We Need a Swork!

Okay, now that we've learned that (some) of us live in NYC's "Diaper District," don't you think we could use one of these?

Source: The New York Times

Saw this picture of L.A.'s The Swork coffee shop in today's paper (granted, in an article entitled "The Next Wave Wipes Out") and got to yearning for some clever mamas to open a hang-out in this area. You know, java, organic treats, little kiddie play area, etc.? I think it would soon be overrun by the HRP'ers as well as tourist families who need to rest their laurels. I know the key is to have a $$-maker beyond your usual cafe fare, but I think between us we could do it. We certainly have the creative mindpower and know-how for it. And maybe this would get Mama N back to our shores!

Imagine how low the store rents are right now! It seems like every other store is empty, or on the verge. But by the time we open, the people are bored and coming back! Yes, there's that pesky thing called capital. Given that I've been obsessively buying things in bulk at Whole Foods to find the cheapest price, I guess I'm not our "angel investor."

When I was a teen, a friend and I created an elaborate plan for a store we would call Wiggin (as in, you're wiggin' out... yes this shows you we were young). We drew the floor plan and my buddy even had her own DJ booth in the center of the store. There were loungey chairs to encourage the customers to feel like part of the store and lots of great clothes and home decor stuff a la Urban Outfitters. Oh, how I longed to be the doyenne of Wiggin! Instead I went to law school. Choices, ladies, choices. They come back to bite ya.

Anyway if any of you are in the mood to fantasize along with me, please comment and tell me what you think. Angels required, DJ booth optional. And of course, a cooler name than "Swork."

Please love my baby

Source: Babble

I hired a babysitter yesterday. She was the first and only babysitter I interviewed. As soon as I saw G I knew she was right. She's a grad student, very sweet and yet firm, and, the clincher, she's German (Mr M is German and speaks exclusively to Master R in German). I didn't ask for references, just simply for ID, emergency contacts and contact details.

We chatted about Germany, our families, her studies and the hours she can do (two days a week). She played with Master R a little (he was indifferent), and tried to give him some milk from his sippy cup (again, he wasn't interested).

Maybe you think I'm irresponsible, but the approach worked so well for me in New York. We had two incredible nannies there. The first, T, was referred to me by a mother I met in the park one sunny weekend. T worked for their family 3.5 days a week and needed another 1.5 days. I met T and offered her the job on the spot. Eventually the other family needed T fulltime so I was in need of another nanny.

The second nanny, S, was referred to me from HRPMamas discussion board. I decided that I should meet two nannies just to be sure. It just confused me! My gut feeling was for S but the other one was more experienced, spoke much better English but there was something - I felt that she could be to cliquey with the other nannies and I didn't want that. So S got the job and was incredible. She even cooked and cleaned for us. I still really miss her.

So I have high hopes for G. I'm sure that she will work well with us and give me that support that I need so I can run my business. Because at the end of the day the main question you really have for a nanny is will you love my baby?

Hopping Down the Bunny Trail

This is Bunny. Believe it or not, he just had a bath two days ago. And while you might wonder why I am posting about our dog's chew toy, you may reconsider when I tell you that Bunny is Master X's very best friend. Plucked from obscurity among a shelf full of plush rabbits, Bunny was gifted to us by Master X's Auntie Courts just last Easter. He came to us plump and newborn, with silky fur, cotton candy pink velvet ears and a fluffy white tail, brimming with cuteness. A mere year later, he resembles Rizzo the Rat of Muppets fame more than he does his own species. He has endured two surgeries, one to remove the pellets from his limbs lest his thinning fur disintegrate, and the other to give him a new set of (black thread) eyes after his shiny plastic ones were bitten out during a month of heavy teething.

And no matter what I do, he smells. Like an old sock. Master X doesn't seem to notice, though. If anything, Master X's love for the malodorous creature has increased with every sign of wear and tear. If he could hold Bunny every minute of every day (in his mouth when his hands are full), believe me, he would. I don't mind that my son has a lovey. In fact, I find it quite adorable, and it makes me happy that he's found a means of comfort that never lets him down. As a 33 year-old who still sleeps with a security blanket, I don't see anything wrong with the relationship at all.

