no matter what we do, it's always you and me and you and it's always me and you

On Monday mornings, Ethan and I attend Mother Goose Time at a local library. Sometimes it's a struggle to get there as it begins at 10 o'clock which is when Ethan normally eats and then naps. I've been trying to switch up our schedule and get him to fall into a routine that fits in nicely with Mother Goose Time and I think I finally managed to do just that. At the end of the storytime, there is a corresponding craft for the older children to do. Ethan started to get hungry and fussy just as the craft began which was actually perfect timing. While the bigger kids colored and glued, I fed Ethan a bottle and then he napped on the drive home.

Ethan loves the singalongs at Mother Goose Time. Today he sat in his Bumbo seat and stared in wonder as all of the voices filled the room. We clapped his hands and he became the wheels on the bus and also reached for the stars to find both Jupiter and Mars. On days like this morning in particular where we're running late for a myriad of reasons from spit-up to lost keys, I do everything in my power to ensure we don't miss Mother Goose Time. All of the tears, stress and cursing at red lights along the way become worth it when I get to watch the way Ethan stares in wonder during the singalongs.

There is nothing that I roll my eyes at more than when parents of celebrities insist they knew their children were destined for stardom from infancy or when parents of infants insist upon their child's brilliance and advancement. While neither of those are my intention (I'm not that far gone yet), mark my words that my little boy loves music. My favorite is when I play music for him and he insists on babbling back or making soft coo-ing noises in order to sing along. He "sings" along to several different songs while intently watching my mouth as I sing along to the music, too, though his current favorite is Brick by Ben Folds. I'm aware that everyone who has read this paragraph is now giving me the side-eye and thinking that I've finally lost it (I swear, I haven't -- it might be close, but I'm not there yet!), but for whatever reason, Brick is the only thing to get him to sleep at bedtime or naptime. Sometimes we sing it upwards of five times in a row before he lets sleep take over his eyelids. (Just try to sing something else and you're back at square one. I learned that lesson the hard way.)

My grandmother was an incredible singer and I like to joke that her talent skipped everyone else and landed with Ethan. Somewhere along the line, someone has to be destined to inherit her voice. (Or so I keep telling my tone-deaf self.)




Tonight for dinner I made Asian Noodle Bowls with Steak & Snow Peas. This was one of my husband's absolute favorite meals before he was diagnosed with Celiac but I decided to recreate it in gluten-free form tonight. It was an easy transition as I used gluten-free stir-fry rice noodles and gluten-free soy sauce in place of soba noodles and standard soy sauce. Whether you're gluten-free or glutenous, here's the recipe.

Stir-Fry Rice Noodles (gluten-free) or Japanese Buckwheat noodles
Salt & pepper, to taste
1 1/2 pounds skirt steak, cut into chunks or strips
2 tablespoons low-sodium soy sauce
Handful of unsalted, chopped peanuts

1. Boil noodles until al dente, drain and set aside.
2. Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Season steak with salt and pepper. Cook steak until medium-rare (turning once), 2 to 6 minutes per side.
3. Transfer steak to a spare plate, cover with aluminum foil. Save juices in skillet.
4. Add snow peas to skillet, and toss with juices. Cook on medium-high heat, tossing occasionally, for 2-3 minutes. Add noodles, soy sauce, and 2 tablespoons water; cook for 1 minute.
5. Transfer to serving bowls and top with steak and peanuts.

a/s/l?

I've entered the wacky and kinda-sorta wonderful world of playgroups. What began as a fun and exciting way to make friends for both Ethan and myself slowly turned into something terrifying the deeper that I willed myself to dive in. My initial intention was a simple acceptance of the fact that none of my friends have an infant of their own and that, paired with the fact that I'm now a stay-at-home mom, meant that we'd better meet some new people or we'd both run the risk of getting a little stir-crazy. When we were kids, there was always a neighbor or relative pregnant at the same time as our moms to give birth to our new InstaFriend. I don't have that luck. Ethan and I were going to have to make friends the old-fashioned way.

Actually, there's nothing old-fashioned about playgroups these days. It seems each one has their own website or membership rules and a place to nervously sign as you join some club in hopes that your child will be able to play with another child their age and that, hey, maybe you'll meet a mommy friend, too. You convince your anti-social self that somewhere deep inside you lays a friendly person who will catch the attention of someone else and together your infants can roll around on a blanket while you two discuss neck control and sleeping habits.

Somewhere down the line, finding mommy friends runs the risk of being frighteningly similar to dating. And then it's on.

I wake up super early on those days when the various groups I've joined meet. Sleep, the luxury that it is to new moms, is of no importance when compared to hair and make-up and making myself attempt to look as close to presentable as possible. The first time I attended a playgroup? I was hounding my poor husband with questions about how I looked, which shirt he liked better, if these shoes make me look juvenile, if I should wear brown eyeliner or black, if I should wear my hair up or down or half-up, half-down. "Just not half-up, half-down. It's jackass-y," was his response. My hair was half-up, half-down.

Once I perfected my appearance, I scoop up my precocious infant and tell him that I'm aware these playgroups always seem to meet at 10 or 10:30 which is his feeding time and usual naptime, but it will be worth it because he will make friends. He apparently has yet to share my concern about making friends and continues to focus on the fact it's 10:30 and he's singing songs about three blind mice and doesn't have a bottle in his mouth and this is totally unacceptable. Any prospect of a new friend is now deaf from the shrieks he lets out until he's enjoying his late breakfast and pulling my hair at his leisure. And repeat. And repeat. (And repeat.)

