crazedparent

Back off timmy tiptoes...

A few weeks ago I was at a nearby park when I noticed some gressive little squirrels going after a table full of food from a visiting mom's group. One squirrel was literally stealing full pieces of watermelon from a plate. Another was getting just a little too close for comfort.

And then I read this story about some ardillas attacking little kids at parks in a neighboring city. Like pouncing on preschoolers and biting them. One little boy has to go through a painful series of shots because they believe the squirrel that bit him had rabies.

Freaky squirrels.

Sweet child of mine...

Lots of kissy photos as part of the Love Thursday Flickr pool, I know. But how can you resist when you've got a picture of such sweetness? One of the features I love with my new MacBook is the built-in camera. Nol and I snap photos almost every day in our "photo booth." Silly faces, high drama, crazy laughs. And at some random moment, he'll say "Mommy, look at me. I'm going to kiss you." Look at his eyes, staring at his mama. Can I just bottle that up and use it whenever I need a little jolt of extra happiness? Love Thursday.

 

Puppy love...

This little rat was my old dog, Capullo (Spanish for "rosebud" and pronounced ka-pu-yo.) My tio sent him to me for my 14th birthday. The dog, only 10 weeks old, arrived on Taca Airlines straight from El Salvador. He was a little bundle of white fluff, his fur had not yet turned its Pomeranian mixed shades  of rust and light brown. He wouldn't eat dog food - we'd have to cook him tortillas and eggs. Or pasta. He loved spaghetti and meatballs. No joke.

Whenever I'd give Capullo his much-hated bath, he'd come out of the tub looking like this photo...a mangy mutt with 'tude. And full of cuddles.

Love Thursday.

   

The sweetest sorrow...

My latest "Keeping House" piece ran in today's San Francisco Chronicle Home/Garden section. The topic? How hard it is for me to part with baby clothes my boys have outgrown. I filed the story before Q.'s first birthday so the reference to that is dated.

"My mom still has my prom dresses hanging in her closet. 'In case you ever have a little girl,' she tells me. But I'm no pack rat."

Read the rest of "Parting with baby clothes is a mother's sweet sorrow."

And do tell, how difficult is it for you to get rid of baby clothes you know you'll no longer need? What item(s) did you allow yourself to keep for memory's sake?

Parental confessional...

Bless me Internet, it's been five days since my last post. These are my sins.

-Pinky and the Brain. I accidentally slammed a door on Q.'s hand, causing him to scream and cry as though his fingernails were being ripped out (that happened a few days later). The affected limb was the pinky on his left hand. I quickly picked him up and when I looked at his finger I saw only blood and what I thought was half of the finger swollen and hanging limp, as if it were about to fall off. Once the crying had calmed to slow, long sobs, I could see his nail was battered and soon-to-be blue. Over the weekend he woke up one morning and said nail was attached to his finger by a piece of skin so small it made me cringe. It gave me the heebies, and then I felt guilty for having the heebies since I was the one who caused the nail to look this wretched in the first place. And finally, the nail fell off. My baby has a nail-less pinky.

-Thong song. We took the boys to their swimming lessons on Saturday morning. As I stood next to the pool to check on a yelling Q., who has, shall we say "issues" with being put under water, I looked at my feet and noticed a clump of black fabric under my jeans. Recalling my rush to get out the door early enough to grab a coffee before we hit the pool, I thought perhaps I hadn't noticed a sock stuck in the pant leg since they'd just come out of the dryer. I picked up the black clump and immediately knew I was wrong. Because oh, it was an undergarment. Black thong panties to be precise. I walked back to my spot and sat down, waiting a minute before I dropped said panties into my bag so as not to appear completely mortified. The dad next to me was watching me quite intently, probably waiting for my face to turn a gorgeous shade of pink to match the streak in my hair. But for some reason, when you become a mom, these types of things just don't embarrass you as much as they would have back in the pre-kid day.

-Hobgoblins. Nol watched The Wizard of Oz for the first time. He wants to be the Wicked Witch of the West for Halloween. And while I'm pretty open about letting him dress up in girl stuff and I try not to force gender roles, I found myself saying, "Well, you can be a goblin for Halloween...that's sort of a boy witch." He'll end up being a pirate because that's what he's wanted to be for weeks, but I still can't believe I said that to him. A goblin boy witch. Pathetic.

Three Hail Mary's and an Our Father should make it right, no?

The Parental Confessional is now open: whatcha' got?

 

The world record of stomach flus...

Almost a year ago the crazedparent household was hit with the hellacious stomach flu weekend. In the following months, we were visited by that bitch -- the stomach flu -- not one, not two, but three more times. It culminated with one entire Sunday where the hubs was sprawled on the couch and Nol., Q. and I lay comatose on the living room floor on a sleeping bag...after taking turns visiting our single bathroom to puke. But like Rocky with the eye of the tiger, we beat the bitch up and survived.

Alas, our ass-kicking was not enough. If she could have only stayed away for more than three months it wouldn't be so bad. But no, the hubs (aka Noah Drake) and I were hit with the flu AGAIN. We're just getting back on our feet today. And praying, as in down-on-our-knees-hands-in-the-air, lighting candles to Santa Marta, Santa Maria, and Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, that the boys don't get it. Because this bug was a friggin' pit bull. One bad-ass mutha.

That's five times in one calendar year. Let me repeat, FIVE TIMES in ONE YEAR.

Seriously, folks, WTF?

Is it just me? Two tips in case it's not...

Two new things to add to your list of essentials (because you need more shit, right? It's okay...these two things are small and like I said, essential. Well, unless you feel otherwise.) I'd love to take credit but alas, I spied these ideas from two other moms.

Key clip: I hate hauling a bag or purse for a quick trip to the park. If I happen to drive, I usually leave my wallet in the car and bring my keys with me. I was never really hip on leaving my keys in a stroller but they're a pain to hold. Too bulky for my jean pocket, since pockets in women's jeans have about thismuchroom. And too much of a pain to weave through shoelaces -- on the rare occasion I'm wearing shoes with laces. One day I spied a mom at the park who had her keys hooked to her belt loop with a Carbiner clip (otherwise known as "those things that mountain climbers use.") Hallelujah! I went to my closest sport shop and picked up the smallest Carbiner clip I could find. My husband says I look like a butch park ranger when I have my keys attached to my jeans. I quickly correct him by asking, "You meant a bootylicious park ranger, right?"  I digress.  I only commit this lifesaving fashion faux pax at the park. And it's worth it when your hands are free to catch a toddler as he prepares to hurdle himself off a playground structure.

Second tip...

I always have a Sharpie pen in my bag. I use it at the park or whenever I need to mark sand toys, sippy cups, clothing labels, blank walls with my mamasita gang tag - you name it. On those days when I leave my purse in the car or at home (see above), I don't have the pen on me. But feast your eyes on this my friends, spied on the keychain of my good friend, Kikirikee.

The Sharpie Keychain:

Never again will I be unable to tag to my heart's content, leaving a proprietary mark on all of my son's belongings.

Is this just me or do other moms or dads do this? Please say you do. Even just to appease me. And rest assured, I am not the mom at the park who yells, "SEE! It's HIS TOY (flipping toy over to show initials). IT HAS HIS NAME ON IT (eye roll)."  But dude, it has happened to me.

Love thursday: the "realness" of a children's book...

Ever find a children's book where the illustrations are so gorgeous and vivid they take your breathe away? Ever find a children's storybook character that reminds you so much of your own child that your heart melts into a million puddles of love every time you read it?

For me, it's the "Sam" series written by Amy Hest and illustrated by the wonderful Anita Jeram. The bear son, Sam, is terribly cute and cuddly. And he captures every bit of sweetness and innocence that I adore about my son, Nol. My favorite book is You Can Do It, Sam. Here's the image from the book that makes me pull Nol into a tight hug:

It's of Sam and his mom sharing a treat, all cozy and snug on a winter's morning. Sam is telling his mom a story about a brave boy, also named "Sam." I swear, I'm getting misty just writing about it.

Love Thursday.

¡El avión! ¡El avión!...

I grew up in a bilingual household. My mom is Salvadoran, my dad, Irish-American. My abuelita, Fina-Linda (Beautiful Josefina), moved here from El Salvador shortly after my oldest siblings were born. I guess you could say that Spanish was my first language since that's what I heard 90 percent of the time. But I've always been more proficient in my understanding of Spanish than my speaking skills. My grammar stinks but it's tolerable.

Nonetheless, I'm still trying to raise bilingual kids. It's a challenge since mi esposo is quite a gringo. His high school Spanish can only go so far. But I have known others to quite successfully teach their kids another language where only one parent is using it. So we're giving it a go, even though we both have our challenges.

Nol's first words were in Spanish. He knew all of his colors, numbers, animals and other words. But he lost some of this once he started preschool. I blame myself because I stopped reinforcing the words and spoke mostly in English to him at a certain point.

Now with Q., I'm going big. I speak Spanish to him almost all of the time. And this is where Nol's big brother jealous tendencies become a positive force. He will have none of this "mom and little brother talking in code" business. Nosiree. A few days ago we were at the park and I heard Nol calling to me to look at something. He was yelling, "Mom ¡Mira!"..."Mom, Look!" It took me a minute to realize he just asked me to do something in Spanish. On his own. It was the coolest feeling.

As for Q., he's got this Spanglish thing going on (thanks to dad). He says a few words in English but understands them in Spanish. His vocabulary is definitely growing daily. He loves pointing out airplanes, so he indeed walks around saying "¡Avión! ¡Avión!"

Even if you're not bilingual and want to help your toddlers learn a bit of Spanish, it's fairly easy to do with the amazing books and CDs available. Forget hiring a $60/hour Spanish tutor for your two-year-old. Why not learn together?

Here are my two favorite Spanish-instructional aids for little (and big) kids*:

-My Little Word Book in Spanish: All the words/photos are translated. Q. absolutely loves this book.

-Baby's First Steps in Spanish: Beautiful Spanish lullabies, nursery rhymes and fun songs. It includes a book with all the lyrics for mom and dad.

Any good Spanish children's books or CDs you've used?

*We have no television, therefore no Dora the Explorer.

MiLPHs?...

I can't believe I haven't posted this yet and even though the story is a few weeks old it's just as entertaining.

A bunch of moms - gorgeous, model-like gals - started a new group and hot mama calendar. The group? MiLPHs World...Mothers in Life, Passion, Health World. It's supposed to be a more "positive" term than, well, you know.* Whatever ladies.

From the SF Chronicle story: 

"These women believe in celebrating their sensuality but draw the line at posing for, say, Playboy, let alone Penthouse. After all, these women aren't the girls next door, they're their mothers."

.....

"Flipping through the pages of the lightly airbrushed calendar, it's hard to believe that the toned stomachs of Miss January through December once ballooned out to hold babies. Deming said that since this first calendar was shot last fall in a time crunch, she chose professional models but that she is open to anyone in good shape  --  mentally and physically  --  between the ages of 27 and 60 for the next. She also would like to represent a broader spectrum of occupations, from ballerinas to corporate executives. 

MiLPHs can have had plastic surgery, but Deming insists she seeks natural-looking women. "It's more about maturity than a beautiful model. A MiLPH has her life  in check  --  she's got to have balance," she said, citing Miss July, Dana West."

Oh, I have balance and maturity alright. But somehow I just don't think my bootylicious self would quite make the cut. (Not that I'd want to be in a calendar or anything. I'm just sayin'.)

Go read the story. And tell me what you think.

*Yes, people, I know it stands for MILF.