Baby Feats of Strength and Other Hobbies

It's raining here. And cold. And drearier than a Charles Dickens' novel. So, because I'm attempting to stave off a serious case of Seasonal Affective Disorder, I thought I'd jot down a few items of interest regarding Sam and his recent doings.

I thought you might be wondering what sort of hobbies 14 month old Sam is picking up these days. I figured I'd list them for you in case you want to suggest them to your favorite child or perhaps even try them out for yourself.

The first baby hobby I'd like to present to you is:
"Baby Feats of Strength"
Sam's just recently picked this one up and so we're still discovering what all this particular hobby entails. Basically, Baby Feats of Strength involves picking up objects that are either a. awkward for you to carry b. as big and/or tall as you are c. unnecessary to move d. obviously too heavy for you to pick up. For reference, here's a short list of items that Sam enjoys lifting and/or carrying from one place to another:

a. brooms/swiffers (often at the same time)
b. Matt's size 11 shoes
d. toys that are meant to stay in one place (eg: a toy piano, a music table)
e. a Sam-sized bag of blocks
d. the vacuum cleaner
e. the baby gate

Baby Feats of Strengths are usually accompanied by loud baby grunts as Sam huffs and puffs around the room carrying his unusually large item from chair to sofa to mama and back. It's a good time all around and I'm only slightly concerned that this may translate later into WWF-related hobbies and possibly excessive amounts of time at the gym. But, let's hope not. So far, Baby Feats of Strength is quite the crowd pleaser. It's also a big hit at parties.

The second baby hobby I thought you might be interested in is:
"Baby Prank Call"
This hobby is one that we keep pretty tight reins on, but occasionally, when we get desperate on a long trip with three wet diaper stops, we give in and pass our phones over to Sam. Technology is obviously the new pacifier. Tears instantly dry when the colorful light of a Samsung screen lights up inside a dark car.

Basically, Baby Prank Call is somewhat unplanned, and can happen without any warning so that you may not know it's even happened for days or maybe ever. For example, a recent Baby Prank Call took place on a trip much like the aforementioned one (i.e. full of baby angst) and a bout of gully-washing tears was stilled by the calming glow of Matt's flip phone. This was tossed over the side of the newly purchased front-facing carseat/throne that Sam now occupies. So, my phone with it's fascinating touch screen was hesitatingly passed into cheerio-scented little hands. It too found itself tossed overboard within minutes and we were back to the monsoon of tears and ear-piercing yells. And so we proceeded to give Sam a rousing acapella concert that included the following songs:

The Animal Fair
John the Rabbit
The Moose Juice Song
The Wheels on the Bus
Father Abraham
Blackjack Baby
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Old Macdonald

And the list goes on, and on, and on. But, then we ran out of songs. And Sam got antsy. And then Sam got loud. So, without thinking, I found myself belting out "God Bless America" and then "The Star Spangled Banner" and then...we were home. Crisis averted.

The next morning, I found a text on my phone that asked if I was feeling patriotic. I've never been asked that before, but I do, in fact, feel patriotic on occasion. I called my friend to ask what the text meant. As it turns out, Baby Prank Call had struck. Sam's innocent tossing of the phone over the side of his carseat had apparently also included pressing a few choice buttons before the tossing. And, our patriotic concert had been recorded in it's entirety on my friend's voicemail. Lovely.

Baby Prank Call may be a hobby you choose not to share with your little one. We're working on replacing this hobby with a few others that are a little less socially awkward. However, if you get an unusual text or a voicemail that seems a little out of character from Matt or me, chalk it up to Sam's hobby and try not to judge us too harshly.

Other hobbies will have to discussed later due to Sam's nap having come to an end. Tune in next time for: "Baby Streaking" and "Baby Trash the Joint."

Power to the Cookie

A few months ago, at my lovely friend Molly's house, Sam was introduced to The Cookie. These weren't your run-of-the-mill chocolate chip but were instead "smart cookies," which are good for you AND taste good. This obviously means you're a smart cookie for eating them instead of a package of high-fructose-corn-syrup-infused Oreos.

So, Molly shared her recipe with me and after a few practice batches, I managed to bake a superb batch of smart cookies and the Rieger household rejoiced. We now have these cookies at our fingertips atleast once a week. We are also gaining weight in places we would rather not. But, I keep making them despite our tight-fitting jeans because the Samster is crazy about them and we happen to be crazy about the Samster.

