Knit-auguration

On January 25, 2017January 25, 2017 By aftheadIn stories, Tiny Knit Presidential Election20 Comments

At last the big day is here, the dawning of a new administration for the toys. Crowds of historic proportions were expected and arrived this morning: extra Lego sheets had to be added to accommodate everyone. Tiny Knit Zombie Trump and Tiny Knit Hillary are sitting together and enjoying the pre-inauguration entertainment. The gathering has a festive celebratory air. Every toy feels like they have representation in this new government. Every toy feels like their voices were heard. Every toy is excited about the changes that are coming, and has confidence in their new leaders. Let’s go to our on the ground reporter, George Snuffleupagus, for an up close perspective.

Thanks! Well before we go to the ground, let’s check out the birds-eye-view. Crowds stretch from the stage all the way back to the Lego Washington Monument. The future president and vice president took a risk – there is no security – but so far even the toys that showed up with weapons are peacefully gathering. It’s as if they just want to express their right to bear arms, but not hurt anyone. Wow! Look at the size of that sword down there!

The media is here and busy interviewing toys. Several polite discussions have broken out when toys nearby had a perspective different from the toy being interviewed. There’s just so much respect and tolerance, even here in the far back where you can barely make out the swooping hair of Tiny Knit Zombie Trump and sunglasses of Tiny Knit Hillary. Everyone seems so happy to just be part of this day.

Thankfully with the money this team saved on security they were able to install large video screens so the crowd can see from anywhere on the Lego sheets. This incoming administration really understands how to make investments where they are needed the most.

Sorry George! Gotta interrupt you. It looks like the entertainment part of the festivities is over and Tiny Knit Zombie Trump is going to take his oath of office. Let’s listen in. Oh, wait. He doesn’t have a mouth. Well, he’s looking very vice-presidential as he moans and nods… and there, he’s done. The crowd’s reaction is deafening. There is a palpable excitement from the trolls, vikings, mad scientists, and conservatives. Oh, now it’s Tiny Knit Hillary’s turn. The crowd has quieted. Let’s hear what she has to say. Ah, again no mouth. Well she holds herself with a very presidential posture as she puts her hand on the toy plastic book she chose for today. George, do you think the color of the book has any significance? George… are you there?

Sorry, I can’t seem to get my emotions under control… *sniff* This is just such a momentous day. Two parties putting aside their differences for the good of all toys. I just….I can’t….

Ah, and we’ve lost George due to the roar of the crowd. Well, let’s leave him with his emotions, and watch as President Tiny Knit Hillary and Vice President Tiny Knit Zombie Trump hug each other, and then address the crowd with inclusive gesticulations. I can’t imagine what they must be feeling looking over all their constituents. Oh, look, spontaneous hugs are breaking out all over. Knits are hugging Legos. Evil doers are hugging kids, but in a good way, not a creepy way. Such solidarity.

Well there is nothing more to add. Today is a day of peace, cooperation, and tranquility and our toy nation is a model that other nations can only hope to emulate. Let’s pan out to enjoy one last look at the crowd on this momentous day.

An unexpected, and tinge late, additional post in a series of tiny knit presidential dilemmas. See the sixth post here, fifth post here, fourth post here, third post here, second post here, and the first post here.

Thank you to Anna Hrachovec for the amazing tiny knit patterns! Please visit her site at http://mochimochiland.com/.

Afthead Holiday Party

On December 10, 2016 By aftheadIn Best Day Ever, Uncategorized12 Comments

I’ve just finished cleaning up from my third annual holiday party. Yep, me, the introverted Afthead throws a holiday party every year, but it’s my kind of party. I pick up five of my daughters friends after school and we craft for four hours. I am their hostess, their coach and their mentor as they learn new skills making gift for themselves, their friends, and their families.

Every year I have a plan. I buy supplies: yarn, pipe cleaners, beads, and Popsicle sticks. In the days before the party my daughter and I make sample projects and test out what is too hard, what doesn’t really come together, and what we can reuse from last year. The event begins with an after school snack while I casually lay out the demo items we’ve created, showing what they could make for their mom, sister, dad, or grandpa. Some things grab their attention, and some things don’t, but ten minutes into the party it isn’t about me anymore: it becomes all about them. I hand them each a gift bag to store their loot and they start crafting.

