The Most Shocking Rose Ceremony in Writing Prompt History

Today I am participating in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, using the following prompt:

"Welcome to the most shocking rose ceremony in writing prompt history. Please award roses to the ten people (or items) in your life that you’d like to continue pursuing a relationship with."

Here Goes:

Canon 30D: Will you accept this rose, you wonderful piece of equipment you? You have changed my life. You have allowed me to take photos of my child's split-second facial expressions without the lag time that my old point and shoot had. I can actually document each second of a sneeze, yawn or laugh, and then click through them like a flip book and watch the entire thing like a movie. It. is. wonderful. No more crying because Baboo was doing something adorable and I "missed it".

Ikea Gulliver: Will you accept this rose? Thank you oh, so much for existing. Thank you for allowing me to sidecar a crib with a bed, so that we crazy, crunchy co-sleepers are no longer all sleeping a top each other like a basket of wiggly puppies. Ah, being able to stretch, being able to roll, being able to actually have my husband stay in bed with me all night instead of packing up and heading for the couch at 3 am because there is.no.space. I *heart* you. A puffy pink heart.

Etsy: Will you accept this rose? You are the provider of handmade goods, and for that I love you. Sure, you have taken a generous chunk out of my savings, but because of you, I have things for my son that none of those mall shoppers have. You are a trove of treasures, like custom wall decals for my son's room, unique, one of a kind jewelry I can't find anywhere else, and this camera bag that I am asking the Hubbs to get me for my birthday.

(Stephie Mc)

                               

(xcessrize)

Shutterfly: Will you accept this rose? You make great quality photo books and will occasionally toss 50 free prints or a free poster my way. For someone who has taken thousands of photos of her baby boy in the six short months of his life, you have been a God-send. My only issue with you is your use of Vividpics. I got some prints back the other day and my sweet Baboo looks like he has a spray-on tan, but ever since I realized I could turn that option off, I have been loving you more than ever.

Crinkle Book: Will you accept this rose? You are such a simple thing, I just threw you in my cart on a whim while shopping for my Sweet Baboo before he was even born. How was I to know you'd be the thing that saved my sanity on many a car ride? The baby loves you. You hang from his carseat and he crinkle, crinkles away. Your built-in teethers have also been a life-saver. Let's make beautiful crinkles together.

                                             

Moby Wrap: Will you accept this rose? You are amazing. I can put my behbeh in you and actually carry him, while having hands to get things done! I can cook! I can clean! I can wipe myself when I pee (don't judge unless you've had a baby who screamed every time he was put down)! More importantly, though, is the fact that you operate as an instant napper. 2 minutes in you and he's out like a light.

                                                       

Bathtub: Will you accept this rose? At the end of each day, when the Hubbs returns home, you are there waiting for me, filled with bubbles and hot wather. You are a place where I can unwind and have half an hour to myself to study, read a magazine or a novel, or to just think. During my pregnancy you were a GODSEND for my aching muscles and back! Now you are the only place I can go for a little "me time." Thanks for being you.

Electric Fireplace: Will you accept this rose? My older than dirt building is heated by a radiator, which my cheap-ass landlor has set to "frigid". Without you, my family and I would surely freeze. Plus, you look classy, and I don't have to have one of those fugly space heaters that also look like fire hazards. One day I swear I will have my own home, with a wood-burning fireplace, but you bring me so much joy in this little apartment of mine. Plus, the landlord may refuse to pay for heat, but this is a utilities included building, and he still has to pay for the electricity! Thanks for helping me stick it to the man!

                                            

                                         

Portable DVD Player: Will you accept this rose? What would I do without you? We have no tv in our bedroom, and you provide entertainment for me when our Baboo doesn't want to nap on his own during the day and needs me to lay beside him while he sleeps. You are also a CD player,  on which I can play ocean sounds for Boo to lull him to sleep at night. And you allow for family entertainment. All three of us can be together in bed, with space for Boo to roll around and play with his toys, and the Hubbs and I can have snuggles and watch a movie.

Internet: Will you accept this rose? You allow me to chat with other moms on message boards during the day when I would otherwise be lonely and have no one to talk to you. You let me read hilarious, insightful and informative blogs when the kiddo is sleeping in my lap and it would be too hard to hold and read a book. You link me to great recipes and let me set up playlists of my favourite music with the click of a button. I think if you stick around there's a chance of you getting the last and final rose. We have an "AMAZING CONNECTION!"

