Ruined!

Last weekend the hot weather finally broke and Andrew and I took the opportunity to have a picnic in the park. As we sat on our blanket, we entertained Milo, ate some sandwiches, and people-watched. Let me tell you about a few of the people we saw.

A family of four was out walking around the park. Mom, Dad, a little girl (maybe 8?), and a little boy (maybe 6?), out doing what families do. At this particular park, there is a pond with man-made stepping stones across it. Maybe 15 circular steps across, each twelve inches in diameter or so, with no guard rails. Well, the little boy began to cross the steps, holding Dad's hand. And he hadn't made it past more than four steps before he lost his balance and stepped into the pond. The water only came up to his knees, and he still had hold of his dad's hand, so he wasn't frightened. Dad began laughing, and the boy smiled too.

But the mom. SHE was not laughing. At. All.

"You think this is FUNNY?" she screeched at her husband. "He has RUINED his brand new shoes! Ruined!"

(They were just sneakers, by the way. Can't you just throw those things in the washing machine and call it a day?)

Then to the boy, who was no longer smiling: "I can't believe you ruined your shoes! How could you do that?! They're BRAND NEW and now they are RUINED! You RUINED your shoes and you RUINED our day at the park! We're going home!"

Then the boy started to cry as he hung his head in shame. Then they all walked (some of them stormed) out of the park and out of earshot.

This brief glimpse into another family's life got me thinking. How would I have handled that situation? I hope more like the dad, who laughed and made his kid feel less embarrassed. Maybe I would have taken off the boy's shoes and socks and let him try crossing the steps again. I really hope I wouldn't have yelled and embarrassed both my child and myself by screaming at him and my husband in public.

I wanted to ask that lady: Were those shoes worth it? New or not, were they worth your child's self-esteem and your dignity?

J is for Judgment

Sometimes I really hate people. Especially the seemingly well-intentioned yet critical people who exude passive aggression. But let me back up.

Before Milo was born (how many times have I used THAT phrase lately?) I read about the Moby wrap, and I desperately wanted one. The reviews were great. It seemed that once you got the hang of it, it was easy to use, easy on your back, and adored by babies everywhere. And to my delight, I received a Moby at my shower.

But (you knew there had to be a but) it wasn't everything it was cracked up to be. It was difficult to tie properly. It stretched out far too quickly. And whenever Milo was in it, he slowly inched further and further down until I was afraid he'd fall out the bottom. Except when he cried before he even had time to start sliding down, that is. Needless to say, it was not a great success, and after a few weeks, the Moby had been relegated to a pile of stuff that we're not sure what to do with, all the while wishing we had a simpler way to carry Milo around when he refuses to be put down.

Meanwhile, Emily was raving about her Bjorn and how much Eli loves it. She said whenever he goes in the Bjorn, he calms down and stops fussing. I was hesitant to get a Bjorn because I'd heard it can be bad for babies' joints, or something. But my sister used it and never noticed any problems with her son, and of course Eli loved it, and it did look so easy to use...

So I started looking for a used one (these things aren't cheap, people). I mentioned to Emily that I was planning to try the Bjorn, and like magic, she called me two days later saying her mom had found one when she was out at a garage sale, and did I want her to pick it up for me? Yes! Yes, I did want her to pick it up for me! And this afternoon Emily's mom, Judy, brought over the Bjorn (that she had so nicely cleaned for us), and just a few hours later we took it to the grocery store where Andrew wore it to carry Milo while I pushed the cart.

And no kidding, Milo had been in the thing for less than fifteen minutes (ever, in his entire existence) when this lady in the organics section strikes up a conversation with Andrew. I got there just in time to hear her tell us how dangerous the Bjorn is because it cuts off circulation to the baby's legs. "But I'm sure it's not every baby," she said before proceeding to tell us about how she carried all four of her boys in a sling, at one time, all the way up until the 8th grade. Or something. I couldn't quite hear her over the sound of my rage. How dare she tell us how to parent, that we're doing it wrong? She has no idea who we are or why we do the things we do. For all she knows, we could have a sling in every color of the rainbow at home but put Milo in the Bjorn because he has terrible reflux and needs to stay more upright. (Not to worry, he happens to be just fine.)