It is a marvel to behold, an experiment in personalities. We hand select friends who can sit and craft for four hours with breaks only for food and to find the scissors. Learning from our past mistakes girls who want to be the center of attention or who can’t sit still aren’t invited back, because there are lots of parties where you can dance on the table, chase friends or wear pretty dresses. This party is different; I and the girls love it.

This year we hit the perfect mix of guests. There were two new girls on the invite list. I taught one to finger knit and she was a prodigy. Four hours she stood in her snow boots looping yarn over her tiny fingers. She went home with three scarves. The second new girl sat on the floor cross-legged making pom-pom after pom-pom: methodically winding the yarn around one arm of the puffball maker, closing it; winding the other arm, closing it; finding the good scissors, cutting the loops; and tying the yarn around the middle. She’d wiggle the contraption apart and out would pop another pom pom. Then she’d find another yarn and do the whole process again.

The evening’s transition is magical. They start the day calling for my help. Every one of them needs me, my hands, and my expertise. Impatiently they wait calling out Coach Johanna, Jo Jo, Mom, Mrs. Johanna, but by the end they are helping each other and I am forgotten. Today, with an hour left in the party, I was unexpectedly called. They explained that a timer needed so the girls could prepare for a rendezvous. Having no idea what they were talking about they explained, with the condescension of children, what they are learning about Colorado history right now. In case you are also ignorant:

Rocky Mountain Rendezvous (in trapper jargon) was an annual gathering (1825–1840) at various locations held by a fur trading company at which trappers and mountain men sold their furs and hides and replenished their supplies.

The timer rang, and the girls set up shop to trade their precious crafts with each other. There were no fights, no arguments, lots of compliments, and it was all their idea. I contributed cookies to the event, which they appreciated, while letting me know my presence was not needed.

I learn so much from them. Beyond expanding my knowledge of western history, I learn perspective about my daughter’s own strengths and weaknesses in the light of her friends. I learn more about the challenges and struggles they each have and they have together. I learn how each of them has grown and changed since I last had concentrated time with them. But I get to teach too. I teach them that it is important to be kind to each other. I teach them that we don’t have and Elf on the Shelf, because our family thinks the elves are creepy, but we don’t judge their family for having one. I teach about our joint Christmas and Hanukkah celebration. I teach them the wonder of making something with your own two hands and using your brain to take an idea and make it your own. I hope I teach them that even as a grown up there are lots of different ways of having fun with your friends.

This is the one party every year when I don’t worry about what to wear, I don’t need a drink to loosen me up, and I don’t want to hide in my basement to recover. Cleaning up from the event I love the dustpan full of yarn bits and googly eyes. My daughter, having helped and chatted with her friends, starts her projects in earnest when everyone leaves. She’s watched her friends and picked her favorite ideas to make over and over. My extroverted daughter and her introverted momma are both energized when the evening comes to a close.

You can have your cocktail dresses, your high heeled shoes, your signature drinks, and your white elephant gifts. Me? I’ll take a group of kids and some glue for as long as they will have me.

If at First you Fail Spectacularly

On December 5, 2016December 5, 2016 By aftheadIn childhood, Uncategorized25 Comments

Fostering cats. It’s the one thing in life that I can look back on and say, “Well, I sucked at that.” Last year five tiny baby kittens were taken into my care and four died three different ways. I broke when the fourth one had to be euthanized and kept the last one to heal my heart. She has since become a beloved member of our household.

For the past year I’ve held onto this failure. I have to admit that I have dubbed myself the Cat Grim Reaper. I’ve lurked on the foster parent group on Facebook and watched litter after litter of healthy kittens grow and thrive under other foster parents care. I’ve watched sick and hurt cats become sleek and healthy. Quietly I’ve kept my training up to date in anticipation that I was going to try again. Once and for all I was going to cement my definition of the kitten event: bad luck or killer.

