Questions - Part Five

sillyhily asked: Which "Sex and the City" girl are you most like?

First just let me say that I LOOOOOVE "Sex and the City"! I never watched until about the 3rd season, but TBS showed the whole series back to back last year, so I finally got to see every last episode.

As much as I would LIKE to have her confidence, bluntness, and sensuality, I'm not much like Samantha.

I have NONE of Carrie's fashion sense, but I AM obsessed with shoes (but CHEAP ones...go see Frema for some good 'shoe' posts), I'm always analyzing things (OVERanalyzing?), and I do enjoy writing.

I'm certainly not a pampered rich girl like Charlotte, but I definitely have a few of her characteristics - I worry A LOT about what people think of me, and I would like for my life to look picture perfect. I, like Charlotte, am also a bit obsessive. I always saw her as the most restrained of the four girls, and that is me for sure. I never seem to be able to really "let go" like some people can, especially in social situations.

I guess I have the most in common with Miranda...I always saw her as a little neurotic (hello, me!) and somewhat out-of-sorts a lot of the time. And I totally identified with her after she had her baby! You know the episode where she ate half a pan of brownies, became disgusted with herself, threw the rest of the brownies in the trash, and then changed her mind and dug them back OUT of the trash to finish them off? Um, let's just say I can identify with that.

Mrs. S asked: I want to know what you feel your best traits are - physically, mentally, emotionally. NO mean stuff or "but I don't like..." in this answer, either.

Physically - I like my eyes. They are a nice shape and very pretty shade of blue.

Mentally - I am a great multi-tasker...I've always got ten projects going at once, and they always get done. I am also a good planner, and I am good at organizing (you should totally see my closets and cabinets!) I also like to think that I possess a lot of good old common sense.

Emotionally - Hmmm. This is HARD Mrs. S! I'm not sure how to put it in words, so I'll just tell you this:

When I delivered my son, I planned an unmedicated birth. After 18 hours of labor, I ended up with the epidural (AND a vacuum extraction of his head at hour 24), and I beat myself up over that for a very long time - even though it was not my fault, totally normal, and best for me and my baby.

The second time around, with my daughter, I ended up delivering her with no medications or interventions at all. Now, call it dumb luck, call it crazy, call it what you will...but "succeeding" at getting the birth experience I wanted made me feel strong.

Childbirth, for me, was horribly painful, very humbling, and emotionally and mentally challenging. My first birth experience made me feel like I had failed...my "natural" birth experience made me realize how stubborn, strong, and capable I really am, when I need to be.

Hmm. I hope that answered your question.

gigi asked: What do you consider yourself an expert in / on?

1. Early childhood education. A lot of administrators (and I will not NAME them, though I'd like to) just don't get why it's so important.

I can spout off all the pedagogical reasoning behind why we "play" in kindergarten and the signs of emergent literacy and why children should be allowed to use invented spelling (but I won't do that to you), I know what is and is not developmentally appropriate for 3-6 year olds (AHEM, un-named administrator), I can do two weeks of lessons all about apples that involve spelling, writing, reading, science, math, AND social studies, and most importantly, I can make classroom decorations for every season out of COAT HANGERS.

I also know fifty ways to use old film containers and toilet paper rolls, if that counts for anything.

2. I THINK I'm an expert on good children's literature and childbirth / nursing babies.

3. I am TRYING to become an expert at cake baking and decorating. I've made a lot of progress with that skill, and I learn new tricks every day. And since I'm getting to brag shamelessly, let's see if Blogger's in the mood for pictures:

GRRRRRRRRR. No, it's NOT. Blogger, what do you want, a hug, a beer, what?!? What can I do for YOU?

Still intending to answer every last question, but will probably break tomorrow for "Fat Friday".

Questions - Part Four

First, I must say that you all came up with a LOT of GREAT questions...thank you so much! The answering might just take me into next week...and then I promise to get back to crazy baby stories and all that. But this is FUN!

mjd asked: What is your favorite childhood memory?

I have been thinking and thinking about this one. I feel like I was a pretty happy kid, and I have a lot of pleasant memories:

Walking down the street to my great-grandma's house, sitting on her lap while she mowed her lawn on the rider, then eating peach Schwann's ice cream on her back porch. And then she'd serve me vienna sausages and cottage cheese, we'd watch "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom", and she'd let me break out her old 8-tracks and dance to "Purple People Eater" and "Splish Splash, I Was Takin' a Bath".

Spending sweltering summer days at the lake with my friend E. Her family's house practically backs up to the lake, so we'd go down the trail behind her house and play in the cove, playing various games that probably gave our mothers heart attacks and high blood pressure - "Rip and Ride", "Baptism", and "Drowning" were a few of our favorites. And, of course, underwater "tea parties."

My entire fourth grade year - I had the best teacher ever, Mrs. Dial (I even went back as a college student and did my student teaching with her). It was a year of starting to have "boyfriends" (aka "going together", and no, I don't know why we called it that, because nobody went anywhere), popcorn parties, charm necklaces, slumber parties, jelly bracelets, the year I became obsessed with music, namely Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson (!), and the year of a thousand skating parties, where you got to ride in the Big Skate on your birthday. Ahhh.

And there are many more. But my very favorite childhood memory would have to be kindergarten, which maybe is why I ended up teaching that very grade. The details are all a little hazy now, but now and then, I'll flash upon specific incidents, and it just takes me back to that warm, safe feeling of my first year in school...singing songs, playing in the pretend kitchen, and hearing stories. Loved it.

Speaking of school, luckymslucy asked: What was your most embarrassing high school memory?

This is REALLY lame, but I've just racked my brain and this is the only one I can think of...and if you know about my DEVASTATING HEART POUNDING FEAR OF PUBLIC SPEAKING MUST TAKE PEPTO BISMOL AND VOID BLADDER BEFORE GETTING UP IN FRONT OF PEOPLE, you'll understand why it haunts me.

One day in Advanced English 4, I had to recite a Robert Frost poem from memory, in front of the entire class. Standing up (in my cheerleading uniform!), my face already burning red with fear, this is what I said:

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow
My little horse must think it queer (oh, dear lord, WHY did I pick this poem...as the audience snorts and giggles)
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and Frosted Flake (oh, $#it, I meant FROZEN LAKE. See? The food issues?)

And then the class pretty much dissolved in laughter and I'm pretty sure I was near tears and did not complete the poem.

Not terribly embarrassing, I know, but the gods of embarrassment must have just saved up all the really embarassing moments for motherhood...have you read my PUKE IN THE MALL story?

mjd also asked: What do you hope for your children?

That they will turn out normal eventually and not need excessive therapy. The end.

Just kidding! Sort of.

I want them to know how to be content and happy with who they are. I want them to always feel safe and loved. I want them to have fond memories of their childhood. I want them to be kind and helpful to others. My heart melts when I hear G say to L, "Come here friend! Come play with me!"...I hope that they will always be close and learn to lean on each other.

And of course, I hope that with me and their father as their example, that someday that they will marry and have their own children...because I want them to know first-hand the HELL that they put me through at ages 2 and 3. Just kidding! Sort of.

I guess that all sounds pretty generic, but stuck in these toddler years, it's hard to even see past tomorrow.

I just hope every day that I am building them up in some way, and teaching them to be problem solvers and learners. I like to think that I allow them to explore and be curious and ask lots of questions. I hope that I am giving them the discipline they need, so that they will be responsible and respectful children / teenagers / adults.

Okay - up tomorrow...Silly Hily wants to know which "Sex and the City Girl" I am, Mrs. S wants to know what I consider to be my best traits, and Gigi wonders what I consider myself to be an expert on. Those should go well together!

Questions - Part Three, THE PICTURES

Here is that wonderful husband I told you about! (at Silver Dollar City)

Here he is giving our daughter her first bottle at one month of age.

They think they're sooooo cool.

This is me and my husband with our daughter, eight weeks old.

He has NO shame when it comes to the kids.

And when you think it can't get any better???

HE VACCUUMS TOO!

Questions - Part Three

Before I begin...White Robin (mjd) and Mrs. S, I'm giving your questions a lot of thought, and I'm still thinking. You just had to make me think, didn't you? :)

So, up next, all about my hubby!

silly hily asked: How did you and your husband meet?

I worked at Silver Dollar City, in Branson, Missouri, all through high school and college. One day at work, right after I'd graduated high school, a girl-friend I worked with kept bugging me about some 'cute guy' that worked at the Lost River ride (she and I worked in Foods). It took me weeks to figure out who she was talking about, but I finally met him.

I maintain that he was originally hitting on my friend and discovered me in the process, but he insists it was ME he had his eye on from the start (and that is a good thing to say, husband).

We started chatting on breaks, and going to parties to see each other after work. I gave him free caramel apples, and he let me cut to the front of the line at the Lost River. The rest is history!

