Tights

Three years back, I was expecting my third son and my friend Rachel was expecting her fifth. We chatted about the girly things we missed being the moms of boys and boys alone.

Tights, we agreed, were high on the list.

You know, those cute tights you pay an arm and a leg for at Lands’ End or Hanna Andersson. They come with stripes or hearts. You pair them with a corduroy skirt and a coordinating sweater. Suede mary janes with a butterfly complete the outfit. So cute! So, so cute!

Shortly after Ainsley’s birth a package of clothes arrived in the mail. I rifled through the box, and there they were: Ainsley’s first pair of tights.

“Look, boys!” I, the excited mother, exclaimed, “Tights!”

Of course they were less than impressed, and one of them was slightly embarrassed thinking that tights were sort of like holding up a pair of underwear for the whole family to see.

What do they know? This is a rite of passage.

In the ensuing weeks, as I actually starting putting the tights on Ainsley, the dark side of tights, the long-forgotten side, began to emerge.

For one thing there was the price. The first pair I scooped up for a song - $2.99 on the sale rack. Problem was, you team up the tights with a pair of baby shoes held together with Velcro, and what do you get? Snags and pilling right from the start. You don’t get much in terms of longevity for $2.99. For the same price, you can head to the boys’ aisle and buy a four pack of socks that will get handed down three of four times.

Snagging aside, there’s also the problem of fit. There is a very slim window during which tights actually fit. Ainsley’s tights reminded me of a commercial from my childhood. A mother and daughter are in front of the elephant compound at the zoo. The daughter shouts, “Look, Mama. You have wrinkly panty-hose just like the elephant!” I never could figure out who actually wears panty-hose to the zoo, but I guess that's beside the point.

After the wrinkly stage, the tights look nice for a short span before you quickly enter the tug-and-pull stage. Think back to childhood Easter and Christmas outfits with tights that hovered somewhere between your waist and your knees. Remember the tugging and the flailing? An especially itchy brown pair comes to my mind.

On the bright side, I recently scored big at the consignment shop picking up two pairs of tights for a whopping eighty cents. Considering the pilling problem, that's about what they are worth.

Now that Easy Bake Oven? It had better not disappoint.

Scary

Dave and I are watching t.v. and an Applebee's commercial comes on. Simultaneously we recognize the identity of the voice-over.

"T-bone!" we yell.

For the uninitiated, T-bone is the bull-dog in Clifford The Big Red Dog. Economic times being hard and all, apparently he has taken a second job doing commercials.

To Infinity

Kolbe's mass producing these for all his buddies.

I'm Lovin' These...

Nothing tastier than baby bananas. I have to say that I'm always thrown off when the pediatrician asks, "Is the baby eating solids?" Yes, folks, this substance is considered a "solid."



Three times the price of the cheap variety and worth every cent.



Love this Bumbo. I saw one at the store, but was too cheap to shell out $30. My dear neighbor called and offered hers. Ainsley loves sitting up.

Stream of Consciousness

John: Ma hat is broken Daddy bix it I get ma tools.

Whew! Take a breath!

Chinese Fire Drill!

At the foot of my bed, I find John. At the head of my bed, I find Ainsley. I stumble to the kitchen to find coffee.

I read the book. I followed the plan. The baby slept. I declared victory! A little too soon, it appears.

Friday night began like a dream. I nursed Ainsley as I read stories to John. Lights out at 7:30!

Around 11:00 Kolbe had had enough of Pinewood Derby preparations. He curled up in our bed and was out like a light. At 11:30 Ainsley started fussing. By 12:00 Ainsley's fussing woke up John. I carried John into our room in hopes that Ainsley would settle down. John took one look at Kolbe and barked, "Get out of the bed!" Kolbe complied. Out goes Kolbe, in comes John. Ainsley never settled down. Out goes mom. I spent a fitful night soothing Ainsley, dozing in John's bed, and snoozing in my own.

Why is this, I wonder? Stuffy nose? Ear problems? The recently diagnosed eczema? We saw the doctor this morning. A clean bill of health! It's back to baby boot camp.

As sleep problems go, this is minor league. Our first baby left us grizzled veterans of foreign wars. Back when Tim was a baby, I sought the help of La Leche League because nursing had degenerated into the all-night cafe. I arrived at my first meeting spent - totally and completely spent.

Now, I love the La Leche League. Their well-informed counselors solved at least two difficult nursing problems for me. If you encounter nursing issues, no one is more knowledgeable.

At that first visit, however, I didn't find what I was looking for. I was sleep deprived and couldn't take it another day. They handed me a book called The Snugglers (or was it The Cuddlers?) that pictured a glowing family of six plus the family dog all happily sharing one bed and greeting the morning with smiles and good cheer. Now I felt then, and still feel today, that I could write the dark sequel to The Snugglers. Call it The Shriekers, The Howlers, The I'm Hopping the Next Plane for Bora Bora (ers).

To be brief, though we utilize the family bed as a stop-gap measure for a host of reasons - itty-bitties, sickness, travel, or night-terrors - I like my space.

The tricky part this time around is that, at least in theory, Ainsley and John share a room. With babies past, a little fussing (or in Tim's case quite a lot) didn't disturb anyone but me.

I sat at the Pinewood Derby last week dissecting our sleep issues with my friend Annette, a mother of fifteen children.

"We're trying to get the babies sleeping in the same room," I shared. "I hear it's been done through the centuries."

To Annette's enormous credit, she didn't laugh at me. Her kids all sleep at night, and it's not because they have fifteen bedrooms. This too shall pass.

I'm reminded of a favorite expression of our friend Dennis: Keep doing the right thing long enough and eventually you'll be successful. Fortitude, fortitude, fortitude.

Dave's 35th Birthday

A thoughtful husband, a dedicated father, a diligent provider, an all-around stand-up guy - all our love to you on the 13th anniversary of your 35th birthday!