Little Monkey and Friends

The funny thing about grocery shopping with a little monkey in tow is that there is basically nothing funny about it and it sucks. If hard pressed, I'd say the only funny thing is my disheveled and frantic appearance, but since I don't personally find that funny, I'd be hesitant to suggest it to others as cause for commentary.

A few random observations. First, there's a whole lot of crap I have to remember to bring apart from the grocery list and whatever coupons I have. I have to bring the DIAPER BAG. The diaper bag, which is not really a bag, but more of a small suitcase at this point, is packed with all manner of distracting garbage to keep the monkey occupied during the half hour minimum it will take me to buy everything on the list. All this preparation, so that I can stuff this luggage into the grocery cart and take up about 50% of the available cargo space...thus requiring me to pile things on top of the bag (blocking access to critical items in the event of a meltdown)..or even worse, risk little items slipping into the bag (and thus pray no one arrests me for shoplifting). That would be a lovely headline (Mother of Miracle Baby Caught Stealing Chocolate Bars in Local Grocery Store while Baby Looks on!!)

And then there's the issue of the cart and the monkey. The Little Monkey is too big for those cute little bucket seats that attach to the cart to ensure the comfort of your newborn. But, The Little Monkey..being little, still has a tendency to topple over in the actual seat of the cart. I've tried various manner of restraining devices, all of which (again) basically suck. In the end, I just wind up sticking the monkey in the seat, strapping him in, and readjusting him as he slides around. And then there's the issue of the cooties. God only knows the last time anyone in Shop Rite actually cleaned these carts, or even noticed that half of them don't have functioning safety belts. Oh well, nothing like exposing your immunosuppressed child to the germs of a thousand hands that have come before you.

Back when I was just pregnant, I use to bitch and moan about the rudeness of people who did not give up seats on the subway or bus during my commute. Being a chickenshit, I would never actually accost these people and say anything obvious like - "Hello, I'm pregnant and in pain here, do you mind if I sit down in your seat?" Living where we were at the time, I generally avoided confrontation on the train so as to live another day.

But now, with the actual living, breathing little monkey in tow, I have a whole new level of rudeness to complain about. Ready? Ok.

No matter what time of day or night or day of the week I go to this grocery store, it is always crowded. Crowded with a certain demographic of shoppers. These are shoppers of a certain age who are oblivious to those around them struggling to get through the shopping experience as quickly as possible. What I have discovered among this particular subset of shoppers is that they are careful and cautious consumers. And they have time. Time to spend in the aisles, with their carts blocking access. Time to spend carefully comparing prices of the goods on the shelves. And time to chat with neighbors they have run into along the way. All of this is lovely, in its own way..but again, loveliness tends to fall by the wayside when you have a screaming monkey in tow. I especially love the looks on the faces of my fellow shoppers when the monkey does start screaming. Oh I LIVE for those moments.

It's not all bad I guess. This particular Shoprite has a fishtank right in the front of the store stocked with the largest most bug-eyed freakish looking fish I have ever seen. These things are like the three eyed fish in the Simpsons. And they seem kind of smart too in that they swim right up to the glass when you approach them. Food? The little monkey gets a kick out of seeing these things. That lasts about a minute.

Oh..and some of those shoppers of a certain age are kinda sweet actually. One of them began a conversation with the little monkey today. (I never quite know how to respond in these situations..do I pretend on behalf of the monkey, and give him a speaking voice to respond to direct questions?" "Oh, why yes, we ARE doing just fine, thank you, and how are YOU today?") But, this individual was a charmed one in that she made the monkey smile, and that always wins points in my book.

By the way, if anyone has a good babysitter they'd like to recommend in the Bergen county area, feel free to email me. I think I've had about all I can take of these grocery store adventures.





Mmmm...Bagel..

In hindsight, I guess I should have known better than to leave the two of them together unsupervised. But we were hungry, the little monkey seemed well rested, and in a rare moment of spontaneity we decided to go out for dinner. My mind was elsewhere, as I scrambled to pack the diaper bag with every manner of distraction necessary to ensure that the little monkey could appear in public. Since the great Big Apple Circus meltdown, I have been wary of taking him out at night. But I reasoned, if I brought along toys, food, teething rings, binkies, books, food and bottles - it should be ok. What's the worst that could happen? A meltdown? Some dirty looks? Ehh - piece of cake.

