Tragic Sandwich

Author: Tragic Sandwich

  • I Am Somebody

    Candy Hearts: Love

    When I was young, I would see commercials for RIF: Reading Is Fundamental. The ad showed a bookmobile arriving in a neighborhood, and a child (I think a boy, but it’s been a while) would select a book with the title “I Am Somebody!”

    This weekend, I took Baguette to the mall. Toddlers need to toddle, but not outside when it’s 104 degrees in the shade. At one point, I glanced into a store filled with tween clothes and saw a t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase “Future Mrs. Bieber.”

    Now, I have no real issue with Justin Bieber. He seems to fit in with the same Tiger Beat/Teen Beat pop stars that I remember from my own childhood, also of great appeal to the tweener age group.

    And I believe that a good marriage is a good thing. Mr. Sandwich and I put each other first and consider our marriage to be something that we both contribute to (one of my co-workers once said, “It’s not even like they’re married. They’re a team, like Batman and Robin”–I’m not sure I’d pick that prototype, but I appreciate the sentiment).

    But that shirt just made me angry. Because what it says to me is, “I don’t need my own identity as long as I’m someone’s wife.” And that is not what I want to teach Baguette. It’s not what I want to teach anyone’s daughter.

    Mr. Sandwich and I want Baguette to love herself just as she is, and believe that she has intrinsic human value. We want her to feel confident in her own worth, not feel that she gains importance based on who decided to tolerate her presence. So the question for us is: how do we do that?

    I think we do that the way we teach her everything else: by telling her outright, and modeling behavior. For me, that means accepting and loving myself just as I am, so that as her first female role model (and as her mother, that’s exactly what I am), I present an example of love, compassion, strength, and self-confidence. I know I’m not a supermodel, but I’m far from a troll. Are there things I would change about myself and my appearance? Sure, but I don’t think that those things make me a lesser human being. I know very well that appearance is literally the surface of who we are, and I believe that character is much more–and much more important–than size or shape.

    I know a lot of women who are distressed by their stretch marks after giving birth. I have them, and while it’s not like I jumped up and down for joy when they appeared, I also have suffered not one moment of anxiety that they exist. I always expected to get them–and they’re a natural after-effect of having a child. And beyond that, they show where Baguette used to live. So while it would be nice to have a smooth, flat stomach, I absolutely would not trade the one I have.

    I hope that if I accept myself and my human imperfections, it will be easier for Baguette to do the same. Because I don’t want her to consider herself the “future Mrs. Anybody.” I’d much rather she think, “I Am Somebody!”

    Photo by SeeMidTN.com (aka Brent), via Flickr.

  • Bedtime for Baguette

    When? Later than we’d like. How? Much, much harder than we’d like. This little girl does not like to sleep.

    Also, she’s started to climb, and she’s very strong. Recently, we’ve spotted her grabbing the top rail of her crib and planting both feet on the rails in an attempt to scale the sides.

    We all know what’s coming next–she’ll make it to the top and fall out. Hence Mr. Sandwich’s latest project:

    That’s right–he built this toddler bed himself. It’s very sturdy, but made of soft wood (someone likes to chew). And it’s midway through being finished with nontoxic butcher block conditioner (again with the chewing). He’ll add a rail to the side that won’t be against the wall. And yes, we will let her have a mattress.

    I think she’ll like it.

  • “I Think She’s Just Being a Weird Baby Today”

    Baguette’s Grandma and Grandpa came for a visit this weekend. They live out of town, and it’s been about four months since she’s seen them. That’s a quarter of her life, so it took her a little time to remember who they are. But once she did, she plopped down in Grandpa’s lap for reading time.

    Unfortunately, on Saturday Baguette woke up as Grumpy Baby. She didn’t like anything, and she particularly didn’t like it if I put her down. And while she did consent to a nap on Grandpa’s chest, it didn’t seem to help her mood much. This did not exactly simplify our preparations for that night’s cookout for 16 people (steak, salmon, sausages, asparagus, and tomato-rice salad, by the way).

    Baguette remained clingy throughout the cookout, although she did allow herself to be entertained by the six-year-old who provided the title to this post–a statement made, by the way, with a tone of acceptance and tolerance that I consider to be quite impressive at any age. And although she wanted very little to do with Grandma and Grandpa for much of the day, she did lean in and give them both goodnight kisses through her pacifier.