Three or four batches of smart cookies ago, Sam started pointing at things around the house and we were enthralled, because anything our one and only child does is pretty much amazing. Two or three batches ago, Sam started pointing toward a blue tupperware container housing cookies on our kitchen counter. He would sit in his high chair and point across the room, his pointer finger and thumb poised mid-air looking a little like a baby finger gun (this amuses me for some reason). Pretty soon, he was toddling into the kitchen to position himself in front of the counter and dramatically point up at the tupperware container of cookies. And soon after that, he started to "talk" as he pointed, letting us know that something on the counter was apparently in need of his attention. This behavior quickly escalated as the power of the smart cookie began to take hold.

A few days ago, I opened the container of cookies to get one out for Sam and heard him give a shout from behind me that sounded something akin to all his dreams coming true at the same time. I turned around and there he was with both arms in the air, staring at the cookie in my hand. He could hardly contain himself. The wild look in his eyes was one I had seen before: my reflection in the glass of a chocolate shop window.

In addition to all their other magical qualities, smart cookies have turned out to be the catalyst for my son's venture into the English language. Just the other night, Sam was, once again, pointing at the tupperware container and staring a hole in the side of it. I looked at him and said something very mom-like, "Eat your beans and you can have a cookie." Sam smiled and then said in a soft, breathy baby voice, "Cooh-keeh." Matt and I looked at each other in total awe. The First Word. I am seriously considering shellacking one of those cookies and placing it in a decorative shadow box.

Just last night, after a weekend of being sick with a high fever, Sam sat in his high chair eating a little chicken noodle soup I'd made. After a few bites of broth, he was done and because I give him anything he wants when he doesn't feel good (that's ok, right?), I pulled out a cookie from the tupperware and put it on his high chair tray. I watched as he picked it up, held it with a grin on his little face and said to himself "Cooh-Keeh." It felt a teensy bit like Gallum and his "My Precious," but I tried not to think about that.

So, smart cookies, with their whole wheat flour and applesauce, have given me cause to consider Sam's college fund and his scholarship chances. I'm also aware that we can't hoard the magic of the smart cookies any longer. The world needs this recipe, and so, with Molly's gracious permission, I give to you The Smart Cookie Recipe:

Smart Cookies:

Ingredients-
1/4 cup of applesauce
2 tbsp of butter
1/3 cup white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup whole wheat flour (I usually add an additional 1/4 cup of flour to make them more fluffy)
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 cup oatmeal
3/4 cup chocolate chips

Cream butter and sugar and add other wet ingredients. Mix. Add dry ingredients. Place spoon-fulls of cookie on baking sheet. Bake 10-12 minutes. Makes around 18-20 cookies.

This just in: Local Woman Overdoses on Snow

Another snow day, which means another day of wondering if I'll ever see civilization again. Sigh. I realize this sounds dramatic, but I could use a little drama around here. Don't get me wrong, having 2.5 days with a husband at home has been pretty darn fun. AND it's meant that someone else has been here helping to wrangle the restless native also known as our son.

But, let's be honest, there's just something unnatural about a girl from Georgia waking up consecutive mornings to a winter wonderland at every window. There's also something unnatural about not being able to make a Target run if and when one feels the need.

Currently, my husband has just been picked up and driven to work by his fearless employer and the Samster is fast asleep in his longjohns upstairs, which leaves me in the kitchen having my first moment alone for approximately the last 106 hours. I don't mean to complain, I'm just saying. 106 hours, people.

So, I thought I'd take a moment to take a deep breath, drink my green tea and write a few sentences about how I may possibly explode if I don't make it off the mountain soon. I'm realizing that Matt's secret dream that we go to Sweden as missionaries is probably not ever going to happen. Atleast not unless I am well-stocked with Prozac and have my very own tanning bed for those long months of 4 hour days with little to no sunlight.

I will say that, despite my current spiral into claustrophobic cabin fever, I have to admit that the snow is more than a little beautiful and it has afforded me with some serious quality time with my two favorite people. I've baked cookies and flipped pancakes, read "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" (for the 4th time) with the aforementioned favorite people. I may have converted Matt into a fan of Kathie Lee and Hoda's morning show (he'll deny it if you ask him). We've made snow angels and hopped around the 8 inches of snow in our yard with our snow baby. In addition, there has been serious Sam snuggling, Netflix marathons, mugs of hot chocolate, pajamas until noon and time to look up random things on Wikipedia that I've been curious about (i.e. who is Vince Vaughn's baby mama? Has Howie Day been in jail the past few years? When was the last Ice Age? What did Snookie get for Christmas? How much did that soup pot I just bought at TJ Maxx retail for? and, etc.) So, that's been fun and, I must admit, only made possible by the buckets of snow in our yard.

Hm. So, that quiet I mentioned earlier is coming to an end as The Babe, who is more of a toddler now than a babe, is letting it be known that his nap is over. But before I rescue the little guy from his crib, I'm headed to the pantry for another handful of chocolate chips and hoping that the chocolate doesn't run out before the snow melts. If that happens, things could get ugly.

