52-Crumb Pick Up

Recently, T Junior invented a new game. The object is to smash as many Goldfish as you can with the bottom of your sippy cup before Mom can take it away from you.

I win!

Maybe I should patent it.

Anyway, T Junior loves to make a mess of mealtime.

When he's had enough, he drops handfuls of food over the side of his highchair. And, he says, "Uh-uh, no-no," as he does it.

I'm normally not there to "catch" it. I'm ususally doing the dishes -- breakfast and dinner -- because he actually eats more when I don't sit with him (and because when he's not in his chair, he likes to "help" me with the dishwasher).

Thump.

There went a chunk of banana.

"T Junior, leave your food on your tray."

"Uh, oh!"

Bang!

And, there went the plate with cottage cheese on it. Awesome.

The other day, I was on my hands and knees trying to pick up hundreds of sticky curds off the linoleum under my son's chair. I decided cottage cheese is the worst food to clean up. Paper towels just push it around and it leaves a dairy snail trail.

But then, last night, as I was cleaning up squished pieces of broccoli, I decided that's the worst one. All the tiny dark green balls pop off the florets and scatter everywhere. A damp wash cloth and the Swiffer Wet Jet can't even grab those. The only thing that works is dog tongue.

But the best part of cleaning up after a toddler who's just finished eating is when you are hunched over trying to pinch little blobs of slimy "nana" and you feel someone petting you on the top of your head.

I wonder if spaghetti sauce is good for the scalp?

***

What is your least favorite food to clean up?

Proud Mama

T Junior is obsessed with eyes. He points them out.

Literally.

Mama, Dada and Annie the dog have all been victims of his enthusiastic optical observations. I wonder if I'll develop a twitch because I have to have my eyelid on alert at all times.

But today I didn't mind having to squint and flinch as his index finger came flying at me. Today, at 14 months old, he put two words together that actually mean something.

"Mama eyes."

And, he said it with meaning.

I get the shivers just thinking about it.

I'm a Wiener: A Review

"Hello?" I answered breathlessly into the phone in my parents' bedroom.

"Is this Kerrie?" said a woman with a telemarketing voice.

"Yes," I answered because I was in the 8th grade and I was too dumb to just hang up.

"Congratulations! You won the VCR in the Baskin-Robbins drawing you entered!"

"Huh?"

"You entered a drawing and you won! A VCR!"

"Oh yeah! Awesome! Cool!"

Maybe it was my choice of words that made the woman ask the next question: "Are you 21? 'Cause you have to be 21 to win."

The thing is, my friend entered me in the drawing as sort of a joke. Like the lady said, you had to be 21 to win. (This seems strange to me now. Twenty-one to win a VCR through a contest by an ice cream company? First of all, it's a weird prize considering who was giving it away. Second, what difference does it make how old you are? Now, if it was a box of booze they were giving away, I could understand.)

"Are you 21 or older?"

I didn't know what to do, but I knew I was in danger of losing my prize. Still, I couldn't lie.

"Um. No."

"Okay, then. Sorry, you have to be 21. Thanks, bye-bye." Click.

Bummer.

My mom came into the room. "Who was that?"

I set down the receiver. "Oh, a lady telling me I won a VCR, but I had to be 21 to win."

"Kerrie!"

"What?"

"You should have said, 'Hold on,' and given me the phone!"

Oh, man. I didn't think of that. "Sorry."

That was the first time I won something, even though I never collected my reward. It's an exciting thing, to win.

So, I was super stoked when 5 Minutes for Mom e-mailed me to let me know I won this.

It's the only mom-blog-contest I've ever entered, and I won! Woohoo!

Last week, I got my basket and had so much fun unpacking all the goodies. They really got a lot in there. Some of the items are a little young for T Junior and a few of them are for girls, so I've been sharing the love with some of my other mommy friends. (Sorry I don't have something for everyone, though.)

Everything in the basket is way cool, but there are a few things I'm using more than the others.

I love this luxe car seat cover by Baby Bella Maya. When Mr. T said he thought it was too...girly...for our son, I countered with, "It's not for the kid. It's for the mom." Geesh.

The same company sent these adorable booties, but those went to a friend who has a baby girl (and wears the size they sent). Aren't they cute, though?

