Cheryl Katz

I expanded my skill set last night! I can sew simple bags that don’t suck, for buying produce and bulk foods, replacing plastic bags!

Mmmmmm, blue stilton cheese has made life worth living. And lunch worth eating. Yum!

I am liquidating the contents of a closet full of hoarded yarn that I *totally* forgot about until we scoured the house last night for Ben’s hat, which we ultimately still failed to find.

http://sandiego.craigslist.org/csd/art/728616204.html

I’ve posted them on craigslist, but if anyone I know wants these I’ll find a way to get ‘em to you.  I just want this closet space back!  (One day, one fine day, all my craft supplies will fit in one closet.  Ah, a girl can dream.

I haven’t discussed this much, but Sami’s nursing schedule has been steadily waning.  We’d been down to two times a day for a month or two, but lately I decided that I’d rather get her full on something that will hold her until snack time at school; after nursing she’s too full to eat breakfast, but gets hungry way before snack time.

So before her morning nursing, I’ve been telling her we need to eat our breakfast first.  This has been successful, and in the last week she even gets so distracted with washing the oatmeal off her hands and chest and then getting on with preparing to go to school, she forgets about nursing altogether.  So effectively for the last week we’ve been once every day, about half way between dinner and bedtime, but always after dinner.  Basically any time she asks to nurse at this point, I counter offer a snack of fruit or cheese, and most of the time she takes it.  The evening is the only time she doesn’t accept my terms.

On Friday she didn’t nurse at all, the first day in her entire life that she didn’t.  Until we got home from shopping and Sami finished her dinner yesterday, I was convinced that perhaps she had just decided to be done.  Nope, after that she politely requested to nurse, and was fully determined, so of course I complied.

I don’t know how to describe this.  It’s not entirely child-directed, because I am suggesting to her that she eat her food first.  But it’s not entirely parent-directed because she certainly would voice objection to my suggestions if she had them.  She’s not a shy child in that regard.  I didn’t expect this to ramp down so rapidly, but I think Sami might be nearly ready.

Now I don’t know if *I* am ready.  Let’s examine the complicated emotional struggle:  On one hand I look forward to a day when Sami isn’t physically dependent on me to any greater extent than she is on Ben.  (There are always behavioural differences, I just mean in terms of what either of us can literally give her.)  On the other hand, because I have this physical advantage over Ben, biologically, I also have a special closeness with Sami and a totally special way of relating to her.  When we don’t nurse any more, sure I’d be able to go on solo trips if necessary and know that she won’t be missing anything at home with Ben, but will my relationship with her change?  Will she someday like cuddling as much as she likes nursing?  Is that how we’ll stay close while she’s still small?

I never realized how complicated my feelings would be about weaning.  I am at peace with the idea of nursing, since nutritionally breast milk is a supplement, not a necessity at this point.  I’ve passed on all the antibodies I probably will, and she is almost 2.  I’m completely comfortable with the length of nursing I’ve given her.  I know she’s got to stop eventually.

Except for Friday, she’s nursed every day, at least once, since the day she was born.  I guess 21 months isn’t that long, but it practically feels like my entire life, too.  It’s just a huge phase of motherhood coming to an end, and it’ll take me some time to adjust.

I hate styrofoam.

It melts down and becomes a toxic mess in the microwave. On occasions when it comes in contact with your hot food (think take-out Chinese) it leaves an unappealing odor, poison-like flavor and plasticky texture on your meal. It doesn’t recycle. It takes up too much room in the trash.

I’ve been cooking at home a lot more lately, and so naturally I haven’t been seeing as much styrofoam in my life. However, almost any time I do go out, I’ll take leftovers, and most leftovers wind up traveling in those flat white styrofoam vessels of doom.

Well, I’ve had it with styrofoam almost as badly as I’ve had it with the ubiquitous plastic that finds its way into almost everything. I’ve decided my future move will be to keep reusable food containers in my car. I already keep a handful of canvas grocery bags in there for whatever impromptu shopping may crop up. What’s another cubic half-foot of space if it means keeping styrofoam out of my house?

I can’t keep styrofoam out of my printer, computer, tv, or other appliance boxes (though I can use my existing appliances until they no longer serve me, and I can try to find deals on used ones instead of buying new). I can hope that packages I get in the mail will be packed with the corn starch peanuts instead of real styrofoam. And there’s nothing I can do about the styrofoam containers from the occasional lunch ordered out (though again, I can try to avoid doing this as a general rule.)

But keeping containers in my car is a simple, EASY way to avoid the evil white stuff. Why wouldn’t I?

Some readers may laugh when I write this, but here goes:  I am simply not the girliest girl there is.  Not by a long shot.  Sure, I love me some cute dresses and shoes, but on a normal day you find me in jeans and a t-shirt, flip flops and probably just a smear of lip balm.

Imagine my surprise when I find my 21-month old daughter raiding my shoe rack.  She pulls out a pair of high heeled pumps and puts them on.  She picks up the purse her Grandma brought her (small bag for me = standard size shoulder bag for Sami) and slings it over her shoulder.  Then she walks – no, struts – down the hall to examine her ensemble in the full length bathroom mirror.

Ladies and gentlemen, I do not primp excessively in front of my child.  This is her inherent personality expressing itself.  As a mom, it is slightly terrifying.

So here is another slightly terrifying idea (and yet, so funny that I am sharing the link.)  When is too young to start your baby girl in heels?  Some would argue between birth and six months of age.  I can’t begin to tell you why this is terrifying.

Okay, I can begin to tell you.  First: Sami showed a propensity for admiring shoes well before 6 months.  Now she’s not even 2 and is showing an intense interest in heels.  So by providing my 0-6 month old infant with high heels, I’m showing her that high heels are normal and accepted shoes for little girls.  And I know that playing dress up is one thing.  That is going to happen.  But high heeled shoes of her own before she could even walk?  That might have happened over my dead body.

My saving grace at the moment is that Sami knows that heels are shoes for Momma. So they’re part of her imitation ritual.  Imitation and dress up are important activities and I think they’re OK.  She also seems to understand that when Sami needs shoes, HER shoes are the ones she should grab.  And she does.  I am not sure how I’ll handle it the first time Sami throws a fit because she really wants to wear my shoes.

I just hope that I have a long, long time to prepare for it.  Like maybe when she’s a teenager.

Good gravy, it’s hot. UV Index 10 = Way too high.
Time to go outlet shopping. And dinner will be grilled this evening.

At the Padres game with Jen tonight! I don’t know from baseball but I sure like being in the crowd.

Shabbat shalom! Sami and I will be singing all the way home in the car, as we do every Friday. And her singing gets clearer all the time!

sami got her knee caught between her crib bars last night. much histrionics ensued, though no actual injuries. i am tired today.