New Year's Resolutions for 2011

In this new year, I resolve to:

1. Floss More: (This just in: flossing every day can lengthen your life by six years. I think this means I can start telling people I'm actually 26.)

2. Drink more water: (Egg nog, hot chocolate and Chic fil a milkshakes do not count).

3. Stop shopping at American Eagle: (No one over 30 should dress like Miley Cyrus).

4. Limit Target visits: (Stopping in for the occasional "1 or 2" things is probably going to be the reason why Sam will never inherit anything from us.)

5. Get out more! (Hermits become unabombers)

6. Spend time with friends more often: (Kathie Lee and Hoda do not count).

7. Cheese is not a food group: (This isn't really a resolution, just a reminder).

8. Write more (Status updates and text messages are not "writing").

9. Stop worrying about everything: (Sam will probably not grow up to be a professional ice dancer, our house is not infested with brown recluse spiders, and my cell phone is not giving me a brain tumor. Right?)

10.Live more: (The laundry will get done eventually, the bills can wait until tomorrow and it's ok if we eat pb&j instead of a five course meal tonight because I spent the afternoon with Sam at the park instead of in the kitchen).


Sam's still working on his list of resolutions. I'll post them as soon as he emails them to me. He's a little slow getting them in this year. Something about not knowing how to type, I think. Stay tuned.

Late Night Rendezvous with The Internet

So, tonight I'm thinking about the internet's effect on my brain and how it may very possibly be shrinking my IQ, slowly but rather surely. For instance, after a long, arduous day of housewifery and motherhood, after which I am partially braindead, part of me wants to read that book I've been meaning to finish (i.e. start) and the other part of me wants to surf the net and read about where Scarlett Johanssen had breakfast yesterday. Additionally, I find myself trudging through the randomness of Hulu.com which offers a plethora of General Hospital and One Life to Live episodes as well as gems I've never heard of like Naruto Shippuden.

It's a strange tug of war that goes on in my brain in the evenings and to be honest, I often give in and waste valuable brain cells on pop culture gossip or on a television show I've already seen and don't really care that much about. And in the process, I fear, the internet wirelessly streaming into my computer (and subsequently, my brain) is slowly and painlessly making me less and less intelligent. Hm.

It's not that I want this to happen, mind you. I'd like to keep all those little IQ points that power my ability to form sentences and pat my head while at the same time rubbing my stomach (this valuable skill may, in fact, have nothing to do with my intelligence quotient). I dream of writing a book about an ordinary couple who drink large amounts of Earl Grey and have secret rendezvous at local Whole Foods Markets. And sometimes I imagine that I'll just stay up late after Matt and The Babe have "released me" from my aforementioned roles so that I can pen my great American novel. However, this never happens. Instead, I stay up a little late and end up on People.com. Argh.

So, to sum up, this post is simply me confessing to intellectual laziness and and an odd addiction to reading about the dysfunctional dating lives of people I don't know. It's also me documenting the apparent slippery slope I'm on that will eventually find me struggling to articulate anything other than what the Kardashians are up to. Ok, that's a little extreme because I don't really know that much about Kim, Khloe or Kourtney. But, seriously, I need to break this cycle and I can't hold out until Sam is 18 and off at college, leaving me with free time to pursue all those creative, educational and spiritual ventures I've been wanting to pursue.

Is it weird to dream about being in my fifties, my kids grown and off at college, and me at home reading all the books I meant to read and writing all the stories I meant to write? Maybe it's not weird, but it's definitely a little unnecessary and perhaps a little unrealistic because obviously, in my fifties I'll be running marathons and organizing large charity events and won't have time for silly things like reading and writing.

Well, friends, I've used up all the brain cells I have for this evening and need to shut this thing down. But, for the record, let it be known that motherhood uses copious amounts of the brain's resources and so, maybe it's ok to "veg out" a little in the evenings. There'll be time for intellectual pursuits one day, right? And, until then, I'm hoping you'll still be my friends even if the only things I can talk about are how many boxes of raisins Sam ate yesterday and what restaurant Jennifer Aniston met her mystery man at last night. Right? Please say yes.

Moving Can Kill You

I was thinking the other day about a list I'd read one time of the most stress-inducing events in life and I was pretty darn sure moving was atleast number 3 or 4 on that list. However, I've just been doing a little research and found out that, in fact, Marriage is number 3 and Jail Time is number 4. Moving didn't make the list. However, I've decided that it makes MY list of most stressful life events after these past 2 weeks in what I like to call "moving hell." In fact, I'd put it right up there with giving birth and losing something really important (like a kidney or your car in the parking lot at Walmart after dark).

