Forget eating us out of house and home – I think Cordelia will be walking and running us out of house and home. I’ve ranted on this before, but after shoe shopping again today, I can’t help but want to scream about the money we have to spend on shoes.

Her current pair of sneakers have been showing the usual signs of being too small for a week or two now. Which meant it was time for me to determine if her feet had yet changed into normal feet that could wear your average, everyday shoe.

See, Cordy’s feet have always been a little different. She has wide feet, which I’m told is common for a baby or toddler, but she also has tall feet. The middle of her foot, between her toes and her ankle, has always had more height to it. A little extra fat pad, I guess.

Because of this, stopping by Target for a pair of shoes just won’t work. Oh no, no matter how cute those little Mary Janes are, I can guarantee Cordy’s foot won’t get halfway into the shoe. A $10 pair of no-name canvas shoes would be wonderful, but Cordy’s feet will not comply.

I tried Land’s End this time, hoping that their shoes, which run a little wide in adult sizes, would also work the same way for their children’s shoes. Their all-weather mocs are my #1 favorite shoe, so I ordered a pair for Cordy. As a bonus, they come in a lot of cool colors, like deep blue, purple, and red.

I had a lot of hope for these shoes, but like others that came before them, they failed the test. Her tall feet wouldn’t go more than halfway in, no matter how much pushing, tugging, and twisting I tried (gently, of course). Damn.

Having tried just about every shoe, I was forced to go back to my only choice: Stride Rite.

I’d like to say I’m grateful to Stride Rite for being the one shoe store that carries shoes to fit my toddler’s abnormal feet, but I’m not grateful. They’re expensive shoes, for one. I don’t spend $50 on shoes for myself – I don’t even spend $30 on shoes for myself, and the shoes I do buy for $27 (Land’s End) I wear for several years, going from good shoes, to play shoes, to shoes to wear in the mud, until they finally give up and collapse into a heap of dust. If I’m lucky, the shoes cost me $1 a month or less for the use I get from them.

Yet for my precious little girl, I have to spend $50 on special shoes to fit her feet that will last her for maybe 3 months, possibly 5. That’s, at best, $10 a month for the use she gets from them.

Next, while they do carry extra wide widths, not all of their shoes are available in this width. Which leaves a limited selection, and for girls, seems to always be limited to the colors of white and light pink. Ugh. What is so wrong with making shoes for little girls in some color other than pink? Purple is a perfectly valid color, as is green or even red.

Today, Cordy measured in at a 7.5 extra wide. So we had these selections to pick from:

The last ones didn’t interest me due to the cute hearts. And the second ones, while being wide, were unable to handle the height of Cordy’s feet, making it look more like a sausage casing than a shoe. So choice #1 it was – not much of a choice, though.

With the new shoes on her feet, and Cordy doing laps around the tables filled with shoes she can’t wear, I paid the $48.70 and we left the store, determined to not return for at least 3 months.

I sometimes think the only reason I work my job is to pay for Cordy’s clothing and shoes. I will probably be relieved if baby #2 is a girl, so she can wear all of Cordy’s old clothing. And hopefully the second one won’t have weird feet.

You want to know why I have blog ads on the site now? It’s to help me afford to keep this kid in shoes.

Wow, 300 posts in just under a year? I never thought I’d write that much.

Anyway, today was cold, wet, and dark, and Aaron has been very busy with final rehearsals for MacBeth this week (tonight is opening night), so I was on my own with Cordy for today and tonight. Finding ourselves trapped inside and running out of ideas, I called my friend L., she brought her son over, and we baked cupcakes.

Yeah – baked cupcakes. Did I ever mention I’m rather domestically challenged? But I got these great Fun Shapes baking tins (more on that can be found here), and I was dying to try them out. Warm chocolate cupcakes on a cold day sounded like the perfect remedy for the blahs.

First came buying the cake mix. I took Cordy to the grocery, where she became very attached to the box of cake mix. Seriously, when I tried to check out, and had to pry the box out of her hands, the entire store could hear her wailing, “Nooooooo!! Caaaaaake!!! Caaaaaakke!” Of course, knowing little about baking, it wasn’t until the checkout line when I glanced at the back of the box and realized I needed eggs for the mix. What? This isn’t a complete mix? So I trudged to the back of the store again and got a six pack.

