My Purple Hayes Daze

No doubt, one of the cooler things about being a blogger is getting free stuff in the mail.  Well, recently, the good people at Lifeway Organic sent Hayes a package of Probugs Organic Soy Kefir.  This was after a package of the whole milk snack pack arrived just the day before.  But, of course, since Hayes is vegan, the whole milk pack went to his good friend Kimani.  This was a perfect gift for Kimani because Lifeway is convinced that Probugs is liked by even the pickiest eaters.  And Kimani, as much as we love him, is the pickiest eater there is.

A few days later, Kimani’s mom announced that he had tried it, hated it and didn’t want to touch it again.  So, I rest my case.  Hayes, in typical fashion, loved it.  (Though I’m not completely sure that the soy milk drink is actually vegan since the label says it contains soy and milk).

So, since I am very easily amused, I decided to sit Hayes and Kimani down to ask them a few important questions about their very different Probugs experience.  Here’s the official interview, complete with my thoughts:

Me: So, what did the Probugs drink taste like, guys?

Hayes:  It tasted like summer and it had a little fire, but it was sweet.  (Interesting).

Kimani:  I didn’t like it.  And then I did.  And then I tried it.  And then it was my favorite thing.  (Promising).

Me:  And would you like to drink Probugs again?

Hayes:  Yeah!  (Cool).

Kimani:  Yeah!  (Really cool).

Me:  Do you think the Probugs was good for your body?

Hayes:  It was just crawling through me.  (Huh)?

Kimani:  It was good.  But then I didn’t like it.  (What)?

Clearly, the not-so-cool thing about being a blogger is trying to craft a solid story out of an interview with a couple of very silly three year olds.

But on the other hand, maybe Lifeway is totally right about Probugs.  Maybe.

Lifeway Organic Probugs

Garbage day was still a few days away.  So as much as I looked forward to tossing Hayes’s old stroller, I couldn’t.  I had to wait.  In the meantime, it was grocery day.  So Hayes and I made a list, grabbed our hoodies in anticipation of the ridiculously arctic frozen food section and were out the door with money in our pockets and smiles on our faces.

Now, anyone who knows Hayes would agree that he’s a real trooper.  He’s like that energizer bunny from the commercials.  He keeps on going.  So halfway through the grocery store visit when Hayes started complaining of a bellyache, I was concerned.  And by the time we had checked everything off the list, he was a bona fide sick child, trying to lay down on me from the inside of the shopping cart.  I was very concerned by now.  And I didn’t want to take the chance of disturbing his stomach any further by taking a cab home.

So wouldn’t you know, the scenario that Stacey and I were convinced would never happen actually presented itself.  I needed the stroller.  I called Hayes’s dad and asked him to unfold the stroller, dust it off and meet us at the grocery store.

When we arrived at home, I folded the stroller and leaned it against the wall exactly where it belongs.

Even though Hayes’s stroller has been folded up against the wall of my apartment collecting dust for over a year, I wasn’t ready to part with it.  It had become so practical and dependable over time, I couldn’t help but think that even though we had no immediate use for it, it might come in handy again someday soon–like before Hayes’s feet are long enough to drag on the ground when he sits down in it.  But I also realized that these could just be crazy thoughts, and I should just get rid of the old, unused thing.  So I called Stacey to help me make a final decision.

Of course, Stacey thought I was crazy–and rightfully so.  Neither she nor I could come up with a reason to keep the stroller.  We couldn’t think of one scenario that would make me dust it off and actually use it again now that Hayes prefers to either walk or ride his scooter everywhere.

So, Stacey suggested that I sell it.  And I thought that was a good idea until I did a little research and found that even gently used strollers sell for at least one hundred dollars around here.  The problem was that my stroller couldn’t pass for “gently used” even after the good, hard scrubbing that I was not willing to give it.  And I just couldn’t bare to sell it for even twenty-five bucks in it’s current condition.  So, in the end, I decided to keep it around just long enough to throw it in the garbage.  I would only have to wait for garbage collection day.

