I have a confession to make:  I’m not an “outside” person.  Don’t get me wrong, I love those first few days of spring and summer that are sunny and warm.  I love going outside for an hour or two in the afternoons and hanging out at the pool.  I love walking around fall festivals in jeans and sweaters when the sun is shining but the air is crisp. 

But? I’m not someone who can, or wants, to be outside all day. My husband?  He is a bit of a sun slut.  If he could get away with it, he’d be outside at the pool from 10AM until 6PM every day.  At the beach, that’s pretty much exactly what he does.  Me, on the other hand?  I retreat to the couch for an afternoon nap under a blanket.  Where I’m not hot, sweaty, sticky and sandy.   Because if I’m hot, sweaty and sticky it better be from a workout that burned enough calories so I can have that piece of cheesecake. 

To further make my point, rainy Sunday afternoons are my favorite thing. EVER. 

The child?  She apparently is going to be like her father and between the two of them, I see my afternoons on the couch coming to a rather rapid end. 

OMG, do you SEE those handprints on my door??

At least three times a day, she stands at the door and pounds on it.  POUNDS.  With her tiny little palms slapping the glass and her little mouth running a mile a minute as she squeals, giggles and babbles at anything she sees.  “GA- GA-GA!” she yells.  After a few minutes, her squeals turn into little whines.  Then to even louder whines.  A few minutes after that, if I’m not lathering her with sunscreen and gathering up toys, she turns on the water works. 

So, outside we go.  Where she carefully places leaves in her tiny tea cups and investigates the stones and pebbles around the trees.  Inside, she is constantly moving.  From this toy to that book to walking around and around the chair.  Outside, she is content, curious and calm.  She laughs at the birds, waves to her PapPap and gets brave and stands to feel the grass between her toes. 

She’s such a joy to watch as she discovers new things.  Even though it means one more way that she’s Daddy’s girl and a few more sweaty afternoons for me. 

Does sitting outside with my girl earn me cheesecake?

So, you think you have a system.  You think you’re so smart and have it all figured out.  You think you’re so lucky to have the quickest morning drop off routine, just waltzing across the yard to your mother-in-law’s house and dropping off the baby who is so happy to see PapPap that she doesn’t care that you’re leaving.  Then you make your easy quick commute to work, not worrying for a second about the baby until 5:00 comes and it’s time to pick her up. 

And then?  Your mother-in-law gets sick and can’t be around the baby for a week.  And it’s football season which means both your husband and your father-in-law are at three-a-day practices. 

So.  You panic. 

And lots of thoughts enter your mind.  You could burn up the rest of your vacation time…  But the meetings and the deadlines are right there on your calendar staring at you.  You think about the daycare that a family member runs…  But, you worry about taking the wee one to an unfamiliar place.  You call your best friend, your mom and your husband.  In that order.  (What? He was at practice.) And play out various scenarios and get advice. 

And then, you breathe. 

Because when you went to talk to your boss, he was super understanding and gave you the ability to work from home so you didn’t have to use up all of your vacation time or drop your kid off at a strange daycare.  And, because your mom talked to your dad and between the two of them and your brother, they can help cover a few days, even though they live an hour away and that means leaving their house damn early.  And, because two wonderful women, with seven kids between them, who are married to friends’ of your husband hear about the pickle you were in and offered to come help.  

And you realize how very lucky you are.  And that, it does indeed, take a village. 

PS.  Let’s all send collective Internet vibes to my mother-in-law that she feels better soon.  I know she misses C and frankly, I NEED HER.

Ok, Internet.  We have a bit of a situation around here and I’m requesting your help. 

I don’t know what to feed my kid. 

That’s right.  I’m stumped.  At almost 11 months old, she’s down to one or two bottles a day, so that leaves me with three meals and at least one (sometimes two) snacks to give her.  The jarred baby foods are OK, but she’d much rather have something she can feed herself or better yet, she wants what we’re eating. 