So, we headed out - braving the trek across the bridge and into Manhattan. Once there, we joined the crowds of upper west side diners - all out in search of a good meal that didn't require cooking on their own. We arrived at our restaurant of choice, after finding a parking spot nearby (yes!). All good so far. We declined the first table they seated us at (smack in the center of the dining room - are you nuts??? With a monkey in tow???) and opted for a more discreet and quiet two top in the back corner. The only close dining guests in that neck of the woods were a middle aged couple who appeared to be on a date. I swear the woman looked over at me with my baby and gear in tow and breathed a sigh of relief to herself.

As the meal progressed, I realized that my fears of monkey madness were unfounded. The little one behaved well, all things considered. He happily chewed on some bread, ate some puffs, played with his toys, read his book, and even took his evening meds without too much commotion. A few whiny-butt noises here and there, but nothing like the infamous Big Apple Circus meltdown. Dang, I thought, as I happily ate my ravioli, this isn't too bad. Heck, we should take him out to eat more often. All in all, it was an excellent restaurant experience. Nothing like the circumstances giving rise to articles like this one.

But then we got home.

And I came upon this ...



















Elmo stands victorious over the fallen body of his foe. I should have known it was only a matter of time. Oh Elmo..what have you done?

Parenthood adds a new perspective on Thanksgiving - especially when your baby almost didn't make it home. We have a lot to be thankful for this year in particular. This holiday is when we gather as a family to celebrate the blessings we have received in life. We as a family have been blessed, and for that I am truly grateful. Most of you reading this already know Jordan's story, and can appreciate the second chance we've been given.

















On a lighter note - Thanksgiving is also a holiday centered around the consumption of food. A lot of food. We did our part and, with some help, prepared a lavish spread. Props to Grandma H and Michael for taking on the bulk of the holiday meal planning.



The little monkey hollers for his dinner. Bring on the turkey!


On the menu: Alton Brown's famous turkey, Bon Appetit's cranberry and chestnut stuffing, cornbread, creamed spinach, garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potato and squash bake, gravy, cranberry sauce, and spinach salad with spicy pecans. The old monkey was able to cram almost all of it onto one plate.



An appetizer before the main course - fresh monkey cheeks.


And in yet another time honored tradition, the two monkeys settle into the couch, post meal, for some serious digesting time. The little monkey won control over the remote, and opted for some Baby Beethoven before bedtime. The old monkey looks on, envious of the soft blue snowman pajamas that so few people can really wear well.

In an ongoing effort to expose the monkey to enriching experiences, we have been attending "music classes". The "class" consists of a group of women (they're all women in our weekday class, although men - presumably the dads..make appearances on the weekend) sitting around in a circle on the floor, sans shoes, with babies plopped squarely in front of them. The music teacher sits at the head of the circle, with some strumming device..(guitar? no. Sitar? no..mandoline? no..harpsichord?) I have no idea what it is. She sings the songs, and encourages the rest of us to sing along, accompanied by various musical instruments, playthings, and objects designed to distract the baby from the fact that he is sitting in a brightly lit room surrounded by strangers singing off key and making a lot of noise.

The music teacher takes particular satisfaction in torturing the little ones when it comes time to distribute the instruments. Rather than handing the instrument to the child, she takes the large box of them, dumps them unceremoniously into the center of the room, and shouts out for the children to "come get them!" Some of the older babies in the class live for this kind of athletic challenge, and make a mad dash to crawl off with the best and shiniest sparklies - the rattle shaped tamborines, the bongo drums, etc.

Thank God the little monkey is finally crawling, and thus able to retrieve whatever instrument he wants. Before this development, he sat there, firmly planted on his big-bottomed-diapered self, vaguely confused and looked at me in expectation...

"umm..mom?" His eyes said.

"Shouldn't you be out there fighting to get me the best and shiniest of the instruments?"

Now, I suppose there is some value in forcing your child to fend for himself, and thus learn some valuable life lesson. But class is only 45 minutes long, and we don't have the time for monkey to sit there all day till he felt motivated enough to crawl on his own. And besides, as we would learn eventually, it took an electronic gadget to spur him into action.

Thus, braving the dirty looks from the rest of the mommies, I would force my way into the writhing pile of babies and toys, and claim one for my child (a toy, obviously). Upon handing the booty over to the little monkey, he would express approval by promptly inserting the object into his mouth.