We dated for six years before we married, and I actually gave him an ultimatum - "Propose or I'm done". Maybe not the nicest thing to do, but you know what? He did propose (the night before the "cutoff date"), and we've been married for 6 and a half years, and we have been really happy together.

Um, hubby was a bit of a player in our dating days, so we have a bit of an illustrious past...but THAT is another BLOG in itself. But these days, he has settled down. Thank god.

silly hily also said: Name a petty thing your husband does that drives you crazy the most.

Oh dear. Just one? Other than his lack of senses of smell and taste?

He does a thing with the dishes that DRIVES ME BONKERS. He is so sweet, and after I've left the kitchen counters in disarray with dirty dishes, he will take it upon himself to clean it up while I watch Sex and the City reruns (Silly Hily! I do watch it...and I can't wait to answer the "which girl are you?" question tomorrow!).

BUT - he will wipe the counters, load and start the dishwasher, and then he will EVER SO NEATLY rinse and STACK the dishes that we handwash. So the kitchen is NOT totally clean. There is a HUGE, NEAT, STACK of dirty dishes next to the sink, waiting for me to wash. Grrr. If you're going to clean the kitchen, CLEAN THE DAMN KITCHEN!

And I must add one more. He breathes heavy. OMG, it makes me insane. Not all the time, mind you, but like when we're really into a TV show, relaxing, and then there is a quiet part, and all of a sudden, *insert extremely loud, heavy, phone stalker breathing* here, and I say, "Husband! Stop breathing so loud!", and he says, "I'm NOT!" and then we have to argue about it for awhile.

the keeper of cheerios asked: What do you love most about your husband?

I love that he is handsome (okay, HOT!).

I love that he is a great father, meaning he absolutely adores his children, participates in disciplining them, and loves to spend time playing with them and teaching them things (he is an engineer working in the field of wastewater, so he recently taught our son all about treatment plants and water cycles).

He has been changing diapers, giving baths, and feeding the kids from day one, without complaint ("I AM their dad...why WOULDN'T I do those things?"). All I know is, a lot of husbands DON'T. But not mine, and don't say, "lucky you"...it's not lucky, it's why I MARRIED him!

But what I love most is how he PUTS UP WITH ME. I am nuts - obsessive, control freak-ish, I snap for no reason, I have a tendency to throw temper tantrums, I have no patience, and I probably need to be medicated - in short, not an easy person to love and live with.

But he very, very rarely brings up those not so pretty traits. He actually balances me out quite well. He takes good care of me, rubs my feet whenever I ask (which is often), and picks up the ball when I've dropped it (which is also often). And best of all, he has never made a comment about my battle with my weight, other than to encourage me (he even tells me he LIKES my tummy, and I don't care if he's lying).

What a guy.

Tune in tomorrow for more answers! Thank you all from saving me from having to deal with my *writer's block*!

P.S. I totally had all these cute pictures of the hubby to post, but once again, Blogger is being a #$%$#. Maybe tomorrow...

Questions - Part Two

Meowmix, a former teacher, asked - What parts of teaching did you HATE, really, really hate, and which parts did you love? Was your first year so completely awful that you really didn't want to do it again?

I HATED the school politics...you know, administrators on power trips, how many hoops can we make our teachers jump through, "No Child Left Behind", etc. Hated IEP's and loads of totally unnecessary paperwork. The parents could also be difficult. Now, some were wonderful, but the ones who felt it necessary to write me nasty letters, or corner me during my planning period, because someone looked at their child wrong and I didn't FIX IT, or because I *gasp* had to correct their child's behavior? I could definitely have done without them.

I LOVED the first day of school...so clean and new, a fresh start every year. I love the promise that first day holds. I loved seeing the progress my kids made, and since I mostly taught kindergarten, the progress is BIG. I loved teaching them to read, and loved the kind sentiments of parents who appreciated me. I also enjoyed the creative outlet of teaching young children, and I enjoyed the friendships with my coworkers. And I really loved telling people, "I'm a teacher." It was a profession I was proud to be a part of, and hope to return to one of these days.

As for my first year? Mixed feelings on that. I was SO stressed out getting my room ready and learning all the teacher lingo (IEP, ODD, TAC, PLC, BD, EMR...there is an acronym for EVERYTHING), and so desperate to be PERFECT, that I had myself worked into a frenzy before the first day even BEGAN. I was also planning my wedding that year, and was driving an hour each way to a school located in a town I'd never even been to.

And then the first day? I was SOBBING by 10:00 a.m. (as soon as my kids left for P.E.). It was utter chaos...I told my kindergarteners to line up and they just wandered around, because they didn't know how, and I was supposed to TEACH them...I came home with bruises on my shins from a student who kicked me when I made him stand respectfully for the pledge...I didn't get through a quarter of the plans I'd so carefully made. I truly just cried my eyes out, knowing I had made a horrible, terrible mistake.

I had wanted to teach 4th grade, and here I was, stuck with FIVE year olds who've NEVER BEEN TO SCHOOL! I wanted to TEACH, and here I was, showing them how to hold their lunch trays, tying shoes, and coloring. And it did not get a lot better...up until Christmas of that first year, I was crying every night and trying to figure out HOW I could get out of my contract. Seriously.

But the year went on, and I had no kids of my own, so I came early and stayed wayyyyy too late, worked on the weekends, and generally worked myself sick. My eyelids used to twitch constantly because I was so tired, and I have never had more illnesses than I did that first year - I succumbed to EVERY germ.

However, I also learned to appreciate what I was doing as a kindergarten teacher...I got them FIRST, before they could be discouraged with school, and could teach them a love for learning. I got hugs every day. I read them great children's literature. I taught them to read. I found fun ways to challenge them. I prepared them (very well, I think!) for a rigorous first grade curriculum.

But by the end of the year? I knew I had made the right decision. I cried and cried on the last day of school. Those kids are in seventh grade now, and a few of those parents from that class still send me Christmas cards, with letters and pictures. I had a connection with that class that I've never had with another class since. They taught ME how to be a good teacher...and let me tell you, they broke me in something GOOD.

Would I want to do it again? In a way, yes. When I think about that first year, what sticks out the most is how I was young, fresh, and idealistic. I knew I was going to "make a difference" in those kids' lives. I didn't yet know about school 'politics', or workroom gossip. I was full of energy, and I put an amazing amount of love and effort into my job that year.

Gosh, I don't know how to keep it short, do I?

Up next: MJD, Mrs. S, Silly Hily, and Keeper of the Cheerios...I have not forgotten you!

Questions - Part One

cpa mom asked: Where were you born, and where all have you lived?

I was born in Springfield, Missouri. I currently live in a town just a few miles from there. I have lived all my life in small towns in southern Missouri. What can I say? I don't like change.

But just to make that answer a little more interesting, during my childhood, I lived in a little backwoods "shack", a trailer, my granny's house, an apartment, and two different houses (which were both near the lake).

As an adult, I've lived in three different dorm rooms (with a Hooter's girl, a girl who sold knives, a girl who was normal, and I ended up being a bridesmaid in her wedding, and one who ended up being one of my very best friends.) I also lived in an apartment, for a year with a roommate (who I drove crazy with my obsessiveness, but she is still my close friend) and two years by myself. And my husband and I are now living in our second home, which I hope we are staying in for quite a while, as I have spent weeks now REDOING THE BATHROOM.

And, cpa mom, read my comments to you on my last blog entry!

stepmomof2 asked: Do you have any tattoos? If so, what and where?

I do! I got a small butterfly on the side of my foot when I was 20. I have had it redone once due to fading. And now, after massive foot swelling with my first pregnancy, it looks like CRAP. Nobody ever knows what it is, but I don't regret getting it and hope to have it redone again.

I also have a lower back tattoo, which is pretty large. It is a black, tribal design that was partially freehanded by the tattoo artist, who was missing part of a finger (!). It has my astrological sign (the aries symbol) in the center. I LOVE it, and once upon a time, I was thin and wore short tops with low rise cargo pants and made sure everybody could see it. Now, not so much.

I'm planning on getting a shaker of salt (my tribute to my affection for Jimmy Buffett) as my reward when I lose weight. Tattoos are ADDICTIVE!

That was FUN! MJD and meowmix, your questions are up next!

It's all about ME

I seem to be having a bit of *writer's block* the past few days. So what better time to steal another blogger's idea? Silly Hily's idea, to be exact.

I am one of those freaks who likes to take phone surveys and fill out lengthy paperwork at the doctor's office, just because I like any opportunity to share information about myself. So...

...here is YOUR chance to ask me questions, 'cause I like you all way better than the phone survey lady! Anything you want, and then I'll answer them on my blog. If you're stumped for questions, check out Silly Hily, because her readers came up with some interesting ones.

