Tech Tickets; or, how to pry the video game controller out of your kid's deformed, claw-like hands

Summer drags on. There's still a whole month of it left! My kids are BORED, you guys. Like...so...SO...bored.

Boredom = too much screen time. It's mathematical fact. We start out the day with cartoons, and then it's hot and I've got stuff to do and suddenly it's noon and I'm like wait, are you guys seriously still on the couch?? So we turn it off and then 4 minutes later they're SO BORED MOM THERE'S NOTHING TO DO PLEASE CAN I JUST PLAY TEMPLE RUN ON YOUR PHONE PLEASE PLEASE!

Now. We still use our Bored Jar pretty consistently, and it does work. But still, it's a constant battle of "No, no more TV. No, you cannot play on my phone. No, you don't need to play the Wii again." Yesterday the 7 year old took the Bored Jar around the corner and MAGICALLY pulled the ONE slip that involves playing video games. AMAZING!

So I hit up Pinterest and came across some good ideas for screen time management, including Technology Tickets. I didn't invent the idea, there are lots of much better and more imaginative bloggers out there who shared their awesomeness first. My favorite was this one from Mudpies and Makeup. I borrowed some of her ideas and put my own spin on them, to make them fit our family. She has a free printable over there, though, if you're interested! I totally don't. I'm not that handy, and I'm not that helpful.*

I chose to give them each 12 tickets at the start of the week. This is because we're normally not home on Sundays, so it's the other 6 days of the week I'm worried about. Twelve tickets gives them an hour a day for those 6 days. I didn't want them to have to earn every ticket so I'm giving them an hour a day to start, but we will be using them as a discipline tool, too. And knowing my feisty 7 year old, she may lose more tickets than she uses at first. BUT I built in some ways to earn them back, or to earn extras, by doing educational or helpful activities around the house. WIN-WIN.

To make the Tech Tickets "board":

I designed the rule sheet, printed it on card stock, then made the tickets and cute little library pockets with my Silhouette Cameo and scrapbook paper. If you have a Silhouette, I used this file for the tickets (I chose to fill them and print them, then just cut them out with scissors because my Silhouette machine was doing other things and I was too impatient to wait and use it to cut them all nice and pretty). I laminated them for extra strength, then used this file to make the pockets out of scrapbook paper that looked like lined paper (I had to resize the pockets somewhat to fit my tickets). I cut the names in vinyl using a typewritery font, and stuck them on the pockets.

Then I just glued the rules sheet and the pockets to a piece of 12x12 scrapbook paper and hung it up in the kitchen. I thought about adding a third pocket for "used" tickets, but then I wised up and realized we'd better put them up somewhere out of reach to ensure nobody tries to...recycle. Yeah, Bianca is a sneaky one. We're working on it. Don't judge.

Jack is only 2, but he loves to do everything just like his sister, so he'll like turning in his own tickets. He's big enough to ask for my phone constantly, so I guess he's big enough to go get a ticket and hand it over first!

So. Today is day 1 of the Great Tech Ticket Experiment, and I'm at work (on my lunch break! Calm down!). So the O.G. is home with the kiddos and I guess I'll find out when I get home whether it worked. :)

Why am I expecting to come home to find all the tickets either used up or lost?

*UPDATE!! So many of you asked that I went ahead and made myself helpful after all. You can download the pdf of my sign here.

Personalized Trick or Treat Buckets

One of my best sellers over the summer was my personalized beach buckets. I made so many of them and they were just so fun to do.

Custom Beach Bucket, $10.

Well, summer's over and I still have lots of buckets! The nice thing about these is they can be used for so much more than just the beach. I mean, it's a bucket! Use it to store toys or craft supplies, use it as a fun alternative to a gift bag at your next birthday party.

Or, of course, add a spooky design and give it to your kid to fill up with candy on Halloween! You guys know how much I love Halloween. Remember Gnarles? Gnarles is ready to come out and play again! STAY TUNED! Seriously. Stay tuned, or he will find you.

Anyway. :) This is what the Princess (who seems to believe she's dressing not as a princess, but as a vampire this year!) will be trick or treating with:

Your kids can have one too! $10

I love that kid.

This morning my daughter told me she'd found a dragonfly wing in our back yard.

"I knew it was a dragonfly wing because it was really big, and an oval, and it was shiny like a dragonfly. I put it in my science bowl."

"You have a science bowl?"

"Yes! Well, really it's a Tupperware. I keep it in the back yard."

"What do you put in your science bowl?"

"Cool stuff I find that I want to check out! Like my dragonfly wing. And I put some flowers in there so I can take apart the pollen and discover what's inside. Or like, I found some blue bark at school. Blue bark! So I put it in my backpack. I think it's still in there! I need to put that in my science bowl."

***

Near the end of the summer, she read Pinkalicious and the Pink Drink* and decided that she needed to have a lemonade stand.

So, we had a lemonade stand. On possibly the hottest day of the year.

She killed it.

She waved and smiled and COMPELLED cars to stop. She chatted people up. She up-sold them and convinced them they needed popcorn to go with their lemonade, or maybe they needed TWO cups, because it was soooo hot.

This child made $30. Selling lemonade for 25 cents a cup and popcorn for 25 cents a bag. THIRTY. DOLLARS.

Yeah. That's how I roll.

She used the money to buy a Monster High doll. And now she wants to be a vampire for Halloween. When did the Princess stage end? I wasn't ready.

***

She's in first grade now. The Monster turned 2 last week and I was kind of ok with that; he seemed ready to be 2. But my kids' birthdays are 6 months apart, which means when he turned 2, she turned 6 AND A HALF. That I wasn't ready for. Six hit me hard and it can't already be half over, can it? And then what? She turns 7? Preposterous.

