October 2013 – Page 2 – Mary Tyler Mom

October 22, 2013

Tips for the Newborn Photo Shoot, Or Poop Happens

I curse Anne Geddes. I do. You know who Anne Geddes is, right? WHAT?! Well, if you don’t know her name, you certainly know her work. Take a gander:

A lot of folks love this stuff. Me, not so much. Hell, she’s sold 18 million books and 13 million calendars, so clearly, I must be in the minority on this one. I know I’m not supposed to snark about babies, and she’s just a mom doing her mom thing, but dammit, this gal has singlehandedly shaped the landscape of newborn photography. So even if I label this photo genre as a wee bit excessive, I give mad props to her ability to shape and promote an entire industry.

The Mary Tyler Family entered into that industry ourselves for the very first time a few weeks ago. Despite never having done formal portraits for Donna or Mary Tyler Son as newborns, when we adopted our newest little one, well, things are a little different this time around. It seemed like a very nice gift for Mary Tyler Baby’s Birth Mom. How could we not?

Cue the baby photographer!

We went with the same photographer who shot our adoption family video. I know, I know, a what? YES, we shot a family video on the advice of our adoption agency. Social media has changed things, folks, and adoption is not exempt from that. Long story short, the amazing woman who gave birth to Mary Tyler Baby found us through a Mary Tyler Mom reader who knew we were looking to adopt. After she saw our family video, well, she liked us and reached out. The rest of the story is still being written, but suffice it to say we are some lucky sons of guns over here.

The day of the shoot, the photographer called and asked us to turn the heat up. Way up. Way, way up. Like 88 degrees up (insert fan here). The reason being that naked babies are more comfortable in warmth. Honestly, naked anybody is more comfortable in warmth, right? So up the heat went, cause we are nothing if not obedient photo subjects.

When the photographer arrived, she came prepared with props. Not mad props, yo, photo props. This shoot was serious. There was a super cool bean bag, hats, blankets, etc. I had no idea. She looked around our home and decided the best light was in our playroom. We all tromped downstairs and I was grateful, as it’s always a few degrees cooler there.

Mary Tyler Baby was wrapped in a blanket and before I knew it, we were both in front of the camera. What the what? Honest to God, this was supposed to be a newborn thing. I had no earthly intention of being in front of the camera, as evidenced by my messy pulled back hair, total lack of make-up, and yoga pants. But our photographer liked what she saw when I was feeding Mary Tyler Baby and before you knew it I was glamour shooting it up with abandon.

Photo by Bum Bul Bee Photo + Films. Hey! Did you all ever disbelieve that I am a huge fan of Caillou? Well, here is photo evidence of said adoration of one tiny, whiny, bald little kid. Also, remember to dress better than his when you take your own newborn photo shoot. And pop the damn contacts in, too, why don't you? — Photo by Bum Bul Bee Photo + Films. Hey! Did you all ever know that I am a huge fan of Caillou? Well, here is photo evidence of said adoration of one tiny, whiny, bald little kid. Also, remember to dress better than his when you take your own newborn photo shoot. And pop the damn contacts in, too, why don’t you?

Sigh. I really didn’t expect that. So tip number one, if you are getting newborn shots done, you best look photo ready yourself. At a bare minimum, brush your teeth.

Soon enough, after bottle and in the tropical climate of our playroom, Mary Tyler Baby was ready to rumble, newborn style. Things went swimmingly for a while. There was a favored blanket knit by a friend, there was a diaper, there was a sleeping baby. All was good.

Then shit got serious, literally and figuratively.

With the diaper off and a sweet little gnome knit hat on, Mary Tyler Baby was still pretty cooperative. Until the Anne Geddes poses started. Did you know that most newborn photo shoots occur right after baby is ten days old? There is a reason for that and it’s because it’s before the baby acne sets in at week two and babies are still pretty comatose in their first few days, pliable, if you will. You know, like play doh.

At twenty-three days old, Mary Tyler Baby was ancient for a newborn photo shoot. Like Kate Moss on a runway ancient. Twenty-three day old babies don’t want to be molded in the hands of a photographer or mom. Nosiree! Twenty-three day old babies want to be left the hell alone, unless you are feeding them, holding them, or changing them. This nonsense with knit hats and props? Oh, hell no.

So tip number two is to get that photographer in there early, or you best believe you will be charged extra for the airbrushing of unsightly blemishes and baby wrangler fees.

