Dad's Rules Make Dads Rule.



Dad Rule #1 - Dirty is okay. 
In fact, it is the preferred method in almost all situations.

Dad Rule # 2  - Make something new. 
In fact, if your kid likes Super Mario Brothers,
take all the old board games out of the closet,
chop them up, add some glue, and make a Mario castle. 

Dad Rule #3 - Don't be scared of anything.   

Especially storms because they are fun to watch.

 Embrace the storm,

then sit back and relax. 

Just exactly like Daddy. 

Dad Rule #4
Work hard to provide for your family.   

Dad Rule #5
Have fun and celebrate when you win big
(even if that means carrying a giant stuffed animal around
an over-priced theme park to ensure the happiness of your children). 

 

Happy Father's Day to all the good dads and especially to mine and to Owen's. 

Mom'll Find It.

After a particularly long bedtime routine a few years back, I gingerly placed my calm and sleepy two-year-old in his crib only to realize that his "Boo," which was (and still is) his can't-sleep-without-it stuffed animal, was not in the crib.  After laying Owen down, I raced downstairs, ran straight to the tricycle parked in the corner of the living room, opened up its covered trunk compartment, pulled out Boo, and raced right back upstairs, all the while praying that the hard-fought bedtime routine wouldn't be catastrophically affected.  When I finally returned to the living room, my husband looked at me in awe and asked how in the hell I knew exactly where Boo was hidden.  And my reply was, "I always know where Boo is hidden."  And I still have my eye on that silly blue elephant.  Boo was Owen's first best friend and his comfort during the transition into long nights alone in his room.  Now, after three books and two stories, Boo still makes it possible for me to close Owen's bedroom door and claim an hour or two for myself every evening.  Boo is important to the health and well-being of our whole little family. 

Boo and the tattered remains
 of Strawberry Blanket

Moral of the story:  One of those "maternal instincts" that kick in once you become a mom includes instinctively knowing how to protect what's most important to your child.  I'm sure my mom kept tabs on my Strawberry Blanket, just like I keep tabs on Owen's Boo, because she understood the importance of instilling in me an understanding that, even at bedtime when I was alone in my dark bedroom, I wasn't ever really alone.  I know Owen's Boo won't always be able to provide the sort of comfort he craves in times of darkness, and as he grows I'm not sure what will replace Boo.  But I am sure that I'll do my best to figure it out.  And if I can't...Well, then I'll ask my mom. 

 

 



Cleaning Dance Party

Sometimes the weirdest things make me happy.  Take, for instance, the act of Spring cleaning.  In my life, this joyous and highly anticipated event will require meticulous preparation, and it can only occur under very specific conditions:

1. In order to truly drive out the stench of winter and provide proper ventilation for the copious amounts of bleach that will be used, it must be warm enough for open windows. 
2. Special care must be taken to ensure my cleaning supply arsenal is complete.  Nothing is worse than getting to Spring Cleaning Phase Five: Hardwood Floor Dust Removal only to find that I've forgotten to purchase the Swiffer pads.  Oh, the humanity! 
3. I must be home alone.  All day.  This point is absolutely non-negotiable for the following reasons:
1. Spring cleaning has a very specific soundtrack in the form of a self-created playlist entitled Cleaning Dance Party (No, I'm not kidding), and it must be played at maximum volume. 
2. As the title of the playlist suggests, there will also be a dance party.  While I'm not at all ashamed of my sweet, sweet moves, the dance party is a party for ONE and that is because I do recognize the fact that the aforementioned moves may be slowly morphing from "sweet moves" into "mom moves."  I'm almost 35, so it was bound to happen sometime.   

Under these very specific conditions I will be able to transform my house into a better version of itself, and since it will again be a place that I am proud of, I might even invite you over for a visit that extends beyond the warm weather boundries of my porch.  Once inside, however, you'll probably notice a few items that seem out of place -- items that might make you think, "Wow, she really talks a big "Cleaning Dance Party" game, but it seems to me that she missed some spots..."  For instance, upon entering my dining room, you may encounter a scene that looks like this: 

"It's a booby trap, mom."

