Back in the days before furloughs and layoff scares, we had a few luxuries around this place. Like cable. I'm talking 70-plus channels of everything from Playboy Bunnies to Sportscenter to QVC. I also had more time, especially when I was pregnant.
Looking like I'd swallowed a basketball seemed a plenty good excuse to sit around and watch HGTV like a drunk zombie. Why, I would always think, if I had $35,000 to remodel a room in my house, would I pick the bathroom? I wouldn't, I'd tell myself. I'd put it into a room I spent more time in. We did, after all, remodel our kitchen a few years ago, an investment I could stomach. Don't get me wrong, we've updated our bathrooms in this house, but those jobs consisted of new tile and toilets. The extravagance was our beautiful pedestal sink in the upstairs bath. The total cost of that job was probably about $1,500. A price well worth it if you'd seen the stink hole it was before -- literally, there was no toilet for several months after we first moved in.
When I was pregnant I did begin to see that a master bath was not a luxury to be overlooked. How pleasant would it be to not share a bathroom with a toddler, I'd think? Seth was already having minor convulsions at the mere mention of bath toys and infant tubs.
Our bathroom, one of two in the house and the only one on the second floor, is cute. All 48 square feet of it. We used to joke about how one could literally use the toilet and brush his or her teeth at the same time. Sometimes multi-tasking is just inappropriate.
Now that I'm a Mom, I see the beauty of those spa-retreat-inspired bathrooms. The kind with cushioned benches, a separate WC and oh, those huge showers! The bathroom, it seems, is the only place I can go in my own house and be completely alone and not feel guilty. OK, to be honest, I do still feel guilty sometimes, like say, when Jasper's awake and I have to take a shower. He cries as he bangs on the crib bars. But I rationalize it by reminding myself he's safe. And I skip the extras like shaving my legs or standing under the warm water for a few extra minutes.
I remember as a kid that my mom would disappear to the bathroom for a while at times. And I recently learned my grandmother who doesn't smoke enjoys a cigarette in hers. And there's the story of my younger cousin who, as a toddler, got so pissed that her mother was enjoying a bath without her that she retrieved a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and squirted it all over the door -- a sort of see-what-happens-when-you-leave-me note.
Seth tells me that master bathrooms are over-rated. He, obviously, still gets his bathroom time, uninterrupted. He tells me that our lovely old home, built in 1907, has seen lots of families raised and surely all of them adjusted to life without a master bathroom or other luxuries such as great rooms, baby gates and air conditioning.
Well sure, people survived in 1907. But some great things have happened since then. Like women's suffrage, the invention of the dishwasher and immunizations that eradicated disease. And, my friends, the Master Bathroom.
Someday, I'll get mine. I probably still won't be able to spend a small fortune on it, and it likely won't feel just like I stepped into a spa. I don't even need multiple shower heads or garden tubs (although my own sink would be dreamy). If it's a place for a few solitary moments in what seems like an otherwise crazy house, it will be worth it.
And if Seth quibbles, I'll also remind him that the iPhone did not exist in 1907. That, I'm pretty sure, will register with him.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
A Day's Work: Calf Roping and Rodeo Clowning
I'm thinking of joining the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association.
The PRCA, as it's known to those in Wranglers and ultra-stiff cowboy hats, isn't for the weak, but neither is motherhood. I'm thinking with a little more practice I could be quite good at calf roping. As a kid I got my horseback training riding a crazy Arabian named Feather who was known for his bucking rants and spooking streaks. I'm pretty sure everyone who rode him got thrown at least once.
And now, Jasper is teaching me the finer points of catch and tie, or, in his case, diaper swap. A couple of weeks ago he took a liking to playing (ie. throwing, licking, crinkling) with diapers (don't worry, they were clean), so I removed them from the lower shelf of his changing table and placed them up top. Changing him on the changing table was becoming a joke, so now the pad lives on the floor, and that's where we begin the drill.