So, um, here's hoping you can actually think of things to ask me that you don't already know. Because even though I've already told you about my bathing habits, my kids' poop, and my issues with cookies, there's actually still stuff I haven't told you yet!

Okay...GO!

Fat Friday #8...belated

Sorry, faithful Fat Friday readers...I was out of town Friday.

I was eating corn dogs, cotton candy, and other greasy carnival food at the fair, thus ENSURING many more Fat Friday posts, for YOU, my readers.

Gah, the SACRIFICES I must make for this blog.

Um, I'm still kind of full. So, since this IS my 50th post and all, I'm takin' the easy way out...

Go read Y's August 24th post, "stuffed." at www.joyunexpected.com Because I could have written that post. But she said it better than I ever could have.

So go now! Go read Y!

Wallpaper Opus

I have a love / hate relationship with wallpaper. Yes, friends, I am going to blog about WALLPAPER.

Wallpaper, how I love thee:

Your ugly outer layer (red, cream, and blue seashells and stripes, in this case), it pleases me. It gives me strange pleasure because it is hideous, and now I can kill it and MAKE IT GO AWAY. It peels off in BIG (aahhhh), HUGE (mmmm), INTACT (oh-oh-OH!!!!) sheets.

Your stuck-on underlayer is also pleasing, in it's own special way. It needs more time and attention than the first layer.

I must first get it wet with a sponge...soothing!

Then I wait...just a few seconds more!

Then, I dig in with my flexible, flat blade scraper...sweet!

Sometimes it is a challenge, and the paper takes much repeated scraping and peeling, probably because some crazy-ass wallpaper-er got a little wild with the glue.

But other times? When I am lucky and have been blessed by the WALLPAPER GODS?

THOSE are the times I live for, because those are the times when my flexible, flat blade scraper SLLLLLIIIIIIDES under that underlayer of wallpaper and it begins to come off in ONE BIG, HUGE, WET, INTACT SHEET that just slowly (take your time, now!), gently (savor it!), peels away.

And then repeat. Wall after wall. It is weirdly soothing to me. In a regular day, the most I accomplish is microwaving food, washing some dishes, breaking up a fight or ten, and possibly doing a load of laundry. But when I'm stripping wallpaper?!? The world is MINE! ACCOMPLISHMENT! SUCCESS! UM, MAYBE I NEED TO GET OUT MORE?

Wallpaper, I hate you! Loathe you! You are STUPID! *hit with scraper*

Okay, I can't think of much I hate about stripping wallpaper. But the wallpaper itself? HATE IT. Even when it is tasteful wallpaper (is that an oxymoron?).

Wallpaper, though stripping it obviously brings me great joy, IS NOT GOOD.

INTERNET! Quit wallpapering your houses! Because someday, you will probably move, and someone will hate your wallpaper and have to spend hours and hours and hours and hours removing it and then get all freaky, and like, BE FORCED TO REMODEL THEIR WHOLE DAMN BATHROOM, AND QUITE POSSIBLY THE REST OF THE HOUSE TOO.

Paint it. Just PAINT IT. Paint is nice, and someone who moves in after you can just paint right over it if they feel like it! And there are all those fun paint techniques - sponging, ragging, texturing. Go crazy!

Just put down the glue. Walk away. Go get yourself a nice, new paintbrush.

P.S. I'd really like to post pictures of the wretched wallpaper, but apparently, Blogger is not feeling up to it today.

Kleptomaniacs in training!

Confession: I make excessive Walmart trips. Why? Oh, for groceries, cleaning supplies, clothes, shopping therapy, to get out of the house, whatever. You name it, I'm there. And when I'm there, I stay for an unreasonably long amount of time.

My husband always wonders what the hell I can do in there for so long (especially if he happens to be waiting with the car running because the kids are sleeping), but it is a TIME WARP in there, people. What feels like 15 minutes is usually more like AN HOUR and 15 minutes. Oops.

We say it's a "dollar a minute" to be in there, and that has been accurate almost every time. So when I'm in there for my typical hour and a half, it's not good on the checkbook. You do the math.

A trip in for milk (one gallon of milk, people!) once cost me $43.62. Um, there's just so many THINGS in there. THINGS I just didn't realize I NEEDED.

Yesterday, I went to Walmart. When I came home, I proceeded to unload my purchases.

But some of the items were not ones I had purchased. Well, OKAY, I purchased them, but I did NOT put them in my cart.

I'll give you one guess who DID put them in my cart.

Yep. That's him (with his partner in crime). Looks innocent, doesn't he? I know. He has perfected that look.

And this is totally not the first time that I've come home WITHOUT something I once HAD in my cart, or something I HAD to buy because it was chewed on, or with something my kids thought we 'needed.'

Gee, they are soooo helpful to have around! So helpful, in fact, that tonight, I will be putting my husband in charge and going to bed around 6!

That way, I will be all refreshed tomorrow so that I can cook, um...spaghetti, apple pie, and whatever the hell calls for 5 ounces of evaporated milk.

The one where I say POOP. MANY, MANY TIMES.

My daughter, L, has been potty trained for over a month. She wears a Pull-Up to sleep, though it is often dry when she wakes up - yay!

But sometimes, she has to poop during / after her nap, and one of three things happens:

1. She yells "I have to POOOOOOP" loud enough for me to hear. I get her from her crib and the accident that was waiting to happen is averted.

2. She yells "I have to POOOOOOP" loud enough for me to hear, but I am either feeding a baby, doing some sort of crisis management with my son, G, or am on the toilet myself. Meaning, she has an accident if I can't make it there fast enough.

3. I can't hear her yelling, OR she has a quiet, stealth poop, and she has an accident in her Pull-Up.

If she has had a poop "accident", I always know it before I even go into her room. That is because the smell has wafted under her closed door, down the hallway, and sometimes, even into the living room.

Because of my properly functioning sense of smell, I can enter her room PREPARED for BATTLE. Thankfully, those Pull-Ups have tear-away sides, reminiscent of a (shhh!) *diaper*. So I lay her on her changing pad, clean her up, spray some Lysol, and we're done in less than 2 minutes.

And now to get to my point: My husband (as I have mentioned before), does NOT HAVE PROPERLY FUNCTIONING SENSES.

Here is Exhibit P (for poop!) to illustrate my point:

So on Saturday, L was napping and hubby was playing with G while I had some break time. I hear, from the opposite end of the house, hubby screaming to G in an alarming tone, "GO GET YOUR MOTHER! NOW!"

Thinking someone has LOST AN EYE, BROKEN A LIMB, OR IS BLEEDING PROFUSELY, I go RUNNING to the other end of the house. I slow down as I near the hallway because? BECAUSE, I smell poooooop.

I enter the bathroom to find daughter L sitting on the toilet, distressed looking hubby crouched in front of the toilet with one hand on L, and one hand cupping her underwear. There is poop on the rug, poop smeared down the front of the toilet, and poop all over L's legs, shorts, and Pull-Up.

"What the hell happened here?" I manage to ask through my snorts of laughter.

"She WOKE UP and TOLD ME she had to POOP!" hubby breathlessly exclaims. "But she already DID! And I didn't know until it was TOO LATE!"

"Well, the whole end of this house SMELLS like poop! ESPECIALLY her ROOM! Did you not smell that, and maybe have a CLUE that she had ALREADY POOPED HER PANTS?" I reply.

Husband's answer? I'll bet you can already guess!

"I DIDN'T SMELL ANYTHING! Now help me! HELP ME CLEAN THIS UP!"

Now husband, that's what you get. POOP everywhere. Ha. Ha. HAHAHAHA! All those years of IRRITATING THE CRAP OUT OF ME with his, "Huh? I don't smell that!" routine? Vengeance. It is mine.

P.S. He will totally read this post, and for a little added paybacks, he HATES "oo" words, like poop, and goose, and especially combinations of the two, like GOOSE POOP. (For more on that, see archives: "Our Family Dinner Conversations").

Mmmm. Tastes like chicken.

I have written before about my husband and his DEADENED SENSES, particularly his sense of smell (See archives - "Huh? You say we ran over a punk with the jar?").

And I have yet MORE instances of his 'deadened senses' condition to report.

First, we went out for dinner, ALONE, last weekend. We tried a new steak restaurant, and we were having those FASCINATING conversations that only parents of young children, parents who don't get out much, parents who are never alone together, can have. You know, like:

Me - "It's really gross how they put the steaks in a case all raw and stuff for you to see. It smells like MEAT in here."

Him - "I think it's really cool."

Silence

Me - "This butter is sooooo good. I could eat a dish of it by itself."

Him - "I think it's a little too cinnamon-y"

Silence

Me - "The waitress looks very young. Do you think she's young?"

Him - "Maybe we're just getting old."

Me - "Hmm. That's depressing."