 

Or, perhaps you'll notice a neat line of purposefully placed toys in the middle of the floor, like this:

 

These sort of glitches in cleanliness and organization might make you think that I can talk the Cleaning Dance Party talk but can't walk the Cleaning Dance Party walk.  But you'd be wrong.  

 

The intention of the Cleaning Dance Party is to rid the house of grease, grime and dirt, but it is not designed to rid the house of its signs of life.  While in most rooms you will find sparkling surfaces and an air of spare de-clutterization, in the bathroom you'll probably find these two happy stickers hanging out just above the towel rack:

 

I don't really know why they are there, and I can't really explain why I clean around them.  I just do. And have for months and months. You might also find our toilet paper storage system (pictured below) a little unorthodox, but it is apparently the 4-year-old preferred method, and for some reason it makes me happy.  And, like I said before, sometimes the weirdest things make me happy. 

 



 



 



 



 

An Open Letter to My Porch on June 15th, 2013 at 7:30 p.m.

 

 Dear Porch,

Even though tonight you are under a thin covering of wintery mix, at approximately 7:30 pm on Saturday, June 15th, I hope to find you bathed in mottled sunlight and to feel your dusty, dry warmth under my bare feet.  Your floor will be littered with frisbees, bubble wands and baseball bats, and I'll be fresh from the shower, the skin on my nose stretched tight and tinted pink, my muscles sore from yard work.  Don't bother getting gussied up for our date, Porch, because I'll be wearing my most presentable pair of stretchy shorts and that one sporty t-shirt.  Remember?  It's that perfect specimen of cotton that has earned its softness from constant wardrobe rotation since 2004.  Yeah.  That one. 

When we notice that the iPod has been loaded on the dock and is playing the music that says summer, we will know we are no longer alone, Porch.  When Neil joins us, we'll notice a layer of sawdust adorning the sun-bleached hair on his work-tanned skin, and fresh grass clippings clinging to his shoes and the bottom of his jeans. He'll bring us two ice cold beers nestled in their koozies, and with the crack of the can our jaws will unclentch and our shoulders will relax.  It will cost nothing and mean everything all at the same time. 

Hope to see you then.

Much Love,

Erin

Favorite Things

Unless Oprah is going to invite me to be an audience member on her Favorite Things spectacular, then I don't really have much use for the items on her annual list.  (Dear Oprah: if your next Favorite Things episode is scheduled to include a studio filled with teachers, or, perhaps, a gaggle of working mothers who wish they had more time to blog, I retract that first statement entirely.  Let the record show that I still really want to attend, and I can personally guarantee you the best "woman in fetal position, hyperventilating with joy" camera shot in all of Favorite Things history.)

This year, since I'm feeling especially grateful that the world didn't end, I have decided to compile my own Favorite Things list.  Since my budget for my Favorite Things is slightly less than Oprah's, and because I don't have 10 assistants, a producer, and an editor, the items on my list will, instead, meet these rigorous demands:

1.  They cannot cost money.

2.  There can only be four.

3.  They have to make me so happy and filled with comfort (and joy) that I feel like I could just lie down right where I'm at and take an "all is right with the world" nap, which is the sort of sleep that one sinks into when all their bills are paid, their chores are done, and their loved ones are healthy, happy and otherwise occupied. When all it right with the world, a cozy nap is among the best and most satisfying of all the human experiences (according to me).   

So, without further ado, I present to you My Four Favorite Things of 2012...

  

4.  Let's start with something that only a select few will be able to fully appreciate: Meat in a jar. Canning meat has been a tradition in my family for many generations.  I've watched the process; I've ingested the meat in its various, delicious forms (including as the integral ingredient in beef and noodles served over homemade mashed potatoes, a meal that I imagine will someday be included on a list entitled Foods That Have Made Me Who I Am Today).  I speak of canned beef today, however, because this year I was the lucky recipient of the two free jars that were the most sought after gift in my family's White Elephant gift exchange.  It was the luck of the draw, coupled with the graciousness of family members who could (and probably should) have stolen it from me as is dictated in section 3, article 2 of The Rules of White Elephant.  But, like two star-crossed lovers, the meat's destiny and mine somehow remained intertwined. And you are just going to have to trust me when I tell you how delicious it is...because I'm not sharing it.  