Once home, we got to work. Dumped the mix into a bowl, along with eggs, water, and oil. My friend L. then asked, “Do you have a mixer?” Uh, no, I don’t think so. “A whisk?” Nope. But I did have a wooden spoon, so I started stirring the mix (after picking out some egg shell that got into the bowl…sigh).

After several minutes of stirring, it still looked pretty lumpy. “Let me see if I have something else to stir with,” I said, looking in my cabinets for some miracle. And just then, the miracle appeared: I looked in one cabinet, and suddenly noticed an electric hand mixer. Where did that come from? I don’t remember ever purchasing a mixer, or ever putting it in that cabinet. But there it was, just begging to be used. It was still sealed in the box, too.

So I pulled out the mixer, which made the job much easier.

After the mix was smooth, we scooped the mixture into the cups. I had no idea how full to fill them, but figured there was probably going to be some expansion, so settled on about half-full. We used three of the heart shapes, and 17 ghost shapes, since Halloween is just around the corner. Once filled, into the oven.

When the timer went off, L. asked if I had any toothpicks to check if they were done. Toothpicks? She apparently thinks I keep a stocked kitchen or something. I dug through a drawer and found a pair of bamboo chopsticks. Close enough, I thought. They were done, and so we took them out to cool, while fighting back two toddlers who wanted to see what we were spending so much time on. (And two toddlers who don’t yet understand “No! Hot!”)

Frosting was next. Again, I’m clearly no Martha Stewart here, because they didn’t look like anything I’d seen in pictures. But they were white ghosts. However, without any facial features, they sorta looked like white blobs.

L. asked, “Do you have any cake decorating supplies? Or candies we could cut up and use as eyes?” I laughed. If I didn’t have toothpicks, I sure as hell didn’t have cake decorating supplies. But digging through my tiny stash of baking supplies (a bottle of vegetable oil, some now-solid brown sugar, baking soda, and some dried herbs) I found my mom had also at some point brought up some of her old cookie-making supplies. (Maybe she snuck in the mixer, too?) I found some sprinkles (not useful), colored sugar (still not helpful), and an old set of food coloring.

Now, when I say old, I mean old, as in, I think we used it to make the icing for cookies when I was a kid. The text on the box was faded, and it had one of the old-style price stickers on it. But hey, red dye #4 never goes bad, right? I tried applying the dye directly to a cupcake to make eyes, but that resulted in a giant red blob.

So I grabbed that bamboo chopstick again, poured a little red coloring in a small dish, dipped the chopstick in the dye, and then used it to make little ghost eyes and a mouth. Success!

Alright, so they don’t look great, but not bad for a first try, right? And what really matters is that we had a lot of fun making them, and they are delicious!

I’ve been told by many, many people that baby #2 suffers from not being baby #1. If this baby has a baby book at all, it will have less information in it than Cordy’s did. This baby will have less pictures taken, less attention, and less awe at each milestone reached. They say I will worry less about little bumps or illnesses, and won’t ever think a simple cold could really be bacterial meningitis in disguise.

I’m an only child, so I never got to see this firsthand. Growing up, it really was all about me. Not that my baby book was ever completed, though. My mom worked too much to have time to keep that thing up-to-date.

I’m finding this unintentional neglect to be true already for this baby. This pregnancy has taken up far less of my thoughts than Cordy’s did. I have no doubt that I will love this child just as much, and make sure this child is well cared for, but at times I even forget I’m pregnant. Forget I’m pregnant, for cryin’ out loud! When I was pregnant with Cordy, not a minute went by without my mind drifting to that little clump of cells growing into a person inside of me. I had baby on the brain back then, while now I sometimes have to stop myself and say, “Wait, no, I’m pregnant.” Were it not for the lower back pain, raging hormones, and nausea that is now thankfully easing up, I might forget entirely.

Things that are different so far this pregnancy:

