Do Not Push the Big Red Button

The past couple days Noah has been once again obsessed with buttons. MY buttons. The OH MY GOD STOP IT GO TO YOUR ROOM buttons. He pushes them, pounds on them, shoves bits of grilled cheese sandwiches underneath them so they're all sticky and permanently pressed in and OH MY GOD STOP IT GO TO YOUR ROO ROO ROO ROOM BEEP BOOP SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIALIZED.

I've already made him cry three times today, what with my terrible refusal to serve him a grilled cheese sandwich for the 500th meal in a row and insisting that he eat some cheese RAVIOLI instead, like the HORROR of a slightly different cheese-wrapped-in-carbohydrate food product, and then I wouldn't let him pelt the baby with blueberries and when I told him to sit down properly on his chair he stood up on the chair with THAT LOOK, that knowing, defiant look, like yeah, I'm standing on the chair, woman. What are you gonna do about it?

I'm gonna...uh...I'm gonna say GO TO YOUR ROOM, is what I'm gonna do, and...and...not let you eat the ravioli that you totally were never going to eat anyway.

*shoves fingers in mouth and goes all bug-eyed from a silent, chompy scream*

Imagine, if you will, an additional section here about Noah's new obsession with running away from us in public and thinking that it's all a fantastic game. But then I Googled the problem to see if anyone had any advice other than the obvious leashing thing, and of course the first thing I read is a  Yahoo Answer that said, brilliantly: "they make leashes for children. Instead of going around the neck like a dog, it attaches like a belt!" and then another that recommended renting a VAN and getting a family friend to wear a SKI MASK and the next time your kid hoofs it, get the dude in a ski mask to GRAB THE CHILD AND HAUL THEM INTO THE VAN [make sure there aren't any police around lol!], and then keep the child there until she gets really good and traumatized before the ski mask comes off. This was, unsurprisingly, chosen as the best answer.

That's Bluth family approved parenting!

Anyway. I wasn't really in the mood to read more about leashes or freaking MURDER VANS AS DISCIPLINE so I deleted the story but am still so het up that I kind of wish Noah and Ezra weren't both napping just so I could have pleasure of sending somebody to their room right now.

Will never be three! Will always be this small and immobile and easy to hold onto! MWA HA HA HA SOB.

 

And all you other mothers can't deny

This morning started off with me randomly composing a song for Ezra about how much I like coffee, sung to the tune of "Baby Got Back."

Five minutes later, I realized I'd forgotten to put the inner basket in the coffee maker and there was a veritable flood of delicious, life-forcian coffee seeping all over the countertop and under appliances and soaking the fancy baby food cookbook that I'd just used to whip up some homemade barley cereal that was promptly rejected with EXTREME PREJUDICE and those stupid brown hippie paper towels fucking SUCK but those pre-fold diapers really are pretty handy so I guess I can still keep my newfound crunchability cred except for the part where I cursed out the coffee maker in the presence of my three-year-old, but needless to say the day did not necessarily get much better after that, except maybe for when I finally got to shower at 4:30 pm, just in time for Jason to get home so I can open some wine because I STILL HAVE STANDARDS, PEOPLE.

Don't Bite My Butt & Other Dubiously Connected Topics

I keep getting the theme song from Jaws stuck in my head, usually right when Ezra starts rooting around and opens his mouth and oh my God, he's heading straight for the boob DAA NA DAA NA DAANADAANADAANA.

He's like a shark, these days. A toothless geriatric shark, intent on furiously gumming you to death, shaking his head back and forth and all around while he uses his shark flippers to grab flipperfuls of flesh to twist and dig into with his little shark fingernails because he's inordinately cranky and okay, it's not a perfect metaphor, but still. OW.

Noah's first tooth sprouted about two weeks after we gave up on nursing, so I have to admit that I am sore afraid here. (Chapped afraid! Raw afraid! Chafed afraid!) This is already HELLS ROUGH here, as the kid shrieks and squawks and chomps and protests and rejects every teething ring in the world because, apparently, they are not made of human flesh.

He already recognizes the bottle of Hyland's Teething Tablets and gets overly excited at the sight of it -- OH PRAISE JEBUS FOR WHITE POWDERED RELIEF -- and aaaaaaeeeeeeeiiiiii the drooling and the fussing and the gnawing on everything that he can possibly get into his mouth.

Goodness, but I forgot about this teething business. What else have I blocked out? Was there something that happens where the baby starts moving around the house? Like of his own accord? No. Surely I'm imagining that.

***

THE PERFECT SEGUE, COURTESY OF NOAH & 101 DALMATIONS

Noah: I scared.

Amy: You're not scared, you're stalling. Get back in bed.

Noah: Pongo bit the bad guys.

Amy: Yes, he did. Get back in bed.

Noah: Pongo bit the bad guys on the butt.

Amy: Mmm-hmm. Get back in bed.

Noah: Pongo! Don't you bite my butt!

