Little Monkey and Friends

Here in mommyville, spring is in full bloom. The tree in our backyard is flowering ..



And the furball has gotten his "warm weather" haircut.




Lest you think Oscar is the only one looking ridiculous in the house these days, here's a pic of the thee of us - him, me and the belly. Which, by the way, is now officially blocking my view of my feet. It belatedly occured to me that maybe horizontal stripes might not be the way to go these days. And then I remembered, at this point, who cares? Nothing's disguising this bump.


On an unrelated note, it appears that the imminent demise of my favorite show, Gilmore Girls, is on the horizon.

And in our case, it starts at "Toddler Gym!" at our local rec center. Monkey loves his gym class ..


Where there are big balls ...



and little balls..



basketballs...



soccer balls..



And other round objects.



And unlike past "musical experiences," monkey actually seemed to enjoy the circle time interlude that occurs 25 minutes into the gym session.
Here, he approaches teacher for a closer look.



Inspired, monkey has a Madonna moment and strikes a pose. Let your body move to the music, people.



And like any good dance party, we ended with bubbles.

I'm not a big fan of housework, and channeling my inner domestic goddess is a feat beyond me at the moment. I have discovered, however, that monkey has taken a shine to the household arts. Finally, he's making himself useful.




So, I put him to work right after breakfast.



And then again after lunch.






And by bedtime, he had collapsed into the haven of Teddy's plush embrace. Elmo looks on, shocked at the numerous child labor violations he witnessed today. Who said men don't help enough around the house?

Love of gadgets starts early in this house.

This past week saw the monkey embracing the rich traditions of two of the major religious faiths. Embracing, of course, can mean many things. For the monkey, it was an opportunity to hang out with friends, extended family and eat a lot of different types of food. Since giving up his bottle, monkey has been expanding his culinary tastes to include all sorts of cuisines. This works just fine for me, especially since it involved no cooking on my part.

On Saturday, he partook in one of the speediest Seders in recorded history. There, while others broke matzoh together, the monkey snuck in his buttered croissants and mac & cheese. Props to cousin Cindy for introducing me to the fastest-instant-easy-mac-and-cheese in the world, ever! Monkey got into the spirit of the occasion and tried some tzimmes, coconut macaroons, and applesauce. Yay, a well-rounded meal!

In other parts of the city, urbanites donned their finest and held up traffic yet again. NYC is the capital of parades, after all. For some nice fashion shots of the Easter parade, see here. Monkey's outfits were chosen with a nod towards practicality however - plastic bibs, machine washable pants, and lots of layers to adjust for varied climate zones.



Monkey was fortunate enough to be invited to share in an extravagent Easter feast at the home of his good friend, Grace. He even had his own place setting at the table.



These guys weren't kidding around. There was food enough to satisfy appetites of all ages.




In between courses, we took a break and got outside. There, monkey swung in the breeze...

Played in the sand ...



And interacted with native wildlife.



There was even a well designed Easter Egg "Hunt," with eggs strategically located for little, visually-challenged people to find.



Some of the older kids explained the concept of gathering the eggs into the basket.




Others managed to figure it out on their own.











Exhausted with the playground interlude, the monkeys head back for dessert. Bring on the sweets!



The monkey left the table - a satisfied man.




It was a great weekend. Thanks to both the Sperlings and Perkins' for hosting such excellent holiday meals.

"Just because you have a Grateful Dead t-shirt on, doesn't make you a cool mommy."

"Oh, please. I am so far from cool mommy status, you have no idea."

The above represents a snippet of a recent conversation between myself and monkey, sr. I got a kick out of the idea that donning my old ratty, college era t-shirt was some misguided attempt at coolness. The reality of course is that the t-shirt came from an era when baggy, shapeless clothing was the norm (Oh grunge..where have you gone?) and thus it transitioned nicely into my current pregnancy wardrobe of baggy sweats, baggy capris, baggy skirts, etc. It felt pretty darn comfortable - Skull on the back, and wild tie-dyed colors be damned. Ah yes, Fare thee Well, Jerry, Fare thee well.