Plopping him down on his back is like the opening of the chute. All of the sudden it's a race between the two of us. I make a break to pull his pants off before he makes his initial flip. Then, I grab is tiny barrel of a chest and flip him to his back, grab his legs, pull 'em up high, slip the clean diaper under his bum and, try my damnedest to get the old diaper off and butt wiped before he flips again. As you may have guessed, the event gets more challenging based on what exactly is in the diaper -- when it's really messy, it's as if you've gone from saddle club to the PRCA finals in Las Vegas. The stakes are higher because mastering the wipe and change, or tie-down, is a matter of mess. A bare poopy butt on the move is a disaster even the pros don't want to wrestle.
We'll give extra points for moms who are able to keep baby's hands out of the "diaper area" as its known in our field.
I think even if I can't cut it in the calf-roping arena, there's still the job of rodeo clown. And maybe that description fits us mommies even better: The under appreciated rodeo clown wears baggy clothes and make-up that appears to be applied while driving in a sleepy haze. Pockets are a necessity to carry around those hankies to throw at a moment's notice. When a cowboy is in danger, the clown's job is to get between him and the bull. Not only is the job to distract the bull, but the clown is the distraction. And a good day's work means no one got seriously hurt. It's OK that the cowboy gets the prize because the clowns aren't in it for the glory. We've come to like the job of keeping everyone else safe and happy. Besides, when you're in the arena with the bull, it's not like you have a choice, right?
Now if we could just see about getting those barrels for hiding when the bull is too much to handle.
The PRCA, as it's known to those in Wranglers and ultra-stiff cowboy hats, isn't for the weak, but neither is motherhood. I'm thinking with a little more practice I could be quite good at calf roping. As a kid I got my horseback training riding a crazy Arabian named Feather who was known for his bucking rants and spooking streaks. I'm pretty sure everyone who rode him got thrown at least once.
And now, Jasper is teaching me the finer points of catch and tie, or, in his case, diaper swap. A couple of weeks ago he took a liking to playing (ie. throwing, licking, crinkling) with diapers (don't worry, they were clean), so I removed them from the lower shelf of his changing table and placed them up top. Changing him on the changing table was becoming a joke, so now the pad lives on the floor, and that's where we begin the drill.
Plopping him down on his back is like the opening of the chute. All of the sudden it's a race between the two of us. I make a break to pull his pants off before he makes his initial flip. Then, I grab is tiny barrel of a chest and flip him to his back, grab his legs, pull 'em up high, slip the clean diaper under his bum and, try my damnedest to get the old diaper off and butt wiped before he flips again. As you may have guessed, the event gets more challenging based on what exactly is in the diaper -- when it's really messy, it's as if you've gone from saddle club to the PRCA finals in Las Vegas. The stakes are higher because mastering the wipe and change, or tie-down, is a matter of mess. A bare poopy butt on the move is a disaster even the pros don't want to wrestle.
We'll give extra points for moms who are able to keep baby's hands out of the "diaper area" as its known in our field.
I think even if I can't cut it in the calf-roping arena, there's still the job of rodeo clown. And maybe that description fits us mommies even better: The under appreciated rodeo clown wears baggy clothes and make-up that appears to be applied while driving in a sleepy haze. Pockets are a necessity to carry around those hankies to throw at a moment's notice. When a cowboy is in danger, the clown's job is to get between him and the bull. Not only is the job to distract the bull, but the clown is the distraction. And a good day's work means no one got seriously hurt. It's OK that the cowboy gets the prize because the clowns aren't in it for the glory. We've come to like the job of keeping everyone else safe and happy. Besides, when you're in the arena with the bull, it's not like you have a choice, right?
Now if we could just see about getting those barrels for hiding when the bull is too much to handle.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Extra! Larger Baby Proof Area Saves Mom's Sanity
Since I've been a bit of a killjoy lately, I thought I'd let you all know that I'm not a raving mad mother. In fact, some things in my life have taken a remarkable shift toward the direction of sanity. Granted, these are often minor things -- like finding a way to unload the dishwasher without my little monkey crawling on the door and standing up -- but I'm in a stage where small things can equal big rewards (such as the ability to write this blog post while Jasper plays).
The gate situation was a major improvement, but I took it a step further. On Monday with Seth safely away at work I swapped our living room and dining rooms. I'd been plotting the shift since Saturday but thought it best to do it on my own, sans a major discussion regarding the merits of the shift (Seth, ever the planner, would have requested an outline of the pros and cons). Sometimes I operate better when I just get to act on a crazy thought streaming through my head. Here's where I should thank my friends for helping plant that seed.
