Self-Made Mom

1)  Even if they are super cute, on major sale and look ski-slope chic, do NOT wear fur-lined boots on an airplane while chasing a two-year-old.  Your feet will get very hot. Like I need to take a cold shower when I got home hot.

I think I’m still hot.

2)  Coming back from vacation to your SAHM routine is a heck of a lot better than going back to work the next day.

3)  It’s a good idea to remind your husband to water ALL plants in the house while you’re away. Not just the one on the main floor. (Happy anniverary, hon.)

No, I didn’t get new flowers today.

4)  Wake up really really early in the morning or put your kid to bed really really early so that you can watch all the back-logged episodes of Project Runway, American Idol and Nip/ Tuck that you missed.

5)  Try to get to the grocery store the morning of your return. Otherwise, you’ll be scrounging around Starbucks for a nutritious breakfast for the little one.

I think I’m going to petition Starbucks to keep breakfast sandwiches on their menu.

Long before the advent of digital cameras, phones with video and the internet, my parents would tell us to record the experiences of our youth to our memory.  My dad would instruct us, “put it in the memory book.”

On our various sojourns to the western-most parts of the country we’d pass by the huge mountains of Colorado, awestruck at their beauty. We’d see buffalo roaming the great plains of Wyoming. We’d gaze in disbelief at the massive redwoods in California. We’d capture what we can on our old 35mm, but what I remember most about those trips were what we didn’t record, those memories we would talk about late at night near the roaring fire or in the car on the way to the next destination.

Those became the photos of my memory book.

I always thought along the way that the memory book was just mine to cherish, but as I grew, I realized my parents’ memories were richer and deeper than any my 10-year-old brain could remember. They relied on these memories as we grew older and vacationed less with them. (My current trip not included.)

Now, with blogs, flickr, podcasts, web conference calls, we don’t need to rely on our memories as we used to. Technology does it for us.  We can click on the details, replay the memories on a whim rendering the memory book almost obsolete.  As a parent, this is an incredible luxury; we don’t miss a thing.

But we cannot possibly capture the essence of a parental memory solely on a 14-second grainy video. I realized this yesterday when I put my son on skis for the first time. This was a moment I had dreamed of since I was a child - skiing with my child.  And when it happened, the 7-megapixel photo couldn’t truly do the squeals and shrieks of laughter eminating from my son justice.

Memory: on skis, age 2

But at least it will help trigger my memory book should my mind fail me one day. I’m not above technology helping remind me why I became a mother.

I’m finding it hard to throw all rules and regulations of child-rearing out the window just because we are on vacation. 

On sugar:

• For instance, I would strongly advise against giving junior an ENTIRE box of concentrated apple juice in one sitting. And you wonder why he’s bouncing off the walls at dinner.
• And if, by chance, he’s already HAD the apple juice, you are not allowed to then permit him to eat sugar cubes and offer him ice cream for dessert when at such dinner.
   

On conversation: 

• It’s not cute to teach a two-year-old how to say “shut your trap” just because you don’t like the DJ on the local radio station.
• It’s even less cute to talk about “how annoying your mommy’s being.”

On separation:

• When preparing to drop off junior at ski school, I would advise against the strategy of putting the words “new toy” and “when you’re done” in the same sentence.
• It doesn’t make it any easier to scream and groan and talk in melodramatic tones about how you’re NOT GOING TO LET JUNIOR CRY AT ALL EVER NEVER EVER.

On giving mommy-time:

• Offering to watch junior while mommy goes on the eliptical machine is much appreciated.
• So was changing that nasty #2 yesterday. Thanks for that.

This is my first vacation since I became unemployed, and I can already tell the difference.  No conference calls or nasty e-mails will threaten me!  Begone nasty work dreams and voicemail checking!

It’s pretty laughable to even say I’m on vacation, since my post-work life has been pretty easy breezy (and because we all know what “vacations” with kids are like.)  But I’m not in the depths of winter-hell in the Midwest and I can easily get out of going to the grocery store all week.  However, I still had to go to Target today to get baby supplies. Some things never change.

