Oh Atlanta!

I’ve been playing my “relaxation” playlist that Mr. Banks created for me quite a bit around the house lately. It’s supposed to calm me through the birth of our second child which is any day now. On that playlist is my all time favorite Alison Krauss song, “Oh, Atlanta”. Well, Lolo just flat out took a liking to it and started randomly singing it ALL THE TIME, so I thought I would capture one of her concert sessions on video.

This Will Make You Weep

Snow

Yes, this is obscenely late, and all the other blogs have already posted how they were plastered with snow last week. But, I still have news to report even if it’s late and outdated. It’s still my news.

We officially got 24-inches of snow the day after Christmas and had an interesting time shoveling ourselves out when not going stir crazy inside. Again, this year Lolo enjoyed about 7 minutes with the snow before wanting retreat to the comfort of her viewing chair with a nice cheese stick and “warm chawk-waht” which is hot chocolate on the luke warm side if you didn’t know. It’s how all the cool kids take their cocoa.

Uncle Charlie and Mr. Banks even shoveled the elderly lady’s driveway across the street.

Hi Cheese, Hi Tiger

We took Lolo into the city last Saturday to see the tree and ice skaters in Rockefeller Center. Of course, it was crazy and packed and nutty and mind blowingly busy. But nothing can really prepare you, even if you went last year. Nothing pulls you into the reality of the mayhem you signed up for like swimming in the hoards of tourists looking up at a giant tree as you cut off their ankles with your stroller. She knew she was going to see the tree and see the ice skaters, but beyond that, I think she pictured something a little more like Bush Gardens than just decorated city streets. She kept asking where the rides were. And, while we will wait over two hours for Santa, we will not wait six to get on the ice at Rock Center. We had to tell her that if we waited in line to skate, we would never be able to go to THE PRINCESS TOY STORE! With that crafty diversion, we pushed ourselves on down to the Disney store where her eyes lit up at the princess castle. She was immediately inspired to dance and then asked if she could be Belle, which in toddler language means, “Can we buy this Belle costume?” She is now the proud owner of a glittery Belle costume with light up plastic shoes even though she knows nothing of this “Belle” other than that she’s the “yellow princess” that adorns her undies and toothbrush. I would have taken pictures in the Disney store but I was too busy telling myself not to have a panic attack at the sheer volume of people clamoring to buy anything and everything.

Note on post title: There are gangs of people trying to make a holiday buck who dress up in these amateur character costumes outside Rock Center. The idea is that they provide you with an easy photo-op and you get a picture with a SpongeBob-like character and they get a nice tip. They are everywhere and Lolo saw SpongeBob and decided that it must be a cheese character. We didn’t bother to correct her because it was hilarious to here her call out, “Hi Cheese!”

So excited to sit on her very own NJ Transit seat especially when across from a group of eight 16 year-old teenagers that are soooooo cool. "They even wear lipstick like me." Belle costume is sitting safely in that Disney bag right next to her.

3 Hours and 2 Dogs

Our babysitter took her two dogs to the same mall we took Lolo to because they offered to take pictures of your dog with Santa at 7pm last Sunday. She was stoked because she had seen how real the Santa they had was. Imagine her surprise three magical hours later when she reached the front of the line to find out that they had a volunteer from a local dog shelter dressed up as Santa for the pet photos. This picture slays me and I couldn’t resist getting permission to post her two lovely pups with the most menacing Santa I have ever seen. Catch that holiday death stare!

Jinx

My sweet, precious do-gooder of a child. My perfectly empathetic and sensitive child. The one other moms comment on by saying “how she is so well-behaved.”

The class mom of the two year-old class at her preschool organized a coffee klatch for us to get together after this morning’s school drop off. One of my close friends was there with her very active 1 year old-old, which prompted me to gush on and on about how Lolo has always just been “good”. My best example of this has always been that she has never attempted to climb out of her crib. She has asked before if she could either climb in or out of her crib. But, I told her that only mama or papa can get her in and out. And, that was it.

Since abandoning her nap a few weeks ago which really feels like years ago, I have instituted a one hour session of quiet time. She has to be in her crib and mostly quiet. She can read books, sing and play out her elaborate, lifetime channel for toddlers, mini-dramas. But, she has to be there while I eat my lunch in utterly, blissful silence.

