A few stories I don't want to lose from Facebook
10 progressive Steps you can follow to maximize your toddler's help in the kitchen.
1) Perch toddler precariously on the edge of the counter so she can easily reach all your mixing spoons and use them one by one to flip contents of your mixing bowl onto the floor and ceiling
2) Place her on the floor (after you realize that step #1 might result in both a toddler fall and excessive kitchen clean-up) and tell her find her footstool. This will likely result in weeping and wailing about being "helpful" so assure her over and over that she is more "helpful" standing on her footstool.
3) Allow toddler to drag her footstool over to adjacent counter with basket of tomatoes and throw those tomatoes one by one onto the floor. This will allow you to assess her counting skills as she will likely count the tomatoes as they splat one by one onto the kitchen floor. It also gives you an opportunity to go over her colors (at least the color red).
4) (AFTER cleaning tomatoes off the floor) Give toddler a book and ask her to "read to momma." Choose not to panic as you hear ominous ripping sounds mixed in with happy baby chatter.
5) Place OPEN bottle of oil near edge of counter. Make sure that it actually overhangs the edge of the counter to facilitate toddler grasp. This will provide a challenge to your toddler. In addition it gives you an opportunity to re-assess how tall your toddler has actually become.
6) After the oil bottle has been reached, tipped over, and most of the contents spread across the kitchen floor, give your toddler a towel and expect her to clean up the oil (this doesn't seem like a rational step, unless you are right in the middle of trying to finish a time dependent, critical baking step, then it's a must). Don't be surprised if she tires of the towel and decides that it would be more fun to roll in said oil and clean it up with her hair, clothes, and socks.
7) Try to calmly explain to toddler that the mess she has created makes mommy want to poke her eyes out (mommy's eyes, that is) whereupon your toddler will try to help you actually do that very thing (remember, they LOVE the invitation to poke things).
8) Strip squirming oily toddler of her clothes and take her into her room for a nap. This will hopefully give mother a needed time-out, but don't be surprised if the toddler weeps and wails because she wants to continue to "help mommy" in the kitchen rather than sleep peacefully.
9) Try to clean oil off the floor while toddler takes a nap (I suggest 409 as it seems to cut grease fairly well).
10) Check on whatever you put in the oven or stove. Forgetting this step is easily done when concentrating on steps #8 and 9. If forgotten, it could result in fire alarm waking toddler from nap...
Traveling with Amy
by Rachel Nelson on Thursday, March 17, 2011 at 12:25pm ·
Amy
and I have flown together several times (4 transcontinental trips
before 12 months of life). Unfortunately, I'm learning the fundamental
rule of travel: a mother's enjoyment of travel is inversely proportional
to the age of the child (in months) and directly proportional to the
number of traveling companions + 1. Plugging the numbers in for my
latest travel, I get a rather low number. Unfortunately, it's a pretty
good predictor. Below is an account of my plane ride.
As I boarded the airplane, I had to leave my BOB stroller in the walkway. Since it was raining, I was handed a very large plastic bag and instructed to place my stroller in the plastic bag. Of course, no one offered to help me. So there I was: baby, bags, blankets, sippy cup, and a big plastic bag I'm trying to make fit over my stroller. Amy promptly proceeded to walk onto the plane WITHOUT me, sending the bag, stroller, and blanket sprawling in three different directions as I raced to retrieve her. I finally found that by holding her between my knees, the bag in my mouth, and the blanket over my shoulder I was able to somehow finagle the bag over the stroller. Amy made another dash for the airplane door, and I narrowly kept her from tripping over its lip. We made a motley duo as she waddled down the isle and I followed dragging her necessary accoutrements. Finally making it to our seat, I sort of collapsed. My young (obviously without children) seatmate started cooing and babbling at the baby. Amy, a born ham, smiled her brightest and babbled loudly. Soon, the seatmate turned to me and said, "I just love early morning flights, because I can usually sleep all the way. I'll see you in Denver when I wake up." I nodded and smiled my sweetest as she leaned back and closed her eyes. "Yeah, I hope you sleep well...." my voice trailed off as I caught Amy trying to grab an unsuspecting passenger's purse. "Amy, that is No, No, we don't touch other people's stuff."