    Sunday was better; she started out with post-party fussiness, but perked up with a trip to the park. There she climbed up and slid down the slides, worked her way up stairs, and played in the sand. When we moved to a shady spot on the grass, she realized that “Da-Dee” wasn’t with us. Three different times, she set off down the path to find him, more than happy for Grandpa to walk with her as she looked. Then she’d come back and paw through my purse before setting out again.

    After dinner, she settled in with Grandpa and her four books that she likes, and made him read to her for at least half an hour. When it came time for Grandma and Grandpa to leave, she leaned in for hugs all around and waved to them as they drove away. We’ll go through it all over again in November, when we get together for Thanksgiving.

    And now, of course, I realize that part of Baguette’s “Weird Baby” episode can be attributed to Saturday’s lunch. Just because she liked the chicken tikka masala doesn’t mean it entirely agreed with her.

  • Mom-to-Mom (or Dad): Questions that Need Answers

    Here are some things I’m wondering. Yes, I could look them up in books, and I’m doing that, but I’m interested in hearing about real-world parenting.

    1) At what age should I put Baguette into stiff-soled shoes? Last month she made the transition from Robeez Soft Soles to Stride Rite‘s “Early Walkers” shoes. Now her daycare says that she’s dragging her feet, and she should be wearing heavier shoes so that she builds up her leg muscles. (Meanwhile, I drag my feet, and I can finish a triathlon. So is this really a big issue, or something to wait out?)

    2) Everyone seems to be biting everyone else at day care. What have you done at home to discourage (and end) biting?

    3) How much milk should a 16-month-old drink? She’s average for height and weight, and seems to be hitting her developmental milestones as she should, and she’s drinking whole milk. So we’re fine there. But I’m not sure how much milk she should get each day, as opposed to water (we’re still holding off on juice).

    I’d love to hear what’s worked for you. Please share!

  • Baby Talk

    Lt. Weinberg: You’ve heard her. My daughter said a word. She said, “Pa.”
    Kaffee: She was pointing to a mailbox, Sam.
    Lt. Weinberg: That’s right. She pointed to the mailbox as if to say, “Pa, look, a mailbox.”

    —A Few Good Men

    My mother always said that my first word was “word.” Today, that sounds like I must have been a really early rapper, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

    Baguette’s first word was “monkey.” She said it while looking at a monkey, so I’m reasonably certain she was actually talking about monkeys. Also, Mr. Sandwich’s mother heard it too, and there’s no way a grandmother could be biased in favor of early speech, right? Meanwhile, Baguette has yet to repeat the word.

    Her next word, several weeks later, was “diaper.” My unbiased witness in this case was Mr. Sandwich.

    Now she’s 16 months old, and her vocabulary continues to grow. Here are a few of her favorites:

    • “Mama”
    • “Daddy”
    • “Wicket”
    • “Up”
    • “Out”
    • “Outside”
    • “Bubble”
    • “Ball”

    …and something that sounds suspiciously like “more milk.”

    What were your children’s earliest words?

  • My Favorite Sandwich

    In a sitcom, this reveal would come in the series finale. And it would probably be a disappointment to many viewers, because of course the earlier episodes would have featured increasingly complex concoctions with discordant and occasionally obscure ingredients.

    When I started second grade, my mother said, “What do you want for lunch tomorrow?” I paused–because it had never before occurred to me that I might have a say in the matter–and replied, “I don’t care, as long as it’s not bologna.”

    Every morning in high school, my mother would say, “What do you want for lunch?” And every morning I would give her the same answer, which finally led me to say, “Peanut butter and jelly, and I’ll let you know when I’m tired of it.” (Yes, my mother made my lunch in high school. I think she felt guilty because I was up in the morning before she was, and her vision of the “perfect mother” was someone who was up early and made her kids’ lunches, even if they were old enough to manage that themselves. Hopefully we can all get past this shocking revelation.)

    PB&J and “not bologna” are still very high on my list. But my real favorite sandwich can be traced back to a trip to the UK that we made when I was 10. In the course of traveling through England, Scotland, and Northern Ireland, we had a few high teas. At one of those teas, I discovered a wonder: the tomato sandwich.

    This is a delightfully simple sandwich: sliced tomato between two slices of bread that have been brushed with mayonnaise. (Do not tell me that mayonnaise is “gross.” I’m telling you what I like, not making you eat it.) I’m sure that at the long-ago teas, the sandwiches were made with white bread. We don’t have white bread, so I make mine on Roman Meal. To a lot of people I know, that’s practically white bread. For the mayonnaise, I used Best (Hellman’s to you East Coast readers). For the tomatoes?

