Junk Room

Everyone has a junk drawer, right? I remember that we even called it that when I was growing up. In need of something? Look in the junk drawer. It sometimes had magical qualities like Mary Poppins' bag -- it seemed a limitless drawer of odds, ends, tools, pens, and orphan parts of all kinds.

When I got older and lived in places of my own I gradually developed my own junk drawer. In my pursuit of controlling my environment since I cannot seem to control any other aspect of my life, I organized my junk drawer with small, plastic bins. It was still a junk drawer, but it was forced into the submission of categories -- tools (ruler, scissors, tape measure, utility knife, tiny screwdriver, etc.), adhesives (clear tape, masking tape, electrical tape, left-over velcro tabs, and that cool stuff that you can stick window stickers onto it so that the stickers cling to your car windows thereby eliminating the need for razor blades every year), stuff (buttons, last bit of yarn, a cork, a key chain that floats, etc.), and a bin of batteries. That drawer also received all weird bits and scraps that had no other home and would no longer be tolerated out in the open.

We have been in our new house for almost two years. Our Birdie arrived about four weeks after we moved into the house (and about three weeks early). We did not have time to get all parts of the house set up the way we wanted it. (No, really, I have convinced myself that three more weeks of pregnancy would have allowed us to get things set up.) And then, of course, people say that it takes a year of living someplace to figure out how you want things set up. Bird has impacted our plans by distracting us from thinking about how to organize the house and by introducing so much stuff to the house.

So, while our kitchen has developed its own kitchen-specific junk drawer, we have grown beyond junk drawers and generated a junk room -- a whole room of orphans, misfits, and stuff-in-transition. It started simply enough -- Birdie's first birthday and the impending arrival of more than thirty people for his party (we kept it small -- family only). We needed space for chairs for people and tables for food. Jumperoos, Bumbos, toys, baskets of blankets and bibs and toys were all relegated to the office. The stroller, the push car, and un-needed parts of the pack n' play were exiled to the office. Piles of mail and newspapers, school bags, work bags, extra throw pillows and a half-dead plant were thrown in for good measure.

And thus was the foundation laid for our junk room.

Now the junk room is utilized every time we get one of those phone calls -- "Hey! We're in the city. Are you guys home?" -- and need to shovel our real lives behind closed door to make it possible for guests to be comfortable and to allow us to act like we live clutter free.

Bird's second birthday is three months away. (How is that possible?) I have been successful this week in skimming off the top layer and have made discoveries such as the light fixtures we bought for the first floor bathroom. The stroller and push-car have been stored in the basement. I have not made it as far as the closet. God knows what awaits me in the closet. Items were shoved in the closet the week we moved in and have not been touched since. I imagine it will be like an archaeological dig. And a horror film. And potentially a documentary on paper hoarding.

I am hopeful that in the new year I can rid us of much paper, determine and establish a system for storing the minimal amount of paper we do need to store, and keep junk out of our office. It would be so nice to have an office again.

I will not, however, make any move to rid us of our junk drawer.

When Did He Get So Big?

When did my little Bird start getting so big?

I remember thinking last year at this time that he was so big. Granted, learning to sit up on one's own gives one a bit more height. And the hair! He practically had enough for a comb over.

I am sure that I will continue to be shocked at how big he is getting, but it is so noticeable lately. There are mornings when I am surprised to find such a big boy in the crib. He surprises me all the time.

I've been going through pictures to get them organized. I came across one of this year's Halloween pictures and thought I would compare it to last year's pictures to see how much Bird has changed.

Here is Bird on Halloween 2007. He was 7 months old.


Below is Bird on Halloween 2008 -- 19 months old.

It turns out that while many things about Bird are changing, there are some things that stay the same!

Being a Grown Up

I have begun to dislike being a grown up. Well, parts of it anyway. In the past, I have said on more than one occasion that I would not be a teenage girl again for all the money in the world. Now I'm starting to think that being a teenage girl again (but with all the money in the world) might be better than being a woman in her late 30s with a job, a mortgage, and sundry other responsibilities.

My complaints are the usual ones: not enough time, too much stress, bills, responsibilities, crap, messes, crap, voicemails, emails, and some other crap. What I am finding is that my complaining (to myself, to my co-workers, to my spouse, to the lady at the register in the cafeteria) has increased even as the opportunities for peace and joy in my life have increased. Crazy, no? I mean the situation. Not me. I'm sane. Well, sane as I've ever been.

Having our little Bird in our little (Actually, it just looks little from the front, which I love, but it is not truly so little on the inside. In fact, my sister and my niece mocked us loudly for having a room that is devoted to visitors and serves as a changing table for the intermittent downstairs diaper change.) house has made me happier than I have ever been. I have not ever before experienced, nor could I have anticipated, the absolute happiness that having a job that provides the potential for enjoyment and fulfillment, a wonderful husband, a marvelous son, and a comfortable home has brought me.