Silence

But I digress. Anyway, we both ordered steaks and loaded sweet potatoes (with everything in the world that is good, like butter, and marshmallows, and, ARE YOU READY FOR THIS? caramel sauce!!)

Everybody KNOWS that salt brings out the sweet flavor...for heaven's sake, you put a teaspoon of salt in cookie dough...it enhances the SWEET flavor! So, I begin salting my potato. My hubby FREAKS OUT and says I am "ruining my potato".

He then proceeds to salt his (already salty, savory, and delicious!) steak. WHAT?!?!

So along with having no sense of smell, he is also without a sense of taste.

When I get around to actually cooking a meal, instead of reheating or microwaving, I work hard to make it Amazingly Delicious. Those of you who read my blog know that I LIVE for comments, so the same would surely apply to my cooking for the man I married.

His response to everything I serve? "It's good."

THIS PISSES ME OFF. "It's good" means CRAP. It's EMPTY.

HE says it's all in the TONE. For example:

(distracted tone) "It's good." = What is this again? I am starving and forgot to taste it.

(neutral tone) "It's good." = I am hungry and this is perfectly edible.

(excited tone) "It's good!" = This is marvelous! You are an absolute FREAK in the kitchen, baby! You should make this again.

(too excited tone) "It's good!!!" = This is gross, but then, I eat anything. But don't make it again.

I don't LIKE being forced to interpret "It's good."

I want him to just tell me the TRUTH...I mean, as you can tell from our restaurant conversation, we obviously don't have enough to talk about as it is. Tell me it's delicious! Tell me it's terrible! Question what's in it! Ask for the salt! Give me SOMETHING here!

Is that REALLY too much for a girl to ask?

Coming soon: My husband can't smell, part 2!

The devil does not wear Prada...it wears size 3T from Osh Kosh B'Gosh

Now that I am no longer "working" at an "official" job, I have rediscovered my love for reading GROWN UP books (rather than only those from the Caldecott Award List found in the elementary school library, which required me to read upside down, while holding the pictures face-out for my kindergarteners, and required a lot of silly faces and the use of many different voices).

I love that I can now hold the book right up to my face and do not have to make noises of any sort while reading, unless I'm laughing out loud. Or crying. Depends on the book, of course.

A few I have enjoyed recently: "Angels and Demons" by Dan Brown, "Down Came The Rain" by Brooke Shields, "Night" by Elie Wiesel, and at the present, I am working on "The Devil Wears Prada" by Lauren Weisberger...I haven't QUITE finished it.

So, I get about halfway through it and start thinking, "Hmmm...this all sounds so FAMILIAR..."

In "The Devil Wears Prada", a young woman just beginning her career finds herself employed as an assistant to The Monster Of All Bosses. She begins the job, knowing it is a job that "a million girls would die for". She is enthusiastic and excited!

BUT:

This boss leaves incomplete, and ridiculous, messages for her assistant, requiring her to play detective, and often make a fool of herself, in order to please her boss.

This boss is impossibly rude and picky.

This boss expects her employees to read her mind, and when they don't, there is going to be hell to pay.

This boss makes tons of unreasonable demands. Her demands are petty and constant...she even wakes up her assistant in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT to make MORE unreasonable demands.

This boss requests a lot of high calorie, expensive food, which her assistant is always ordering for her, several times a day, yet is still able to wear a very small size of clothing because she never actually EATS any of it.

By the middle of the book, the assistant is exhausted, frustrated, and frankly, feeling a little crazy. Has she made a terrible mistake in taking the job?

Seeing why it seems so FAMILIAR yet?

Here's a hint: These days, I do not have a boss paying me money to put up with her crap. Instead, I am now working as an assistant to two bosses, and they demand that I work for FREE.

Now, mind you, I LOOOOOVE my PRESH-US babies...I do not REALLY think they are the devil in any way, shape, or form. And MOST of the time, being THE MOM and all, I like to think I am the boss.

BUT. The similarities? They are irrefutable. I'm guessing you've got the idea, but I'll give you a few examples anyway.

1. I totally make a fool of myself, on my children's behalf, on a daily basis. Using my shirt to wipe a runny nose, in PUBLIC? No problem! Walking around Walmart with two DumDum suckers hanging out of my mouth because L did not like the particular flavors she unwrapped? Any time! Attempt a quick pee break at the Target restroom, only to have my children asking me VERY LOUDLY, "Mama POOPIN' in here?" Dear God.

2. According to my children, I should read minds! For example, dressing my daughter, L, goes something like this:

Me - (Hand L shorts and shirt)
L - NOT THAT SHIRT!!!
Me - Then which one?
L - The blue one!
Me - Here is the blue one.
L - NOT THAT BLUE ONE. OTHER ONE!
Me - Fine. Here. Do you want help?
L - NO!!!! MYSELF!!!!!
Me - (Leave room so she can do it herself)
L - NO! MAMA HELP!
Me - (Attempt to help)
L - NO! GO 'WAY!
Me - (Going away)
L - (Lays on floor kicking and screaming for 'help')
Me - (Pour a little Bailey's in my coffee)

Our breakfast, lunch, dinner, bath, and bed routines pretty much play out the same way. I'll spare you the details.

3. In general, spending a lot of time with two toddlers at once is like living with little, miniature drunk people. They can't speak coherently, wet their pants at random, are always nursing a drink, like to get naked for no apparent reason, are constantly falling down and running into things, and can be maniacally happy and wanting to honk your nose one moment, yet laying on the floor yelling and bucking the next. I'm giving them about two more years to sober up before I seek professional help.

So, I haven't finished the book yet. I'll keep you posted on how it all turns out...I'm hoping for a happy ending!

Fat Friday #7

If you've read any previous "Fat Friday" posts, you know I've mentioned my Mother In Law (MIL) and her Weight Comments.

Here's a quick summary of our relationship...

My hubby grew up fairly well off. I was well taken care of, but not what you would call "well-to-do" or anything. Hubby is an only child. THE ONLY SON.

So I meet MIL for first time...her first words to me, after "Hello", are "You have got to get your hair trimmed! Look at these dead ends! And your NAILS! Do you pick at them?"

Um, not such a great start. Immediately, I knew I was not the princess she had been dreaming of for her *SON*. Many years of conflicts ensue, including conflicts relating to religion (she does not like mine) and politics (I am a d.e.m.o.c.r.a.t. *Go Hillary!*).

I grew up, I married her *SON*, I gave her grandchildren (though she made it clear that I was to have a boy first), and we eventually learned to coexist. She is very generous to us, loves her grandchildren, and has done many nice things for our family.

But, my relationship with her is overshadowed by her feelings about weight. When I first started dating hubby (1994, wearing a size 7, juniors), she took me shopping, a "girl's day out." We stop at a crosswalk at the mall as a very heavy person crosses. She says, OUT LOUD, "THAT is just PATHETIC." I was horrified.

And then, I started getting fat.

1995, wearing a size 9, juniors...in Padre Island for spring break with hubby, his family, and some friends, she informs me that I should "watch it, because you're getting a little fluffy."

1997, wearing a size 11, juniors...tells me that my hubby has "really never been so big before. You guys need to exercise or something."

1999, wearing a size 14, misses...Christmas with MIL and FIL. MIL recieves slinky new leather skirt and blazer, size 10. She is weirdly insistent that I try on the jacket. I tell her it won't fit, it's not my size. "Come on, just try it!" she keeps begging. So I do. And my arms just barely squeeze in and it comes NOWHERE near closing over my bust (The Ladies, they've NEVER been small, my friends). I say, "See, I told you it wouldn't fit." Her reply, and these are literally her words, "You have GOT to lose some weight, girlfriend." Girlfriend? Holy $*#@ and Happy Holidays.

2001, wearing a size 11, juniors, again...MIL, slurring her words (guess why), says, "You guys just look shoooo graaaaaaaaaate! You had gotten shoooooo BIG."

2004, wearing maternity clothes...the day we come home from the hospital with our second baby, MIL and FIL come to visit. My MIL watches with a sad expression as my 19 month old pats my still-there baby belly and says innocently, "Baby? Baby?" I think nothing of it. He is a baby himself and doesn't understand that the baby isn't IN my tummy anymore. MIL's reply, thinking he must have hurt my fat feelings, "It's okay, honey, you'll lose it." Um, I wasn't really worried. I just pushed out an 8 pound baby and can't sit down. The tummy is a non issue at this point.

Last week, wearing a size that shall remain nameless...MIL and I attend a baby shower for a family member, who had the baby early and is attending the baby shower 5 days post-partum. MIL leans over and whispers, "Good grief. X has really put on a lot of weight!" I reply, "MIL! She just had a baby FIVE DAYS AGO. Remember?" "Well, that's no excuse..." she replies. And I'm not kidding.

