MommyBlog

Living on the water, taking for granted the sunrise over the creek and the fishing boats coming in as the light brightens, I forget how breathtaking it is to see the sun peak over the unreachable horizon of the ocean.   Sitting here in this gorgeous beach house, looking out onto the Atlantic, sunlight pouring in the fifteen foot windows, my dog curled at my feet, already exhausted from a morning traipse in the sand, I’m almost lightheaded at the contentment this day brings.

Kenny is gleefully tromping through this giant living room, grandparents at his beck and call.   In fact yesteday, for the first time, my litle boy looked right past me after waking up from his nap and shouted, “Papa!” and held his hands out to my father-in-law.   It actually took a few moments to get over the innocent shun, but I am truly glad that he loves his Gramma and Papa like he does.   And watching them cater to his every whim – throwing legos, driving dump trucks across the carpet, reading the same page of the same book over and over – I’m filled with love.

Kenny was delighted to be surprised at the arrival of his uncle Dave for a few days as well.   Dave brought along a friend, a beautiful, intelligent  and witty lady, who was just as loving to him as if he were her own kin.   As they drove off this morning, all of us wishing they could stay, Kenny looked after the car trolling down the street as if to say, “Hey you guys, the party’s just getting started!”

I am humbled with gratitude at the showering of genuine love and affection my son has here in this house.   At this moment, he is dancing in his own little wild way to a Rodney Atkins tune, both grandparents cheering him on.   I’m humbled because I realize that there are untold scores of little guys out there just like him who don’t have this love.   Who don’t have any arms to run to, and doting loved ones who love them unconditionally and without measure.  

Thoughts like these are easily pushed into the back of my mind most of the time, because when I allow myself to continue on with them, I begin to wonder if there is any way I can have a part in saving even just one of these little ones from a loveless childhood and bringing them into our home to be showered with agape.   I suddenly want to adopt a household full of them and give them the love they are lacking.   I know that it’s not possible to save them all, but can we make a difference to just one?   It’s something Casey and I have talked about on occassion, and something we may look into in the future, but for now, all I can do it pray for those tiny hearts, that somewhere in their life they can feel at least the warmth of God’s love holding them up, where the human arms are lacking.

I can’t imagine loving a child more than we love Kenny. I look at my husband in the same frame of mind, and marvel at how one human could be created so perfectly just for me.     He does so much for me, for Kenny, and the selfless sacrifices he makes for  us are astounding.  

How did I manage to find myself in such a life?   I certainly don’t deserve it, and yet I’m infinitely grateful for  every bit of it.  

First, this is the third time I’ve tried to write tonight.   I sat down for what I thought would be “just a minute” because I have way too much to do before leaving on vacation tomorrow, but due to some technical difficulties, I keep getting booted off, losing what I’ve written.

All of that wit and brilliance lost in the world wide web forever.

Now that all of that is properly vented, let me start again by saying that I am very excited about our vacation!   We are leaving tomorrow for  the Outer Banks for a week with Casey’s folks.   I keep having these awful feelings that we’re going to forget something important; maybe that’s why I made sure to pack all of Kenny’s things first: toys, books, diapers, lotions, clothes, stroller, bathtub, backpack, and blankets.   I’m fairly certain that he could survive for at least a month anywhere, arctic or tropical, with all I’ve packed for him.   I think I’ve packed ten times his body weight.   And I haven’t even gotten to the sippy cups and plastic bowls yet.  

Of course, the last time I packed for a trip and did Kenny first, I ended up forgetting to pack any of my bras.   That was for our ten day trip to London and Oxford back in July.   With the exchange rate being what it was, buying bras in London was not the most cost-effective plan I could have come up with.   But my son had  enough sweaters to  take him to  Norway and back!   (Never mind the very unexpected heat wave that forced us instead to buy t-shirts  and sunscreen.   Who knew it could hit 95 degrees in England?)  

I always get a case of the anxiety bug whenever I’m traveling anywhere.   That could be the reason I’ve had four chocolate chip cookies in the last four minutes.   Dudley doesn’t help, either.   He gets frantic at the sight of suitcases (even though we almost always take him everywhere with us) and will frequently try to secretly bury a bone in the midst of the suitcase we are packing.