Me and the hubs agree (rare) that this bib by A Better Bib rocks. Mr. T is all set to order more!

I also want more of the baby t-shirts that Samson Martin sent (pictured on T Junior at top). It's so light and airy and stylin'. It's perfect for summer. And, I know once the weather gets cooler, T Junior will be able to get all snuggly with this gorgeous blanket also from Baby Bella Maya. It's so pretty. I want one for me!

But, there was lots of stuff specifically for me in this bag of goodies. I've already received compliments on my necklace from Kameleon Jewelry. How'd they know that I have a weakness for sparkly things? Of course, I love these earbuds with pink Swarovski crystals by ChicBuds. So girly, so fun!

And, the isABelt is a genius idea. It helps me get rid of that gap in the waist of my jeans that I've been complaining about for years. I feel better knowing random people aren't getting a sneak peek at my undies. I also feel better when I wear Mommy Sox. Technically, I think these are for preggie moms, but I don't care. Love 'em!

I received too many special things to list in one blog post. Please go here to check out a ton of other smart and fun things made by some really amazing companies. And, if you haven't already, check out 5 Minutes for Mom. Maybe you'll be the next big wiener!

More Blogs to Love

I started a new blog...again. I start a lot of blogs. I'm kind of addicted to starting blogs, actually.

But this one's for real. I swear. Sanity Department will still be my main blog, but I will be doing my best to update this new one daily.

Yeah, that's right. Daily.

Anti-Social Sally

Mr. T likes to tease me for being social. Yeah, I like to chat it up with strangers in line at Target sometimes, and sure, I'll shout an enthusiatic "hi" to any neighbor out in their front yard when T Junior and I are on a walk.

Mr. T is my opposite. He's shy and tends to hold back when (and if) he meets people. Sometimes, others interpret this as rudeness, but it's just that he's not a Social Sally, as he likes to call me.

But, really, it's impossible to be chipper all of the time.

***

T Junior felt warm, but his fever was gone.

Hallelujah. We can go do something.

Mr. T had been gone all day Saturday at the Skagit Valley Highland Games socializing with his brethren. We were supposed to go, but since T Junior was sick, we stayed home.

Now, without a fever, the baby was hopefully no longer contagious. (At least, that's what the doctor told me on Friday when paranoid-mommy took him in. I also learned he has a molar trying to strong arm its way through the surface of his delicate pink gums. Sweet.)

So, we were off to Sam's Club in Renton for some staples. You know, fish sticks, mini corn dogs and two perfectly round watermelons to add to the one already taking up space in our fridge. (Seriously, though, I do not know how these will get eaten before they go bad since only one of us in the house likes this fruit and his stomach is barely the size of a tiny one-year-old fist.)

We were halfway through the warehouse, back where the beverages end and the junk food begins, when we were spotted by what I assume was a mom, her mother and a girl about T Junior's age in the seat of the cart.

As we approached them, the grandma beamed, and turned her body and the cart toward us, blocking the aisle's exit. I smiled even though I knew what was coming.

And then began the awkward useless pleading for the children to "say hi" and wave.

I don't know when this gesture became a chore, but I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I go out of my way to avoid strangers who look like the type of people who might engage in this time-consuming activity. I profile.

The grandma at Sam's opened and closed her right hand, and hunched toward her granddaughter. "Say, 'hi!'"

The little girl dressed in head-to-toe purple stared unblinking at T Junior, who was sucking furiously on his fingers and watching the grandmother. I shrugged, but it was clear this group wasn't going to let us pass until the kids did something.

Finally, God bless him, T Junior pointed and yelled in his occasional Southern accent. "Hah!"

The women clapped with joy and then, to my horror, grandma slid her cart next to ours so that the babies were side by side. The girl and T Junior reached their little saliva-covered hands toward each other, but Mr. T pushed our son's arm down before they touched. "He had a fever a couple of days ago. He's getting over a cold."

I nodded and then shook my head. "Yeah, he's sick."

The other mom waved her arm in dismissal. "Oh, she's got a runny nose."

Then why in the hell are you sliding her over to give her germs to my kid?

I laughed. "Poor girl." Then, I pushed the cart forward and leaned in. "Say 'bye-bye!'" After a few minutes of that, we were back on track.