• With Cordy, I could tell you exactly how far along I was: “I’m 15 weeks, 6 days, although that’s using the standard pregnancy due date calculator. I’m actually 15 weeks, 4 days because I ovulated on day 16 instead of the standard day 14.” Now? I was asked how far along I was yesterday, and I had to stop and think for a few minutes because I wasn’t sure. Without a calendar to consult, I finally said, “Somewhere near the end of the first trimester.”
• During my first pregnancy, prenatal vitamins were taken religiously. Missing one stupid pink horse pill sent me into a tizzy – oh, God, the baby will have some horrible neural tube defect because I missed this one dose of folic acid, and if this baby isn’t a genius by two I’ll know it’s because I screwed up and missed a vitamin! If that were to be the case, well, baby #2 is screwed then. Taking my prenatal has been a challenge this time. Forgetting I’m pregnant means that I forget to take the pill. I consider my track record of roughly every other day pretty impressive now.
• And speaking of ingesting things, I’m already back to my caffeine habit. Sure, I’ve cut back, but eliminating soda from my diet just wasn’t going to happen this time. Without that little energy boost in the afternoon, I’d be useless. And eating lunchmeat doesn’t worry me, either, because the risk of listeria is so tiny. Hell, if I had some good soft cheese around, I’d probably eat that, too.
• Remember the book, Your Pregnancy: Week by Week? Yeah, I read that thing every single week when pregnant with Cordy. I knew what new features she had each week, if she had fingers yet, and when she could open her eyes. All I know about this baby is that it is somewhere between the reptilian-blob-with-a-tail stage and the looks-like-a-mini-person stage. I haven’t cracked a single pregnancy book this time.
• I did show all of you the first ultrasound picture a few weeks ago, but other than here and showing family at home, no one else has seen the blob’s first picture. I didn’t e-mail it out to all my friends and distant family, and I didn’t show everyone at work. (I’m sure they’re more than thankful for that.) Cordy’s ultrasound pictures were kept in my wallet, where I showed them to anyone who even asked about my pregnancy. This baby’s ultrasound pics are somewhere in our house. I’m not even sure where. (No worries, though, I get new, updated pictures on Monday.)

Poor baby #2. Loved, but not fussed over as much as the firstborn. Then again, maybe this one won’t be sitting in a psychologist’s office some day saying, “My mom just smothers me! And she has put every detail of my life on the internet for all to see!”

Who am I kidding? Of course I’ll blog about baby #2 just as much. Guess I’d better start adding a little more money to that therapy fund each month to cover both kids.

(Those of you who weren’t firstborns – did your parents take less baby pictures of you and never finish your baby books? I’m curious if this is a myth or not.)

I’ll admit that I’ve never been a big fan of the 40 hour work week. I put up with it when I was young and childless, often finding myself sitting bored in an office after finishing all my work, with nothing else being offered up by my boss. I’m a quick worker, and I’ve never been fond of standing around the coffee maker catching up with people that I have nothing in common with save for working together.

I then landed a telecommuting job, and couldn’t be happier with it. I worked, on average, 25 hours a week and I was always ahead of schedule and taking on additional work. Even with the distractions of being home, I got more done, and had plenty of time leftover for chores, hobbies, and naps. Especially naps.

So when my old job cut out telecommuting with no warning, I was devastated. I had a one month old baby at that point, and had planned Cordelia’s early life around my working from home when she was asleep or Aaron was home. It was going to be the perfect arrangement – still being paid a nice salary, yet getting to spend as much time as possible with my daughter. Instead, I was forced to put her in daycare at three months old and return to the office.

After two months at the office (hey, I gave it a good try!), I knew I couldn’t handle it. Seeing Cordy for an hour in the morning, an hour at night, and then two brief, sleepy, night wakings was not enough. I wanted to work part-time. It took three months and a lot of frustration to get the job I currently have.

Finding a part-time job is difficult, and honestly, in the current US economy, I can’t understand why. Skilled labor is apparently reserved almost exclusively for those who work 40+ hours.

If you want a part-time job, newspaper and Monster.com searches will result in lots of ads for telemarketers, retail positions, and food service, with the occasional secretary thrown in. All will have low educational requirements (“HS diploma or GED acceptable”), and most will have the stipulations, “Must be able to work evenings and weekends on a variable schedule”.

In other words, these are not the jobs for a new mom with a university degree. New moms need stable hours, and those with college degrees want something more challenging than answering phones or asking, “Would you like to try our new perfume?”

I know that the situation is a little different in big cities. There you can find more job sharing and part-time opportunities. But here in the Midwest, old habits die hard. Part time workers often have the stigma of being uncommitted to their jobs, unreliable, and producing less than those who work full-time.

Even in my current job, I face discrimination because I am part-time. When our reviews are done twice a year, bonuses are given out based on performance. And each and every time, I go into my performance review and I’m told that the work I do is great, above and beyond the required amounts, and that they’re very thankful to have me. When my bonus amount is finally revealed, the bonus being between 9% min and 18% max, it is always 2-3% lower than the full-time employees (they show you where you fall on a scale in the department – I’m always near the bottom).