At this point, it's become almost a challenge. We move onto internet mommy groups. I work on my profile diligently and try to hide the fact we're getting a little desperate for play-dates over here. I feel like in that instant I'm fourteen again and my mom is sitting on the edge of my bed lecturing me that you always let the boy call you, you never call the boy as to never appear desperate. I delete the sarcastic responses to favorite music and movies from my Facebook profile and answer the questions with the utmost seriousness as if I'm taking a standardized test. "Don't stay up too late," my husband says with concern as it's after midnight and I'm still typing away on the computer. "I won't. I just have to fix my Facebook profile so people can really get to know me."

What's worse, too, is that you come home from these playgroups and wait for a message to pop up in your inbox from someone saying they enjoyed meeting you or want to set up a playdate. You wait for that text message, Facebook message, e-mail, whatever medium said playgroups use to communicate with it's members, to validate the fact that someone doesn't think you're half-bad and can forgive your 2 1/2 month old for his temper that you swear he didn't inherit from you. At this point, I most definitely feel fourteen again, scribbling your first name and the last name of the boy who sits next to you in science class while you sit by the phone hoping he'll ask you to see Save The Last Dance for the umpteenth time. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's a stroke to your ego and othertimes it's a whack at your ego with a machete.

I've realized, too, that I've started to research playgroups with more intensity than I did when selecting a college. I keep the staff on the phone for insane periods of time given that we're discussing a playgroup class for infants here and ask all sorts of questions. Can we try a class? Are there a lot of members? Will Ethan be the youngest member? The oldest? The only one who expects his feedings at the same damn time your class starts? Ethan patiently tags along with me as we try new classes and groups and shadow new places. He is pretty content at any of them until he decides he's had enough of Livin' La Vida Mickey and just wants to eat his breakfast already. He's not picky. Then again, he just waltzes in completely and utterly adorable and knowing that all of the babies would be lucky to be his friend. Me, on the other hand, silently hope my maternity jeans last long enough until I ever get back into my pre-pregnancy jeans and dreading that 1:00 a.m. trip to Wal-Mart for sweatpants the night before playgroup when they sure as heck don't.

Before long, you start losing your mind entirely. It was just two days ago that I sat in the parking lot of the mall texting my husband about the nice mom we met and the fact that I really regretted not getting her number. My thoughts on the matter were reminiscent of those missed connections ads. Dear Mom In Peasant Frock And Denim Capris, we discussed sleeping patterns and Dr. Brown's bottles outside of Sephora. Your daughter was exactly four months older than my son. We had the same dry sense of humor. I wish I got your number so we could walk the mall together or have a playdate and bitch about our difficult childbirths and the high cost of frozen coffee drinks at Starbucks. Sincerely, Frumpy In Boca.

I am admittedly having the time of my life spending my days dancing around in a circle with Ethan or listening to the librarian read us stories. It's a pretty decent world when you wake up, check your calendar and realize you're in for another day of kitschy singalong songs and learning how to massage your baby's legs. Ethan, in his own silly way, attempts to reassure me that we'll meet some great new friends and to just stop my worrying.

After all, just look at that smile.

...He's got this.

mommy (& grandma & aunt katie) and me!

Today was Ethan's first "Little Bundles" class at our local My Gym! Luckily the staff at My Gym is used to lunatics and didn't flinch as we strolled in -- three people for one Little Bundle -- with camera in tow. Hey, he's the first baby in the family in years, what do you expect?!

There wasn't much of a turnout of babies in his age group (under six months) but we still managed to have a lot of fun! Ethan enjoyed some back and tummy time on his special blanket while we listened to music, clapped our hands and sang along to cutesy renditions of Sheryl Crow and Avril Lavigne songs. While Aunt Katie (one of my best friends since I was only a couple of years older than Ethan is) and I admittedly had way too much fun in the ball pit than two adults should admit to having, Ethan had preferred the swing...which is ironic considering he decided he flat-out will not tolerate his swing at home.

All of that swinging and playtime must have really worn Ethan out because he passed out in the swing and didn't wake up until we got home from lunch at a local deli that we stopped at on the way home.


While the My Gym employees were apologetic over the lack of spirit from the other "Little Bundles," I had a lot of fun and it's safe to say that Ethan did as well -- as he way, way too easily agreed to take three full naps today! I've almost forgotten what a struggle it has been to get him to even agree to one nap in the afternoons.

Baby Skunk, The Little Bundle

Of all the silly, strange, cute and downright random baby accessories out there, I think the skunk hat that my sister and I bought for Ethan at the mall yesterday wins a spot on my favorites list. (It's part of Gymboree's "Baby Skunk" line, if you're wanting one for your own baby skunk!)

I'm also pretty excited because our little skunk will be starting MyGym in just a couple of weeks when he's two months old! (Typing that just made me realize he's going to be two whole months in just a couple of weeks! Why is time flying so quickly?!) Yes, you're looking at the soon-to-be newest member of the MyGym Little Bundles class! While I'm undoubtedly more excited than he is, I know we'll end up having a lot of fun!