Monday, September 24, 2007

Life Baffles Me

Washing instructions tag on Andy's reversible winter hat:

Machine wash cold. Gentle cycle. Separately or with like colors. Inside out.

What? What's inside out on a reversible hat? The side that I like the least on the outside? Is this a riddle?

(Cross-posted to Our Clothes Speak)

Coming soon, a post and some pictures about The Raggedys' second annual apple picking trip. Last year's trip was right around when I first started blogging.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Postcards from the Edge

An ongoing series

Postcard #1
From: RaggedyMom
To: Litte Rag

Hey there, little baby. You know I love you. But why is it that you sleep so well in Mommy's bed and so poorly . . . everywhere else? Learn to talk ASAP so you can let me know.


Postcard #2
From: RaggedyMom
To: Anonymous Neighbor

It's great seeing you from time to time. What's less than great is when you say, "Everytime I see you with Little Rag, he's crying!" I'm still figuring out what to respond to you, other than the odd smile I gave you, which hopefully implied, "I don't speak English."

Ani Mitzta'eret, Lo Hevanti Otach*

*I'm sorry, I didn't understand you

Postcard #3
From: RaggedyMom
To: Tom the Mailman

We chatted the other day, and that was lovely. Who ever said that people don't know their mail carriers by name in a city like this? And thank you for almost never mixing up our mail with the downstairs neighbor's. However, when it comes to your weather prediction skills, you are totally off, dude.

Remember your sweater next time,

Postcard #4
From: RaggedyMom
To: Fruit Store Man

You're my hero of the day today. Thank you for saving me today when Ann's lunch was left behind at home. A roll and the piece of fruit that you washed somewhere in "the back of the store" (hmm . . ) were great stand-ins.

Trying hard to be less of a flake,

Postcard #5
From: RaggedyMom
To: RaggedyAndy

Is there a book of crazy ideas written by little boys, for little boys? The one that tells you to do things such as, but not limited to:
-Throwing your sweatpants into the bathtub
-Cramming used tissues behind the dresser for Mommy to find (or not find)
-Riding the vacuum cleaner like an enchanted broomstick (you're too young for Harry Potter, kid)

I know Mommy's been kind of boring tied up with the baby lately, but these shenanigans aren't quite the excitement I was looking for.

Get off of there right now,

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Life's Blessings

Tonight, I'll be saying one of the last brachos (blessings) for the Jewish year of 5767:

"Baruch ata . . . hamotzi fish sticks min ha-freezer"**

Wishing everyone (including me) luck with the last hectic preparations, hoping that the kids won't be too traumatized from a couple of really lame suppers, and most of all, a wonderful, sweet year to come.

**("Blessed are you, Hashem, who brings forth fish sticks from the freezer" - no, this is not an actual blessing, but a play on words of a real one.)

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

The "Stuff"

I worried at some point in the last few months that for Ann and Andy, this would go down as "The Summer Mommy had Little Rag," or "My Mommy had a Baby This Summer, and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt."

That's probably what made me determined to overcompensate and make sure that the kids had a lot of fun this summer. Today we tried to grab one of the last couple of days before the start of preschool and headed to a shady playground nearby (across from the post office for any of the locals).

Although I had brought along a good deal of "stuff," Andy paid no mind, and launched himself right into the sprinklers with gusto. Clothes, sandals, hat, and all. Nevermind that I had brought along a bag full of watershoes and bathing suits.

I usually dress the kids in the water-gear for the ride to the playground, but since Labor Day was yesterday, I wasn't sure if the sprinklers would still be on (technically that is their 'off' date) and I didn't want to set anyone up for a letdown.

Fortunately, after a little over an hour of splashing, sliding, falling, and keeping the baby's kvetching to a minimum, I did some surreptitiuos clothing changing and we were able to head over to get some frozen yogurt on the next corner.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Let's go!

I will probably never be able to get out of the house in a timely manner ever again.

Or maybe it just feels that way for now.

Somewhere in the last three weeks of new baby euphoria, I realized that it's a good thing the end of August is an unscheduled blur, because that's exactly what I needed at first. RaggedyDad leaves for work, and the rest of us are able to take the day as it comes. Pajamas for everyone until 2 p.m.? Sure! Cereal and milk for lunch(again)? No problem!

Now that Ann is about to begin another school year, though, I'm looking forward to getting into some kind of routine. In the spirit of that typical early September idealistic optimism, I've been resurrecting some of my notebooks and lists. I'm dusting off (or starting) plans for school lunches, weeknight suppers, Shabbos meals, general grocery lists, and household tasks, some of which had gathered dust long before giving way to four months of throwing up, two good months, and nearly three months of bedrest.

For now, getting ready to leave the house with three little ones in tow has been humblingly chaotic. Ann is pretty self-sufficient in terms of getting dressed and ready, with a few road-bumps along the way. Andy is equal parts helper and destroyer, and tends to get his finally-dressed self full of something like food, water, milk, soap, or worse. Little Rag is three weeks old, and anyone who's been the parent of a three-week-old knows what that means.

And then there's the part where we're actually out the door - with all of the "stuff", of course - Heaven forbid we forget any of the "stuff" - none of which we actually wind up using, but all of which we would surely need if any of it were left behind. Once upon a time I had it pretty together, and I know I will again, but for now I still seem to be at that point where my flustered demeanor gets me some knowing smirks and pitying stares from people on the street.

I tend to be a stickler for leaving the house without a mess lying around, so the kids are on toy-clean-up patrol while I hit the morning dishes. By then, there are more diapers to change, a fit of hysteria over my having chosen "the wrong shoes," crayon has somehow decorated the table surface, Ann and Andy are "sooooo thirsty" and, of course, Little Rag is crying. Again.

I do have to stop answering the telephone, because invariably, the caller will ask, pointedly, "Is everything okay over there? Are you managing?"

To which I like to say, "What?? I can't hear you. Is that on my end or on yours? I guess I'll call you back later, then. Bye!"