Day Out with Thomas

It was slightly absurd - getting the whole family up and out of the house by 7:30 this morning to attend a Day Out with Thomas at the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Museum in Baltimore. Even more incongruous was driving through the Baltimore ghetto -- crack addicts, street walkers, police cameras, etc -- to get to the museum where Thomas was making his appearance.

Once inside the fenced parking lot, we became one of hundreds of upper middle class white families parking mini vans, juggling strollers, and buying Thomas-branded conductor hats for screaming toddlers. As hubby pointed out to me, trains should be added to the list of stuff white people like .

The highlight of the Day Out is supposed to be a 25-minute train ride on a real train pulled by Thomas. The Jackal is easily impressed with a simple metro ride, so this particular train ride had been talked up and eagerly anticipated (and used as a potty training reward) for many weeks.



The train ride started out as expected -- waiting in a long line with other families. I came to realize that even though I might have 2 kids of my own -- I am not really a kid person. Rarely is it that I find stranger's kids even remotely bearable.

But it was the scenery outside the train window that lead to this:

Hey kids, let's take a ride on Thomas!

Yeah, okay!




Mommy, why do those people live by the train tracks?



Mommy, why is there so much trash?



At least the Jackal got a good lesson in the fact that Baltimore is no Sodor Island fantasy.

Strangers in a Familiar Place

This coming weekend marks the 7th wedding anniversary for hubby and me. An apartment, two houses, one dog, two babies, one near divorce, a damn good therapist, four jobs and many cases of wine later we're better friends and more in love than ever.

To celebrate -- and to remind ourselves that we are husband and wife -- we're taking a mini vacation. The in-laws are coming from St. Louis to watch the 2 boys. I'll start freaking out about the horrible mess in the house about 12 hours before they're due to arrive. But for now I'm just happy to daydream about and plan for the weekend.

Life has been so hectic lately that we've decided to waste absolutely no time in transit and book a room at the Mandarin Hotel right here in DC. I'm supposed to get a discounted rate through my company so we figure we can afford the semi-splurge since we aren't spending any money on a train to NYC or a flight to some warm beach.

The Mandarin is so removed from most of the city that we think it'll feel like we're in some other city. But not having the responsibilities of parenthood for 2 days will make it feel like an other-worldly experience.

Maybe we'll try some new restaurants, finally check out that exhibit at the Corcoran and sleep in past 7 am.

Maybe we'll work out at the hotel gym, read the paper from front to back, stay out late and not worry about stopping at the ATM to get cash to pay the babysitter.

Maybe we'll sleep through the night, have sex that lasts longer than an episode of Curious George, and not check under the bed for monsters.

Bi-Polar

Last night I attempted to self-medicate-away my stress with half a bottle of Petite Syrah and a little Knob Creek on the rocks.



Tonight I'm trying a cup of Sleepytime herbal tea and the latest issue of Real Simple. Should be thrilling.

I have to say, the Knob Creek website is much cooler than the Celestial Seasonings. Knob Creek does a pretty damn good job of making you think you're special for being a bourbon snob. The 'customize your own label' feature and personalizing the people behind the ad campaign almost had the cynical marketer in me converted. However, when I saw that their 'ask a professor' feature was just a fancy FAQ they lost me.

Maybe I'll join the Celestial Seasonings book club. That is - if I can get past all the mentions of "bagged teas". Right, tea bag?

Too busy

Of all the titles I carry - Wife, Mother, Milk Bar, Executive Producer, Friend, Cook, Housekeeper, Accountant and Blogger - I've slacked most in the Blogger department lately. I have a list of draft posts that is getting embarrassingly long. And I have even more mental-note-blog-about-this ideas crowding my brain.

The irony of it all is that my work - helping clients understand and use social media - is really becoming a roadblock to my blogging.

The week started out mildly enough. The hubby and I were determined to get a head start and not have the head-spinning chaos of the previous week. So Sunday became the day we prepped for the week. Groceries were purchased. A slow-cooked meal was prepared. All laundry was cleaned, dried, folded AND put away. Even the pile of old receipts, unpaid bills, half-addressed baby announcements and forgotten tax forms was sorted through, organized into color-coordinated folders and neatly hidden away. We felt ready for the week.

Monday came and went in a flash. I actually started blogging about the week's menu -- exciting times now that the weather is nice and the grill has a new propane tank -- but then got sidelined working on a proposal.

Tuesday was so long ago I forgot what happened. Except that the baby who normally sleeps 12 hours through the night decided to get up at 2:30 and feed.

Wednesday involved business travel. Up at 4:30 am to pump a bottle, shower, blow dry and be at Reagan National for the 7:30 American flight to Raleigh. Met with very cool Lenovo executives about their Olympic Blogger project. Stole away for 15 minutes to hand pump a few ounces so my boobs didn't explode right in front of everyone in the conference room. Was back to DC in time to send a few emails from home, dash to the store, nurse and bed baby, and make Ina Garten's Roasted Salmon Nicoise Platter for diner guest. Drank slightly too much wine and smoked a regret-filled cigarette or two.