So I'm leaving the shower and immediately have an urge to go on a crash liquid diet. But then, a more overwhelming thought occurs to me. SONIC. No, TACO BELL. NO! SONIC AND TACO BELL. AND ICE CREAM. I will get fatter. As fat as I can GET. I will show her! I will eat until I pop! You want to see fat? I will SHOW you fat. I will jiggle and wiggle and wear tube tops to show it all off. How do you like THAT, MIL?

Um, do you think I might have some issues with food and my MIL?

Maybe they are related in some way?

Wait - don't answer that. I am still in the "Blaming It On Other People" stage of my fatness and am ALLOWED to blame some of it on her.

Untitled

I am pretty much at the end of my rope with my 3 year old son. When I send him to preschool, daycare, or babysitters, I hear how good he is, how sweet, how smart, how good he is at sharing.

And I see those traits peek through now and then. I love him. I have faith that he is going to grow into a wonderful man someday.

But what I see at home the majority of the time, especially today, is loud, angry, obnoxious, disrespectful to me, cruel to his sister, constantly bouncing (literally) off the walls. Today he screamed at me, "You're NOT MY MOMMY".

I am not handling these behaviors well. I am exhausted. I am frustrated. I am spanking too often and laughing way too little. I've spoken to my son in ways I'm not proud of.

Every night, I tell my husband, "I can't do this anymore. It was really bad today." But you know what? It never gets any better. It is a little worse each day, and sometimes, like today, a lot worse.

I need you readers out there to share some comments about your children, especially boys. Tell me some of the things they did at age 3 or 4, and what they are like now, if they are older.

And more importantly, tell me how YOU felt. How did you deal every day? I need to know that there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

Motherhood Myths - Debunked

I have wanted children for as long as I can remember. I always knew I wanted to be a mother. I spent much of my childhood, teen years, and early adulthood around children in one way or another - babysitting, being around much younger cousins and my brother, volunteering in high school as an elementary teacher's aide, and getting a degree in Education. I thought I had kids figured out.

When I finally became pregnant with G, my first, I, the Obsessive-Perfectionist-Type-A woman that I am, had little secret goals for myself as a mother. Many of my goals were unreasonable and unreachable...NO ONE could, or needs to, live up to the standards I had set for myself. But I was sure, in a little, dark, secret corner of my heart that those OTHER mothers just weren't TRYING hard enough. If I set my mind to it, I could be better. I would do better. I would be Mother of the Year.

So here, in the List Form that I am so fond of, are a few of the things I envisioned for myself while pregnant, hormonal, and delusional, so many (ok, four) years ago...followed by what REALLY happened.

*Beware - this is a long one!*

1. Childbirth will be a breeze. God DESIGNED my body for this. I will take many childbirth classes, read lots of books, and prepare myself for avoiding the "fear - tension - pain" cycle.

Um, first labor: 24 hours and 24 minutes, 3 hours of pushing, ending with an epidural and vacuum extraction of baby's head. During my totally normal, if lengthy, labor, I asked the nurse seriously (and quietly, so as not to alarm my husband), if I was going to die.

Second labor: 6 hours, 20 minutes of pushing, no epidural. Hey, I'm a pro at this! My first words uttered after the birth: "Is she okay?" My second words: "Can I have a cough drop? My throat hurts." Yeah. From the blood curdling SCREAMS OF PAIN.

2. The baby will not cry. After all, he will have no NEED for crying, because he will always be clean, fed, dry, and played with.

The baby cried. A lot. And the second baby? She never STOPPED crying. Although they were always clean, fed, dry, and played with.

3. The baby will nurse, effortlessly, for the first year of his life. Our nursing sessions will occur every 3 hours during the day, with one 8 hour stretch of sleep during the night. We will gaze into each others eyes and fall deeply in love as mother and child.

Well, there was some gazing. Or maybe I was just sleeping with my eyes open. My kids nursed for only 6 months each, because despite my milk sustaining efforts consisting of gallons of water, lots of oatmeal (ok, so maybe it was in cookie form), fenugreek tablets, beer (the hops are supposed to be helpful for production), and setting my alarm for 4 am to squeeze in an extra pumping session, my milk dried up.

The first few months, I nursed about every 2 hours for 45 minutes a session, and later on, every 3 or 4 hours, round the clock, pumping in between feedings too - in layman's terms, that means I ALWAYS HAD SOMETHING ATTACHED TO MY BOOBS.

Oh, and my toes ached constantly. My toes? Yep. From curling them in pain every time the baby latched on.

4. Spankings, time outs, and parenting books? Why? Why would I need those things? When I tell my child to do something, they will do it, because I am their mother. They will know I mean it. They will live to please me, their mother.

I must say, things WERE pretty peachy until G started walking at 9 months, and then it all went to hell.

To date, I have given approximately 546,972 spankings, 437,965 time outs, and read about 7 parenting books. I have also tried bribes, hugs, lectures, prayers, reverse psychology, kisses, pennies, and popsicles in an effort to curb poor behavior. None of the above appears to be working, as my children most usually do the opposite of anything I say.

5. I will always look sharp. Having children is no reason to let yourself go.

*insert laugh track here* I wore maternity pants until G was 4 months old. With L, I got it down to 2 months...maybe because I invested in larger non-maternity clothing with elastic waists, just so I could know that they WERE NOT MATERNITY WEAR?

Within 6 months of having my first baby, I stopped going for acrylic nails and fills, quit highlighting my hair (at $70 bucks a pop!), and only broke out the liquid foundation for very special occasions, like going to Walmart ALONE (!).

I grew so accustomed to being pregnant / nursing for a 3 year period of time that I cried when it was time to pack up the maternity undies (you know, the ones that come up to your bustline and are SOOOOO comfy), and I once tried on a maternity top while NOT pregnant because I thought it was cute and might cover my tummy. And then I cried because I kind of filled it out. Tip: Don't do that. Ever.

6. My house will always be clean and neat, I will bake every afternoon, and I will always have a well balanced, home-cooked meal on the table by 6:00.

Let me tell you about my house...wait...Hello? Hello? I'm HERE, no, HERE, under the laundry!!!

I don't bake every afternoon. But I do eat cookies every day. Does that count?

If by well balanced you mean serving a BANANA with the poptart, CANNED GREEN BEANS with the boxed macaroni and cheese, and CARROT STICKS with the frozen pizza, then YES! I do serve well balanced meals! And they're kind of home cooked, too, because I had to turn on the oven! Maybe I am succeeding at motherhood after ALL!

Motherhood. The reality. Did I sign up for this?

Yes, I used to make sure it matched their clothing

This is a photo of my son, G, at age 2 - 1/2, climbing into his 7 month old sister's crib. Why would he do that, you ask? Well....

...to steal his sister's pink binky, of course! You see that she had to resort to other oral fixations in the absence of her precious binky.

Here is another photo of him at 2, with another illicit 'newborn' binky. At this age, he was only allowed his binky for bedtime / naptime. He informed me that he was "resting" in the rocking chair, so it was okay for him to have it.

And here is my daughter, L, holding her two security objects, her sippy and her binky, lovingly next to her cheeks.

So what is the point of me telling you all this, other than an excuse to post excessive photos of my PRESH-US babies? The point is this - I *LOVE* BINKIES (technically, "pacifiers", but we like "binky" around here. We tried "nummy" early on, because that is what I called mine, but it just never caught on.)

Many people seem to get worked up about toddlers, or even babies, with pacifiers:

"It's terrible for their teeth!" (my kids have straight, beautiful teeth)

"They'll never talk!" (Oh, I wish...my kids speak clear as a bell and NEVER SHUT UP)

"You can't keep them babies forever!" (Watch me.)

"Isn't she a little old for a pacifier?" (Actually, no, she isn't, as she just recently learned to stop uncontrollably pooping in her pants, Elmo is her personal idol, and she still can't make me a margarita.)

I like binkies because:

1. Some kids have blankies. Some kids have teddy bears. My kids latched onto pacifiers, and it gave them a lot of comfort. G went through a phase where he had to have 3 with him at all time, one for his mouth, and one for each hand. And we know when L is sleepy because her eyes glaze over and she rubs her binky.

2. Having a binky means they are still my BABIES, at least in some small way. It's not like I'm going to send them to kindergarten with a binky.

3. Mute button! Good grief, when they are dry, fed, and clean and have been swaddled, shhh-ed, and sung to and are STILL CRYING, what do mothers of binky-less babies DO? It's a tiny, plastic MIRACLE, as far as I'm concerned.

G and I "gave" his to the newborn babies in the hospital when he was about 2 - 1/2. We actually packed them up in a bag and took them up to the maternity floor. I made G hand the nurse at the nurse station the bag, and told her, "This is G. He is giving up binkies today because he is a big boy and would like to donate them to the tiny babies who need them." She says, "I don't think we're really allowed to do that." DUH. I clenched my jaw, stared at her with huge eyes, and covertly whispered, "Trash. Put them in the trash. He's GIVING UP his BINKIES. Play along."

