Archive | August 2013

How Do I Love You? by Marion Dane Bauer

 

How Do I Love You? Book Image

One of my favorite books to read to my children is How Do I Love You?  Written by Marion Dane Bauer and illustrated by Caroline Jayne Church, this wonderful book is about a parent’s love for a child.  Inspired by the poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, How Do I Love You? is a charmingly illustrated and sweet way to spend time with your little ones.

And it doesn’t hurt that it’s a board book.  Because I gave birth to two lightening fast page rippers, I’m a sucker for a board book.

Big Bird’s Basket of Terror

Sesame-Street

After a successful family trip to Hershey Park, my husband and I figured it was time to bring our children to Sesame Place. Huge fans of Elmo, like most kids their age, we figured they’d like to meet him and see his face plastered on nearly every light post, sign and dinner plate we encountered.

Our day went off fantastically. We took our time getting to the park, had a leisurely breakfast and missed the rush hour traffic. After a few meet and greets with characters, we headed for the rides.

On the first two rides, my husband and father were the adults in charge. As expected the kids were a little antsy waiting in line, and very enthusiastic on the rides. Smiles and waves were plenty.

For the third ride, my mother and I stepped up to accompany the children on a balloon ride featuring Big Bird. For those unaware, it’s the equivalent of a slow moving teacup ride which elevates to what seems like 20 or 30 feet off the ground.

No problem, I thought. I now know, I thought wrong.

Because what I learned is this.  The problem with a ride that slowly elevates and swirls at a snail’s pace is that it gives little kids a chance to wiggle around in their seats, attempt to stand up and move around– at 20 or 30 feet above ground. It gives new moms a chance to envision all sorts of terrible outcomes. And it gives grandmothers a chance to join in the mayhem of worry.

No way would there have been time to entertain my inner Nervous Nelly if I were whipping around in Grover’s Tea Cups trying to keep down my lunch.

My logical brain knows that our ride was no longer than any other. But at the time, it seemed like we took a lifetime to get back down to a scraped knee’s distance from the ground. If the Gods of Amusement Park Rides were smiling down upon us with extra ride time—thanks, maybe next time.

Then, as quickly as it began, the ride was over. We were all on land again, laughing. And if I’m being fair to the Big Yellow Bird, I know, the terror is mine. I brought it into the basket with me. Most likely, I brought it into the delivery room with me.

And while I’m sure next time I could just duct tape the kids to the inside of the basket, or bubble wrap the ‘em individually, I know that the worry is part of my job. Like it or not.

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Pinners…Pretty pretty please…

Pinners-pretty-pretty-please

Well, as the title of my blog implies, I have an account on Pinterest.  It’s a very visual form of social media and image sharing which appeals to me.  I find Pinerest inspirational.  Since joining, I’ve gotten some great new ideas and served some tasty new recipes.  My Pinterest feed showcases a multitude of categories of images, including recipes, travel, architecture and more.

Of the many categories is Tattoos.  Now, I am not a person with a tattoo.  I think they are totally fine if you like them, but for me, they’re just not my thing.  I have given thought to what I would have tattooed if the urge struck me.   But in the end, I can hardly pick a salad dressing, let alone an image that will be indelibly applied to my body.

That being said, I still have an appreciation for the art involved in well done tattoos.  I am amazed by the detail, creativity and talent behind the images of tattoos that appear in my Pinterest feeds.  However, I have recently noticed a trend.  And here it is.

What’s with people taking and posting pictures of their brand new painfully swollen tattoos?

It feels like now, I can’t get through my feed without seeing a pin of someone’s recent tattoo surrounded by a halo of irritated pink puffy skin.  Ouch.

Maybe it is the Pinners that I am following.  Maybe it’s the time I log on to Pinterest.  I am even willing to accept that it’s me and that I notice this because it’s something about which I have an awareness.  You know, like when you buy a Honda then all you see on the road is Hondas because they are in your brain.  The number of Hondas on the road hasn’t gone up, rather the number you notice has.

Regardless, I find this behavior very confusing.

Is this some kind of badge of honor?  Because I’ve run a mile or two, and once I had a toe that unbeknownst to me bled through my sock and sneaker during a long run.  It was a mess, I ran for miles, and  only became aware of it when I noticed blood on my carpet.  Inwardly, I was super proud of myself, I called it my version of the Curt Schilling Bloody Sock.  And I felt like this made me hardcore, but I didn’t hop on my computer and post it on my Pinterest feed.  (And yes, I’m aware that it can be seen as bragging about my toe right here–but I am just trying to make a point.)

Anyway, I mean, it’s not like that moment you get out of the tattooing chair is the last time you’ll be near a working camera, is it?

All I am saying is to take a beat.  Wait a few weeks.  Let your skin heal and Pin away!  But that’s just me.

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Good Night Little Bear….

 

good night little bear

I wonder what it says about me that many of my favorite books for my children center around going to bed…

Good Night Little Bear-A Sleepy Time Tale by Veronica Vasylenko is a short and sweet tale about a variety of animals as they go to sleep.  As with many children’s books, it rhymes and flows nicely.  A fun addition to any young child’s library.

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A Mother’s Legacy in the Eyes of a Two Year Old

beige chair

So, I understand that parenting is advertised as a job that is often thankless.  My kids are two, redundant if you’ve been reading along, but informative for my new friends.  (Happy little aside– No more qualifying their ages in months.  I say they are two, not 24 months, not 2 at the end of the month.  Two, period, end of sentence.)

And with two comes even more talking.  Most of the talking is cute and exciting, but some of it has definitely piqued my interest, and I wonder if I would be wise to be offended.

My mom spends a fair amount of time with my children, and apparently has made an impression on them that she is the owner of our vacuum.  I believe this, because my daughter will open the closet, point to it, say “vacuum” and then say my mother’s name.  Despite me staking my claim on the vacuum by saying that it is actually Mommy’s.  It still belongs to “Meem.”

I thought this was a cute association and entertained some friends with the story.  This little nugget reinforced that my little girl is how I see her, perceptive and bright–able to put things together.  It seemed win win, until recently, when my daughter’s latest declaration involved patting my favorite chair in the living room with her hand and saying “Mama.”  Never mind the cleaning, laundry, bathing, feeding and other things I do in broad daylight as a mother.  My mother goes with the vacuum.  And me, I go with the chair.

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