Thursday involved crazy day at work trying to catch up from being out the day before. Dinner was supposed to be the left-over salmon but both hubby and I lost our appetites when the smell of reheated fish permeated the house. Cereal is always good for dinner. When hubby heard that I'd need to work most of the night, he decided to go visit a friend whose wife was also going to be burning the midnight oil. It sucked to be home working by myself, but part of me was also grateful for the time to get some shit done.

Friday was the perfect escalation to the by now out-of-control week. Hubby had plans to spend the night away, and I was looking forward to a quiet Friday night with the luxury of a little alone time.

Friday morning involved big meeting with the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, which went well despite me and the client's mix-up over who was supposed to bring the print-outs. I returned to the office looking forward to expressing myself with my handy-dandy Medela pump, but realized I'd forgotten to bring storage bottles to work and made a mad dash to a near-by breast feeding store to pick some up. Grabbed grilled chicken salad at the Corner Bakery and got back in time to be 15 minutes late to creative meeting. Left half-eaten salad at desk as boss calls in the team for a crisis situation.

Shit! Now realize that we're going to be at work very, very late tonight and I have no one to watch the baby! Race home to pay the nanny and bring the baby back to work with me. Sit on conference call with big, important company people while jostling baby so no whines or cries give my situation away.

And they say us working moms can't have it all.

Pumping Moms

This week I had one of those moments when you kind of stop and realize what you're doing is utterly ridiculous - but also so indicative of your life. I was Googling "pumping moms" -- it's almost too painful to even admit/type.

The good news is that thanks to the Internet I now know I'm not the only woman out there who has a love/hate relationship with her breast pump...and struggles with everything from finding the time and privacy to do it, and the focus and dedication to actually fill enough bottles.

Ayelet Waldman at Bad Mother and the Rookie Moms' "Pump Project" reveal that it's better if you have a good sense of humor and realize that life as a pumping mom will never be perfect nor under your control. (Come to think of it, that's probably good advise for anyone out there.)

I realize that only a subset of woman will understand the intense obsession with pumping enough milk for your baby's next meal. But for the rest of you out there - try this analogy: How men equate their manlihood to the size of their penis; us pumping moms equate our womanhood to the number of ounces of breast milk we can eek out each session.

Perhaps it's a small symbol of a much larger feminist dilemma -- I want to be breastfeeding my baby, but I also want to work full-time outside of the home. Why should I have to choose between the two? In years past, women didn't have this choice -- it was probably either figure out a way to give cow's milk (pre-formula invented) or just never leave the baby's side.

I think Emily Bazelon in this Slate article puts it best:

"In the end, breast pumps aren't proof of our maternal dedication or abdication, or evidence of our feminist cowardice. They're a convenience that allows us to have it both ways, for a little while at least. That's not the same thing as having it all, but it's a compromise worth savoring."

I'm a Fan

Things I'm lovin' right now:

• Maldon Sea Salt: I love the way the "soft white flaky crystals" feel when I pinch a bit and sprinkle it over food. At 9 bucks a box, it feels like a guilty pleasure. But it's worth every penny. Not only is the texture nice, but the taste is exponentially better than even kosher salt. Anything that makes food taste more like itself, but better, sharper, clearer is good in my book. Interestingly, the Maldon website says it has a "salty flavour." What other flavors do salts come in?
• Cookie Magazine: I cringe when I see Parenting magazine (it screams mom jeans to me). Real Simple is nice and all. But I can't help but feel like it's written for a nice mom in Minnesota who drives a mini-van and wants to de-clutter her mud room. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just not me. But Cookie Magazine seems to be a little more urban, a little more hip, a little more edgy. Not that I'm those things - but I do aspire to be those things and isn't that what magazine reading is all about? Admit it, you feel a bit like a rock star when you read Rolling Stone or Paste. You feel smugly superior and liberal when you read The New Yorker. And you feel like a star fucker when you read People. Back to Cookie. I love it because where else am I going to find out that the Brazilian bikini wax is out and the French is in? That there is decent women-directed porn out there -- and it's "good for couples." That there are family-friendly, non-cheesy Caribbean vacation spots. And that it is possible to find kid music that you'd actually want to listen to.
• Hanky Panky thongs: Think you don't like thongs? Try these. They are cute, sexy and comfortable. Recently some of the friends reminded me how the low-rise style is exactly what a modern girl needs to wear under her designer jeans so there's nothing peeking out when she bends over. I prefer to leave the whole thong-showing thing to cute teenagers, shameless skanks and Monica Lewinsky. Thanks to K and A who kindly gave me 2 lovely pairs for my birthday.
• Cuisinart Slow Cooker: This was my Valentine's Day present. Some might not consider this to be very romantic. (Remember that scene in Father of the Bride when Brian gives Annie a blender for their 8-month anniversary?) But I really do dig kitchen gadgets and anything that has to do with cooking. (My cast-iron frying pan might be my favorite possession.) It was sweet and thoughtful of my husband to get it (and calculating). He knows that one of my greatest regrets is having a job that rarely allows me to come home and cook the elaborate and nutritious meals I dream of. But the slow cooker lets me indulge the obsessive compulsive Type A in me -- prep and chop the night before, throw meat/veg/broth/herbs/spices together in the cooker in the morning before work, and bam! dinner is waiting for me when I get home. It also lets me indulge the gourmet in me -- recent dinners have included pulled pork bbq with Carolina sauce, lemon rosemary chicken, chili, parmesan sage pork and beer braised beef brisket. Tomorrow I'm trying slow cooked pinto beans. Maybe I won't be that into it when the weather gets warmer and lighter cooking will be more appropriate, but for now I'm happy. (Jewelry, shoes and handbags are good too.)