Once upon a time, I would have argued anyone down at the very mention of me owning a stroller.  And, believe it or not, this was in my pre-baby but planning for the baby shower days.  For some reason, I was totally convinced that a stroller was simply not necessary.  I couldn’t fathom pushing my child all around town, let alone, lugging him up and down subway steps.  So, it wasn’t on my wish list.  In retrospect, I was a foolish little pregnant woman who thought I would happily carry my child everywhere with me.

So, needless to say, I was very surprised by the stroller that showed up at my baby shower as a gift to me.  But even though I now owned one, that didn’t mean I was going to use it.  And the stroller sat folded against the wall in my apartment for, like, ever while Hayes and I walked the streets in our maya wrap and baby sling.  It took me forever to finally bust out with it.  But when I did, Hayes and I quickly adapted.  And soon, I got so used to the stroller that I nicknamed it my appendage.  I, literally, forgot how to walk down the street without handles to rest my hands on.

That stroller went through heaven and hell with me and Hayes.  But just the other day, I noticed that the stroller is back in it’s original place against the wall because ever since Hayes became a big boy, we haven’t had a use for it.  So, I was thinking I should sell it.

My brother and sister-in-law, who are both psychologists, recently announced that they are expecting.  And out of sheer delight about being an auntie for the first time, while discussing the big news with my mother, I made a joke that went a little something like this:

Me: Well, this will be interesting.  ‘Cause you know what they say about psychologists’ kids…  The poor child could end up one big social experiment.  (Ha-Ha-Ha)!

Mom: (Long pause).  Well, I don’t know if things can get any more interesting than the way you have chosen to raise your child.

Clearly, mom was not amused.

You know, so what that I chose to deliver at home in the bathtub, I’m raising my kid as a vegan and he goes to Montessori.  Of course I’m OK with the idea of Hayes not being a hospital-born, meat-eating, public school kid.  Because as long as I’m making the decisions, I’m going to be sure to do it my way.

But I have never once considered myself to be a rebel, a freak, or counter-culture.  And I never realized I could ever be considered any of those things until my mother so eloquently pointed out that I so totally am.

Ha!

I’m so done with kids.

This weekend, I organized an exciting trip to Governors Island with a few of my mommy friends.  (If you haven’t a clue what or where Governors Island is, you’re not a lame-o, most New Yorkers don’t know what or where it is either).  The important thing is that this past weekend, Governors Island had free bike rentals and cool kite flying.  And that’s why my mommy crew was so excited about taking the children there.

First of all, Governor’s Island is just a five minute ferry ride from lower Manhattan.  Great!  However, we were taking the subway from Brooklyn.  And normally this wouldn’t be a big deal whatsoever except this weekend it was.  Due to subway changes, track work, or whatever the lady unintelligibly announced over the loud speaker, it took us two hours to arrive at Governor’s Island.

Once there, the kids loved the kites…for about ten minutes.  And then were totally over them.  They spent the next two hours majorly ignoring us mommies while we flew the kites and they played in the dirt, interested in nothing else but the matchbox cars we had packed from home.  Allow me to reiterate that it was simply dirt they found so fascinating.  Not a sandbox or anything remotely cool like that.

I’m done.

Ever take a good look at a hysterically crying child?  I recently did.  And it totally made me jealous.

I remember someone say once that there is a little bit of pleasure in every bit of pain, and even though it may have been Madonna in her erotica heyday, I think in the case of a crying child–and probably for most of humanity–it might actually be true.  At the very least, the pleasure of unrestrained release has got to be one good thing about being sad and snotty-faced.

And the truth is that sometimes, I, too, want to jump up and down, flail my fists, stomp my feet, scream and yell and just let the tears roll until I’m done.  You know, for the times that I’m stressed out and I wish the world would just slow down long enough for me to catch a nap.  Or when I find myself staring at a sink full of dirty dishes at the end of long, hard day.  Or even if I trip and stub my pinky toe, I want to be able to give it, and everything else, the full blown meltdown that it often deserves.

So, now I have a new emotion for all of Hayes’s awful tantrums.  And, oddly enough, I have Madonna to thank for helping me understand it.

No, moms say the darndest things.  And our kids just repeat it.