Atleast, that's how I felt the other day after Matt had gone to work and I was left in our little cottage on the mountain with an almost one year old and one. million. unopened. boxes, which for a Type A, overachieving, OCD stressball, is the ultimate recipe for a potential meltdown. But, I really thought things would be ok until after a quick trip to the bathroom (during which Sam was "safe" in his walker, which keeps him from getting into anything), I found Sam with a shiny dime in his little mouth, fished from a box that he was able to reach with his go-go-gadget baby arms. Lightning-fast, I snatched it out of his mouth just as it was about to be swallowed. And then, I sat down and cried.

That was the breaking point. So, Sam and I quickly got dressed and left the house, which I dubbed a "baby minefield" in a Kardashian-worthy dramatic phone conversation with my mom soon after the dime incident. Later, Sam and I made visits to Target and Chic fil a, which made life a teensy bit more manageable.

Anyway, we've come a long way since that day, but I will admit to having considered running away on more than one occasion. It's not been pretty. I think I may have even aged 9-10 months. In the process, I've also discovered that I'm wound a little too tight. Oh, who am I kidding. I already knew that along with anyone else that has known me longer than 3 minutes. "Wound too tight" might actually be putting it mildly. I make energy drinks nervous.

Moving Progress Report:
1. Sam is still alive, despite having developed a taste for paper products and indulging in a little toilet paper/paper towels/cardboard box when I'm not looking. I think this might be his way of coping with stress.
2. Matt has hooked up our internet and we have now gone wireless. I feel so 21st century despite our lack of cable.
3. Our little 953 square feet looks and feels pretty much like home these days. (So, come visit. We'll pull out a rug for you.)
4. After a small oven fire involving a baked potato, I have baked 2 batches of cookies and eaten most of them myself. I've needed the extra sugar-induced energy for unpacking boxes, obviously.

I'll be honest, moving has taken it out of me and so I've made the decision that we're never going to move again, which means I can mark that off my list of stressful life events. Now, I can concentrate on avoiding stresser number 4: Jail Time.

This just in:
While doing a little more research, I've found a list that acknowledges what I already knew. Moving IS one of the most stressful events in life. If you're interested, and you're probably not, here's the article that proves I'm less crazy than my husband thinks I am:
http://www.ourtownamerica.com/press_room/pdf/Background-Movpsy.pdf

A is for Awkward

So, we live in Chattanooga now. Maybe you hadn't heard, but we loaded up the truck and moved to Lookout Mountain about six weeks ago. Matt's got a new job, we've got a new little (953 square feet, to be exact) rental house, a new church, a few new friends, etc. What I'm also noticing is that, in the midst of all this newness, I feel new. Not the shiny, my-shirt-still-smells-like-the-Gap kind of new. No, I'm feeling more like the new kid in middle school who doesn't know anybody and hasn't figured out where to sit in the lunchroom. I'm 32 years old. Why do I feel like the awkward new kid who's still wearing crimped hair when everyone else has gone straight? I thought I was over that whole thing, but it turns out I'm not.

However, in the midst of all this newness that feels so uncomfortable at times, something happened yesterday that amounted to having the cool kid at school high five me in the lunchroom. It's not that big of a deal really, but I keep thinking about it and wondering why it made me feel less like an awkward middle-schooler and more like a new outfit from the Gap.

The pastor of a church we've visited a few times saw me at a restaurant having lunch with my parents and came over to say hello. I didn't recognize him at first or even remember his name. I chalk this up to being more than a little distracted by my eleven month old progeny during church services these days. The thing about this encounter that really struck me was that the pastor, whom I had met once, actually remembered my name. I've dated guys who've had trouble doing that, so this felt significant.

Something about that little encounter at Guthries over sweet potato fries and chicken fingers was a turning point. I was at that pastor's church again this morning feeling a teensy bit more like I belonged there. And while I sat there, sans Matt who was hanging out in the back with Sam and the other pew-jumping toddlers, I thought about the weight of having my name remembered. I don't think I'd realized how much I've missed being around folks who know me and like me and want to meet me for lunch at Chic-fil-a.

I miss Knoxville and all the folks there who know my name really well, but I'm glad we're here on the mountain now and I'm glad there's a chance to be new again. It's interesting doing this with a baby and having a new identity as a mom to go along with being new in general. But, there's a boatload of possibility and I'm wondering who will invite us into their lives here and who will become a part of our family's story.

We're off to visit a small group tonight in about half an hour and I'm anticipating some major small talk and a few awkward pauses, but I'm also betting there might be a potential friend or two there which makes all that awkwardness worth it. I've decided to just embrace being the new kid at school (or on the block, if you'd rather) and just be honest about needing some friends. Hm. Maybe I could also bribe them with the cookies I just made.

I think I might crimp my hair before I go.