Bless me, Earth Mother, for I have sinned.

To cut to the chase, I drove a full 22 minutes on a perfectly gorgeous sunny autumn day to buy a bucket of plastic toys. Virgin plastic. $29.99. Lots of petroleum. Bad precedent. I know, it’s not pretty.

So why did I fall so hard? It’s complicated. It starts with the grunts of a baby that had me more actively parenting in the night than I’d like, such that I then ended up sleeping until 9 a.m. Wow, that is late. By the time baby girl and I emerged, waffles had been made, and when it was time for my husband to take our son to a birthday party 90 minutes later, it became clear that the poor child had had essentially no protein in the three and a half hours he‘d been awake. No wonder he was copping an adolescent-sized whinefest about riding in his baby sister’s stroller instead of biking, walking or scootering the 3 and a half blocks to the party. We stuffed him full of nuts and goat cheese, but I claim the damage had already been done. Like mother, like son: a day that starts with carbs is not one with a storybook ending. Unless your storybook has the name Grimm on the spine.

Hubby left the party shortly after we arrived (boy on bike, baby in sling) so that he could do his one fun/sporting activity of the week. So I was left solo with the two kids. Usually the mom who brings an entire meal to a party for her gluten-free son, this time all I had prepped was a trio of Enjoy Life allergen-free snickerdoodle cookies that I bought on sale hoping I would get a chance to bake and wouldn’t need them. Fat chance.

What a surprise when I heard the host say something about lunch. Did I even read the Evite, I wondered? I had assumed we’d be back home for lunch after just some snacks and cake. Wrong! Lunch was sandwiches and pasta salad. The host kindly gave me access to some lunchmeat (not Applegate or Wellshire, so I gave him just one slice) and a big chunk of cheese off of which I cut several slices then and again when he asked for more. What a great guest I am. He also ate a lot of grapes and some veggie chips (which I hoped were not the kind that contains wheat flour) and even handed me a stray goldfish that made its way onto his plate, bless his heart. And he ate it all without complaint from a rocking chair on the floor because the big table was full.

Then came the cake — an impeccable purple castle. My son knows other people’s cakes are not his destiny, so it was no surprise or disappointment that he’d be denied a turret or graham cracker-covered door. But I still wondered how he’d react to the unfamiliar cookies. He ate one and half of the three I’d placed in a plastic container with a prune. Please do note: he ate the prune first. So clearly, all hope is not lost on us. (Oh, and he specifically asked after the cookies for water, not for more of the watered down juice I’d given him with lunch.)

But when he started to lose it when some toddlers toddled over his duplo block creation, I knew we had to make a hasty exit. He was fully in tears, and no suggestions would appease him. Someone asked if I wanted her to hold the baby. At first, I balked, and then I handed her over to scoop up my son from the puddle he’d become. My shoulder had been getting tired from the sling, but let me tell you, 40 pounds feels different than nine. “I can hold her while you get him out to the car,” the helpful arms offered. “Oh, there’s no car,” I said, basking in self-pity.

The prospect of getting my tired, not-well-fed kiddo to ride his trike or even walk all the way home while I had a baby dangling off my front and black diaper bag on my back was, well daunting. So I approached the situation first with empathy, and then with what some might crassly call a bribe. Whatever the name, it worked. “I know you’re upset. We can get you some Legos of your own sometime maybe later this weekend. I need you to come home with me now. The party is over anyway.”

We have no toys like this, and he loves them, so I was willing to make good on my promise if he forced the issue. I would have rather lasted until I could get to a consignment sale or put something out on a mom’s list as an ISO item. But then the rest of the day happened. The baby woke up as soon as we got home. And she wasn’t the only one who needed to eat; I was hungry, too. A late breakfast will only get a nursing mom so far.

After the girls had a few rounds of eating and nursing, the preschooler started to get restless and the baby was tired and too pissed to poop out. A request to “watch something” was made as were several comments about Legos. We had to do something if I was to avoid screen time and a serious strike to my sanity. It was time to hit the road.

I rejected the notion of letting him know that there was such a thing as Toys R Us (even though it’s only a mile away), and I decided against seeing what TJ Maxx might have in its toy section. In truth, a drive didn’t sound like a bad use of time. I was pretty sure the baby would fall asleep (she did) and that the boy would chill (he did. Didn’t even ask for a CD). Lakeshore didn’t have exactly what I was looking for — I’d called but since I don’t really know these toys, I probably didn’t describe correctly — but the bucket of building lego-like thingies they had seemed to fit the bill. I also picked up some tracing cards to have one other trick up my sleeve for quiet-time activities.