Thankfully, I was able to breastfeed Amy to sleep as the airplane took off. Sleeping peacefully, she really looked the picture of innocence and I began to wonder why I had any fear or trepidation about this plane trip. The peace lasted only 30 minutes. Suddenly, a loud announcement from the pilot brought life to the sleeping queen. Awaaahaaaaa, boohoooooooo. My seatmate pulled her coat up around her ears. Desperately trying to quiet her, I pulled her new toy out of my bag. I had bought this toy at ToysRus just before the trip. It was a purple spikey soft ball that I thought she would enjoy chewing. She grabbed it eagerly, took one bite, and then catapulted it with distain toward the back of the plane. As it bounced down the isle, it became an orb of green and red LED lights. Amy was transfixed. All tears forgotten she watched in rapt wonder as fellow passengers made ill calculated grabs at the dancing sphere of colors. Eventually, the ball came to rest just behind our seat. Since, the lady passenger occupying that seat was sound asleep. I decided to leave the ball there. Unfortunately, a good samaritan decided that I needed the ball returned to me immediately. "Excuse me Madam, please wake up and get the ball under your feet, excuse me, EXCUSE ME." I vainly tried to motion and whisper that I did NOT need the ball back but it was no use. The poor lady was duly woken up and returned the ball to me. I placed the ball back in the bag.
Now for Amy's breakfast. I turned her so she was sitting on my lap, facing me. She seemed to do pretty well with this arrangement. Unfortunately, I chose as breakfast food a carrot/peach combo (BRIGHT orange food) and I also chose to wear a WHITE shirt. Needless to say, my shirt showed every stray little splash. The whole process wasn't going too badly, however, until the lady up front turned around and complained that Amy was bumping her chair. Maybe I'm a little biased, but I really think Amy only hit her chair a very few times (it hurt Amy's head to bang it against an object). Anyhow, I do want to be a polite and considerate mother so I duly turned Amy around to face away from me. I decided that feeding orange goop to a moving target that I couldn't face directly wasn't a good idea so started to put the food away.
"Ahhh," I stifled an involuntary scream as I felt warm liquid envelope my lap. I looked up in time to see Amy finish pouring the remains of my water bottle (carelessly left open) down her shirt, pants, and onto my lap. Great, not only do I have orange blob on my white shirt, I also look like I've peed my pants. To top it off, Amy was also soaked and I had no extra clothes. I tried not to think naughty thoughts about how this whole mess was because I turned her around to avoid hitting the seat in front of me (she wouldn't have seen the water bottle if she wasn't facing away from me). This new crisis demanded a trip to the restroom. Amy in tow, I bumbled to the back of the plane. Thankfully, a nice stewardess offered to hold her while I went in to clean up. As I entered the tiny restroom, I suddenly realized I hadn't warned her that Amy was wet from water. I decided it was too late now. Sure enough, when I emerged (paper towels do a fairly good job of drying clothes out I discovered) the stewardess had a rather distressed look on her face and was holding Amy at arm's length. I promise, it's only water, I said meekly. A look of relief washed across her face as she handed my wet fish back. Now to dry her off. Thankfully, I packed a cloth diaper, which did the job and, although still damp, we were able to finish the rest of the flight in relative comfort.
Amy seemed to settle down after causing all the above excitement and the rest of the flight was content to look at her picture books, make faces at the passengers behind us, and in general really behave herself.
As the plane landed my seat mate emerged from under her coat and pillow. "What a nice nap," she crooned, "I'm ready for the day." The lady who sat behind me and rescued our ball also made a point to tell me (several times in fact) how well Amy behaved. I found out later she has five children and numerous grandchildren. Other passengers chimed in as well. The only lady who didn't have anything to say was the one directly in front of us. Both Amy and I stayed on the plane as it was going on to Atlanta. The lady in front of us was also headed to Atlanta. After everyone deplaned, she asked the stewardess if she could move to a different seat away from the annoying baby. The stewardess obliged and she was moved to the back of the plane. I think it's kind of funny, but because she moved, she ended up sitting right beside TWO infants and both of them cried the ENTIRE way from Denver to Atlanta. Amy didn't make a peep on the last leg of our flight and she didn't hit the seat in front of her either!
