It was a cold and cloudy warm and beautiful day when the idea struck me to have a perfectly classy dinner picnic by a lake with our little family. It turned out to be a near-disaster complete success.

I spent the afternoon planning the menu, purchasing the (organic and wholesome) ingredients, then slaving over their preparation in the kitchen.

I was incredibly forgetful prepared and didn’t even bring utensils or napkins had everything on hand for any possible circumstance. We dug through the diaper bag, found a baby spoon and ate straight out of the containers used my collection of vintage china plates and heirloom silverware that befit the occasion.

We took pictures as evidence that we stooped so low as to eat straight from cartons with baby utensils enjoyed such fine fare on a fabulous picnic. O and of course there were the baby-wipes fine linen napkins.

You know? Sometimes I even surprise myself with how unplanned and thrown together elegant and sophisticated my events turn out to be.

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This has been a part of Not Me Monday, hosted by MckMama.

OBaby and I were enjoying a nice afternoon last week window shopping on Grand Avenue when I ducked into a baby shop. They carried Iron Maiden onesies and pink organza tutus. Quite the spread.

And there they were, in a basket by the $60 size 4 purple infant cowgirl boots: some assorted wood baby toys.

I’m a sucker for wooden toys.

OBaby is a sucker of baby toys (::snort snort::).

I quickly decided that we would not be leaving the eclectic shop without this beauty, a stretchy circle of colorful wooden beads that can be rearranged (and, more importantly, sucked on).

OBaby was happy in his ring sling on my hip as I paid for the toy and headed for the car to go home and have what I was hoping would be an afternoon nap of epic proportions. Being the awesome, impromptu toy buying mommy that I am, I gave him the balls to suck on in his car seat.

He was content and quiet for the entire ride home, and if you know my son, you are impressed right now.

“That’s one awesome toy,” I thought.

Upon picking him up out of his seat, I realized whence cometh that contented silence. Mommy left the cardboard tag on that awesome toy.

Half of the tag was nowhere to be seen, the other half was soggy and unrecognizable.

“Remove all hanging tags and labels before giving to a child,” has never been so poingant. Not that I would ever be so absent minded as to give my child some cardboard to chew on unsupervised, or anything.

And the next day, when that half of the tag that was nowhere to be seen could be seen, ahem, in OBaby’s diaper, I did not consider grabbing the camera and documenting the still legible words “Classic” and “Toy”.

Nope. That’s disgusting. That thought would never cross my mind.

~~~~~~

[Not Me Monday, a blog carnival hosted by MckMama]

Good grief my kid is into everything. Well, I mean, I’m sure it could be worse but I feel like there is already a lot of adventure packed into OBaby’s little 15 and a half pound body. And I don’t mean adventure like the time he gagged on his hand and threw up all over our table at the neighborhood Italian place we had walked to for dinner last night…

although that was an adventure.

[Related: You would think I would have learned that there is no such thing as a quick, predictable trip out with a baby that doesn't warrant the bringing of the diaper bag. You.would.think.]

I’m talking about the adventure that I didn’t even know was already laying around my house. I just had to lay down on my stomach in the living room to notice it. Dog food bowls, for example. Endless entertainment. Springy door stops have been known to provide mommy with a chance to pour and scarf down a bowl of cereal, too.

But you know what else is adventurous on an epic level? Dust sweepers that Mommy has run under the various pieces of furniture then leaned up in the corner momentarily.

Did I say adventurous? I meant dirty. And gross. And something that no good mother would ever willingly let their child play with so that she could finish vacuuming the area rug (irony for the win!).

What’s that? A clump of dust on the back of my baby’s head? Hey. I’ll take dust bunnies over diaper cream any day. Or at least for now.

~~~~~~

A little post-post shout out to my dear friend Janell who got engaged this weekend. I am so darn excited for her!

Love you, friend!

