Frosted Fingers

One of the best parts about being a mom is learning how to be the fun mom.

Porter and I made a cake. A chocolate cake, with milk chocolate frosting. He was beside himself with joy, but I explained to him that we couldn't frost the cake until the cake was totally cool.

"Cool? I cool, mom!" (We always tell him how cool he is - when he dresses himself, or uses his imagination, or keeps a really great beat on his drums).

"Yes, Porter, you are SO cool. But I mean, like, we can't put frosting on the cake when it's warm because the frosting will slide off."

"Into my mouf? Frosting will swide off into my mouf? Dats ok mom!"

"No, no... onto the floor. It would probably slide off onto the floor. And that would make us so sad, right?"

"I lick it off da floor, mommy."

Me too, son. Me too.

So, we waited for a painfully long time before the cake was cool. Then, I sat him up on the counter and began to spread the chocolate frosting around the top of the cake. His little fingers were shaking, and I watched him swipe little bits of frosting as I turned the plate... And I didn't admonish him. I just smiled and smoothed out the dents.

Then I let him eat a big mouthful of frosting off the knife (a butter knife, it's ok. I'm fun, not murderous). He kept dragging his finger across the side of the cake as I turned it, and I kept smiling at his not-so-secretive efforts to sneak frosting and smoothing it over.

He got so excited when we were done, he ran into the living room to announce to everyone the the "CAKE WAS READDDYYYYYYY!" And then he split a slice with his dad, and gazed at this dessert so lovingly. He was so proud of the process.

I hope I'm always the mom that doesn't hesitate to let down my hair so that my kids can eat the frosting with their fingers. In a world where structure is king and rules are rules and omg that's not vegan/gluten-free/of the earth/free of preservatives and colors and BPA will keep you up at night, it was great to let Porter have a little fun without worrying that I was a total failure.

I try pretty hard every other day, but indulging with the littles is truly the ultimate treat for the soul. Try it this weekend: eat some frosting from your fingers, have a bowl of cereal for dinner, split a milkshake, let them top their ice cream with whatever they want, and think of us!

Adventures In Baby-Proofing

Yesterday, I followed Porter around the house baby-proofing. I followed him around for a good hour -- he realized he was no longer confined to the TV area and was booking around the house like a locomotive.

You guys, this was genius. Sometimes you never know what needs to be adjusted until your baby is all over it and/or shoving it into his mouth, right? This was a great plan. Or, so I thought. I didn't take into account that he is fast. While I was busy "fixing" something, he was off into another mess.

Just a few of his shenanigans:

• He ate dog food. A stray piece from the bowl I had removed from within his reach. HE ATE DOG FOOD. I fished it out of his mouth as fast as I could, but not fast enough. Eww.
• He got stuck behind the recliner. I didn't realize that I couldn't follow him everywhere. He wasn't a happy camper for a good 90 seconds and I tried to free him frantically.
• He got ahold of his bottle of teething tablets, which were on the bottom shelf of his changing table, and now it's his favorite rattle. He won't give it up.
• He got on my laptop as I plugged some outlets and sent an email that I wasn't meaning to send yet. Thank God for the "undo send" option.
• He found my magazine stash, and proceeded to rip all the pages he could get his hands on. Within the four seconds it took me to make it to him, he had demolished like ten magazines. HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE.

My Favorite Posts

Day 21, Tuesday: A list of links to your favorite posts in your archives

These aren't so much my "favorites" as they are "posts that came up when I randomly searched my blog, and they made me laugh/cry.

A Public Apology To My Hair

Dear Hair,

I'm a really, really, really sorry for everything I've done to you over the years.

I've never appreciated you. I've colored you, cut you into a chin-length bob, I've hacked multiple layers and brought you from platinum blonde to jet black without so much as a second thought. I've cut you on my own when I was too impatient for an appointment.

Then, I had to go ahead and get pregnant last year.

You were so excited. You grew and grew and grew and never got greasy. You LOVED LIFE. You made me excited to wake up in the morning. I spent many magical hours perusing YouTube for fun tutorials that I could try on you. I could throw you up in a silly topknot and you looked chic. I could  toss you into a messy side-pony, and you looked fab. I could straighten you until you were a shimmering blanket of brunette, or I could curl you until I had people stopping me in the store to ask me "how do you do you hair?" I could throw some sea salt spray in you and let you air dry, and people wondered if I was just coming home from a day at the beach... and I live hours from the coast. You were killin it.

And now, baby's here.

And where are you going?

I still need you. Please stop falling out, and come back to me. When I'm in the shower and I'm conditioning you, I'm not crying because of lack of sleep, or because I desperately need a night out, or because I can't seem to catch up on laundry. I'm crying because you're leaving me, and I don't know how to stop it.

I'll give you all the Moroccan Oil and Bumble and Bumble Thickening Serum you can handle, if you just stay put.

Love,

Corianne