That's right, friends. I've got a new home on the interwebs! So adjust your bookmarks and pop on over to my new site:
www.peekaberry.com
You tell your friends. I'll bring the crazy.
Deal?
.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Proof that life imitates art.
Ever have one of those days where you're in the middle of changing your baby's diaper and somehow, in between the dirty one and the clean one-- she manages to break free and begins roaming the house naked from the waist down?
And you can't help but think how cute she looks running around squealing, all business on the top and party on the bottom ... so you wait a few extra minutes before putting on her clean diaper because hey, she's obviously having fun and you're a cool mom.
And then, just as you feel that first pang that you might be living on borrowed time your baby decides to empty the entire contents of her bladder right out onto your hardwood floors. And she's so excited about the mess she's created she tries to do a half-naked victory lap around your kitchen island... only she's standing in a huge puddle so she slips, falls and begins skidding around your family room like a greased pig on a Slip 'n Slide.
And the paper towel roll only has ONE paper towel left on it... so you run into the next room to grab a new roll... except by then your kid is soaking wet and has taken it upon herself to baptize each of her favorite stuffed animals in her latest and greatest creation.
So you pat your kid dry, slap on her diaper, pile her stuffed animals into a garbage bag until you can get them down to the laundry and turn your attention to the hardwoods.
Then it hits you that you've been cleaning your floors for five whole minutes and you haven't heard a peep out of your child. So you cross your fingers, take a deep breath and turn around to see your entire living room draped in festive array of paper towel streamers and moist, chewed paper clumps. And when you finally do spot your child across the room, it's not long before you notice she's also eaten the cardboard roll as a mid-morning snack.
And part of you really wants to indulge yourself in a little mommy meltdown... only you're pretty sure it won't be long before you see that cardboard again. And when life hands you lemons, you've got to make lemonade. Or paper mache. Or whatever. And maybe this would all be a whole lot funnier after aglass bottle of wine...
Yeah. Ever have one of those days?
Me neither.
And you can't help but think how cute she looks running around squealing, all business on the top and party on the bottom ... so you wait a few extra minutes before putting on her clean diaper because hey, she's obviously having fun and you're a cool mom.
And then, just as you feel that first pang that you might be living on borrowed time your baby decides to empty the entire contents of her bladder right out onto your hardwood floors. And she's so excited about the mess she's created she tries to do a half-naked victory lap around your kitchen island... only she's standing in a huge puddle so she slips, falls and begins skidding around your family room like a greased pig on a Slip 'n Slide.
And the paper towel roll only has ONE paper towel left on it... so you run into the next room to grab a new roll... except by then your kid is soaking wet and has taken it upon herself to baptize each of her favorite stuffed animals in her latest and greatest creation.
So you pat your kid dry, slap on her diaper, pile her stuffed animals into a garbage bag until you can get them down to the laundry and turn your attention to the hardwoods.
Then it hits you that you've been cleaning your floors for five whole minutes and you haven't heard a peep out of your child. So you cross your fingers, take a deep breath and turn around to see your entire living room draped in festive array of paper towel streamers and moist, chewed paper clumps. And when you finally do spot your child across the room, it's not long before you notice she's also eaten the cardboard roll as a mid-morning snack.
And part of you really wants to indulge yourself in a little mommy meltdown... only you're pretty sure it won't be long before you see that cardboard again. And when life hands you lemons, you've got to make lemonade. Or paper mache. Or whatever. And maybe this would all be a whole lot funnier after a
Yeah. Ever have one of those days?
Me neither.
If you like this post, check it out over at lovelinks!.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Mars vs. Venus: The hair necessities
JON: Okay, Erin-- we're going to go grocery shopping together so Mommy can get some work done. Give Mommy a kiss goodbye.
ME: You have everything?
JON: Yup. We're good to go.
ME: You have diapers and wipes?
JON: Oops. Forgot those. Be right back.
ME: What about snacks?
JON: Snacks?
ME: Yeah. She gets cranky when she's hungry.
JON: Ok. I'll pack snacks.
ME: Do you have a pacifier?
JON: Hold on. Let me go grab one real quick...
ME: Seriously. Jon. What did you pack?
JON: (reaches into his pocket) I've got her headband!
ME: Oh good. I'm sure that'll come in real handy in the event of a FASHION EMERGENCY.
JON: Exactly.
ME: What's her hair's current DEFCON level?
JON: It's pretty windy today... so three.
ME: Jon, it doesn't even match her outfit...
JON: What are you talking about? Hot pink chrysanthemums go with everything.
ME: Really?
JON: Yeah.
ME: How about voluntary manslaughter? Do hot pink chrysanthemums go with voluntary manslaughter?
JON: Depends. Are we talking a spring homicide or a winter homicide?
ME: Who are you?
JON: The father of your baby.
ME: That's what you think.
.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Time to consult the playbill
There are many challenging aspects of parenting, for which I believe I was adequately prepared.
During my pregnancy, I was advised by my mother. I was informed by my doctors. I read copious books on the subjects of childbirth and parenting. I took classes. In my world, pregnancy was like an intricate ballet of beauty and biology. There was me (the ever-expanding, frequently off-balance prima ballerina). There was the rotating stage upon which I was still expected to perform to the best of my ability. And then...there was the audience participation portion of the program.
