A public service announcement

***We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog reading for this important public service announcement from the real estate investment firm of Fuller, Fuller & Fuller. ***


1308 East 52nd Street has been sold and we are finally down to one house.


Thank you for your attention. We now return you to you normal blog postings already in progress.

Sometimes our life is like "Seinfeld" -- A show about nothing

So I felt like I should do an update, but I have nothing to say. I could write about her new love for waffles, but waffles aren't that exciting. There are no new teeth, there's no walking, and no first words have been uttered. Some days, we just go about our routine. As much as we our blessed by Zoe and as much as observing her daily miraculous milestones is like watching brushstrokes on her soul, the reality is that sometimes it's just plain boring. That's right, I said it; I went there. The fact of the matter is that she isn't really a great conversationalist. She gets easily amused by little things, but frankly pulling out all the toys in her toy basket doesn't offer me the same stimulation. And trust me, I like bedroom door peek-a-boo as much as the next guy, but can she really believe I am that surprised to see her every time? So I find myself with nothing to say. I guess I should really be happy, I mean there are many "exciting" things of which I am blissfully unaware. I'm sure there are many people with a house full of kids who would, on occasion, gladly trade my boring for their "exciting." Still, there are some days I long for an after-work drink with friends or a night out to dinner that doesn't take place before 6pm and that doesn't involve the phrase "did you bring the cheerios". I would occasionally like to meet up with a friend without concern for nap times (hers, not mine) or schedule a haircut without the planets being aligned. I'd like to not have a song involving colors stuck in my head during a crucial meeting with a client. But then, after a few boring hours in the late afternoon and into the evening, she goes to sleep. We sit in her chair in her bedroom a she snuggles next to me with a bottle and I realize, if this is boring sign me up. No after-work martini is worth giving up big, wet, sloppy baby kisses. I'll carry Cheerios to every meal if it meant I get to watch her squeal in the morning when I get her up. And, let's be honest, who is better afternoon company, nap time or otherwise, then Zoe? So I get to take back everything I wrote. Why? Because I'm the mother and I said so.

"Thank You" - Sadie 'The Dog' Fuller

I will not move the dog bowl off the floor. That's right, I'm taking a stance; laying down the law if you will. Sadie, while loved, is not welcomed to hop up on a chair and join us at the table for dinner. She has no opposable thumbs so she can not use the silverware. Her table manners are atrocious and she gets hair everywhere so her food and water must stay on the ground. She is under no directive to eat her chow at any set time so it frequently sits in the bowl all day. What is the point of this rambling about obvious canine dietary habits you may ask yourself. Well, we are now practicing "discipline". Yes, the word discipline is put in quotes to illustrate just how loosely I am meaning it. Frankly, it has become a game and I am the only one playing; so the question you need to ask yourself is if I am the only one playing, how can I be losing? Indulge me by taking a peek into life in the Fuller house.

5:00 p.m. - Zoe wakes from her nap squealing and laughing. I place her on the floor.
5:10 p.m. - She happily plays with anything that I did not purchase specifically for her. Her expensive Leap Frog toys languish in the corner, probably laughing at the poor remote control.
5:25 p.m. - Like a bullet out of gun, Zoe beelines across the kitchen to the dog food bowl (she is quicker than you might think).
5:25:30 p.m. - "I will not move the dog food bowl, I will not move the dog food bowl."
5:26 p.m. - I give Zoe a stern "No!"
5:26:30 p.m. - Zoe hysterically laughs. "nnnnnaaaa"
5:27 p.m. - Zoe is placed far from the dog food bowl and is now playing with the door. All Leapforg items are sleeping.
5:28 p.m. - Zoe makes another run for it as I unload the dishwasher. I wonder to myself how people do this with more than one.
5:28:30 p.m. - "Zoe, No!"
5:29 p.m. - Laughter fills the room
5:30 p.m. - Sadie begs for a treat with no appreciation for the lengths I am going to protect her actual dinner.
5:31 p.m. - Zoe is playing with the magazines. Leapfrog products have borrowed the keys to the car and have gone out for a spin.
5:35 p.m. - I am paying bills and like a flash she is back, heading for the dog food bowl. I wonder, out loud this time, how people do this with more than one.
5:35:30 p.m. - She stops just short of the bowl and smiles at me, gets back into crawling position and continues on.
5:35 p.m. - "Zoe, No!"
5:36 p.m. - Now Zoe and Sadie are both laughing.
5:37 p.m. - I call a friend with multiple kids and asks how she does it.
"Why don't you just move the dog food bowl?"
5:40 p.m. - The Leapfrog toys come home.

