What on earth did I do with my time before my daughter was born? Did I suffer from narcolepsy or some sort of chronic fatigue disorder or something? Because I’m wondering how it is possible that I lived in my house two years prior to her birth and still did not manage to paint the dining room, organize my office, or finish putting my wedding photos into an album.

Because I had hours, I had days, I had whole weekends where changing diapers, cleaning up the high chair, washing boo boos, picking up toys and constantly spotting a very small and very reckless climber (she likes to stack things up and see how high she can get) were not mandatory activities.

Even if I take into account all those Saturday mornings when my husband and I slept in till the decadent hour of nine (or even ten!) a.m., or the Sundays wiled away sipping coffee on the back patio reading The New York Times, that still left a lot of space to get things accomplished. What was I thinking? I’ll bet I could have written a novel, found an agent and got it published.

We could be living off the royalties from the movie rights right now! (At least this is what I fantasize that I could have done with all that freedom I had pre-child.) Wouldn’t it be great if you could get credit for the time you didn’t use? Because let me tell you, I’d sure like to cash in some of those credits now…

By Shannon Matus-Takaoka

Labels: dining out with kids, movies, novels, Shannon Matus-Takaoka, sleeping, The New York Times

Stumble This Post

My eighteen-month old is in her crib, arms stretched out around her head, her little face a picture of calm, blissfully off in dreamland.

Sound asleep.

And I'm envious.

I'd love to go to sleep right now! Can you imagine how great it must be to get to go to sleep when you're tired?

To actually HAVE to go to sleep?

To have someone else try very hard to get you to sleep? Awesome, I know!

Here I am, bone-tired, dragging, just struggling to clean up the carnage from the last hours of indoor play. . . well, make that here I sit typing, thereby avoiding all of the clean-up I should be doing.

But I'm just too tired.

Admitting how tired I am seals my fate. I'm now destined to drag through the remains of the day, yearning for sleep.

Amazingly, my kids will end their day battling to stay up until my final pleas of "GO TO SLEEP NOW!" finally will them into slumber.

And, even then, I won't get to go to sleep (okay, I'm whining, but I'm tired!). Once the house is quiet I'll finally have to get to my day of "to-do's," while my three little ones are all nestled snug in their beds, on fluffy pillows under warm blankets.

And I yawn. And I am envious. And tired.

By Maija Threlkeld

Labels: dining out with kids, Maija Threlkeld, sleep, tired mommy

Stumble This Post

I broke another of my steadfast “rules of parenting” this week. I took my two-year old out to eat at an “adult” restaurant – i.e., an establishment where sparkling water is served, all entrées (even the vegetarian option) are priced above twenty dollars, and there are items on the menu that include the addition of crème fraîche.

I generally try to avoid places like this if my daughter is coming along – as I am anxious to steer clear of the dirty looks of diners who have probably hired a babysitter in order to enjoy a relaxing and childless meal.

But it was well past dinner time, we had already found a parking space on Fourth Street in Berkeley, and we were getting a bit desperate after finding that the taco joint we had been planning on going to was closed.

I hesitated in the doorway of the only other culinary option available nearby. Eyeing the candles and long-stemmed wine goblets on the tables, I had visions of glass shattering on the floor and napkins in flames as Emi squirmed in my arms.

“Wanna go get breakfast!” (She says this when we are at any restaurant, at any time, because most of our meals out consist of breakfast at Bubba’s Diner.) “I hungry!” And since my husband on an empty stomach can get just as cranky as my child, I was outnumbered and we were going in.

The fact that they had highchairs did make me feel a little better. And although my daughter was reasonably well behaved during most of the meal (I’ve decided that stickers are one of the best inventions ever), I simply could not relax for fear of when the meltdown was going to occur.

I moved all the cutlery and wine glasses out of her reach. I talked to her about using her “inside” voice. I took her outside to run around on the sidewalk in between courses. I quickly scooped any food item that was accidentally dropped on the floor. In short, I was acting like more of a spazz than she was.

What have I learned from this experience?

1) Sometimes I really, really need to chill out.
2) Even so, with a child in tow, it is much easier to relax in an environment that includes a Mariachi band and plastic cups.
3) My daughter loves mashed potatoes with crème fraîche.

By Shannon Matus-Takaoka

Labels: dining out with kids, Shannon Matus-Takaoka

Stumble This Post