However, I had a small baby at the time, so he kept stealing hers for a good 9 months afterward. I'm glad to report he has kicked the habit for good.

I'm planning on taking L's away around Christmas time, which should forever make her hate the holidays.

A few weeks ago at my mother in law's house, I had L sitting on the counter and was washing her face. She had set her binky aside so I could do this. My mother in law, despiser of binkies, actually came up behind L and TOOK THE BINKY AND HID IT FROM HER. I'm guessing that was her not so subtle message to me that it's time to take it away.

And just for that, mother in law, I may tuck a binky in L's wedding bouquet when she gets married. So there.

Isn't she lovely...

She is so sweet I could just eat her up.

Fat Friday #6

Well, first an update on the "Intuive Eating" process...I have been trying hard to really notice when I'm HUNGRY, instead of just eating to eat. I also have been LEAVING FOOD on my plate (!) if I discover I'm full, instead of doing the 'clean plate' thing all the time (unless it's like, tiramisu, or Starbucks, or anything with whipped cream, and then all bets are off).

That said, I'm not sure I'm actually going to lose any weight, but maybe I am learning to follow my body's cues a little better.

The real problem I'm having with the "Intuitive Eating" is that one of their main suggestions is to teach yourself that NO foods are off limits, the idea being that once the temptation to be 'bad' is gone, you will no longer desperately crave those 'bad' foods - because they are no longer 'bad'! Nice thought.

But, um, the reason I'm wearing large ladies clothing in the FIRST place is because I never THOUGHT any foods were off limits!

Two poptarts for breakfast, McDonald's food for lunch, order pizza for dinner, with a few carbohydrate and trans-fat loaded snacks thrown in for good measure? NO PROBLEM! Ice cream three times in one day! YAY - ICE CREAM! See, I'm not one to EVER say, "Oh, no, I really shouldn't." So I'm kind of stuck here.

Also, since I've been paying more attention to my "food issues", I've really taken notice of the way I use food to calm / reward myself. For example:

I took my kids to some friends' house to do some babysitting for them one evening. I hadn't had dinner, and I though I'd just find something at their house for a snack to tide me over till we got home. Let it be known that this family is particularly frugal, and also very health conscious.

Well, four hours and four children under age 3 later, I was scavenging the cabinets for sugary cereal, crackers, anything junk-foodish at all, and found nothing of the sort. I felt desperately panicked, NEED FOOD, and then my husband called.

"I'm on my way over there to help out for a while. Do you need anyth-" "YES. BRING TACO BELL. AND MAYBE A CANDY BAR. WHAT TIME WILL YOU BE HERE?" I interrupted, before he could even finish his question. I may as well have said, "YES. BRING DRUGS. THE HARDER THE BETTER."

Another day, after a particularly challenging day with the kids and having a lot of other stresses at the time, I called my hubby and made him stop on the way home for a small bag of Doritos and a pint Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and I actually referred to those items as "my drugs". I put the kids to bed, heaved a sigh of relief, and then ate it ALL while sitting on my couch watching bad late night TV.

And actually, even though writing that all down is really depressing, I'm now wishing I had some Taco Bell, Doritos, and Ben and Jerry's right NOW. What is WRONG with me?

P.S. Yes, I've seen the "Super-Size Me" documentary, and no, it did not deter me from my overeating ways.

P.S.S. And suggestions are welcome, but do NOT suggest I try "getting rid of the stress in my life", because that would involve me selling my children, getting a divorce, and developing an entirely new personality.

I am a snoop

I am a notorious snooper. Medicine cabinets, kitchen drawers, other people's photo albums, my husband's wallet, and ten years from now, probably under my children's mattresses.

So you know I was delighted when I found out I could track the visits to my blog site (it's the 'Addfreestats' thing that blinks at the bottom of the left column on my blog). Snooping heaven!

But lo, have no fear, it's pretty confusing to interpret the results, so if you're visiting my blog 49 times a day, I probably don't know who you are. So stalk away. And, if you are a friend who SAYS you're reading my blog, just to make me STOP saying "READ MY BLAWWWWG!", it's ok. I can't tell who's who on the damn thing.

But, one fun thing I HAVE discovered I can do with my "Traffic Tracker" is to see which "Google Searches" have led people to my site. And if you're one of those people that found me through one of these searches...I don't care HOW you found me...keep reading!!!! 'Cause nothing makes me tingle with excitement like finding new comments on my BLAWWWWWG!

So, here they are, the Google Searches, for YOUR snooping pleasure!

"crazy baby stories" (Yeah, we've got those. You've come to the right place.)

"soft messy poop" (That too, unfortunately)

"mom of wild kids" (Must be my kindred spirit)

"keeps taking her diaper off"

"4 year old in diapers"

"quiet table"

"poop in plastic pants"

"solutions for soft messy poop"

"toddlers + candy + suckers + choking"

"silent UTI"

"soft messy poop" (Yes, AGAIN.)

"CRAZY MAMA" (You can only IMAGINE the OTHER sites that came up with that search)

"family dinner cartoons"

"don't tell me no spanking"

...and my very favorite:

"do Walmart sale Carmex?" (Yes, my friend, they most certainly do. And you better go get some, 'cause you're not getting any of mine.)

Get your motor RUNNIN' (sing along!)

Would you like to know how long I've been driving? 14 years and 4 months. Would you like to know how long I went without EVER getting a speeding ticket? 14 years, 3 months, and 29 days.

Todays itinerary:

8:30 a.m. Wake up. Breakfast. Dress myself and children.

9:30 a.m. Husband comes up from working downstairs to punish children, who have been whining and screaming so loudly he can't get any work done. This is NOT a good way to begin the day. Must get out of house.

10:30 a.m. Leave house to deliver some cakes and do some errands. Race through errands with biting, screaming, crying, whining, hitting, cranky, ill-mannered children, who are begging for candy, toys, and food, and are yelling, "I have to POOP" at EVERY STORE we go to.

2:00 p.m. Errands finished, back in my town...head to bank (Cake Fund up to $78! Woo-hoo!) and library, hoping with all my heart and soul that naps will start in the car.

2:30 p.m. Approximately two minutes from my house, children nodding off in backseat.

2:31 p.m. A police officer stands in the middle of the road and waves me over into a church parking lot. I almost roll my window down tell him I live half a block down, thinking it's a detour or something, as there are 6 other cars that have pulled in too.

2:32 p.m. Fat officer in bad sunglasses: "Can I please see your license and registration?"
Me: *CUE UNCONTROLLABLE SOBBING*. And no, that's not a form of manipulation, it is an automatic response my body has to The Possibility of Being In Trouble.

2:33 p.m. Children wake up. "Why aren't we GOING anywhere, mommy?" "Wahhhhh!" "I don't WANT to stay HERE." "I want to go HOOOOME." "Why are you crying, mommy?".

2:34 p.m. Officer goes back to write down my license plate # and I respond to the children, with windows rolled down and speaking as loudly as possible, for maximum effect.

"We CAN'T go home, even though it is 30 seconds away, because this man in the sunglasses is making sure that mommy doesn't KILL someone by driving 35 in a 25. And because they are making thousands of dollars today by setting up SPEED TRAPS and pulling people over in HORDES so that they can help pay to hire MORE police officers to pull people over in small subdivisions, which as everyone knows are simply CUL-DE-SACS OF DANGER."

2:36 p.m. Officer hands me my ticket and court summons. No warning because of my clean record, no mercy for the fat, sobbing, sweating lady with screaming children. Nothing but a ticket. No mercy. I know, I BROKE THE LAW AND I MUST PAY FOR MY UNLAWFULNESS...but 35 mph?

I tell him I take care of 3 kids under age 3 every day and I won't be at court. He says I can pay it by mail. "How convenient!" I reply. "How much money that I don't have is this going to cost me?".

"Looks like $80, ma'am. Just another mile or two over and you would have paid $105."

"Well, thank God I saved myself the $25!"

"We've had a lot of neighbors complaining about how fast people drive through here. That's why we're doing this." (Yeah, officer, I'M one of the neighbors complaining about the teenagers at midnight who race past my house at 60 mph, honking and squealing their freaking tires. Would you care to pull one of THEM over sometime?)

I look at him with the most dead and unfeeling expression I can muster. Then I turn around and drive back by another couple of times, going 15 mph and holding up traffic, just to see if they'll pull me over again, because now The Crying, it is now "pissed off - kids got woken up - I've got frozen crap melting in the back of this here Killing Machine" crying.

How I commuted an hour each way on I-44 for 2 years, going 80 mph lest I get run over by semis doing 85, and did not get a ticket until today, I'll never know.