Yesterday, Hayes listened as I told a friend a good story about the dumbest thing I have ever done.  It went something like this:

After searching for my keys at the bottom of my computer bag one day, I mindlessly set the bag down on a trash can near my front door.  I unlocked the door, carried my bike inside and closed the door behind me.  Once I was inside the apartment, I immediately got distracted and started tidying up the place.  I spent a good fifteen minutes going from room-to-room, picking up random things and putting them back in their places.  As I walked passed a window, I caught sight of someone standing outside my front door.  And when I got a closer look, I realized the person was rummaging through my computer bag.  Of course, that’s when I remembered that I set it down outside and had completely forgotten about it.  And that’s also when I remembered that my computer, and my wallet, were in the bag.  In the moment, I remember feeling panic.  So, I’m sure you can understand why in the retelling of the story, I always refer to the guy I caught rummaging through my bag as a crackhead.

The story ends well.  I startled the crackhead by knocking on the window–not the smartest move, I know.  But, as I said, I panicked.  And, thankfully, he ended up being nice enough to say sorry and closed my bag.

Now, the funny part of all of this is that last night, Hayes woke up out of his sleep crying.  (OK, the waking-up-crying part is not so funny).  But when I asked him why the tears, he told me he was crying “because the crackhead was nice.”  And that’s just hilarious!

I know, I don’t exactly get it either.  But it sure is funny.

As I have mentioned, I am new to the world of listservs.  And I’m quickly finding out that sometimes I love them.  (They’re good for bargains and other things).  And sometimes I hate them.  (A new message pops up, like, every two minutes).  But whatever.  It’s important to be connected.  But today, I was torn by one of the community-parent listservs I recently joined.

A fellow mom posted to a bunch of random folks that she is super-excited that a local store’s cafe is now open at 9:30am.  This gives her exactly half-an-hour to enjoy a complimentary cup of coffee and a $1.99 egg, bacon and toast breakfast, which is a bargain.  And at 10:00 when the entire store opens, she gets to roam the aisles during the quiet time of the day.  But, apparently, the best part is that it all happens without her kids.

I love that she thought the news would get us all as excited as she is about finding some alone time.  Because that’s just funny.  But at the same time, it’s disturbing that, clearly, this woman does not have enough time for herself.  And while I know the truth is that we moms usually don’t make enough time for ourselves, we must take it.  Easier said than done, I know.  But look at it this way, no one is going to give you as much as you deserve.

Quite frankly, these are the kinds of postings that will make me hate parent listservs forever.  And we don’t want that.  Because then what would I write about?

What’s the saying about the best laid plans?  Something with mice and men, and things inevitably going wrong.

Well, all day today, I was excited about a plan I had for Hayes and I to enjoy the afternoon in simple leisure.  I decided that since our bicycle tires needed air, Hayes and I would walk to the local bike shop to fill up.  Then ride through the neighborhood’s tree-lined streets to the park where we would ride some more.  Sounds like an adorable postcard image.  Well, it wasn’t.

The first upset was noticing that the training wheels on Hayes’s bike were no longer attached to his bicycle.  (They were recently removed when he wanted to practice riding in the park like the big boys).  And though I try, I’m not good with tools.  But I slapped the third and forth wheel on the bike as best I could, shoved the…wrench, is it?…in my back pocket and was out the door.  So, of course, I spent the entire walk to the bike shop stopping every couple of blocks to tighten the…bolt, is it?…on the wheels so as to keep Hayes from falling and knocking his teeth out.  Not cute.

The second upset was realizing that when we left the bike shop, wheels finally full of air, there was nowhere for Hayes and I to ride our bicycles together down the beautiful, tree-lined streets to the park.  Because we live in a city that doesn’t allow adults to ride on the sidewalk.  I would have had to ride my bike in the street.  Not cute–or safe.

And the final upset was watching Hayes ditch me and his bicycle for the jungle-gym and slide once we finally arrived at the park.

Not exactly the postcard moment I had planned.  But here’s a totally unrelated melancholy song from Audiotransparent about the best laid plans that I hope you like as much as I do…