He made a little craft while I paid (bonus for coming on a Saturday!), and, despite my getting a little lost in the Mixing Bowl on my way to find 395, we got home just over an hour after we’d left. The purchase even inspired my son to clean up his train set and, by extension, his whole toy area to leave room for building with off-brand legos. So my gas-guzzling consumer trip ended up with an unexpected reward of the impetus to sort stuff and clear the clutter, something I’ve been wanting to do forever. Sitting on the floor pregnant, or with a sore perineum, or with a baby in a sling is not very comfortable, and this time Daddy was back home to hold the girl, so I was thrilled to have the chance to tackle this project.

Let’s hope I don’t take too much from this positive reinforcement, which was topped off by the kiddo later happily going up to bed early and falling asleep before 7:15. But this is not justice, and I had to confess. I know Mother Earth knows anyway, but sometimes you have to tell the tale to stop secretly hoping you’ll get away with doing it again.

It sure is nice to feel like other people want to make you happy. I was excited for the DC Metro Moms Brand/Blogger event as a motivator to finally get my three blogs merged into one blog (this one! with the domain I’ve been sitting on for a year and a half!), to see other mom bloggers in person, and to learn a thing or two, especially since I’ve never made it to BlogHer and am due to have a baby three days before this year’s conference, sadly when it’s happening here on the East Coast.

But I really didn’t know what to expect. I mean, I figured the Pentagon City Ritz-Carlton would be pretty damn nice, and it was (love the cloth towels in the bathroom). And I knew I’d hear about how to work with brands (something I haven’t gotten into yet) and that I’d come home with some swag.

I had no idea that I’d leave not just with some toys for my son, but a very special “toy” for me (ahem); various coupons and freebies from Organically Grown,  BitMoms, Cultural Care Au Pair, Wolf Trap’s Theatre-in-the-Woods, local woman-owned business Lice Happens (let’s hope I don’t nee that comb anytime soon), Bosch,  Stonyfield Farm, Litl, K12.com and others; and a charger from iGo. I even learned that Georgetown Cupcake is looking into a gluten-free option.

But there was a lot of stuff to carry, and just as my pregnant self was satisfied that I’d connected at least briefly with most (though not all) of the people I wanted to see and, after my third trip to the posh bathroom, I was about to make a somewhat early exit when I was encouraged to stay for the raffle, which I hadn’t even realized was on the agenda.

Lo, and behold, this mama won a stroller. Actually, there were three strollers up for grabs, and I was the first to win and so got to choose. People who seemed to know a lot more about this sort of thing than I pointed to the Quinny Buzz. I gave it a whirl and felt like I’d found the perfect dancing partner. So just like that, we were walking out as a pair, the Quinny and I.

Now, I’m a pretty attachment parenting kind of mom who wore her first child just about non-stop in a Hotsling until he fit in the Ergo. As a baby, he refused to sit in a stroller and was never one to just sit in a carseat after we’d reached a destination. I hardly ever took that thing out of the car. Although it was tiring, I believed that babies should really be held most of the time anyway. So it’s not like I ever really felt the need for a super snazzy stroller, though I did often complain about the cheap one I had.

But this new stroller is like a dream. It turns on a dime. I feel like I’m a smoother walker just by touching it. And it faces both ways, which might have been helpful for my son in those early months. And seriously, it would have been nice to take a walk without the extra weight hanging on my body. That (unwanted) c-section slowed down my mobility considerably. (Returning home 46 hours after the incision was made — because I could not stand the hospital — didn’t exactly set me on track for a speedy recovery.)

I’m a big VBAC advocate who hopes for a different birth outcome this time. And although I still expect to carry my baby a whole lot and sleep next to her until she indicates she’d do better elsewhere, I’m also crossing my fingers that she knows how lucky we got to score this stroller and that she’ll let me float down the street with her in it at least once in a while. I mean, I could sell it and start up a college fund for her instead, but that doesn’t really seem to be in keeping with the spirit of the event. Besides, I have new hope in someday claiming the word “graceful” as part of my self-vocabulary now that I know what these wheels can do.

Thanks to all the sponsors of the event and especially to Quinny for the stroller. And for all the other bloggers who seemed so happy for me to have such a stylin’ way to get all my swag out to my car.