I just read an article by my favorite blogger about this very topic, and I hope you follow the link and read it, too. After just six weeks of parenting, Andrew and I already feel a little less judgmental about others' parenting techniques, because you just never know. They have their reasons for every choice they make, and chances are, they're just trying to do the best job that they can. And that's all we're trying to do, too. I just wish we didn't have to deal with passive aggressive, judgmental comments from complete strangers while we're at it.

Five Things About My Weekend

1. I tried unsuccessfully to buy new glasses. See, apparently pregnancy makes your eyeballs change shape, or something, and wearing my contacts means I end up with red, aching eyes. So for the next few months, glasses it is! But my current glasses tend to slip and practically fall of my face, and since I’m wearing them all the time, it’s time to fix this problem. We shopped at a handful of stores, but nothing seemed just right. Sigh.
2. I attended the second meeting of my high school ten-year reunion planning committee. We didn’t really accomplish much, but I did get to eat a delicious cupcake while I was there.
3. I borrowed some maternity clothes from my friend Lindsay. She had her baby last March, and I am due in March, hence, we were/will be pregnant during the same seasons. Time will tell if her clothes will fit me. Cross your fingers!
4. I also borrowed a Doppler heartbeat thingy from Lindsay. I’m so glad she was neurotic enough to actually buy one! Last night Andrew and I sat and listened to that tiny little heartbeat for awhile, and again, it was wonderful. And not really that hard to find—or maybe we just got lucky (though I did listen to my own heartbeat for awhile with a sense of wonder, then Andrew pointed out that it should probably be beating faster than that) (Who knew you can hear your own heartbeat in your pelvic region?) So far, hearing my baby’s heart is the very best thing about being pregnant.
5. For the last few months, I’ve been growing my hair out. Or wanting to grow it out—I had a bit of a setback when my stylist cut off a bit more than requested. But now I am thinking maybe short is the way to go, sort of how I had it last year. Any thoughts on this? Moms, would you say long or short hair is easier to deal with when caring for a baby?

V is for Vermicompost: Continued

On Saturday morning, I woke up at 6:40am, showered, and went to the farmers' market (the big one in KC, the one that is a 25-minute drive to reach) because the worm guy was going to be there. And I had spent my Friday night shredding paper and drilling holes in a plastic storage bin so I'd be ready for my worms. (I know, you are sooo jealous of my fantastic weekend, right?) (Seriously, though, my weekend was fantastic.)

But the worm guy was not there. We walked everywhere, up and down the rows, but we couldn't find anyone selling worms. We did buy six peaches, a bunch of onions, and a dozen ears of corn (that, incidentally, had tiny worms in them). But the worm guy wasn't there.

Due to the magical power of the smart phone, we looked him up on teh intarweb, and found that due to the recent surge in popularity of the worms, he wasn't going to the farmers' market in order to give his worms time to, um, replenish, if you know what I mean (bow chicka bow wow).

Sigh.

He'll allegedly be back selling worms at the farmers' market on July 18. And that is when I will start vermicomposting. Allegedly.

Things I Did This Weekend

• Saw Tantrum perform at the Westport Coffeehouse
• Met someone who had actually heard of Yellow T-Shirt, Andrew's college band
• Found out that my in-laws bought a lake house
• Found out that my in-laws are going to bulldoze their new lake house
• Found out that my in-laws are going to build a new lake house
• Realized that Andrew and I will get no more help from my in-laws on our home-renovation projects
• Participated in EarthWalk
• Picked up two twig-like dogwood trees at the EarthFest
• Planted two twig-like dogwood trees
• Watched the first thirteen episodes of Arrested Development on Hulu
• Couldn't believe I spent that much time watching the first thirteen episodes of Arrested Development
  

Shall I tell you about my weekend? OK then.

It was a big weekend in the Langford household. Andrew didn't have to go to work. And he didn't do any homework until Sunday evening. And that means he had plenty of time to hang out with me and have lots of fun. We had an awesome time Friday night hanging out with JiaoJiao and her cutie-patootie boyfriend, Jason. Then on Saturday, we slept late and went out for breakfast.