But because I am priveleged enough to be able to look at this view, and I have my parents around to help, I’m kind of hoping to squeeze in some time to relaxation or re-focusing outside of my mundane routines. Which probably just means I’ll have more time to go shopping. (Here’s hoping for sales. Cross your fingers!)

Whatever the case, Target run aside (happened upon these ballet flats in the process so it wasn’t so bad), I’m breathing non-city air, I’m seeing what I think is actually the sun (it’s gone missing in Chicago) and I actually got to drink half a beer with dinner. Not bad, eh?

And I got my man, who managed to fall asleep on the plane just as we were landing. Who could ask for anything more?

Old man trouble, I don’t mind him at 20,000 feet.

I love your invention.  I really do.  I spent a lot of money on it.  I defended it when my husband called it a waste of money.  I struggled through putting you together for the first time but was happy with the outcome. Hey, I’m even okay with the fact that the handle on your slim backside doesn’t seem to lock in place all that well.

But please, can you explain to me why you don’t fit through the security belt at O’Hare? I tried you out in West Palm Beach and you worked your way through the X-ray machine like a charm. But apparently the TSA thinks it’s funny to mess with moms traveling with toddlers and have different sized security belts for different cities.

And it was so not cool that I had to put you back together at the end of the security line with only 20 minutes to board my flight and a screaming toddler perched on the end of the cold metal table.  You gotta problem with the Midwest?

Apparently not suited for the busiest airport in the nation.

Check it out - a baby-friendly Logan International Aiport in Boston.  To think, they actually have a separate nursery room in the terminal for baby-changing and breast feeding. The novelty! 

It’s far better than Chicago’s O’Hare, where I had to walk halfway across the airport for a clean changing table one time. But no complaints, I am having a child-free weekend, after all.

Tags: Logan Airport, Boston, traveling with children, O’Hare, Chicago, baby friendly airport

My vacation is ending, and my time in the mountains has taught me a new skill: traffic cop.  Looking back at what was supposed to be the perfect, no-worry vacation, was more like a long lesson in how to direct honking vehicles on a crowded highway.

It’s not that I wasn’t without help.  Those in line to pitch in were my nanny, my husband, my mom and dad (”we’re here to help!” “we want you to relax!”) and brother (also known as the uncle who can rile my son up right before he’s supposed to go to sleep.)  Yes, those of you with your jaws dropped right now, I “vacationed” with my whole family.

There were lots of extra helpful hands to change diapers (I think I changed 2 all week), feed junior and play “roll the ball” with him until his hands were bruised.  The problem then? I had to coordinate family traffic - otherwise known as - how can we maximize the little time we have (mind you, I’ve been here for a week) to spend with our grandson/nephew/son?

This whole “scheduling thing” is probably my fault. Because I’m so anal, I wanted to make sure “everyone had a good time.” So, with the masses lined up and fuel tanks burning off gas with every minute of stalled traffic, I found myself directing the every moves of all my son’s awake hours.  A glimpse of my self-imposed madness:

6:15 am: Rise and shine - no one wanted this shift, so me and DH got up most days. Nanny saved us on a few.

7:30 am: Mom and Dad? You want junior? Great I’ll bring him downstairs then.

8:00 am: Breakfast time - Mom, you can feed him. Nanny can you prepare the meal? No, I don’t care what he eats.

8:45 am: Nap time - You guys duke this one out, I’m going back to sleep for an hour.

10:10 am: The monitor lights start flashing. Who wants to get junior out of bed, hubby? Okay, great, it’s your turn.

[11 am - 4 pm: Ski break! Woo-hoo! Freedom from baby traffic diversion.]

4:30 pm - Snack time, Mom, you on this? I want to take a jacuzzi.

5:30 pm - Brother, I swear to god, if you throw him around after eating and he pukes, you’re cleaning it up.

6:00 pm - Bath time - Hubby always gets stuck with bathtime.