But now we were on the same shopping path, so when I saw the group at the end of the next row, I touched Mr. T's elbow and stopped pushing the cart. "Let's wait."

"Why?"

"I don't want to go through all of that again," I said, gesturing down the aisle.

Mr. T chuckled. "Who's being anti-social now?"

What's Up With Me?

I haven't felt like writing lately. I sometimes go through cycles.

Saturday, I totally could've been blogging, but I was watching The Holiday on TBS. Yeah, that's right. A Christmas movie in the middle of July, and after I just complained about Walmart and everything.

Today, I got to wondering, what was I doing last year? One look and I remembered: I was freaking out. Worried about day care and finding a part-time job that would let me be with T Junior more often. I was in a constant state of panic, my stomach in my neck.

Let me take you back: Heartbreak

But, then this happened about a month later.

Isn't it weird how life sometimes works itself out on its own?

The Day After Independence Day

I close the thick paperback and set it on our maple coffee table.

Mr. T is working on my laptop at the opposite end of the couch, closest to our 32-inch rear-projection TV. The room is almost dark so the computer screen spotlights his face. Behind his profile, I see that the listings on Channel 74 are rolling through. I stare straight ahead at them, but I don't notice what's on.

After a few rotations, I shake my gaze and look out the large window over the back of the couch and my right shoulder. My only reading light is about to go out, but it doesn't matter because I finished the book. I search the sky, take notice of a few puffy clouds among the twilight and breathe in the scent of artichoke and spinach pasta.

We are so lucky.

I shut my wet eyes.

***

Some stories affect me. Make me think about life and my life and my family. I can't help it. Does this happen to other people?

Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner did this to me. But it wasn't just his amazing plot or prose, it was the setting: Afghanistan. Like the twisting Khyber Pass described in the novel, the story winds the reader through the nation's modern history of war, from relative calm in the 1970s until the Soviet invasion later that decade and then the sharp turn to the height and terror of the Taliban's reign in the '90s.

I finished it on Sunday night, the day after Independence Day. We are fortunate to live here in America, to not have to walk around with fear in our bellies, but instead with the fresh-picked taste of freedom.

***

Earlier that evening, I slide on my flip-flops and buckle T Junior into his ride-on toy for our nightly stroll through our suburban Seattle neighborhood. We set out around the same time each day, just after the sun has crested, when it is ready to slide down the other side of the ocean. I push T Junior in the convertible Beetle-style car we bought him for his first birthday and he points a tiny, enthusiastic index finger at every vehicle -- van, Jeep, truck, bike or motorcycle -- that whizzes by.

As we turn into the first cul de sac on our route, T Junior rips his right fingers from his mouth to motion toward a lawn being watered. A string of saliva slingshots across the hood of his ride.

"Dis?"

"That's a sprinkler."

We pass it and he rocks his shoulders in time to the slow rhythm of the Rain Bird's song: cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...

"You're funny!"

We make our way around the wide loop at the end of the street and I think about the book I plan to finish tonight. I think about Afghanistan and its people. I think about green lawns and hoses and mowers.

Back at the mouth, the soundtrack to the American dream is audible again and T Junior starts swaying along...cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...cheh...but then, the beat changes as the sprinkler rewinds itself: ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. T Junior reacts and stays in step by dropping each shoulder down and then up again and again, dancing from his hips in his little red car.

His choreography and coordination surprises me, and I am laughing and shaking my head as we turn the corner onto the main road. T Junior dances, slow then fast, and slow then fast until the sprinkler is out of earshot.

We are so lucky.

Whew, Where Has the Summer Gone?

I don't like the way stores try to rush us through each holiday.

For example, I noticed beach balls and squirt guns on the shelves at Walmart next to Valentine's Day chocolates a few months ago. Isn't that a little early? Doesn't that kind of spoil the fun of summer's arrival? Not to mention, here in Seattle, it doesn't actually feel like summer until mid-June.

Yesterday, we took T Junior to get a kiddie pool at Wally World. We walked in through the electronic doors, the smell of Subway's bread smacking us in the face. (Really, Subway? Do you have to pump it in so strong? You know it doesn't smell the same as warm loaf from a real patisserie, right?)

