Letters of Intent:

Dear Toyota Highlander designers,

It's very obvious that when you designed my wonderful SUV, you had me and other mothers in mind. You knew we'd get all geeked about the safety features, the fuel efficiency and the fold-down third row seating; you seemed to know that we mamas need a jillion cup holders because there are many located strategically throughout the car in which to simultaneously store the water bottle, a caffeinated beverage and a few extra necessities like pacifiers, keys, cell phones, kids' socks and chap stick. What really tipped me off and made me realize, though, that you were marketing this car to mostly stay-at home, carpooling moms is the pop-down mirror located directly under the review mirror; I suppose this was meant to be a mom's eyes in the back of her head while driving so she didn't have to go all Linda Blair on her kids while trying to solve who crossed the invisible line with his pinky finger first. I get it; you guys were thinking.
But, that being said, you were all guys, weren't you? And skinny guys, at that. And you all probably have skinny wives, too, because you made accessing the third row seating nearly impossible when two car seats are installed; you seriously either need to be a gymnast with sweet cat-like movements to catapult yourself into that stellar third-row seat or a bean pole to squeeze into the itty bitty space that opens to the back row.
You see, you would have known that easy access to the third row seating while car seats are installed in the middle row is essential because we mamas need to be able to climb back there while the car is packed to the brim and moving to pacify the baby/entertain the toddler/keep the troops calm during a long 11-hour drive when stopping every 20 minutes isn't an option.
Maybe there just wasn't enough space to accomplish this and the fuel efficiency? Well, that's OK. But you forgot an essential part then: the automatic window that shuts off the backseat from the front seat with the touch of a button. If you're gonna make it nearly impossible for a mama to get in the back to stop the squealing without stopping and unpacking half of the car, at least give us the option to push the button and block off the screams. And since we're all brainstorming now, perhaps you could install a foot massaging tool in the passenger seat. Ohh, and an automatic latte machine in the glove box would be handy, too. And maybe a heated, uber padded, massaging seat. Oh, and a relaxing sound buttons. And a chilled eye mask in the cooler that is built into the door and housing several bottles of water would be fab. And how about another automatic window placed conveniently between the driver and passenger seats? Just make sure the majority of the cup holders are on the passenger side, mmk? You could call it the Spalander; and no need to pay me royalties for the name or redesign ideas -- just be sure to send one my way.

Ohh, and don't forget the sound proofing.

XOXO,
Hyacynth

Dear hubby, toddler and baby,

Forget about taking me on any future 11-hour road trips until my new upgraded Spalander arrives. Or I get a separate car in which I can drive alone. In peace. And quiet.

Love,
me

Need to get something off your chest and write your own letter? Link up at FourSons and then read everyone elses' letters.

Everyday Life: Motherhood means ....

surviving an 11 hour-hour car with an antsy toddler who is demanding to watch the sing-along-song farm DVD for the fifth time in a row and not chucking the DVD player out the window after hearing a bunch of kids on the video rap "The Farmer in the Dell ...

encouraging an irritated, crying baby gnaw on your finger until it is wet and wrinkled and on the verge of permanently losing all sensation because it's better than hearing him scream; and stopping the car every 15 minutes to walk around and pacify him would make a cranky daddy even crankier ...

driving for five consecutive hours in the middle of the night while trying not to explode pee out of every orifice of your body because you cannot.stop.the.car as the hubby and the little ones, who are equal levels of cranky, are finally all asleep and you'd rather arrive at home with pee-soaked jeans than even think about taking the chance of any of them waking up to crab/complain/cry demand more "Farmer in the Dell" rapping during a pit stop ...

The good news is we're back from Nashville, and I'm pretty sure the boys are no worse for the wear. However, I think this trip qualifies me for either entrance into the sainthood or a nice long stay at the insane asylum ... probably the nut house because I'm pretty sure there is already a saint Hyacinth. But I could be the saint Hyacynth with a "y" if anyone asks. But please don't ask. I'm currently in a Farmer-in-the-Dell-rap-induced coma, and I'm pretty sure I cannot answer with out my words coming out to that exact chant, rhythm and beat.

More about Nashville and our adventures later.

RAVE: Winner of the 3Tree Design Anaju Organic Bamboo baby wrap

And the winner of this fabulous wrap (well, not this very one, but one just like it) ....