At this point I was half nervous about my undiapered baby on the photographer’s pure white blanket and half cracking up over the directions she was shouting at Mary Tyler Baby, “MOVE YOUR LEG TO COVER YOUR DINGLE!” I mean come on. COME ON! How can you not laugh at that?!

My nervousness won out, though, as I worried aloud about my baby’s fluids on this pristine white blanket. I was repeatedly reassured that Mary Tyler Baby could do nothing that had not already been done. Oh wait! Except shoot spit up out his nostrils, projectile style! Does your baby do that? My baby totally does that. It’s pretty cool, honestly, and gave the photographer a new story for her baby photographer arsenal. I could almost hear her say to her fellow baby photographers, “And then the kid shot milk out his damn nostrils!”

The clock was ticking. I needed to go pick up Mary Tyler Son at school and I had a naked baby that needed dressing and car seat harnessing, pronto. The photographer promised just one more shot. Mary Tyler Baby was deeply sleeping after some of the requisite close-ups of hands and feet that required no play doh manipulation of his little limbs, and she was getting some great shots.

And then it happened. The poop smelled round the world.

Would you believe my precious Mary Tyler Baby did exactly as I was worried he would do? That boy pooped, or more accurately gushed, a bright orange liquid poop all over that perfectly white Ralph Lauren blanket. Wow. It was disgusting and hilarious and so very orange all at the same time.

Poor baby. Poor photographer.

I sprang into action, grabbing Mary Tyler Baby in one hand, wrapping a blanket around his bits as I lifted him up, and with my free hand, I grabbed my iPhone and took a photo. Cause it was freaking hilarious and it demanded documentation and I could not stop laughing and the very game photographer plugged her nose with one hand and smeared orange poop with a burp cloth on her perfectly soiled fancy blanket with the other hand.

Poop happens, folks, especially when you have an undiapered newborn on a white blanket.

Within minutes my little one was dressed and harnessed and I had sprayed the shit, literally, out of that blanket. Moms are excellent multi-taskers. And when I got home from the school pick-up, I popped that pooped blanket right in the wash and an hour later it was as good as new, ready to be pooped on again by another little newborn of another little family full of hope and laughs and giggles and joy.

So tip number three is to have a lot of Shout it Out on hand, and apologies, and a camera within reach.

I never got those Anne Geddes style shots of my two oldest, and much as I have skoffed at them in the past, and despite knowing all the work that goes into those newborn photo shoots, I’ve gots to say that seeing Mary Tyler Baby, precious as precious can be, nestled all snug with a gnome cap on his head, manipulated as the image might be, Lordy, am I glad to have it. Cause ain’t no gnome as cute as my wee little gnome.

Bum Bul Bee Photo + Films, the woman owned business behind our newborn photo shoot, is right now having a holiday special through November 15. And, nope, I didn’t trade this mention for a free photo shoot. We paid full freight, cause they are that good.

October 17, 2013

When Mom is a Mom Blogger

I have three kids. One is a newborn my husband and I adopted last month, one is a four year old who is brilliant and sweet (of course), and one is dead, the victim of an aggressive brain tumor at four years old. That’s my family in a nutshell. To me, these children are the most precious creatures that exist on this earth, probably a lot like yours are to you. I treasure them and wonder how I got so lucky in this life to be surrounded by such love and joy. I am blessed. Truly.

The child I write the most about is my beautiful daughter, Donna. Anyone who reads Mary Tyler Mom knows of my girl, as she is a central figure in both my life and my writing. She guides me through my days, reminding me to choose patience, choose joy, choose hope. These are lessons I need each and every day and my dear Donna is my constant teacher. I am grateful to have been her Mom and miss her utterly, completely, thoroughly.

My four year old is only referred to as Mary Tyler Son in my posts. He is a bright, beaming, curious, funny, smart boy. He is every inch four years old, which means he can be challenging at times, aggressive at times, endearing at times, playful most all of the time, and so, so beautiful. This boy saved me after Donna’s death. Rather than run down the rabbit hole, he reminded me, every day, with his ten month old self, that I was still a mother of a child that needed me desperately. He deserved no less than I gave Donna, which was all of me, everything. Mothering him pulled me through the thick of my early grief. Mary Tyler Son will always be my light.