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Confessions of a Failed Minimalist Mommy

So.

I was under the impression that I would be a minimalist mom. A "less is more" mom. A "I don't feed my kid junk food or buy toys that light up and play music" mom. You should see my living room right now. This is clearly Baboo's house, and he's just allowing me and the Hubs to live here. In my living room alone I have those interlocking foam mats on the floor, a playmat,  a bouncy seat, a boppy (which I bought instead of a bumbo, because who can afford that) and yesterday we bought an exersaucer. I am hanging my head in shame right now.

Everything is plastic and polyester. Everything is BRIGHT blue and BRIGHT green. In my defense. . .

In my defense.

The bouncy seat was a gift. Okay, we did register for it, but hear me out. This is the bouncy seat:

We chose to register for this one, quite frankly, because the other ones were too expensive. We felt uncomfortable asking our family members to shell out $60 for something that they could just as easily get for $25. Even though it is so BRIGHT. I would have picked this one

but the bottom line is the bottom line.

We were told a bouncy seat is an absolute MUST--that its the only way that other moms get anything done around the house. So we registered for it. We were dismayed to find that it takes batteries in order to vibrate and play music, and that the batteries were NOT included. We didn't get the batteries. We figured he didn't need them, and would never know that his bouncy seat was supposed to vibrate and sing him to sleep.

My kid does not like his bouncy seat. He will sit in it for five minutes, tops. He will bat at the little turtle, then spend the rest of the time looking at me with his huge saucer eyes, waiting for me to pick him up. We thought if we bought the batteries that allowed it to vibrate and sing, then maybe I'd be able to put him in it during the day when I need to take a break. We we hauled ass to the store and picked up some batteries. With great anticipation we watched the thing vibrate and listened to the tinny "music" emanate from the little plastic box. We put our son in it, praying he would like it. He lasted 7 to 10 minutes, before he pleaded with us to rescue him from this strange, vibrating chair. We obliged.

I have another confession. We were told by our home visitor that exersaucers are harmful to baby's hips.  I never planned on getting an exersaucer in the first place. Not because they're bad for his hips, but because they're ugly. Plastic and ugly and unecessary in my opinion.

Its just that Baboo likes to stand. He LOVES to stand, in fact. He loves to stand on my lap when I'm trying to type, making it impossible for me to do so because of course to stand he needs to hold my hands. He loves to dig his freakishly large feet into my legs, and his toenails grow at such a rate that he's often digging those into me too. It's hard on the shoulders to hold him up like that. And he will fuss until he gets his way. He will fuss and fuss and fuss until he's allowed to stand. A couple mornings ago the Hubbs turned to me and said "Was Baboo fussing to stand last night?" (Last night being 4 am, after his feeding.)

"Yup," I replied. Nope, it wasn't just a bad dream. This kid even wants to stand when he shouldn't even be awake.

So we caved. We didn't want to, but the flier made us. I'm sure you know by now that I can't pass up a good bargain. Exersaucers were on sale! NOT the one that would have been my first choice (of course) with the real pictures of nature and a hand puppet for mom or dad to stick their hand in so that they can interact with their kid.

But it was an exersaucer nonetheless, and I really just needed a place where my kid could stand. So I bought it.

PsychoMama: Does it seem like he likes it?

The Hubbs: He doesn't seem upset by it. . .

He lasted about two minutes before he started to cry yesterday. And today he lasted about ten. He seemed to enjoy it more today. I even took a video of him playing in there and sent it to both my mom (who was with me when I bought it) and The Hubbs at school.

My next confession of a failed minimalist mommy, is that my only regret in regards to his playmat is that I live in Canada where the bigger one isn't available. That one lights up! That's right, folks.

As for Baboo's swing, we wouldn't have bought one because we were simply too poor when we were expecting him. A lovely mom from our local early years centre gave me her swing because she had two. I was thrilled thinking that it would be the magic fix for crying and overtiredness, but Baboo is not a huge fan of it. I admit that I may not have tried him in it enough (I can probably count on one hand the number of times he's been in that swing.) Part of the reason is that its in his nursery, which hasn't been completed and is being used as a partial storage room for the suitcases we STILL haven't unpacked (yes, we have THAT much stuff--how's that for minimalism?) The other reason is that the week we brought him home from the hospital, he was absolutely miserable at night between the hours of 7 and 9. I tried putting him in his swing when we were both crying inconsolably, and after a minute, it did the trick. Then The Hubbs said this to me:

"He looks really sad."