6:45 pm - Bed time - Raise your hands if you want to put junior to bed. Dad? You up for it? You will have to read him 5 books, you know.  Okay, great.

7:00 pm - I’m off duty.

Guess who relaxed the most? You guessed it, the nanny.  Oh boy, I can’t WAIT to go back to work on Monday.  Peace and quiet.  Oh, I forgot, I have to get on a plane for a meeting.  Maybe vacation isn’t so bad after all.

I’m on vacation again, and I’m hoping it will be a little more relaxing instead of just “moving the routine somewhere else” (as my friend BusyMom put it.)  This time around, I took some action to ensure I get a little more R&R (in my new post-baby world, this stands for Reading & Restaurants.) - I brought my nanny along for the trip.

I am assuming that right now some of you readers are sitting horrified in your seats at my primadonna-like behavior.  I, too, never thought I’d be the kind of mom who’d take a nanny along on a vacation. People who take nannies on vacation scream bratty-lazy-filthy-rich-bitchy to me. But we are on a ski trip, and since junior isn’t old enough to ski, go to day care (they must be potty trained), and since it’s probably not safe to ski with him in the Baby Bjorn, the nanny was the next-best option.

We weighed the option of hiring a sitter at our destination and my ever-rational hubby did do a cost/benefit analysis for us (I’m math challenged) to figure out if it really made sense to pay for another mouth to feed.  But junior’s old enough now to know the difference (between me, the nanny and a crazy mountain lion) and it didn’t feel right to leave him in the Rockies with a complete stranger/ potential ax-murderer. (I’m a little neurotic, ok?)

So here we are, on vacation, nanny in tow. The problem is, I’m too worried about whether or not she’s having a good time to relax on my own.  For instance, on the plane on the way here, guess who got to sleep on the plane? Not me nor my husband.  My nanny looked refreshed and ready to go as soon as we touched down.  Me, on the other hand? I looked like I had just spent two and-a-half hours on a plane with a 11-month old. I’m sure you can picture it.

And who got to sleep in this morning? Not me. Let’s put it this way - junior’s a good kid, but he still thinks we’re in Chicago - and it’s an hour earlier than Colorado.

But getting up early and not sleeping on the plane are a small price to pay for having a built-in babysitter so I can get some good turns in.  Trust me, I realize this. So no complaints.  As I’ve said before, it’s a mother’s job to make sure her nanny’s happy, and I will do my best to ensure she has a good time too. Hell, she has to spend a week straight with me.  The view below from where I’m blogging also helps.

Don’t worry, though, I’ll write more soon.  Assuming I get a break.

Tags: nanny diary, child care

Flying with children in the middle of winter between some of the nation’s busiest airports is always a crapshoot.  That’s why I wasn’t so surprised when they cancelled my flight today from LaGuardia to O’Hare (the cause? “weather” somewhere in Pennsylvania is my guess, damn you Nittany Lions.)  So, I’m stuck in New York City for another day at my friend’s apartment in Manhattan.  The downside?  I don’t get to see my husband tonight and I have to figure out how I’m going to make up work tomorrow.  The upside?  I scored a great pair of suede winter boots on mega sale (sort of like the ones on the left, but in black) and I get to watch the Oscars with someone who actually wants to watch it.  Things could be worse.  A lot worse.

That’s why I was surprised when my friend texted me that I was a “brave mama” for traveling to New York City alone with my 11-month old.   Is traveling with children that brave?  Am I a hero and just don’t know it yet?  Let’s see…

• I managed to get my son, his stroller, 2 carry-ons and myself through security without a whimper uttered.  The key - do not put baby shoes on your child.  TSA will make you take them off.  I’m not joking. 
• I fed him a well-balance breakfast of pears and a banana while waiting to board.  I’ve found stroller-feeding to be just as effective and actually less messy than highchair feeding.  Think my Bugaboo will look bad in my kitchen?
• I timed the plane ride to coincide with nap time, so we both could snooze mid-air.  Hey, a 30-minute cat nap is better than no nap in my book.  If only the stewardess would have lowered her voice just a notch when she told us we could use our portable electronic devices.  Just a notch.
• I called a car service to help me with my luggage and so I could actually attach his car seat to something resembling a seat belt (my friends don’t drive in Manhattan and I don’t do cabs with babies.)  Unfortunately, I ruined my nails trying to attach the seat to the LATCH system.  Why is it so hard to find in between the seat cushions??
  