As I boarded the airplane, I had to leave my BOB stroller in the walkway. Since it was raining, I was handed a very large plastic bag and instructed to place my stroller in the plastic bag. Of course, no one offered to help me. So there I was: baby, bags, blankets, sippy cup, and a big plastic bag I'm trying to make fit over my stroller. Amy promptly proceeded to walk onto the plane WITHOUT me, sending the bag, stroller, and blanket sprawling in three different directions as I raced to retrieve her. I finally found that by holding her between my knees, the bag in my mouth, and the blanket over my shoulder I was able to somehow finagle the bag over the stroller. Amy made another dash for the airplane door, and I narrowly kept her from tripping over its lip. We made a motley duo as she waddled down the isle and I followed dragging her necessary accoutrements. Finally making it to our seat, I sort of collapsed. My young (obviously without children) seatmate started cooing and babbling at the baby. Amy, a born ham, smiled her brightest and babbled loudly. Soon, the seatmate turned to me and said, "I just love early morning flights, because I can usually sleep all the way. I'll see you in Denver when I wake up." I nodded and smiled my sweetest as she leaned back and closed her eyes. "Yeah, I hope you sleep well...." my voice trailed off as I caught Amy trying to grab an unsuspecting passenger's purse. "Amy, that is No, No, we don't touch other people's stuff."
Thankfully, I was able to breastfeed Amy to sleep as the airplane took off. Sleeping peacefully, she really looked the picture of innocence and I began to wonder why I had any fear or trepidation about this plane trip. The peace lasted only 30 minutes. Suddenly, a loud announcement from the pilot brought life to the sleeping queen. Awaaahaaaaa, boohoooooooo. My seatmate pulled her coat up around her ears. Desperately trying to quiet her, I pulled her new toy out of my bag. I had bought this toy at ToysRus just before the trip. It was a purple spikey soft ball that I thought she would enjoy chewing. She grabbed it eagerly, took one bite, and then catapulted it with distain toward the back of the plane. As it bounced down the isle, it became an orb of green and red LED lights. Amy was transfixed. All tears forgotten she watched in rapt wonder as fellow passengers made ill calculated grabs at the dancing sphere of colors. Eventually, the ball came to rest just behind our seat. Since, the lady passenger occupying that seat was sound asleep. I decided to leave the ball there. Unfortunately, a good samaritan decided that I needed the ball returned to me immediately. "Excuse me Madam, please wake up and get the ball under your feet, excuse me, EXCUSE ME." I vainly tried to motion and whisper that I did NOT need the ball back but it was no use. The poor lady was duly woken up and returned the ball to me. I placed the ball back in the bag.
Now for Amy's breakfast. I turned her so she was sitting on my lap, facing me. She seemed to do pretty well with this arrangement. Unfortunately, I chose as breakfast food a carrot/peach combo (BRIGHT orange food) and I also chose to wear a WHITE shirt. Needless to say, my shirt showed every stray little splash. The whole process wasn't going too badly, however, until the lady up front turned around and complained that Amy was bumping her chair. Maybe I'm a little biased, but I really think Amy only hit her chair a very few times (it hurt Amy's head to bang it against an object). Anyhow, I do want to be a polite and considerate mother so I duly turned Amy around to face away from me. I decided that feeding orange goop to a moving target that I couldn't face directly wasn't a good idea so started to put the food away.
"Ahhh," I stifled an involuntary scream as I felt warm liquid envelope my lap. I looked up in time to see Amy finish pouring the remains of my water bottle (carelessly left open) down her shirt, pants, and onto my lap. Great, not only do I have orange blob on my white shirt, I also look like I've peed my pants. To top it off, Amy was also soaked and I had no extra clothes. I tried not to think naughty thoughts about how this whole mess was because I turned her around to avoid hitting the seat in front of me (she wouldn't have seen the water bottle if she wasn't facing away from me). This new crisis demanded a trip to the restroom. Amy in tow, I bumbled to the back of the plane. Thankfully, a nice stewardess offered to hold her while I went in to clean up. As I entered the tiny restroom, I suddenly realized I hadn't warned her that Amy was wet from water. I decided it was too late now. Sure enough, when I emerged (paper towels do a fairly good job of drying clothes out I discovered) the stewardess had a rather distressed look on her face and was holding Amy at arm's length. I promise, it's only water, I said meekly. A look of relief washed across her face as she handed my wet fish back. Now to dry her off. Thankfully, I packed a cloth diaper, which did the job and, although still damp, we were able to finish the rest of the flight in relative comfort.
Amy seemed to settle down after causing all the above excitement and the rest of the flight was content to look at her picture books, make faces at the passengers behind us, and in general really behave herself.
As the plane landed my seat mate emerged from under her coat and pillow. "What a nice nap," she crooned, "I'm ready for the day." The lady who sat behind me and rescued our ball also made a point to tell me (several times in fact) how well Amy behaved. I found out later she has five children and numerous grandchildren. Other passengers chimed in as well. The only lady who didn't have anything to say was the one directly in front of us. Both Amy and I stayed on the plane as it was going on to Atlanta. The lady in front of us was also headed to Atlanta. After everyone deplaned, she asked the stewardess if she could move to a different seat away from the annoying baby. The stewardess obliged and she was moved to the back of the plane. I think it's kind of funny, but because she moved, she ended up sitting right beside TWO infants and both of them cried the ENTIRE way from Denver to Atlanta. Amy didn't make a peep on the last leg of our flight and she didn't hit the seat in front of her either!
Mommy, the builder
by Rachel Nelson on Saturday, October 23, 2010 at 9:31pm ·
After
our shower-door towel rack collapsed in our bathroom twice (honestly
through no fault of ours) our landlord replaced the contraption with two
round handles. Thus, we now have no place to hang our towels in the
bathroom. It's not too inconvenient--as long as we remember to take a
towel WITH us into the bathroom when we shower. Unfortunately, I have
the annoying habit of forgetting until I'm already well launched into my
shower and thus have to streak naked across the bedroom floor dripping
water everywhere.
This Friday, I had enough. With Amy in tow, I marched around Wal-Mart trying to find a free-standing towel holder. After wondering around the Houseware section, I finally figured out that Wal-Mart actually sells such things in the Hardware section. Once there, I had a barrage of bathroom space-saving devices to sort through. I finally selected a gray, tall, over-the-toilet shelf set that included an over-the-door towel rack and toilet-paper holder.
Once home, I eagerly opened the box. I wanted the whole thing set up before Eric came home from work. Amy, who insisted on sitting right next to me, desperately tried to sample everything I took out of the box. She especially wanted the styrofoam which I kept having to push farther away from her eager hands (yeah, that would be hard to explain--pediatrician's kid in critical condition after inhaling styrofoam)... I've never assembled anything in my life so I was pretty excited about the whole project. The directions seemed easy with lots of pictures and soon I was happily screwing long gray bars together. Amy banged on the empty box and jabbered happily in the background. After 45 minutes with only 1-2 minor errors, I had the basic frame put together and was ready to screw the wire shelves in place.
I found the first shelf and slid it into position. It fit perfectly except the screw holes didn't line up. I pulled the shelf off, checked to make sure it wasn't upside down, and tried again. Screw holes still didn't fit. I looked at the frame. I double checked the directions. According to the picture, I'd done everything right. Still, the shelf didn't fit. What a piece of junk, I muttered to Amy. Now I'm going to have to take this whole thing apart, stuff it back into the box, and take it BACK to Wal-Mart for a refund. I couldn't find the receipt initially so I rummaged through our bedroom trash can, eventually pulling everything out before spying the receipt balanced precariously on the edge of our bed. In the meantime, Amy somehow scooted herself partly under our bed and started wailing. In my attempts to get her out, I tripped over the tool box sending screws and various assorted tools flying everywhere. Amy rescued I set her down in a corner, as I did so I felt something a little wet and squishy--I turned her around. YUCK! She'd pooped all the way up to the base of her neck!!