On the other hand, as the mother, I worry about Bunny. The past year has been rough on the little guy and I wonder how long he can withstand the rigorous demands of my highchair tyrant. In addition to being the chief comforter and sleep time companion, his role as best friend involves a tremendous amount of hopping, singing, and testing Master X's milk, not to mention travel by land and by air, where he is usually tethered on an ingenious little leash called the "Secure-A-Toy" by Baby Buddy. In November, he braved two sleepless nights at Master X's side in the hospital without so much as a complaint about the food. Yes, Bunny has been a champ, working tirelessly twenty-four hours a day, since Master X has shunned the four replacements (Mister A calls them "under-bunnies") we have tried to integrate, and I love him dearly despite the fact that he reeks to high heaven if you get too close. (Much like Mama J mentioned, there is really only one true "true love" when it comes to stuffed animals.)

It was with this love in mind that we recently instituted a challenging new family rule: Bunny stays in the crib. I did it for a number of reasons, the primary one being my desire to preserve Bunny's life. The second reason is because I am deathly afraid of losing Bunny somewhere in the house, or worse, out in the great unknown where he won't be able to hop back to us.

The final reason gives you a clue to the workings of my mind. I need Bunny to have the time to "dry out" a bit. (No, he's not a heavy drinker.) He's soggy, and part of me fears that he might be getting mildew, or worse, growing toxic bacteria. I wash him and dry him frequently, but that only goes so far when he is carried around in the mouth of an energetic toddler. Has anyone ever heard of a real life case of TBS, or Toxic Bunny Syndrome? Mister A thinks I'm certifiable. Do you?

Anyway, we're still testing this rule out. Needless to say, Master X doesn't like it, and he cries hot, salty tears whenever we put Bunny to bed. It doesn't make any sense to him why his trusty companion needs a "night night" when he wants to play. It's tremendously sad to watch, but I can't conceive of a better alternative. I use distraction as my major tool and have succumbed to offering him my iPhone, or the forbidden remote control, as a bribe. I'm not sure this is the best idea, either. Then again, he can't really suck on them or feed them soggy Cheerios until they are coated in crumbs or drop them on the street as we take a walk. Well, technically, I guess he can. But if that does ever happen, they will be much more easily replaced.

Finished object: a little knit dress

I just finished knitting a dress for Miss L. It will make its debut during our trip to California next week. I thought of Mama N often as I finished it, especially as I stood in my bedroom using her ironing board to block it.

What I enjoyed the most about this project was the creative freedom I took (at Mama N's urging) to change the pattern to fit Miss L's style. I can't wait to pick out a new project for Miss L's spring wardrobe.

Don't Brits eat ice cream???

Source: Haagen-Dazs

I can't believe this. I've looked in three different Tescos and 2 Sainsburys, 2 M&Ss ("we don't even have a freezer") and multiple little newsagents/food stores and I CAN'T FIND ICE CREAM!!!

Two years ago when I lived in London I could buy it, although not in the variety of flavours offered in New York. Now I can't buy it for love or money. And it's all that I really crave as I head into my second semester. What is better than sitting on the sofa watching late night TV and eating a pint, yes a whole pint, of ice cream? Hmm I can't think of much.

I do eat healthy 90% of the time but enjoy my little indulgences in moderation. 1 pint really is in moderation. Just don't look at the calories on the back!

A friend in Notting Hill can buy it at her local supermarket so I'll visit her later in the week and buy a few to keep me going for the next month.

Pajama George is just not George

Ok mamas- the first post from a tired Mama J. So, I am very lucky that Papa R or Mr. R (not sure how we are identifying our spouses/significant others)- puts Master R to bed most nights. This was started when Master A was very small- stroking that male ego- telling Papa R how he got Master A to bed much better than myself and eventually it did become routine (when he is home in time).

So last night after Master A was put to sleep in his crib, Papa R tells me that he couldn't find George and that he gave him Pajama George instead. As a reference, "George" is a stuffed well loved Curious George stuffed animal that Master A has been sleeping with most of his 12 1/2 months. Pajama George is a new stuffed George that Master A received for his birthday that he has mainly treated with disdain.

This was a bit alarming to me because Master A is no fool- he knows Pajama George is different than his much loved George. Although I have tried to get him to warm up to Pajama George by leaving him out to play with, he is NEVER provided at nap time. That is sacred for the one true George. I was shocked that he even went to sleep but he did. I thought this might mean trouble for the evening, but was happy to find him snuggling with Pajama George at about 11 pm. So- I left him there.

I should also note that there is a back up George (in the same yellow shirt) that we had to get on Xmas eve when we realized we left home without George and thankfully has been accepted by Master A. He will sleep with either George. However, a larger George that is in his room- is once again accepted to play with- but not for sleep time.

