Momming Around

Five o’Clock Disco Breakdown

Posted on by Beth Hull

When five o’clock rolls around, it’s time to dance. “It’s five o’clock!” I shout, and you immediately start your funny shuffle, some cross between the Running Man and the Moon Walk. “Clear the dance floor!” I say, kicking books, stuffed animals, and assorted wooden puzzle pieces. I give a particularly rough kick to any toy that uses batteries and makes noise, hoping it will “accidentally” break. Then, with a good beat blasting, we dance.

You prefer to dance in my arms, face to face, bouncing your own exaggerated bounces until I give in and jump up and down. You squeal, smiling wide, letting go for a second to clap your hands. Once my back is about to give out, I finally put you down and hold your hands, or one of your hands and one of Mr. Penguin’s hands–er, wings. We dance in a circle, and I sing “Ring Around the Rosie” to a disco beat. Or we dance facing each other. I do the can-can, you kick your legs out in an approximation of the can-can that looks more like a goose-step.

It’s fun when Daddy joins us. We all spin, shake our groove thangs, and laugh a lot. The perfect end to a long day.

The Nap

Posted on by Beth Hull

story-books and lullabies

hush, my baby, don’t you cry

all the pretty little horses–

lids fall, lashes long

soft breaths, gentle-strong.

up too early?

too darn bad, it’s back to sleep.

mommy needs

her sanity.

hold my breath, afraid to gulp

the second phase is harder earned

ten minutes on tip-toes

climbing moves, grasping doorframes

avoid the squeaks in the old-wood floors

ah, peace, safe downstairs

for another fifteen minutes.

Great Expectorations

Posted on by Beth Hull

Here is my list of ten classic works adapted for parents of small children.

1. Great Expectorations, in which young Estella, instead of being coached to break the hearts of men, is trained to spit up all over them.

2. “The Lullaby of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Highlights: “I have measured my life in baby food jars,” “I have heard my parents singing, each to each / No, you go pick her up / I am asleep,” and “In the room mommies come and go / hoping their nursing bras don’t show.”

3. The White Badge of Courage, in which heroic parents are lauded for the spit-up stains on their shirts.

4. War and Pacifiers, featuring a number of babies with misleading nicknames who battle and philosophize over a long stretch of snow-covered binkies.

5. “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Nap.” The speaker, a toddler, advises a younger sibling to rage, rage against the efforts of the mom.

6. As I Lay Diapering, in which a mother attempts to sleep while changing a diaper in the middle of the night.

7. Blubbering Heights. Two parents moan and cry for each other across the expanse of their bed, held apart by the kicking arms and legs of their young child.

8. One Day in the Life of Mama Denisovich chronicles a day in the life of a stay-at-home mom tethered to her child in a setting eerily similar to that of a Siberian prison camp. No bon-bons or soap operas included.

9. The (Rude) Awakening. A frustrated mother sets out to leave her family, then realizes she will surely starve without her husband because she doesn’t know how to cook. Returns home.

10. Babywulf. A colicky infant terrorizes a medieval household.

Baby, Let’s Paint the Town Coral Expression

Posted on by Beth Hull

One afternoon a long time ago, Z could not go down for her nap and I could not be around her for one extra second. Luckily for us both, my in-laws were visiting and they happily played with her (dark circles under her eyes and all) so I could get in the car and drive away.

But I had nowhere to go. Mexico, while extremely tempting, was a bit far. As I drove down Main Street I toyed with the idea of treating myself to an ice cream cone. After all, if anyone deserved ice cream to soothe fraught nerves that day, I certainly did. Then I remembered how it was almost as hard to button my jeans as it was to get Z down for a nap. I closed my eyes (while stopped at a stop light, don’t worry) and tried to calm myself with a vision of a great, empty room. (Yes, I’m getting to the “list” part of this entry in a second. Hang on, you impatient minxes.) The room was painted a soothing color…ahh…Rhythmic Blue.

Home Depot beckoned from the horizon (much closer than Mexico), so I went in and browsed the paint swatches. The paint department is a calming place, full of dreams, possibilities, and stir sticks. I took home about fifty colorful pieces of card stock that day. Since then, I’ve returned a few times. I usually stick to the Behr brand, but not for any particular reason. I always exit the store with at least twenty cards clutched in my hand, and I usually come home to find I have duplicates.

Paint Colors I Would Use In My Home (If I Had My Way)

  • Daredevil
  • Bon Voyage
  • Liberty
  • Romantic Isle
  • Rain Drop
  • RHYTHMIC BLUE
  • Purple Essence (or Foxgloves) (or Twilight Pearl)
  • Ballerina Gown
  • Neptune Blue
  • Beach Towel
  • Magic Spell
  • Crowning
  • Lemon Pound Cake
  • Wild Mushroom
  • Pumpkin Toast
  • Aztec Brick
  • Anemone
  • Surfer

My house, with the exception of Z’s room (Celery Sprig), still sports white walls. I’ll get to them someday. Soon. Also, my house doesn’t have this many rooms. Either I’ll have to paint the floors, trim, and kitchen and bathroom fixtures as well, or the colors will have to take turns.

Why Mr. Penguin Can’t Ride a Bike

Posted on by Beth Hull

Mr. Penguin can do many things. He can wear your cloth diapers and your t-shirts and onesies. He can sit on your potty. He can lie down in the cradle while you rock him. He can say grace. He can sit in your high chair and eat the pretend food you spoon in the general direction of his beak. He can hold your hands and dance the Five o’clock Disco Dance Breakdown.

But Mr. Penguin cannot ride your bike. Try again and again, stomp your feet, ask Mama to “peas hep” (please help), throw Mr. Penguin to the floor. He will not do it. Not ever. Mr. Penguin cannot ride your bike for the same reason he cannot wear your pants.

Why not? Because Mr. Penguin has no legs. And short of a very risky and time-consuming surgery, there is nothing Mama can do to peas hep.

While we’re on the subject, Mr. Penguin will never take a bath with you. Why not? Because Mama says so.