Our local shelter just had an influx of animals and needed foster parents to take sick, but not dying, animals home to make room for the new really sick animals. With little input from my family or friends, I volunteered to take one of the cats. He has an upper respiratory infection, his leg is bandaged hip to foot, he just got neutered, and he has a heart murmur that needs to be evaluated once he gets over the other ailments. His name is Bart and he’s a beautiful long haired light grey cat. He loves my daughter and has a purr that vibrates his whole body when she pets him.

As Bart snores away on the other side of the bathroom door – he is quarantined because of his infection – I’m not confident that he’ll make it. He hasn’t gotten better in the five days in my care. We’ve had to change antibiotics, and he’s not eating. The plan was to take him back to the shelter Tuesday to have his heart murmur evaluated, but already they are saying I might have to keep him longer because he’s not improving. He is living in a mist of water vapor as I try to keep his nasal tissues from bleeding each time he sneezes.

Thursday I dreamed Bart was playing with my parent’s cats, and woke with one thought in my head, “This is too much.” Fostering is just too much for me, for my family, and for my other cats. I hate saying that. I feel like some aristocrat looking down her nose at hard work and saying, “Oh no, I can’t do that. It’s hard and messy and time consuming and inconvenient.” No part of me doesn’t feel like a failure. But I’ve had to put a litter box in my bedroom to stop our cats from peeing and pooping on my bed, because the presence of the foster cat near their normal boxes makes them nervous. My daughter sits stroking his soft fur with tears running down her face. “I’m going to miss Bart,” she says. I drive back and forth to the shelter to drop him off and pick him up so his bandage can be changed. I wipe bloody snot off our walls, off of my daughter, and off his fur. The truth of the situation is that this is not our path, and not our way to help. Bart will be our last foster and if he dies I will take the mantle of Cat Grim Reaper and wear it, but I will not partake in a third foster experience. I will find other ways to make the world a better place.

It isn’t all terrible, don’t let me mislead you. There are moments like this. I hope that Bart recovers and some amazing family gets to enjoy this giant purr for years to come.

For all those who care for shelter animals, either at the shelter or in their homes, I applaud you. It is the hardest thing I have ever done, and I wish you all the strength and courage to keep doing what you do.

The Recliner

On October 25, 2016October 28, 2016 By aftheadIn Chickens, Knitting, Traditions7 Comments

Today would have been my Grandpa’s 103rd birthday. A few years ago my mom uttered this infamous – in our family – statement, “It makes me feel better knowing that if grandpa was alive he’d be dead by now.” She’s right. If my grandparents weren’t dead already they’d probably be dead by now, but the week bracketed by their birthdays is still one that pulls at my heartstrings.

Adding to the angst this year is that we finally got rid of their recliner. When my grandma died, I inherited this gem. I was poor, just out of college, and furnishing my first apartments and home. Somewhere in there Grandpa’s recliner became mine. I didn’t care what it looked like because I just wanted a comfy place to sit.

Now the recliner has lived with me 16 years, which is longer than it ever lived with my grandparents. The chair has seen me and my boyfriend turned husband through innumerable head colds and bouts of bronchitis: nothing is better than a recliner when you are stuffed up and coughing. My daughter has spit up, peed, pooped spilled, and snotted on this chair. Throughout her infancy breast-milk was leaked all over it because I loved nursing in this chair.

When our basement construction started, heralding the end of the recliner’s life in the house, the baby chickens pooped on it while my daughter sang lullabies to them in the garage. I hand medicated little baby Rosie chick in that chair. There may or may not be mice in the chair because there are mice out there.

The time for the chair to leave our home had come. No more would my daughter recline the back, extend the footrest and launch herself off her indoor playset. Finally I could stop worrying which kid-friend would end up with stitches from emulating my daughter’s antics. We will never figure out where that missing thumb screw goes: the one that fell out of the bottom one recline. I’m sure there is a whole set of knitting needles and stitch markers hidden in there, never to be found.

Before putting the chair out to the curb I went out to the garage, curled up, and read in it one last time. The book was A Man Called Ove, a perfect choice because my grandpa could have been named Ove he was so much like that character. I read, I cried, I remembered, and I watched my cats stalk spiders and mice. Finally, I turned off the lights and, like a dope, said “Goodbye chair.” By the time I got home from work the next day it was gone. My mom said, “It was an awfully big memento,” and it was.