{She’s on the far left here, a picture taken outside Wicked in Chicago during my bachelorette party circa 2007.}

Ok, ok I know that last time I did a Not Me! Monday post a few weeks ago it was about the ridiculous lump of cash we forked over for a new rug (Have you rug shopped lately?! I need to start making area rugs and get in on that racket!) but this time I’m going to highlight just how frugal I can be when the mood strikes.

You should probably start out by knowing that I am not usually so cheap about hair treatments that I go to various local cosmetology schools for my appointments. Plus it’s not like I’m only willing to pay to get my hair touched by a professional like 3 times a year, or anything.

On Friday I was flipping through the channels over nap time and saw a local celeb and the owner of a ritzy salon chain here in the Twin Cities talking about a promotion that his company was doing this weekend. They were supporting and restocking the local food shelves by offering free haircuts to clients who donate 3 cans of food and $10-$20.

A $10 super awesome haircut from a fancy super awesome salon? I so did not call to book my appointment before the segment on TV was even over. In typical fashion, I called Mrs. Flipping Couple (aka Cindy) to see if she wanted to get her hair did for cheap too. Not that she’s also stingy when it comes to beauty budgets, or anything. We coordinated appointment times and carpooled (O man, we are SO FRUGAL I can’t even STAND IT).

Upon arriving at the salon, I did not throw a gown over myself and my bruple skirt and then shamelessly snap a picture in the dressing room mirror.

Say “Hi!” to the sexy Fabio-haired guy over my shoulder.

{Hi Fabio haired guy!}

The appointments began as to be expected, consults, swivel chairs, yummy smelling hair products.

At one point, though, I looked over my shoulder to where Cindy was, and what did I see in place of the stylist holding scissors to her hair? I did not see the salon chain owner himself, going to town on her sassy red bob like a true artist (he was not making very focused facial expressions). “That’s totally the guy from TV!” I thought.

Yes, the owner of all 8 salons was not cutting her hair! In other words, Cindy was not receiving one of the most expensive haircuts you can probably get in the Twin Cities FOR $10 AND 3 CANS OF FOOD.

{No, he does not have a mohawk.}

I did not ask permission from my stylist to scurry across the salon to snap a picture of Mr. Hair Himself working his magic, because that would have been really awkward. He was not totally cool about it and did not strike a pose for me.

For the rest of the time, though, I was not sitting in my swivel chair receiving my plain old normal hair cut thinking “NOT FAIR! I’m the one who invited HER!” (Which did not remind me of the time I went to a wedding expo and invited a friend to come along and then said friend won the door prize raffle for a $300 pearl necklace and earring set [HI CASS!].) Why do these things always happen to me?!

Anyway, in the end I did get over my haircut jealousy enough to take an after picture in the dressing room mirror.

{Hello, creeper, over-our-shoulder, sexy-haired Fabio guy!}

It’s been a while since I have linked up as part of the nmm blog carnival hosted by MckMama, and I thought it was high time for some more honest to goodness confessions around here. Not that these are actually my confessions or anything. Right? Right.

Confessions, forthwith.

After a day of genuinely sour nap times, I hopped in my car and ran two errands with OBaby safely in his carseat (and actually not screaming, this time). After the second errand, when I saw in my rear view mirror that OBaby had quietly zonked out, I did not drive around the greater Twin Cities area for 35 minutes just to keep the nap going. Wouldn’t that be an awful waste of fossil fuels? Furthermore, when I landed, magically, in front of Pottery Barn in downtown St. Paul, I did not leave my car running for another 17 minutes while OBaby snoozed on. (That would also not have been the longest nap he’d taken all day).

After waking from his nap, OBaby needed to eat, and my sweet, adorable little ‘in one end, out the other’ baby did not mess his diaper like nobody’s business as I nursed him there in the backseat of the (not still running) car. What followed was a not-so impressive display of ingenuity and flexibility in which I did not change my son’s diaper on the same car seat on which I was sitting.

I’ll leave that one up to your imagination.