Today, I put her in her crib with three books and went about eating and folding mounds of laundry. I was on the phone when I heard an enormous sound. It sounded like a metal dumpster fell from the sky outside our house. And, then she started wailing. I raced upstairs to find her in the middle of her room with tears streaming down her face. I asked what happened and she said, “I twied to climb outta my cwib.” I checked her over and didn’t see any visible wounds or bumps. I asked what she fell on and she appropriately said, “Da gwound.” Then I more specifically asked what part of her body she fell on and she pointed to her face. So I peered into her mouth to find two chipped teeth. It wasn’t horrible but they were now sharp enough to cut her tongue. I raced to the phone and the dentist said to come straight over. The good news is that it was all pretty minor. He grinded the edges and said it was the best possible scenerio and only time with tell if they darken. The teeth won’t be dead he said but they could discolor. Wha?

So, we went home to wind down from the crisis and I started to make broccoli and sausage pizza for her dinner. I kept verbally checking in with her while I was in the kitchen and she would call out a confirmation that all was okay. Once the pizza was done, I asked her to come to the dining room to eat and she didn’t answer. I walked to the playroom and she wasn’t there. I walked to the living room … nothing. I asked where she was and I heard a very guilty, “Over heah.” I found her wedged between the wall and the hutch with my very thick and juicy lip gloss opened and clutched in her hand. Her face was covered in glossy mauve as she both applied and ate the lip color. Her hands were drenched as well.

This doesn’t happen to me. I am never tested like this. She had to sit in time out and then lost her TV privilege for the evening. But she didn’t care because she just wanted to have one, singular bite of pizza and then play doll house with me. I was completely at a loss. Who told her that it’s fun to test the limits? Damn school.

Overheard On NJ Transit

We have taken a few trips into the city for concerts, parties and such and have been blessed with a couple good quotes overheard on our very own NJ Transit trains.

[A gaggle of very Northern college girls gets on the train, and it’s quickly apparent to the entire train that their adventure will involve a big Italian feast and then a ree-donkulous amount of drinking. The loudest of the loudest girls gave us this gem.]

“Yo, yo. I am soo hungry man. Yo, Christina, I am gonna eat some pasta tonight. I’m gonna order the big plate of pasta and then I’m gonna order a big fat calzone ‘to-go’ so I can eat it at 4 o’clock in the morning, yo. Ohhh, it’s gonna be so good eatin’ that thing when we get home tonight.”

[A disheveled young male, drunk and sweaty got on the train with us back to Jersey at 1 o’clock in the morning and chose his seat due to its proximity to an electrical outlet. Clearly he was in the mood to chat, he plugged his phone in and didn’t stop talking until we changed our seats. In general, he blabbed on and on about the wicked time he had that night out at the party with some chic. After minutes upon minutes of chattering about the drinking, the drama, the cops showing up, he finally let the person on the other end of the phone get in a word.]

His response to whatever this person said was, “Yo, you’re like a tiger. You like to roar but you don’t bite.” What got me then and what still makes me want to vomit now when I think about it is that he proceeded to pick at a scab on his ankle while talking  and eat the bits of scab material. Yes, he sat there at ate his bloody scab.

It’s Been A Whole Month

I’m cooked. My dear daughter is consistently skipping naps, just talking and singing for hours in her crib. Yesterday, I listened to her singing through the monitor … “Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top. When the sunshine comes out, the baby will wake up.” Who taught her that? When I casually asked the doctor about it at her half-yearly checkup trying not to show the beads of sweat on my forhead, she said, “You know, you’re lucky. My son wouldn’t nap after 18 months. She’s going to skip naps more frequently and will soon give it up all together.” What?

I napped till I was five. I have a little report card from nursery school somewhere in a box in the basement that says, “She’s such a wonderful child and such a great sleeper.”

Lolo has been skipping about once or twice a week, but now I am lucky if I get one or two naps from her a week. Eek. I can’t check my email, I can’t fold laundry because she always wants “to help”, I can’t put away the madness she creates in the living room. And, how am I ever going to shop on the Internet again? No one wants to hunt down their new winter coat at 8pm after she’s gone to bed. That’s when you pour yourself on the couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of Flipping Out.

Now instead of eating, cleaning and reading in peace, this is the reality of my weekdays at 2pm … her first manicure.