And that broke my heart. Yes, he was no longer crying, but I was his mother and I deposited him into a swing so that I could take a break. He really did look sad. His eyes looked large and weary, and his lip was in a full, turned down pout. So I have barely put him in his swing since then. Whenever I'm about to I remember the words "He looks really sad", and it turns me off. I'm glad we didn't pay for it. And while it is ugly and not something we'd ever pick out for ourselves, and least its not BRIGHT green or BRIGHT blue. It's that lovely dark blue plaid, circa all 1990s baby gear.

What's even sadder than all the brightly coloured plastic in my home is that fact that my son has barely any wooden toys. I know that isn't really fair, since its hard to find "gear" that's wooden and he's not at an age where he'll be playing with toys that aren't tethered to things yet. I know we'll be buying him wooden toys like train sets and building blocks and a wooden kitchen when he's older, but still.

You know there's a problem when your mom comes to visit and the first words out of her mouth are "When did you guys decide to buy a Toys R Us?"

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Songs for my Son

I added a playlist of music that reminds me of my kiddo on here. I sing a few of these songs to him every day. They all either have to do with parenthood, or have a message that I want him to know. Obviously he's too young to understand lyrics, but hopefully he hears the love behind them and as an adult will remember the list of songs his mother always sang to him.

I love to sing. I used to dream of being a successful singer/songwriter. Now I just want to be able to put a pen to paper, pick up my guitar and write something I can do at an open mic night at a coffeehouse somewhere. I feel like its important that as a wife and mom, I don't lose myself. However, there are so many goals that I have that I'm nowhere even close to realizing.

I feel like a lot my life has involved making trade-offs--one thing for another. Clearly, I can't have everything. I remember that I used to be so certain that I could do it all. And in a way I still think that I can--just not all at once. For instance, today I was looking at the baby photos of a photographer who uses one of the same message boards as me. As much as it pains me to admit that I'm green with envy, I can't help it. I really love photography, have been dabbling in it for over ten years, but I have never had that extra push to make something happen. I would love to take a photography class. In high school photography was always full and I couldn't get in. My small Christian liberal arts college didn't have a class. Of course I could always take a class elsewhere on the side, but school is expensive, and I should probably finish my formal education before pursuing my other interests on the side. See what I mean about trade offs? School leads to career, so that's important. But all my other interests (and there are a lot of them) have taken a back seat. In addition to photography, there is cooking, sewing, creative writing, yoga. . .and throughout my pregnancy I developed an interest in becoming a doula.

In my mind, this would be the perfect job for me. The flexible schedule and the fact that I'd be working for myself would allow me to make money, contribute in a way that's important while doing something I enjoy, and still have time for my family. Of course, I dont have time to get certified right now, but there'll be time for that later, right? Right???

My creative writing sits unread in countless journals on my shelves, and about once every two years I send something to a publisher--it inevitably comes back rejected. I can't sew well enough to replace a button, and though I know my way around a kitchen I want to be great. I want to make croissants from scratch, learn the art of flambé, roll my own sushi,  roast my own coffee beans, and jam my own jams with fruit that I grew in my own backyard.

(rows of my unpublished journals)

(getting busy in the kitchen on Thanksgiving)

As far as fitness, I went to yoga classes when I was pregnant and that was great! It did wonders for my back, which was wracked with sciatica the entire duration of my pregnancy. I used to go for runs and walks daily, and then I got pregnant and after a day of work could barely stand, let alone run. The nine months I was pregnant were far less than enjoyable, but I got something so beautiful out of it, even though I had to give up my daily walks and runs. Trade offs.

(me on a hike, two summers ago)

But that's not all. No, that's not all. I want to travel the world. Who doesn't, right? I want to quench my wanderlust by spending a month in Spain, island hopping around Hawaii, teaching at an English kindergarten in Dubai, volunteering at an orphanage in Africa and vacationing with the Hubby in French Polynesia. But who has the money for that with diapers and gripe water draining my account before my mat leave check even clears?

(picture of me on a map in the Caribbean, on what we didn't know would be our last pre-baby vacation.)

