Phishing Trip

John and I left Giuliana with her grandparents and headed out to Darien Lake last night. It was a 3 1/2 hour drive there, a 5 hour drive home (4am, you are not my friend) but it was so worth it.

We made the trip to see Phish. This was my first time seeing them in concert. John has been to several in his younger (hippie) days. They were every bit as awesome as all the hype. Even 15 years later. Unbelievable, really. I did the "hippie dance of freedom" as my sister-in-law likes to mock it, and enjoyed myself immensely. I am feeling rather old today, in that apparently 4am-9am does not equal enough sleep for me to function properly at 33 years old. Thhhhpppppp! I will not age gracefully!

However, in my old age, I do have a quick comment to make about one particular observation I made last night. It is this: I love music. I want my daughter to grow up loving music, and so far she seems like she is on that path. I love seeing little girls dance around in circles, enjoying fantastic live music. But I DO NOT think that a Phish concert is an entirely appropriate "atmosphere" for young children, if you get my drift. Right next to us last night were 3 young girls, ages roughly 3-7, and one INFANT (couldn't have been more than 3 months old) with their parents. The girls had a fabulous time dancing and playing. But the air...it was not clean. I was all sorts of uncomfortable about this. I do not fancy myself very judgmental of other parents, but this type of concert is just not a good environment for kids. What were they thinking? There, I've said my piece.

Anyway. Some pics. I did not include the unbelievable gridlock that had us sitting in a literally unmoving car until 1:30am. I don't want to remember that part.

Brush, Brush, Brush Your Teeth

Look at that adorable baby, brushing her (practically non-existent) teeth like a pro, the first time out. This was the first day, the first moment, really, that I gave G a toothbrush. She stuck it right in her mouth (no big surprise, she was 8 months old...she stuck everything in her mouth) and proceeded to gleefully chew on the bristles. Perfect. I handed her a toothbrush and she was self-sufficient in toothbrushing in 3.5 seconds.

So, let's pause a second and do the math, here. I handed that girl her first toothbrush a year ago, when she was 8 months old. She is now 20 months old. That means that she has had in her possession, in her routine, a toothbrush, for 12 out of 20 months...more than half her little life.

Would someone care to explain to me, then, why toothbrushing has suddenly and forcefully become pure, soul-destroying torture! to this child? Oh! The drama! The agony that is toothbrushing of late! Those that follow me on Twitter or Facebook aware of the battle royale that took place in my bathroom two weeks ago. And my desperate cry for help. It's only gotten worse.

There is wailing. There is closed-mouth lock-jaw. There is thrashing and writhing as if possessed. The other night she practically drowned herself in the bathtub while both John and I tried to get at those pearly whites. (Note to self: no more toothbrushing during bath time.)

What I don't get is why, all of the sudden, it's become a stand-off. She used to love brushing her teeth. She would constantly ask for her toothbrush. She'd chomp happily and then let me "finish up" with a few scrubby swipes. I bought her a toothbrush to keep at Grandma's and she brushes her teeth there. It's not a new concept for her.

In fact, she still loves her toothbrush. She goes and pulls it out of the cup on the sink counter all by herself. She also pulls out her Orajel Toddler Training Toothpaste (Fruity Splash flavor) and brings them cheerfully to me, asking "bush, bush". She giggles when I put the toothpaste on the brush and sticks it gratefully in her mouth. And then she sucks the toothpaste off. And that's it. She won't brush. Sometimes she even fakes it and brushes her closed lips. And if I try to "help" it's World War III.

I've tried everything I can think of. We bought her a Cool. New. Big Girl. Toothbrush!! And made a big freakin' deal about it. It's an Crest Spinbrush that she picked out herself, shaped like an ice cream cone, for goodness sake! And she still has her manual toothbrush that she can choose to use. We've always given her excessive praise whenever she sticks her toothbrush in her mouth. We still do. We sing songs. We play games. We have a book about brushing. We let her do it herself. We let her brush our teeth. I've acted nonchalant. I've been stern. I've held her arms down and practically forced her mouth open. But that's what I DON'T want. I absolutely do not want this to become a fight. Because I know I'll loose. And I don't want her to hate brushing her teeth because she's had a toothbrush jammed in her mouth. However, I feel caught. I'm afraid if I let her get out of brushing because she threw a fit, she'll just learn to throw more fits. And won't learn to brush her teeth.

So, I keep trying. I let her scream and cry and I give her a hug. I tell her I know she doesn't want to but we have to brush our teeth. I let her cool off and then try again. I settle for a little bit less toothbrushing than I would like and try to keep it positive. I give her lots of opportunities to do it herself.

Someone please tell me I'm on the right track! I need positive reinforcement here. Have you run into this battle? What did you do?

"Happy Blogiversary To Me"

Sing along:

"Happy Blogiversary to Me..."

One year ago, I was here, wondering if I was cool enough to even have a blog. In the past year I have met so many wonderful, funny, insightful women in the blogiverse. I can't imagine my life now without you ladies! Afterall, who would I discuss crazy moth-catching babies with
or my bad mama moments? You've celebrated with me through high points (dandelions, anniversaries, and Wonder Woman) and held my hand through the low ones. You've listened to me get all sappy ( she walks! she talks! she learns!) and laughed with my crazier side (usually the crazy is helped by my husband). You've been invited into my kitchen, and you've let me go on and on about myself. You've become part of my Mama Circle, whether you're a mama or not. I love you all for it!

Thank you!

My Baby's Not A Baby Anymore...

...I think I'll have another.




Or not.



Still undecided over here. That's me. Lately, that old familiar feeling, that warm and some-what nausea inducing sensation has been setting in. Baby fever. I've diagnosed myself. I'd say I'm hovering somewhere around 101* or so. Not burning up. Not life-threatening. But noticeable. Enough that it gets in the way.

The other day I (unsuccessfully, it turns out...damn Twitter) twittered about the oh-so-cute-and-cuddly brand new baby that was haunting me at work. I was sitting innocently in a boring and some-what condescending uplifting staff meeting with BABY FEET sticking out, mocking my ovaries, not 10 feet away. How unfair is that?? BABY FEET! Who can resist? Especially when you have first hand knowledge of how soft, and tickley, and delicious (I can't say that...that's just gross...but you know it's true) sweet they are!

I used to have one of those little creatures. She looked like this:


(see...baby feet!) and a few days later she looked like this:


and NOW she looks like this: (with Daddy)


all Big Girl, and stuff. Oh, she's still mighty cute and kissable. I wouldn't trade her in or anything. No Way! But maybe just one more...

One more little warm bundle to snuggle up with all night. One more set of fresh new eyes to gaze into for hours and hours. One more pair sweet smelling feet to tickle (I swear I don't have a foot fetish.) 10 new little fingers to count and wonder over.

But that also means, well...one MORE. One more diaper to change every few hours. One more crying, needy being to tend to who can't tell me what's wrong. One more bottle to make at the most inconvenient time (4am). One more kid to give a bath to, feed, clothe, entertain, rock, get to sleep...all while already doing all of that with the first one.

This is what gives me pause. It's not that I find any of that a burden or undesirable. In fact, I crave to do all of that over again. It's exhausting. It's tedious at times. But it is so very worth every second of it. But it takes so. much. energy. and. commitment. And I already have someone who needs a lot of my energy, my commitment. My devotion just to her. She expects it, deserves it. Am I taking something away from her by giving some of myself to another child? I say "some" but it's really all of me. To both kids. How do I do that?

So, the debate rages on. Mostly inside my own head. And heart. Baby #2???

The Pinch

Some days I hate being an adult. My parents were the kind of parents who never talked about money in front of the kids. I'm sure they had their troubles and tight-spots, but we never knew. My mom was a stay-at-home mom for many years, and I know that had to take a bite out of their choices and options. But as far as I knew? Everything was ok. Stable. Oh, sure, there were things I wanted to do or buy that got answers like "that's too expensive" or "money doesn't grow on trees, you know!" But for the most part my childhood was a blissfully ignorant and secure environment where finances were handled and dispatched by the adults only.

Now I'm the adult. I suppose that means I am the one who is supposed to "handle and dispatch the finances." Blah! Thhhhhpppppp! That's what I say.

John and I both have good jobs. Our jobs are about as stable and secure as anyone's these days. We have a house, own one car and pay for another. We have good health insurance that has literally kept us from going bankrupt over the last two years, but the medical bills still add up. I have mountainous student loans that the government would like me to repay some day. Oh, and then there's that cute kid I write so much about. She likes to eat. And wear clothes that fit. And diapers....

There are CERTAINLY people who are in much tighter spots than us. But lately John and I have been feeling that pinch. That niggling uncertainty that we would be able to handle it if, god forbid, something calamitous happened. So, we've been going over the budget looking for areas to cut a little. Cable? Could we live without Noggin On Demand? Can we trim the cell phone bill? And we have been talking about ways to bring just a little more income into the house. Something to store away for a rainy day or pay off some of that debt hanging over our heads. Something to make the thought of bringing another hungry mouth into the family a little less financially overwhelming. But what to do??

Neither of us fancy the idea of getting a part-time job out of the home a few nights a week. We already feel like we rush through the evenings with so little of that precious time with Giuliana. Work at home seems like a good option, but everyone wants in on that, right? John has been looking at some free-lance writing sites. I've considered doing something like Pampered Chef. It has also been suggested that I make my blog work a little harder for me. I don't know how I feel about that, yet. I have much more research to do on monetizing. Is it a sell-out? What do you think? What about compensated reviews (if I could get them)? Damn! And I just missed BlogHer!!

What have you been doing to keep from flying off this roller coaster?

Home-made Play Dough

This was so easy, so quick, free, and fun. I'm not all that confident in my skills with this type of project. I was sure I would burn it, or it wouldn't be "play-doughy" but it turned out perfect on my first attempt. So, I assure you, you can do it too.

Here's the recipe I used, but there are zillions online if you don't like this one. I plan to experiment with some of the kool-aid recipes for variation...although I just KNOW G will eat it when I'm not looking. Ok...she'll probably eat it while I'm looking, too. She's like that.

1 cup water
1 cup flour
1/2 cup salt
2 tsp. cream of tarter
1 tsp. oil
food coloring (I used about 6 drops)

Combine ingredients in a pot. Cook over a low flame for about 3-5 minutes, stirring continuously, until it thickens. Cool. Knead with a little flour so it's not sticky.

Store it in a freezer bag with the air pressed out.

Just A Few More...

...family pics. I know, I know, you are all bored to tears. But my mom just gave me a cd with all their pics from the last week, and I can't help myself.

Our families.



The carousel ride.