Tag Archives: toddler

Zen Mommy Moments

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this is an old picture, but I think there’s something which captures the zen of taking care of this little guy

I would love to say that I have these all the time, but I don’t.  Whenever I do have one, it intrigues me.

For instance, tonight, Really Little Man was acting lethargic and generally tired.  Since he has a bit of a cold, was just playing hard outside, and woke up early this morning, I wasn’t surprised to see him fading.  I didn’t think much of it, besides a brief thought of “well, I guess I’ll put him to bed a little earlier tonight.”  I was in the process of carrying him to his room to do the diaper change/pajama donning routine when he projectile vomited.  Of course, as a reflex, when he started to throw up, I pivoted, and thusly covered even more area, including the open dresser drawers and changing pad area.  Nice.

Here’s were the zen moment comes in:  I was totally calm.  Never mind that I had multiple things simmering on the stove, or that I am so largely pregnant (I’m due on Thursday, ftr) that I can’t even manage picking up the toys in the house, much less clean up a massive mess.  Or that I’m already woefully behind on laundry, or any number of reasons why it would have been completely reasonable to find the scenario utterly overwhelming.

I barely blinked.  I was like, um, something really calm.  An elephant?  A non-charging elephant, that is.  I will take suggestions on similes, thanks.

Maybe it has something to do with stepping up to the plate when there’s a poor, yucky-feeling kiddo in my arms.  Maybe it’s the way he rested his head on my shoulder after he was done throwing up.  I don’t know.  But I calmly cleaned him up, laid him in his crib, and cleaned up the mess.  The clothes are in the wash right now.  Little Man found the whole process fascinating (of course).  And so did I.

Funny how, when the boys are fighting (again) over who gets to play with a specific toy (even though we have a gazillion), I can practically feel my blood pressure rising.  Same thing when there are those little power struggles, when my boys are asserting their independence, and I am asserting my Mommyness.  I can get really stressed out.  But when something objectively overwhelming happens, I can be cool as a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce (yes, that is a reference).  Not all the time, unfortunately, but enough that I suppose it’s just a massive dose of siyatta d’shmaya.  And I’m grateful for that.

Do you ever surprise yourself with resiliency in difficult moments?  

JetBlue and 71% of America, J’accuse!

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Okay, I didn’t really think I would post about this, but it’s stuck in my craw.

JetBlue, not exactly known for the quality of its flight attendants (remember the guy who cursed out a passenger and then exited via the emergency slide?), recently kicked off a family of four whose toddler was, well, being a toddler.

Here’s a video interview from MSNBC

To sum up:  This family’s two-year-old had a 3-5 minute tantrum prior to take off.  The little girl wanted to sit on her mom’s lap, not in her seat with the belt (been there).  The parents, a pediatrician and a doctor, did their best to work with their over-tired, off-schedule toddler, and got her to comply.  They did this while being bothered by the flight attendants, who apparently did nothing more useful than ask to parents to “comply with FAA regulations.”

Once the child was calmed, seated, and buckled (in 3-5 minutes), the family was informed that the pilots had made a decision that for the “safety” of the flight, the family was being removed.  The plane was turned around, and, as that was the last flight of the day, the family of four (including a 2-year-old and a 3-year-old) was stuck until the next morning.

Now, I wasn’t there, so I can’t say that this is exactly what happened, or know if there was some other exacerbating interaction between the parents and flight crew, etc.

However, what I find more disturbing is that the majority of Americans might side with JetBlue on this issue.  In an online poll, 71% of respondents agreed with the airline’s decision.  Seventy-one percent.  I’ve also

seen plenty of tweets applauding JetBlue for removing the family.\

Hello?!?

As a parent who has flown many, many times with my children (including intercontinentally), I was dismayed and unsettled by JetBlue’s decision to boot the family.  Apparently, penguins aboard an aircraft are totally fine, but normal, tired children?  Not so much.  Maybe Delta is just more competent than JetBlue.  Your call.