Sigh. I love that kid.



*affiliate link, yo

Louisa May Alcott actually died of tuberculosis. For the record.

So. My son had croup.

Remember my son? We call him the Monster in these parts.

He'll be 2 next month. TWO YEARS OLD. My BABY. He just turned 1 last week.

Anyway. Croup.

Or as I like to call it, The Croup.

Text message conversation between me and Ashley last week:

Her: "A. [that's her daughter] has croup."
Me: "What? Croup? Who is she, Louisa May Alcott??"
Her: "Croup is a modern day disease! You're thinking of cholera. Or the dropsy."
Me: "No way, dude. Kids in Little Women and Anne of Green Gables were always getting The Croup."
Me (after some fancy google work): "Croup was once a deadly disease caused by diphtheria bacteria. However, modern day antibiotics and immunizations have helped prevent or treat it. Today, most cases of croup are mild. See? Kids in old books were always dying of The Croup."
Her: "Well. There you go."

Naturally, after all of this, my son woke up the next morning burning with fever and barking like a baby seal.

Baby seal photo added for visual interest. Isn't he cute?? I'm sure he doesn't have croup, don't worry.

Of course our entire family was concerned and sympathetic. I stayed home from work for 3 days to cradle him and love him and let him give me slobbery croup-germy kisses.

When he wasn't coughing, he was breathing like Darth Vader. It was pitiful. And it led his loving big sister to initiate conversations like this:

"MONSTER!" [She didn't really call him that, you guys. She called him by his actual name.] "STOP IT!"

Me: "Honey, he's not doing it on purpose. He's SICK. Leave him alone."

Her: "No, mom. He keeps BREATHING and it's really LOUD and ANNOYING."

Me: "I know. He's sick, he can't help it. Please stop yelling at him."

Her: "He looked RIGHT at me and then he started breathing LOUDER. Make him STOP."


In conclusion. Don't call your friends' kids Louisa May Alcott when they get weird old-timey diseases, and also don't have a mouthy 6-year-old daughter. You're welcome.

Wordless Wednesday, iPPP, whatever, here are some pictures of my kids

It's summer, y'all. We're playing in the dirt and rocking our swim lesson couture. That's how we roll.

I'm also making tumblers like a boss.

Linking it up at iPPP this week. And I can't make their button work. So here's a link instead.

My Daring Journey Through the Impassable Labyrinth; or, my trip to H&M

Yesterday was the Girl Scouts' trip to Build-a-Bear. It's the Girl Scouts' 100th anniversary, you know. So Build-a-Bear has like, a super special Girl Scout bear and all our girls got to go make one. YAY!

OK yeah, that's actually pretty cute.

So I left work, ran to the babysitter's house, packed up the kids and rushed out there to make it in time. Just slid in as they were getting started. I'm already looking at my watch (OK, my phone, who wears a watch?) and calculating what time we'll be home so I can make dinner and get some housework in before I have to start filling Etsy orders, catching up on The Bachelorette, sleeping, etc. I'm figuring what, 30 minutes at Build-a-Bear? 45?

Build-a-Bear was a TWO HOUR EVENT, you guys. TWO. HOURS.

Oh, and I had my toddler in the stroller, already stretching his little arms as far as they'll reach to get all the shiny pretty Bear outfits and accessories that are all right at his eye level and that all cost like, more than ACTUAL clothing I buy for my ACTUAL children.

You can buy your Bear a Bear iPod. I'm serious. Except I think it's called an "iPaw." I'm still serious.

Monster knows a lot of words now. He was demonstrating with enthusiasm his mastery of "DOWN" and "MINE" at Build-a-Bear.

This face means "Well, hello there. I am adorable and I will destroy you."

So I left. I mean, I left my Girl Scout there to Build her Bear, and the Monster and I took off, with the Girl Scout leader's blessing ("DOWN! MINE! DOWN!"). Whew. Freedom! In the mall!

And this, friends, is the point in the story where I make an Alarming Discovery.

I? Am old.

Maybe you don't find this alarming. It's true, I've been old for awhile now. I thought I knew this. But there's nothing quite like 2 hours in a mall to really drive that point home.

I was bored.

In the mall.

I took three steps into Forever 21.  And you know what? They could name their store Forever a Two-Headed Unicorn, but walking in there wouldn't make me one of those, either. I am, in fact, 30.

So I left Forever 21 and headed to H&M. I'd never been to H&M, mostly because H&M is not located inside Target. But I'd heard they had cute kids' stuff for pretty cheap, so off I went with my stroller.

I DID find some cute kids' stuff, and some of it was cheap. I got the Princess a cute little purple sundress, and the Monster found a Lightening McQueen hat ("MINE! CAR! MINE! HAT! CAR! MINE!"), so I went ahead and bought that, too.

Or I tried to.

I couldn't actually find the cash register. I mean, I did, eventually. But it took me time, you guys. Like, some real time. I passed those Lightening McQueen hats ("MINE!") at least seven times. I was starting to get scared. I found the exit a few times, but I had to buy ("MINE!! HAT!!") the stuff I wanted ("MINE!!") and WHY would they hide the place you go to give them money?

I was just really starting to panic, and considering consulting my GPS to see if Google Street had an H&M Aisle View option or something, when suddenly, as if by magic, I was in line! There was a cashier! I planted my feet and kept my stare locked on her, lest she disappear. I might have creeped her out a little. But you've gotta do what you've gotta do. I only had one extra diaper in my purse, you guys, we could NOT get lost in there again.

But we did.