I have asked why I consistently fall below the others, and every time I’m told the same answer: “You should be happy with this amount! It’s a very good amount, for being a part-time worker.” How is that fair? The bonus is a percentage of the pay you have earned over the last six months. Since I’m part-time, I’m already earning less money, so therefore even if I got the same percentage, my bonus would be smaller. I perform the same duties as my colleagues, but because I only work 24 hours a week, I’m thought of as less worthy of a good bonus.

It’s ridiculous that this stigma is in place. As a part-time employee, I consider myself to be more dedicated to my job, specifically because I am grateful of the time it gives me with my daughter. I’m sure there are many moms and dads out there who would also be devoted to a part-time job because it would give them the chance to keep their professional skills polished while allowing them to spend more time with their young children.

Kids are only little for a short time. Once mine are in school, I’m sure I will pursue full-time work again. But I want to witness these first years, instead of being told of Cordy’s accomplishments from her caregivers.

Why must employers be so stingy with part-time employment? Part-time employment benefits them as well. Many part-time employees already have health coverage from their spouse or partner, so the company saves money on those employees. They could hire two people to each work 20 hours a week, pay them the same amount as a full-time employee, and still save money by saving on benefits.

If more part-time work was available, I think we would witness less struggle and stress amongst new parents who agonize over balancing work and family. Part-time is the ultimate “meeting each other halfway” option. Parents get more time to spend with their children, still get the much-needed paycheck, and also get to keep their skills sharp (instead of trying to write a resume with a 5 year gap in employment history). Employers get workers who are skilled, often have no need for benefits, usually have years of experience as successful workers in their field, and who are genuinely grateful for the chance to keep their lives in balance.

Seems like a win-win, right?

On Friday we decided that cooking was not in the plans for dinner, so I ran out to get dinner. As I pulled into my driveway after getting food, I noticed one of the neighbor boys and his friend acting suspiciously in our yard.

A quick background on the neighbors: they live in the three bedroom, 1200 sq. ft. ranch next to us, and they have two adults, four children, three dogs (one about to have puppies), a cat and a turtle. How they all fit in that place is a mystery to me. The oldest child is 9, and the youngest is 3. They are nice people, although the kids are a little rowdy at times.

The kids are often playing in our yard. I can understand this a little, since our house is located on the bend in the road, so we have a fairly large yard, while they have a postage stamp sized plot of land to play. As long as they are playing nicely and aren’t coming up on our porch, or attacking our tree or shrubs, I try to not let it bother me. (Although we did fence in our backyard not only to contain Cordy, but also to stop them from using our entire backyard for football and baseball games.)

Anyway, back to Friday. This was the second youngest kid, who is 5 or 6, and his friend of the same age. They were moving along our fence slowly, eyes darting back and forth to see who was watching. I made eye contact with the neighbor boy – I gave my “What do you think you’re doing?” look, while he gave the typical young boy “I’m getting into trouble” look with a side glance at me.

I continued to watch them as I slowly gathered up my stuff and got out of the car. And then I noticed one of the boys facing the fence, and his hands were in front of him. Then his pants slid down slightly, and I noticed the fence in front of him getting wet. He was peeing on my fence!

The boy gave a quick glance over his shoulder, knowing I was watching. I was in shock – while I wouldn’t put it past these boys to do something like this, I didn’t expect them to be so bold as to do it with me watching. The boy finished, pulled up his pants, and both of them ran back into their own yard to play. I should also point out that this part of the fence was roughly 4 feet away from the neighbor’s back door, where they could easily find a toilet inside.

I walked in the door, still dumbfounded by what had just happened. “What’s wrong?” Aaron asked.

“The neighbor boy and his friend just peed on our fence!”

“What?”

“They peed on our fence. I watched them do it.”

Aaron put on his shoes and went outside right away. A few minutes later, he came back in.

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them if they needed to use the bathroom, to go into their own house, and not use our fence.”

“And what did they say?”

“They mumbled something about OK, then ran off.”

Somehow, I doubt that will deter them. I’m sure they thought it was hilarious. It made me hope that baby #2 is a girl, because I seriously don’t think I’d know what to do with my son if he peed on someone’s fence. Of course, the answer is my son would never be raised to do that. But boys just seem to be more willing to do stupid stuff like that.

Is there some kind of “hoodlum” gene on the Y chromosome, tempting little boys to pee on fences, pull up flowers, and leave their bikes right behind our cars in our driveway? Some primal urge to mark territory and destory the territory of others?