We then proceeded, recently-napped, clean-diapered, and well-fed, to walk around Pottery Barn and drool over the hand knotted wool rugs. Ok, OBaby did most of the drooling and I did most of the rug admiring.

Wait, there were no nots in that one. Crap.

I did not return home that afternoon and attempt to convince my husband that the new living room rug we’ve been looking for for months is most certainly this one. The total cost would not have been over $500 either. I would never fork that much over for a silly old thing to walk on. Never.

But it’s on sale! But it’s gorgeous! But my friend Cindy has a 10% off coupon! Please, please, please?!

I totally did not win and the rug will totally not be arriving sometime this week.

(Squeeeee!)

Every other day or so it will hit me like a 2 ton Rhinoceros that I am someone’s mom. And as luck would have it, it’s not just someone’s, it’s OBaby’s. Of all the wonderful, chubby cheeked, Scandinavian babies out there, how did I end up with the perfectest one? The world will never know. I certainly don’t deserve him, that’s for sure.

He is looking a bit of pudge lately. This is entirely ok with me, until I’m wearing him in his sling in Trader Joe’s and an older woman (or five) guffaws when I say that he’s only 2 and 1/2 months old. “What a big little boy!” , “O my! What a grower then!” and “He must be eating well!” have all escaped the mouths of complete strangers. Quick, if I blink I’m sure I’ll be standing in Target receiving unsolicited parenting advice before I know it.

“O, my daughter used to do that all the time too. What worked for me was…”

“Cool. And I totally value your advice too, given your credentials and all. Wait, who are you again?”

Anyway, all this size attention (DID I MENTION HIS FATHER IS 6FT 2?!) has made a liar out of me.

“How old is your little one?”

“Three months.”

And there it is. I have lied to absolute strangers to avoid hearing their opinion of my son’s percentile rankings.

He still mostly wears 0-3 months size, thankyouverymuch.

O, and I’ve earned a sizable F on my consumption of the last two organic CSA veggie boxes we’ve gotten from our farm. I threw away handfuls of (expensive) rotten veggies and kicked myself the whole time. It seems I can’t in fact do it all.

Speaking of lazy, did I mention this is day 3 in a row of OBaby wearing disposable diapers? We seem to instigate a cloth diaper sabbath every other Sunday around here. Interestingly, this is about as often as we get out of bed and make it to church as well.

I have all but given up on the O My Family dog. So much so in fact, that we’re having the conversation in our house this week. Yes that one. Does the puppy stay or go? Stay means I need to be ok with her running away from me when I let her out of the house to potty, ok with her eating the tortillas out of the grocery bag that I left on the ground 3 minutes too long, and ok with her eating used kleenexes out of the bathroom trashcan EVERY TIME I TURN AROUND. Going would mean she would live with O My In-Laws for an undetermined amount of time which she would absolutely love and so would they, but I feel like A) a failure and B) a failure.

Really, Allison, a 6lb dog is just too much to handle, what with your infant son who regularly sleeps 8 hours at a time and has pretty much been an angel from the moment you pushed him from your womb?

Ugh. I know. But did I mention the tortillas? And the pen she chewed up on our comforter that left an ink stain? The poop she left in the kitchen last week? It makes me wonder if she was this naughty before and I just didn’t care because, what? She’s only a 6lb dog.

All this to say: I’m a lazy, lying, organic-veggie-wasting, disposable-diaper-using, church-skipping tiny dog hater.

Fabulous. Cheers!

Boy, that stuff is so much more fun to say without all that “not” business.

Things have slowed down on the Great Laundry Room Race (I have a functional washer and dryer, beautifully painted walls, new flooring, task lighting, and a big ‘ol void where the cabinets and sink basin go, but I digress.) so DanO thought he’d whip me up a little redesign in his free time.

Sorry I kind of sprung this on you and all; usually bloggers promo this kind of change for weeks, but my husband design department finished it much quicker than I anticipated and we could not help but put it live ASAP. It all just happened so fast. I hope the lack of foreshadowing doesn’t send you reeling.