If monkey sr., only knew what passes for cool mommy status these days. Parenting magazine recently had an article touching on the subject ("Mom cliques, where do you fit in?") written by the same author of Queen Bees and Wannabees. I read it, thought about it, and concluded that it bore little to no resemblance to my life in any way. I know the mommy clique mentality exists, I've seen instances of it, but seriously, does anyone really worry about this stuff anymore?

Which is not to say I have not encountered cool mommies on this side of the river. I just don't happen to be one of them. They tend to fall into different varieties of cool. There are the fun, easy-going mommies, the pretty, pulled-together mommies, the mommies that always know the best places to take the kids, the ones that can host a playdate at the drop of a hat, or whip up a batch of kid-friendly treats from scratch.

Then there are my personal favorites - those goddess-types that are fashionably cool, thin, with children that seem to need little to no supervision in public places. For example, at a recent outing, while I was feeding monkey one of his requisite ten snacks a day, I overheard a conversation between one clearly cool mommy, and her companion. The clearly cool mommy had perfectly dyed and coiffed hair, very funky outfit of form fitting tank shirt, boho skirt, chunky jewelry and high wedge (!!) lace-up espadrilles. There was no baby weight on her. Her conversation consisted of describing the admiration her friends expressed when she ventured out to a "roof-party" less than 4 weeks after giving birth. The party was apparently attended by Manhattanites and various local celebrities. While she described the party in further detail, I sat there in awe watching her two children entertain themselves and not put things in their mouths.

I could never do that with monkey. And by that I mean engaging in a conversation with another human for longer than ten minutes at a time. Putting aside the issue of the fashion (high heel anythings just don't work for me right now, despite my undying love for them.) Monkey is one of those children who needs constant watching while at the playground, toddler gym, or any public place. Turn away for a second, and he will wander off to split his head open on the wood fence, make way for the nearest exit door and proceed to bang on it loudly, or even toddle over to a table to converse with a friendly looking pair of seniors. I speak from personal experience.

Other people have different ideas of what cool mommies are. Judging from the snarky beeyotches at Urbanbaby, cool mommyhood means never leaving for the playground without your Marc Jacobs and Bugaboo. And those are not the names or pet names of children, either. Lord help you if you are still shopping for your post-maternity wear at Old Navy, like some of us.

There are also those tv cool mommies that maintain their sense of humor at all times. I've written about them before. Somehow I can't pull that off either. I'm too busy worrying about the American Academy of Pediatrics nutritional recommendations or what Dr. Spock would think.

I guess, like everything else, this is one more thing we will muddle through. Though I may never quite achieve the cool mommy iconhood that seems to be the goal so many strive for, I will take pleasure in the fact that no matter how cool you think you are right now, there will come a day when your child will roll his/her eyes at you and cringe at the thought of sharing the same air space.



Thankfully, the monkey is at an age where it is still cool to hold your mommy's hand.

Warm weather again this week and the monkeys are getting restless.



So, we hit the backyard for some soccer practice.



The monkeys face off.




Face covered in chocolate pudding, the monkey pauses for a close up. He may not have Becks' mad soccer skillz yet, but thankfully, he has better taste in women.



On an unrelated note, I came across this article, describing how other monkeys are doing this week.

Now that we know monkey-on-the way (the monkette, monkita?) is healthy, and everything looks good, I can relax and go back to our regularly scheduled programming. For me that usually means Gilmore Girls (hurray new episode last night!) American Idol (shut up, Paula! Shut up!!), Prison Break (ahh...Wentworth), The Office (you will eat my cookie, cookie!) , and Scrubs (which, BTW, had a Gilmore Girls shout out last night as well.)

Was seriously disappointed though with GG. You know it's bad when the only plot line on the episode that interests you is the one involving Mrs. Kim, Lane, and Zack. The true star of the evening for me was the vintage Pan Am Stewardess Bag that Rory bought at Anna's store as a present for Lorelai. Ebay is selling something similar.

.

This one looks in slightly better condition.



You can bid for them here. And by the way, just when you start to wonder if your hobby seems a little quirky, check out this guy.


Scrubs was hysterical, though I did momentarily cringe when one of the patients brought in needed a liver transplant. I wasn't sure if I had the stomach to handle transplant patient jokes, but surprisingly, they didn't go there. Best line of the night for me, Turk to J.D:

"Tell him he can kiss my big, black ass. Bet you wish you could say that, huh?"