We paid without incident, and the Monster put HIS hat on HIS head and glared at me with triumph or something, and off we went. Just...this way...right?

They have mirrors.

And then they have weird partitions that look like mirrors, except there's nothing there, it's just a weird faux partition and you can walk right through it, except not THIS one, THIS one is actually a mirror, and look! Lightening McQueen hats! "MINE! HAT!"

I got lost again! Like, truly, deeply, intricately lost. I clutched my H&M bag and my stroller handles and began to make plans. Would we have to sleep here? What would we eat? Would the Princess find us? Maybe the Build-a-Bear people would bring her here? But what if they got stuck too?? SAVE YOURSELF, PRINCESS! GO BACK TO THE BEARS, YOU'RE SAFE THERE!

Seriously, I wandered around for a good 10 minutes AFTER I was done shopping. H&M exists on a different plane than the rest of the mall. It's in its own dimension, and it is terrifying.

Eventually, you'll be happy to hear, the otherworldly beings in charge of H&M saw fit to release me, and I did find my way out.

And I was parched. (Side note: what is it about malls that makes you so thirsty? Or is that just me? Discuss.) I wanted a Mountain Dew real bad. And didn't I deserve one, after what I'd been through?! Alas, the soda machines in the Mall of No Escape have only Coke products. I hate bottled Coke, but fountain Coke is OK. So I headed to the food court.

The food court wanted $2.99 for a little fountain drink. I almost paid it, but then I looked at my phone and realized that the two hours had almost completely elapsed while I was stuck in the parallel universe that is H&M, and it was almost time to pick up my Girl Scout and leave this place! And there's a McDonald's right across from the mall, and they can give me a large Coke for $1 instead of a small for $2.99. I'll wait. And that Coke will taste SO GOOD.

This is called foreshadowing, you guys.

So we went back to Build-a-Bear, and the Girl Scouts were still in the process of stitching their Bears' backs shut and cramming stuffed hearts into their body cavities. And then of course, the brand-new Bears needed baths at the Bear Bath Station.

Hang on, Mom. Don't rush me. This bear has dirty feet. She needs a full-service air pedicure.

And then there was a whole dance routine (no, really), and then there was still story time and then the Build-a-Bear girl asked them all to recite the Girl Scout Promise, which most of them could not do (they're Daisies!).

And then of course Princess wanted SHOES for her bear and I refused because I'm EVIL so we had to have that discussion ("MINE! BEAR! DOWN! MINE!!") and I showed her the dress I got her and she twirled and showed all her Girl Scout friends and then she gave it back and still wanted Bear shoes but I wasn't budging because I am EVIL.

PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE??? She NEEDS shoes!

Why you gotta be so evil?

Finally, we left the mall. We drove straight to McDonald's. I was so, so thirsty. I ordered a large Coke and drove off into the sunset.

They gave me a Diet Coke.

****************************
Oh snap. There's more. Read That Diet Coke was Lying in Wait.

House of Germs

So. I've been M.I.A. all week because I'm siiiiiiiiick. My kids were sick first, and then I was sick, and now they're better and I'm still sick which is somehow worse because OH MY GOODNESS WHY CAN'T THEY JUST PLAY QUIETLY SO I CAN REST?

Also my dogs are making me insane. I mean, they're worse than the kids, quite honestly. Right now the Princess is at school (where she might be annoying somebody, but it ain't me), and the Monster is very nicely playing in the backyard (which I can see from where I'm sitting, shut up), and one of the dogs (it's India) is standing at the back door WHINING to be let in. She's practically screaming. If dogs could scream. I mean, really, India? It's a beautiful day. You're an animal. Go lay in the dirt and revel in your dirty animalness. I don't want to get up and let you in.

This all started when the Princess randomly woke up Monday morning with the dreaded pink eye. That's what her pediatrician calls it. "The pink eye." "Yes, she does have the pink eye."

She'd been on spring break all week, so I can only assume she picked up The Pink Eye during her day trip to the Academy of Sciences museum in San Francisco with her father. She had a wonderful time at the museum, and we highly recommend it if you're visiting the Bay Area with children. Unless you don't like communicable diseases. I'm kidding. Maybe.

I'm pretty sure this exhibit was called "DIY Bacterial Eye Infection."

So I called in sick, took her to the doctor. "Yes, she does have the pink eye," he told me. "That is one bright pink eye." Yes, yes it is, thank you.

"Also her ears and throat are infected." Say what? Yeah. So we came home with eye drops AND delicious refrigerated amoxicillin.


Note: Children do not like eye drops. Have you ever tried to pry open the eyes of another person when that person is determined to keep them shut? It is surprisingly difficult. Who knew eyelids were so strong?

I spent Monday and Tuesday sanitizing everybody's hands and toys and screaming at reminding her not to TOUCH her BROTHER but sure enough, he woke up Wednesday with his own case of The Pink Eye. Princess was ready to go back to school at this point, so I took her to school, then took Monster back to Kaiser. Thankfully we didn't have to see the doctor again, I just shot him an email to say "Yup, the other kid has it, too" and he called in the prescription. But I did have to drive 20 minutes to the Kaiser pharmacy, and sit there with a toddler.

Meanwhile I was feeling pretty icky myself, but not really paying attention to it because I was busy being a caring and nurturing mother. By Wednesday night I was sitting on the couch in a cold sweat, shivering and dizzy, my throat on fire and my head spinning.

Yesterday is a blur.

Today I'm still fairly miserable but maybe only like, 85% as miserable as yesterday? So that's a good sign.