(picture I took on the beach in the Bahamas)

(riding a donkey in the Virgin Islands)

On top of all that (most important these days) I want to be a fantastic mom. And sometimes I feel that in order to be this one thing, I must be all the others. I must be fulfilled. I must be able to inspire my son with my art, whip up delicious meals for him and his friends at a moment's notice, tell him stories of all the places I've been and bring him along for some trips of his own. Teach him the power of growing things with his own hands and know that his fruit and vegetables were grown with love and without pesticides.

Is this what my little boy expects of me? I do not want to be that mom who is all talk and no action. I do not want to be that mom who takes their kid to the same dumpy little vacation spot two hours away every year, who allows their child to reach the age of 18 never having left the province. I do not want to be that mom who can only hand out premixed pillsbury cookies at the school bake sale, and only provides microwave popcorn as an after school snack.  I don't want to be that mom who never quite figures out how to balance home and work, so she isn't very good at either.

I tell myself there is time. I am young. I am a mom, but my life does not end here. I can still do. I can still be. Right now I breastfeed, change diapers and wipe up spit-up round the clock, but that doesn't mean that's all there ever will be. The most important thing for me to show my son, beyond art, beyond Africa, is love. And that I have in spades. It is inherent in every diaper I change, every ounce of milk I give my kid, and every time I lovingly wipe spit up off his chins. Nothing matters more than that.

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My love affair with a breast pump

Yesterday was my third wedding anniversary, our first with a child. The most action I got was from a breast pump.

We planned on going to dinner and a movie. Nothing spectacular, but more than we've done in awhile, since we have a six-week-old and are student working poor.

My mother was going to baby-sit. I was going to shower and put on make-up. My hubby was going to shave and change out of the spit-up covered jeans he'd been wearing for three days. It was to be a momentous occasion indeed. We'd miss the baby, but a movie about marginalized aliens on earth would take our mind off it and bring back that lovin' feeling.

Then my mother had a nervous break-down.
It was a couple of weeks ago. She and my father had just had the most stressful move in the history of the world. The money almost didn't come through for the down payment, he was working round the clock and not around to help her with any of the logistics, they almost lost the house twice and the one they were living in was promised to someone else. It was literally the day before they were about the be homeless that the money came through.

Then there was the matter of my husband and I, who'd been living in the basement apartment of their house since before our Sweet Baboo was born, finally moving out and getting an apartment of our own. It is great for us to be out of there. When we got married we lived across the country from my parents, and everything was at a nice comfortable distance. While I missed my mom, I was overjoyed to be nowhere near her husband (my father) and could take or leave my sister. But my husband and I had terrible luck, and after struggling for a couple years we decided to take my parents' offer of their basement and try to get back on track. That definitely didn't go as planned, but that's a story for another day. What I was getting at is that hubby and I taking our baby and moving two towns over (all the towns here pretty much sprawl together, so its not as bad as it sounds) took a toll on her too. I don't know that she missed hubby or I, but she definitely missed Baboo.

Then's the issue of her chronic illness, which keeps her from getting a decent sleep and has her in constant pain throughout the day. And her troubled joke of a relationship with my father, that probably should have been over before it began. (True story, also for another day.) All of these stressors plus her history of depression and she wound up in the hospital. In another post I'll tell you all about that scary night when she went into full-on diagnosed psychosis, but for now I will selfishly focus on how it affected our anniversary.

My mom is much better. She was in the hospital for four or five scary days, then made a dramatic recovery and was released. She is functioning normally now, chatting non-stop like her old self, driving herself to appointments and events, and showering her first grandbaby with love. But I am just not comfortable leaving him alone with her yet. What if there was a relapse and it happened again? I shudder to think about what might happen to my sweet, sweet son, and no movie and overpriced but oh-so-delicious steak from The Keg is worth the risk.

Sad to say, I don't know when we'll be comfortable leaving him alone with her again. It could happen any time. . .Of course, we can't tell her that's why. It would crush her, and I won't be responsible for breaking a grandma's heart. I did ask my sister if she would be there the next time my mom baby-sits. I told her it was because I didn't want to tire her out, I didn't want to play the nervous break-down card. She said she will. She's going to check her work schedule (she just got back from Europe and today's her first day back at work), and let me know when she can "help" my mom baby-sit so that hubby and I can take a rain check on the movie. I don't know when or why life became so complicated, but I'm glad my sister is there to help us, and I'm glad she was there to call and tell us what was going on the night my mom wound up in the hospital.

This is why I want my son to have a sibling. My hubby is so not on board--but that's a story for another day.

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