Mommy Ever After » Yo Gabba Gabba

“I may not know how to walk, but I RUN this house.”

mommyeverafter — Wed, 03 Dec 2014 17:49:02 +0000

I am constantly bemoaning the fact that I can’t get my son to watch any TV. He refuses.

I am not looking for him to be television obsessed, but it would be nice if he could sit for 15 minutes and watch Elmo.

At this age, my daughter would have spent 3 hours watching DJ Lance if I would have let her.

But my son? Not at all.

The only thing he will sit for, up until this point, has been the three minute music video for “All About That Bass”.

I have tried Baby Einstein, Sesame Street, Cartoons, Live Action…and, inevitably, he sits for a minute and then wriggles off of my lap and eats a candle or something.

UNTIL this morning! This morning, as we played with one of his music toys, I had last night’s Real Housewives of Beverly Hills episode on the living room TV, and all of a sudden, he was mesmerized. During the scene when Portia went shopping he even got on his stomach and propped his face up onto his elbows, as he watched the little girl on the screen.

So there you have it. I had been trying desperately for Elmo,

when all I really needed

was Bravo.

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Too hot to handle.

mommyeverafter — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 00:51:38 +0000

I have spent the last 3 days with a very sick baby
and a very far away husband.
I have spent the last 3 days covered in snot.
I have spent the last three days with tissues tucked into every crevasse of my outfit.
And no, I do not stuff my bra.
I have spent the last three days worried sick.
I have spent the last three days living in 4 hour increments.
And so, I would like to thank my friends
humidifier, acetaminophen, Facebook, Purell, the on-call nurse and Yo Gabba Gabba
for helping me to survive the last three days.
Oh, and this post has been sponsored by the letter H,
as in, thank HEAVENS because HUSBAND is finally HOME.
What?
What’s that you say? These ramblings make no sense? What in the world is she talking about?, you ask?
You can go ahead and blame that on the 3 sleepless nights, 2 trips to the pediatrician and about 800 baby and mommy tears shed.
Because these past three scary-high-baby-feverish-days, my friends,
were not cool.
Not cool at all.

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Wordless Wednesday: The “Wednesday Night Dance Party Playlist” Edition

mommyeverafter — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 03:00:48 +0000

And, my friends, it has finally happened;
I was able to break out the worm again.
All is now right with the world.

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Stats

mommyeverafter — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 02:33:38 +0000

So, this month, for the very first time, I neglected to write a Monthaversary tribute to my daughter.
You know, like when she was
five months
and
six months
and
seven months
and
eight months…
And it’s not that I’ve been forgetful
or busy teaching.

It’s that I can’t put into words how much this little 9 month old means to me.
I can’t find the right way to say that she is my air
and my song
and what makes my blood pump
and my world make sense.
9 months old.
She’s now been out longer than she was ever in.
In fact, she’s now going to be turning a whopping 10 months in just a few days.
I know.
She’s old.
But, in all seriousness, I need to learn to stop blinking. Every time I do, another month has gone by.
And she has changed some more.
When I began writing this baby book of sorts, my daughter was scarcely two months old.
She was so new.
So itty.
So babyish.
And, in the time since I first wrote about getting poop on my face
(aka my very first blog post ev-er)
my little peanut of a baby has completely blossomed into a little girl.
She has a personality.
She has grace.
She has a sense of humor.
She has words.
She has hair.
And, I’m not a talented enough writer to write what that all means.
Plus, I just love her too much. I start to lose my mind when I try to articulate how and why I feel the way I do.
My lips start to tremble.
My hands get weak.
My eyes start to spring a leak.
And so, I will take a much more clinical approach and record my latest baby stats in this baby book of mine.
And, because I don’t keep a real baby book
(just this and a very special journal, about which I will share the story some other time soon),
I have no idea what one actually records in those little spaces,
so I’ll make it up.
Here goes:
At 9 months old,
my little mama jama is a crawling machine.
She thinks she’s a dog.
The dogs are her best friends.
They are her idols.
She likes to play in their water bowl, carry socks in her mouth, shake the life out of toys and eat her food with no hands.
Her favorites:
Song: “It’s OK, Try Again” by, The Shins
TV Show: Yo Gabba Gabba, duh
Food: Zeyda Bear’s meatballs marinara
Drink: breastmilk
Book: Goodnight Moon
She has 2 teeth,
poses like a supermodel,
brushes her own hair,
sticks out her tongue on command,
mimic’s everyone’s everything,
and makes us fall more and more in love with her every single second.
Happy 9 3/4 months, sweetest dear.
You’re our everything,
our only thing
and our best thing.
Love,
Your Very Proud Mama

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Sometimes, just sometimes,

mommyeverafter — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 16:25:45 +0000

I kind of want to be him

when I grow up.
And then,
I remember,
I kind of already am.

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He may be one year older…

mommyeverafter — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 02:50:07 +0000

Yesterday, as a special birthday treat, my husband and baby had a special daddy-daughter date;
one that involved French pastries, cappuccino, jammies and snuggles. Who could ask for more?
And so, while I was out doing birthday-related-things,
I sent my husband an email letting him know that I’d arrived at the store,
cuz, ya know, we check in like that,
and this is what I got back in return:
“OKAY!!!! love you! Brobee had never tried a sandwich, but said he didn’t like them. The gang had to sing a whole song about trying things. Brobee…always messing things up.”
And in case you live under a rock,
don’t have a small child
or are that, painfully, uncool,
Brobee is a character from our family’s favorite TV show, Yo Gabba Gabba.
My husband may be one year older,
but he most certainly has not grown up.
And that is just the way I like it.

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“Star of Stage and Screen”

mommyeverafter — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 23:48:31 +0000

Remember these guys?
Good old 1980s dancing flowers.
With sunglasses.
Of course.
I got mine on a trip to FAO Schwartz when I was a little girl,
and I loved to turn on a song and watch my flower sway and bop and groove to the music.
This was also my FAO trip during which I got to buy my first
(and potentially only)
set of personalized business cards.
They had my name, my phone number and a picture of Betty Boop, with
“Star of Stage and Screen”
listed as my profession.
After that trip, with my business cards in hand and dancing flower in pot, I had everything a six year old could ever need.
And yes, I am going somewhere with this.
You see, just tonight, I had a revelation.
My baby is the human equivalent of the dancing flower pot;
If I put on music,
any kind of tunes,
she starts to sway, bop, clap, bounce, bang her hands and groove.
When the music plays, she lights up,
from the inside out.
And this is, quite literally, nothing new,
as she used to kick along to the music I’d play for her while she was still burrowed deep within my belly.
So tonight, as we had a family jam session to “Goodbye, Goodbye” from,
yes, Yo Gabba Gabba,
and my baby shook her maraca, totally in rhythm,
I realized something very special;
My little star may very well get some Betty Boop business cards of her own some day.
And in her case,
they’ll be real.
And I’ll make sure to hand out those cards to every single person I meet,
as the most proud mama there ever was.
She will always be my Twinkle,
after all.

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