And now, through adoption, we have been chosen to parent again. I honest to God can think of nothing more sacred than asking another human being to care for and love and raise your child. Think about that and just let it marinate a moment. We honor our selection, being chosen, and this beautiful boy by parenting him, just as we did Donna, and just as we do Mary Tyler Son. We are all in. All in. Mary Tyler Baby is what I will call him here and you will come to know him through my words. I don’t know much so far about Mary Tyler Baby, other than he fills me up, makes me smile, blesses me every day, and needs me to love and care for him. I am his Mom. That’s heady stuff.

That’s how parenting works, yo.

Right now my kids are of an age or a circumstance where they don’t give a fig about me being a mom blogger. Mary Tyler Son is intrigued by it and knows that when I am sitting in front of the computer screen I am blogging or Facebooking, which these days, is almost an extension of blogging. He calls me a writer and that’s just about the coolest thing I could imagine. Sometimes, he wants me to post about him, “Tell your blogging friends X, Y and Z,” he will demand of me. What can I say, it charms me.

There are strangers around the world who are charmed by Mary Tyler Son because of what I share in my blog and Facebook page. And I gots to say, it’s a great feeling when others find your kid charming, right? It happens in your life, too, even if you’re not a mom blogger.

What’s not so cool are some of the other things that happen when you’re a mom blogger.

Sometimes, when I write about the more challenging behaviors of Mary Tyler Son, strangers call him a brat or “full of himself.” Who in the hell says that about a four year old boy? Strangers tell me what I am doing wrong and that my poor parenting choices will absolutely result in raising a future law breaker, jail bird, loser. Oh! And how could I forget the woman who damned poor Mary Tyler Son’s soul to eternal hell and the gratitude she expressed at having children whose soul’s were not black like his. Sheesh. Fire and brimstone ain’t my thing.
Some folks don’t understand why I still write about Donna four years after her death. She has been called worm food and I have been told to “get a new angle,” as the Donna angle was “wearing thin.”
Earlier this year when something I wrote about adoption was featured on the Huffington Post, I was on the receiving end of two weeks of strangers lashing out at me, consistently and repeatedly, in the comment section from hell. I was called a baby thief, rich white bitch, narcissist, entitled, opportunistic, manipulative, and a few other choice words. I’m not gonna lie to you. That episode really ran a number on me and contributed to a depressive episode that made me question our wish to adopt.
A couple of years ago I posted a photo of Mary Tyler Son on Facebook that involved a parenting mistake I had made at the end of a stressful week. I captioned it with the words, “Worst Mother Ever.” A rabid pack of fellow mothers saw that and rather than acknowledge, yeah, that Mary Tyler Mom made a mistake, they wished for my son’s death. They then described the death they wished for in great detail, in hopes that I would learn a lesson. After that didn’t get a rise out of them, the image of my son was stolen, copied, and several Facebook pages were started with him being the poster boy/profile shot of new pages focused on what a bad mother I was.

So being the child of a mom blogger is not all it’s cracked up to be, you see. That is why I protect my kids. That is why I don’t post photos of my living children with their faces exposed. That is why I don’t use the names of my living children openly attached to my blog.

They didn’t ask me to be a mom blogger, to have their exploits, both good and bad, publicized for all the world to see. It’s not my place to call them names or endlessly complain about how they are ruining my life. Other mom bloggers do that and it’s super cool for them, but it just isn’t my cup of tea. And that is okay, cause you like what you like and there’s all sorts of fish in this mom blogger sea.

If you don’t care for what I’m doing, like the Facebook commenter this week who asked what the benefit of my page was if I only show my baby’s feet and don’t even give his name out, well then, it is easy as pie to hit the “unlike” button and go about your day. There are literally thousands of other mom bloggers who will fill up your news feeds with adorable photos of faces instead of feet. I promise, I won’t mind in the least. Most likely, I won’t even notice you left. That sounds harsh, but honest to God, I am sleep deprived these days and don’t drink coffee. I don’t keep up with the numbers like I used to.

For those of you who do stick around, who don’t mind a parade of baby toes in your news feeds, or a series of hilarious and wacky questions from the back seat that Mary Tyler Son asks on an almost daily basis, well hells bells, I am so happy to know you! You make my life richer in a thousand different ways that are hard to convey. I so appreciate your company and your respect and your empathy.