You’ll also notice that the url you may have typed in changed as you were redirected here. The new official address to this site is omyfamilyblog.com, but any of my previous addresses will lead you here: the.olfelts.com and (for those of you who go way, way back, like, to November 2008) theolfelts.blogspot.com will redirect you. Wow, blogspot.com, that takes me back. I mean, anything pre-Nugget feels like ancient history these days. Change just happens so fast.

Speaking of which, my son can hold his hold his head up.

Happens.

So.

Fast.

O, and he also takes a bottle like a champ. Even when he has wet through all of his clothes and is wearing just a diaper.

Last order of business: I have one tiny little whopper of a not me! Monday (a blog carnival started by MckMama herself):

I did not sneak into the woods while out on a jog last week to use mother nature as a toilet.

These “woods” were not in fact just some trees alongside the running path by my house.

This running path does not happen to be around a lake and in a very populous city.

Boy, that seems a little desperate, Allison.

I know, but my midwife said to drink a lot of water while nursing. And so here we are, not peeing in the woods and such.

But in other news, do you like the new blog look?

It  just might lead to a latte with this lady!

And yes, the baby came too. And yes, I met with a stranger I met on the internet. No, she wasn’t creepy. Yes, we are now friends.

Moving on:

Confessions! Forthwith!

I did not learn this week that burp rags make the perfect covers for even the largest of middle of the night spit up stain which you are to lazy to clean. I then did not proceed to put that knowledge into action three times.

I’m not so selfish as to make DanO change both of the middle of the night diapers Saturday night because he didn’t have to go to work the next day. I’m a much, much better and more sacrificial wife than that.

Rather than set him down and allow his hysterical crying to¬† progress (digress?) further, I did not hold OBaby while, uhm, using the facilities. (He’s fine and yes, we all washed our hands afterward.)

Not overheard last week: “Please tell me you’re not going to blog about this.” -DanO and “You totally just twittered about shopping for baby clothes, didn’t you?” -DanO (The man does not know me too well).

I did not basically use whatever was in the produce drawer in my fridge, creating a “garbage salad”, that I actually fed to people. Like, 7 people. Bon apetit! (Parsley goes with arugula goes with heirloom tomato goes with dijon dressing, right? Good. Now, what would happen if you added lime juice to that? Garbage Salad post to come!)

OBaby and I did not spend our entire Saturday at our friends’ house watching DanO and crew build a garage from the ground up. When we had not been there so long that OBaby had soggied his stinkin’ adorable outfit and depleated the diapering supplies I had on hand (no, really, like 7 hours away from home with a 6 week old), I did not send DanO to drive the 9 blocks home to get new clothes/diapers/blanket while I stayed back with OBaby so as not to have to deal with the car seat, and the crying that would have ensued. Run on sentence?

I am not presently allowing my son to fuss in his playpen so that I can write this post.

I am also not posting a long one in the next day about a controversial opinion I hold that may or may not bunch a few panties. I am a tame, un-opinionated woman who would never declare a blanket statement of disapproval because that would surely offend.

Or maybe it would not create a think tank and a discussion on the matter (rather than offend). I would not prefer that.

Stay tuned!

Don’t worry, I don’t let my readership go to my head. I know you’re all here for OBaby anyway. So, here ya go:

This leads me to my first not me! Monday confession.

I did not attempt (and succeed) at dealing with my baby blues on a gray Thursday morning by playing dress up with my son in the outfit we bought back in February from Baby Gap the night we found out his gender. O My Lanta it felt so good. Look at the little heart breaker I birthed!

I also did not edit his eyes in that photo using tips from MckMama. OBaby needs no editing because he is perfect just the way he is. Minus the crying. That tends to be less than perfect.