We spent the day today preparing for our trip by attending a Navy football tailgate party.   What a blast!   I have to admit that I was a little dubious about how much fun Kenny would have, but our little sport rose to the occasion and was a barrel of laughs.

 

Kenny is more fun by the day.   His “little” personality is anything but little these days.   This is a kid that likes to party.   He watched the action with intent concentration, then chased after the other kids (though he was by far the youngest), running as fast as he could manage, all while gripping frantically to a miniature football.   I was so proud of him as I watched him entertain himself and (unknowingly) the masses.  

I couldn’t help but think tonight, as I was putting him to bed, about how much fun it is going to be to get to know him and watch him grow.   Some days I forget how massive the world must seem to him; so much of every day is brand new, exciting, sometimes scary and always  big.   I’m so blessed to get to walk along side him, to hold his hand and to watch him experience it all.

 

I love this Mommy stuff.

I finally found a cup I can get Kenny to drink out of.   Now before you start raising eyebrows or leaning towards a hasty judgement, let me explain that I first tried every other cup in the house.

Occasionally at five o’clock, especially on nights  that I know Casey will be working late,  I pour myself a very small glass of red wine.   Consider it my way of making a casual nod to the traditional cocktail hour.   You know, the end of a work day for all the nine-to-fivers out there.   And the acknowlegdement that my work day, while it never really ends, is at least drawing to a close.   So tonight, with Kenny in the highchair devouring penne with marinara, I poured a smooth  demi tasse  of Marietta Old Vine Red and took a long sip.   Kenny pointed at me and the glass I was holding and signed “more.”   “No, Honey, this is Mommy’s wine…” but wait a minute… why not..

No, I didn’t give him a sip of wine.   I dug out the plastic wine glasses that we used to use on the boat, ones that look exactly like the glass I was holding, and poured in a mixture of orange juice and water, the same thing that was in his spurned sippy cup and bearing absolutely no resemblance to my wine, and held it up to his mouth.   He took a small sip into his mouth, wrinkled his nose, swallowed and smiled.   He held up his hands for another sip.   And another.

He only really drank about two ounces, but that’s two more ounces than he’s been drinking of any liquid besides La Leche, so I’ll  count it a minor success.   The funniest thing was, after several sips, he got tired of me holding the glass, and reached instead for his sippy cup where he took several long swigs before hurling it onto the floor in very close proximity to Dudley’s rear.

I laughed so hard, Kenny started hamming it up with funny faces, then hurled the rest of his bowl of pasta on the floor.   (Oops… I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to reward delinquent behavior by cackling…   but who can resist a kid who’s so delightfully funny!)

Now I obviously will not let him drink out of his wine glass in public.   I can just see dropping him off at the nursery at church with a wine glass in the diaper bag.   But at this point, I’m just relieved that he’s willing to drink fluids.   Just wait until I start writing about the trials and tribulations of weaning him off his wine glass…

It’s high time I recognize that I am no longer the “new mommy” of a “baby,” but am instead the Mom of a Toddler.   Yikes.   And how can I reconcile this year that has flown impossibly fast and left me a year older, with a one-year-old running around the house where a tiny baby used to be, sitting safely contained in his bouncy seat?

I came to this realization rather abruptly today when someone asked me to do something, and I started to respond with the old, “Oh, I’m just too busy, what with a new baby and all…” when it hit me that a one-year-old is not a new baby, and I really had no excuse whatsoever, No Nap Joe or not!

I starting a mental inventory of all of the things I do each day, and how I can better streamline my time management.   I thought of all  of my girlfriends, specifically those that have not only more than one child, but that have hobbies, for goodness sake.   I looked at all the “necessaries” like laundry (that is never caught up on), house cleaning, meal planning and grocery shopping, bill paying and financial upkeep of the household, and general errands.   Then I began to ponder those inevitable time-eaters… and I discovered two that I spend an obscene amount of time on, yet are beyond my control.

The first is Dudley, The Weimaraner.      

    I can’t begin to calculate the number of minutes each day that are spent chasing him in order to dig trash, toys or contraband food out of his mouth.   To run him out of the kitchen to keep him from stalking the poor boy learning to eat real food with real utensils in his highchair.   To clean up the piles of chewed sticks, tracked in dirt and various other random debris that mars my otherwise clean(ish) household landscape.   Then there are the first-thing-in-the-morning walks so you know who doesn’t start doing back flips in a desperate attempt to blow off extra energy.   (And I’m not talking about Kenny!)   It all adds up to… I don’t know… let’s say two hours a day.   Hey – weims are a demanding breed.  

