Diaper Bags and Strollers

(12/5/04 Note: this is one of the many entries that was started and not finished because someone woke up, Elmo ended, or I just got too tired to continue. I was told to post them anyway, so excuse any glaring errors)

As I write I am pondering the purchase of yet another stroller. I currently own a single jogger, a double jogger, a travel “system” stroller and an umbrella stroller. The umbrella stroller’s sun canopy lost a fight with my husband’s golf clubs in his trunk, however, and the company wants to charge me $50 for a new one. BUT, for only $112 (including shipping) I can purchase the Maclaren Volo and accessory pack which I have been coveting for well over a year.

I admit, I have a problem. I am in search of the perfect stroller for every occasion and the perfect diaper bag for every outing (I am currently eying the Loom Bandicots as they have a separtate mommy bag that detaches for the oh so many times I go out without my children). My husband has forbidden another diaper bag from entering the house (perhaps if my sister would like to buy me a gift for the holidays, hint hint), but the stroller was agreed to as really, it was his fault that the old one broke.

The guilt weighs upon me a little, however, as the travel system stroller is perfectly adequate, just huge and heavy and a pain to push and lug. But A DOES use her stroller almost daily between the preschool drop off and pick up runs, the jaunts downtown, and the soon to be trips to the gym (yes, I did in fact join again AND prepaid for 11 babysitting sessions to try and force myself to leave A). I salivate at the thought of pushing a lightweight stroller again and being able to easily hoist it in and out of the car. But plenty of mommies use bulky heavy strollers daily and have lived to tell the tale, and I am sure I could too.

There is another component to the guilt, however, as the money to buy it technically isn’t mine. I know many people will flame me for this, but there is a very large part of me that feels that since I did not earn it, I need to be somewhat frugal in my spending. There is also a not so small part of me that feels that since I have given up my career to stay home, partially because my husband is a firm beliver in the SAHM (but also because I am a control freak, see my previous entry) if buying a lightweight stroller makes me happy, I should do so. M frequently buys himself $100 “toys” such as a new golf club, so why shouldn’t I be able to do so as well.

Th stroller will sit in a cart someplace on the web waiting for me to reach a decision, but for now I am going to fantasize about my new back to work plan, becoming a WAHM so I can still have input into the minutia of my children’s lives…

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And we’re up

Well, the phone call came in from Vegas and not one but two children woke up screaming. I wonder where I put the phone number of the latest nanny recomendation…

How long ago was I going to bed?

OK, just realized that about 45 minutes ago I was too tired to blog, but somehow am still logged on surfing. Back to blogs to remember: what did the SAHM do without the Internet?

And I almost forgot…

Yet another blog that wasn’t:

Why I can never be a scrapbooker

So tired

I started a lengthy entry about A and her spitup/reflux/horrid dreaded who knows what disease (what she has depends on what time of day you catch me) but am just too tired to express myself. So it will it in my draft section (do I even know where that is?) to be discovered by me many months from now. At the moment I am off to bed so I can try to remember my suddenly long list of questions for the pediatrician in the morning.

Will the utter exhaustion ever end?

It was a zoo all right

Our playgroup met at the zoo today, never mind that it was 45 degrees at the 2:30 meeting time. At 1pm I decided not to go, it was cold, it was a hassle to pack the kids up, I was just feeling like a slug. At 1:45 A woke up hollering, C started shoving multiple CD’s into a 1 CD player, and I shouted “Quick! A trip to the zoo! Go, go go!” I hauled the double stroller into the car, dug out the fleece bunting for A, packed snacks, printed out directions, and practically manhandled C onto the potty to try and preempt an accident on the way there. 20 minutes later we are off.

C bounces up and down (or a least tries to) in his car seat shouting “The zoo! The zoo!” for about 15 minutes. Never mind that he has not a clue what a zoo is, as the bad parents that we are have not taken him yet (the hassle, the shlep factor…). Five minutes before we arrive, both he and A conk out in their seats. A small internal debate rages. Do I wake them (the zoo closes in an hour, if we are going we need to go now)? Do I drive around and then pick a random destination and call it the zoo? I finally opt for the actual zoo trip figuring that 10 years from now calling the bookstore the zoo would come back to haunt me. We arrive, I wake and load kids into the stroller and race through the gates trying to catch up with everyone.

At this point I realize that I have forgotten a jacket for me (remember, 47 degrees) and am in slippery-heeled slides (pushing a double stroller with 50lbs worth of kids up hill). It’s OK I reason, we are out enjoying the (brisk) fresh air and I will get adult company. “Look! The penguins” I holler as we race by. “Look that’s a…a…” I squint at the sign “Wallaby!” “What’s a wallaby?” C peeps from the stroller “Ummm, an animal.” I think I spot a pink hat resembling Lydia’s and a gaggle of strollers at the top of the next hill.

I pant my way up to the top and, yes, we have indeed found them. C hops out of the stroller and careens about hugging his friends. I was a good mommy to bring him I think as I bend over to check A’s hat position. I look up, and C is gone. “C, come back!” I holler. “I’m counting to 3.” No sign. The other mommies convene and he is quickly found mooing at the Elk. A starts to holler. I go to grab my savior, the Baby Bjorn, and it’s not there. Not a huge deal, I’ll just carry her for a bit I think. “C! Where are you!”

I soon become the mom I always feared and condemned, you know who she is, the screecher who can’t seem to control her children out in public. I also quickly develop a new respect for the screecher as I race through the zoo holding A on a hip and pushing the double stroller with one hand while trying to stay in eye contact with C. You have to be in great shape to have enough lungpower to make your voice carry while running full tilt.

C is finally corralled and I quickly load us all onto the little train that travels around the zoo’s perimeter so I could catch my breath before facing the trek back to the car. As we round a bend and head towards the end, C snuggles up to me and says, “I love you mommy. A choo choo and ducks all in one day. Will daddy know what a wallaby is?” It made it (almost) all worth it.

I checking my email Mommy, you OK?

Out of the mouths of babes. Last night as I was trying to pick up the chaos before M came home I lost track of C. I fearfully called out “C? Where are you?” From the study I hear back “I in study mommy. I just checking my email. You OK in there?” My amusement was only somewhat tempered by the embarrassment…