redeeming myself.

See, I don't just take pictures of her crying.

Am I mean?

I like taking pictures of my child crying.

It's not that I like her crying, in fact her tears make me feel horrible and powerless at times. She's just so darn DRAMATIC! Really take a look at theses pictures. What is that devastating to draw this response? Her bottle not prepared to the correct temperature? Her crib sheeting has lost its downy freshness?





Maybe I take these pictures because I've survived her 5 months of colic?

Looking at these pictures reminds me just how far we've come. Anyone whose dealt with colic knows where I'm coming from. I should design a little ribbon pin for colic survivors. Maybe a ribbon with frayed edges? Tied in a really tight knot? Hey, I might be onto something here. This ribbon will save innocent bystanders from making stupid comments as you're wait in line, baby screaming as if she were on fire, so you can pay for the formula and get the hell outta there.

"Oh, she must be hungry." Don't say that.
"Poor little lamb." Don't emphasize with the demon.
"She must be hungry." Really, don't say that!
"Well someone is not happy." No shit sherlock.
"She must be hungry." Just. Don't. Say. That.

If you know someone who is currently going through colic, give them a hug.

just eat it!

I've been saying that a lot lately. Getting mini-hubbie to eat his lunch has been quite difficult. The crusts have recently become a real hurtle to overcome. Since he's currently fascinated with Peter Pan and everything Peter Pan related, I thought I'd use it as leverage.

The Challenge!
To create something my child would eat with minimal whining. (Whining is the equivalent of water boarding to me.) I could only use what I normally give him to eat and the end result had to be a complete lunch. Yes, I do have "rules" for my own little self-challenges, just go with me here.

First I started small.

me: Hey, mini-hubbie, I made you a peanut butter and jelly Peter Pan knife.
m-h: whoa! That's awesome.
-- a few minutes pass --
me: Where's your sandwich?
m-h: Gone.
me: What do you mean gone? (I'm looking under the table, the window ledge, under his seat.)
m-h: I ate it.
me: Really?
m-h: Can I have another knife?
me: Sure honey, you can have as many knives as you'd like!

The sweet smell of success linger in the air long after lunch ended!

After my "knife" success, I moved on to slightly more elaborate Peter Pan sandwich designs. Now mind you, I only have a few minutes for my sandwich creations since I've got a now hungry 3 year old and a baby not happy about waiting in her high chair. But here's a couple of my latest.

Captain Hook


Mr. Smee (for those of you who don't see the movie on a daily basis, Mr. Smee is Captain Hook's right hand man)


Hey mom & dad, thanks for sending me to college! It's totally paying off! My bean pole just gained a pound thanks to my finely tuned artistic abilities.

changing her drawers.

The other day while waiting in the drop off lane with all the other lazy parents, I happened to notice a dad walking his son into the preschool. Dad gets point one since I'm sitting on my duff while he is walking his kid into the school. But this dad, his son and the infant in his arms are all dressed in short sleeved shirts. Sure, it's supposed to be 70 degrees today but not at 8am. Every other kid walking to school accompanied by their moms are dressed warmly with jackets. I chuckled to myself thinking I bet mommy didn't see what they left the house in. My next thought was this is something my hubbie would do. Yet another mommy / daddy divider.

When hubbie gets the kids dressed in the morning he never fails to amaze me with what he puts together. Kleptobaby will be dressed too warm, too cold, always without socks. "Does her hair really need to be combed, she's only 8 months old?" he asks. I try to explain that there is no age / hair hygiene correlation but it falls on deaf ears. Now I could get picky and tell you how he had her dressed in jeans with red & blue embroidery and then a pale pink shirt.

Most kids clothing stores (Baby Gap, Gymboree, etc) usually sell their clothes in matching color themes. To me this is quite obvious just upon opening the drawers. The navy pants with the pale pink buttons goes with the pink and white striped shirt with the navy piping. Not hard. The sage green pants with the cream edging and red flower decals goes with the cream shirt with the red & green flowers on it. No advanced art degree minoring in color therory is needed here. Wrong! Hubbie has the art degree yet still can't match these items together. Man thing?

So, to avoid these fashion faux pas in the future and to help hubbie out, I've come up with a plan. In our house, the shirts go in the shirt drawer. The pants in the pants drawer. Ahhh, no longer!

Here's Kleptobaby's drawers pre-plan.

Here's Kleptobaby's drawers Hubbie proofed!



Still doesn't iron out our hair brushing differences but at least their outfits will match!

There may be other pros to the new solution. For example, on the days we are rushing out of the house, I can grab in outfit instead of hunting for matching pieces. Only time will tell if this really helps.

Now onto my sock drawer!!

Here we go...

Back in art school, it was said that making the first mark on a blank canvas was always the hardest. I've found the same is true here.

sldkfjjasldkfj....ahhh, that's better!

Domestic sketchbook is my collection of thoughts, ideas, observations on all that is being a stay at home mom. After being submersed in this for almost four years, I expected to be top of my game but still feel everyday that I'm fumbling through this experience. Everyday I cross my fingers that I cause no permanent damage. 

Food for their future therapy sessions, fine. 

Permanent damage, not so good! 

So, join me as I stumble my way through this domestic landscape filled with sticky fingers, midnight feedings, carpool lanes, peanut butter sandwiches, bear hugs, endless teacher gifts, whining, potty training, menu planning, coupon cutting, running noses, sloppy kisses, laundry, laundry and more laundry.