Odds and Ends

I’m not even gonna apologize for the length of time between postings. Nope. Not going to give lengthy explanations about work, travel, or the incredible morass of navigating Two Kid Land. Not going to make false promises of increased posting.

Just going to fill you in on a few odds and ends.

The Odds

Eily has developed a love for these. And while that fact might cause you to judge her two inept parents, I will say in our defense that the doctor suggested that we feed her Doritos. (He quickly backpedaled when he remembered her dairy allergy – because fake Dorito cheese still has dairy.)

For explanation, Eily only weighed 14.5 pounds at her 9 month visit – dropping her below the growth charts. So the doctor suggested we get her onto table foods more quickly than typical and try to increase her fat intake as much as possible. So I’ve been feeding her avocadoes aplenty. And yes, I add dairy-free and soy-free margarine to all cereals and vegetables, but the high-calorie snack she can’t deny is the chips above. Sad, but true.

It’s working, though. By her visit last week she was up to 16.5 pounds, barely putting her back on the weight chart, but it was enough to make the doctor get off our back, so we’re cool.

And it’s all relative. Today I saw an 8 month old that could bench press Eily and then eat her for breakfast. (Which I wouldn’t recommend. She’s not fatty enough to taste good.)

Another Odd

One of my favorite people in the world sent me an email last night that said:

Your boyfriend is on American Idol – right now.

Now, I don’t watch American Idol, but this piqued my interest. So I made Scott figure out what channel Idol was on and we quickly flipped to it, only to tune into…KISS. Who are not “my boyfriends” in any sense of the word. So I called my delusional friend who then told me I’d just missed…LIONEL RICHIE!

Much gnashing of teeth ensued. You all know I love some Lionel Richie – see this post, and this one, and he even got a brief mention in this one.

But I did write her the following email in response:

Lionel Richie has never been my boyfriend. He's more like a well-loved uncle. Except I never had one of those.

So to clarify: KISS and any of its members are not my boyfriend. Nor is Lionel Richie. He’s more like a mythical relative that I’ve never experienced.

The Ends

Zane’s last day of preschool was today. So preschool graduation was yesterday. (Makes sense, right? One graduates before actually completing the coursework?)

Anyhoo, I know it’s hip to be cynical about preschool graduations, but friends, I TOTALLY dug Zane’s preschool graduation. I’m not sure what I loved best, really. Maybe it was the construction paper caps the little people were wearing. Or the fact that they all got to say what they’d miss about preschool – Zane will miss playing with plane, btw. Or the fact that I didn’t hear about preschool graduation until the morning it was happening, making it an almost a completely spontaneous celebration of my kid and his achievements.

It was so cool that I didn’t even get teary-eyed about my baby boy growing up - not during the graduation anyway. When his teachers told me what a pleasure it was watching him grow and change this year, sure I got a little misty. But overall, it was just a great, joy-filled, spectacular, unexpected event that totally made my week.

Ha ha! That cap is amazing - Zane at preschool graduation!

He’s a really amazing boy.

Split Ends

Yesterday I got about 6 inches cut off of my hair. In an attempt to be a more informed hair-styling consumer – instead of giving my regular, “do whatever you want” directive to my stylist – I actually browsed the internet for hair cut ideas.

About 20 minutes later, I was almost hyperventilating with anxiety – am I hair type 3B or 4A? Should I consider a texturizer instead of a relaxer? What about texlaxing? How do all these people know all this stuff about hair? Why don’t I? Shoot, did I miss a this-is-you-hair-and-it-proper-care memo at some point?

I shut off my computer, went to my hair salon and said, “This is freaking me out. I want a change. Do whatever you want.” Which - I think you’ll agree – is a considerable improvement over my past passivity.

Not the best pic, but self-portraits are hard, don't ya know? You get the idea.

I’m pretty happy with the results. Except that apparently, this style takes a flat iron to maintain…anyone know much about those? I’m scared to go traipsing about on the internets to find out more…

Never, Never, Never

Yesterday, I woke up to a family of cranky, cranky people. SRH and Zane were both in ferociously bad moods – SRH was extra snarky (which can be kind of funny) and Zane was whiny and willful (my favorite combination). So I did the only thing a smart mama can do, I just stayed really quiet and made my escape as soon as possible. (I ran an errand sans family around 4:30pm). It was a long day.

Evidence of SRH’s crankiness: while putting Zane in his car seat, I heard SRH say, From here until eternity, Zane, the answer will be NO.

I think he said it facetiously.

But it got me thinking, From here until eternity, what would I say NO to?

To simplify: What would I never do?

This is a hard one because I tend to believe that one should never say never. Who knows where life circumstances will lead you? I mean, Lionel Richie probably never believed that he would get the beat down from his wife. Whitney Houston thought that crack was whack. Life tricks us sometimes, and it seems foolish to say that we would never do something. So while there are things that I can easily say that I will never do – for example, drink my own sweat or wear orange spandex – there could be situations where both might become necessary.

But it got me thinking about things that I can’t imagine that I would do. Things I cannot invent a scenario in my head which would lead to my engaging in them.

I came up with three.

1. Put up an Easter tree.

This has long been the gold standard at my house of exemplifying an excess of disposable income. We say things like, Yea, we’ll buy that lear jet right after we buy the Easter Tree. Meaning never. I just honestly don’t get them. Why hang plastic eggs on a tree? What does that have to do with Jesus?

If I ever have too much disposable income, then I will definitely make yard ghosts out of 800-thread count sheets at Halloween, eat Turducken at Thanksgiving, cover my whole house in red rose petals on Valentines Day, send to Ireland for a customized batch of green beer on St. Patrick’s Day, and buy a fireworks store for the 4^th of July. What I will NOT do is put up an Easter Tree.

2. Drink pink lemonade.

Again, something inexplicable about this one to me. Lemons are not pink, and powdered concentrate of lemons is not pink.

Of course, I would rather have fresh lemonade, but I’ll drink the mix stuff if need be. But pink “lemonade” just pushes me too far. I don’t like the taste – barely lemony – and the cotton candy coloring just offends my senses. Sweet is pink. Sour is yellow. I know you’re probably thinking, But the mythical pink lemon tree creates splendiferous juice.

I respectfully disagree.

3. Sky-Diving.

This is a thrill-seeking activity that will never be in my repertoire. To be sure, if the plane is burning, I’m grabbing a parachute and jumping. But that’s not risk-taking. That’s survival.

I am not, by nature, a thrill seeking person – as evidenced by the fact that I’ve never gone mountain climbing or bungee jumped. I don’t ride motorcycles. I don’t use illicit drugs. I hate stand-up roller coasters, and camping in a tent takes me out of my comfort zone. I’m averse to spicy foods, and I don’t even drink caffeine most days.

(Lest you begin to believe that I’m boring, I should add: I do like regular roller coasters, I go hiking with cougars, and camping in a cabin is just fine by me.)

So there you have it. Three things I think I will never do.

What’s on your “not from here until eternity” list?

Bribery and Other Failed Parenting Techniques

I have discussed my appreciation for Mr. Lionel Richie – he of the “Can’t Slow Down Fame” - and the strange ways that our lives seem to parallel in a previous post (here). In my ongoing chronicle of inexplicable parallels between our lives, there is yet another chapter.

Recently, I read this story, discussing rumors that the man who lulled us with the smooth tunes of “Penny Lover” has apparently promised his waif-thin daughter, Nicole, a Caribbean yacht cruise if she will put on some weight.

I will admit that, at first, I felt a bit judgmental about all this. I mean, how is that going to make the child eat? Wouldn’t sending her to a specialist - a very expensive specialist that only mega superstars such as Lionel can clearly afford - be a better option?

And then, after a minute, I understood the desperation of such an offer. I’m sure the family has been exploring conventional routes – i.e. doctors, therapists, etc. - for quite some time. I suppose if I thought that a trip to Sesame Place would cure Zane’s asthma and food allergies, I’d be all about it – and I wouldn’t care what the doctors said.

Zane last year at Sesame Place – unfortunately, the trip didn’t help his asthma and allergies.

And then, after another minute, I realized that I am engaging in the exact same bribery-for-their-own-good type of behavior. Except, it’s not a cruise to the Caribbean to force the ingestion of food. No, at our house, it’s the giving of “potty prizes” for the excretion of pee-pee and poo-poo.

In attempting to get Zane potty-trained before he has to go to preschool this fall - since it’s a condition of entrance – I spoke to my wise friend BQ. She related the potty training method which has worked for both she and our good friend, Elengant. It involves a three-day long stint at home with your child naked from the waist down. Every 15 minutes you put sweet child on the potty and read them a story– if they don’t go potty, that’s okay. They get up and play for 15 more minutes. If they do go potty, they get a prize.

I’m not talking about a new tricycle kind of prize. I mean a gift of the dollar store variety. For example, here’s a pic of Zane with one of his potty prizes.