And this is an interesting story. Not so much interesting, I guess, as just sort of weird. We had heard that the coffee shop next to Stonewall Inn was doing some sort of waffle breakfast and chili tasting event. I know, I wouldn't have thought those two went together, either. But who am I to judge? Well, Andrew and me, we luurve us some waffles, so when we got our sleepy butts out of bed around 9:30, we decided to head over there for waffley goodness. The time was 10:05 when we arrived, and they had already shut down the waffle maker. The barista man (what is the masculine of barista? does it have a masculine version? baristo, perhaps?) invited us to join in the chili tasting, but we said we hadn't had breakfast yet and would maybe just get coffee instead. But the nice man offered to turn on the waffle maker, so yay! Waffles! More and more people--a surprising number of people, actually--came into the shop, all there to taste chili (at 10:15 in the morning). Another barista came in and mentioned the chili tasting to us, and the first barista man said in a low voice to her, “They wanted waffles . . . they haven't had breakfast yet.” And she looked at us in a sad way, as though she'd just found out we only had six months to live. Really? Is it that weird to be wanting breakfast at 10AM on a Saturday? Such judgment, coming from a crowd that included a 40-something man with zebra-stripe tattoos down his arms and legs, and a woman who perched her toddler on the back of a large dog for the picture-taking pleasure of her companion. (The child was not amused.) In the end, though, we got our delicious waffles and coffee and didn't have to taste any chili. (note: they announced the chili competition winner just before 11:00. Wow.)

The rest of Saturday was mostly just Andrew and I hanging out and enjoying the beautiful day. We ran some errands and got various hardware for the house. We went to the library and I checked out a book I've been wanting to read, then we sat out on the back deck and read books. We went to the grocery store and then cooked dinner together. It was so ho-hum, yet so glorious. Does anyone else love that kind of day as much as I do?

Sunday was a day of productivity. The in-laws were over to help out with the house again, and guess what. Furniture is going in tonight! For reals. We completed all the painting touch-ups and messy dirty work in the living room, so we can move back in. We even rented a Rug Doctor and scrubbed the dust and my summer memories out of the carpet. There is still plenty of work to do (paint kitchen windows and door, paint bathroom door and bathroom, paint dining room, paint and install more trim...) but for now, I'm declaring a victory.

Labor Day Weekend, Part 2: The Fun

Remember how I said Part 2 would be more fun? I was not kidding. Anything would be more fun than pictures of paint drying. I mean, GAWD. But where to start with all the fun? It was so damn fun, I barely remember it happening. Just kidding. It wasn’t THAT fun. But enough with the increasingly lame intro. Let’s not waste anymore time.

Friday night. Hmmm . . . Okay, so perhaps this is not the best place to begin if we’re talking about what an awesometrocity this weekend was. We spent the evening weeding the garden and swatting the mosquitoes. I wish I was kidding about that (the weeding part, not the swatting part. I would swat again in a heartbeat. I got a mosquito bite ON MY EYELID). I’m not exactly sure when I turned into my father, but it seems to have happened sometime after I began wearing a lot of sunscreen but before I spent every weekend at the office.

Moving on. Saturday night. Eff yeah! We went to see my boyfriend David Cook rock it out at the Sprint Center. Yes, you heard me correctly—we went to the American Idols concert. It was pretty fun, despite sitting 2,471 miles away from the stage. The hometown crowd loved my boyfriend. And David, honey, don’t get jealous, but I also loved Michael Johns. He can rock me anytime. RRRWWWARRR!! Andrew’s fav, though, was David Archuleta (Andrew has always wanted a puppy). In fact, he clapped so hard, his hands bled. (I’m sure it had nothing at all to do with the fact that he spent six hours sanding the trim earlier that day. It was definitely about teh awwsum.)

And then came Sunday night. We went to the ever-popular (yet always trashy) SantaCaliGon Days festival in IndepMO. That’s right. I can call it that, because that’s my ’hood, yo. Among the attractions were mullets, bare midriffs, and smokers with teeny tiny babies in their arms. And that was just on the shuttle to get there. We ate some grease—I mean french fries—and delicious ice cream sandwiches. We saw crafts and a “paddy wagon.” We people-watched and laughed at the punkness of the young punks. We decided that going to SantaCaliGon can probably become a bi-annual event for us.

And to wrap the weekend up: Monday night. We fell asleep. That’s all. Told you it was fun.