MJ Lyon*!! Thank you to everyone who entered. Happy babywearing.

*Winner was picked by good old random.org.

Everyday Life: A brief story of a pumpkin, sheriff and the warden

Here's the thing about cowboy sheriffs [read: tired toddlers who have not had a nap on Halloween].

They don't always like following the laws of the land [read: smiling for photos and looking at the camera simultaneously, which is one of mommy's foremost laws of the land.]

Unless the warden threatens to lock them up for unlawful behavior [read: mommy refuses to take the toddler out for any more trick or treating until he takes one picture for Grandma's Halloween picture frame collage.]

Pumpkins on the other hand ...

they are captive audiences.

Everyday Life: Mine's the one who's stuck up to his ears in the mud

** You can win the beautiful Anaju bamboo baby wrap I'm wearing in this post by entering here! **
*****
I was optimistic.

I was entranced by and enthusiastically excited about yesterday's weather forecast.

I was brave.
Amid promises of 68 degree temperatures and partly sunny skies, I made the snap decision to take the boys, with out any other adult reinforcements, to a local farm to pick pumpkins with our Mothers of Preschoolers group.

I was terrified.
Upon arriving, I noticed that it was cold. So cold the toddler insisted on wearing his funny-looking orange hat. And I noticed the farm, while cute, was pretty muddy and the grass was slippery and wet with soppy mud under it. Like, the pigs, if there were any, would have been excited because the entire farm was wet, dirty, muddy, swampy paradise. I could see it now. I would be the one saying to Farmer Paul that mine was the toddler who was stuck up to his ears in one of the many mud patches, and do you think we could get that tractor to pull him out if we throw the toddler a rope and yell "hold on!"??

I was persistent.
Despite my fears about losing the toddler to the pigs and the colder than expected weather, I paid the money to enter anyway because the baby immediately conked out in his favorite wrap, and the toddler was totally and completely wide eyed and in love with the tractors that were seductively parked just feet away from the entrance. "I need to drive that tractor, mommy," he said solemnly with his eyes focused steadily on the big red prize. And I believed him.




I was agile.
While wearing the sleeping babe in a wrap, I managed to pick up the toddler to pet the horse, chase him as he darted under the legs of a giant, inflatable cat, rescue him from a scary man decoration, wash the moldy pumpkin gunk from his hands after he dipped them into a rotting pumpkin and catch him by his pants before he tumbled off of the wagon while on the hayride as we slide sideways through the mud.



I was relieved.
Three fourths of the way through the planned farm adventures,I congratulated myself in my head because the toddler had managed to have fun yet not totally and utterly destroy any of the decorations, defeather any chickens, lose any fingers to the horse or land himself (or me) in the pond while trying to rescue some pumpkins that fell in.



I spoke too soon.
Just as we began the kid-sized corn maze, it happened:the baby began to stir. His face turned red, he wriggled and I felt a huge explosion inside his diaper. I tried to explain to the toddler that we needed to go back to the car to change the baby but we would go back. He did not like that idea. He didn't like it so much that I had to drag him out of the corn maze and through the field toward the car. Of course, when you're dragging an uncooperative toddler through a soppy, wet field, disaster is sure to follow. And that it did. We came to a part of the field that had a low-lying ditch filled with muddy water. The farmers had placed stones in that area to form a kind of sturdy ground for crossing. I'm sure you can imagine what happened next:
Uncooperative toddler doesn't follow mommy across the stones; rather uncooperative toddler drags his feet, stumbles and ends up stuck in the ankle-deep mud. So while I didn't need a tractor to pull him out, I needed every muscle in my upper body, and as I pulled, the toddler pulled and flung mud over what seemed like every square inch of our bodies. A poopy baby and a muddy, wet, cold, mad, uncooperative toddler helped me realize that our farm day was over.

I was insane.
Who in her right mind still has faith in the weatherman's predictions after he's been wrong concerning about 80 percent of the forecasts for October? Aside from that, who in her right mind takes a seven week old and a two year old to a working farm by herself as her first real outing with both boys after it had been raining for, like, the entire month?

What can I say? I was optimistic. And at least I got a good shot before we were covered in mud.