A Glimpse

Things you will learn from an afternoon with Lolo:

1. You can make a game out of anything.
2. It’s all about where “the baby’s” mama is and if he/she is sad that the mama is at the store. But, we have all learned that mamas always come back. This exercise is played out everyday in our household as she still wraps her head around me dropping her off at the kid care center at the JCC and the fact that she is going to school in the fall.
3. Notice that she has added in “that mama has a surprise” for the baby which stems from the time we escaped to Montreal and came back bearing gifts.
4. The “red store” = Target. (The “green store” = Whole Foods, “The Store With The Little Carts” is Trader Joes, and for some reason CVS just equals CVS.)
5. Yes, I am using a Big Bird puppet to talk to her and help take care of the babies while the mama picks up “baby things” from the red store. She asked me to.
6. This went on for a lot longer than the 5 minute video.
7. Yes, I got caught on tape saying “blowed bubbles”. You can’t be around a toddler this much and not be affected by their hilarious sense of grammar.

(Sorry about the picture quality. With a video that long, I had to lower the file size significantly.)

Crisp Crunch

My body has actually regulated itself as I strangle all the ever-loving sugar, dairy and carbohydrates out of my diet. There was a period of withdrawal where my body revolted against the lack of calories. It’s been pretty brutal and frankly, exhausting. For all that I cannot eat, I still spend a reeeedeeeculous amount of time thinking about what I could possibly eat. Last week I couldn’t sleep enough but now I am in a more pleasant groove.

I’ve become accustomed to celery stalks slathered with hummus at 4 o’clock  and almost had a panic attack when Trader Joe’s seemed to be out of celery packs. It’s quite a pleasing snack with the cool protein and the crisp crunch. Who knew celery had Vitamin K and potassium? Bonus.

Last week, I never felt full. I couldn’t eat enough and wanted to open a bag of spinach at midnight just to feel like I was eating something. Now, I can feel full and satiated but it’s not really what I want to eat. It’s what I am allowed to eat. I don’t want to eat any more ham or turkey or eggs or walnuts. I’m good with vegetables. I love vegetables but I want sweet.

It’s been an eye opening experience and I will probably modify my diet for good after this experience. I’ll only eat one serving of yogurt a day and look at the sugar content in the food I buy, but really, all  I need to survive at this point is my coffee creamer and splenda packets. I’ll even switch to stevia if I have to. I just need my sweet, milky coffee in the morning.

When I am running low on calories and start to fade late in the day, my eyes glaze over as I stare at the wall. If someone were here to ask me what I am thinking, I would tell them, “I am imagining myself curled in a corner surrounded by Stonyfield Chocolate Underground yogurt packs and an infinite number of clean spoons binging blissfully. I think I just came up with a modern day theme for the After School Special series.

I’m So Hungry

Let me just start off by addressing the drought. I haven’t posted in a while because I have been to the doctor about once a week for the past few months. If that’s not actually true, it feels like it.

I will keep it really vague for everyone’s benefit. No one really wants to know the details, trust me. It involves discomfort with my lady parts.

Because of the issues I’ve been having, I’ve had to make a drastic but temporary change to my diet. I can’t eat ANY sugar, white flour, potato products, dairy or anything remotely delicious for a little over two weeks. I can’t eat bagels or waffles or yogurt or sour cream or cookies of coffee creamer or bread or chips.

Now I know their are precious starving children around the world who would do anything to be punished with a steady diet of water, nuts, eggs, hummus, avocado and more hummus. But, as a registered dairy-addict, I am truly suffering. Besides that, I have no energy. I need sugars and delectible carbohydrates for my motor to run.

I never nap. I’ve got laundry and dishes and internet shopping to do besides all the vacuous reality shows I consume daily. But, I can’t make it through the day on low-carb whole wheat tortillas wraps and utterly plain and tasteless oatmeal. I’ve napped at least an hour each day this week while Lolo is down.

So, I put the call out to you. Anyone have any creative ideas on what I can eat? I have figured out some solutions for my meals. I had eggs, turkey bacon and a whole wheat english muffin for dinner but I can’t exactly take that to the pool for a snack. Have you tried any whole wheat snacks that have only 1 or 2 grams of sugar per serving? I need to dip something other than celery in my hummus at this point. As I told Mr. Banks, “I didn’t like celery when I was 4, and I don’t like it now. But, I have no other vessel for my bean dip. And, I have too much pride to eat hummus with a spoon.”

Seriously, I will take any food suggestions I can get!

A River Runs Through It

I was back and forth on what to do about getting on a plane with a toddler who was having 3 gallon accidents. In the end, she got on the plane Friday with diapers. And, she was happy about it. And, God, so was I.