• Meester Liger makes it easy for my son to sleep anywhere.  He’s pretty much good to go anywhere as long as he can suck on the corner of the blanket.  Good thing I brought 6 of them.  Again, not joking.
• It took 4 tries, but I finally found the right kind of formula at Gristedes.  Do people on the Upper West Side not believe in bottle feeding?  Not only was Gristedes the only place that sold this brand of formula, but I paid $16 for a 12 oz. jar.  So I had to forgo the cute pair of leggings I saw at Urban Outfitters.  Ah, the sacrifices us mothers make.
• My friend found a baby sitter at the last minute so we could attend my friend’s birthday party.  And I even remembered to tell the babysitter my son’s name just as we were walking out the door! (He was asleep already, OK!?)
• And, last but not least, I mastered the art of drinking my nonfat-extra-hot-no-water-chai-latte while pushing my son’s stroller and holding the bag with the boots that I bought.  I may have looked like a total ass walking down 88th St., but damn I love my chai.  Oh and if you’re wondering, chivalry is completely dead at the Starbucks on 86th and Columbus.  Hey, lady working on your computer - thank you for watching me as I rammed my son’s foot into the door trying to get out.  That was so nice of you.

So am I that brave?  I can’t answer that.  Gotta go get my screaming son.  Nap time didn’t go exactly as I had planned this afternoon.  But don’t all heros have flaws?

Tags: traveling with children

The folks at Babble pointed me to an Article that the New York Times ran today about Bugaboo’s new city “day trips.”  So of course, being the nosy blogger from Chicago that I am, I immediately downloaded Bugaboo’s Chicago day tour map.  I was not at all surprised to see that the map was of Lincoln Park (although why it was labeled “Chicago” is beyond me. Since when are the city limits between Armitage and Fullerton!? ugh!)

Anyway, the last time I tried to go to Lincoln Park with my Bugaboo, I saw more college T-shirts and leggings than sweatpants.  Plus, if you’ve ever tried to have an outing with your child in LP and can’t walk to it with your Bugaboo, you’ll know that 1) it’s impossible to find parking on the weekends there and 2) there’s no good places to park your butt inside with your Bugaboo and baby - the restaurants are too small, have too many steps, and are too crowded.

But I digress.  For those of you out there who want a “real” Bugaboo Chicago walking tour, here’s my itinerary. Sorry, I don’t have time, energy or skill to make a cool map.  If I did, though, it would be labeled “Roscoe Village.” Here goes:

- Let your kids run around at Fellger Playlot Park. It’s no Lake Michigan, but in the summer you can watch your kid get all wet with city water that sprays from the revolving fountain sprinkler. Cool.

- Go buy your baby a cool rock ‘n roll shirt at The Denim Lounge.  They have good sales and your kid will look tougher than any LP pansy.

- Have a beer at The Village Tap. Our city hasn’t banned smoking yet, but there’s a good backyard patio (indoor and heated in the winter, of course) that will keep the smoke out of baby’s face.

- Swing by Musical Magic for a sing-along session with pro Rosanne.  Rocking out to disco music with the bubble machine is really fun… for the babies, of course.  

- End your tour at Original Expressions for kids.  They have a lot of cool toys and just moved from Lincoln Park cause the rent was too high, so I have to give them a shout out.

Hope you have fun touring around the RV. I forgot to mentioned that they recently repaved the sidewalks.  So you don’t even really need a Bugaboo to enjoy it.

Tags: Chicago, Bugaboo, walking tours, traveling with kids