The second is Driving in the Car.   We live on  a gorgeous piece of waterfront land in a very nice house.   And this tranquil and idyllic spot also happens to be a good thirty to forty minutes away from everything.   From Church, from MOPS, from friends’ houses, from the “good” grocery store, from the park, from the Mall.   So on any one day, I spend an hour or two driving to and fro.   The alternative to this would be to simply stay at home, have a half dozen more kids so Kenny would have a home-based playgroup, and raise weimaraners (so Dudley would have some interaction, and I would finally have a hobby).    Yeah.

Couple those three to four hours mentioned above with a kid who’s not really a napper, and suddenly a see why  I don’t scrapbook and why there are three loads of laundry waiting to be folded on top of the dryer.   I should get a medal just for vacuuming this week!    

But really now, there has to be a solution, dogs and driving and all.   I can’t spend the rest of my life barely catching up on the little household tyrannies.   I do spend glorious amounts of time playing with Kenny, giggling and chasing him, building towers out of blocks and reading  “Swim  Duck, Swim!” twenty times in a row.   I think the issue at hand is, when does the time come that it’s ok to “do stuff” while I’m home with Kenny  all day?   Not just getting dinner ready  while Kenny is banging blissfully on a  pair of  pots at my feet.   But does there ever come a time when it’s ok to set him with his toys and books and Do Something Else?   I’m not complaining about having the chance to play with my little boy all day.   But I know that other stay-at-home women out there take classes online, volunteer for Meals on Wheels and plant flower gardens. And it can’t all happen just when their precious little ones are napping.    

So what am I missing?   Was this in the orientation at the New  Moms class that I forgot to go to?   Is the answer in a handbook I  neglected to order?   I count it a lucky day when I get a whole shower.    What is the secret to Getting Things Done?

On another note, here’s an update on the World of Weaning:   Kenny doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.   He’s eating a little better, but is still very opposed to drinking anything (water, juice, cow’s milk) out of any sort of a cup (sippy, straw or other device that is not part of my anatomy).     I know that a big part of it has to do with the familiarity and comfort in nursing for him.   So we’re still working on it!   I’m down to about four feedings a day.   Next week I’m aiming for three, and I’d like to have him completely weaned by the end of October.   Any more advice or support is greatly appreciated!

Ok, how many of you Mommies out there eat like, six meals and four snacks a day?  

Come on… you eat your own meals, that’s a given.   Then you end up feeding your kids on their own schedule, where who can help but pop a bite or two in your own mouth while you’re fixing it?   Then the dreaded moment when your kid is clearly, “All Done!” and something kicks in your psyche that is your own Mommy’s voice talking about not throwing away food because there are starving children out there in third world countries.    So rather than throw away the smashed bits of toast or waffles or string cheese, rather than toss those picked-over chicken tenders  to the dog and begin an irreparable habit with your four-legged beast, you instead shove those cold and slightly mushy morsels  into your own mouth without thinking?   Not the already chewed bites, but the perfectly edible, yet too small to save  pieces that your little angel passed up with no more than a squish with his pointer finger.

Now I’m a very physically active, still fairly svelt thirty-something Mom, but even I can see that this multi-meal habit has got to stop.   Kenny is a great eater, but he leaves  at least  a tablespoon or two of food on his tray at the “I’m finished now, my lovely Mommy” signal.   And try as I might to toss the crumbs, I’m caught in a generations-old guilt cycle of not letting good food go to waste.   Today, not counting my real meals, I’ve consumed half a toaster waffle, two different half-eaten apples, most of a polly-o string cheese, four crackers (in pieces), a scrambled egg,  and at least a bowls-worth of Cheerios.   Oh, and there was the rest of the chicken from a  deli-sandwich somewhere in there that I thought Kenny ate, but found instead in the creases of his pants when I picked him up out of the highchair.

What’s a Mom to do?   Do I just close my eyes, hold my breath and throw it down the disposal?   Do I recycle it into compost for my tulip garden?   Do I wrap it in sheets of plastic wrap and convince myself that Kenny will eat it later?

My hips are on the line here, my sisters.   Somebody talk some sense into me!

I’m using the word “comedy” here in the truest sense of the Greek… meaning humor, mishaps, pitfalls and accidental shenanigans combined with good-nature and love  (loose translation).

Friday morning dawned grey, and the sky spit mist and drizzle.   Kenny and I shared a plate of scrambled eggs and then I bundled us up to take Dudley out for a walk.   Just before I got him into his warm clothes, he  threw up – a little unusual, but he’d had a runny nose and a light cold, so I didn’t think too much of it.   I did think of it when he spit up again  as we were going out the door.   But Dudley was tugging on his leash, and I figured the fresh air would do Kenny  good.  

That was one of those mis-guided thoughts of first-time Mommy-hood.

Twenty minutes  into our walk, Kenny started projectile vomiting over and over. I picked him up quickly, and within seconds we were both completely soaked in everything he’d eaten or drank in the last twenty-four hours.   We were a mile from the house, and I was afraid to have him ride in the stroller.   For one, it was soiled and stinky, and second,  the design of the jogging stroller doesn’t allow him to sit up all the way, and I was afraid he’d choke.   So I wrapped him as best I could in the damp and smelly blanket he’d been tucked in with, and with Dudley trailing behind, we trudged home.

Fortunately, Kenny  seemed to feel a lot better with an empty stomach, and he giggled and sang all the way home.   We got into the house, where a contractor was doing repairs on the roof, no less, I put Dudley upstairs, changed us both in record time, and we set  off in the car to the pediatrician, who is forty minutes away from our house.   (The distance is ridiculous, I know.   It’s a long story, and we’re working on a change.)

Anyway, he slept the whole way, and was in high spirits by the time we got there.   The doc said that it was most likely just a case of his tummy being full of all the drippy mucus in his nose, and that he needed lots of rest  and fluids.   To  celebrate his clean bill of health, and because it was lunchtime, we  went to a little cafe, where my little boy ate nearly half my lunch, then we returned home where  he took a two hour nap, and I took a shower that lasted almost that  long.

When Casey got home that night, he dragged in several packages that had been dropped off by our garage.   One was a new backpack I’d ordered from REI, and the other had a “Michigan Department of Agriculture” sticker on the side.   Casey and I looked at each other and both said, “What on earth did you order?”   But the pizza arrived and we sat down to eat.   Suddenly, he jumped up and said, “Oh No!   Where was that from?”

The package contained one hundred and twenty (120!) tulips!   I mean, tulip BULBS.   What Casey had thought he ordered was a surprise for me… the ultimate in romantic bouquets… 120 of my favorite – tulips – just because he loves me.   I was elated at the thought of what he’d done.   And I laughed for a good ten minutes at the thought of planting that many bulbs this weekend.   My sweet, wonderful, gloriously amourous husband!   He was so bummed that the “flowers” were bulbs, and while the concept of that much gardening is frightening, I cannot be sad, but am instead joyous!   What beauty we have to look forward to in the spring!   And what a sweet and unexpected gift from my perfectly lovable husband.

(I’ve only planted ten so far… I need to get this written and get out in the dirt!)

Saturday was a wonderful day.   Lots of cuddling, a trip into Annapolis, lunch at an ourdoor cafe, a little shopping for Mommy and ice cream cones and long walks.   When we got home, we put Kenny to bed and Casey and I had a “date night” right at home.   We opened a bottle of our favorite wine and sat out on our deck looking out at the water as the light faded.    We just sat and  talked, all the worries and stresses of the week past melting away, and enjoyed each other and the friendship we share.

Today is bright and beautiful, Kenny is napping (he actually fell asleep in the new backpack on our walk  – not at all a good idea for it’s design.   We had to get him out and Casey carried him home.   Consider that another in the comedy of errors), and Casey and Dudley have driven off to Wings To Go to get sustanence for the four o’clock NY Jets game.

Sitting here on the screened porch, one ear listening for sounds from Kenny, I’m struck again at the beauty of where we live, and the incredible blessings of this life, tulip bulbs and all.