And then I have to go to work, stress about work, obsess about every symptom that creeps up in the house, feel guilty about about Bird's care, worry about every one's health, and beat myself up for not creating a home and home life that would be an unrealistic goal even for someone who stayed at home and had a paid support staff. Smart, yes? And oh so healthy too.

Sure, there are some upsides to being a grown up that I enjoy. When mulling over whether we should do something indulgent (like spend lots of money at the magazine store), Dave usually wraps up the debate with the sage observation, "Why not? We're free, white, and 21." And there is something to that. I am blessed with freedom in many areas of life.

This makes me think of a story that my youngest sister told me once about grocery shopping. She was a college graduate living on her own, shopping for herself, queen of her own domain. As she headed towards the checkout she passed the pop tarts and, naturally, wished she could have some. Those rare moments in our childhood that included pop tarts were truly magical -- and truly rare. Suddenly, it hit her -- she was queen of her own domain! She could buy those pop tarts if she wanted! In any flavor she wanted! And she didn't have to share the pop tarts that come sealed in the same envelope! This is the kind of freedom I am talking about.

Though I am lucky enough to have a lot of freedom in my life, I have to deal with the usual grown-up responsibilities and some new grown-up things that are required of me now that I live with a little person who will eventually learn to call me mama. (He will, right?) It is, perhaps, because of the little person in my life that some of these grown-up things weigh on me more heavily, but I can't blame him entirely.

I just wish I could let some of it go now and then. Or that some of it would let me go now and then. My grown-up responsibilities have distracted me to such a degree these last few months that I have not had the time to even complete this blog post. I started writing this on August 1 (as shown in the date), but completed and published it on November 1...

So Many and So Much

So many things in my head. So many ideas, so many to do lists, so many plans, so many complaints, so many blessings, so many wishes. I feel sometimes like I'm going to bubble over with words words words. I'm feeling a little bit like I did when my little Bird was a tiny baby and I never really got long stretches of sleep -- the sleep that your brain needs to defrag, recharge, and reboot.

Every time I think I can take two minutes to dump some of my "so manys" onto paper or screen, (or maybe actually do something), something comes up. Or, I take the time to go to the bathroom or I take the time to go to bed (very long stretches of sleep are still desired).

When did I have to start making time for bodily functions? I actually scheduled a meeting a little later than I could have so that I could be sure to have a moment between meetings to empty my bladder, wash my hands, and inhale some yogurt. That's not right. (Let me note, however, that I did not explain that this was the reason why I wanted to start at 2:30 instead of 2:00. Let's keep that between us.)

So much has been happening. The summer is flying by.

I've been meaning to record Bird's vocabulary of baby signs. He is becoming very proficient. He currently uses signs for hat, more, eat, drink, help, book, dog, bird (all beaked creatures), fan, music, monkey, and he made one up for glasses that he only uses when I put on my glasses. A few others are being acquired. It is so much fun to see him work to communicate with us. It is so rewarding to see him make the sign for drink and then receive a sippy cup and be so happy that his request was understood. I am looking forward to the onset of actual spoken words, but I am so glad that we have all learned some baby signs to make communication easier.

Bird is also getting so big. He has been walking now for about a month and a half. He has gotten very good at stacking blocks. He regularly asks for books and music and loves to dance. He could play ball for hours -- even by himself. He has started to color with toddler crayons and likes to give high-fives. Opening and closing drawers is one of his favorite things to do. He has also started to carve out tiny spaces in some of our rooms and sits quietly in them with a self-satisfied smile on his face. I put a blanket over the luggage rack in the guest room -- he sits in there with blocks. He pushes the trash can out of the way to sit under the kitchen counter. He squeezes behind the ficus in the living room and the petunias on the deck. He amazes me every day.

Work is huge right now. Huge. Much to do, much dependency on others to do their jobs, way behind schedule on a few things, much correcting of record-keeping to be done. Ack.

One of the items on my personal to do list for the summer is to get in touch with friends whom I have neglected to correspond with. In part I hope to accomplish that by updating this blog more frequently. I'm also hoping to be inspired to write something that is actually interesting.

Observations

Some observations I have made of late --

• It will never be warm here. And by warm I mean dry with a high temperature of greater than 70 degrees for two consecutive days.

• (Given: Bird loves loves loves balloons.) Grocery stores inflate helium balloons of tremendous colors and sizes and tie them to every fixed surface in the store -- and I had never noticed them until Bird pointed (and pointed and pointed and pointed) them out to me.


• A full day of gardening kicks my ass. I have not hurt this badly in a long time. It took me an entire day to mow, clean out the flower beds, plant a few annuals and one tiny hydrangea bush, and spread mulch in front. Lucky for me, the weedwacker cried "Uncle" before I really got going. The yard looks better, but far from my vision. My hamstrings are still wondering what the hell happened. They have no idea that we are not finished yet.
  


• Now that Bird is a much-accomplished eater, it is so much harder to get him to eat a well-balanced meal. It used to be so easy to open a jar for each major food group and start scooping it in. I've already resorted to hiding vegetables in a ball of much-loved mashed potatoes and placing it on a toddler fork to "trick" Bird into eating his veggies. Don't get me wrong, the kid loves to eat all different kinds of stuff. However, when given the choice between veggies and meatballs, the kid chooses meatballs every time.

• My home does not look like it could be in the pages of a magazine. My mom always used to say that to us --- "I want your room to look like it could be in a magazine!!" She was not referring to the "before"pictures either. The thing is, I would like for my home to look like that -- not the "before" pictures, the "after" pictures. It doesn't even have to be my whole house. Maybe just a small photo spread with pictures of my cozy bungalow living room (that is kid-friendly and adult-appropriate), envy-enducing pictures of our master bedroom, and a sidebar with before, during, and after pictures of the transformation of our side entrance from a dark, wood-paneled time capsule to a bright, clean, and practical entry way.

• I'm going to have to take a long vacation if I am ever going to make a dent in my long to do list of mini-, medium-, and mega-home projects.

• I had a dream the other night that I took a vacation -- a vacation that involved going on a trip. I went to a resort that catered to parents. I slept in the most wonderful bed that did not have a baby monitor next to it. I read books and magazines and ate whatever I wanted. And I got to use the bathroom for as long as I wanted with no interruptions and no guests.
  

Confessions

I have several confessions to make -- perhaps appropriate as Lent comes to a close.

Okay, let me interrupt here for another confession: I've been writing this post off and on since February 13, 2008. How lame is that? So, yeah, Lent is long gone.

(1) I love Cheerios. Before Bird mastered the pincer grip I had not eaten a Cheerio in over 25 years. My memories of Cheerios were finding them stuck to various parts of my brother, listening to my sister slurp them down, and the smell -- oh the smell of soggy Cheerios. As soon as Bird began working on non-pureed food, I bought a small box of Cheerios. He loved them instantly. While he was happily stuffing them into his mouth I tried a few. I re-loved them instantly. I confess that I have actually started to eat them from a bowl with milk and a little sugar. I am ashamed to admit that I occasionally sample dry Cheerios from Bird's tray.

(2) I have also grown to love vanilla wafers and animal crackers again. And I have been happily introduced to the teddy graham species.

(3) My house smells like poopy diapers. The poop aroma permeates throughout the house -- a house with two Diaper Genie IIs, no less. Nothing removes or sufficiently covers poopy smells. I am close to changing the flavor of one of the air "fresheners" strategically plugged in next to the downstairs Diaper Genie because I have started to associate that scent with poopy diapers. Sometimes it sneaks up on me. I catch just a whiff of dirty diaper causing me to wrangle Bird and hold his derriere close to my nose for a poopy check. I have read that humans cannot recall smells -- at least not in the way we can recall other senses such as sight and sound. I am beginning to think otherwise. I can almost predict the smell that is about to emanate from Bird each time I get a glimpse of his face as it reddens with effort.

(4) While my sweet Bird does have and very much enjoys playing with "real" toys -- many of them very generous gifts from friends and family, I must admit that his most favorite play things were not manufactured to be so.

Exhibit A: The spent cartridge from a Diaper Genie II.

I removed all sharp pieces (quite easily, I might add) and frequently hand this to Bird when attempting to keep him occupied long enough to change his diaper. He likes to hold it with one hand and thrust his other hand through the hole to wave at me. We also play a modified version of peek-a-boo with this. Lately he has created a game in which he throws a law firm-emblazoned stress ball through the hole.


Exhibit B: A Ziploc container holding one Fisher Price alphabet block.


Bird likes all things that have shake-a shake-a capability, to use our technical term (see Exhibit F below.) Like most babies, he enjoys kitchen gadgets and containers. I'm not sure when the Fisher Price alphabet block got inserted into the Ziploc, but it is a hit.






Exhibit C: A cut-down shipping box from Eddie Bauer.
Exhibit C.1: David's sandals.


Bird loves boxes. They were more of a favorite of his when he was less mobile than he is now, but he has adapted. In the past, he liked to sit in the box with toys. Now, he enjoys using the box to help him stand and then sorting and resorting toys in and out of the box. He also enjoys playing with David's old, stinky sandals. In particular, Bird likes to insert and remove toys from the sandals. There are not enough Clorox wipes in the world for me to be able to watch this.


Exhibit D: A mylar balloon.


Balloons! I am sure that balloon will be one of Bird's first words. We first discovered that he has an affinity (like most babies) for balloons when he was only 5 months old. The love affair has continued to this day and now includes aggressive affection for the mylar variety. Luckily, mylars live a long life. When tied to the changing table they have also provided a distraction sufficient enough for a thorough butt-wiping and diaper-changing.

















Exhibit E: A defunct (and battery-less) tv remote.

Bird loves buttons. More particularly, Bird loves any buttons that David or I possess. It takes a certain amount of deception and reflexes to keep Bird from our remotes, cell phones, keyboards, radio alarm clocks, and even the doorbell. When our new cable box completely died after three months of use, we got a new cable box and a new remote for that box that is nearly identical to the "old" remote. And thus did Bird acquire his own remote. I think he has started to realize that the tiny red light on his does not flash when he pushes the buttons, but he has been okay with that to date.


Exhibit F: A breast milk storage container with dry pasta.

I have to blame/credit myself for this one. I use the containers like the one pictured above to store breastmilk. They are disposable-ish in that they should be sterilized only a few times. (I don't want to get into the reasons as they frighten me and some likely related issues are currently in the news, but suffice it to say that we use and re-use these containers only the number of times that the manufacturer recommends.) So. Once we have used a container to store breastmilk for the last time, it gets washed and stacked for David to use in his basement work space. Bird has always been interested in these containers -- perhaps due to their original contents -- so one day I took one, put dry pasta in it, and sealed it up. Bird does not (yet) have the dexterity necessary to unscrew the top, so the pasta is safe for now. This was the birth of the shake-a shake-a toy. We now have several littered around the house. Bird particularly enjoys the double shake-a shake-a when two containers are snapped into each other (a marvelous stacking feature when storing breastmilk in the fridge or freezer).

Exhibit G: A photo of himself

Bird loves pictures -- particularly pictures of people. The daycare center gave us two copies of this picture of Bird in the school buggy. I happened to have it on hand one day while battling Bird during a diaper-changing session. We keep it in the diaper basket so that it can be handed to him when he isn't feeling it with the Diaper Genie II cartridge.



I'm continually amazed at what he finds entertaining. Old catalogs have bought me valuable time on more than one occasion. The socks off his own smelly feet bring smiles and laughter. He is curious about and creative with even the most everyday things that we hand him or that he manages to swipe -- and I am thankful.

One of Those Moms

I don't want to turn into one of those moms -- the ones who obsess over each milestone, accomplishment, pound, sneeze, belch, and poop that the little genius makes. Or rather, doesn't make. You know the ones.

I am always flattered when people comment on Bird's abilities, appearance, and/or personality. I don't find that I toot that horn often -- except for when David, Bird, and I are alone together. That's when I gush with abandon. The first time Bird successfully pincer-grasped a cheerio and got it into his mouth you would have thought he won an Olympic gold medal from the way I reacted. Even Bird looked at me with a "what's wrong with you" expression on his face as he gummed that cheerio into submission.

So, I try not to proclaim Bird's greatness to others. By that same token, I try not to compare Bird to his peers and reveal any areas where Bird might be slower to achieve. I want Bird to be Bird and to be healthy and happy. I remind Bird often that though I am educated, somewhat bright, and have some experience with kids, I am a Rookie Mom. Rookies make mistakes. Rookies lack wisdom. Rookies tend to get excited and not always keep their head in the game.

My rookie mistake du jour is freaking out about the stages that a "normal" and "average" baby is supposed to reach at certain ages. I try not to obsess. However, I do have a baby book that I reference now and again ("chicken pox;" "bowel movements, color of;" "fever;" "feeding, starting solids;" etc.) and we have a pediatrician who gets out his checklist and asks us questions point blank: "Does Bird do this?" "Have you seen Bird do that?"

And then, of course, I also drop Bird off in a room full of his peers every morning and pick him up in that setting every afternoon. Let me just say in my defense, they post the first names and birth dates of all the babies on the wall and I have learned the names of most of the babies and it's hard not to wonder about your 9-month-old who can't pull himself into a sitting position and does not crawl when a 7-month-old is crawling a circuit around him.

I can't help but worry. It's what I do. I started worrying about Bird even before I saw the flicker of a heartbeat on the ultrasound screen. (For those who do not know me, I should note that I am a worrier by nature. This motherhood thing has served only to heighten my abilities.)

So I am working on not worrying. I am working on focusing on the positives. I am working on not comparing Bird to every baby born within 6 months of him. I am working on being Bird's Mom, and not one of Those Moms.

UPDATE: I started this entry on January 15. Bird successfully pulled himself to a sitting position in my view twice on January 20. He then also clapped in mimicry of his father and me. Not that I'm bragging or anything.