While claiming that a 3-5 minute toddler tantrum is a safety risk is laughable, it is nerve-wracking to realize that the same thing could happen to my family.  Or yours.  It’s not the first time a family has been removed because of a child’s behavior.

Traveling with children is not easy.  They are out of routine, probably tired, forced to be confined for long periods of time in small, enclosed spaces.  There are delays.  There is security.  There are strange people, environments and experiences.  As parents, we are also tired, trying our best to keep our kids behaving as well as can be expected in an increasingly hostile environment (71%, people, 71%).

In addition, children cannot be controlled, nor can their behavior be predicted.  When a tantrum strikes, sometimes a parent just has to buckle down and wait it out.  To do this on an airplane is beyond stressful, and for it to only take 3-5 minutes is pretty quick, in my experience.

Yes, traveling is stressful and expensive.  I understand that people who do not have children, or do not want children, or do not like children, may not want to ever have to see a child or be in an enclosed space with one.  It may be inconvenient, but it’s not dangerous.

An opinion that I have heard, too many times, is that small children shouldn’t fly.  We should have our out-of-town family come to us.  We should drive.  If we have to fly, our children should be heavily sedated.  We should do anything but inconvenience the masses of Americans who do not want to fly with us and our tired children.

Please.

When did the rights of parents and families to travel become less important that the rights of  individuals?  When did a noisy child become so completely unbearable?  On my last trip, I had to listen to conversation and deal with behavior I found unpleasant.  I dealt with it.  It’s part of travel.  It’s part of life.

Is there a trend of increasing intolerance of small children on flights?  I don’t know.  It feels like it, but I’m not exactly an unbiased observer in this discussion.  Will I feel more nervous and defensive the next time we fly?  Yes, unfortunately, I probably will.

To take a look from the perspective of the airlines, we should take into account their need to comply with FAA requirements.  This includes having children 2 and older in their own seat, buckled, as well as for all passengers to be able to hear the pre-flight safety shpiel (hard to do if there is a howling child).

Where is the line between compassion and compliance?  How much time should a parent be given to calm their child?  How much leeway is understandable and how much genuinely unfair to the other passengers?  Should there be national regulations, so that parents are aware that if their child is not able to be calmed within a certain amount of time, they will be asked to leave the flight?  Should they be reimbursed for the considerable inconvenience?

What do you think?  Will this incident make you rethink traveling with small children?  If you are of the opinion that small children shouldn’t travel, do you have other suggestions? 

A toddler’s perspective on the Twins from France

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English: Torker Unicycle taken by Andrew Dressel

The Twins from France were in town recently, and having seen an example of their talents on Youtube, I was really excited to see a live performance.  We decided that I would go with Little Man, and my husband would stay home with Littler Man.

We arrived earlyish and snagged good seats in the second row next to some friends.  It was clear that Little Man was feeling overwhelmed by the large amount of people and/or the largeness of the room.  He sat docilely on my lap, three fingers firmly placed in his mouth, eyes wide.  The chairs were arranged in a U shape, with about three rows per side.  The majority of the children were sitting on the floor, as instructed by the performers and emcee.

The show started, and it was an hour of genuinely impressive acts.  There was  juggling, physical acrobatics, sword-balancing, unicycles, creative bicycle riding, a horse costume, giant balls thrown into the audience, and crowd participation, both for children and adults.  The trick I found most astounding was this:

One twin rode around the room on a bicycle as the other twin climbed on the back, standing on the axle of the back wheels.  He then climbed onto the seat.  Then he placed one leg at a time over his brother’s shoulders until he was sitting on them.  Next, he climbed onto the handlebars.  This whole time he was holding onto three somewhat large juggling pins.  Finally, he juggled the pins while balancing on the handle bars of the bicycle his brother rode around the room.  My jaw was on the floor at this point.

About a half-hour into the show, Little Man had warmed up to the venue.  He was leaning forward to watch the show, smiling, and even clapping along with the crowd, which was adorable, let me tell you.  Little clapping hands are one of my absolute favorite things ever!

After the show, I was interested to see what made the biggest impression on him.  Would it be the giant balls thrown into the audience?  The horse suit act, where little boys in the audience were invited to ride around on the “horse?”  The juggling of colorful pins?  What would he take away from this experience?

When I asked him what he liked best, what he remembered seeing, he responded,

“Man fall down.  And he get up!  And he fall down.”

There you have it.  I’m sure the twins have put in years of practice, ingenuity and thought into their show.  They have a real talent for showmanship, plus agility and energy which is astounding.  And my son remembers only the slapstick.

Of course, the important part was that he enjoyed himself, which he did.  We drive past the venue on the way to school in the morning, and he excitedly reminds me that he saw “the show” there.  I’m definitely glad we went.  But it’s fascinating to me how there are so many facets of the performance, and I’m not sure how much was appreciated.

I think we’re kind of like that, sometimes.  We may not appreciate the immense amount of work that goes into organizing a community shiur, or starting and maintaining an organization.  We may not appreciate the work that a spouse puts into a lunch or dinner.  Really, I think it’s easy to under-appreciate the effort other people put into their  (and our) lives.  Maybe we can take the time this week to find someone to appreciate a little more.

Also, you can find the Twins from France’s new DVD here.  No reason for the plug except I think they’re awesome.

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image via Wikipedia

Who are you and what have you done with my baby?

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My second-born was an easy-going type of baby.  Really, you could pretty much put him anywhere, with any toy, and he would be, generally, content.  He ate anything, took beautiful naps, and was blissfully, wonderfully easy.

He’s not really a baby anymore, since he’s starting walking and communicating and all.  Well, this child now has opinions.  Or, should I say, Opinions.  And he is not timid about expressing them.  Unfortunately, his opinions, or rather, desires, are not always, or even usually, easy or possible to fulfill.  And this leads to a very frustrated baby and mommy.

I know this is just a phase, and that it will eventually pass, but right now, it’s exhausting.  It’s like everything I do is unacceptable to him, and consequently, DISASTROUS.  Even though I know it’s irrational, I feel like a total failure.  It’s getting old.  Fast.

Example one:

Sitting in his high chair, he rejects all my options of food choices with a giant sweep of the arm and a vigorous shaking of the head.  I offer him a sippy cup.  Rejected.  Apple slices.  Rejected.  Noodles.  Rejected.  Animal crackers.  Rejected.  He wants the glass on the table.  He gestures toward it, pointing, saying “dat! Dat! DAT!!!!!!!!!!!!”  I try to give him cheese puffs.  Hahahahaha.  As if.  He swoons in frustration and throws all the cheese puffs on the ground.  My carpet is filthy.

Example two:

He wants to go outside.  I try to put on socks and shoes.  Unacceptable.  He vigorously protests.  We go outside.  I pick him up and carry him since his brother has already zoomed up the stairs.  Unacceptable.  He lays down on the ground and sobs.  He wanted to do it himself.

Example three:

It’s bathtime.  I turn on the water, he’s excited.  I take off his sweater.  Still good.  I put him in the bathtub.  Disaster!!  I don’t even know what I did there.  I whip out the bubbles, blow a few.  Success!  Giggles!  Except now he wants to blow the bubbles.  I try to retain the wand.  Unacceptable!!  Tears!  Anguish! I give him the wand, and we blow bubbles “together.”  Success.  Smiles again.  Now he wants the bottle, too.  I try to help him put it on the edge of the bathtub.  Disaster!  He wants to do it himself!!!  Tears!  Anguish!  I let him put in on the edge.  Now he wants to put it IN the tub.  I don’t let him.  Oh, the horror!!  So I pour out the solution into the sink and give him the empty bottle.  SUPER Unacceptable.  He is inconsolable for the rest of the bath.

This goes on all day.  All day.  And this is in addition to whatever drama my dramatic first-born is up to (though, thankfully, he’s less dramatic than this).  Or that I am up to.  It’s seriously exhausting.  I can’t wait for this phase to be over.

Air Travel with Small, Nervous Children

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Last night we returned from a nearly two-week visit to my in-laws.  I love spending the holidays with family.  However, since we live in different cities, we first have to get there, and that usually means a trip to the airport.

Travel makes me edgy in general, but add two small children who are invariably off-schedule to the mix?  The potential for disaster is mind-bogglingly great.  My solution to this is to plan, plan, and plan some more.  And then to be flexible, because it’s likely that very little will go according to plan.

Our oldest has been flying since he was a wee babe.  He’d been to my in-laws, my parents, and Israel all before he was a year old.  He’s an old pro.  Imagine my surprise when, on the trip to my in-laws last Pesach, he freaked out on the plane.  FREAKED OUT.  Like, a toddler panic attack, poor thing.  Screaming, crying, squirming to get out of his seat.  I think everyone on the plane was traumatized.

So, I had a gun-shy kiddo on this trip, as well as a new perambulator (the baby is walking, everyone) to contend with.  This would, indeed, require some planning.

airplane

please, please, please let this trip be okay!

The planning

For every trip with kids, we always pack certain staples, such as diapers, wipes, sippy cups/bottles, pacifiers, loveys, snacks, change of outfit, what have you.  For this trip, I also brought a wide array of entertainment and bribery, including:

  • New! coloring books
  • crayons
  • New! stickers
  • New! toy trucks
  • New! books
  • even more snacks
  • Lollypops (the current bribe of choice in our household)

Notice a trend?  I ransacked Target’s dollar bins, as I wasn’t about to shell out a lot, yet I wanted the edge of novelty.  Even though I rotate their toys, I sensed that any old toy wasn’t going to cut through that thick layer of toddler fear.

We didn’t really have a game plan for the littlest one.  Because he’s only a year old, it’s basically up to us to occupy him, which, due to the confined area, is done by 1) holding him,  2) feeding him or 3) holding him while feeding him.

Regarding the panicky kiddo, in addition to preparing treats and bribes, I did an experimental thing.  Children (okay, people), crave routine, right?  They like to know what’s coming next, what to expect.  It makes them feel safe.  This is one reason we read the same book nineteen times, and why pajamas always come before reading books at bedtime.

So I created a whole story, about a little girl, “Shoshana,” who was going to visit her Bubby.  Since her Bubby lived far away, she had to go on an airplane to get there.  The story included taking a taxi to the airport, security, potential turbulence, overhead announcements, and, of course, take-off and landing.  Whenever the plane went Shake Shake Shake (my representation of taking off, poor choice of wording, I know), “Shoshana” told her mother that she didn’t like it, and “Shoshana’s mother” held her hand and suggested that they daven to Hashem.  I told him this story nearly every night for what seemed like a month.

I also did my own davening to Hashem that my child have an easier time this trip.

The outcome

The trip to the airport unfolded just like in the story, complete with a commentary from my toddler.

“I in airport!  I go on airplane!  Whoa!  Airplane!”

Everything was hunky dory until we actually started boarding the plane.  Perhaps it was a combination of the noises, the small space, or some unpleasant memory.  Whatever the reason, as we made our way to our seats, he was whimpering and making a Very Sad Face.  This was met with looks of both sympathy and terror from the other passengers.

At our seats, he didn’t want to sit in his own seat, much less buckle up.  He was firmly planted on my lap.  I made a lot of encouraging noises to him, about how he was Such A Big Boy, and remember how “Shoshana” buckled herself in, and how she sat by the window, too!  Somehow he agreed to sit in his seat, but was still very uneasy.  His uneasiness escalated as the plane began to taxi and then to take off.

While continuing to speak calmly and reassuringly, I whipped out the New! trucks from the bribery stash and started playing with them on his lap.  This was a hit, and he slowly calmed down and proceeded to drive the trucks, complete with sound effects.  After a few minutes he turned to me and said,

“I happy.  I not scared anymore.  I happy”

I’m not gonna lie, I kind of felt like a parenting genius at that point.

My husband and I basically spent the rest of the flight taking turns holding and feeding the baby.  Important note:  Constantly feeding your child on a trip is not always the best idea, especially when the child is young and prone to spitting up.  I speak from unfortunate experience.  However, this time it was a pretty solid plan.  Little skinny pretzels and a small box of raisins kept him happy most of the time.  Especially the box for the raisins.  That was the best toy ever.

When the two brothers were together (i.e., when I was holding the baby), it was smooth sailing.  They entertained each other sweetly, with big brother feeding little brother pretzels, and nary a quarrel in sight.  Aside from being slightly annoyed that my husband was able to sit by himself and read (the nerve!), I was content.  Well, except for…

The X factor

This leads me to the other necessary items anyone should travel with:

  • a sense of humor
  • spunk
  • the ability to ignore rude people
  • a deep abiding belief in karma

Because there will occasionally be That Guy on the plane.  He was sitting behind us this time.  Initially, I was so intensely focused on assuaging my son’s anxiety that I didn’t notice the attitude coming from behind me.  After we got through the rocky patch, my toddler was super happy, and, as happy toddlers are wont to do, was making all sorts of plane/car/pterodactyl noises, singing various nursery songs, etc.  I was SO RELIEVED that he wasn’t a basket case that I seriously didn’t care what kind of noise he was making.  He was happy, I was happy.  Finished.

However,  I started to notice that whenever my son’s volume reached a certain decibel, That Guy would groan, mumble, or go “shhhh.”

Seriously.  He was shushing us.  Who does that?

Then, when he got up to to the restroom, he leaned over and said,

“So you’re the one who’s making all that noise.”

I calmly remarked,

“This is nothing compared to the last trip.”

That Guy didn’t respond.

His little snarky noises continued throughout the rest of the flight, but I wasn’t about to start shushing my toddler for that.  The amount of noise my child was making was not outrageous or offensive.  Plane travel carries the risk of unpleasant peripheral noise.  I myself was subjected to That Guy’s conversation with his seatmate about how the stewardesses these days aren’t young and attractive like the ones on Pan Am (I’m not making this up).  I begin to ruminate on how if That Guy was so sensitive to noise on the plane, he should just buy those noise-cancelling headphones they sell in SkyMall.

Even though I strongly disliked how That Guy conveyed his opinion of my child’s noisiness (he could have just asked nicely, after all), it’s not a bad idea to teach my kids how to be quiet in small, crowded places.  I made a mental note to work on teaching my son about volume levels in an airplane, but mainly because it’s good manners, and I just hadn’t thought of it for this trip.  I was too busy warding off a toddler panic attack, thank you very much.

You’re welcome, Mr. Curmudgeon.  And thank you.  May you be surrounded by happy toddlers wherever you go.

What are your travel strategies with youngsters in tow?

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Image by shyb via Flickr

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Why gating the kitchen is great idea, or, the day I took my stove apart

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It’s been really hot lately.  So hot that my usual getting-out-of-the-house activities are not an option. Going for a walk? No thank you. Playing in the park? Not unless I want heat stroke. Other (free) indoor activities, such as going to the grocery store or library, haven’t panned out so well, as I haven’t always felt up to the task of managing both kids in a public place, especially after a few choice tantrums (not thrown by me).

So we’ve been a little cooped up, and everyone’s been increasingly stir-crazy.  I’ve been experiencing the joys of a teething baby (four teeth at one time), missed the boat on sending my toddler to day camp (boy do I regret that indecision), and in general, am feeling the need for space in a big way.

This means that when the kids are playing nicely on their own (which happens so infrequently that its occurrence makes me wonder if I’m not hallucinating), I don’t run so fast to see what they’re doing.  I know that if they’re quiet, it very well may mean a mess to clean up later, but I’m just so happy for the respite that I hope for the best (even though I know that’s a bit of wishful thinking).

the clever child

This is a story of how reality squashed my wishful thinking.

Last week, early into the Nine Days, I decided to self-clean my oven so I could make some milchig dinners in the oven for a change (I only have the stove-top at my disposal since our toaster oven finally gave out). I turned on the self-clean in the late afternoon, while the kids were still awake and playing relatively quietly in their room.  The oven door automatically locks during the cleaning, which sure is a nice feature, and let me relax to some degree.  I was checking Facebook doing this that or the other around the house when the smell of burning plastic wafted over to my nose.

Hmmmm.

My first thought was that maybe the pots and pans stored in the drawer under the stove were getting too hot, so I opened the drawer and removed them.  They were warm, but nowhere near warm enough for melting plastic.  I sniffed each one (yes, I did) as I placed it on the floor, but that smell was not coming from any of them.

So then I looked at the oven door and saw it. One of my super-skinny cutting boards. Well, what used to be one of my super-skinny cutting boards. Now it just looked like smoking, melting Swiss cheese, er, plastic (this picture was taken much later in the evening, FTR, since I couldn’t open the oven door for what seemed like hours).

oy va voy
Did you know that on certain stoves, there’s a little teeny crack in the top of the oven door? It leads to a space between the outer glass and the inner, double pane.  It’s for ventilation, apparently.  I was unaware that this tiny yet hugely problematic space existed.  My toddler, with his unquenchable curiosity, had clearly discovered it.

the teeny crack

My reconstructed scenario went something like this:  He had opened the dishwasher, pulled out the cutting board and inserted it into this enticing little oven door crevice.  I don’t know when he did it. Sometime that day. And now said cutting board was quickly fusing to my oven door, and smoking up my kitchen.

So, I turned off the self-clean.  No baked ziti for us that night.

Later that evening, when the boys were safely asleep in their cribs, and the smell of plastic gone from my apartment, I took a look at the oven door.  It was still mildly warm, and I thought that perhaps I could scrape the cutting board off the glass. I found a wire hanger and bent it into a useful (I hoped) shape. After attempting to scrape around in there, I realized that I was probably just pushing more plastic down into the oven door than removing it, and I gave up on that idea.

the hanger

The next logical step, was, of course, to take the oven door completely apart.  Right?  ‘Cause that’s the most reasonable course of action.  Also, my husband wasn’t home to talk any sense into me.  I got out the big guns:  my toolbox.  Time to get handy.

While I was removing the screws from the door, I did have the foresight to arrange them carefully in their respective order.  Perhaps it wasn’t necessary, but I didn’t want to be stuck with a disassembled stove and no idea of what went where.  Plus I liked having control over some part of this crazy stove situation.

the organized screws

After the door front was removed, I assessed the damage.  It was not pretty. There was no way I was going to be able to separate the plastic from the glass. It was baked neatly in between the two inner panes of glass.  Despite my frustration, it was actually kind of impressive.

the inner damage

The most reasonable next step was removing the plastic-covered glass from my oven (right?).  Ostensibly, this was so I could show it to the Home Depot guys to get a new one, but really, I think I was just having a little too much fun taking things apart (who, me?).  And maybe I was hoping a little bit that if I just took out the offending plastic/glass combo, I could still make baked ziti the next day.

the glass removed

I reassembled the oven door rather uneventfully, and was really hoping that I could use the oven soonish.  However, when I asked the men at a nearby appliance store if I could use my oven without that part, they told me ominously of wasted heat, burnt little hands and shattering glass.  Yikes.  So, no baked ziti for us. Now I just need to order the part … until then, stove-top cooking it is! I’ll take any good stove-top recipes you have to offer.

Also, we put up a gate to the kitchen.  Best decision this summer.

What’s the most unusual/inconvenient household damage you’ve experienced?

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What’s your take results: What do you call your spouse?

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Wow, I really left that poll up for ages, didn’t I?  Well, the results are definitely in:

In our house, we mainly call each other by nicknames (Honey, or Honeychik/Honeychka – the Russian influence and all), or Tatty/Mommy.  We do use our proper names, but with the little parrot in our house (Little Man, that is), it has started to be amusingly problematic.

Just last week, I was calling to my husband, who was in another room.  Immediately after I did so, Little Man did a perfect imitation, inflection and all, of my husband’s name.  And kept repeating it for some time.  It was really cute, but not exactly something I was going to encourage.