The first post-chair evening I was down in my study digging around in my sewing machine cabinet and for a moment I smelled cigarette smoke. Throughout my childhood my grandparents were both smokers and that scent still calls up memories of them. At that moment I realized that one of them was reminding me that my sewing machine belonged to my grandma. I remember sewing Halloween and theater costumes side by side. I still use her manual, filled with her hand written notes, every time I need to sew on rickrack. I still have a big memento and one that isn’t going anywhere. All I need to do to reconnect to them is sew something and, you know, my husband did just mention that the chicken coop needs curtains. (Well he actually said “The chicken coop needs window blankets,” but either way it means sewing project.)

Correction 10/28/2016

I misquoted my mother in the original version. She did not say, “It makes me feel better knowing that if grandpa wasn’t already dead he’d be dead by now.” The corrected, and even sillier, quote is above. Thanks mom for pointing out my mistake. Love you!

Call me farmer Afthead

On September 8, 2016September 8, 2016 By aftheadIn Chickens18 Comments

The Afthead family got some chickens. After the rough experiment fostering kittens last year we left the mammal group of the animal kingdom in favor of the bird group. Meet Buffy, Rosie and Hope.

“What?!?! You got chickens?” asks Hope. The girl with her face in the camera was named after Hope Solo. We got the chickens during the Olympics and little Afthead decided the representative of the Ameraucana breed had to be named after an American athlete. As a big soccer fan she decided Hope was a good chicken name. (Given Ms. Solo’s antics during the Olympics I think having a chicken named after her is appropriate.)

You want a picture?

Do I stand here?

Not my pretty side!

This goofy girl is a Buff Orpington. I really wanted to name her Buff Orpington the Third, because she’s such a formal sounding breed, but Mr. Afthead won these naming rights. Buffy was the obvious choice for this brave vampire hunting fowl. In the coming years I’m hoping that in between laying eggs for our family she’ll star in her own sitcom or maybe a movie about a vampire, werewolf, chicken love triangle.

Finally we have Rosie, the littlest of the chickens. From the beginning she’s been the sweetest, the most friendly and, of course, was the one that almost got sick and died the first week. Yeah, we appear to attract sickly animals. After panicked googling, visiting feed stores, and syringe watering this little girl she’s now in great health. All that hands-on attention in those early weeks has made her brave, well socialized and willing to pose for pictures. “Who’s a pretty bird? You are Rosie!” Momma Afthead got to name this one, and I went for the obvious color-related name for this member of the Rhode Island Red breed.

So that’s our flock. Really, I have no idea why we are trying this adventure. We aren’t big local food people. We aren’t even big egg eaters. I think Mr. Afthead wanted a project, and converting little Afthead’s old playhouse to a chicken coop seemed like fun. Of course little Afthead was in: what kid doesn’t want chickens? It’s all I could do to keep her from grabbing bunnies, turkeys, miniature goats and peacocks from the feedstore the day we got the birds. Man, that kid loves animals.

Me? I’m still on the fence about about being a chicken farmer. While I love them much more than I expected I don’t appreciate my morning, “Are the chicken’s dead?” routine. I’ve never cared if skunk, fox, coyote, stray dogs, feral cats, or opossum lived in my backyard before, but now they are all chicken dismembering predators waiting to infiltrate every nook and cranny of our chicken habitat. Ugh. I’m crossing my fingers and hoping we can get these girls through to the spring, so at least we start getting some eggs. I’m also hoping if something gets them it isn’t a week when my husband is traveling. I don’t want to handle a chicken murder scene alone.

Now off to go find some overalls, a nice straw hat and a toothpick to chew. Come back soon, y’all. I tell ya more chicken stories. Ah yup. “Bawk!”

Kiddo Travel Hacks – Kid Phase

On August 15, 2016 By aftheadIn parenting13 Comments

Now that my daughter is a rational, reasonable, logical human being (mostly) I love traveling with her. Her bodily fluids stay inside of her (mostly.) She’s helpful at the airport (mostly.) Her eyes see wonders that a solo traveling adult would miss. We wait to watch the airplane drive under us on the walkway to the terminal. (Yes, airplanes drive under walkways sometimes.) She notices a friend at a neighboring gate, and we have a lovely conversation that I would have missed with my head down in my electronic device. I’m an observant traveler, but she really makes me be present.