After much grunting and sweating, I'd pushed the furniture all around this house. Then I went and borrowed a wide gate from Dina to block the traffic between the two rooms. She offered to come down and help when she heard what I was doing, so I thanked her and let her know the work was done. And once I had her gate in hand it was heavenly.
The new living area is completely baby proof. No electrical cords, no delicate furniture and no stairs. He can now move freely from the kitchen to the living room (former dining room), and I know he's safe, so I can take an extra second to unload the dishwasher while he's distracted.
To my surprise Seth said he liked the shift. This means one of two things: It was a smart decision on my part and he sees me as the wise woman I am, or, following the Gate Depression, he has decided to conceded to my powers as chief decision maker regarding all things house and baby. Either way, we've taken to calling the new living area The Parlor, which is funny because it conjures up an image in my mind of a stuffy adult room.
Frankly we weren't using either of those rooms much to begin with seeing as if we do very little entertaining these days. And our house wasn't blessed with built-in china cabinets, bookcases or anything else that distinctly designates those rooms as living or dining spaces. So, the switch will stick.
Jasper is enjoying the freedom. I am enjoying the couple of extra minutes this affords me throughout the day, and Seth, I'm pretty sure, is just happy I'm happy.
The gate situation was a major improvement, but I took it a step further. On Monday with Seth safely away at work I swapped our living room and dining rooms. I'd been plotting the shift since Saturday but thought it best to do it on my own, sans a major discussion regarding the merits of the shift (Seth, ever the planner, would have requested an outline of the pros and cons). Sometimes I operate better when I just get to act on a crazy thought streaming through my head. Here's where I should thank my friends for helping plant that seed.
After much grunting and sweating, I'd pushed the furniture all around this house. Then I went and borrowed a wide gate from Dina to block the traffic between the two rooms. She offered to come down and help when she heard what I was doing, so I thanked her and let her know the work was done. And once I had her gate in hand it was heavenly.
The new living area is completely baby proof. No electrical cords, no delicate furniture and no stairs. He can now move freely from the kitchen to the living room (former dining room), and I know he's safe, so I can take an extra second to unload the dishwasher while he's distracted.
To my surprise Seth said he liked the shift. This means one of two things: It was a smart decision on my part and he sees me as the wise woman I am, or, following the Gate Depression, he has decided to conceded to my powers as chief decision maker regarding all things house and baby. Either way, we've taken to calling the new living area The Parlor, which is funny because it conjures up an image in my mind of a stuffy adult room.
Frankly we weren't using either of those rooms much to begin with seeing as if we do very little entertaining these days. And our house wasn't blessed with built-in china cabinets, bookcases or anything else that distinctly designates those rooms as living or dining spaces. So, the switch will stick.
Jasper is enjoying the freedom. I am enjoying the couple of extra minutes this affords me throughout the day, and Seth, I'm pretty sure, is just happy I'm happy.
Monday, August 3, 2009
The Gates of Hell
On Saturday I was a crazed mom. The one you look at and avoid. I was in the gate aisle of Babies Suck (my new name for Babies R Us, besides I can't write the stupid backwards R). I was ripping open boxes, sitting on the floor, reading instructions and inspecting hardware. I was my second trip in two days. I called Seth and asked once again for measurements. Here's where I should mention that I later made yet another trip because the one stupid box I didn't open there in the store had its hardware missing. Lovely.
Back to Babies Suck. Why, I wondered, are all of the babies pictured on the boxes old enough for high school? OK, maybe that's a bit much, but they are not 10 months old like my little monkey who wants to crawl and climb onto everything. They're big. This one had a kid with clean, pressed khakis on who stood as tall as the 36-inch-high gate with combed hair and a clean Polo shirt taking a sippy cup from his Mommy, who also had clean clothes, nice shoes and shirt tucked in. Oh, and their house was clean.
This is what Jasper looked like this morning, trapped in the zoo, as Seth called it.