So- the trouble began at 2 am when Master A woke up screaming. He never wakes up at this time and Papa R went to check on him. I have been suffering a bit of insomnia so Papa R is trying to help out w/early wakings. We are working on getting rid of some extra feedings, so we thought maybe Master A was just hungry. He gave him a little snack but by 2:30- he was still freaking out. We let him cry a bit but he was not stopping. I thought it might be George but was too tired to express this. I finally got up and brought him the real George and the crying stopped. However, at this point, he was all worked up and was up for another hour. Finally around 3:30 he went back to bed with the real George and Pajama George was banished to the bookcase forever.

Unfortunately, I couldn't fall back to sleep till 5 a.m. which made this mama a tired and cranky brunchmate meeting some friends today. Lesson learned. A George by any other clothes just isn't the same- these babes are smart!

did baby L eat the memo?

TKMs! We here in up FiDi 1900, didn't get the memo on the mysterious signing names used for our blogging. Now myself and baby L are forever branded with some yo baby mama name stolen right from Tina Fey. Are we stuck forever? I don't want this to interfere with Baby L getting into Montossori school or even Claremont? What's the procedure for changing this signature. Do we need to go to City Hall with Birth Certs and social security cards. Do send me some instructions so I can also be one of the Mama Xs and Baby Xs. xoxo for now, i am forever stuck with some lo brow comedy.

And we're off!

The Financial District is teeming with babies! I already knew that Mama V, Mama A, Mama L and I live here with our babes, and I see tons of kids going in and out of their building and mine, but the numbers in this New York Times article actually surprised me.

It does make sense that this neighborhood would attract families. Those banker-types can't stay single forever, and when they do settle down they work near home so valuable family time isn't wasted on a commute. This is certainly why we moved here when Mr. E finished his dissertation and started working on Wall Street. And in the three years we've lived here, whether it's a change in the neighborhood or just my own baby-vision, I have noticed more babies in strollers on the crowded and narrow sidewalks built before skyscrapers.

The mothers' group that brought our circle together is mentioned in the article, too, though I like to think we might have met anyway. Maybe I would have spotted Mama H on her way to the Seaport, Mama A off to Whole Foods, Mama L at the World Financial Center, Mama V at Crumbs (although her apple cake is better than a cupcake any day), Mama N in Battery Park and Mama J at Border's. These are the mothers who have made this neighborhood feel like home for me, and helped make my time as a New York mommy so amazing.

Sadly, after six wonderful years in New York, where I met my husband and started our small family in an even smaller 1-bedroom apartment, I'm moving my boys to a town out of the '50s. I have been secretly plotting a way to convince my urbanite husband, Mr. E, that this small "village" in Ohio would be the perfect place to raise 17-month-old Master D. I had resigned myself to waiting until we had a small litter, all sleeping in our bed and piled in one bathtub, that finally forced him to say, "It's time to leave the city." As much as we love it here, I want Master D to grow up with a backyard and nosy neighbors who will tell me if he's making out with the prom queen on our porch swing.

Fortunately, the economy and general atmosphere of Wall St. have pleaded my case for me, and we're both ready for a change that small-town life will bring. I hope there won't be too much culture shock - last time we were there Mr. E was scolded for jay-walking - but we're ready for an adventure. I just wish we didn't have to leave such great friends here. Happily, there's nothing like a blog to keep in touch. Right, Mama N?

I'm raising a piglet

Soure: Telegraph

When it comes to parenting I can handle the sleepless nights. I can handle the moaning. I can also handle the dirty nappies/diapers. But there is one thing I find very difficult. The mess. EVERYWHERE!!!

Master R was a "spewer" as a baby. He threw up after every feed. Our carpet was covered in little white patches. Then we he started on food that's when the real mess started. It starts at breakfast when he eats his yoghurt and berries or porridge. That goes everywhere. Then he needs some toast with either peanut butter or vegemite. Have you seen what vegemite does? The tarry blackness gets rubbed into clothes, faces and under fingernails. Fatty R then proceeds to eat my breakfast if I haven't finished it fast enough.

Lunchtime is normally a soup or leftovers from dinner before. If it is curry I feel like striping him naked or his clothes and bib get bright yellow stains. Dinner is the same. It's just endless! What really gets me is that when he's finished eating he just starts pelting food. That really gets me mad. I generally get it all over me and EVERYWHERE!

