I’m sure that by now you’ve seen the video of the baby who concludes that a magazine is nothing but a broken iPad:
So you’ll understand why I was reminded of it yesterday when Baguette found a couple of loose TV cables and tried to plug them into her Elmo book.
One morning, before I was pregnant with Baguette, Mr. Sandwich said, “I had a dream last night. I was in the hallway, and a little girl in pajamas came up to me and said, ‘Daddy, I had a bad dream. Can I get in bed with you and Mommy?’ I don’t know what she looked like, but I knew she was our daughter, and I held her hand and helped her into the bed so she could snuggle between us.”
Baguette is very expressive, but she can’t ask that question yet. Nevertheless, Mr. Sandwich and I have, with greater and greater frequency, been turning to each other and saying, “You know, this is a dream come true for me.”
Before Baguette, I had two miscarriages. Each required a D&C. (The second was followed immediately by flu so bad we’re pretty sure it was H1N1. And we both had it at the same time. That has nothing to do with fertility, but man, were we miserable.) So while we very much wanted to have children, there was a point at which we weren’t sure that would be possible. The result is that even though we’re exhausted–and even though I had another miscarriage (also requiring a D&C) about six months ago, we are very, very grateful.
So what are the grand, major-milestone moments that have prompted us to say, “This is a dream come true”?
Really, what more could we need?
So Baguette has a deep and abiding love for Pajanimals. That means that when I saw that there was a new season planned, I thought, “Great! More than a dozen in rotation.”
Wrong. We’re two episodes in, and this is a completely different show. The Pajanimals have become frenetic, as if they’d broken into a Folgers factory. They sing and dance at a highly accelerated rate pretty much guaranteed to wake up any child you’re trying to teach about bedtime. And for some reason that hasn’t entirely been made clear (maybe it’s a dream?), they visit some magical cloudland where they learn to fall asleep with the help of an English-accented Bedtime Bunny, who may be a bit narcoleptic. Although considering how frenzied their energy is, I find it not only implausible, but a bit maddening how quickly they pick this up.
But I do like that Bedtime Bunny they’ve introduced. Where can I get one?
You know how sometimes everything hits at once? This is one of those times. Somehow every project I have at work is at a crunch point. One of them seems headed into some sort of death spiral (naturally, this is the one that is highest profile). We’re exhausted, because Baguette keeps crying in her sleep for no reason we can identify. And this morning Mr. Sandwich’s sister called to say that their mother is in the hospital, so we handed off immediate duties and headed across town to see her, bearing a couple of books I thought she’d like (turns out that one of them was her favorite Georgette Heyer). Fortunately, she seems to be on the mend.
So as I look at the photo we took of Baguette a month ago, with her impish little grin, I just want to go home and hug her.
But first I have to have a meeting about that death spiral. Life’s all about the trade-offs, right? Right?
How do you pack lunches for your toddler? And what do you pack?
Baguette is not a fussy eater–in fact, she has been known to enjoy a spicy dish or two. She’s starting to get intrigued by forks. That tells me that I might want to change up what I’m giving her–or maybe not.
Every evening (supplemented by most mornings), I cut up a variety of foods and pack them into an array of containers to make the short trip to day care. My latest theory is that the correct number of containers to own is x + 2, x being the number you currently own. (This is also my theory about the correct number of sleepers/pairs of pajamas and the correct number of sippy cups.) Because somehow I could always use a couple more of the medium and large ones. Clearly I over-invested in small containers when she was just starting out with the solids, although at the time it seemed to make sense. And I’m intrigued by bento boxes, but I’d need at least two, right? Because now I have none. But I have so many containers that bento boxes seem redundant. I’m conflicted.
And she is willing to try new things. Lately she’s taken to spaghetti, with Mr. Sandwich’s “extra garlic, basil, oregano, and hot sauce” sauce. We haven’t sent that to day care with her yet, but she does enjoy eating it from a tiny bowl while sitting on the couch. (Now, if we can just keep her from feeding it to the dog…)
Here’s what goes to day care in a typical week: scrambled eggs, fresh fruit (she loves pears, peaches, berries, and melon), sausage, hot dogs, cheese, freeze-dried fruits, freeze-dried snap peas, cereal bars. Plus milk.
That seems limited and limiting. She’s got no apparent food allergies, although her pediatrician has us holding off with nuts and shellfish for a while longer (her school is nut-free anyhow). So what else might we throw into the mix?
. . . I’d have done more cooking a few months ago, when Baguette was willing to actually GO TO BED.
Mr. Sandwich gets home from work at 5, and picks Baguette up. I get home a little after six. As far as we can tell, she’s eaten fairly recently at that point, so she’s not hungry. What she does want to do is go out for a walk and see every dog in the neighborhood (yes, apparently they all are named Wicket). The walk around our block is about a half mile, and it takes about an hour. Wicket didn’t take that long to make the trip even when we first found her and she could barely walk at a snail’s pace.
So now we’re at 7:15–7:30, and it’s time for a little food. Then it’s time for books, tooth brushing (she likes to do it herself), and Pajanimals. If you think this means she’s in bed before 8:30, think again. Of late, Baguette has decided that she will only go to sleep if Mr. Sandwich and I are both in bed with her.
Last night we tried something new. We went to bed, and when she finally fell asleep, I got up and fixed her lunch, put dishes in the dishwasher, and ate dinner.
What was that dinner? Scrambled eggs–half of which went to daycare with Baguette this morning. Because nowhere in this schedule is there time for me to make an actual meal.