My absolute favorite trick to traveling with kids is a game I made up on the spur of the moment. It works for any kid who can count to at least 20. The day the game was invented we checked our bags and headed toward the security line (cue ominous music). In one of the mysteries-of-TSA moments the line was long. So long. Longer than the line had any business being. All around me adults were “F-ing security!” and “F- you, why didn’t we leave sooner?” and “F- I’m going to miss my flight!” In response to my rising panic that my kiddo would hear these angry adults, inspiration hit and I said, “Kiddo, how many big steps do you think it will take to get through this line?”

We started counting big steps. “Mom, how many do you have? 12? I have 23.” I watched as she took an extra big step and stood too close to the person in front of us. She nodded and said, “24.” We made it through one wiggle – a phrase coined during the game development which means one length of the barricade wrapped line – and after she tallied our steps she proudly announced, “I’m winning!” Of course because she has smaller legs it took her more big steps to travel a wiggle so she won. Silly grown-up me had assumed we were trying to get the least number of steps in per wiggle. Any game my daughter always wins is a great one, especially in an aggravation filled place like the airport.

Now we play the giant steps game through security. We play it down the jet way. We play it wherever there is a line where adults are acting like children who need to have their mouths washed out with soap. She always wins. It’s worked for five years, this giant step game. This year, at 8, she was a bit more shy and afraid of what people would think of our game so we played, but quietly, and she still won.

The other upside of this game is that we almost always attract the attention of someone else who is just trying to make the best of a crappy situation. We’ll get a smile or a nod, and it makes me happy being goofy with my kid and making others a little happier with our silly game. The downside of this game? I abhor long lines at airports when I’m not with her. It’s all I can do to keep from challenging the angry “F-ing” guy next to me – “Hey, jerk-o, which one of us do you think can take more giant steps through this line?” Wonder how that would turn out?

The final in a series of Kiddo Travel Hacks where I share my best advice for not just surviving, but enjoying travels with kids. Also check out the infant phase and toddler phase posts for other tips and tricks.

Kiddo Travel Hacks – Toddler Phase

On August 1, 2016 By aftheadIn parenting7 Comments

Traveling with an infant is uncertain and scary, and traveling with a toddler is just like that, but louder and more mobile. There’s less screaming for no reason and more, “Want down now! Now! Now!” followed by the toddler death screech. These are the children holding their parents hands walking up and down and up and down the aisle whenever the fasten seat belt light is off. In my opinion, toddlers are the hardest travel companions.

Melissa, from Parenthood and Passports echoed my thoughts in her comments on my infant post, “The infant days were much easier than the toddler days, I have come to realize.” She’s so right! (Check out her site if you travel with kids or travel at all! It’s a fun read.)

How do you travel with a toddler and keep your sanity? Let’s start with the no/low-cost suggestions:

Talk about the airport ahead of time

Make your toddler aware of the whole flying process. Talk about the security lines and sending the suitcase off when you check it. Explain where all their stuff is going, so you can remind them as you go through the process. “Now remember, this is when blankie goes in your bag and through the x-ray. Then we’ll go under the bridge. First you, then Mommy next.”

Make flying an adventure

If you grouch and gripe it doesn’t help, but the airport is filled with amazing things. Notice them with your toddler. “Don’t the security policemen have cool blue uniforms?” “You are so special! You don’t have to take your shoes off!” “Do you see our bags going on the plane yet?”

Make others like your kid before they become obnoxious

Teach your kid the three rules of flying before you go, repeating them over and over.

You MUST stay in your seat when the seatbelt light is on.
You MUST NOT kick the seat in front of you.
You CANNOT smoke when the no-smoking light is on.