This parenting is tough stuff. My husband and I do the best we can. For us, that means no photos and no names of our boys. Other mom bloggers make different choices, which is A-OK! Hey, you can enjoy as many of us as can fit on your feed, and no doubt, that will involve a whole lot of feet and faces.

October 14, 2013

A Depressing Post About the Current State of America

Did you ever have an older relative who used to wax poetic about “the good old days?” You know the one, cause we all have at least one. I so distinctly remember listening to mine when I was in my early 20s. Good God, were those rants depressing, not to mention annoying as hell.

Well, boys and girls, my transformation into that older cranky relative appears to be complete, cause right now, right here, Imma unleash some words about the “good old days” as our country hovers over the cliff of default and remains in partial shutdown.

America, America, God shed his grace on thee

And if you don’t know about things like raising the debt ceiling and why our government is currently shutdown, WHY THE HELL NOT? You should. This is about you, my disinterested friend. That disinterest, that apathy you wear like a badge, is part of the problem. We’ve got some rogue politicians running amok in our capital these days, brandishing machetes and hurtling towards our well being. Do yourself a favor, your kids a favor, your neighbors a favor, and your favorite blogger a favor and spend a few minutes Googling. Start slowly with phrases like, “government shutdown,” and “debt ceiling.” Go ahead, the rest of us will wait for you.

You done yet?

Good.

Something I like to do first thing in the morning is scan the headlines of a few favored news outlets along with my Facebook feed. I’ve got some friends on both sides of the political spectrum, so typically get a fairly broad, albeit biased, selection of headlines. With a newborn now, I have mastered the one hand bottle hold, leaving the second hand free to swipe and scan. It’s not enough, but it keeps me informed.

And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea

This morning, among ever more posts about how stupid conservatives are, and others about how stupid liberals are, I had just about had enough. Enough. I wrote a barbaric yawp and posted it on the Facebook. (Please tell me you know what a barbaric yawp is. If you need to Google again, yes, we’ll wait. That is important information to have, cause you never know when you will need to sound your own barbaric yawp. That shit is therapeutic. You should try it sometime.) Anyway. This morning I sounded my own barbaric yawp and it went a little something like this:

A few words about our government: What happened to the concept of the greater good? When did Americans, left or right, red or blue, stop acknowledging they serve a people and not a party? We call ourselves the greatest country on earth, and yet are acting like we can’t wait to self-mutilate, self-destruct, and implode, wreaking havoc not only on ourselves, but those around the globe who used to look to us as an example, a guiding light, an ideal. It is a damn shame.

What I forgot to write is the line, “We are better than this.” But now I think I didn’t forget to write that line, I simply think it is no longer true. We used to be better than this, but now I’m not so sure.

Confirm they soul in self-control

More and more it feels like we only want to hear what we want to hear. We only tune into media sources that confirm our already solidified sense of the world, namely, we are right and they are wrong (or, conversely, we are left and they are wrong). Doesn’t matter which way you vote, cause that particular sin is absolutely bipartisan. We take glee, glee, in stories or headlines that tout how wrong/awful/horrible the other side is, accepting no responsibility for the issues and problems that our own party brings to the table.

It takes two to tango, you know?

As soon as one side, one party, is absolutely right and the other side is absolutely wrong, there will be no progress. And this whole no progress thing is becoming increasingly dangerous. Not just for the poor or vulnerable who have no voice and are easy to marginalize, but for the middle class, who whether they know it or not are completely dependent on a healthy operating government, and for the corporate class, who may be laughing all the way to the bank right now, but will rue the day that they chose not to trouble themselves with things like health care or retirement benefits for their workers.

O beautiful for patriot dream, that sees beyond the years

Has anyone stopped to consider what happens when huge swaths of people don’t have health care or retirement benefits? It ain’t pretty, folks. But with patience, we’ll find out soon enough, cause that is the direction we are headed.

Greater good, people. We need to put our differences aside for the greater good. We need to take an interest in how a handful of politicians, liberals and conservatives, are hijacking our futures for the chance to say, “We won! The other side cowered under the pressure! We are the champions!”

Truth is, right now, every single American is losing, and come later this week, many more global citizens will be losing, too, all at the hands of a very few fanatics in Washington, D.C., full of pride and self-import, and greed, and hubris.

And if you need to Google hubris, well, I’m not waiting any longer.

Til selfish gain no longer stain the banner of the free

America, America

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: