Shirts by Me!

Attention all crunchy parents and/or parents-to-be:

I've designed a line of onesies and baby tees (creating more daily) on subjects including breastfeeding, co-sleeping, homeschooling, and more. They poke a bit of fun at assumptions others make about non-mainstream parenting. Just a touch of activism conveyed in a fun (I hope) way. You can find them at zazzle.com. To see the whole collection, enter susanmy in the site's search function. 

Here are a few (several have messages on both front and back of shirt, but only fronts are visible here). 

Breastfeeding 'til college. by susanmy
See more Breastfeeding T-Shirts

What's a crib? onesie by susanmy
Make Custom Shirts at zazzle

Go ahead: Kiss my droolly gums... by susanmy
Get shirts on Zazzle.com

I can guarantee you won't see these shirts on your friends' kids--not yet, anyway.;-)

I'm Back...and Kinda Stupid

Wow, haven't posted since November, and I've had so much to say. But I was afraid to say it because I thought my posts were disappearing. So I whined and complained loudly "To Whom it May Concern" at PNN. Lo and behold, intrepid President and Editor-in-Chief Leigh came to my rescue. The answer to my problem? Um, I had two blogs with the same name but different urls. I was posting to the newer one yet logging in to the older one. Hence, new articles posting to one page and NO articles on the other (where I was looking for them). And this was entirely my own doing. And it took me this long to figure it out. Sigh. To paraphrase a great man, I have nothing to declare but my own idiocy.

In other news, The Kiddo is sitting adjacent to me at the kitchen/dining room table, guzzling watered-down orange juice and eating, Nutella and peanut butter on crackers. Good thing I'm protecting him from sugar overload by watering down that orange juice, eh? While he enjoys the Lunch of Champions, I continue to procrastinate my freelance copyedit of a book on Advanced Pot-Limit Omaha. The author of said book refuses to use contractions, and has complained about my insertion of a number of them. The publisher of said book has overruled my assertion that when imparting instructional information on a topic such as this one, a conversational tone (employing at least a few contractions) is best, rather than a writing style better suited to legal documents, tax law, or instructions on how to build a world-dominating robot. But hey, why should the person whose job it is to make the writing more readable have anything to say about making the writing more readable? This is actually making me look forward to the copywriting job I have due at the end of the week.

Come to think of it, now may be a good time to check out that new WAHM blog...

We Heart Jan Brett

Today we spent about two-and-a-half hours in the car and four-and-a-half hours in a Wegman's in Bridgewater, NJ. Not the way I would normally choose to spend a Sunday, but in this case it was totally worth it, as we got to meet one of our very favorite people!

Jan Brett is a very talented children's author and illustrator. I didn't grow up with her books, but my son is, and I'm so glad about that. Her stories are sweet and gentle, and her paintings full of fun and detail. She likes to explore settings, culture, and folklore from around the world, and will often adapt traditional stories for her books. She also has a lovely website that features videos of her showing how to draw various animals she's studied, keeps on her farm, and/or encountered in her travels. The Kiddo started watching these videos (he doesn't watch TV, so this pretty much the only time he spends in front of a screen during the course of a day) at around two years old, and was inspired to start drawing Jan's animal characters. We now have countless renderings of hedgehogs, dolphins, huskies, horses, rhinos, elephants, polar bears, and “baby chicks.” 

Okay, so the signing. We live in Southern Westchester County in New York, but the closest Jan would be was Bridgewater, so I gathered a nice selection of Benjamin's “artworks,” mounted them on construction paper and bound them into a little book, and we picked up Grandma and headed off for the Garden State. We arrived just in time for Jan's short presentation, and then there was the buying of books to sign...followed by waiting—lots of waiting—as we were number 225 of approximately 300. It soon became apparent that Wegman's was pretty much the perfect place to be under the circumstances. We grabbed some decent food and hot-footed it up to the cafe, were we had a nice leisurely dinner, followed by chocolate mousse and excellent ruggelach for dessert. The Kiddo was happy as a clam and remarkably patient. Then again, he's always loved the supermarket—and what could be better than a store that hosts not only Jan Brett herself, but her prickly mascot, HEDGIE!

“Hedgie” charmed the kiddies for hours and hours—kudos of the highest order go to the trooper wearing that big ol' hedgehog suit. I mean, those suits are hot and nasty inside (eons ago, in my bookstore days, we had a Clifford the Big Red Dog costume that struck fear in our hearts), and you really have to have stamina to wear one for four hours and still be cheerful enough to deal with human beings. I was amazed at how my little guy fell in love with Hedgie. Sure, he loves hearing Hedgie's adventures in the books we read him, but I thought a giant version might freak him out. Not so. He wanted to pet, hug, and dance with Hedgie. He wanted to talk to Hedgie, take pictures with Hedgie. He said “I love you” in Hedgie's ear. Aww...

And then, at last, it was our turn to meet Jan Brett. What a lovely, gracious person. She'd already had a signing in PA that day, so she must have been exhausted by this time, but you'd never know it. She very happily accepted B.'s gift and had a nice little chat with us, even going over the 40-second time limit, much to her handlers' distress and our delight. 

The only other time I'd hung around for hours to meet someone for less than a minute was at a Buffy the Vampire Slayer convention years ago (James Marsters, you were SO worth the wait). Of course, now that I'm Mommy, the bloodsuckers must take a backseat for somewhat gentler characters, at least during daylight hours. Heck, to see my son as tickled as he was tonight, I'll happily sign on as a lifetime Jan Brett groupie.

Next Mood Swing: Five Minutes...

Today started out promisingly enough: three-year old son awakens in a good mood, all smiles. He waits relatively patiently for me to get out of bed. He actually plays on his own in his room for a little bit (something he rarely does, preferring my company almost constantly) while husband and I set up the floor-cleaning robots. We decide to go out to breakfast at the Irish Coffee Shop, one of his favorite places. Good mood continues through getting dressed, and then, just as we're about to leave, total freakout. I can't even remember what triggered this, but the hysterics continue down to the car (he must be carried downstairs, as a meltdown usually entails an endless demand for tissues as well as the insistence that he can no longer support his own body weight: "My legs don't work!").

By the time we arrive at the restaurant, about ten minutes from home, the mood has stabilized. So in we go. Order breakfast. So far, so good. Son's oatmeal arrives. He claims to no longer want it. He says it's too hot. We let it cool off. He says he doesn't like oatmeal. Oookay. Then the yelling. The crying. I take him outside, explaining that we can go back in when he's calmed down. We go back in. Another mini-meltdown. I put him on my lap and it passes. He eats well and we leave with equilibrium restored...that is, until we get to the park. It is suggested that he ride in the PlasmaCar we got him for his birthday. The suggestion is not well received, but this is only a minor squall. The antics of the ducks in the lake serve as a welcome distraction (who, after all, does not enjoy duck antics?) and a happy child is brought back home, relaxed and ready for the nap that never comes. Sigh.

Husband takes son out to zoo and a brief visit to Grandma's while I work on a freelance assignment due today. Son returns in excellent spirits. Dinner is prepared while son plays with Play-Doh. Son unwilling to end Play-Doh session in order to eat. Finally agrees to eat, but ONLY to eat peanut butter and Nutella, scooped out of their respective containers with a little, tiny, cheese spreader. I offer this combination on a slice of whole-grain bread, but this triggers yet another tantrum. It is agreed that son will eat "dinner" in his own fashion. I manage to get a fair amount of the actual dinner food (asparagus, bluefish, and brown rice) into him without incident. We listen to the last part of a wonderful recording of A Midsummer Night's Dream (all parts played by Kenneth Branagh and  set to the music of Mendelsohnn). Son enjoys it.

Son does NOT enjoy his "fountain wash" (a sort of sponge-bath thing he gets in the tub since he refuses to take real baths these days). Screaming ensues. Screaming, crying, and coughing. And screaming. Overtired and overwrought. Poor little monkey. Son insists he wants to go to bed wet from his wash. (This is another thing he does, insisting on the opposite of whatever is suggested. We call him The Contrarian).

Between the bathroom and the bedroom, the mood changes yet again. Son (aka "Baby Monkey") is now ready to cuddle with "Mommy Monkey" and drift off to dreamland.

I ponder the ways, good and bad, I parented today. I think of my Baby Monkey Contrarian Boy. I wait until tomorrow for another ride on the world's best roller coaster.

Jumping In...

It's 2 a.m. and I just decided to start a blog. I also gave myself a lame url that I'll change as soon as I can figure out how. Meanwhile, I'll just write a little somethin'...

I'm the thirtysomething mother of a just-turned-three-year-old son living in the 'burbs just north of New York City. My little one is sleeping (and so should hubby and I be), but, well, this is what comes of the second wind we get when the kiddo goes to bed late and we want to stay up and enjoy some quiet time. The husband is playing an online poker tournie (he's a published author on the subject, among other varied interests) and I'm just, well, doing this and yawning. Boring myself into a stupor, or just really, really tired? A little of both, perhaps. Are you bored yet? Please don't crush my dreams by answering.

Okay, enough with the navel gazing. I promise my next entry will be more about mom stuff and less about my late-night languishing. But I have to wonder if I'm the only one who puts the child to bed with every intention of turning in early myself, envisioning an imaginary tomorrow of super-productive super-awesome mothering...only to sit slack-jawed in front of the National Geographic channel until the wee hours, thereby perpetuating a continuing cycle of sleep-deprived delusion?

Is it just me? It is, isn't it? Or is it?

Pre-New Year's resolution #1. Go to bed earlier. Get up earlier. Rinse well. Repeat.

Good night!

Yummy True Blood

How is it possible that there are only two episodes left before the interminable nine-month gestation that will eventually birth season three of True Blood?

The beauty of HBO series is being able to see 12 episodes just about consecutively without the reruns, sweeps months, and other hoo-ha you get with network fare. The downside, of course, being that those three months pass so damn fast. My English husband is used to being served his TV this way--it's very similar to the way programming is done on "The Beeb" (BBC). I'm just not that patient.

The next two episodes can't possibly fulfill my longing for more Naked Eric. Nope, Sookie and her would-be vamp lovah will be far too busy helping her current vamp lovah deal with the heaping helping of MaryAnne Crazy that's turned Bon Temps into a stinky, horny, rotten meat pit of rednecks gone wild to indulge little ol' me with more viking skin. I doubt we'll even get another sex dream sequence (dammit). Don't get me wrong, I'm no Bill Compton hater--I just loves me some Eric, any which way.

So, to wrap up the whinefest, I'm not too worried about how the Big Bad will be vanquished--this show has yet to disappoint--just not looking forward to the long wait for the return of my favorite grown-up show. 

Consolations:

1) New Season of Curb Your Enthusiasm right around the corner (pretty, pretty, pretty good...)

2) New Jason Schwartzman show that might be OK

3) ...to be closely followed by The Office & 30 Rock

3) Can read Stackhouse novels 1-3 while awaiting new season

4) Husband gets a break from my incessant utterances of "Suckie is mahn!"

5) Son can look freely over my shoulder without fear of exposure to innappropriate vampire videos from hbo.com

6) "Bon Temps Football" shirt and apron with awesomely profane Lafayette quote coming in the mail

7) More time to obsess over other things, though none so laden with fangy goodness...