And finally, for an in-depth interview with the flavor of the month, Wentworth Miller, aka Michael, from Prison Break, check out this site. What cracks me up is his references to growing up, "on the streets of Brooklyn," and life during high school. For those of you who don't know, old monkey went to high school with this guy, and I am always prodding him for details of his life pre-prison break. I have a feeling that the hallowed halls of Poly Prep Country Day School in no way resemble the mean streets of Brooklyn the way Wentworth describes it. And how bad could it really be your parents felt comfortable enough with your future social circle to name you Wentworth, for God's sake?



Thank God the monkey goes to bed early.

yay!

There is pink for men. There is pink for rockers. There's even pink for celebrity gossip fiends. But nothing, and I mean nothing beats pink for baby girls. I was reminded of this during a baby shower this weekend for another mom-to-be. She got a lot of very cool little outfits; and I made a mental shopping list that kept me happily occupied in my own mind for the rest of the weekend.

Dressing the monkey is fun, and I've been impressed by the various cute little outfits that are available for the male persuasion. But girl shopping is a whole other league. I suppose there is a fine line between teaching your daughter to embrace her femininity verses becoming too girly-girl. Just as there is a balance to achieve later in life between looking glam verses looking like this. God, please shoot me dead before my daughter ever tries to dress like that. Of course, if old monkey's threats are to be believed, our daughter will never leave the house, or if she does, she will be fashionably attired in something like this.

I tend to be of the school that thinks little girls should dress like little girls, and not like little porn stars. Likewise, I also harbor a certain disdain for women who try to dress like their teenage daughters. Although Amy Poehler did a pretty funny job of parodying it in Mean Girls.

I still can't believe we're having a girl. Today, we will get a closer look at her heart during a fetal echocardiogram. After monkey's experience, I guess our doctors are taking no chances. It's hard to believe something like that could remotely happen again, but I'll be relieved when the exam is over and she's gotten a clean bill of health.

Till then, I've held off on the shopping, mainly because I harbor irrational superstitions and fear courting the evil eye or tempting fate. But I have to say, it's getting pretty hard to resist the siren call of Baby Gap, Janie & Jack, and Hanna Anderson. And all those spring/summer dresses!

Even as I handed him the styrofoam cup the first time, a voice in my head (the sanctimonious mommy voice - let's call her Donna) cried out - "Don't do it, think about all that sugar!" But, at that point, I was very interested in trying out new foods with the monkey. Never one to push form over substance, I figured jamba juice was basically a fruit smoothie. Maybe not fruit in the raw...or pureed fruit...or lovingly poached fruit made by all the award winning mommies out there. But heck, it was fruit-like. That had to count for something.

Naturally, monkey loved it. What's not to love about a $4.00 glass of sugar and fruity crack juice?

Fast forward to today's Whole Foods shopping trip. Monkey's eyes widen as we pass the Jamba Juice counter, and he begins reaching towards the shady looking dealers behind the bar.

"Go!"

I look down at him, frantically writhing in the shopping cart. Err..ok..let's "Go!"

10 minutes later, he already has the straw unwrapped and is sitting there twitching in anticipation. He watches me as I insert straw into cup and take a sip. I hand him the juice and he crams the straw down his gullet and begins sucking furiously. This continues as we head back to the car.

Thinking that it would be hazardous to leave the juice and straw with him in the car seat, I took it away for the ride home. Disaster. Screaming. The sounds of a heroin addict experiencing withdrawal. I handed him a sippy cup with some formula, and he grabbed it, much like a heroin addict accepting a methadone substitute. Not as good as the real thing, but hell, it will have to do.

Later, as I prepared monkey's bath, I put him in his crib for safe containment. His sugar high was at peak levels. Running from one end of the crib to the other, laughing hysterically, and babbling incoherent sounds - I watched him, amazed to witness a sugar high in the flesh. But for the walls of his cage/crib, there was no stopping him. His eyes glittered and his face cracked with a jamba induced grin. He collapsed, hugged himself, and rolled back and forth laughing like a loon.

Next time, I'll try it with the boost.



Like a crack head sucking on his pipe, the monkey inhales his jamba.



I swear, I'm going to kick tomorrow.



Don't even think about taking my jamba, bee-yotch.