The Return of the Chicken Monkey

Many years ago, I learned the phrase, Chicken Monkey.

father's day

I walked into Bug's classroom on Thursday afternoon ready for a "parent-teacher conference," but when I got there, Bug was just waking up from a nap, and he had a low grade fever.

That afternoon, at home, Bug's fever got worse.

Five U-Turns

A few weeks ago, my husband, the Bug, and I went on vacation with one of my husband's brothers and his family.  We spent almost every day bumping back and forth between the beach (a five minute walk) and the pool (a thirty second walk).  Tough life.  By the end of the week, in an effort to break out of our routine, we decided to do something different.  

Bring Your Partner To Blog Day

My husband makes his guest blogging debut below -- enjoy!

Clear eyes, wet butts.  Can't lose.

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out full-time with the Hot Toddie [a.k.a. The Bug], and we decided, after some discussion, to check out the kids' music concert at our local park.  It was a nice summer day, and a band was performing that had the under-four-years-old set amped up.  The Hot Toddie begged me to let him bring his bootlegging equipment, but I was like, “nah, save it for Rolie Polie Guacamole.”  He was like, “Dump truck!”  Cool.

We headed out.  Did I mention how nice it was outside?  85, no clouds, dry as a mouthful of cheerios.  (Of course, as I write this, I am sweating, and it is 9 o’clock at night, so that may be why I am fixated on how amazingly nice the weather was that day.)  In any event, I was pretty impressed with the time we were making since the Hot Toddie had climbed right in his stroller without the usual struggle that I can only compare to the time that I tried to force a half-badger/half-freshwater-eel into the backseat of a two door Honda Civic.  We even had time to stop and get an iced coffee from the local coffee place that sells a five-dollar small iced coffee.  Five dollars is a reasonable price to pay for a small iced coffee, right?  No?  Even if it's cold brew? Okay. 

We made it up to the top of the hill at the park early, and we were one of the first twenty or so families there -- headed by 87% nannies, 12% moms, and 1 dad.  Me. 

Family Values

There has been a lot of talk lately about types of mothers.  Are you a Tiger Mother?  A Western Mother?  A Wimp Mother?  All of the talk, the criticism of mothering-types, and the declarations of values led me to wonder where I fit on the spectrum.  What values am I imparting - consciously or unwittingly?

At the beginning of the process, I have to admit that I wondered whether I actually had any values to articulate.  Frequently, especially at the beginning, I felt like I was not making values-based decisions but was just getting by.  (See e.g., I describe myself as a momma in training -- not a woman in charge -- and certainly not a woman with a clear set of values guiding my parenting decisions).  Then I realized that I had spent a lot of time thinking about my motherhood through the lens of my childhood.  My own feelings about what I liked (and probably more about what I didn't like) about growing up informed a very substantial part of my approach to parenting.  Last, and on a less myopic note, I looked to friends' choices and the advice I could read in the limitless variety of parenting books, magazines, and - yes - blogs.

When I told my husband about this post and my values-evaluation, he told me that the following are his sources for his parenting values [and I believe that they are in order of importance]:  

1. Ninja movies; 
2. Survival shows [e.g., Man vs. Wild]; and 
3. America's Test Kitchen.

So we have all that going for us, which is nice.

Resilience

I swear I have been trying to come up with at least one potentially fun and witty post . . . but then . . .

Baby got sick on Tuesday night.  He called out for us, I went in, and as soon as I got to him, the poor thing puked.  Repeat twice.  We ran out of sheets and crib liners, at which point I said I would just sleep with Baby on the couch in his room.  But sleeping with Baby is, to coin a phrase, like sleeping with a baby elephant, and that couch is small.  So I put Baby on a blanket on the floor, hoping he would not puke again, while I got rid of the couch cushions, pulled out the sofa bed, and got us some covers.  Baby and I snuggled down.  He proceeded to flop around like a confused baby elephant, and an hour later he finally fell asleep.   Baby woke up, flopped, then puked around 7 a.m..  He did it again after half of his oatmeal breakfast.  Then, all was clear through his toast and apple juice lunch and after his nap.  Around 4 p.m., the worst of an awful, gusty, rainy day was over, and we both needed some fresh air.  I took Baby down to a coffee shop where I had some tea and a cookie while he pointed at everything in sight.  I was almost done with my cookie when he puked again.  I jumped up, grabbed a stack of napkins about four inches thick, and tried to clean up Baby, his shirt, and the sleeping-bag-type-thing that keeps him warm in his stroller.  I did my best, but I still felt embarrassed in the elevator up to our apartment with a nice couple who must have smelled a not very nice smell coming from the afore-mentioned sleeping-bag-type-thing.

I should note that Baby (perhaps like all babies) is resilient in a way that puts me to shame.  His expression is so small and sad when he gets sick, but within minutes he is pointing at something else and smiling.  Seriously - smiling. 

Over the next couple of days, Baby slowly but surely stopped puking and started taking more substantive food than toast.  

My husband got sick on Friday night.  He had a fever and felt sick to his stomach.  Then he came to the bathroom just as Baby finished his bath routine, and he puked.  He has not been feeling well since then (though he is better than he was on Friday and Saturday).

I have no kernel of wisdom from this experience to share here.  I am, very simply, very tired (and wondering if - or when - I will get sick, too).  

With kids, the days are long, but the years are short.

Yesterday was Baby's first birthday, and it was a long day.  

At 8:00 a.m., Baby was standing on the changing table (yes, standing), naked as the day he was born (ha!), and refusing to slow down for a clean diaper or any day time clothes.  

At 8:01 a.m., Baby peed.  Still standing, still naked.  

By 8:20 a.m., Baby was dressed in a very cute birthday outfit (thanks to my grandmother for the awesome striped onesie... Baby looked like an adorable baby bumblebee, which completely made up for my pee-soaked shirt).

By 10:30 a.m., I was leading a conference call.  Perhaps "leading" is too strong... I was trudging through the mud of the call and waving my arms frantically at the other participants as if to say, "Over here, guys!  Oh hey...  I'm over here!!"

Then it was 6 p.m., and I was in my office crying because I did not think I was going to make it out in time to see Baby before he went to sleep.  About fifteen minutes later, I had the following internal monologue:

Even if I left now, I would only get to see Baby for his sleepiest five minutes, and he will not care one way or another if he sees me for those five minutes.

What am I thinking?

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to all the dads  -- may the giggles and shouts of laughter be extra loud today!