And then yesterday, when Little Man wanted me to bring him a snack, he again said my husband’s name, then looked at me.

“What’s my name?”  I asked the little tyke.

“[my husband's name, with that same inflection - do I really sound like that?  yikes.]“

“I’m Mommy,” I say.

“[again with my husband's name]“

“Mommy.”

“[the name]“

“Mommy.”

You can see where this is going.  Anyways, it’s pretty funny.  But now I really have to be mindful of what I call my husband.

We do joke around about how it’s funnily/creepily Oedipal to say things like, “I love you, Mommy.”  I mean, really?  Ew.  Also, we end up referring to each other by Mommy/Tatty even when the kids are sleeping.  Or when we’re out at a restaurant.  Or whatever.  So it’s got some quirky side effects, but overall, it doesn’t faze me.  Just another unexpected kick of parenting.  At least this one isn’t physically gross, unlike other parenting experiences.

Check out the new poll in the sidebar (yeah, over there).   Let me know where you stand.

Parenting is really gross

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Toy Ducks

Image by The Opus via Flickr

Warning:  this post contains a high level of gross!  Proceed at your own risk.

I am not easily grossed out. I like it when my husband gives me gory details of some procedure he did at work. I flip through the pages of his medical journals and don’t wince at the pictures of who-knows-what.  I’m pretty tough, usually.

This is handy, since being a parent is oftentimes very gross. As one of my friends put it once, there’s always some excretion from your kid getting on you. Whether it’s drool, spit-up, vomit, blood, or, yes, stuff that is in a diaper.

We experienced a quintessential gross parenting moment Thursday night.

I was busy in the kitchen, makin’ some Shabbos food, and my husband was in the bathroom with the kids, giving our toddler a bath while the baby happily stood by the edge of the tub, peering over at his brother (or the toys).  There was happiness, giggling, nachas.  What a beautiful family we have!

Then, from the bathroom, with a strained and slightly panicked tone, I hear my husband call out

“Honey, I need some help in here!!!”

Quickly, I wash and dry my hands, disastrous scenarios running through my mind.  You know, the kind that I never would have thought about until I was a mother, but now have a permanent spot in my head space, urging me to exercise Constant Vigilance.

When I get to the bathroom (all of ten steps, maybe), I see my husband holding a struggling and kvetching baby, and a perplexed looking toddler standing in a tub.  Oh, and excrement.  Lots of it, also floating in the tub.  Great.

But it gets better.

My husband fills me in on the situation, saying with a . . . giggle?

“I noticed that Little Man went to the bathroom in the tub, and then I noticed that Really Little Man was reaching into the tub, scooping it up and eating it.”

Eating it, people.

(These are the kinds of posts that I will have to delete when the kids get older.)

My husband is laughing with a sort of disbelieving chuckle.  He chortles to me,

“Really Little Man has poo on his face.  All over it!”

I fail to see the humor here, exactly.  Mainly I am just GROSSED OUT.  Big time.

I whip into action, swiftly removing the (still perplexed and now protesting) toddler from the tub.  I wrap him in a towel and whisk him off to his room.  I gently explain to him why he had to leave the tub so quickly, and he solemnly repeats the info back to me, in his squeaky little voice,

“Leave the tub so fast.   Water dirty.  Yeah.”

My husband is still amused by the situation.  I am still grossed out, and more than a little displeased at having to clean/disinfect/sterilize/hermetically seal the tub and toys.  Yuck.

Anyways, this is not the first – nor last, I suspect – time that there will be #2 in my tub.  There will probably be more and varied grossness that I have yet to see.  It’s just part of parenting.  And that’s okay with me.  Still, I wish there were a magic button I could push when things like this happen.  You know, summon the amazing cleaning gnomes to disinfect those toys for me.  Oh well…

What’s the grossest parental experience you’ve the the pleasure to share?  Or have heard of? 