I got it at Target for 99 cents

BQ assured me that her daughter totally didn’t care about the prizes by Day 2 of the regime. It was just a way to get her started with the idea that going on the potty was a good thing. Well, apparently Z is of a more consumerist mindset. He likes his potty prizes, and he will make himself tinkle on the potty every 5 minutes to get one.

The problem is that getting a prize seems to be Zane’s only motivation at this point. He will jump on the potty in a minute if the slightest urge to pee hits him – so that he can get a prize, but he doesn’t care one bit if he wets himself in public. After all, he knows he’s not getting a prize in the middle of the grocery story, so why put forth the effort?

Z with one potty prize in his hand and his foot touching another

It was all getting a bit ridiculous, so we – my bank account and I - put our foot down. Friday was the last time Zane got a potty prize. From now on, he has to potty because it’s the big boy thing to do not because he gets a present.

It’s working – sort of.

But the whole experience has brought me around to a greater understanding of how bribery may – or may not – be effective.

So, my hats off to you Mr. Richie. I don’t think your strategy will work, but I understand: We’d do anything to get our children to take proper care of themselves. You do it with yacht trips. I did it with potty prizes, but we’re both speaking the same language.

Say You, Say Me

Some of you may be aware that I am a HUGE Lionel Richie fan. Well, maybe HUGE is a bit of an overstatement – I am not a member of the Lionel Ritchie fan club, I do not have all his trading cards, I’ve never been to a concert, and I don’t know the release date of his next – is there another one coming out? – album. And most importantly, I do not own any of his toenail clippings that I bought from a guy in 1984 who swore they belonged to Lionel. Okay, so perhaps I am not a HUGE fan, but I am a long-time fan.

Beginning with his time in the Commodores (he totally made that group) and right up through the pinnacle of his solo success, which may actually have been that weird “Hello” video where the blind woman makes a freaky sculpture of Lionel as he sings to her from around the corner, I have been able to sing along with every soul/pop/funk Lionel Richie ballad that ever broke the top 100.

My affinity for Lionel began with my mom’s housecleaning routine when I was in grade school. Mom would blast the Commodore’s Greatest Hits while cleaning, and we would both sing along with “Brick House” at the top of our lungs. Later, in college, my favorite song during step aerobics was, of course, “Brick House”. At least 35 of 52 Sundays during a year, I will hum “Easy Like Sunday Morning” for at least part of the morning. I was actually a little angry with Luther Vandross for releasing “Endless Love” with Mariah Carey – why mess with perfection? – and, I swear, I think that “Dancing on the Ceiling” is a catchy song.

So it is with less than surprise, that I began to notice that my life and Lionel’s life have interesting parallels. Forgive the pun, but I have noticed lately that Lionel and I are once, twice, three times a failure in certain areas of our lives.

Our Home Life

Lionel: Lionel was very famously beat down by his ex-wife, Brenda, when she caught him sneaking around with his future wife, Diane. He then married the woman-who-was-just-a-friend-when-my-wife
-found-us-together, Diane, and she asked for a bunch of money when she left him about ten years later.

Me: I lost the futon fight. SRH has wanted to get a futon for about forever, and we figured it would make our third bedroom look a little more useable, so I finally caved. We bought one today. It’s from Norka Futon, and it’s actually pretty whiz bang, but I do think this indicates a troubling power imbalance in our relationship: SRH wants a futon. SRH gets a futon. All I get is to pick which particular futon, the color, the fabric, and then watch SRH assemble it.

Our Children’s Health

Lionel: I don’t think I need to tell you about all the speculation around Nicole Richie and her ever-diminishing frame (anorexia). Apparently, she has recently sought help, which is great. I’m sure that Lionel was part of that.

Me: Zane’s face rash will NOT go away. I am treating it with both yeast and eczema medications, but the stubborn bumps will not go. Rash – 1. Zany Mama – 0.

Our Sales

Lionel: Facing decreasing sales and a beat down by his wife in the late eighties, Lionel decided to take some time off. Since he came back into the public eye in 1992, his record sales have been less than impressive.

Me: After almost 2 months on the market, my house still hasn’t sold. To add insult to injury, Stupid Neighbor’s house went into contract this week. This house on the market thing is getting old fast. I can totally see why Lionel dropped out of the selling things (records) business and just went to live on a yacht somewhere.

So, yeah, Lionel and I are both 3 for 3. The similarities are eerie, huh?