 

After I took this picture of Kenny yesterday, it became apparent that our little boy was starting to look a little too shaggy:

 

We had intended to get his first haircut on his birthday, but being a Saturday, we decided that the mall would be a little too crazy, so we postponed until today.   Fortunately, Kenny loves having his hair brushed, so we figured it would be a breeze.   We went to Cartoon Cuts, and Kenny was enthralled! First off, he’s never watched cartoons before, so that was pretty engaging.   And his stylist was decked out in so much costume jewelry that she jingled as she moved, making that a nice distraction, too.   So between the entertainment and the head massage, I think he would have stayed there all day if we had let him.   Hm… maybe Mommy and Me spa trips in our future?

He looks absolutely adorable.   His new cut makes him look every inch a little boy… our son is a baby no more!   I tried to take some “after” pictures today when we got home, but he was feeling just as adorable as he looked, and couldn’t help himself from hamming it up a bit for the camera:

                                   

So you’ll have to take my word for it that his hair looks great.

Isn’t it funny that kids are able to pick up our emotions from us?   I was giggling as we got in the car to leave the mall (he just looked so CUTE!) and he started cackling, too.   As we drove home, I popped “ABBA” into the CD player, and as I’m bopping along and belting out “Waterloo,” I look  in the rearview mirror, and there’s Kenny clapping (with the beat, no less), smiling and singing “Da Da DAAAAA” right along.   When we got home, while I was trying to take pictures, he egged me on, a little catwalk ham in the making, and made a different face for each click of the shutter.

                             

After the photo session, I put in another CD, and he walked around the house in his drunken sailor walk, clapping to the beat and stopping every few feet to dance.   Kenny’s dancing consists of bucking his hips and doing the chicken-strut with his chin out.   I kept trying to get it on video, but he would stop and look at me as if to say, “Please, Mommy, this isn’t Dancing With the Stars.”

And then strangely enough, all that joy and fun from our afternoon came to a screeching halt at five o’clock.   Kenny’s internal clock is pretty accurate, and the five o’clock whistle tends to be his cue to turn from a charming little boy into a banshee.   They don’t call it “the witching hour” for naught.

As I sit here at the end of the day, looking at these pictures and thinking about Kenny, I realize once again that he’s not a baby any more.   He’s growing up before my eyes, and there’s no way to stop it.   Makes it all the more bittersweet to enjoy every second.

Kenny and I took Dudley to the vet this morning.   Dudley has been licking himself silly lately, and there had been some spots on his skin we were watching, so we wanted to double check that all was well.   It was hard to concentrate on the exam, though, because Kenny, somehow aware that he was not the main event for the visit, worked overtime being cute.

I had set him down once in the exam room, with firm instructions not to touch anything, and held Dudley for the vet to give him the once-over.   Kenny toddled over to the rack of brochures on the wall, all with adorable pictures of dogs, and pulled down several.   Then he started flipping through them, saying, “PaPee!   DaDee!” (“Puppy!   Doggie!”).   When that failed to garner a response, he began carefully turning each page as if he were going to read us a story, all the while babbling with such perfect, animated inflections that you would swear he really was reading, just in a language other than English.

I had one eye on him, one on Dudley, half an ear on the vet and the rest of my capacities spent in trying not to laugh.   Our wonderful vet is so in love with animals, that he didn’t even notice the pipsqueek in the corner reciting the Gettysburg Address.    Dudley was so happy to have all the attention on him, he started wagging his tail with such ferver I thought it would fall off.   Then our vet delivered the good news / bad news.

Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be any physiological worries.   His little skin spots are just a de-pigmentation, nothing to worry about, and it doesn’t seem that there are any immune deficiencies or allergies causing the constant licking.   The verdict in fact was that the dear old doc believes that Dudley is exhibiting obsessive/compulsive disorder, and that the licking is due to his  desire for more exercise and attention.   He said that it’s quite common in working dogs who are pets.

Now as far as the average pet goes, Dudley lives in the Taj Mahal.   We don’t spoil him (hey – we’ve read the Dog Whisperer’s book), but he gets pretty lavished with love and attention.   We take him everywhere with us, he gets his walk first thing every day, and we snuggle with him every night after Kenny goes to bed.   But weimaraners are a different breed (pardon the pun) from your average canine.   They don’t just want a walk, they want an eight hour day of prowling through the marsh.   They don’t just want a snuggle, they want to sit  on your lap and have a swedish massage.   They don’t just want to go for a ride, they want to drive.

So combine the natural tendencies with the fact that we have a human toddler in the house, and it’s a recipe for the weimaraner boo-hoos.

