You don’t want to wash a vinyl tablecloth with felt backing in a washing machine on hot.

Unless it killed your pa and you want revenge.

Posted by mopsy on 03 Jul 2009
Filed Under: Life | 3 Comments »

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Posted by mopsy on 01 Jul 2009
Filed Under: Life | 11 Comments »

Aidan was due 12 years ago today. Ten days later, she finally appeared as a wizened, scrawny, thrill-seeking, wide-eyed newborn.

The nurses reported they had to set the swing on the fastest setting to keep her happy. Those were the days when babies lounged around nursery windows and were brought to mothers for chow time. Rooming-in was weird. The philosophy was to give mothers as much rest and quiet as possible, and I sorta appreciate that, but whatever. Digress. The practice didn’t stop me from bonding or establishing breastfeeding, but whatever. Digress.

I guarantee I was walking 12 years ago at this very moment. If you are reading this between June 28, 2009 and July 7, 2009, look at your clock and let your mind go back 12 years. There was a woman in a giant denim jumper maternity dress and white Keds with doofy bobby socks walking at that very moment. I promise. In the final days of my first pregnancy, I walked and walked. It’s all I did.

We drove to downtown Grand Junction to walk, to the park to walk, to my parent’s neighborhood to walk, to the mall to walk.
On the way to walk her out, this song played on the radio: How Bizarre

It became Aidan’s song because we couldn’t go anywhere without hearing it. It’s forever linked with feeling her kick and roll and false labor contractions. It’s paired with walking the street in front of our apartment at night, looking up to the stars, and asking God if our baby could be born that night, that very night, please? No?

Weep.

We still sing it to her when she’s complaining about loading the dishwasher or being cantankerous. She blushes and claims she hates that song, stop it!

We do, but I still hear it in my head.

Posted by mopsy on 28 Jun 2009
Filed Under: Life | 8 Comments »

Baloney is raw hot dog in pancake form, right? And then there is that salami with red and green fruitcake flecks in it. What is up with that?

I am snobby about my lunchmeat. There are a lot of other normal things I don’t eat, either. What about you?

I wrote about it at Mile High Mamas, which you should really go see because it’s completely redesigned. It’s almost too pretty to associate with the likes of me. Also, I took the photo of the cracker which illustrates the story.

Posted by mopsy on 25 Jun 2009
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Posted by mopsy on 23 Jun 2009
Filed Under: Life | 8 Comments »

Ryley and I were sitting on our back patio, discussing the depressing lack of adventure in his life. He wants to explore woods, wade in lakes, blaze trails, and “take my girl to a movie.” Okay, that last one was part of a different discussion we had a few days earlier. For the record, he has no girl.

He has a way of turning every conversation into deeper wrinkles on my forehead, though.

I told him I was sorry there were no dragons to slay ’round these parts. I promised him he’d find ways to fulfill his dreams of swashbuckling and dirtifying and bruising himself into manhood.

Just as we got up to go inside, the ice cream truck’s siren song parted the summer heat with its metallic, baby bell call.

“Can I get ice cream?” he asked.

“Have money?” I answered.

“Dad gave me $2 this morning.”

Before the K could join the O, he was out the front door. Barefoot.

I stepped outside, too, to see which direction he went. The truck’s song seemed far away. I doubted he would find it, but I let him try. He was a tiny figure at the end of our street. He stood on the corner, looking north.

I went back inside, where dinner prep was underway. I also had to poke my head out the back door to shout at the other kids to turn off the sprinkler, again.

I accidentally dumped half the pasta I was boiling for pasta salad down the drain, burning myself in the process. Joel and Beatrix were sopping wet and not happy in the backyard. Blame between the kids flew around like a hungry mosquito. I had a barefoot boy wandering hot sidewalks in search of ice cream.

I bounced from backyard to kitchen to frontyard, finding Ryley had returned. He was sitting on our lawn. He looked up the street, down the street, and at a leaf he twirled between fingers. He tore bits of grass. The music was gone.

“Why don’t you come inside?” I suggested, adding he could call a friend.

He shook his head no, the ice cream truck might come back.

Every few minutes, I glanced through the glass door.

He waited for an hour and a half. When dinner was ready, he was reluctant to come inside.

“I think the truck is gone for the day. Maybe the ice cream lady is eating her dinner?” I offered.

“I feel defeated.”

There was nothing I could do to summon an ice cream truck front and center. If I could have?

I would have.

But then it wouldn’t have been his adventure any more. Coming to terms with that as a mom has been my most demanding adventure of all—The act of letting go.

Posted by mopsy on 22 Jun 2009
Filed Under: Life | 7 Comments »

Alison was born when I was 3 years and 2 weeks old, exactly.

I remember staying the night at the neighbor’s house when my mommy went to the hospital. These neighbors lived across the street and had two little boys. Their names were Chris and Billy. Their mom always bought pop from the Pop Shoppe, which was big in days of macrame and Pintos. A rack of orange, red, purple, and brown bottles stood next to their refrigerator. For years, I wanted one of the small bottles, but was too shy to ask. They also had an electric organ the mom played at Christmas.

On the morning my sister was born, I woke to the heavy smell of urine. One of the boys had wet his twin bed. The mom wasn’t mad or upset. She cleaned it up and then served breakfast to us. It was Cheerios.

From that point on, I’ve always associated Cheerios with pee and haven’t eaten it. I also associate Cheerios with my sister. But I don’t associate pee with my sister because I really, really love and admire that crazy chick. She is one of the best people, ever.

Today is her birthday. Isn’t she pretty? She was always The Pretty One, but I never minded because her good heart is even more beautiful.

Happy Birthday, Alison!

(she thinks she looks surprised in this photo)

Posted by mopsy on 20 Jun 2009
Filed Under: Life | 10 Comments »

We have an Infantino (I suspect this is the Little Debbie of babywearing devices) front carrier. It’s super cute and padded and not uncomfortable to wear.

BUT, it seems to cut off circulation in Archie’s legs. When he’s riding around in it, one or both of his legs will turn purple, mottled, and angry looking. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, but I can’t let his little legs dangle there like two chubby sausages made out of Barney meat.

Consequently, no Archie strapped to our chests, enjoying the sights and sounds of summer. He’s stuck in the stroller, which has it’s time and place but isn’t always practical.

Is this a universal issue with front carriers? Or just ours?

Posted by mopsy on 19 Jun 2009
Filed Under: Life | 12 Comments »