3.  Because this is my child's first year of preschool, I have only just been introduced to the joy a mother feels when her child brings home a homemade Christmas ornament.  Oh.My.God.  I placed them in the most prominent places on the tree, found myself staring at them when no one was looking, and have taken more protective measures in the wrapping and packing away of each of them than any piece of glitter-laden construction paper probably deserves.  So, suck it, antique glass ornaments.  I'm using all the extra bubble wrap for Glitter Santa and his tongue depressor reindeer.  

2.  At 7:00 a.m. the morning after this year's first snowfall, as I was trying to get my son out the door and to the babysitter's house on time, my husband promised that he would take Owen sledding that day... AFTER WORK on a WEEKDAY.  In an effort to ease my dreadful anticipation of his bundle up, freeze, and sled promise, I spent the day planning ways to kill Neil.  On my way home from work that day, I called him (probably to voice my displeasure), and when he answered his voice sounded so happy that it made me want to throttle him. "We're already sledding," he said.  "We're having fun, so you'll probably beat us home."  This is probably the part where I was supposed to feel guilty for the murderous thoughts, but all I could feel was joy, gratitude and love.  In making Owen the happiest kid in the world, Neil had unknowingly made me the happiest mom.  He left work early to sled.  He bought the new boots, did the bundle up, and was freezing his happy ass off in the name of father/son fun, and that, my friends, is priceless. 

1.  Showcasing his father's passionate dedication to the task at hand and his stellar taste in music, and featuring some sweet, sweet moves that he surely got from him mom, Owen did this:  

In 2012 all was right with the world.  Now let's all go take a nap.  

Feeling Important

 

I was nesting when the last presidential election took place.  I was a brand new mom and wary of navigating the world with a one month old baby in tow (there were germs out there, after all!), so in those early weeks Owen and I stuck close to home.  On election day, however, I bundled up my bundle of joy, slipped on my most presentable pair of stretchy pants, packed up the diaper bag, and we braved the elements in the name of democracy. 

 

Since I cast my ballot at the library across the street from my house, ours was a journey of about 37 steps, but it was still an important moment for me.  I realized that I was not only capable of taking my child out into the big, scary world, but that I enjoyed including him in one of our country's most important processes.  The outing was nothing more than a squinty, brightness-blur to my newborn, but I felt a real sense of accomplishment and proudly placed my "I voted" sticker on his stroller.  For me, the first few weeks of motherhood were hazy and filled with emotional turbulence, but the simple act of taking my child to vote somehow made me feel like a good mom.  It felt important. 

 

I don't enjoy politics.  I'm uncomfortable with conflict, and even watching people debate makes my stomach feel nervous and yucky.  But having a child has made me care about the world in a different way, and that's probably because it's no longer my world.  It's his.  And I want his world to be the best world, so that's why I vote.  And that's also why I will make sure my son continues to accompany me to the polls for as long as he'll let me take him.  For now, I'll reward him for his trouble with a free sticker, but hopefully, when he's older, he'll find that the act of voting is its own reward. 

 



Four years ago, the stroller got the sticker. 
This year, the remote controlled truck will wear it with pride. 

Art Imitating Life

A few months ago Owen drew his first real person.  His eyes lit up with accomplishment when he realized that he could, in fact, draw pictures that actually look like something.  Though I'm not really the sentimental type, I saved his first drawing (pictured below) because there was something about his kind, unassuming smile that I liked.  Something sort of familiar...  

For some reason, the first guy that Owen drew reminds me of the tall guy in the center of this picture: 

And he also sort of reminds me of the tiny guy in this picture: 

Who just recently became the big kid in this picture:

And something about those smiles makes me so happy I did this exactly seven years ago: