Wood Blocks

Before my sweet baby boy was born I decided to crawl up onto soap box, then jump on a high horse. . . and protest my disapproval for plastic, and worse. . . electronic toys. I vowed to only use organic fabrics and lead-free paint when purchasing Wolfie's play accessories.  I shuddered at anything with a battery. That lasted about a week.  The first wonderful enhancement to Wolfie's development was a "bar" that played music, rattled, and bounced whenever Wolfie kicked it. We strapped it across his changing table.  Then his "piano" which anyone in our lives knows was a God send to us. He utterly loved it.  So out the window went my haughty ideals on such toys and I swallowed my pride while admitting that these plastic, brightly colored, annoyingly repetitive baby toys were just as impactful, if not more. 

But something wonderful happened. . . . GiGi (Grandma Lois) bought Wolfie a wooden block toy set (very elementary colored wooden blocks that can stack and slide into place to form a train).  It's been in bits an pieces for awhile where Wolfie might pick one up and throw it, but just as of yesterday, he hit a beautiful milestone. He picked up two blocks, and hit them together. . . CRACK....CRACK. . . CRACK. . . CRACK. . . . A noise only wood-on-wood could make.  It's like. . . plastic just sounds like the sprinkler hitting the side of your car, but wood. . . is the sound of rain on your roof. It's such an earthy sound the has a pang of nostalgia. I'm sure anyone born before 1980 knows that distinct sound of wood blocks falling to the ground (that and raking your hand through lego's if you're lucky enough to have had a stinky brother).

So, I'll keep my plastic toys still, but I've fallen in love again with the simplicity and beauty of wood blocks.

UPDATE: The vacuum still scares the baby, lol.

If the vacuum scares your baby. . .

Change the vacuum! 

 

 

 

 

We have a robot vacuum that is quite loud, and buzzes around the floor like an annoying electronic manta ray.  Well, Wolfie wasn't a fan. He was wincing and lifting his legs every time it came near, haha.  Colonel Mustard could care less. He was simply inconvenienced every time he had to get up and move when it approached his tail. Well, I decided to stick one of Wolfie's toys on the top of it.  The toy has a suction cup so it was perfect! Wolfie suddenly found a new interest in the vacuum and even smiled when it came closer. Being a mommy is all about adaptation, isn't it? 

 

On another note, I love pretty little baskets now to hold Wolfie's toys. I keep baskets in every corner of the house and it's so much easier to keep surfaces tidy when there is a nice place to toss a teething ring or "sucky toy" nearby. One of my favorites right now, is this old knitting box that grandma gave me years ago.  It used to hold magazines in my bathroom, and now it's a mini toy box PERFECT for Wolfie's height! He'll spend a lot of time quietly picking out his favorite friends, balls, and animals.

 

The story behind this box is quite neat.  The box itself is a "knitting box" which is a small chest with a handle and hinged lids so that you can tote it around with you wherever you land to knit. 

 

Grandma said "I used "Green Stamps" to acquire the sewing box. I forgot how many books of stamps I had to have to cash in for the box. I had to drive to Long Beach to redeem the stamps. I got it when your dad was about 6 or 7 years old. My mother collected the stamps also so we went together to pick out our items. It was quite an exciting thing to get enough filled books to pick up an item you wanted."



Here is a little history on Green Stamps:

S&H Green Stamps (also called Green Shield Stamps) were a form of trading stamps popular in the United States between the 1930s and early 1980s. They were a rewards program operated by the Sperry and Hutchinson company (S&H), founded in 1896 by Thomas Sperry and Shelly Hutchinson. During the 1960s, the rewards catalog printed by the company was the largest publication in the United States and the company issued three times as many stamps as the U.S. Postal Service.[citation needed] Customers would receive stamps at the checkout counter of supermarkets, department stores, and gas stations among other retailers, which could be redeemed for products in the catalog.

Sperry & Hutchinson began offering stamps to U.S. retailers in 1896. The retail organizations bought the stamps from S&H and gave them as bonuses with every purchase. The stamps were given at filling stations, shops and supermarkets. Shoppers were given stamps based on the dollar amount of their purchase. Collect enough of them and face licking them and sticking them into collectors books (a pastime often given to amuse children), and the shopper could claim valuable prizes from the local Green Stamps store or catalog.

 

 

Re-Blog: The Last Time

My Sister-in-law, Christine posted this today on her blog (http://christine-lovies.blogspot.com) and I had to shut my door to my office I was crying so much.  Thanks Christine for the beautiful reminder. 

 

 

"The Last Time"

 

I came across this read, The Last Time, written by a Lawyer/Mother on The Huffington Post today. Honestly I could not have said it better myself. I had to include it in my blog because I knew I would want to read it again someday. I love my little peanuts so much I dread the day they won't want me as much as they do today. And yes, I cried.

Tonight, Little Dude asked for a snuggle before bed. It was well past his bedtime and I was tired, cranky and had a stack of laundry to fold, a memo to write and a blog post to finish. I told him I'd snuggle for two minutes.
He crawled under his blanket, squirmed until he was comfortable and pushed me to the edge of the mattress. He offered me his favorite blankie to keep me warm. I put my arm around him and he was sound asleep before I had finished cataloguing the list of things I had to do before I could crawl into my own bed. I considered making a stealthy escape but stopped when he threw his arm around my neck while mumbling unintelligibly. A sleeping 4-year old's arm has as much strength as a soggy piece of toast, but I didn't move. Despite my earlier desire to leave, I stayed and pulled him toward me.
I had one of those rare blissful parenting moments when everything else fades away and you appreciate the simple physical presence of your child. I marveled at the amount of heat a small boy produces when he sleeps and the ease with which he leaves the world behind. I smelled his hair. The laundry could wait.
It hit me in the darkness of his cluttered room that these days are numbered. Some night in the future, Little Dude will ask me to snuggle with him before he falls asleep, and I will have no idea that it will be the last time. I won't know to pay attention or to try to commit every minute to memory. Days or weeks or months later, I will try to recall when that last snuggle happened. I won't be able to. I know I will ache to slide next to him on his narrow bed, listen to him breathe and wait for the moment when he surrenders to his dreams. All of the irritations, the inconveniences and the wishing for time alone will seem insignificant in comparison to the warmth and peace of his nighttime routine. I will regret the times I hurried through bedtime and left his room even though he asked me to stay "Just one more minute, Mommy."
It will be too late.
I just now understand that in anticipating my son's "firsts," I've forgotten to appreciate what he's left behind. The firsts are monumental, celebrated and captured on film. I reveled in Little Dude's first steps, jotted down his first words and am prepared to save lost teeth. There isn't a first I haven't recorded in some way. I've paid less attention to his "lasts." I've ignored the finality that comes with moving from one stage to another.
I don't remember the last day that Little Dude's eyes were blue before they turned green. I can't recall the last time his hair was baby soft and curly, or the last time he crawled or took a real nap. I can't pinpoint the last time we shared the peaceful quiet of a 3 a.m. feeding, or he squealed with joy to be riding his wooden rocking horse. There will be a hundred last times to come. And I won't know they've passed until there is no hope of recapturing them. I know this because I don't remember the last day he used a pacifier or waited for us to get him from his bed rather than clomping into our bedroom at some ungodly pre-dawn hour exuberant and ready to face the day as we struggle to open our eyes. I've forgotten when he stopped liking sweet potatoes or saying "Pick mine up!"
Not that there aren't stages I'm happy are gone. I don't miss teething, two-hour feedings, biting or needing to be carried everywhere. I'm neither Pollyanna nor a masochist. Babies are darling; I'm also glad I don't have one anymore. Raising children isn't all warm snuggles and charming memories. Parenting can be a long, hard slog.
But for today I'm focusing on the last times still to come, even though I won't know that they're the last chapters until long after they've gone. The last snuggle. The last time Little Dude asks me to bring him chocolate milk. The last time we play fire trucks. The last time he falls down and comes crying to me with his entire body shaking, tears streaming down his face, believing with childish certainty that a kiss from me will make his skinned knee better. The last time he asks to marry me. The last time he believes in my omniscience. The last time we color together at the kitchen table. I'm not naïve enough to believe that this moment of reflection will stop me from becoming irritated, impatient, frustrated, bored or upset tomorrow when my son whines, spills spaghetti sauce on the rug or throws a fit because I won't let him stay up late. Maybe, though, I'll temper my response if I can remember how fleeting this all is. That for every moment I've prayed would end, there is something I miss.

Found my Shadow

“I wasn't crying about mothers," he said rather indignantly. "I was crying because I can't get my shadow to stick on. Besides, I wasn't crying.”  ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

In the classic story Peter Pan, we first meet Peter while he is frantically looking for his lost shadow. He finds his shadow stuffed in a drawer, but he can’t get it to stick to him much to his dismay. Wendy wakes up to see Peter Pan’s dilemma and takes out a needle and thread and sews Peter Pan and his shadow back together. Once he's restored, the children fly out the window following Peter Pan to Never Never Land.

I decided this week that "enough is enough" and I went on a good jog after a long sabbatical to re-adjust to going back to work.  While jogging, the sun was setting and cast my shadow across the big hot asphalt road.  I imagined that I felt  how Peter Pan felt when he got his back.  I was struck by it, and a strange sense of clarity and inspiration came across my heart (a feeling that has been flooding over me ever since finishing The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand). I identified two main reasons why my post-work exercise routine was as inspiring as throwing a cat in water. 

Two main priorities in my life seemingly made it impossible:

1. Wanting to spend every ounce, every waking minute I have with Wolfie before he goes to bed. 
2. The importance that I place on having a home-cooked meal on the table for Eric and I.

I always felt like putting Wolfie in the jogging stroller couldn't count as personal time with him because we were so detached. He was facing outwards, and I was pre-occupied with myself, and my own endurance. So to counter that feeling, I decided that I must remind myself that this jog is GOOD for him. He gets the fresh air and above all, he KNOWS his mommy is right there behind him that's what counts.  I also just have to simply incorporate him in my routine, and 'play' while I work.  I would peek in and tickle him, run around the stroller and play peek-a-boo.  On an early day I can jog him down to the beach, throw out a blanket for ten minutes and have quality time with him that way. Or, if I do this . . . it is still quality time with him.  Quality time doesn't need to involve ten million kisses and a book sitting on my lap. It comes in a variety of forms, every which one just as important to his development.

Dinners are simple in theory. If I want to increase my work-out routines, I'm going to have to pre-make some dinners or buy dinners that are VERY easy to make (I've discovered Fresh and Easy Markets which are exactly as they promise--fresh AND easy.) Some of my pals encourage me to take the pressure off and NOT strive for home cooking on the table for my man but that just isn't natural to me. If I was living alone I could absolutely live off of Lean Cuisines and Cereal, and probably would. I devote my cooking to the love of my life, Eric.  Not because of some submissive fear or neediness, but my genuine desire to make him happy and the deep rooted instinct to feed and nourish the ones around me by my own hand.  After all, as said by Peter Pan himself,  “One girl is worth more use than 20 boys" (J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan). I need to pre-cook meals on Sundays, prep more the night before, choose meals that don't require so many dishes. I can do this!

Peter Pan has his shadow back.

Troll Face

Wolfie loves it when I press my face against the clear plastic window and make a horrific, low-pitched "hi wolfie!". I decided to take a pic of the underside just to see what exactly was making him melt in a laughing frenzy. Now I TOTALLY get it! Ha!

Daddy loves me

"My Work Day"

"My Work Day" was the caption of this beautiful picture posted on Wolfie's wonderful nanny's facebook page. (heart melts with gratitude).

Busy Day for Nanny Kern

Gift from Pa

Wolfies "pa" and great aunt Betty got together and made this beautiful gid for me for my 31 birthday. It's a garden flag! The wings are sweet Little Wolfies feet dipped in paint. Pa did all the artwork and it even has some glitter on it! What a fun present to open and thank you ain't Betty for organizing this!

Black dragons

This little piggie....

Wolfies piggies were TRYING to get to the market - by wiggling out of Wolfies blanket holes, but they decide just to stay home. Lol.