old houses + babies

all bundled up

If you haven't been following the news, Facebook status updates, or live in California, then surely you heard about the polar vortex. It was so cold the Great Lakes froze over, polar bears had to come inside, and Packers fans were wearing things like this at the game on Sunday. It was so cold that our home, built in the 1940's and still with the original windows and brick exterior (things that seemed so charming when we first moved in during the summer), felt about as frigid as that Packers game.

We went to drastic measures to ensure Clay didn't turn into a popsicle at night. Between his socks, footed pjs, and fleece sleep sack, the kid was in more layers than an eskimo, and every night Eleanor and I tiptoed into his room to carry the crib out into the hallway - away from the icicles hanging off the windows and the drafts drifting in through the walls. Add those things to the lead paint in the baseboards, the scary creaking floors, and the enormous raccoon family that lives in the tree right outside his window and we are ready to start building some character in this house.

-Scott

Note From Eleanor: I'm terrified of those raccoons.

Note From Scott: Those things are huge.

Note From Eleanor: They are going to eat us.

you can’t do it all

All smiles today!

I am a perfectionist. I hold everyone (husband, friends, myself) and everything (house, dog, work) to the highest of standards and buckle when things don’t turn out as envisioned. Thus parenting has been true misery.

The idea for this post came at ten o’clock last night when Clay was screaming his head off. Our baby is usually drifting into dreamland at this time and is rarely unhappy – shots, late lunches, and the presence of an allergy are his only three grievances in life. But yesterday we decided to try a different formula (with one of his smaller food intolerances) just to see if we might get away with a slightly cheaper alternative. By the evening our poor child had proven we couldn’t, and we found ourselves consoling a crying two-month old with tummy problems instead of watching Breaking Bad.

This parenting thing is hard. Sometimes we make mistakes, cut a few corners. And then (more difficult than anything I’ve had to do), we just have to let it go. Move on to the next success – or slipup. After all, what kind of stories will he have if everything in his youth is perfect? What tales to tell Oprah?

And, more likely than not, the next morning he’ll be happily cooing in his crib, the previous night’s calamity completely forgotten.

Note From Scott: He was crying last night? Really? Man, that Breaking Bad finale was thoroughly engrossing.