    Ah, that’s where the magic comes in. The tomatoes are from our garden, which was dug, planted, and harvested by Mr. Sandwich. Last year the raccoons got all of the tomatoes (or, at least, part of each tomato), but this year he’s actually been able to find some that are both ripe and untouched by vermin hands.

    So last night I sliced up the tomato, put it on the mayonnaise-y bread, sprinkled just a little salt on it, and ate. Delicious.

  • Parenting, Page by Page

    Baby & Parenting Books, Puzzles

    This is not my bookshelf.

    When I was pregnant with Baguette, I bought The Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy and The Panic-Free Pregnancy. I figured that pretty much covered it, considering that I have an obstetrician who I trust.

    After Baguette was born, we started using Dr. Spock (current edition and the one my mother would have used–thank you, eBay!), as well as Your Baby’s First Year Week by Week and Your Baby Month By Month. I read them for a few weeks, and then stopped–she seemed to be on target, we have a pediatrician who we trust, and (no matter how many caveats the books included) focusing on such a detailed level seemed likely to induce anxiety. And all of us have enough of that on our own regarding parenting, don’t we?

    We’ve inherited a couple of toddler-focused books, which I think I’ve looked at once–I’ve long switched to using these books to see if I can find specific answers (how much milk should Baguette be drinking each day?) rather than reading them completely.

    Then Motherlode started a book club. So far I’ve bought each of the three books: Torn, Origins, and No Biking in the House Without a Helmet.

    I haven’t read that last one, so I’ll focus on the first two. Torn is a collection of articles, mostly written by women who work outside the home (my mom was a stay-at-home-mom, and I know that path is work, too–believe me!). As I myself am not torn about working, most of the articles didn’t reflect my own experience or feelings–but I did find them interesting. In fact, that actually made the book more interesting to me, because it gave me the chance to learn about how others are affected by their life choices. (I already know how I’m affected by mine, after all.) Origins focuses on fetal development, and while I found it interesting, I also thought that the author was too focused on bringing every issue back to that topic. I have no doubt that what happens in the womb is incredibly influential on babies, in ways that can affect us throughout our lives, but that doesn’t mean everything can be traced back to that source.

    If you’re looking for something lighter, you might try Jay Mohr’s No Wonder My Parents Drank: Tales from a Stand-Up Dad. I don’t find Mohr’s stand-up particularly funny, but I could relate to an awful lot of this book–and I found him much more likeable as a person after reading it.

    So what are you reading?

    Photo by SierraTierra, via Flickr.

  • My Balance: Tragic Sandwich

    Rock-Scale

    I don’t know anyone in this photo; I just liked it!

    I got this idea from a post on Oil and Garlic; she got it from A Cup of Jo. Does that make it a meme? At any rate, here goes:

    1. What’s your work schedule?

    I start work at 8 a.m. (or thereabouts, depending on whether my bus is on time) and leave at 5 p.m., Monday through Friday. Mr. Sandwich works 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., so our schedules are a little staggered. We used to commute together, but when my maternity leave ended, we needed to shift it a bit. Each of us comutes by bus, although I sometimes drive to work if I have a late-afternoon doctor’s appointment, or if I miss the bus and my day doesn’t allow for me to be 15 minutes late. Or if I’m super tired and the bus is SRO by the time it gets to my stop.

    My alarm goes off at 5:20, and I get up one snooze-button hit later. I drop Baguette off and drive like a crazy person to get to my bus stop. Mr. Sandwich picks Baguette up, and we all get home a little after 6 p.m. Then we play with her, take her and the dog for a walk, feed her, and bathe her when she needs it. (The order of these events varies depending on the day.) She hates to go to sleep, so there is usually a fairly long wind-down period, with lowered lights and hushed talking and a final bottle. We want her to go to bed between 8 and 8:30, but all too often she isn’t ready until about an hour later. Then we get our things and hers ready for the next day and watch a tiny amount of TV, and get to bed between 10:30 and 11:00–about an hour later than I’d like, but that’s how the time goes.

    2. How do you handle childcare?

    We found a wonderful day care center that is about a two-minute drive from the house. It’s like paying a second mortgage–and I am not exaggerating–but we have so much confidence in them, and Baguette really likes the teachers and her little friends. If she gets sick, one of us stays home with her. Mr. Sandwich’s parents live in town, so sometimes they will come over on the weekend and help us with supervising Baguette and completing tasks around the house.

