Thursday, January 14, 2010

Lesson on Parenting No. 999

...The vessel in which the food or drink is served is of greater importance than the food or drink itself.
Example 1: The subject (one 19 month old female heretofore known as "Sofia") is offered a sippy cup with water in it. Though she frequently accepts said sippy cup with milk in it, she flatly refuses to take more than the one sip of water from it, leading this researcher to believe that the child does not, in fact, like water. However, Sofia is then offered a second drink of water, this time from her mother's gigantic purple water thermos that she uses to down unnatural amounts of water while at work for the purpose of staving off the dreaded UTI. This time, the subject happily downs several ounces of the stuff, while simultaneously getting several more ounces of it all over herself and the carpet.
Example 2: Sofia is offered a bite of delicious macaroni and cheese florentine that her mother spent hours (or at least a half hour) slaving over the oven to prepare. She sees green and immediately turns her head, with a look upon her face that clearly indicates she will not be trying any of it, even though this researcher knows she will love it if she can just get one bite of the stuff in her mouth. Thinking, the researcher gets up and rummages through the cupboard until she finds a baby food jar. She smashes the macaroni and cheese florentine into the jar and then offers it to the child. The child sees it coming from the baby food jar and is tricked into trying it. The researcher is correct. She loves the macaroni and cheese florentine.
Fascinating stuff, this parenting.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

On Second Thought...Maybe I'll Just Stay In

Yesterday I received further education in my voyage to becoming a succesful mom of two. STAY HOME! For some reason I have this foolish idea that I should try to "get out" during the week when Hugo's at work. I spent 30 minutes packing the babies up so I could go to the store yesterday. Did I need to go to the store? No. Hugo had very thoughtfully taken me to the grocery store the evening before so we could get all the food we needed for the week.

I decided to take a trip to a cute little consignment shop down the street that has clothing and furniture for sale so I could "get out" of the house. Hello people. Its not prison. There's no metal toilet bowl. You aren't limited to one phone call. Its home. Its cozy and warm. There's a huge television on the wall, lots of yummy food in the refrigerator and if your 18 month-old decides to yank your shirt down and effect a thorough inspection of your boobs, nobody will see.

So anyway, I bundled the kids up (its COLD in Gainesville right, 30 degrees). I checked both their diapers. I made sure Fiona was fed. I put Sofia's shoes on. I loaded Fiona into her Snugride carseat, put Sofia's shoes on, carried the diaper bag and my purse out to the car, put Sofia's shoes on, loaded Fiona's carseat (with her in it) into the car, put Sofia's shoes on and put her in the car as well, locked the house, went back in for my cell phone, locked the house again and finally pulled out the driveway, while listening to the unmistakeable sound of velcro as Sofia took her shoes off....again. At this point I have realized that having infant shoes be easy to put on is not nearly so important as it is to have infant shoes that are difficult to get off. Though I haven't yet found any she can't get out of yet.

Once we got to the store, I unloaded the gigantic double stroller. I put Fiona into the back slot and, after putting Sofia's shoes back on her...AGAIN...I put her into the front slot. I did not, I am ashamed to report, strap her in. This would be a fact that I would end up regretting. The store, which was delightful aisles of clothing interspersed with antique and gently used furniture when I used to shop there childless was now a maze of crowded stuff with tantalizing bits and pieces hanging out for Sofia to grab onto and pull off the hangers, plus lots of annoying metal feet for my to run into with the too-wide stroller. I was navigating through valiantly though, when Sofia, unbeknownst to me, managed to stand up in the stroller and toppled over to the horror of the people around us.

Let me give you a little description of what it looked like though. She was wearing this very warm and adorable coat that my in-laws gave her for Christmas, which is puffy and well-insulated and has a huge hood on it, making her resemble a cross between the little brother in A Christmas Story, when his mom dresses him in his snowsuit, and a South Park character. She can't quite hold her arms down and she has very limited peripheral vision. So, when she toppled over, she was well insulated for the fall and I knew she wasn't actually injured, so the event had a certain hilarious quality to it, with her laying there on the floor with her arms akimbo, screaming offendedly and unable to actually roll over and get back on her feet. All the concerned passersby were mildly horrified by my irresponsibility and my insensitive nature. Sofia needed to be fluffed back into my good graces and at that point, I came to the realization that "getting out" is highly overrated.

So I tossed them both back into the car, loaded the behemoth into the back and went straight there. Where I still am now, in my pajamas at 2:30 in the afternoon. Sipping on my second cup of home brewed coffee today, while Sofia takes her afternoon siesta and Fiona lies contentedly in her Boppy, gumming her fist. No judgemental passersby invited. If you need me anytime in the next 4 years or so, feel free to stop by.