The Wednesday and Thursday before the flight, I was obsessing and analyzing in my own patented way … calling everyone I knew who had potty trained someone … looking and begging for advice. My gut told me that she just wasn’t ready but my heart wanted to give her the chance to succeed. Plus, I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation about how the undies had to go away for a while.

She was putting 100% of her poo in the potty, but the pee accidents were getting more and more frequent. She loved the fun part of potty training, real underwear, but hated the more mundane part, putting urine in the potty instead of continuing to play with toys. How boring.

The drop of pee that broke the camel’s back happened when I was outside on the phone having one of the above mentioned conversations. She peed on the sidewalk, watched it stream down her leg into a puddle and then got creative. She discovered she could make butt prints on the sidewalk by continually plopping her wet bum down.

So, after nap that day, I told her that it was okay if she needed to take a break from potty training. That she could wear diapers and still go to the potty if she wanted. It was okay to wear diapers and that the undies weren’t going away forever. That she could still get her potty rewards (like playing with her Tinkerbelle beauty salon set for 15 minutes every time she poops in the potty) and that undies are still in the drawer when she is ready for them.

And, what happened? She was a little bummed that she wouldn’t be putting on undies everyday but got over that in 3 seconds. She was dry for both plane rides. She asked to go to the potty before and after the flights and continues to put 100% of her poop and 75% of her pee in the potty.

She’s on the verge of making it happen but just needs a little more space and time to remember to ask to go pee. I know one day she is just going to wake up and tell me she’s done with diapers. In the meantime, I can put away the Martha Stewart carpet cleaner and drink my coffee in peace.

The Results

Somehow we made it through three days of potty bootcamp together and have re-entered society twice. I’ll admit, I thought I was going to lose my mind several times along the way. Not because of accidents or pee on the kitchen floor. It was the isolation. I felt trapped. The fact that all our carpets were covered by plastic tarps didn’t help with the sensation of mania either.

I see clearly the advantages of being in your home venue for 3 days, of having your child throw away all their diapers, of giving them the power to speak up by saying “Tell mama when you have to go poo or pee,” and of catching them in the act of accidents. It all makes sense. But good Lord, it’s mentally exhausting.  It was much easier to withstand when I was doing it for someone else’s kid as a nanny and 10 years younger. I will say that it does give you the fortitude to never go back, though. After Day 1, I was so happy to never have to do Day 1 again. On Day 3, I thought Day 2 was for suckers.

Back to the story. By Day 2 something had clicked. She had two pee accidents right off the bat in the morning but was clean and dry the rest of the day. (I overruled her decision to skip pull-ups at night for reasons of style and pride. She woke up in the middle of the night between Day 1 and 2 soaking wet and very upset. Changing sheets, blankets and pajamas in the dark at 4 a.m. won’t be happening again. I have, however, acquiesced and allowed her to wear undies and not pull-ups for naps. She’s been dry so far and I figured throwing a little confidence her way may help.)

Day 3 felt glorious in a shut-in, nut-house kind of way. Not only were we over half-way through the process, but she started telling me when she needed to go rather than me constantly asking her to tell me when she needed to go, over and over and over. I felt like an obsessive parrot who picked up a copy of this potty training manual and couldn’t let go.

As we closed down Day 3, I started to worry. What am I going to do tomorrow? There is no manual for the fourth day of this adventure. She didn’t have any accidents on Day 3 but we were always within 4 seconds of a bathroom. How do I leave her side, the house, the driveway?

And, then the reality of Day 4 came when she pooped in her undies right after breakfast because she was so engrossed in watching a guy mow his lawn outside. I realized that, no, I no longer have to carry diapers in my purse (hooray) but now I have to carry two outfits in case of an accident. I also just ordered a fold-able, travel potty for the car in case we are out at a park and nature calls. It will get easier, I know. The limbo period is what’s going to put me on tilt.

So, what does an All-American family do to get out of the house on the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend with a newly potty trained toddler? They go to IKEA where the bathroom opportunities are a plenty and no one will notice if you have to wipe up a puddle under your daughter.

The real fun will happen when I get on a plane with her on Friday.

