and turn my back on a “scientific study” (after all, can’t you find a study to support any/everything these days?). So literally the next day we went to Buy Buy Baby and purchased the Baby Einstein Discover and Play Activity Center by Graco. It’s even named to make parents feel better about abandoning their children to a plastic babysitter. It makes you think, “He’s discovering new things all on his own. And it has Einstein in the name. We must be creating a little genius by purchasing this toy”. And just that quickly, another acre of our former life was resettled by brightly colored plastic.

Food, finally (Bolognese sauce)

So for all of you who have been waiting to read something actually about food, your time has arrived. Unfortunately, being a new mom (a.k.a absentminded caregiver), I seem to always forget to take pictures of the food. Honestly, I’m too busy keeping my little guy happy in his bouncy chair, spending a few minutes with my overworked traveling husband, or just zoning out staring at the pot of boiling water (ahhhhhh – it’s like a mini-facial).

Having experimented with this recipe for a while, I’ve tried some good recipes (Food and Wine, Cook’s Illustrated, The Joy of Cooking, Mario Batali, NYTimes, etc), but have yet to find perfection. So, I decided to combine what I liked of them all – and it was GREAT!!!! So here it is… (please take all measurements as rough suggestions – it’s the only way to cook – unless you’re baking)

Bolognese Sauce

1/2 cup celery diced finely

1/2 cup carrot diced finely

1/2 onion diced finely

2 garlic cloves minced

2 quarter inch slices of pancetta diced (bacon could kind of work)

2 cans diced tomatos

1 cup whole milk

1 cup dry white wine (no chardonnay, please)

1/2 lb ground pork*

1/2 lb ground beef*

1/2 lb ground veal*

5 Tablespoons of butter

Saute celery, onion, and carrot in 3 Tablespoons of butter until translucent. Add garlic and saute briefly. Add and brown ground meat and pancetta. Add milk and simmer over low heat until absorbed (about 25 minutes). Add wine and simmer over med/high heat until pan is dry (about 20 minutes). Add tomatoes (partially drained) and simmer with lid on for 2.5 hours. Finish with 2 Tablespoons of butter. Serve over a wide flat pasta with Parmesan.

*1.5 lbs of ground beef can be substituted. I found this blend of pork/beef/veal labeled as “meatloaf” mix.

Enjoy!

Thank you, Pampers

A lot of parents today swear that Pampers are the best brand of diapers. For those of you in doubt, please read on.

After a long day tending to my recently immunized grumpy little boy, I decided that I needed some amusement. Since my husband was working from home, I decided that he would have to suffice. In a fun game I like to call “Guess what I’m holding under your nose”, I decided to have a little fun with my hubby.

As I put my little guy down to sleep I noticed a poopy diaper sitting out (I know I should have thrown it out immediately – but it was a tough day and the diaper was sitting next to the changing table). I immediately thought, “This is the perfect object to trick my hubby into smelling.” I approached him and tauntingly asked him to close his eyes and guess what he was smelling. In a show of true trust, he obliged. As he began to sniff, it was nearly impossible to not chuckle. With a quizzical brow, he said “Wait, wait. I know this smell.” I thought, “You sure do.” He continued sniffing in delight for close to 30 seconds. He guessed, “Cookie dough. No. Cake. No. Frosting. No. A CUPCAKE!!!!” It was a priceless moment. My husband confused the smell of a poopy diaper for a cupcake. Thanks, Pampers.