***

Okay, FINE. You people. You are still talking about the cloth diapers. You have a LOT TO SAY about the cloth diapers. You are determined to turn this blog into the type of blog that the Amy of five years ago would never, ever read, what with the boobs and the co-sleeping and the slings and the cloth diapers and the other assorted tree-hugging hippie crap.

I'll be honest, my main reasons for cloth diapering had nothing to do with trees or patchouli or really, anything noble. They were:

1) Cost. I can't believe how many Mega Extra Jumbo packages of disposables we've already blown through, on top of the price of Pull-Ups. And now that I have a really solid grasp on the YEARS of diapering that stretch out before us (i.e. my mother-in-law's claims of potty-training her children by 12 months are a TAD DUBIOUS), I did the math, multiplying the number of diapers by months and years and then by my inability to ever use a coupon, and came to the scientific conclusion of HOLY SHIT RECEPTACLES BATMAN.

2) Boredom. Seriously, have you seen these things? With the pockets and fuzzy fleece and the colors and snaps and covers and accessories and solutions? Diapering SOLUTIONS, people. You know how I feel about SOLUTIONS.

Honestly, it was either switch to cloth diapers or rearrange the dining room furniture again.

Plus, there was this moment when I walked down the stairs and through the kitchen and all the way across the back yard to deposit a bag of diapers in our trash can when I realized that...huh. I think it's actually a shorter walk down to the washer and dryer, and there's really no reason why I can't do another small load of laundry each day. I mean, I do a LOT OF LAUNDRY.  I have TWO CHILDREN. I have a VERY SHEDDY CAT. And I SPILL THINGS ON MYSELF EVERY GODDAMN DAY OF MY LIFE. The whole "omfg extra laundry! anything but omfg extra laundry!" thing was not so very scary anymore.

(Babies = laundry. Fact!)

It also helped that Jason recently became utterly entranced with cloth wipes, or at least, the cloth wipes ACCESSORIES, i.e. the cloth wipe warmer. I made fun of him in the store, because dude. A wipe warmer? How precious are our children's asses, all of a sudden? But he had a point. Even though we have really only added one more butt to the household, we've been going through about 30 times more wipes for some reason. We're always running low and flushing the non-flushable kind and throwing out the flushable kind and Ceiba thinks old dried-out wipes from the trash can AREZ M1GHTY TASTEE YUM.

So we switched to cloth wipes, and while I was incredibly paranoid that we would Always Be Out Of Wipes Right When I Really Needed Them, I realized that indeed, spending a few minutes each day to mentally inventory the wipes and do laundry accordingly was not such a big deal at all.

Which led to a conversation a week or so later over some wine and a romantic dinner, when I leaned in close and slurrily said, "Dude, let's DO IT. Let's like, fucking CLOTH DIAPER and like, BE THOSE PEOPLE. Yeah. Man."

And. That's about that. I've ordered some bumGenius diapers on pretty much everybody's suggestion, which should round out our supply enough to use cloth exclusively (I do put Ez in a Pampers at night, just to use up what we've already bought). I bought some liners now that somebody finally explained them to me (liners, inserts, doublers, soakers -- it's like CLOTH DIAPER ESPERANTO). I checked out the Goodmama diapers a bunch of you mentioned and ran away screaming, because I need to be able to both diaper my children AND SEND THEM TO COLLEGE.  There's been a bit of a learning curve for re-figuring out how often Ezra needs changed and the jury is still out on whether they're an appropriate replacement for a Pull-Up.  Thus, cloth diapers are neither the greatest! thing! ever! nor are they the most inconvenient pain-in-the-ass-iest thing ever. I like 'em, gonna stick with 'em; I promise wholeheartedly not to talk about 'em constantly, because zzzzzzzz.

Mostly, they make a cute baby look even cuter, with a big padded Disney character butt that really brings out the thigh rolls.

Still not as cute as a completely naked baby butt. Which I cropped out, because you've gotta hold onto a few things for prom night, you know?

Results of the Totally Not Really a Contest Fake Contest

So, because all these goddamn unicorns keep shitting on the floor and eating the drapes, Danielle, Chad, Cara, Baileyswedishfish, Dona, SueBee AND Jessi all win. I figured I didn't actually need to say anything, since everybody just stares at the baby photos anyway, and the captions could announce my intention to run for governor of the Outer Spacian Hinterlands of Pluto and the comments would still mostly be about nomming on Ezra's cheeks.

And of course, I do not blame you. He is incredibly nommable, and I haven't had anything original to say since 1992.

Honorable mentions go to Kim and die Frau for trying to find something noble in my intentions (i.e., focusing on my beautiful babies' smiles instead of being all neurotic and hand-wringy). You both win leprechauns.

(Speaking of hand-wringy, how awesome is it that right after I'm all, "my kid's expensive private preschool kicked him out of SOCCER!!!11!", I read this post at Sweet Juniper about the Detroit Public Schools failing children in a very profound and fundamental way, on a massive scale, and it makes me twitchy and angry and heartsick and grateful, and if you haven't read it [and the postscript] you should. It will haunt you.)