We had her nine-month appointment today; Zoe is a whopping 20lbs and 28 inches! Everything looks great and her hair is getting better.

Grrrr. . . vacation is over

We're back from our vacation at my parents house and at the Jersey shore and I thought I would try something a little different. I could use an entire blog entry to post about the joys of traveling with an infant and the worried looks from fellow airline passengers (for the record, just because you avoid eye contact with a person with a baby, doesn't mean they are not in your row). I could post pages on the new light in which you see your own parents when you visit them with your eight-month-old and the sudden appreciation you feel as you realize that someday you too will have a 13-year-old who will probably resemble you at that age. Or I could go on and on about the duel emotions you feel the first time you leave your child over night; sweet freedom and slightly heart-wrenching guilt. But instead I'd thought I'd do a Letterman-like top 10 list of our time in the Garden State.

10. My father really does have a textbook-like knowledge of New Jersey. Some might call it a little spooky but it really is fascinating. When asked about getting to Atlantic City, he talked about the blueberry farms. When we went to a festival a few towns over, he knew its history.

9. Zoe learned to crawl. She was close when we left but maybe she too was feeling power of a vacation and decided to throw caution to the wind. We spent hours child-proofing our house in Savannah for this moment so of course her first crawls were in a house that is about as childproofed as Tiffanys.

8. Zoe likes to be in the pool. . . a lot. We have two houses, neither of which have a pool so we're pretty certain her first words will be "I want to go back to Mimi and Poppi's."

7. Under the heading "New Jersey is a magical place" (and please, no jokes about which exit one would find that magic), good news item number one: Mike and I won about a grand in Atlantic City.

6. Same heading, good news item number two: We have contract on our "city house." This news came as we sat on the veranda (OK, roof) of our Wildwood, NJ retreat (OK, motel).

5. Wildwood, NJ is not for the weak of heart. If you have never been there it is difficult to describe without dedicating an entire post to it, but to summarize: try the pizza, avoid the t-shirts.

4. Mike can beat me in Skeeball, blowing up a balloon with a water gun, and miniature golf, but not pinochle.

3. There is nothing like free babysitting. My parents did amazingly well considering they probably have not been alone with an infant for any length of time in about 33 years. Too well perhaps; see number eight.

2. If you are in Atlantic City and want to stop at Red Square for a drink, first take out a second mortgage. In a moment of crazy frivolity and post some sweet winning, we spent a cool $30 on two drinks. Yeah, the house always wins.

1. There is nothing like taking a breather from the stress of everyday life, surrounding yourself with people you love and having some good, clean summertime fun in the Garden State. Now, dad, just when did they start calling it that?

Safety is not the only concern with a baby on the move. . .

Many of the things I assumed before becoming a mother are out the window: Once they sleep through the night it just stays that way, being tired makes sleep easier, and my house is clean. This last assumption was shattered the other night as I placed Zoe on the carpet I just vacuumed and watched her roll onto the linoleum/wood (linolawood) floor in our entry way that I just swept. I thought I had done a pretty thorough job until I noticed Zoe under the desk in the entry way with a giant Sadie dust bunny on her leg. Zoe just looked at me and grinned. Yeah, I get it kid; that area "maybe" doesn't get the attention it deserves. Hard to tell when you yourself are not routinely laying under the desk in the entryway. Her unique vantage point also allows her to see under the sofa where she finds all kinds of goodies. Great. Ok, leaves and twigs belong outside not in your livingroom; check. Dog food belongs in the dog food bowl, not strewn about the house like a buffet at a dog cocktail party; gotcha. The only analogy I have for the situation is when you were in elementary school and on "dentist day" you had to chew on those weird red tablets. You're eight years old and you know what's coming. You brush your teeth like no one has ever brushed before. You get the back ones, you get the front ones (mostly the front ones because any indiscretion there would be most obvious). You're determined that the magic red chewables, designed solely to illuminate your bad oral hygiene habits, will not get the better of you this time. You eat one, look in the mirror, and see the reflection of someone who looks as if they just got punched in the mouth and is now bleeding profusely. Foiled again. Zoe is now our red chewable tooth pill. I'm not sure what the solution is because it seems that just when you are supposed to have the cleaning skills of Martha Stewart, you have the least amount of time. So I simply look around the house that seven and a half months ago I would've thought clean and sigh. Then I remember the poetic words I once heard uttered by a very wise man (my husband): God made dirt. . . .dirt don't hurt.