Here are some further details: 

• She loves cheese.
• She eats meat if it’s done in the crock pot or otherwise cooked really soft.
• She likes bananas, watermelon and applesauce, but other fruits are promptly thrown off of her tray. 
• She eats about nine peas, lima beans or kidney beans before she throws them off her tray.
• (She does a lot of throwing things off of her tray. I’m thinking about getting a dog to save me a few minutes of clean up time.)
• She ate pancakes like it was her job once.  Now, she eats a few bites, then she’s done. 
• Snacks are usually pudding, yogurt, crackers or those Gerber cookie things. 
• Macaroni and cheese is probably her favorite food.  But really?  How often can I, in good conscience, feed my child Easy Mac? 

Also?  It’s football season which means that Craig is still at practice when I get home from work.  Therefore, I have 45 minutes to change clothes and cook dinner while keeping C from destroying the house, pounding on the door because she wants to go outside or in some way inflicting harm upon herself.  Personally, I’d be happy with peanut butter and jelly, or some  classic Ramen noodles for myself, but I can’t feed that to C. 

You can see why McDonalds happy meals are looking better and better, right?  

So, I’m turning to you, Internet for ideas.  I need meals that can be eaten by grown ups and the wee one that are both quick and easy or can be thrown in the crock pot in the morning or on my lunch hour.  And, yes.  I could just Google this or go buy a book, I suppose.  But really, I’m lazy.  And also?  I don’t know where to start.  So if you have a book you liked, give me the title.  If you have a website that saved your life, link it up.  If you have a favorite go to recipe, do share. 

Please?  And thank you.

Growing up my summers all crescendo-ed with the county fair.  A quasi farm girl (meaning I had animals but didn’t actually grow up on a farm… more like the animals lived in my backyard) I got up early to feed; had to make sure water and hay and feedings were done before my social activities took place at night; spent weekends and way too many hours with my dad trimming feet, shearing and smelly yucky. 

But early August every year was show time.  We’d load them up and drive 15 miles to the fair, where I’d spend a week showing, competing and wearing tight jeans and boots. 

In the mornings, we’d pack our coolers full of sandwiches, Little Debbies and Pepsi for lunch and I’d beg for a few dollars so I could get fries, pizza or other greasy carnival food.  My dad and I would load into the old blue truck or his Ford Explorer and drive to town.  As we pulled in the bumpy road and I jumped out, with the smell of wet animals, the crunch of dry grass under my feet and a chill in the air that caused me to pull my arms up into the sleeves of my sweatshirt for warmth, I could feel the excitement in my stomach start to bubble. 

Friends I hadn’t seen in a year.  Family members I looked up to.  Competitions I could win. 

By the end of the week my excitement usually waned.  They were early mornings and long days.  The water buckets got heavy.  I didn’t win everything I wanted to.  There were always family fights and friends who had moved past their showing days and weren’t around anymore. 

Eventually, I sort of grew out of the livestock showing.  It was a wonderful experience while it lasted.  I have great memories.  I earned enough money to help pay for my first car. 

I’ve gone back almost every year.  To watch my brother and cousins in their glory in the show ring.   To see the efforts of their months and years of work pay off… or not.  To see them learn lessons and responsibility they will carry with them.  But it hasn’t held the same excitement since my early teens. 

Until this year.  When I looked forward to going back and taking this little girl with me.  I wondered if the noises would scare her, if she would turn her nose up at the smell, if she would understand what these things were that she was looking at.   

And the verdict?  She loved it.  She might have been a little overwhelmed at first by all the people, the sounds and the noise.  (Let’s face it, the child lives a pretty calm and sheltered life.)  But a few minutes into it, she was reaching out to touch every animal we passed and squirming to get out of her stroller and down where she could really see.  Could really touch.  Could really experience. 

I think my dad had as much fun as she did. 

I’m sure next year could be different.  By then she might be scared or anxious.  And, she’ll never be involved at the level that I was (my sheep shearing days are over thankyouverymuch), but I love that in a small way, this fair can be a part of her life too.

One night last week, on one of the days that it wasn’t 96 degrees and humid, Craig wanted to take C for a walk when I got home from work.  As we started our stroll through the neighborhood, we were stopped by a little old lady neighbor.  This woman, who has probably known Craig since he was pushing his Tonka trunks through her yard, was peeking in the stroller at my baby girl. 

I stood a little taller and waited for the compliment that I knew would come.  Cause really?  I love it when people tell me how cute my kid is.  It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and I pretend that they don’t just say that to everyone.  Or if they do, then this time they really mean it. 

