Recently, a co-worker who is fairly new to our staff here at the Courier made a comment that sent a wave of various emotions crashing over me.
My house just became a much more positive place. My husband and I usually do watch what we say when my daughter is around, but now I have iron-clad proof that she is always listening, watching and, more importantly, mimicking. Now that we know this, exclaiming, "Oh, fiddlesticks!" is about the only thing that is still permissible in our family.
I often think about how nice it would be to have a break from all my familial responsibilities for just one night. I dream of a quiet evening alone - no dinner to cook, no lunches to pack, no dishes to wash, no whiny pets to walk and feed, no toddler to bathe and put to bed, and no intermittent wakeups throughout the night to soothe said toddler, supply milk and coax her back to bed.
My daughter, Reese, started at a new day care two months ago. My husband and I had been pleased with her former day care until they went through several leadership changes, and the resulting policy alterations were disconcerting. The facility's lunch menu, which had been pretty healthy when we first enrolled Reese, took a turn for the worse - lots of processed, preservative-laden food; fruit drowning in sugary, heavy syrup; and snacks full of sodium and food dyes. No thanks!
My attempts at making more mom friends still are failing miserably. At this point, I'd probably try an online "matchmaking" site for women with children who are looking to befriend other women with children. Sort of like eHarmony, but with sippy cups and strollers. Actually, that sounds like a great idea because then I'd get to be very picky with my criteria, thus reducing the chances I'd get "matched up" with another mom I have absolutely nothing in common with, which has kind of been my problem so far.
Before I had a child, there were a few things I noticed parents doing that really annoyed me, and I swore I would never do those things if and when I became a mother. For the most part, I've been diligent about sticking to my guns.
The Internet is bad for me. I'm an obsessive worrier, and I've only gotten worse since the advent of search engines. I often think that if someone got a hold of my web-search queries, I'd end up an international laughing stock. Among the best last week: "Can you become addicted to nasal spray?" "Affects of eating slightly brown guacamole," "Can Tums cause kidney stones?" and "My cat ate cellophane."
I'm an apologetic person. Maybe it's Catholic guilt. Maybe it's just in my nature. But I do love to apologize - mostly for things that aren't my fault. My mother has always said I'd apologize for World War II if given the opportunity. She's right; I am sorry for that horrible global conflict, but not because I think I had anything to do with it. In general, I'm just sorry it happened. It's an empathetic type of apology.
Every phase of "babyhood" has its merits, and I've loved them all so far. In fact, every time my daughter Reese enters a new stage of development, I swear that it's the best one yet. I honestly can't pick my favorite.
There's a topic I've always shied away from in this column - that of the working mom vs. stay-at-home mom debate. I never felt the need to broach this subject before because, honestly, I didn't really feel it was an issue anymore. I thought we, as parents, had moved past all that trivial nonsense and decided all mothers play important roles. Period.
As it turns out, all my worrying last week about how my toddler would deal with a flight from Georgia to Missouri definitely was not for nothing. In fact, probably the only thing that would have made the journey worse would've been a plane crash. And, sadly, it was my own meticulous planning that did me in.
I apparently did not learn my lesson two weeks ago with the debacle in involving an explosion of Gerber puffed-wheat snacks in church.
I recently made the mistake of trying to handle a "two-man job" by myself. I won't do that again.
I consider myself a pretty eco-conscious mom. Not only do I want to do what's best for our planet, I want to set a good example for my daughter, Reese.
In typical scatter-brained-mom fashion, I set out last Saturday morning to assemble what was supposed to be an easy dinner in the Crock-Pot, only to realize I forgot one key ingredient.
My 2-year-old is a chatterbox. I have no idea where she gets it from. (I'm being sarcastic, of course; it's obviously a trait passed down directly from me.)
I've always heard and read that it's a good idea to involve children in meal-preparation efforts, because they're more likely to eat dishes that they helped cook. That makes sense.
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