Blinded by the onion-laced bread aroma, we almost walked past the sun toys. A week ago, the water wings and Styrofoam noodles were in the seasonal section of the store, taking up three entire aisles. Plus, there were more towels and flip-flops over by the greeting cards (yeah, I thought that was kind of a weird spot, too).

Now, those same rows are packed with storage containers (for all the pool stuff you purchased back in February) and the first of the back-to-school supplies are trickling in. Didn't kids just get out of school? Hasn't summer just begun?

It's the Fourth of July today. Tiny American flags on wooden sticks claim potted plants from one end of the country to the other, and their big brothers flutter excitedly from the front of houses everywhere. Even the sun can't wait to celebrate. It was up around 4:30 this morning.

Moms and dads and their kids in garages all throughout our neighborhood are getting ready for the parade. Soon, me, Mr. T and T Junior will join them. At the dollar store, I purchased a shiny crimson star garland, little flags, patriotic pinwheels and a lei in red, white and blue for T Junior's plastic car. I even found a squishy baseball for him to hold.

The mood outside definitely screams summer. Just don't go into a store.

***

How are you celebrating the season?

Wednesday Was Sucky

Wednesday was one of those days. We all have them.

Technically, it started in bed on Tuesday night.

I felt Mr. T looking at me from the other side of The Kite Runner.

"Don't stay up too late reading."

But, of course, I did. I was right in the middle of the disturbing climax. At 11:30, I closed the novel and picked up my Sudoku workbook. I needed to unwind for a bit, and when I felt sleepy, I switched off the light.

"Ker."

Pause.

"Ker."

Pause.

"Ker!"

Oh! I did hear someone calling me. Mr. T's dark shadow hovered next to my side of the bed.

"Annie puked. Gonna turn on the light."

I saw it was 1:15 and sighed with my entire body.

The dog was already in the back yard, where I imagined she was eating grass like a goat. I fetched towels, and stood around blinking and yawning with my arms crossed in front of my torso while Mr. T cleaned up the mess.

Thank goodness I don't work on Wednesdays.

I returned to the soft sheets around 2. But I couldn't fall asleep right away because that scary part from the book was back. I couldn't stop thinking about it. After an hour or so, I shoved my brain in a different direction.

I guess I fell asleep because my eyes popped wide to sunlight seeping through the curtains. The baby monitor whined. I looked to the clock to get my bearings, but it was only 6:30. The level of brightness in the room made it feel like noon.

What? It's too early for T Junior to be up. He slept till 8 a couple days ago. Figures.

But the monitor remained quiet so I drifted out and then in when I heard him again and then out and in again until NPR made me get up at 7.

Usually, I get some time (15 minutes) to myself in the morning. I eat toast with butter, drink coffee with a half-teaspoon of Splenda and a splash of whatever flavor of Coffee-Mate had been on sale at Safeway. But not Wednesday.

I poured T Junior's milk into his green sippy cup, I broke a banana into three chunks for him, I toasted half of an English muffin and sliced two strawberries while the bread cooled. Then, I spooned a quarter-cup of cottage cheese into a plastic bowl.

By the time I finished cleaning up, T Junior was done eating. I knew this because he dropped the bowl on the floor splattering sticky curds everywhere. I tore off a paper towel and cleaned up the mess. Then, I ruffled through clean laundry in the dryer until I found a wash cloth, wiped the boy down and set him free in the living room.

Finally, at 8:30, I got my meal.

But the rest of the day followed the strange and annoying pattern that had been set the night before. T Junior was cranky and tired, and so was I, but at least I wasn't crying about it. Every little noggin bump from the coffee table sent him into a short, but intense, tantrum. Or, if his wagon got stuck on a toy. Or, if his little plastic truck fell over. Or, if I looked at him wrong. Seriously. I think he interited his mother's flare for the dramatic.

And, yeah, reading this now, it doesn't look like that bad of a day to me either. But, it was one of those days you just had to have been there. It was one of those that's just a hair off balance. Those days make the simplest inconveniences intolerable. You cringe from wet dog nose on your leg and you throw your hands up in defeat when a fork falls to the floor.

The thing is, when you're on the inside looking out, it feels worse than it is. You know what I mean?

But we get to start over, and today wasn't half bad.

***

How are you coping?