Have your kid repeat these rules as soon as you get on the plane. Point the lights out. Explain what the seatbelt rule is and that it is not your rule, it is the plane’s rule. It won’t end the “I WANT TO GET UP!” tantrum, but it will provide a way to explain without it being your fault. Also, fellow passengers will appreciate hearing that if their seat starts being kicked endlessly by little feet you are their ally. The smoking thing is just funny. Trust me, a three-year old saying the third rule is “No smoking!” is hysterical.

Finally, teach your kid that take-off is called “blast-off.” Nothing is cuter than a tiny voice shouting, “Mommy?!?! Is this the blast off?!?!” Your kid is adorable. All toddlers are. (If kids came out at 18 months old and potty trained I’d have a dozen.) Let their cuteness shine through before it gets tarnished by hours in the plane.

Bring familiar foods and treats

You love the chance to try exotic foods prepared in local styles when you travel. Your toddler does not. On the plane bring their favorite cup, and fill it with their favorite drink after you get through security. Bring bags of their favorite foods. Slip in a treat or two that they don’t often get to eat. My kiddo was a pacifier blankie loving toddler, so she got her pacifier and blanket the entire flight. She also had a sippy cup of juice, sliced apples, and goldfish. When she wanted a treat she got a ring pop: the pacifier in lollipop form. Throw away your rotting teeth and nutritious food worries for the duration of the flight. Make it a comfortable, special smorgasbord.

Now, if you are lucky enough to have a little extra money to spend there are some higher cost things you can do to make your trip more enjoyable.

Devices and television are your friend

Sure, if you are lucky, your toddler will fall asleep when the plane takes off, but if you aren’t lucky it’s okay to ruin their brains with TV on a phone or tablet while they rot their teeth with treats. It’s a vacation! Fun fun! Also, sometimes there are built-in televisions on a plane that cost a bit to purchase. Trust me, if you only buy one TV, it’s better to get Disney and Nickelodeon for your kid than HGTV for yourself. Invest in some over the head folding headphones for your toddler. They won’t be able to keep the earbuds in their ears, and you risk a “I CAN’T HEAR!” tantrum.

Get them their own seat

I know travel can be expensive but if you are traveling solo with your toddler it helps to have an extra seat and an extra under the seat. I used to travel with my daughter’s carseat because her seat was a familiar space for her. Also, she was a great car sleeper, and often that translated to a plane sleeper if she was in her own seat. From a safety perspective, it was easier to ensure she was belted in if she was in her carseat. That said, try hauling your gear, your kid’s gear, your kid and a carseat sometime. I had wheels I could put on my carseat, but I have vivid memories of me wearing a backpack, pulling my roller bag – with her bag strapped to it – and carseat on wheels while balancing my daughter on my shoulders walking out of baggage claim. I swear, I must have grown two extra arms to pull that off.

One thing to know, if you do travel with a carseat make sure it is approved for flight by the FAA and that you put the seat in a window seat. Those two steps will save you embarrassment and the attention of angry flight attendants.

Pay for stretch seating

If you don’t splurge for the extra seat, try splurging for extra legroom. My daughter spent many hours on the floor of the plane playing between my feet. Yes, it is filthy. Yes, you risk the little one eating some random dropped food. Yes, it’s amazing to get your child off your lap and get a little space during a long flight.

There is one thing you must do if you are traveling with a toddler, and it will cost you nothing.

Rely on the kindness of strangers

People will be jerks and mutter nasty things under their breath. People will recline their seats so your kid can’t see the TV. You can get yourself all bent out of shape, or you can look for the kind smile from the lady across the aisle who has been in your seat. You can marvel over the car rental person who, when you were returning your car, noticed the toddler in the back and says, “Get in the passenger seat, I’ll drive you to departures.” There will be an uppity business man who talks Dinosaur Train with your kiddo the third time she launches Buddy at his head. Turns out he’s a dad under that suit. I remember the awful flight to Orlando in generalities, but six years later I remember the specifics of the people who were wonderful to me and my challenging, adorable, loud toddler.

The second in a series of Kiddo Travel Hacks where I share my best advice for not just surviving, but enjoying travels with kids.

Kiddo Travel Hacks – Infant Phase

On July 26, 2016July 27, 2016 By aftheadIn parenting15 Comments

I love traveling with my daughter. She’s at an age where she understands that the pain of the drive, the airport, and the lines is more than worth the adventure at the other end. That said, I remember preparing for infant trips with a pit in my stomach.