30 Pairs

Shopping List:

-30 pairs of “big girl” undies
-4 plastic tarps
-Stickers
-Gummie Bunnies
-High fiber snacks
-Big girl wipes

I’ve been earmarking this summer as the right time to potty train Lolo in between travel dates. When she hides under the dining room table each and every time she poops when we’re home, it’s time to put that recognition to good use. But, then I looked at the calendar and realized there is no perfect storm as we are in and out of town each month. With no time like the present, I dove into a potty training program recommended by a friend. (Extra Nugget: I’ve actually done a commando potty training program similar to this one when I was a nanny after college and it worked like a charm with Esther, so why not Lolo.)

I just finished Day 1 of 3, and I am about to pass out. The program requires you to be at home for three days straight doing nothing but paying attention to your child and catching them in the act of an accident … so you can race them to the potty … so they are getting that sense of urgency.

At lunch time, there was a pile of 7 pairs of wet undies on the bathroom floor. But, she was dry for her 3 hour nap (she rejected the pull-ups I bought because they weren’t panty-like enough) and then accident-free the rest of the afternoon. (Right now she is wearing Kushies Training Pants because they were better than a 72 cent piece of cotton standing between her and an entire night’s worth of urine.)

I know there will be many more ups and downs over the next two days and coming weeks, but I can at least scratch off day 1 and now fall into bed. I can still hear myself saying “Tell Mama when the pee pee is coming” over and over and over and over.

Denim Poopy Pants?

I was cruising through my local Target yesterday when I almost fell over on the way to the diaper cream. There was an end-cap  filled with a new line of diapers from Huggies. They’re denim diapers, and I can’t get the image out of my head. The little denim pocket, the printed pattern, the ridiculous rock-star marketing spiel. And, get this, they are touted as limited edition.

I keep thinking I should have some funny quip about it. That I should have some point-of-view or opinion on the whole thing to wrap it into one hilarious package. But, all that I can come up with is the word that keeps flashing across my brain. L-A-M-E.

Here’s what I got. I’m a suburban housewife who races around town with my reusable bags shopping for food, socks and value packs of paper towels. I get upset when we run out of something like sponges because who has time to run into a store  for three sponges? And, you think I’ll be lulled into a euphoria when you create a fashionable receptacle for my child’s pee and poo? Let’s be real. I may get excited about a sale on sponges, but not denim diapers.

High Tech

Life has been meandering along as we all wait for the CFA test day to arrive. Until we collectively become a chartered financial family, we have been enjoying the hilarious details of modern life.

1. She is obsessed with calling me “Mommy.” She hears all her friends calling their mamas by “Mommy” and thinks it is just so cool. She picked up a puzzle piece the other day and told me that “this puzzle piece is upset.” I asked why and she replied, “Because he wants his Mom and Dad to pick him up.” I said, “Oh, he wants his Mama and Papa?” She said, “No. Mom and Dad.” End of story.

It’s everywhere. In every storybook, it’s all about mommy and daddy and she knows it. Even though I insert “Mama” and “Papa” when I read her stories, none of her babysitters do on Saturday night. She’s got my number and the jig is up. All hope of being called mama can’t be lost though. I figure I have a tiny shot of being mama until kindergarten if I don’t let on to how much the sound of mommy irks me. If she figures that out, I’m sunk.

2. It’s a small feat but I just catapulted myself into the modern era by upgrading my cell phone from an old enV2 with a cracked screen to one that can access … (wait for it) … the Internet. It doesn’t mean that I have actually accessed the worldwide web though. I’m afraid. It’s too much, too soon. Such power and information at your fingertips feels so futuristic. I’m still infatuated with the touch screen. Plus, I know that once I start, I’ll fly right by my monthly megabyte limit so I’m saving it up for a Google emergency.

Who this really affects is my brother, he’s my poor man’s iPhone. I just call him when I’m lost in the car and ask him to use his iPhone in VA to look up directions for me up North.

3. Sit down. We bought a new TV. Yes, we upgraded from the $300 “flat screen” CRT which we bought the year we were married (2001) with an employee discount from Circuit City. (Figure that one out.) So really, it’s a $500 TV from 2001, a little less embarrassing, no?

The tube actually burned out while I was watching The Amazing Race and we couldn’t avoid replacing the dinosaur any longer. Hopefully this one will last another decade. I must say, it’s quite nice.

As he fell under the spell of the lit screen, Mr. Banks said, “It’s like we advanced 10 years in technology with one purchase.” I said, “It’s not like we did. We just did. That’s what happens when you keep a TV that long.”