Yesterday I finally got to see the Georgia O’Keefe exhibit at the Phillips Collection before its final weekend. However, although it was a lovely afternoon out in the city, it didn’t quite hit all the sweet spots I was looking for after a week of staying home with a sick son.

Read my post — “Mom’s afternoon out thwarted” – at DC Metro Moms Blog to learn more.

Having someone in from out of town helps you see where you live with new eyes.

When my brother-in-law visited, I was kind of psyched that after my husband picked him up at Union Station, they got enjoy a lovely drive through the District — past the monuments — at dusk on a perfect summer-feeling evening (not very April-feeling, but still about as nice as it gets). I felt some pride in the fact that they found delicious gelato in Georgetown on a Friday night and that our visitor enjoyed the next day’s trip to MOMs, the natural food store we frequent most often.

And yet, I appreciate what living in a log cabin in rural Maine affords my BIL and what kind of rhythm that can foster. Sometimes I feel like I should live in the woods instead of just in a house that backs up to the woods, but I know I value urban life and convenience too much. I love being able to walk to a mini downtown, even if its restaurants are not organic. The grocery has some decent produce, and the library is right there. It feels like a community. And when Metro is not delayed or overstuffed with tourists, I think it’s pretty cool that I can hop on it and in less than 15 minutes, be at the American Art museum across the street from the library I attend an ICAN meeting.

This weekend, I was wary of track work delays on the Metro, so I decided to drive up to Bethesda to work the Holistic Moms table for a Celebrate Mama event. Now that downtown is one hoppin’ place. Lots of cool shops and restaurants. But even if we could afford to buy a home there — our house would probably sell for an extra $200K if it were plopped down in that zip code — I don’t think I would ever want to dress well enough and be cute enough to fit in.

So there is my living-on-the-border self. Not a homesteader, not a chic city girl or hip suburbanite, either. I liked driving up on Massachusetts and Wisconsin Avenues and seeing all the urban, cultural stuff going on. But it was busy and a little overwhelming, so on the way home, I took the Beltway to the GW Parkway, and I enjoyed the quiet serenity of the tree-lined and river-lined route, even though it was probably a couple more miles.

Although sometimes having too many options gets overwhelming (can anyone say Internet?), I do find that I like to put myself in the position of having them.

So what do you do when a near-elderly neighbor gives your kid a Toys R Us catalog (along with a few other Sunday inserts) as though it’s a gift?

After my husband accepted this offer, I ought to have put the stuff in the recycling bin immediately. But they went onto the floor of the car, and before I knew it, three-year-old eyes had latched onto them. “I want that Elmo magazine!”

(Don’t go thinking we have any fuzzy red bug-eyed animals around these parts. But he knows the character from friends & neighbors.)

So now he’s practically memorized the 80-page leaflet. At first, I was sick to my stomach with the comments about what he wants for Christmas. Yikes! Crunchy don’t play that! I just hosted a screening of Consuming Kids, for crying out loud!

Now he’s gotten more involved, requesting I whip up a whole family: “They are doing hair cutting. I want that to play with my brothers and my sister.”

Uh, he doesn’t have any siblings, and if he gets one, there are not going to be any S’s at the end, if I have anything to say about it.

Today, we were cleaning out the car in the driveway when said materialist neighbor drove up. “We’ve got that funny magazine,” Boy Wonder announced. “The toy catalog,” I translated for some inexplicable reason.

She must have been thrilled and went on to ask, “Did you see some things you want for Christmas? But you know you have to be a good boy, don’t you.” The kid has never heard the word “good” from us Alfie Kohn disciples.

I just chuckled and hoped she would go away. Eventually, she did. Now I’m wondering if I can disappear the toy catalog without my son finding it in the recycling bin and having a fit over how cruelly I threw away his prized possession.

I might just have to burn it and bury the ashes in the woods.

It’s always bugged me that the Babies R Us near my home has this mixed-message sign on its entry door. The white-line-divied red circle screams “don’t go there!” but the wording says “Entrance Only.”

The other day I happened to have my camera with me, so I finally documented the insanity. Above is the view upon coming into the store — despite the fear-inducing red warning symbol above the arrow that tells you you should come in.

Then there’s what you see when you’re standing next to the Bob the Builder ride-on toy (which we use without giving the truck any money and just waiting until it spontaneously erupts in “Yes we can!” Obama may not have won Joe the Plumber, but he got Bob the Builder!)

Have you seen similarly problematic signage? What are the store designers thinking, and why has no one fixed this in the three years I’ve been coming to this store?