She took her first flight when she was a few days shy of six months old. My husband’s dear aunt was supposed to come visit us, but instead of flying she was doing another round of chemo. Her cancer was back, but I desperately wanted her to meet her grand-niece. “No problem,” I said, “We’ll come to you.” Brave words, but the idea of flying with an infant was terrifying. On the plane there is so much stuff to bring and so little control over her. Who hasn’t wanted to rip their ears off because of an infant screaming during an entire plane ride? Did I want to be that mom with that kid? While I knew most problems could be solved by baring my breast and feeding her I was not confident nursing in public, so I came up with a backup plan.

My brother-in-law was traveling with us. Rather than sit with our family, I asked if he would sit in the row in front of us. Then I made my request. “If she starts screaming, will you please stand up and start berating me? Loudly?” He looked at me with surprise and I justified, “See, I can’t handle some stranger going off on me, but if you preempt it and just start telling me to ‘shut your damn kid up’ and that I’m ‘a terrible mother’ you might circumvent others yelling at me.”

All of my in-laws think I’m crazy, and I did nothing to change my brother-in-law’s mind that day, but he agreed. I boarded the plane confident that the worst I would have to endure was a baby crying and my brother-in-law acting like a maniac. I could handle that. I was armed with bottles, pacifier, diapers, changes of clothes, toys, and digital devices to keep her happy, but if those didn’t work I was also armed with a plan to keep the meanies away. As usual, when you’ve planned every contingency, the flight was easy. My daughter fell asleep drinking her bottle as we took off and woke up as we were landing.

When traveling with an infant, figure out what scares you the most, and make a plan to deal with that. Puke? Pack two changes of clothes. Poop? Do the same. Germs? Bring a bag full of 3 oz bottles of hand sanitizer. Mean people? Bring your own meaner person. Travel with an infant is a total wildcard, so do what you can to address your own fears. If you are calm, you’ll be able to better deal with whatever surprises come your way.

The first in a series of Kiddo Travel Hacks where I share my best advice for not just surviving, but enjoying travels with kids.

There is a tiny girl

On January 8, 2016January 30, 2016 By aftheadIn stories14 Comments

There is a tiny girl. Her story is not my story, but her parents. Her parents are my friends and like most children of my friends she got a hat when she entered this world. A hat with a poof as big as her head.

IMG_4544_medium2
She got sick in her second fall and after days and weeks and months of horrible tests the worst imaginable diagnosis came back, but that is their story, not mine.
It’s winter now and my hands have longed to help my friends. We bought them meals, but I wanted to do something personal, so I cast on a hat. A bigger hat with a tiny pom pom. A hat with a brim, because it is cold this January and my friends are so cool. Their daughter needs a hat to keep her warm this winter. Her parents need a hat that tells them their friend still thinks about them and cares. I hope it isn’t too big, because the tiny girl may not have time to grow into things, and that is the tragedy. There is a tiny girl, and soon she will have a new hat knit with love and sorrow and friendship for her, her family, for all they have endured and all they have yet to endure.

Santa Sighting

On November 27, 2015 By aftheadIn Uncategorized9 Comments

The Afthead Christmas season begins with a trip to Main Street of my hometown. The four blocks are lined with trees covered in tiny white lights, dark until Santa arrives. He travels in the back of a truck waving to the kids, and when he reaches the beginning of a new block the lights magically illuminate. This year it was cold and snow flurries painted the sky. My daughter and her friend were bundled three layers deep topped with Santa hats. Both of them believe completely in Santa, and while they know this is not the real guy, eight years of a tradition have made him special.

The girls call in unison as Santa passes.

“He saw us!”

“He waved at us!”

Because they are bigger and the crowds stayed home to avoid the cold this year I ask, “Do you want to go down another block?” They do. This year we see Santa four times and he sees us twice, by the girls’ counting. Only at the last block do I have to threaten, “Girls,are you really hitting each other? He is right there!” Their cold bodies extend for one final wave.

They leave singing a song they proudly made up on their own: “Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus right down Ma-ain Street.”