I have to admit that sometimes I just leave the mess for a couple of meals and clean in the evening. It's just too much for me to clean knowing it's only getting dirty again in another 3 hours. A couple of times I've had to explain the mess with Mamas have come to visit. I'm sure you mamas understand? Perhaps I'm a sow and that's why I'm raising a piglet?

What we do for love...

I couldn't sleep again last night.  Insomnia has been a common occurrence in my life, starting long before I went to bed with a baby monitor on the night table near my head.  As I flip from my stomach to my back, frustrated by the heat and the sheets and Mister A snoring blissfully beside me, I try to quell the laundry list of to-dos and what ifs populating my mind.  Often, I replay a song in my mind, usually the last one I heard during the day.  The fact that I can "hear" music when I'm not actually listening to it is just another quirk I've had all my life.  I sing constantly as I go about my day.  So, last night, as I lay in restless repose, I shut my eyes and listened to the music in my head.  The problem was that it wasn't a favorite song, or even a catchy Top 40 number.  It was a song about bellybuttons.  And not even a good one.

When I was pregnant with Master X, one of my greatest hopes, in addition to raising a happy and well-mannered child, was to instill a love of fine music in my little person.  Along with darling onesies and miniature collared shirts, I procured lullaby versions of Smashing Pumpkins, U2, Radiohead, and the Cure.  (The same company makes a Metallica CD, but I couldn't reconcile myself to playing 'Enter Sandman' as my newborn nodded off to sleep.)  My music education plan was great in theory, but has thus far flopped in live trials.  Try as I might, and maybe I didn't turn the volume up high enough when he was in utero, Master X doesn't care for any of it.  Sure, he bops his head and waves his arm to 'Seven Nation Army,' but for the most part, everything I want him to like falls on deaf ears (luckily not literally... he hears perfectly).  What he prefers to my carefully chosen playlist, and by that, I mean what he WANTS is a ridiculous and somewhat pervy song about bellybuttons.

Woven into an insidiously catchy melody on his favorite pre-bedtime DVD, the only one he cares to watch right now, are lyrics that make Mister A and I snicker and cringe in equal measure.  As a generally pantless Master X shakes and twists to the sound, strange cow, sheep and dog creatures with pulsating blue navels sing about bellybuttons, saying things like "when you touch it, great things happen" and calling it "my tiny tickle dot."  In the context of a baby video, perhaps the wording is benign, but in the adult world, well, it creeps me out.  (What was this nameless company thinking?)  

But Master X doesn't care what the mutant animals are saying.  He just wants to dance with them, laughing happily as they tickle one another on screen.  He points eagerly at the television, furiously shaking his head "no" until I get to the right part.  And because I cherish him more than anything in the world, and watching him groove around the living room in his diaper without a care is about the most precious thing I've ever seen, I am hereby surrendering what little sanity I have left to endure the bellybutton song, day and night.  

Just don't call child services if you hear me singing it on the street.

Boxes, boxes, everywhere...

But don't fear, Mamas! I'm not going anywhere.

This growing mountain in my entryway is a happy pile, composed of the accumulated pots, plates and printers that will be heading to Fire Island come springtime. Thank you again Mama N for giving us some major goodies for our "island home."

Despite some major doubts that came to a head this week, we are plowing forth with our extravagant (and exciting!) second home, which is due to close in April. Did we buy at the top of the market? Yes. Did we make less moolah than expected at bonus-time? Yessir. Do we care? Well yeah, we do, but not enough to stomp on the dream and lose the down payment. So America, follow our lead! Buy, buy!

Anyway, those boxes got me to thinking about our fellow Mamas who have been packing up for good. Add to that list our own Mama G, who solemnly informed a few of us on Thursday that we should "start buying cupcakes." It took us all a second to realize that she meant we would have to bidding yet another friend adieu at next week's playgroup. Ladies, these departures are thickening our waists and dampening our spirits. Enough! Down with boxes!

But I want to leave this on a happy note. So check out the pretty yarn trio here (with a curious gentleman's hand saying hello as well). Mama H mentioned our fun outing to The Point in her post. She was instrumental in selecting these colors for my second knitting project, a scarf. (Yawn all you want, Mama N, but it takes baby steps to get to things with sleeves and such!) I still haven't cast on the 250 stitches recommended by the store owner, but with yummy yarn like this, I'm motivated to make it happen.

Happy weekends to you all.