A Father's Day Tale. . .

I was quite nervous to become a mother. I had spent the last two months of pregnancy pouring over parenting books as if the authors themselves were going to come to my house and, in a round table-like fashion, fire questions at me on such topics as sleep scheduling, formula preparation and benefits of tummy time. I wanted to get this parenting thing down not only for Zoe, but also because I knew that as the mother I would get all the credit if she managed to avoid growing up to be, say, an ax-wielding serial killer, but if serial killing was in her future, I would get most of the blame. . . it's always the mother.

After she was born, my obsession about doing everything "by the book" kicked into full gear. It wasn't that I thought Mike wouldn't be a great dad, I did. It's just that he hadn't put in the time; where were his notes in the margin of The Baby Whisperer? Where were his parenting websites booked marked? I decided early on that there needed to be a plan, a schedule, a right way to do things and I had Dr. Spock to back me up.

That changed a couple weeks ago. I had taken Zoe to the park as I normally did. I had spread out a blanket and she sat up on her own and played, the Bumbo long since retired. I caught a glimpse of the swings at the playground, you know, the rubber ones that safely encase a child not yet ready for the ones without sides. As I strolled towards them I noticed the sign, "This playground is intended for children 2-5 years of age." Ok, Zoe was just over six months old and the sign said "no". Just looking at the swing with my infant in tow made me feel like I was ripping off the the tag on the mattress. What would my books say? Should I call the pediatrician on this one?

I moved forward making sure I was alone and could avoid the judgemental glares of the other mothers as they wondered how I could so blatantly disregard the sign, obviously putting my daughter in harm's way. I placed Zoe in the swing, she nervously teetered, then I promptly tore her away vowing never again to break the rules, to deviate from the milestone schedule set up by people much smarter than myself.

Two days later, I came home from work only to have Mike (who knew nothing of the great swing trauma) show me some photos of his day with Zoe. There she was in the swing, and well, swinging. Zoe was grinning from ear to ear, flying in the only way she could. As I looked through the pictures I started imagining the scene: Mike placing her in the swing, Zoe nervously teetering, and him allowing her to take a risk, knowing he would be there to catch her if she fell.

It was then I realized that in raising Zoe, there are different ways, better ways. . . her father's ways.

Zoe is incredibly lucky.

Happy Father's Day to all dad's, especially my own, who had a different way, one that lead to some fine results.

Almost seven months old

I swear, every adult needs to learn the fine art of appreciating the small things in the way a seven-month-old does. Zoe is absolutely fascinated by the likes of blades of grass, the remote control, and travel packets of wipes. That's right, for all of you out there who paid good money for big-ticket toys, welcome to the world of our very creative daughter who finds fun in the mundane. That's not to say the toy piano and Leap Frog don't find their way into the mix; it's just that, in her mother's opinion anyway, she has a highly developed sense of imagination. I'm sure I'm not biased and that she really is quite advanced.

I have nixed the food list in favor of her favorite things which seems to be a more interesting topic. She is on to blends such as apple/blueberry and squash/corn and frankly I can't keep up. She now has two bottom teeth, that are unfortunately difficult to photograph, so soon we hope to take the leap in the virtual parenting right of passage, Cheerios.

We took our first trip to a Savannah Sand Gnats game which was great. Zoe was donning her Boston Red Sox gear as tribute to the best team in baseball. And, in addition to swings, she also sits in restaurant high chairs and in the front of shopping carts. Yes, she really is as great as she seems.