The Greatest Gift of All

Diverse toys + Mega Pooh

Consider a baby’s toy. Is it safe? Is it beautiful? Is it educational? Was it hand-stitched by ruddy-cheeked, well-insured farmers’ wives, or shat out in a plume of factory smog in a land whose only comparative advantages are coal and suffering?

There are many criteria by which to judge children’s playthings. But as anyone with a baby knows, the only thing that really matters is how loud it is.

I can instantly rank McNoodle’s toys in order of noisiness simply by recalling them in my order of preference. Quiet is good, noisy is horrible. Stuffed animals > foam blocks > that one stuffed bear that has a jingle bell embedded in its head > rustling fabric books > the fabric dog with the crinkly ears and honking foot > plastic stacking cups (individually lovely, collectively horrific) > rattles all sorts > battery-operated monstrosities.

In addition to toys, Noodle enjoys snacking on paper and plastic.

Battery-operated monstrosities, in fact, deserve their own category. The noodle loves them because they provide total and instant sensory overload. They light up and whirr and beep out little ditties about the alphabet. For the same reason, I only break out these babies in moments of true desperation.

Yet among these devilish gadgets is one so abhorrent it deserves special mention. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you: the Fisher Price Laugh and Learn Learning Wallet (only $9.99!).

Sure it’s electrified and loud, and almost certainly was not handcrafted on the banks of a Norwegian fjord, but what really sets it apart is its message. No numbers or letters over here, guys. My father Santa brought this in a fit of apparent insanity at Christmas. 

We unpacked it under the tree, opened its smiling blue cover and it burst into song: “Open up your wallet! Do you see a FRIEND? Maybe there’s some money for you to spend!”

Okay. There are a couple ways we can interpret these lyrics. The line “do you see a friend?” could be a totally random aside. “Let me open up my wallet and… hey! There’s Jimmy! Hi Jimmy! So anyway, do I have enough coins for this soda or what?” I’ll admit it’s possible. It is possible. 

Or, OR, this wallet is a sign of the End Times and the “friend” refers to one’s dwindling cash and mostly maxed-out credit cards. “Gee, I really want this sweater…which of these bits of plastic is gonna be my friend today? Is it you, little Visa? Or you, pretty Mastercard? Oh Chase. It’s been so long.”
Any other super obnoxious toys out there? Or am I overreacting? 

My First Baby Book

Baby books depicted are not necessarily terrible

Look!
I am a baby book.
Read!
I am about the letters A to Z.   

Your baby needs a good head start.
So you will read me to your baby 
but your baby will not give a fart.

She will not care on your couch.
She will not care on a chair.
She will not care in your arms.
She will not care anywhere.

She will stare
past your shoulder in the air
and you will wonder why 
you have not written a baby book yourself
because frankly
baby books are dumb. 
They make your soul numb. 

They have a rhythm and a rhyme
but only sort of and only sometimes.

This one cost fifteen euros
that you could have spent
elsewhere
and your baby would still stare
past your shoulder into nowhere. 

P.S. Really looking forward to books for slightly bigger children, which are better suited for reading than chewing. 

Abandoned!

In the wee hours of yesterday, my mom left town. She, my dad and my brother were all here for the last three weeks visiting the baby. My sainted parents were tremendous. They worked magic when we were not looking. A microwave materialized, our slightly askew dining table seemed to right itself (and we had been prepared to just live with off-kilter bowls of soup for the rest of our lives), groceries appeared, clothes and rooms were cleaned, and they played with the baby so that mommy could shower and nap... It was great. 

And now they have gone and it's all up to me to not destroy this child while her father is at work.  

AHHH! 

Munch-ing on hot air. HAHAHAHAHA! Ha. I'm very tired. 

Speaking of screams, this is a picture of our window. The hole in the middle of this little homage is our air conditioning vent. One of my dad's projects was to construct an airtight(ish) styrofoam pane to surround it. Ripping of Edvard Munch was his idea, too (although I drew it). It's obviously an ironic commentary on climate change and the futility of exercising our human agency. Ain't it grand? It keeps cold air in and blows hot air out on so many levels. 

**On a side note, I swear we only bought the a/c because I was nine months pregnant and it was hot as balls and I promise we only use it when it's above 35 degrees and I'm so sorry. Kind of. Although not sorry enough to get rid of it.**

This might look like a tremendous eyesore for our neighbors and passers-by below, but consider that previously Alex and I just dangled the hose out the window and filled in all the gaps with garbage bags and masking tape. This is an improvement. 

And this here is an Aperol Spritz, sitting in front of my man and his beer.  I got to soak in all of these on Sunday courtesy of a breast pump and my fine mother who is also good-looking and skinny. Thank you, mom and dad! 

YUM.