I was not so exhausted one afternoon last week that I decided to take a nap, whether OBaby was with me or not. To “persuade” my then bright-eyed 5 week old to also be sleepy, I did not nurse him despite him clearly not being hungry and having eaten a mere 1.5 hours before. When I told DanO about this, he did not accuse me of “effectively drugging our son” with breast milk. Hey, if the shoe fits. That’s all I’m saying.

We have not been ridiculously spoiled around here for nearly the last two weeks because friends and family have not been staying with us to help with the house and with the baby. This does not mean that for 10 almost consecutive days DanO and I have been cooked for, cleaned up after, had our lawn mowed and our baby held:

Let me tell you, after treatment like that, reality hits like a ton of bricks.

Also known as a ton of dirty dishes.

We also do not allow our son to drool on his care takers.

That’s no way to treat company.

Even though I was no more busy than usual (well, this new ‘usual’ that I’ve only known for 5.5 weeks) I did not fail to blog 4 out of 7 days last week.

Ok, no, I did fail to blog 4 out of 7 days last week, and I’m sorry. Please see my post filled with a dozen some pictures of OBaby and consider it a sacrifice for my sins. Thank you.

See, it feels so good to confess like that. And look, I’m still alive! Have you treated your infant like a cabbage patch doll lately? Maybe used your breast milk with ulterior motives? Read a blog regularly? Wait, that last one isn’t embarrassing; we established that. Nevertheless, I want to hear about it! De-lurk yourself with a comment so I can get to know you as a reader and visit your blog if you have one.

Or just click here to read more confessions of Not me! Monday bloggers from the privacy of your own home/office/wifi hotspot.

Whatever floats your boat.

MckMama started this blog carnival, and you can click here to view other not me! posts.

Only a few things to confess today, but not because I didn’t perform enough embarrassing acts this last week. I don’t have many confessions because I think my brain is being slowly sucked out of my body by a 3 and a half week old infant and I can’t remember what uncouth things occurred in the last 7 days. Or if I put underwear on this morning.

I’m pretty sure I did.

Last Thursday, however, after taking a bath (I know! That’s like, what, 2 in 3 weeks? ROCK ON!) I rushed to towel off and go feed the little one, and in my haste I did not forget to put on underwear. I did not realize this sometime later, thankfully, before we left to go have dinner at my in-laws.

I wasn’t so busy wrangling baby stuff, DanO’s (early) birthday presents, and the baby himself (who was verging on hysterical) that I did not leave my in-laws without my shoes. We drove straight from their house to Babies R Us where I did not wear DanO’s size 12 flip-flip flops (thankfully, one of his early birthday presents) around the store while we tried out jogging strollers.

Let’s hope all the garment forgetfulness stops at the ones that are… well… legal to forget in public without some sort of repercussion.

I am a very responsible mother. I also want what’s best for my body. Therefore, I did not see a “get one free tan” coupon on the back of a grocery reciept and immediately waltz myself down to a tanning salon to get cancer. Mmmmm, warm, happy feeling cancer. I also did not underestimate just how new ‘new bulbs’ are, resulting in a pink face (and other areas) the morning after.

PS: Breast feeding on sunburnt breasts. O MY WORD I do NOT recommend it.

DanO and I did not declare yesterday to be official vacation from cloth diapers day. We then did not proceed to use pampers for the next 24 hours because 1) we have them 2) so.much.easier.

I did not shed a little tear this morning when I put him back in cloth.

I’m a baby wearer. If you hung out with me you might know it, or you might not since I mostly wear him in his wrap during the day (hello, free hands!) on our neighborhood walks or when he’s sleeping. Having him close to my body is what feels natural to me as a mom.¬† So, I obviously did not leave my son in his cold, plastic car seat, where he was sleeping peacefully after a trip, while DanO and I watched an entire movie AND ate dinner.

A whole entire hands-free movie. Glorious. You know what else is glorious? Reading other people’s confessions. If something I did not do struck a chord with you, I’d love to hear it! Been there done that on the ‘I’m so done with cloth today’? Feed yourself organic produce then go lay in a tanning bed?

I want to hear it!