After a few moments, she looked up and said.  “She really is cute, CRAIG.” 

Clearly, I had nothing to do with it.  Or maybe I was invisible?  Or?  Oh?  What’s that?  Motherhood is not all about me. Hmph!   

An unrelated picture. But what good is a post about how cute my kid is without a picture to prove it?

But… she really is cute.

I use this space of the internet to laugh about all the things I do to screw up my kid or fail at this parenting gig.  Like my knack for forgetting to pack bibs and burp cloths, thus prompting me to dig out half used napkins out of the pocket of the front seat, or eating an Oreo when she rolled over for the first time, or turning on cartoons in the morning because the sight of her dancing to the music is what keeps me going throughout the workday. 

But sometimes.  I really screw up. 

It was just about time for dinner Sunday night. Craig was at practice and I headed to the kitchen to make a sandwich so I could eat while I fed the wee one.  C was playing at my heels.  I could hear the tap tap tap as she crawled along the tile floor.  I pulled out a roll and wondered if the tap tap tap sound was moving further away. 

Just as I wondered what she was doing, I heard the splat and I knew. 

As I heard her cry out, I knew she had found the steps again. And this time, without someone watching her she had fallen. 

Down the steps.

Onto the tile. 

I dropped the loaf of bread and sprinted the seven steps that separated me from the the foot of the steps. 

There was my baby girl, in a heap, face down. 

I scooped her up with a prayer that I wouldn’t see blood and that nothing was broken. 

It wasn’t.

A few “ssshhh”s and “it’s okay”s and she was fine.  No new bumps or bruises.  Since the sound was a splat and not the crack of a forehead making contact with the tile, I’m guessing she caught herself on her hands and that she was scared and not hurt. 

But here’s the thing.  I. DON’T. KNOW. 

Because I wasn’t watching.  I took my eyes off of her. Only for a few seconds, but still.  If I had been watching, I would have kept her from falling.  I would have kept her from being hurt. 

At some point this may be one of my funny parenting stories, but today this one still hurts.

PS. I haven’t asked (begged) in a while, but…If it’s not too much to ask, would you please take a second and spare two clicks for me on Top Baby Blogs. XOXO!

Um…  guys.  This parenting thing gets HARDER as they get older?  Did none of you think to tell me that? 

Oh, no.  You were all “you can do this” when she was itty bitty and had hours every evening where she fussed and cried and I walked miles up and down the halls of my house.  And then, when she wouldn’t nap, you were all supportive saying that she’d get better and I was doing the right thing even if that meant she had to cry or if I had to stand on my head to get her to sleep.   

Stupid supportive internet.  None of you told me to just zip it because in a few months putting her down for a nap would be the easy part of my day. 

That somewhere around nine months old, she’d start moving faster than I could keep up with her and that she’d put her fingers in places (like the door jamb) where I could pinch them.  Or that if I turned my back to her for a second to put my bra away, she would find the foil cap cover thing from the diaper rash cream and put it in her mouth, prompting an early evening call to the pediatrician. 

And you didn’t tell me that the next day, I would dive across the bed, with one pant leg on and one off, and grasp her by the ankle, in just the nick of time, to keep her from nose diving off the other side. 

I was prepared for the meltdowns that would occur when I took away a toy or told her no, but I didn’t know taking the remote could turn my happy, easy-going child into a sobbing heap on the floor.  Or, when she didn’t want to move but I picked her up anyway, she’d learn how to raise her arms and make her body go limp so that she’d all but fall right back to the floor. 

 I think we have officially entered the stage of temper tantrums.  

Send wine. 

And, go ahead, tell me that it will be worse when she’s two, or seven, or thirteen.  I need to be prepared.

July 4 – 10:00 AM

Dear Other guests of the Courtyard,

I’m sorry.  I’m really, really sorry.  I know the screaming you heard coming from our room for an hour at bedtime last night was a big inconvenience.  I know that you were gritting your teeth looking at your wife, saying “can’t they get that kid to shut up?!”  I know that you were hoping for some peace and quiet around 8PM last Saturday, but instead you heard a baby wailing like someone was holding her down and cut her fingernails. 