Her First Poop Joke

I was changing her diaper first thing this morning as usual. I removed the 7 pound pee pee bomb and replaced it with a fresh diaper. As I was poised to place the diaper cream on her bum, she said, “Mama? You gonna put poo poo on my bummy?” She laughed heartily and I realized that telling poop jokes must be Chapter 2 in the handbook on how to be a 2 year-old. Right now, we’re still working through Chapter 1, “The Art of Whining”.

Domestic

I just had another domestic hot flash. After I dropped Lolo off at the childcare room at the gym, I hopped on an elliptical and tuned into one of the three palatable daytime shows on at 10am: The 20th Hour of the Today Show with Kathie Lee and Hoda, Good Day New York (which has actually made its way onto “The Soup” with Joel McHale for the utter nuttiness of it all) and dare I say, The Rachael Ray Show. I know it. Color me a housewife. Just throw in some “Juicy” velour sweatpants and a blackberry phone (wrapped in the hot pink rhinestones) and I am the picture of Northeastern, domestic, stay-at-home bliss.

But, I have to watch something while I sweat it out. My circa 2005 iPod mini is filled with kids music, so that’s not an option. Anyway. I’m there and I am switching around my three channels when I land on Rachael. Yes, she’s utterly annoying. The large head, the strained and screechy voice, the parmesan cheese being thrown everywhere all over the EVOO. The audience actually claps when she adds cheese or bacon to a dish.

She’s making a pasta entree (shocker) that actually looks quasi-appealing. I’m in a dinner-making rut and could use some inspiration.  This could be the dish that turns me around. I mentally earmark the recipe and decide I’ll give it a whirl.

I was utterly self conscious about shopping for the ingredients as if everyone in the produce department knew I was making a recipe that I saw on daytime television while I was at the gym while someone else was taking care of my child while I selfishly worked out.

I love what I do and wouldn’t trade it for the world. But it’s not really something you can talk about at a party when someone asks you what you do. Once you mention you’re a full-time mom, their eyes glaze over with disinterest. Visions of ice cream-stained sweatpants and lots of TV float through their head.

I take what I do very seriously and work hard at it. And, I mean “work hard at it” by more than lugging laundry and emptying the dishwasher. So, when my life veers dangerously close to a stereotype, my armpits sweat a little bit. It’s silly, I know. I herd a wild toddler by myself all week long and deserve 2 hours a week to watch ridiculous television without guilt on an exercise machine. I would just hate to get caught with a fresh manicure, bedazzled “Jersey Girl” tank top and a new tan and then have to defend my position.

In The City

Evidence of our fun roaming the Upper West Side for three days.

Off the Grid.

“Should we take the wine into the bathroom?,” asked Mr. Banks last night at 8:30 pm.

The first night we were in the hotel, Mr. Banks had to stay late at the office so he didn’t get back to the room until Lolo was safely lulled into a deep sleep. In the meantime, I managed to entertain myself on the laptop in complete silence and darkness while she slept in her matchstick-sized hotel crib. (Bad mama. I didn’t bring the pack-n-play because there was just too much going on before we left the house in a mad rush. Yes, there is a reason every baby book says to avoid hotel cribs at all costs.) But, our system worked out great. Mr. Banks and I ate dinner in the dark but were able to have a conversation while she slept not 8 feet away from us.

Well, last night he arrived back to the room right as Lolo was saying “sweet dreams” at 7pm and she didn’t close her eyes until nearly 10pm. This city already has her blood pumping with energy and chutzpah. Knowing that Mama and Papa were so close to her and completely awake was just too much. She tried. She put her head down on the pillow for five minutes and then peeked out from the curtain I have draped around the crib with a devilish smile. For the next three hours, we tried everything. We ate in silence in the dark and reminded her that it was bedtime. We took our food and wine in the bathroom (oh yes we did) so she would settle down in peace. There’s a TV in the bathroom so it wasn’t all that weird. I tried to lay down with her in bed. Nothing worked. She played and sang for close to three hours, and I just kept reminding myself, “This is a vacation. It’s okay to go off schedule.” We opened the bathroom door at one point to see what she was singing and heard, “Shake you tail, flap you wings and stomp you feet!” over and over again.

Needless to say, she’s having a blast in the city and has adjusted to life quite well off the grid of our normal life. The entirety of our day is spent finding food, playing at the park and walking the dog in the park. Wash and repeat. She’d prefer if we could skip the walking the dog part but is content to watch a little extra TV each morning.

While it’s been an adventure and wonderful to see her excitement over the city, I’m looking forward to being able to heat food again.