Our vet gave Dudley a low-dose  anti-anxiety medicine that he’s supposed to take for a few months to wean him of the licking habit.   (Oh goodness… everyone’s weaning!)   And he suggested that we up his exercise a little more, too, to take the edge off.   I was half-expecting that we were also going to get a referral to a dog psychiatrist, but that fortunately didn’t come up.

When we got home, we went for an hour long walk.   Kenny fell asleep, and stayed that way in his stroller in the living room for an hour.   (!)   Dudley took a long happy  nap at my feet and I got most of the way through a pile of unopened mail that dates almost to back Bastille Day.  

Finally, to update on Kenny, he is continuing to eat like a horse, and for the first time, actually lost interest in nursing at one point today.   Two minutes into it, he heard Dudley galloping through the living room, and he rolled off my lap to stumble after him, to see what the fun was all about.   I sat there, a little shocked, and realized that weaning is real, and it looks like it’s working.   I just need someone to wean me!

Ok, duh.   You know how they say that really really smart people are usually kind-of clueless about everyday stuff?   Well then that makes me clueless and not that brilliant to begin with.

First off, THANK YOU for all who wrote in and commented with advice on the weaning issue.   (Crisanne, our favorite time is mornings, too… there’s nothing like that extra bit of sleep that comes when everyone is snuggling in the big bed.)

And wouldn’t you know it, but today, everytime Kenny did the “dinkle dinkle” milk sign, I fed him real food, and he was happy.   And the kid ATE.   He ate cereal, yogurt and  bananas.   (Then we went to our first  “Mommy and Me” swim class ~ oh, what a disaster!) Then cheerios and a banana, and  took a three hour nap.   Then half a veggie burger, steamed broccoli with marinara sauce and at least two ounces of cheese.   Then more cereal (Kashi), more banana, deli turkey and more cheese.   Then roast chicken with Casey and I at dinner time.   Finally, he politely signed, “Milk, please,” and I took him up to his rocker, and he drank a moderate amount and fell asleep in Casey’s arms.

Whew.   So it turns out the old, “offer the solid foods before the breast milk” thing really works!   And he was the happiest little clam all day.   The only tears came at bathtime when I took him out of the tub too soon.   He lunged back in, grabbed his wash cloth, and put in on top of his head, and smiled at me.   I think that means, “you forgot to wash my hair, Mommy!”

So maybe the weaning issues weren’t with Kenny.   Maybe they were with me.   Maybe I’m the one  who really  relies on them… for a moment to sit down and be quiet, for moments of snuggling and singing.   I’m not saying that I’m waving a victory flag already (or would it be a defeat flag… I guess it depends on how you look at it…), but I think that I’ve already learned that he is growing up and needing less of the Mamma.

At mealtimes, at least.   He’s still my little guy, right?

That’s what came to mind twelve months ago when I figured that I’d breastfeed Kenny until he was one, then stop.

What, like I was going to just … stop?

See, my adorable, brilliant little boy has learned some sign language in these last few months, and there is nothing sweeter, more heart-melting, more irresistible than his little face lighting up in an anticipatory smile and his nimble little hands signing, “Milk!”   He even does audio with this sign; something that sounds vaguely like, “dinkle dinkle dinkle,” though for the life of me I can’t figure out where he picked that one up.   Unless he’s saying “drink,” which then makes perfect sense.

But I’m going to have to buckle down, it seems.   He had his one year check-up today, and while his head cicumference is still off the charts (big brains), he’s gotten taller, but his weight is nearly the same as it was at his last check-up.  

 

He doesn’t  look skinny, but they want to do a weight check in six weeks, and the very sweet pediatrician suggested that I do a little less of the Momma Milk and a lot  more of the solid food.  

As soon as we got home, I fixed him a snack, then another and then dinner.   And then he still drank about a gallon of the homemade leche.   But at least there was real food in there, too.

So how do I really do it?   How do I wean this precious boy from the cuisine he loves the best?   Any Moms reading out there who weaned a little guy after the first year?   I’m not soliciting for La Leche League support, but I’ll take any advice I can get.   Should I warm the cow milk, or give it to him cold?   He drinks from a cup, but it’s messy… he won’t use the sippy-lid.   He hates juice, tolerates water, and really likes soy-milk after it’s been infiltrated with soggy cereal.   So where do I go from here??