But people, thank your lucky stars that your Friendly Neighborhood Traffic Officers have saved you from the TERROR ON WHEELS that is a stay-at-home-mom with two screaming toddlers in the backseat, driving 35 mph. I can only imagine the horrors that might have been in store had he not straightened me up.

P.S. Goodbye, $78 Cake Fund. Husband, can you loan me $2?

Random news from the homefront

I start The Babysitting Job for the 12 week old baby tomorrow. I am scared. It does not bode well for me that at 10:00 this morning, I was already so sick of my OWN children's fighting and mess making, that I caved and sent G to his daycare. Wish me lots of luck.

I can make frappuccinos! Thanks for the recipe, Lucy! I'm enjoying one RIGHT NOW, and it didn't cost me $4.

I couldn't fight the urge any longer. I started peeling off the hideous seashells 'n stripes wallpaper in my bathroom. I've got the first layer off and have started scraping off the underlayer. With three children under age 3 underfoot at all times, and my cake "business" booming at the present moment, it should be finished sometime around next June. I know I shouldn't have started, but I just COULDN'T STOP MYSELF.

The wallpaper urge started at my friend Emily's house, where they had started peeling off their bathroom wall paper. I went back there to take really quick pee break, and then all of a sudden I've been in there for 15 minutes and I've peeled two walls of wall paper, laughing hysterically while ripping it off in sheets (SHEETS - AHHHHHH). I am SO much fun at parties.

Speaking of cakes, I had an order for 1 dozen RED colored cupcakes. So I made 12 red, and used the leftover batter to make 12 white cupcakes to freeze for future orders. L parked a basket upside down at the counter and reached, of course, one of the RED cupcakes. She took a huge bite before I could stop her and informed me very seriously, "Just one, mama. Just ONE." ARRRGGG.

I visited my old school yesterday to see some friends' classrooms, and came out, surprisingly, emotionally intact. I do miss the crazy rush of getting started back, but other than that, I think I'm content with my decision to quit. I have several friends there who are scheduled to give me weekly reports on the current school gossip, er, news. So that'll do for now.

I found out, two days after the tickets arrived in the mail, that my Dixie Chicks concert in Des Moines had been cancelled. But I got my money refunded and today, I ordered tickets for the concert in Dallas (in DECEMBER). Something to look forward to, I guess! Gives me time to lose 20 pounds (hahaha - HAHAHA - *snort* - hahaha) and buy a cowboy hat. Yee-haw!

*waaaaah*

Today, G had his Preschool Tour. My Presh-us. He is starting preschool in exactly 2 weeks. *sniff* Yes, yes, I know you've mostly heard me complain about G and his daily antics / tormenting of his sister. And I assure you, I will continue to complain, but I'm allowing myself one whiny, hormonal post first.

I will missssss him. Because next year, it will be L who is off to preschool, and then I will be All Alone, eating Teddy Grahams and Goldfish crackers all by myself and crying at Pampers commercials. Or drinking screwdrivers at 9 a.m. and taking 2 hour baths with the latest issue of Us Weekly...I have not yet decided which way to go. But that is beside the point right now. Because?

Because my first baby. He is old enough to have school supplies, and sit at a desk, and have a real teacher. See? There she is, taking away my BABY.

I watched several other kids come in, tearful and hiding behind their mama's legs. But G? No fear, man, NO FEAR. He chatted up the teacher animatedly, and his 3 year old instincts led him directly to the toy animals, which is how we spent the entire hour and a half visit.

I signed G up for this preschool (last FEBRUARY). I am paying for it. I am LOOKING FORWARD TO THE THREE HOURS OF SEMI-PEACE IN MY HOUSE EVERY TUESDAY AND THURSDAY. He is beyond thrilled, and he needs some social action in a bad way. And the teacher is SOOOO sweet (I even think she's going to pass the cut with ME, the former teacher who will forever secretly judge my children's teachers)!

But as I kissed up to the teacher and watched him mingle with the other ankle biters, I couldn't help thinking what a milestone this is for us. I am no longer a "new mom". I am graduating to "G's mom" (hopefully "G's mom, who makes the best cupcakes in the world and EVERYONE wants to ride in HER car on field trips")!

I am about to embark on 15 long years of public education. I have to be on the other side of the fence now, as parent instead of teacher. I now carry the possibility of being THAT parent. I had already silently cursed myself at this morning's tour for not writing G's name on his box of watercolors...I didn't know I was SUPPOSED to! (And you know me...I debated the TOTALLY INSIGNIFICANT decision of whether to label his supplies or NOT label his supplies for a good 20 minutes. Or maybe half a day. Whatever.)

OMG! I'll bet she has already pegged me as one of those irresponsible parents who will send the wrong school supplies, forget to send snack, and not make my child brush his teeth in the morning.

Note to self: send nice gift on first day of school. And maybe a nice letter explaining how he holds his pencil funny even though I've tried to teach him the right way, misses the "N" in his ABC's, how he says "crap" but means "strap", that he only likes chocolate milk and not white, that he hasn't got the hang of blowing his nose yet, and that his mother is certifiably nuts.

The one where I make a total jackass out of myself

My friend Donna LOOOOOOVES the mall, and goes there WILLINGLY at least three days a week during the summer. This post is dedicated to her.

I haaaaaaaaaaate the mall. I go for these 4 reasons:

1. To have pictures taken (various portrait studios, Santa Clause)

2. Because I have run out of bath gel and need to go to Bath and Body Works for more.

3. To finish Christmas shopping, and that's only out of desperation.

4. To buy jeans. Old Navy semi low rise, boot cut jeans. I am 30 and have finally found jeans that fit me.

That's it. I do not enjoy "hanging out" at the mall. Why do I hate it so? Let me count the ways...

1. I am shop-a-holic. When I see pretty things, I want to BUY THEM ALL. Self control? Not so much.

2. I am a food-a-holic. Our mall contains a Sbarro's AND a Starbucks AND a Taco Bell. Again with the self control.

3. Mall clothes are made for abnormally tiny people. They suck you in with the tantalizing window displays, and then you realize that you can only fit one leg into the "size 14" jeans.

4. Okay, I concede...SOME mall stores do have clothes for normal to large sized people. But the choices! They are overwhelming! They make me sweaty and frantic and I leave with nothing because I can't MAKE A FREAKING DECISION.

5. The mall makes me feel old. I once took my 16 year old brother on a little shopping spree at the mall, and of course his cool self wanted to visit Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister. I felt like a dumpy, frumpy, worn out mom. And I was wearing my "trendy" clothes. Blah.

6. People stare at you. I hate people staring at me, if I didn't get that idea across to you in my last post. What, is there something on my shirt? Are my pants unzipped? Yeah, come on, WATCH my fat jiggle! Yes, I DO need this cookie - what are you looking at? Am I walking funny? Hey, are you WHISPERING something about ME? QUIT LOOKING AT ME!!!! OMG people, the mall is Paranoia Central for me.

And so those are my main reasons for hating the mall. But, BUT! Tonight, I found a new reason to hate the mall that may very well keep me out of there for the rest of my life. I guarantee this will be the most disgusting thing you hear all week. Are you ready?

We got our family pictures done tonight (Reason to Visit Mall #1), and then went to eat supper at Sbarro's (See? The self control?). G was still eating, and the picture place was about to close, so I headed out with L in the stroller to go retrieve my pictures.

I'm walking as fast as I can, you know, trying to avoid the STARING PEOPLE, and all of a sudden I feel the stroller slide around and before I know what's happening, my feet are out from under me and I fall. Not all the way down on my butt, mind you, just down on one leg. I figure I walked through someone's spilled drink, or perhaps just didn't see the "Just Mopped - Wet" sign. I recover quickly, praying no one saw me, especially as I'm in front of AEROPOSTALE, one of those HIP stores that makes me feel OLD and FAT.

Then I see the stares, hear the gasps. GAH, people. I FELL. I'm FINE. LOOK AWAY, FREAKS. But then, a lady yells out, "YOU JUST FELL IN PUKE! SOMEONE JUST THREW UP THERE!"

OH HOLY CRAP I JUST FELL IN SOMEONE'S PUKE AND THERE ARE FOUR THOUSAND MALL RATS AND THEIR PARENTS STARING AT ME AND MY BABY IS TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS TO THE FACT THAT HER MOTHER HAS SOMEONE ELSE'S VOMIT DRIPPING DOWN HER LEFT LEG AND INTO HER FLIP FLOPS OH MY GOD WHAT IF SHE WAS FOURTEEN SHE'D NEVER FORGIVE ME I AM A BIG LOSER

Do I attempt to gracefully wheel the stroller around and walk off with any SHREDS of my dignity? Hell, no. I walk INTO Aeropostale, where every customer has frozen in their shopping posture, hands paused above hangers in mid air, and yell, "Hi! All the people STARING? Can anyone STOP staring and TELL ME WHERE A BATHROOM IS?" Faces immediately look away and pretend they cannot see the crazy lady.