I wasn’t. I promise.  I was really just trying to get my child to go to sleep.  You see?  At home we have a little itty bit of fussing and then glorious sleep.  But in a hotel, a strange place, with other people in the room.  Nope, she just wasn’t having it. 

Thank you for not having us kicked out of the hotel. 

Love,
The crazy lady with the cranky (but cute) kid. 

* * * * * * *

Juy 4 – 2:45 PM

Dear State Troopers in Maryland, Virginia and North Carolina,

I’m sure having a passenger extend her seat and scooch backwards so that she can feed the baby, check her diaper or just otherwise entertain a bored-out-of-her-mind nin- month-old child who didn’t want to sleep is not particularly safe.  I understand that had we been in an accident at that (any of those many) moments I could have been seriously hurt.  But, a cranky crying baby is not conducive to save travels either.  Because whining and screaming from the back seat tends to make the driver a little uptight and flustered.  So, really, I’m taking one for the team and for the safety of your interstates.

Thank you for not arresting us. 

Best,
The contortionist driving down I-95. 

* * * * * * *

July 5 – 5:15AM

Dear People who set off fireworks ALL NIGHT LONG,

Go to hell. 

Hugs & Kisses,
The crazy chick who was two seconds from finding you when woke up my kid. 

* * * * * * *

July 6 – 6:15 AM

Dear In-Laws,

I’m sorry C woke you up for the past two nights at 3:15.  But, you invited us and I warned you.  And she made up for it with smiles and kisses. 

God bless you for taking her from me when after two hours, I couldn’t get her back to sleep.  I was about to lose my damn mind. 

XOXO
Your Grateful Daughter (& Sister)-In-Law

PS.  She will do it again tonight.

* * * * * * *

July 7 – 3:30 PM

Dear All the people along the way who smiled at my kid,

I know, right?  She’s so cute you can hardly stand it.  Go ahead make faces at her and wave bye-bye.  It’s her newest trick and she loves to show it off.  And, when strangers coo over my kid, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Smootchies,
The person who was holding that cute kid in Target

* * * * * * *

Yep!  I’m back and I’m still begging asking for votes.  Would you be so kind to click that link and help us claw back onto page 1? 

 XOXO!
The semi competitive person who writes this blog

 Our vacation, in a nutshell, in pictures….

From top left, clockwise: 

1.  
   1. Craig & C. rocking the Baby Bjorn.
   2. What do you do when you forget to pack a bib?  Tie a napkin ’round her neck, of course.  Oh, and Blue Moon.  YUM. 
   3. He’s got a stroller loaded down with luggage, a duffel bag on his shoulder and a baby in his arms.  If nothing else makes him feel like a dad, this sure will. 
   4. When a dark, quiet hotel room is simply unacceptable for napping, try a stroller, on a hot day, in a shopping plaza, in the middle of the city. 

1.  
   1. Dear Child, Someday, when you don’t have wrinkles to go the prom, you will be glad that we made you wear that hat. 
   2. Family photo  (Who does she look like?  I can’t tell.)
   3. My loves.  My life. 
   4. Dipping her toes in the ocean.  She LOVED the water and the sand.  Every time we took her outside she got all excited, kicking her feet and squealing with delight.  She waved at anyone who glanced her way and generaly charmed everyone at the Outer Banks.

We’ve been away for a few days.  Spending time walking around the Inner Harbor in Baltimore and kicking back at the Outer Banks. We tried to stay cool in 90+ degree heat. We ate seafood, napped and had many “firsts” with our baby girl.  We put our feet in the salty ocean and felt the sand between our toes. 

I’ll eventually get a vacation recap post written, complete with tons of cute photos and head spinning stories about traveling with a nine-month old (spoiler alert: packing gets a lot harder) but I’m officially still on vacation. Enjoying the time being unplugged from the computer and soaking up my baby girl.  Even though, as I type this, I was ridiculously ready for her bedtime tonight. 

But while I’ve been out of commission here, I’ve had a few guest post published. 

Check out Bringing Up Baby for my post about C’s first night at home.  While you’re there, take a peek at Jess’s adorable baby boy and tell me if you don’t fall in love. 

And, at Our Mommyhood, I wrote about going back to work after my maternity leave and making the “working mom” thing work for our family.