Now that he is happily crawling, my fears that he will be instrument-less can be put to rest. But wouldn't you know it, one baby in the class has decided to show off and start standing alone. I expect any day now, he will start walking around, unassisted. Great. That's just the motivation the teacher needs to start incorporating more flippin movement into the class. The dancing around with our "partner" (yes, that would be the baby we brought along) is bad enough. Today for example, I realized I had hit a new state of intellectual atrophy when I was easily able to sing and dance along to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go." Sing it along with me you children of the 80's. Bonus points for those of you who can remember the names of BOTH members of the group.

In the meantime, we continue to go to class. I continue to sing off key. The monkey continues to gum and drool over the instruments. The infernal songs remain lodged securely in my brain. And as the weather outside becomes increasingly less conducive to park outings, I suspect we have more of these indoor type activities to look forward to.

 
  In preparation for music class, the monkey practices on his bongo drums diligently.

I can't recall when I decided to take this set off my parent's hands, but it's come in handy over the years.


They really knew something about design in the 70's. How many people do you know that have a hexagon shaped table?


Yes, it has some wear and tear, but the velour fabric chairs alone make it a conversation peice. After many years of service, it is finally being put up for sale. We hope it will find a good home. The equally vintage blue glass fruit bowl, however, will not be going anywhere.

Sigh...

Tonight, we were supposed to go to the Big Apple Circus. We were really looking forward to this. Tickets were graciously provided by Jeff's firm, the night was designed to be family friendly, and we were looking forward to showing off the little monkey to the gang.

Just when you think you know your kid, he rocks your world by staging a meltdown. A BIG one. That lasted A LONG, LONG time. So long in fact, that we wound up ditching the plans for the circus, threw the monkey into the minivan, and hightailed it back to Jersey. Once home, monkey promptly became laffy-daffy again, and spent the next hour or so smiling, crawling all over everything, and generally being the cute loving little tyke we had so hoped to take out in public for a good time.

I'm not sure what to make of this Dr. Jekyll/ Mr. Hyde personality shift. The monkey can be a mercurial little beast. But this meltdown was truly out of the ordinary. I'm going to chalk it up to a disturbed nap, and vow never to wake a sleeping baby ever again.

Monkey apologizes to the very nice people at daddy's office who pretended not to hear his muffled howls of protest behind closed doors. We promise to be better behaved next time.

On the topic of food, the little monkey continues to express his disapproval for all manner of baby food in a jar. This is getting tired already. I thought I discovered something great when I realized he was happy to taste whatever I was eating..but it isn't always feasible to scoop a baby-sized portion of whatever I'm eating onto his high chair tray. (You'll notice I said high chair tray, as opposed to a regular bowl or plate. We don't do the bowl thing since those objects clearly register as toys - THAT MUST BE FLIPPED OVER IMMEDIATELY!!) So, my monkey child sits there in his high chair, eating his bits and pieces off a plastic tray, like an animal, or inmate in some penitentiary. Clearly no mommy of the year awards are in my future this round.

Apart from the logistics, a lot of the food we're eating doesn't seem appropriate for a baby (ok, ok, I let him sample spinach curry, chili, and various soups..and he's none the worse for wear..but I have to draw the line somewhere.)

I'm just waiting for him to sprout all the other teeth hiding in his head, so he can chew like a full size human, and just eat normal food like the rest of the family...(Oscar included, as he also prefers human food to the slop that comes in a container.) Meanwhile, Gerber, Earth's Best, and Cheerios are the beneficiaries of my economic patronage as I continue in vain to teach this child that not all food comes from a bottle...or breast either, I guess...since that was his original grocery store.

So..this week, we've tried egg yolk (ok..some interest there), Gerber "puffs" (almost choked to death..oops.), steamed green beans, smashed to bits (again, some interest), lots of various fruits cut up and put into a feeder bag (loves this, keeps him quiet, and requires minimal hovering on my part, persimmon (LOVED this one!! And at $1.99 a pop and a week and half to ripen, he better)...as well as the usual staples - cheerios, soy yogurt, sweet potatoes...God, I am boring myself with this.