(FTR, my husband gave me permission to share this story)

June Menu Plan

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Israeli Salad

Image by lynn.gardner via Flickr

Since we’re moving in less than a month (Aaaaahhhhhh!), my June menu plan’s focus is on using up everything that I have in my house.  In the fridge, the freezer, the cupboards (I found a ridiculous amount of corn meal.  Go figure).  I was not looking forward to this inventory of items.  At all.  I put it off for many hours today (thank you, Facebook, for the constant diversions), but in the end it wasn’t nearly as painful as I expected.  Yay!

I had to get a little creative at times with the hodgepodge of items (3 cans coconut milk, 2 jars of taco sauce, 1/2 pack of egg noodles, some wasabi powder, etc.), but the overall menu is actually fairly normal-seeming.  It was actually kind of fun to find new recipes to use some of the items that didn’t immediately bring to mind a favorite recipe.

Without further ado . . . the menu.

Dinners

“Week” One

  • Shabbos, the 3rd ~ Dinner:  Tuna croquettes (Kosher by Design, Short on Time), Israeli salad, Chicken Soup, Walnut Maple Chicken with Sweet Potato Aioli (KBD, SOT), Noodle Kugel, Zebra Cookies (KBD, SOT).  We’re going out for lunch.

Week Two

  • Sunday, the 5th ~ Leftovers from Shabbos, Toasted Barley and Mushrooms (Spice & Spirit).
  • Monday, the 6th ~ Lasagna & Coleslaw.
  • Shavuous!  the 7th through 9th ~  First Night: Savory Baked Chickpeas (S&S), Avocado Salad (S&S), Curried Pepper Steak (S&S), Cornbread, Berry Pie (recipe from a friend).  We’re going out for the rest of the meals.  Don’t hate.
  • Shabbos, the 10th & 11th ~ We’re going out both meals.  Hey, we’re moving and want to socialize while we still can.

Week Three

  • Sunday, the 12th ~ Tacos with Cornbread.
  • Monday, the 13th ~ Black Bean and Salsa Salmon (Quick & Kosher) with Pea Salad.
  • Tuesday, the 14th ~ Thai Chicken and Coconut Rice Salad (KBD, SOT).
  • Wednesday, the 15th ~ Kidney Bean Omelette with Spelt Rolls.
  • Thursday, the 16th ~ Noodles with Cheese, Salad.
  • Shabbos, the 17th & 18th ~ Dinner:  Sweet & Sour Salmon (S&S), Salad, Chicken Soup (from freezer), Honey Chicken (Q&K), Potato Kugel (S&S).  We’re out for lunch, B”H.

Week Four

  • Sunday, the 19th ~ Leftovers from Shabbos.
  • Monday, the 20th ~ Lasagne and Salad.
  • Tuesday, the 21st ~ Chicken Pot Pie (from freezer) with Cornbread.
  • Wednesday, the 22nd ~ Salmon (this was a big hit with my husband last month), Couscous.
  • Thursday, the 23rd ~ Noodles with Cheese, Salad.  Classic.
  • Shabbos, the 24th & 25th – We’ll be out for both meals.  Our last Shabbos in Cleveland.  :(

“Week” Five

  • Sunday, the 26th ~ Meatballs (from freezer) and Cornbread.
  • Monday, the 27th ~ Moving Day!!!!!!!
  • Tuesday the 28th through Thursday the 30th ~ we’ll be in Baltimore, and at some point, in our new apartment.  I’m not sure what we’ll be eating, but it will either be extremely simple (think noodles and cheese) or take-out.  We’ll see.

Lunches and Snacks:

I have a lot of flour-type ingredient in my pantry (did you see all the cornbread in that menu plan?  It’s out of control!), so I’m hoping to make many batches of muffins, breads, etc.  These should be good for my toddler to snack on, and good traveling food as the time approaches.

As always, we snack on plenty of fruit and yogurt.  I will continue to try to feed my toddler more than just carbohydrates, so I’ll try some eggs, soups and fruits.  He ate a mango today AND some grapes, so that was pretty exciting for me (it doesn’t take much).  I usually eat whatever is left over, though I’ve been thinking about paying more attention to my diet.  Well, probably after the move (my new mantra).

And that’s it for June’s menu planning.  Have a great Shabbos!

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