A rainy afternoon at The Point

Mama V and I didn’t let a little freezing rain stop us from going to The Point yesterday afternoon. Master K rode along in Mama V’s ergo. It was a cozy afternoon at our favorite knitting café. We chose yarn for our next projects, sipped rooibos tea and enjoyed a cupcake. Master K kept busy perusing the pattern books and watching the yarn being wound.

I even tried a new cupcake flavor. Well, I should divulge that they were out of the sweet magnolia, so I changed it up a bit and tried cherry. Mama A should come along with us one of these afternoons because she would enjoy their delicious vegan cupcakes.

Mama V chose three gorgeous colors in Misti Alpaca to knit a scarf for herself. She is going to make a bold design move and knit vertical stripes which I think will look really lovely. We also picked out all of the must-haves for one’s knitting bag. As I mentioned the “Mama N endorsed” essentials, the women working at The Point jumped in to say how sad they were to see her leave. We all gave a group sigh, missing our dear friend.

My next project is going to be a lace-pattern scarf for my Mom for her birthday in mid-March. I chose what I hope will be a simple beginner lace pattern from Ravelry. But first I must finish Miss L’s dress, which is coming along nicely. I hope to finish it this weekend so she can wear it when we visit my 88-year old great auntie in California next week.

Speaking of which, I am off to start the back bodice of the dress...

The hierarchy of strollers

Source: Celebrity Shopping Blog

There is a hierarchy of strollers. And the Bugaboo reins supreme. I have discovered this over the past few days while pushing Master R around London in his freebie umbrella stroller. The looks other mamas give me! You'd think it was persecuting the poor little fellow. Or that I was in need of a federal bailout.

I agree, my freebie is a terrible stroller, but it's easier for me in my state (12 weeks pregnant) to push him than to ergo it any longer. But I refused to fly BA with my stroller after 3 mamas I know have had theirs broken. So now I'm awaiting it's delivery with the rest of my airfreight which is sitting at Heathrow for customs clearance.

It's the looks of pity that get me the most. Now I'm wondering if I too was the giver of these looks?

In Battery Park just about everyone has a "bug". Or if they have two kiddies it's the Phil and Teds. With my terribly poor vision it's the stroller I see first - bright green bug coming towards me, oh it's either Mama A or Mama V, bright orange is Mama J, beige is Mama G, Mama H however bucks the trend with a Stokke.

A friend is due with number 1 in April and hasn't bought a thing yet. I gave her a list of things she needs including the bug. She baulked at the suggestion saying that everyone in Chiswick has one and she wants something different. Well dir! There's a reason everyone has a £800/$1000 stroller - it's the best!! She's coming around but is insisting on a test drive of mine first.

So if I gave you looks of pity in the past I am really sorry and will attempt to remember this experience with my umbrella stroller.

PS. I agree that if you're getting in and out of cars all day the bug is NOT the stroller for you. Despite the company's claims, it is not easy to fold and doesn't fold flat enough for a boot/trunk. So you are better off with something else such as a Maclaren. (Most mamas in Battery Park had a Mac for subways and cars.)

Goodbye New York, hello London

Close to Wagner Park, Battery Park, New York City. Source: http://www.nyc-architecture.com/

Source: BBC London

On Valentine's Day 2009 I said my teary farewell to Battery Park, NYC, my beautiful river front apartment, the cold, crisp days and boarded a plane for London, UK. While I fell in love with Battery Park and the conveniences of New York living, it was saying goodbye to my mama friends that was the hardest.

Mr N and I arrived in NY in June 2007. I soon discovered that I was pregnant. Giving birth to my son Master R in February 2008 opened my life to a whole new circle of friends. I joined HRPMamas eager to meet other mums but only expecting to make acquaintances.

The whole process was a bit like dating. After trying a few different groups, I found the mamas in the financial district and it just clicked. Like any new relationship it took a while to form, but soon we were truly friends - driven together initially for the need to socialise with someone other than our newborns and overworked husbands/partners.

Together us mums and our babes spent many a summer afternoon spread out on rugs under the tree in Wagner Park. It was one of the best summers of my life. Real bonds of friendship and joint experiences were formed - not to mention lots of chocolate milkshakes and cupcakes!

My transatlantic move and being torn away from these wonderful friends sparked the idea to start a blog. It's a way for us to keep in touch, but also a way to "reach out" (see I did learn some American?) to other mothers and share the many ups and some downs of being a mum/mom.

Mama N mother of Master R