That baby bump I sported for nine long months may as well have been a bowling-ball-shaped comment card, tirelessly soliciting the "welcome" advice of friends and strangers on the state of my condition. You know, the Baby-Maker's equivalent of a "How's my driving?" sticker. Except, of course, based on the quality and detail of the responses I received, I can only assume my sticker read a little something like this:
My pregnancy (and the people who made themselves a part of it) prepared me for many of the unique and not so unique situations I have since found myself in these past 17 months. I was informed about the exhaustion/sleep deprivation/caffeine-dependency trifecta, and "mommy madness" it often creates. I was warned about the bottomless laundry basket. The disappearing "free time." The elusive "daily shower" and vanishing "beauty routine." And, of course, the mental and physical state of disarray that comes with not only bringing a child into the world, but being expected to know what to do with it.
(Let's just say I'm still working on that one).
And yet, despite the exhaustive well-spring of parenting knowledge that was imparted upon me those nine long months-- not one person thought to warn me that my daughter might one day exhibit a borderline obsession with sticking spoons down her pants?
What is this, amateur hour?
C'mon people. Get with the program.
.
During my pregnancy, I was advised by my mother. I was informed by my doctors. I read copious books on the subjects of childbirth and parenting. I took classes. In my world, pregnancy was like an intricate ballet of beauty and biology. There was me (the ever-expanding, frequently off-balance prima ballerina). There was the rotating stage upon which I was still expected to perform to the best of my ability. And then...there was the audience participation portion of the program.
That baby bump I sported for nine long months may as well have been a bowling-ball-shaped comment card, tirelessly soliciting the "welcome" advice of friends and strangers on the state of my condition. You know, the Baby-Maker's equivalent of a "How's my driving?" sticker. Except, of course, based on the quality and detail of the responses I received, I can only assume my sticker read a little something like this:
"You've had a baby? Please, regale me with tales of sleepless nights and dirty diapers. Encourage me with your prediction that I'll probably never lose the baby weight. Comfort me with the well-researched conclusion that my husband and I will never again have the time or money go out on another romantic date. Reassure me that breastfeeding will probably only be as uncomfortable as a frontal lobotomy without the anesthesia..."Then in fine print:
"Hey, I know I just met you and we've never had an actual conversation before, but I'd love to hear every disgusting detail of your labor story, particularly as it relates bleeding, tearing and/or your doctor's use of vacuum power to extricate that 15 pound baby from your tilted uterus. I know I was just about to eat lunch-- but I'm really jonesin' to talk placental abrasion. Giddy up!"
My pregnancy (and the people who made themselves a part of it) prepared me for many of the unique and not so unique situations I have since found myself in these past 17 months. I was informed about the exhaustion/sleep deprivation/caffeine-dependency trifecta, and "mommy madness" it often creates. I was warned about the bottomless laundry basket. The disappearing "free time." The elusive "daily shower" and vanishing "beauty routine." And, of course, the mental and physical state of disarray that comes with not only bringing a child into the world, but being expected to know what to do with it.
(Let's just say I'm still working on that one).
And yet, despite the exhaustive well-spring of parenting knowledge that was imparted upon me those nine long months-- not one person thought to warn me that my daughter might one day exhibit a borderline obsession with sticking spoons down her pants?
What is this, amateur hour?
C'mon people. Get with the program.
.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Impressions: You are getting sleeeeeeepy
I don't know whether I should be concerned or amused that someone actually stumbled upon my blog yesterday by Googling: "Can I give my child Percocet?"
But if you're asking for my advice, whoever you are, I'm more of a
"Chardonnay in the Sippy Cup" kinda gal...
.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Rock the Vote
Hi, friends!
If you liked my post "Words Gone Wild: Toddler Edition"please take two minutes to vote for it here, in an amazing blog contest sponsored by free fringes. Voting is today only, and polls close at midnight EST. Thanks for reading, and as always-- you have no idea how much I appreciate the support!
If you liked my post "Words Gone Wild: Toddler Edition"please take two minutes to vote for it here, in an amazing blog contest sponsored by free fringes. Voting is today only, and polls close at midnight EST. Thanks for reading, and as always-- you have no idea how much I appreciate the support!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Mars vs. Venus: Talk is cheap. We buy in bulk.
Ahh, I remember them well.
Those bygone days when a "meaningful discussion with my husband" involved a debate about moral philosophy over a bottle of wine. Or perhaps a spirited discourse about the implication of the day's current events on the world's political climate. There were times Jon and I would stay up all hours of the night espousing our views on spirituality. There were lazy Saturday mornings spent sharing our thoughts on the true meaning of life over steaming mugs of coffee. There were date nights spent pouring out our hopes, dreams and plans for the future.
And then, there was last night:
Me: Ok, so I always knew Jim Henson did both Sesame Street and The Muppets... but I totally had an epiphany today.
Jon: Yeah?
Me: Did you ever notice that Kermit the Frog and Ernie have the EXACT SAME VOICE? So do Grover and Miss Piggy. I'm serious-- they're exactly the same. I can't believe I never realized that before...
{pause}
Jon: You are totally blowing my mind right now.
.
Those bygone days when a "meaningful discussion with my husband" involved a debate about moral philosophy over a bottle of wine. Or perhaps a spirited discourse about the implication of the day's current events on the world's political climate. There were times Jon and I would stay up all hours of the night espousing our views on spirituality. There were lazy Saturday mornings spent sharing our thoughts on the true meaning of life over steaming mugs of coffee. There were date nights spent pouring out our hopes, dreams and plans for the future.
And then, there was last night:
Me: Ok, so I always knew Jim Henson did both Sesame Street and The Muppets... but I totally had an epiphany today.
Jon: Yeah?
Me: Did you ever notice that Kermit the Frog and Ernie have the EXACT SAME VOICE? So do Grover and Miss Piggy. I'm serious-- they're exactly the same. I can't believe I never realized that before...
{pause}
Jon: You are totally blowing my mind right now.
.
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