His hair is a mess. He's on outfit No.2 of the morning because his diaper leaked overnight. His diaper leaked because I cannot keep him still long enough to get a good fit around his hips (remember the climbing and crawling comment?). His nose is snotty. He's got a yellowing bruise on his right cheek thanks to a bath-time incident (remember the climbing and crawling comment?). When I step through the gate, leaving him momentarily, he cries. This is the picture I want to see on the damn baby gate box. Or maybe there should be one of Mom and Dad looking really angry while installing the gate. Or maybe one of Mom drinking a glass of wine while baby cries at the gate. Oh wait, what about one where Mom, holding baby, looks frustrated operating the "One-handed" handle.
After all of this I remember that the gates were intended to bring a little relief. Maybe now I can cook dinner without a thousand interruptions to keep Jasper from going to the stairs. Or I can let him crawl out of his room into the hall just as he did this morning. The gates help create a safe place for him to play. Or cry.
Back to Babies Suck. Why, I wondered, are all of the babies pictured on the boxes old enough for high school? OK, maybe that's a bit much, but they are not 10 months old like my little monkey who wants to crawl and climb onto everything. They're big. This one had a kid with clean, pressed khakis on who stood as tall as the 36-inch-high gate with combed hair and a clean Polo shirt taking a sippy cup from his Mommy, who also had clean clothes, nice shoes and shirt tucked in. Oh, and their house was clean.
This is what Jasper looked like this morning, trapped in the zoo, as Seth called it.
His hair is a mess. He's on outfit No.2 of the morning because his diaper leaked overnight. His diaper leaked because I cannot keep him still long enough to get a good fit around his hips (remember the climbing and crawling comment?). His nose is snotty. He's got a yellowing bruise on his right cheek thanks to a bath-time incident (remember the climbing and crawling comment?). When I step through the gate, leaving him momentarily, he cries. This is the picture I want to see on the damn baby gate box. Or maybe there should be one of Mom and Dad looking really angry while installing the gate. Or maybe one of Mom drinking a glass of wine while baby cries at the gate. Oh wait, what about one where Mom, holding baby, looks frustrated operating the "One-handed" handle.
After all of this I remember that the gates were intended to bring a little relief. Maybe now I can cook dinner without a thousand interruptions to keep Jasper from going to the stairs. Or I can let him crawl out of his room into the hall just as he did this morning. The gates help create a safe place for him to play. Or cry.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Home Again
We just returned from a 10-day trip back home to Oklahoma to visit family and friends.
We're catching up on things around the house and Seth with work, but I promise to offer up more pics soon. Here is a picture of the three of us at Possum Kingdom Lake near Graham, Texas. Jasper likes sand!
We're catching up on things around the house and Seth with work, but I promise to offer up more pics soon. Here is a picture of the three of us at Possum Kingdom Lake near Graham, Texas. Jasper likes sand!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Mother Load
So last week was a blur. I was doing a lot of work for Mint Tea, helping redo their web site, and I'd somehow managed to fill my plate with volunteer duties as well. In one week's time I volunteered for a food and wine festival that Leah helped organize, did my monthly neighborhood newsletter editor duties and helped pull off the first of this summer's Uptown Movie Nights. I'm exhausted just writing all of this. And somewhere in there I was fighting off another round of breast feeding issues. Seems I have blocked-duct disease. Fun times in the milk factory!
That said, it's been a good time. Jasper's latest trick is that he is walking while pushing his little wagon. It's too cute. Here's a little video. It's super short, and please don't think I'm a bad mom because I laugh when he falls. He was just fine. Wouldn't you know it, the time I catch it on video, it's the one time he takes a bad spill. Such is life, huh?
That said, it's been a good time. Jasper's latest trick is that he is walking while pushing his little wagon. It's too cute. Here's a little video. It's super short, and please don't think I'm a bad mom because I laugh when he falls. He was just fine. Wouldn't you know it, the time I catch it on video, it's the one time he takes a bad spill. Such is life, huh?
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Lost in the shuffle
Here are a few pics from back when my parents visited. Just found them while looking through some other files. Papa thought it was fun to give Jasper an empty beer bottle, while I enjoyed putting my straw hat on the little guy. Thanks to that little adventure, Jasper now likes to dig beer bottles out of the recycle bin!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