Shifting gears - I'm pleased to report the little monkey takes after me in his love of books. On Thursday, we hit Barnes & Noble for 11:00 am "storytime." Of course, monkey was the youngest one there, and probably had the shortest attention span (not counting the hyped up little hellions running around hitting each other)..but overall, I think he had fun. I took him out of his stroller long enough to play in the aisles, pull himself up onto the bookshelves, and pull down as many brightly colored books as he could without creating too much of a scene. (Interesting to see what kind of books they stock on the kiddies' eye level.) The monkey made off with an Elmo interactive selection, and I finally got myself a copy of The Kite Runner. It's only been a year or so since I've tried to read this thing.

By the way..if you're going to be a story teller to a roomful of little tykes, it helps to have at least some marginal ability to convey emotion. Oddly enough, the little ones don't seem to like being read to in monotone, nor do they like it when you prevent them from seeing the pictures. It also helps to pick some books with words you can pronounce. Just my opinion. Of course, if you're reading to a roomful of monkeys of Jordan's age, it probably doesn't matter what book you read, as long as you make funny faces. Whatever.

It's been a relatively uneventful week. A few outings for the monkey gave me a chance to play dress up with him again. On top, we have little monkey dressed for a playground outing. What goes better with dirt and baby swings than a nice furry caramel vest, green plaid flannel and beige courdroys? Obviously, the monkey goes nowhere without his hair perfectly coiffed - hence, the little spikey flip on top. The following day, we shifted gears and transitioned into a more preppy ensemble - denim button down, argyle sweater vest, dark denim jacket and khakis. We chose a more conservative 'do - one the old monkey likes to call "the John Roberts look." It seemed appropriate for breakfast playdate at Panera, followed by music class.


For comparative purposes only. I don't know whether to laugh or be scared.

(And please, spare me the political comments. The little monkey will be safe on my watch.)



On an unrelated note - I honestly wonder whether parents in the past made the effort to force social interaction on their kids the way we do now. The little monkey's days are filled with activities, outings, classes, lunches, playground adventures. But I can't say for sure whether he's getting much out of these events. He generally ignores the other kids, except to scout for abandoned toys that catch his interest. Then it's a mad dash to grab the toy and stuff it into his mouth before I can intervene. Since he began crawling, the activities have taken on a whole new dimension. Much less chatty hanging out time for me, and more toddling around after the monkey to make sure he doesn't get into mischief. We'll see what happens when he starts walking.

This weekend marked the first time the little monkey successfully crawled from point A to point B. Although he's made half-hearted attempts in the past, this time, he meant business. The business in question was his desperate bid to nab the old monkey's Blackberry.

Why am I not surprised that it took an electronic gadget to motivate the little monkey to actually crawl for real this time?

The two monkeys continued this episode of the Man Show by plopping down in front of the tv to watch the Jets game. The old monkey wore the appropriate team colors, and the little monkey wore a rugged plaid flannel.

Dear Breanna,

Today would have been your one year birthday. Turning one is a pretty big deal for a baby. At least, that's what us grown ups think. You won't be with us to celebrate your birthday in person, but that doesn't mean this day will go by unnoticed. Many people will be thinking of you today. Many will be picturing what a beautiful baby girl you were. Some of us will be praying that you are somewhere safe and warm and peaceful. And some of us are thinking about how blessed we are because you came to this earth and shared yourself with us.

No doubt, you would have done some amazing things in this year that has passed. I wish you had the chance. I wish so many things. Birthday wishes are supposed to come true..but sadly, these wishes will remain lodged in my heart and as tears that I shed for you, your family and the friends that knew you for a brief and sweet time.

Selfishly, I can't help but say that perhaps the most amazing thing you did do, in the time you were here is save my son's life. That's a pretty tall accomplishment for someone as tiny as you were. Can I say that again? You saved my son's life. Without you, he would not be here with us today. I can never forget, for one day, that it is your heart that is beating inside him, keeping him alive, and in the process - bringing smiles to our faces every day. You were a hero Breanna. Not many grown ups can claim that. You and your mom, of course.

Thank you Breanna. You were an angel on earth when we needed a miracle. The darkness that fell over us during that cold and dismal month of January ended only when your gift gave us a second chance at life. Second chances are a rare and precious thing... much like babies. Babies are pretty precious as well. I will hold mine a little longer tonight as I remember you. In my mind's eye, I picture you being held by angels somewhere. I hope they are telling you how much you were loved.

Rest in peace, beautiful baby girl.