In other news, I opened an etsy shop. You should check it out. Or maybe wait a couple weeks and check it out when I'm not sick and have had a chance to actually produce some art and list it there. Or check it out now out of pity. I sell vinyl wall decals and soon will be adding some hand-painted wall art (kinda like this).

Thanks for hanging around even when I'm neglectful and contagious.

I have to go let my dog in.

Instagram Friday. I just made that up.

So have you heard of this Instagram? Or as I call it, one more tool to support my obsessive need to observe and measure exactly how much complete strangers like me?

According to the very useful (not) website:

It’s a fast, beautiful and fun way to share your photos with friends and family.
Snap a picture, choose a filter to transform its look and feel, then post to Instagram. Share to Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr too – it's as easy as pie. It's photo sharing, reinvented.

It's as easy as PIE, people. Actually what does that even mean? I've made pie. It's not easy.

Moving on.

I have found it (Instagram, not pie) is relatively easy, and of course I enjoy pretending to be artistic by applying fuzzy sepia toned filters over photos I snap with my phone. Who wouldn't. We've all spent hundreds of dollars on the highest quality phones and digital cameras we can get, we're obsessed with HD and megapixels and digital vs. optical zoom. But what we really want is to have photos that look like they were taken with a Polaroid circa 1974.

If you know all this, you may also have heard that Instagram became available for Android recently. Androids users rejoiced. iPhone elitists wept and also threw up a little bit in their mouths. Mark Zuckerberg spent a billion dollars because, why not.

It's all very exciting.

As Android riff-raff myself, I'm a late Instagram adopter. I've now taken exactly 8 photos on my Instagram account, including this one:

You may view it at Instagram here.

The Princess skinned her knees. Climbing a tree. In her Easter dress. This photo was cute to begin with, but when I added the "Low-Fi" filter, it became FABULOUS, right??

Are you on Instagram? Do you know what it's for? Could you let me know?

a poem for my daughter

(on her 6th birthday)

I'm almost surprised
to find your hand
is still delicate in mine
crisp paper bone
fingers
one by one
flutter wings
in the shelter of my palm
not seeking open sky
but content
to flutter in place for now
as you sing to the sun
your voice not a baby's
but a girl's.

Love Letters to and from the Bored Jar

I made the Princess a Bored Jar. Why? Because the kid is always. bored.

Seriously? There is nothing to do in this house.
(Photo by Grandma.)

"Mom. Play with me. Mom? Play with me. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom? MOM. MOM! Play with me!"

Look, I'm not saying I hate to play with my kid or anything (OK, maybe I am saying that Barbies? Bore the daylight out of me. Yeah. I said it). But you know, I've got another kid to deal with, and dinner to cook, and work to catch up on, and laundry to fold, and a husband to interact with, and it's my turn on all 13 of my Draw Something games so yeah, I can't play with you all the time.

It's healthy for kids to learn independent, creative play, right? I don't remember my mom playing with me all that much and look how great I turned out.

The Princess was an only child for 4 1/2 years, and I was a work-at-home mom for several of those years, so you would think she'd be an independent play pro by now. And she is, once you get her going, but her basic temperament doesn't really make it easy on her. She's a social butterfly and if I really loved her I'd have had at least 6 kids back to back so she wouldn't be so lonely all the time.

So. I found this "Mom, I'm Bored! Jar" on Pinterest. I won't bore you with a whole tutorial or anything, because it's kind of my policy around here to not be any more useful than I have to be. Nor will I claim credit, because it's kind of my other policy not to have any original ideas around here. So you should really go visit the Somewhat Simple blog and check it out, because that's where I got it.

Mine is not this cute. Mine is also made from an old pickle jar, so BONUS, the slips all smell like pickles.
source

It's a jar full of slips of paper with activities on them. And also...chores!! Every time the words "I'm bored" emerge from your kid's lips, she has to pull a slip from the Bored Jar. I didn't use Somewhat Simple's list of activities, I just made my own, and I made A LOT of them. I used some of her ideas, added some of my own, went through my "kid activities" Pinterest board and added some of those. I tried to keep them for the most part independent activities that she could do on her own.

Here's my Word file; feel free to download it, edit it, do whatever you want with it. Just don't sell it without giving me a cut. Some of these are specific to our house, so if your bored kid doesn't have a Leapster or a baby brother, you'll need to change those slips. Or buy a Leapster and bear a male child. Your call, really.

Our jar is mostly fun activities, with a smattering of chores. And guess what! If you say you're bored, you MUST pull a slip from the jar, and once you pull a slip from the jar, you MUST do what it says! (The exception would be if she pulls something like "paint your nails with mom or dad" and mom and dad are busy doing other things, or pulls an outdoor activity on a rainy day; mom and dad have veto power in these cases and we just pull another slip.)

But there's no whining allowed. So think twice before you come to me saying you're bored.

On day one, she was so excited about the jar that she actually brought it to me 3 times. Two of those times she pulled "do one chore of mom's choice." I did not rig the jar, I promise. But I did make her clean up the doggie doo in the back yard and empty the dishwasher. And she did both. Without whining.

She's still pretty excited about the jar and willing to risk pulling a chore, because she has gotten lots of fun things, like "draw the cutest animal you can think of," "make your brother laugh," "make a necklace out of pasta," and "write a letter." All things I might have suggested in the past, but it carries so much more weight when it's pulled from a jar, right?

When she pulled "write a letter" last night I figured it would be good practice writing. She's turning 6 next week and she's in kindergarten, so she's learning a lot but I don't really think of her as an independent writer yet, you know? Normally if we write anything I'm there helping her spell stuff. So I told her to just go in the playroom and do her very best to sound out the words she wanted, without asking for help.

I wasn't giving her enough credit.

Because this is what I got:

I. Officially. Love. The Bored Jar.

How to Wean a Toddler (who does not want to be weaned)

The Princess, age 2. Probably thinking about my boobs.

People? I nursed the Princess for 25 months. That's two years and one month, for you English majors (I'm an English major, I can say that).

Yeah. Imagine a two year old. Now imagine breastfeeding that two year old. Yay!

I know I'm not the only one out there who nursed my toddler, but sometimes people can make you feel like you are, right? I mean, breastfeed in public (gasp) past about 6 months and you start getting the stink eye. So moms, know that you're not alone and it's totally cool to breastfeed your two-year-old. It is. In fact it's beautiful and wonderful and admirable and awesome.

That's not what this post is about.

This post is about that moment when you look down at the gargantuan child in your lap, latched on and watching Blue's Clues out of her peripheral vision, and think, "I have had enough."

Here's the thing about my daughter. She didn't sleep. Ever. At all. From the moment we brought her home, she fought sleep. I quickly discovered the only thing that would lull her into actual slumber: nursing. Yes, I know what the books say about nursing babies to sleep. But it worked, and I was a sleep-deprived, post-partum-depressed, first-time mother. I went with it.

To the point that, though I'd never planned to cosleep, she moved right into bed with me so she could nurse all. night. long.

To the point that as she got bigger and started talking, she actually referred to the act of nursing as "nigh-night."

To the point that I spent hours every evening lying on my bed in the dark with my toddler nursing and nursing and nursing, trying to trick her into falling asleep. My friends never saw me; if we had people over, I disappeared at 7 p.m. and often didn't return. Because when I finally did succeed in getting this little Princess to sleep, I had to sneak silently and stealthily from the bed and the room, praying that she'd stay asleep. Because if I disturbed her, and she woke? We started all over.

It was insane.

When she turned 2, I had had enough. It had to stop. But how? She was so dependent upon it. Nursing was her security blanket, her binky, her everything. How could I tear it away from her? This thing that had been a source of comfort and solace her entire life, how could I just...take it?

Nursing had always been a positive experience, and I couldn't bring myself to end it on a negative note.

I tried. I tried to tell her that it was time to be a big girl, to sleep with a cup of water and a teddy bear and a special blanket and special goodnight music. I read books, I scoured the internet, I called my mother. I tried everything. I tried cradling her with the cup of water, then a cup of warm milk. I tried rocking her. I tried letting her cry.

But this was a 2-year-old child I was dealing with. They're not known for being, you know, compliant and easy to change. And she was set in her ways. Nothing worked.

So this is what I did.

One day, we went to Target and I had her pick out a special sippy cup. Now, to be clear, she'd been drinking from cups forever at this point. She drank cow's milk during the day and with meals. The nursing was only when she needed to sleep. So we picked out a special, one-of-a-kind "big girl" cup. A nigh-night cup. I told her she couldn't use it now, because she was still a baby. But someday, she'd need it.

I put it up on a shelf where she could see it but not reach it. We talked about it. For about a week, we talked about how when big girls go to bed, they use a big girl cup instead of mommy's, ahem, "nigh-nights."

I told her that nigh-nights are for babies. And it only tastes good for babies. I told her that when she's a big girl, nigh-nights won't taste good anymore.

We did this for about a week. Every night we had this conversation.

"Are you ready for nigh-night?"

"NIGH-NIGHT," she'd say, tugging at my shirt.

"OK. I wonder if you're a big girl yet?"

She'd look at me suspiciously.

"Do you think this will still taste good?"

"YES."

"Hmm. Well, we'll see."

Then she'd nurse to sleep.

Until one night, something was different.

Because friends? I put vinegar on my nipples.

I snuck into the kitchen before bedtime and poisoned the water hole, if you will. I actually tucked vinegar-soaked cotton right into my bra, just to be sure it stayed fresh. Then I went and picked her up and cuddled her just like I always had. Kissed her and played with her and read her a story.

"Are you ready for nigh-night?"

"NIGH-NIGHT!"

"I wonder if you're a big girl yet? Do you think it will taste good?"

"YES."

"Hmm. Well, let's see."

She latched on. She pulled off. She looked at me, wide-eyed and shocked. "Mommy! Nigh-nights YUCKY!" Then she dissolved into hysterical giggles. "YUCKY nigh-nights!"

I acted as surprised as she was. "What? Really?? Do you want to try again?? Are you SURE?"

"YUCKY NIGH-NIGHTS! Want my big girl cup. I a big girl! Big girl cup!"

We had to do it once more the following night. Just to be sure. But then? It was over. And I had a big girl.

WAHMs have all the fun. And also all the work. Or whatever.

I don't talk much about my work in this space. But it's something that's been weighing on my mind a lot lately.

I love my job. I do. I get to handle the social media presence of a university, and it's really a wonderful adventure. I oversee a staff of fantastic student bloggers who amaze me every day with their insight and personality and passion for life. And I get paid to spend large parts of my day on Facebook and on Twitter and reading great blogs. How many people can say that?

So all things considered, I truly love what I do. But the thing is, I have these kids, you know?

The Monster, 17 months

The Princess, turning 6 this month!

And, well...I miss them when I'm at work.

When I became pregnant with my daughter almost 7 years ago, I was able to convert my job from full-time to half-time. I was very happy with that schedule. Yes, it required considerable sacrifice, because I gave up half my salary along with half my hours, and frankly, I did not give up half my workload; I had to do almost as much work in half the time, for half the pay. But we made it work, and I believed it was worth the sacrifices. I felt kind of balanced and whole.

After two years of that, some of my job duties shifted and I agreed to come back full-time, on the condition that I would be allowed to work 20 of my hours from home. This? Was kind of wonderful. I got my full salary back, and enough hours in the day to do my job without giving myself a heart attack, but I still had the flexibility and freedom to be at home with my daughter for many of her daylight hours. And my entire family thrived.

Working from home certainly has its own set of challenges. Teaching my toddler to entertain herself so Mommy could work was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. But I did it, and I think she's better for it. She's strong and independent and creative and imaginative, and I was there to see all of that. I also received nearly perfect performance evaluations during this time; the autonomy of my schedule really brought out the best in me, at home and at work.

When my son was born I continued this half-time in the office, half-time at home schedule, and once again had to reevalute my time management and routines, but again, I made it work.

Things have changed recently, though. My workplace no longer allows telecommuting. So last summer I had to rearrange my life one more time, find full-day childcare, and now I'm in the office all day every day.

It's hard. As much as I love my job, I miss the work-at-home mom I used to be. I miss getting up and booting up my laptop in my pajamas, snuggling with my kids while they watch cartoons and eat breakfast and I check my email and start my day. I miss watching my daughter teach her baby brother how to walk, talk, and play. I miss so many of these moments now, and it's difficult.

OK, maybe I don't so much miss "Moooooommmm, I'm huuuuuuungry" just as I begin a conference call. But overall, I do miss being a work-at-home mom. I'm not saying it's easy; just that, for me, it's worth it.

I'm hopeful that there are solutions still waiting to be found. That this is a temporary crossroads in my life, this full-time office job. As much as I adore what I do, I can't shake the knowledge that I could be doing it just as effectively and so much more contentedly from my home. The knowledge that I am committed to my career, but my career is not who I am. The knowledge that my babies are growing up and I'm missing much of it.

Are you a working mom? A work-at-home mom? A work-away-from-home mom? How do you find balance? And are there still opportunities out there to make a real living working from home?

What say you?

Tips for traveling with my kid.

Today after school, the Princess is embarking on her first trip without me. Grandma is taking her to Disneyland, folks. Her Auntie Jen is going, too. Mama's staying home because I have to work. Boo.



I've prepared the following list to help my mother deal with my high-maintenance delightful 5 year old for 3 days and 2 nights alone, including a pair of 6-hour car rides:

1. We taught her the ABC car game, where you look for all the letters on signs from A to Z. She likes it better if you each take turns finding a letter and work as a team, instead of competing. She gets confused and frustrated if you get ahead of her.
2. She likes to play 20 questions. Except it's more like "as many questions as it takes to figure out she's thinking of the castle at Disneyland yet again" or "as many questions as it takes for her to figure out you're not thinking of the castle at Disneyland."  Really, it's probably just easier if you think of the castle at Disneyland, ok?
3. Lately she’s liked to do math in the car. She’ll seriously be happy for an hour straight if you just keep asking her “what’s 4 + 8?” etc. She’s getting pretty good at addition. This will be the most intellectually stimulating hour of your life, no doubt.
4. I’ve printed a million Disney coloring pages and car bingo, and bought her a new sticker book, and her Leapster has fresh batteries. Feel free to tell her you need some quiet time and she needs to amuse herself with the many, many activities in her backpack instead of talking your ear off. Because talking your ear off will always be her #1 choice unless you tell her not to.
5. As far as I know she doesn't get carsick. I mean, she never has. But if you discover otherwise, well...better you than me.
6. Watch her brush & floss or she won’t do it and say she did.
7. Lunch is at 12:00. She asked me to tell you this. She was concerned you wouldn't know when to feed her. She also eats breakfast and dinner, in case you weren't clear about her unique dietary requirements.
8. I packed a lot of snacks, but you should probably moderate her intake of them. Maybe this seems like a given, but seriously, if you leave the snack bag within her reach, it will be empty when you reach your destination. Also, see #5. Preventative measures.
9. She does not have to drink juice all the time. Water is actually fine. She does not hate water, no matter what she tells you.
10. She’s not allergic to anything, including vegetables and elephants, no matter what she tells you. 

I think that should cover it. Have fun!

That S-word.

The Princess (my 5-year-old daughter) has been exhibiting some curiosity about some things. You might remember this post, where I employed classic distraction techniques to smoothly avoid the "how are babies made" question.

Folks? It's getting worse. I blame TV. And school. And billboards. And music.

Awhile back she heard and retained the word "sex" from somewhere. She asked what it was. I reached into my vast mental catalog of parenting wisdom and tried to be "honest but age-appropriate" and "literal" and "tell her the truth but no more than she's explicitly asking for." Ummm. So I told her that when a man and a woman love each other and get married (yeah, that's right), sex is a special way for them to show their love, kind of like hugging and kissing but different, and more private, and it's only for grownups.

Her reply: "Is that when grownups take off their clothes and kiss NAKED?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

"What? Where did you hear that?"

"Mom. I saw it on TV one time."

Look, we are not watching HBO with her or anything, and we're actually very careful about what she watches. But yeah, I guess, really, scenes like that, or scenes which are clearly leading up to that, appear almost everywhere these days, right? The word sex and images relating to it are rampant in our society. And my little girl? She's smart. She's very, very observant, and very, very verbal. She gets what words mean and uses context clues to fill in the holes. She associates words with images and actions and she puts it all together.

So, yes. I told her the truth. "Yes. It involves two grownups who are in love and married taking their clothes off."

"Gross."

And that was the end of that.

Until yesterday.

"Mom? Remember that s-word, the one that's private and not for kids to say?"

"....you mean sex?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

"What IS that? I mean what do grownups DO when they do sex?"