Should I be worried that my friends buy me lace underwear and my husband buys me a crock pot?

Happy Easter

Overheard at church this morning:

Small Child: Easter is when Jesus came out and saw his shadow.

So naturally, the hubby and I had a good chuckle over the kid's confusion between Ground Hog Day and Easter, Punxsutawney Phil and Jesus Christ.

Later on, as we attempted to leave a brunch gathering but were road-blocked by our 3-year-old who refused to put on his shoes and instead choose to run away jamming green peeps into his mouth, I hear hubby muttering and cursing "Phil H. Christ" under his breath.

More Rules

As I mentioned before, I spent the weekend in Miami with the girl friends. While we were ordering our first round of beverages at the Delano Hotel, a new rule came to me. (And for those of you not familiar, I have a running set of rules I'm collecting.)

So, without further ado:

Rule #4: If you happen to find yourself at a bar where there's a bachelorette party, turn on your heel and get the hell out of there.

And, this new one comes from E again:

Rule #5: Never eat at a restaurant that starts with the word "Captain."

Knee Deep in the Hoopla

Dear Blog -

It's been a while. I know, I know. You're tired of hearing the lame excuses about how I'm too busy now and how after spending all day at the computer for work the last thing I want to do is type another keystroke.

No more excuses. I promise. I'm gonna turn over a new leaf. I'm gonna wake up early - or steal a few minutes during the day - to fit in blogging (and exercising).

Those half-formed posts about red wine and donuts, the weekend alone with the kids, the girls' trip to Miami and the exegesis on "We Built this City." I'll finish them. Really. I will.



Talk soon,
RKC

Back To Work

Maternity leave is officially over. Today was my first day back at the office after 2 months of time off. Spent the day discussing things with other adults. Spent the day in heels and a dress...with no spit-up on either shoulder. Spent the day emailing and not changing poopy diapers.

So, with the boys peacefully in bed and the hum of the dishwasher in the background, I'd like to thank the following for making the day possible:

• Spanx: Thank you, Spanx body shaper. Your "all-the-way-up" style with added tummy support slimmed and tightened me from rib to knee and helped me feel like I was sucking it in all day long. Who really needs to know that I really haven't lost the baby weight and was basically wearing a modern-day girdle? If only I had been wearing a slip -- then mother would have been really proud.
  
• Starbucks: Thank you, Starbucks. The regular cup of coffee I had at 6:00 am at home this morning got me to the office. But the tall skim latte at 8:30 am -- what a treat! -- was what really got me hyped and jittery. You even helped me appear awake enough so folks thought I was actually paying attention when they were telling me important stuff about budgets and deadlines and projects.
• Laura Mercier concealer: Thank you, industrial-strength Laura Mercier undereye concealer. You helped me cover those dark circles and bags...and made my face look brighter -- or so the lady at the Neiman Marcus makeup counter says. Perhaps you even covered up the listless look of 69 days and counting of no REM sleep?
  
• Medela: Thank you, Medela "pump in style" breast pump. Yes, we've had a love/hate relationship in the past and it's bittersweet to rekindle the tormented relationship after a 2-year hiatus. I still don't know why you say you are "in style." I haven't seen any breast pumps on the runways lately. And I certainly don't know of any breast pumps that are definitively out of style. But that's another matter. Thanks for giving me an excuse to shut my office door every 3 hours and remember that I miss my bambino. Thanks for making that weird mee-wah mee-wah sucking sound that sometimes makes me think I'm actually hearing some little beast chant, "Me want. Me want. Me want." Thanks for allowing me to breastfeed for as long as the wee one (reasonably) chooses. And most of all, thanks for helping me sport that rack.