In the midst of sudden chaos, Eric walks into the room. What a disaster met his gaze: half finished over-the-toilet shelf; scattered screws, gray bars, and contents of the trash can; poopy baby; and nearly hysterical wife. He took it all in stride (what an amazing man I've married). He sent me off to change the baby while I barked orders about needing to finish disassembling the shelf to take back to Wal-Mart. It took my probably 15-20 minutes to bathe the baby and get her dressed in clean clothes. I returned to the bedroom to find Eric carrying the completed shelving unit, towel rack, AND toilet paper holder into the bathroom. I was dumbfounded. "Eric," I gasped. "How'd you get it to work, it was defective". "No it wasn't," was his calm reply. "You just had the frame on backwards!"
I double checked the directions. They said NOTHING about backwards/frontwards/sides/etc. Absolutely NOTHING!!!!! How in the world was I supposed to know? Eric assures me it should have been obvious while I assembled the contraption. Well, obvious or not, I missed it. and I think that's the end of my building career, at least for now. In the meantime. I am enjoying not having to traipse across the bedroom floor to get a forgotten towel.
This Friday, I had enough. With Amy in tow, I marched around Wal-Mart trying to find a free-standing towel holder. After wondering around the Houseware section, I finally figured out that Wal-Mart actually sells such things in the Hardware section. Once there, I had a barrage of bathroom space-saving devices to sort through. I finally selected a gray, tall, over-the-toilet shelf set that included an over-the-door towel rack and toilet-paper holder.
Once home, I eagerly opened the box. I wanted the whole thing set up before Eric came home from work. Amy, who insisted on sitting right next to me, desperately tried to sample everything I took out of the box. She especially wanted the styrofoam which I kept having to push farther away from her eager hands (yeah, that would be hard to explain--pediatrician's kid in critical condition after inhaling styrofoam)... I've never assembled anything in my life so I was pretty excited about the whole project. The directions seemed easy with lots of pictures and soon I was happily screwing long gray bars together. Amy banged on the empty box and jabbered happily in the background. After 45 minutes with only 1-2 minor errors, I had the basic frame put together and was ready to screw the wire shelves in place.
I found the first shelf and slid it into position. It fit perfectly except the screw holes didn't line up. I pulled the shelf off, checked to make sure it wasn't upside down, and tried again. Screw holes still didn't fit. I looked at the frame. I double checked the directions. According to the picture, I'd done everything right. Still, the shelf didn't fit. What a piece of junk, I muttered to Amy. Now I'm going to have to take this whole thing apart, stuff it back into the box, and take it BACK to Wal-Mart for a refund. I couldn't find the receipt initially so I rummaged through our bedroom trash can, eventually pulling everything out before spying the receipt balanced precariously on the edge of our bed. In the meantime, Amy somehow scooted herself partly under our bed and started wailing. In my attempts to get her out, I tripped over the tool box sending screws and various assorted tools flying everywhere. Amy rescued I set her down in a corner, as I did so I felt something a little wet and squishy--I turned her around. YUCK! She'd pooped all the way up to the base of her neck!!
In the midst of sudden chaos, Eric walks into the room. What a disaster met his gaze: half finished over-the-toilet shelf; scattered screws, gray bars, and contents of the trash can; poopy baby; and nearly hysterical wife. He took it all in stride (what an amazing man I've married). He sent me off to change the baby while I barked orders about needing to finish disassembling the shelf to take back to Wal-Mart. It took my probably 15-20 minutes to bathe the baby and get her dressed in clean clothes. I returned to the bedroom to find Eric carrying the completed shelving unit, towel rack, AND toilet paper holder into the bathroom. I was dumbfounded. "Eric," I gasped. "How'd you get it to work, it was defective". "No it wasn't," was his calm reply. "You just had the frame on backwards!"
I double checked the directions. They said NOTHING about backwards/frontwards/sides/etc. Absolutely NOTHING!!!!! How in the world was I supposed to know? Eric assures me it should have been obvious while I assembled the contraption. Well, obvious or not, I missed it. and I think that's the end of my building career, at least for now. In the meantime. I am enjoying not having to traipse across the bedroom floor to get a forgotten towel.
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