    3. What do you find best about your current set-up?

    It works. I really like her day care, although I wish it weren’t so expensive. I wish my commute were shorter, but I live in the real world of Los Angeles, and that’s how commutes work here.

    4. What advice would you give to other moms about the juggle?

    Establish priorities, and don’t beat yourself up. I had fantasies of cooking meals for the three of us. This could work, because Baguette is a pretty flexible eater. This absolutely does not work, because I just don’t have time. I felt bad about it for far too long, and then I acknowledged that I really can’t do anything but supervise her when I’m with her–she’s just too active. So now I hope to be able to do that in the future. But it’s completely unproductive to feel bad about not doing something that I just can’t do.

    One of my friends has a daughter a couple of months older than Baguette, and she makes amazing meals every night and spends time with her children. I used to wonder how she managed it, and then I mapped the distance between her house and her work. Guess what–she doesn’t have my commute! So she’s got more time to work with. It’s not realistic to compare my life to hers, because they just aren’t the same. That’s true for everyone else, too.

    5. Do you think the juggle is harder for women than for men?

    Yes. Mr. Sandwich is a very hands-on dad, and he’s also done pretty much all of our laundry for much of the past year. But Baguette is a very hands-on baby, and she wants me when I’m home. I feel like I’ve been mommy-tracked at work, and I made every effort that I could think of to avoid that. He’s got his own work issues (don’t we all?), but I haven’t gotten the impression that he’s been daddy-tracked. That can happen, of course, but I think it’s much less common.

    Photo by neurmadic aesthetic, via Flickr.

  • Some Days, I Wish I Had Twins

    Before you say, “Tragic Sandwich, that’s crazy talk,” hear me out:

    Baguette hates to go to sleep. And what we’ve come to realize is that part of what she hates is being alone. Which makes sense, because nighttime is the only time she’s alone, and so when we leave her in her crib, she feels abandoned.

    It’s not just disappointment at being unable to stay up and play more. There’s real sorrow in her cries. And I think that if she had a twin in there with her, she wouldn’t feel alone, and would go to sleep more easily.

    So maybe it is crazy talk. But there is a logic to it.

  • Go, Dog, Go!

    Go Dog Go!

    Baguette loves books, but she won’t let me read to her. She grabs the book out of my hand and goes through the pages in whatever order makes sense to her, pointing and chattering about what’s on the page.

    At least, that’s what happened until Monday morning. On Monday, as I was getting her ready for day care and me ready for work, she picked up the board book version of P.D. Eastman’s Go, Dog, Go! and handed it to me to read. When I asked her if she wanted to read it herself, she pushed it at me. So I read it to her, and then read it to her a second time. And I realized that now I have to build reading time into our morning.

    This is tricky. In order to have time with Baguette in the evening, I have to leave work no later than 5:00. That means I have to be at work by 8:00 a.m., which means (with my commute) that I drop her off at day care at 7:00. This works as long as she’s up between 6:00 and 6:15. In order to get my morning stuff done before she’s awake, I get up at 5:30. And that’s already earlier than I want to have either of us wake up. So squeezing book time into that morning is not easy.

    But she also wants me to read it to her at night. Last night, as we were trying to get her to wind down for the evening (and that is no simple task–Baguette hates to go to sleep), she had me read the book. And then read it again. And again. And again. I think I read it at least eight times, always in the slow, soothing delivery I’d normally give to something like Goodnight, Moon. Seriously, you have never known so many fast-moving dogs to travel at such a measured pace.

    But as I look at the book–which I’m now a little crazy about, myself–I am struck by the illustrations in a way I haven’t been before. They really do have an energy and an excitement, and I’m starting to wonder if Dr. Seuss and the Eastmans (and possibly the Berenstains) haven’t done all of us a disservice.

    Because real life just doesn’t measure up to these books.

    Look at that first page, where the dogs jump out of an enormous bed. Isn’t that bed huge? Doesn’t it look like a great place to sleep? Are you that energized when you get out of your bed in the morning? I know I’m not. I don’t think I ever have been.

    And the dogs who travel “by boat.” I want to hang out on that boat. It’s got a doghouse with a diving board. It’s the most awesome dog houseboat imaginable. Look how enthusiastic the swan-diving dog is!

    Mostly, though, it’s the last page (spoiler alert!). Have you ever been to a party as much fun as the dog party? No, I didn’t think so. None of us have, and we probably never will. Parties are fun, but the dog party surpasses them all.

    Real life. It’s just not like board books. And that’s a sad realization.

    Photo by Creative Nickie, via Flickr.