"......"

"Mom?"

"Why do you want to know this?"

"I don't know. I just want to know."

"Was somebody talking about it to you?"

"No. Well, Freddy in my class has been singing a song with that word in it."

"What song?"

"I'm not supposed to say that word! It's not for kids!"

"It's ok to say it to me. You can say it and I won't be mad. How does the song go?"

She eyed me suspiciously for a moment and then rolled her eyes and said, "I'm sexy and I know it. You MADE me say it!"

"Oh. Ok. I know that song. But why did that make you ask me these questions?"

"I just remembered that word and I remembered you told me it was private and something grownups do but I don't understand what they DO."

"Maybe you don't need to understand what they do just yet."

"Mom. Just tell me, ok?"

Sigh. Honestly? I felt we'd reached the point of no return. I don't want to give her the idea that sex is dirty or shameful. I also don't want to wait until the porn-saturated society she lives in fills her head with ideas about sex. I want her first impressions of sex to come from me, so she can remember it as a normal, natural, beautiful thing that is waiting for her to enjoy when she grows up. 

I think back to history and realize that 100, 200 years ago? Kids knew all about sex. They saw animals do it. They shared bedrooms with their parents. It was part of life. 

Today our kids are insulated from these "normal" aspects of sex, but overly exposed to commercialization and exploitative images of sex; raunchiness becomes their framework for what is normal. Sex isn't what I don't want her to be exposed to; it's the corruption and cheapening of it that happens in our culture. 

So I believe it's my job to normalize it and set a foundation that might help to combat the information she's going to come up against as she grows up.

So.

I told her.

I told her exactly what happens, in the simplest and most basic terms. When she asked "why" anybody would EVER do something like that, I told her that it's how God designed us, and how we make babies (which then led to a brief explanation of "eggs" and "seeds"), and yes, I told her we do it because it feels nice.

She asked if I'd ever done that with her father. I said yes. "When?" she asked. I hesitated. "For sure before you and Monster were born, of course." 

"No, I mean when? At night when I'm asleep?"

"Oh. Well, yes." 

"In your BED?"

"Yes..." Now, I admit, I'm starting to feel weird about this line of questioning.

"Oh."

And then she was satisfied, and the conversation was over. 

And I felt a little sad that my baby has reached this moment in her life. And a little apprehensive that maybe she really is too young to know these things. But mostly I felt relieved, and a little proud. I felt like I'd handled it the way I always wanted to handle it. Calmly, rationally, with no shame or guilt or embarrassment. I stressed that it's for grownups, and it's private, and she doesn't need to talk to anybody else about it and if somebody tries to talk to HER about it, she should tell me.  But that she can always come to Mommy and ask questions, and I will always answer them.

What do you think? How old were your kids when you told them the facts of life? And did I do ok??

Linking up today with Yeah Write #41 (formerly LoveLinks)

I've been duped into making a new year's resolution.

In a post-Christmas daze, the O.G. and I made two rather ambitious purchases:

1. Xbox Kinect.

This was ostensibly for the Princess, who does love to play Fruit Ninja, wherein she can jump and flail and karate chop like a maniac, splattering digital fruit all over the television screen, and Kinectimals, wherein she can befriend, train, pet, and play with a digital tiger or bear cub.

His name is Nemo.

This is all well and good. But then I went and bought Dance Central 2, because I'd been told it was "fun."  This is a direct quote.

2. An elliptical.

Now. I should clarify that my husband bought the elliptical. For himself. Some kind of get-in-shape New Year's resolution or something. I made no such resolution. I never made any promises to work out on said elliptical, or to refrain from sitting on the couch eating ice cream and watching The Bachelor in my Snuggie while he works out on said elliptical. These terms were understood by all parties prior to the purchase of the elliptical.

But then I went and bought Dance Central 2. Because I'd been told. It was fun.

And somehow Dance Central 2 became some kind of weapon between us. He would get up off the couch and announce he was going to "work out," and look pointedly at my unopened Dance Central 2 box.

"What?" I'd say. "I don't feel like playing that right now. The Bachelor is on."

"You bought it, you'd better play it."

"I will! When I'm in the mood."

"You don't see me saying I'm not in the mood for the elliptical, do you?"

"What? Shut up and go work out. I'll play the stupid game. I promise."

What's his problem? How are the elliptical and Dance Central 2 even related? I mean, he bought that thing to get in shape. I bought mine because it's a game. Because I was told it was fun. What's with the pressure and the guilt?

After a few nights of this routine, I put Dance Central 2 in the Xbox and got myself ready for some fun. I did two songs. It was slow going. I'm not a Fly Girl, ok? I'm just a 30-year-old white mother of two with an Xbox Kinect. I own a Snuggie. And I use it. Often. I am not up for any hip hop awards. OK?

But I went through the step-by-step tutorial modes, learning the moves one at a time, then dancing the songs to the best of my ability. It felt...familiar. Kind of...like I'd done this before. Oh, the top 40 soundtrack was new, the hip cartoon street dancers were new.

I'm looking at you, white girl. You call those moves? 

But the basic experience...

Holy. Crap.

I'm doing a freaking aerobics video. 

And I promised to keep doing it.  Regularly.

What just happened??




Now linking up with Lovelinks #40.

Now a prize-winning post, due to my fabulous comments and the (totally respectful) way I smacked down my own mother in said comments:

Simmer down. Elf acquired.

OK, you can all RELAX. I know, this has been weighing on your mind all weekend: are Alyssa's children being tormented by Gnarles the Zombie Baby Elf?? Well, they weren't. Calm down.