I know about planning ahead, cooking in bulk, and using leftovers. I’m delighted to find the comments on this post from Casual Kitchen (a blog I’m new to, but clearly must start following). But I’m doubtful that I’ll be able to make much of anything work while I have a toddler who won’t nap, won’t sleep, and won’t let anyone else take care of her.
So I guess my only option is to invent a time machine. If only I had the time to do so.
Photo by Ateupamateur, via Flickr.
Ever since Food Network aired the first “Great Food Truck Race,” Mr. Sandwich and I have wanted burgers from the Grill ‘Em All truck. Unfortunately, their lines have always been enormous–not really feasible since Baguette is about as patient as you’d expect a 16-month-old to be.
Nevertheless, we headed up to Northridge Din Din a Go Go with the intention of finally consuming the “Molly Hatchet” burger. Or maybe a “Waste ‘Em All.” Or both. Hosted by the Classic Car Wash at the corner of Reseda and Devonshire, this weekly event provides a variety of food trucks–and actual seating!
We started off with a “Trailer Trash” dog (chili, nacho cheese, Fritos) and freshly fried tater tots from Dogtown Dog, as well as a maple-braised pork crepe from Crepe’n Around. Both hit the spot. The pork had a surprising kick to it; it was spicier than anything I usually associate with crepes, but I’d order it again in a heartbeat.
Next up was Lardon and their Baco Taco. This is a mixture of potatoes and cheddar cheese stuffed into a taco shell made of woven bacon strips. Decadent? Sure. Kind of ridiculous? Definitely. Tasty? For those of us who love bacon, potatoes, and cheese, it’s a sure-fire hit.
To round out the meal (and ourselves), we moved on to The Buttermilk Truck. I’ve wanted to try their morning menu with donuts and pancake bites, and maybe one of these days I will–but they had their Late Night Menu, which meant we overdid with the Buttermilk Brick–a biscuit, hash browns, eggs over easy, and chorizo gravy. It was excellent (although I would have expected a much better biscuit from a truck with “buttermilk” right there in its name), but overwhelming considering how much we’d already eaten.
So we still didn’t make it to Grill ‘Em All (or Lobsta Truck, which was there as well). And I ate so much that I’m still full this morning, which never happens. But most importantly, Baguette stayed asleep and in her stroller until just before we were ready to leave. Because otherwise we would have had to share with her, too.
Photo by standardpixel, via Flickr.
Yesterday, Meagan Francis of The Happiest Mom wrote about making the most of the remaining summer days. My thought at the time was that because Baguette isn’t in school, and because our weather is mild for so much of the year, this doesn’t have the same resonance for me right now that it does for others.
That said, I think I had one of our nicest summer evenings last night. We took Baguette and Wicket out for a walk. About a block away, we encountered a neighbor who we’ve spoken with many times. She’s in her 80s and is a retired teacher, with a garden full of ornaments that appeal to small children–and she is completely unconcerned with the effect of small children on that garden. Baguette wandered around her front yard, spinning whirligigs and petting the dachshunds (one of which is quite frail, requiring significant oversight from Mr. Sandwich). Wicket and I sat on the lawn, and all of us talked about dogs and children and our neighborhood. It was relaxed and friendly and comfortable.
I can’t think of a lovelier way to spend an evening.
Photo by rustler2x4, via Flickr.
When I was young, I would see commercials for RIF: Reading Is Fundamental. The ad showed a bookmobile arriving in a neighborhood, and a child (I think a boy, but it’s been a while) would select a book with the title “I Am Somebody!”
This weekend, I took Baguette to the mall. Toddlers need to toddle, but not outside when it’s 104 degrees in the shade. At one point, I glanced into a store filled with tween clothes and saw a t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase “Future Mrs. Bieber.”
Now, I have no real issue with Justin Bieber. He seems to fit in with the same Tiger Beat/Teen Beat pop stars that I remember from my own childhood, also of great appeal to the tweener age group.
And I believe that a good marriage is a good thing. Mr. Sandwich and I put each other first and consider our marriage to be something that we both contribute to (one of my co-workers once said, “It’s not even like they’re married. They’re a team, like Batman and Robin”–I’m not sure I’d pick that prototype, but I appreciate the sentiment).
But that shirt just made me angry. Because what it says to me is, “I don’t need my own identity as long as I’m someone’s wife.” And that is not what I want to teach Baguette. It’s not what I want to teach anyone’s daughter.
Mr. Sandwich and I want Baguette to love herself just as she is, and believe that she has intrinsic human value. We want her to feel confident in her own worth, not feel that she gains importance based on who decided to tolerate her presence. So the question for us is: how do we do that?
I think we do that the way we teach her everything else: by telling her outright, and modeling behavior. For me, that means accepting and loving myself just as I am, so that as her first female role model (and as her mother, that’s exactly what I am), I present an example of love, compassion, strength, and self-confidence. I know I’m not a supermodel, but I’m far from a troll. Are there things I would change about myself and my appearance? Sure, but I don’t think that those things make me a lesser human being. I know very well that appearance is literally the surface of who we are, and I believe that character is much more–and much more important–than size or shape.
I know a lot of women who are distressed by their stretch marks after giving birth. I have them, and while it’s not like I jumped up and down for joy when they appeared, I also have suffered not one moment of anxiety that they exist. I always expected to get them–and they’re a natural after-effect of having a child. And beyond that, they show where Baguette used to live. So while it would be nice to have a smooth, flat stomach, I absolutely would not trade the one I have.
I hope that if I accept myself and my human imperfections, it will be easier for Baguette to do the same. Because I don’t want her to consider herself the “future Mrs. Anybody.” I’d much rather she think, “I Am Somebody!”
Photo by SeeMidTN.com (aka Brent), via Flickr.