[caption id="attachment_182" align="aligncenter" width="450" caption="Carson, in the white chair that is an odd but comforting addition to our kitchen, with baby Russell watching"][/caption] I let some of my old strong-held beliefs go when I became a mom--like my thinking on toys and kids' stuff. Never would I let children overtake my house, I said to myself. Well, um, now I have a swing in the dining room, an Elmo walker in the living room and a Johnny Jump-Up contraption hanging in my office. So much for that. Another thing happened after I had kids: the need for comfort and for rest--whenever and wherever I could get it. So, after Carson, now 2, came along screaming into this world (he had colic, which seemed to last for a century), we found ourself in dire need of places to sit down all around the house. Enter the upholstered chair in the kitchen. We moved a basic white chair in there years ago, and it kind of stuck. Now Jason, my husband, will sit there holding the baby while I'm making dinner. Or Carson will chill out on the chair while his bro, Russell, plays in his exersaucer and while I run around cooking, cleaning, whatever. So, I've come to the conclusion, recently, that I think I'll always want to have some sort of comfy chair in my kitchen, even if it breaks decor rules. What do you think? P.S. If you look really closely in this photo, you can see the glass of wine I poured myself. At 4:30 today.



crayonThe beautiful Leigh over at the blog Marvelous Kiddo wrote in her bio that she was raised as an “unschooler.” A what? How had I not heard of this word in my 31 years? I’m familiar with home schooling, of course, because my mom home-schooled my sister, brothers and me for a short time, a fact that I still find amazing. (I was only home for a brief stint between moving from one school district to another, and though I give my mom props for doing it, I don’t think it suited me). But unschooling? I had no idea. So, fascinated, I googled it, and found this interesting definition from the site, unschooling.com



Warning: Pity party in progress! OK, now that you've read the disclaimer, I'm going to jump right in and tell you about my very bad day. Nope, nothing earth-shattering happened. And, by bad-day standards, this one wasn't even that bad. (This day, however, which I wrote about on Vitamin G a while back, was bad.) So why do I feel like screaming? Here was my day, in a nutshell: *I'll just say this: being on a conference call with your Glamour magazine editors and colleagues while feeding your baby and entertaining your 2 year old is really, really hard. *Did I stick my foot in my mouth today? Um, yes. *I had a crazy craving for artichokes all day (no, I am not pregnant)--but had none in the house. *It was hot. The house was about 90 degrees. I get cranky when I'm hot. *My 2 year old slammed a drawer on my finger, which made me feel like I was 2. *I got nothing done. *I missed an article deadline. *The baby was fussy. *We had leftover pizza for dinner. Cold pizza. That's all. [Photo: Doug Sims]