Grandma pulled through and discovered an Elf on our doorstep when she dropped by to bring us some cookies (seriously. She brought us cookies. She would be exactly like a cartoon Grandma, except that her husband baked them. Also they were leftover Halloween sugar cookies, mushed up to disguise the fact that they were meant to be pumpkins. So they were basically orange smoosh cookies).

Our Elf is named Jacob. The Princess tried to play it cool at first, like, eh, maybe he's a real Elf, maybe he's not, but then when she slept and he MOVED?! Totally. Convinced. "Oh, Jacob," she gushed when she discovered him swinging from the kitchen chandelier Saturday morning. "I just knew you were a real Elf! How did you get up there, you crazy Elf?!"

Jacob had brought with him a "make your own snowman ornament" craft kit, so we set about making our own snowman ornaments. We decided this was probably Jacob's way of telling us it was time to take down the Halloween decorations and put up some Christmas cheer, so we did just that.

Daddy heroically risked serious injury or death hanging lights on our very tall new house, climbing a ladder much higher than any he has climbed before. We discovered after he was done that the ladder has a 200 lb. weight limit. tHe O.G. is a little closer to, say, 235. But he lived! It's a Christmas miracle! And the house looks fabulous!

Actually the house looks a little out of place, because we find ourselves living in a very, very nice neighborhood (as in, we're the only renters on the block, yo) and apparently there's an unspoken rule in very, very nice neighborhoods that you decorate with white lights only. tHe O.G. doesn't hang white lights. He just doesn't. That's not how tHe O.G. rolls. So there's our very, very nice (did I mention tall?) house in our very, very nice new neighborhood, enthusiastically draped corner to corner in furiously bright multicolored, blindingly, dazzlingly multicolored LED lights.

And the neighbors' houses in their demure and elegant white-lighted glory look down on us with dismay.

And we're cool with that.

Santa likes color, y'all. Everybody knows this.

Sunday morning we found Jacob the Elf had rather unwisely positioned himself on the playroom floor surrounded by blocks. After the Monster gleefully destroyed all of Jacob's towers and castles, he set his sights on the Elf himself, and I was forced to intervene. Now, if you're familiar with Elf on the Shelf lore, you know that touching the Elf is strictly verboten.

The Princess was torn: surely we should not move the Elf from his chosen resting place. On the other hand, would Jacob prefer a quick move to safety, or being chewed on by her Monster of a baby brother? So we opted for a quick, frantic, hot-potato move to safety, chanting "I'm sorry Jacob, I'm sorry Jacob, I'm sorry Jacob" all the way to the top of the refrigerator. We then informed Jacob that he needed to find higher resting spots from now on. This could be challenging. For Jacob.

This morning we found Jacob perched atop a speaker on the wall, clutching a tube of glitter glue. He'd added some bling to the big "Merry Christmas" sign the Princess had made to hang above the fireplace. Oh, that Jacob.

Rainbows and Unicorns: The best. Party. Ever.

So, the lovely Ilana over at Mommy Shorts is wondering if it's possible to have a themed birthday party without selling your soul to Elmo. Whether it's possible to dive headfirst into themed birthday goodness and still be awesome. I'm here to tell her it is.

The Princess has had birthday parties featuring Blue's Clues, Tinkerbell, and Fancy Nancy. I've featured some of those cakes in a past post (that post also, weirdly, features Ilana and Mommy Shorts. I don't only blog about her, I promise. That would be creepy, right? Ilana? Would that creep you out? It would, right? OK I'll find another topic). 

Today I'm going to share with you the greatest little girl party theme of all time: Unicorns and Rainbows.

I'm starting with the best part: rainbow cupcakes.
Those are sour Airheads, if you were wondering (you know you were). Simple, adorable

Unicorns. And rainbows.

Rainbow gumdrops.

Unicorn coloring table. I just Googled "unicorn coloring pages" and printed out a bunch.
I do this for pretty much every single birthday party I throw.
Cheapest craft project ever and the kids love it.

The birthday girl and her BFF.

Eating jelly beans! And coloring! And eating jelly beans!
(Also? Did I mention? JELLY BEANS!)
(It's common knowledge that unicorns love jelly beans.)

The cupcakes on their stand. Should have probably dressed up the stand a little.

A little free play time.

"See? This is the unicorn's horn. You throw the ring on the horn."

That's one way to do it.

Pin the horn on the unicorn party game. Bought it at Oriental Trading, I believe.

I won't name names, but #7 cheated.

Present time!

New skirt from Ashley. Handmade, of course. But hey, I'm no slouch myself!
I made that Unicorn ring toss, OK?  I found a picture I liked online and used a projector to blow it up and trace it on butcher paper, glued the paper to cardboard, and painted in the colors. Then I cut it out and taped a wooden dowel to the back (all the way up the horn for reinforcement). The dowel is then shoved into a styrofoam block which is in turn shoved into a Christmas tree stand.
I know. Brilliant.

My husband made the t-shirt. It's an iron-on transfer. The kind made for dark fabric.
He found the rainbow and unicorn separately and Photoshopped them together for the perfect image.
He then meticulously cut that image out with an Xacto knife. I know.
She still wears it constantly.

To whomever bought her this game (yes I've forgotten, this was MONTHS ago, ok?), she loves it.
She really does.
I'm the one who isn't a fan. But I play it anyway.
Because I'm an awesome mother.
(An even more awesome mother would have covered that Christmas tree stand with something pretty.)

It's...a DOUBLE RAINBOW.
(Oh, you knew it was coming.)

I wish this one still had the candy rainbow on top, it's such a great photo otherwise.

Oh, go on and hit your "Pin It" button. You know you want to.