(Personally, I had no idea that haunting weblog ghosts could physically wallop you with a two-by-four while screaming, "PERSPECTIVE, BITCH!" Turns out they totally can!)

An outtake from yesterday. We'll call this one goofen shadesofthefutureblah.

I Spent So Much Time Writing This Post I Have No Words Left For a Title

(I'm trying something a little different today. Let's see if anyone can guess what it is, or even notices.)

(First person to point it out in the comments wins a unicorn.)

(I'm WAY scientific up in here, folks. WAY.)

Blah blah blah.

Blee! Blah blah lablah.

Heh hehah blah.

Double blah! Anff en blah.

Poofenblah.

Fou da fa fa blah.

Grrrdenblah!

Birdenblah lol blah.

Shmuuuggenblah dee blah.

I Has A Sickness

So a few weeks ago, I told Jason that I wanted to switch to cloth diapers. He was all for it, of course -- I mean, we have an ENTIRE DRAWER of Gerber pre-folds that we use for burp rags! We'll just go to the store and like, buy some pins.

(He's so cute, really. He is. Precious.)

Of course, I quickly schooled him on the Modern Cloth Diaper System, with its space-age absorbency and inserts and snaps and the fact that Noah and Ezra can actually wear the SAME SIZE, like oh my God, we can finally stop spending all our booze money on Lightening McQueen Pull-Ups (the prices of which are totally the diaper manufacturers getting all passive-aggressive on you: Oh, you want to potty-train your kid? You just need something for naps and nighttime? Oh, let us HELP YOU with that! And reward your years of faithful diaper purchasing with a totally extraneous product that inexplicably costs twice as much. Fork it over, suckers, we ain't done with you yet.).

I pointed out the number of times already that we have Totally Forgotten To Buy Diapers and driven to the store in a panic begging the baby not to soil himself (a second child phenomenon if I've ever seen one -- there was exactly one time that I ran out of diapers with Noah and had to slap a too-small swim diaper on his butt and drive all white-knuckled to the store). I pointed out that Ezra's bottom is always a little irritated and the earth and whatever and blah blah blah and Jason was all, "I said I thought it was a good idea, why are you still talking?"

And at that point I jumped up and down like I was getting a goddamn puppy and promised to always keep the diapers clean and washed and folded and take them for walks EVERY DAY, I SWEAR.

Jason eyed me suspiciously, as he damn well should have, since you'll notice I left out two pieces of info:

1) That the initial purchase cost of a decent number of decent cloth diapers is mumble mumble approximately eleventy frajillion willion dollars oh look a PONY, and...

2) OH MY GOD THEY ARE SO CUTE I AM GOING TO DRESS THE BABY TO MATCH HIS DIAPERS ALL THE TIME NOW RIGHT DOWN TO HIS SOCKS OH MY GOD STOP ME THIS IS GETTING WEIRD.

(After I went through both of the yellow diapers I put him in a sage one that matched the design on the t-shirt. Although I did have to change his socks. Last night he wore a periwinkle diaper and a blue t-shirt with purplish lettering and then oh my god, these argyle legwarmers that totally matched and yes, even when he's wearing footie sleepers I still like to make sure the diaper sort-of matches.)

(You might wonder if I have a similar tic when it comes to my own underwear. You might need to go mind your own fucking business.)

(YES. I DO.)

SNOW DAY

 

NOT PLEASED.

NOT PREPARED.

(BUT NEVERTHELESS IMPRESSED WITH SUPER-STRETCHY PRESCHOOLER-SIZED MITTENS.)

VERY PLEASED & SLIGHTLY MORE PREPARED, AS LONG AS WE PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE RUBBER RAIN BOOTS ON HIS FEET.

WELL, OKAY. LET'S PAY A LITTLE ATTENTION TO THEM. GIRAFFES, PEOPLE! WHO NEEDS WARMTH WHEN YOU HAVE GIRAFFES?

TAKEN RIGHT BEFORE I THREW A SNOWBALL AT HIM, WHICH MADE HIM SLIGHTLY LESS PLEASED, BUT WHATEVER, I'M TOTALLY A GOOD MOM BECAUSE AT LEAST I GAVE HIM HIS MITTENS BACK AFTER I CLEANED OFF MY CAR WITH THEM. AND NOW MY HANDS ARE TOO COLD TO TURN OFF CAPS LOCK, SORRY. ONE OF THESE WINTERS I'LL REMEMBER TO BUY GLOVES BEFORE MARCH BECAUSE WHO BUYS NEW GLOVES IN MARCH? I'LL JUST LOSE THEM BY NEXT WINTER AND IT PROBABLY WON'T SNOW AGAIN UNTIL NEXT MARCH ANYWAY AND WHO BUYS NEW GLOVES IN MARCH? RIGHT?

WHAT?