I jerk the stroller around and march out of the store, where I then walk all the way to the picture place, my puke-leg hidden by the stroller (thank God for small mercies), and hike my leg up into the sink in the picture place's bathroom. The dignity. It is mine.

This is like EVERY MALL FEAR I'VE EVER HAD coming to a head all at once.

So I decide not to even tell my husband. It's just TOO humiliating. But then on the way home, my daughter, who can apparently speak more eloquently than I thought she could, announces, "Puke in there! Mommy fell in it!" And my husband replies, "So YOU'RE the one who left the stroller tracks through that! Hahahahahahaha!!!!".

OMG. Hide me.

A Letter

Dear Rude Old Lady and Her Husband at Chinese Restaurant Tonight,

Yes, that sound you heard that made you keep WHIPPING your head around, is a B-A-B-Y. BAAA-BEEE. A baby C-R-Y-I-N-G. WAHH! WAHH! You may have seen babies before. They are small and don't always have a lot of hair. Sometimes, they are as old as two and have quite a bit of hair, which at this point in their lives is often styled in a way that is reminiscent of a Troll doll and has bits of food and sand in it.

And before you recoil in disgust, yes, I tried to fix her hair before we left the house to go out in public. But babies, especially two year old babies, sometimes screech and arch their back in such a way that they can make their mother throw the hair bands in the trash and simply allow the baby to go out looking homeless.

Let me just tell you, as you stared at me in horror for spanking the B-A-B-Y, that if YOU were crawling under the table, kicking my legs, opening 32 packages of duck sauce to smear on your brother, and running back and forth from the table to the bathroom screaming "I have to POOOOP", during my dinner, I would SPANK YOU TOO.

You look at me with disdain. You look at me with disgust. You look at me with JUDGEMENT.

What you don't know, as you glare at me for RUINING YOUR DINNER, is that I have been home with the baby and her brother for what feels like an eternity. My internal clock says "Summer is over! Time to go back to work!", but I quit that job so that I could attempt to be SUPER MOM, and there IS no going back to work OR taking a break (at least any break long enough to totally restore my sanity to it's previous condition, which was not great to begin with.)

You don't know that today, I bought another Parenting Book. The one that will make my children behave, at least in public, and will make me a Great Mother who dispenses calm correction and wisdom to her attentive toddlers, who will from now on always be dressed in clean, matching outfits and non-grungy shoes and will never beg loudly for candy at the checkout line.

You don't know how hard I'm trying, lady, to get the hang of this parenting thing, if for no other reason than being able to go out peacefully in public with two toddlers, so that YOU can eat your Early Bird Special in peace.

You don't know that I am exhausted, in need of a shower (well, maybe you could spot that one), cranky, hungry (maybe you knew that too, as you watched me cram wontons into my mouth with abandon), and that I have been putting out little fires all day long: Kids breaking through "child proof" fridge lock in order to eat a quarter pound of chocolate icing! Tackling the baby onto the floor in order to dig old, dirty, hard candy out of her mouth! Son releasing his mirror from bedroom wall and letting it fall to floor behind dresser! Son removing each drawer from his dresser so that he can 'sleep in them' later!

You whip your head around everytime you hear a cry / screech / whimper. What do you expect to see? Do you think I might be attaching clothespins all over her body just to make her scream? That maybe I have been pouring hot cashew chicken sauce over her fingers just to elicit a screech? Don't worry, I'm not doing any of those things. Overreacting and making a lot of noise, especially in public places, is just one of those things babies DO. But, if in fact you are still concerned for her well being, give me $20 and you can take her home with you.

You cluck your tongue at me when I remove the baby from the restaurant and take her to the car. Why? Isn't that what you wanted? Didn't you want to see some Good, Old Fashioned Discipline? What exactly is it that you WANTED me to do?

And if you really have the need to totally enjoy your meal in peace, calm, and quiet, which is totally your right as Old, Cranky People, I suggest a more expensive restaurant next time. Chinese places with a $3.98 daily special are just RIDDLED with people like me.

Sincerely,
The plump woman in the oversized, blue, Napoleon Dynamite t-shirt who muttered profanities at you as you eyed me AGAIN while whispering to your husband

P.S. Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to stare? Gah.

Fat Friday #5

One of the eye-opening things about having a boy AND a girl is watching the way society judges their appearances in such different ways. When G was born, 12 days early, he weighed 8 lb., 1 oz. When L was born, 10 days early, she weighed 8 lb., 3 oz. About the same size, right?

The weight comments began immediately. The response to G - "Such a big, healthy boy!", "Look how strong his grip is!", "What a strapping young man!". The response to L - "She's not going to be a petite thing, is she?!", "Look at those chubby little cheeks!", "She's got the family thighs!".

Now, none of these comments offended me...I'm sure I made comments along the same lines. It's just what we do in this culture...big, healthy boys are praised, and big, healthy girls need to go on a diet.

G and L have been the exact same size, height and weight, at every scheduled checkup from birth to present. They are both usually in the 95th percentile in height AND weight, meaning they're both big, strong, and healthy, but certainly not overweight.

I don't worry about G having weight issues. It's just not an issue most guys get too worried about. But for L, I worry. She's already hearing comments that will affect her perception of herself, though the comments are never MEANT to be derogatory.

Just a few days ago, a woman stopped me at a restaurant while out with my husband and kids and said, "Your daughter is just the PERFECT size. Her little legs are so cute." It was refreshing to hear that, as opposed to, "She sure is big for her age!" (which I hear ALL the time, but NEVER with G, even though they have been the same size at each age).

I need to be the one who helps L shape a healthy image of her body. Getting MYSELF in shape and back into healthy habits is the first step in achieving that. And, oh, the guilt I feel when when I reward her with food...am I setting her up to have the same food issues I struggle with? I read about kindergarteners going on DIETS and it makes me sad for L, because I know exactly what she's going to be up against in just a few years, no matter what her size.

I wish I could stop time right now, so she could always keep in touch with what it's like to LOVE her body. What it's like to eat simply to FUEL her body instead of constantly needing to REWARD it with food. I lost those ideas somewhere along the way, but I want my daughter to keep them.

I want her to always remember looking at the world upside down between her legs, without worrying about how her thighs looked.

The pure, simple, JOY of being "NAKEN!!!!" as she says when she gleefully strips off her clothes.

Looking at her reflection with curiosity and admiration, tilting her head, and saying, "Soooo pitty (pretty)!"

Touching the scars on her nose (stitches!) with interest, not with disgust.

Eating with pleasure and abandonment. Scooping ice cream with her hands, squishing mashed potatoes between her fingers.

Her round, firm belly. Her velvety soft baby skin. Her dimpled elbows.

She is so beautiful. She is perfection in every way.

She knows that right now. But will she still know it in a few years?

*insert picture of L looking absolutely delicious at 5 months old and trying to eat her toes. Why, Blogger, why? Why do you hate me?*

Batteries Fully Charged

I took a REAL day off today and I am feeling GOOD! I am recharged, and, dare I say it, READY to face the day tomorrow. The day's itinerary:

8 am: Up. Need coffee. Screaming. Fighting. Son wearing grass skirt. Daughter begging for candy. Must turn children over to someone else's care. Now. Now. Now.

9 am: Kids to sitters. Separate sitters. I do not dare make anyone keep them BOTH at once, lest I lose my childcare due to babysitter going insane. They love it. They are happy there. NO GUILT!!!

10 am: Massage appointment. (!!!!!!!)

11:30 am: Check in at Hotel Donna (Donna! Can I say your name on my blog?). Donna parks my Barely-Breathing-Because-I-Am-So-Relaxed-From-My-Massage body in a recliner, covers me up with a blanket, turns on Young and the Restless, and brings me a Smirnoff Ice (yes, I was drinking before noon. It was my day OFF. I can do that when I'm being a lady of leeeeisure). Donna! I love you!

12:30 pm: Leisurely buffet lunch. Cheap. Does it GET better than that?

2:00 pm: Swimming at Hotel Donna. Mini Heath Bars. SQUEEEEEEEE!!!

4:30 pm: Donna and I pick up kiddos and run a few errands. Go home and convince husband that our day of leisure is not over.

7:00 pm: Run around town and do errands, shop, eat too much (ice cream! Twice in one day!), and chit chat.

11:00 pm: Back home. Kids in bed, house picked up, husband not too irritated with me!

You know, looking at my "Day Off", it really doesn't SOUND that exciting. But it is amazing what just chatting, swearing too much, laying around, eating whatever sounds good, and just getting to be away from little people for 12 hours can DO for a girl.

So now I'm ready to get up in the morning to face this:

And this...

And even more likely, this....

I AM MOTHER - HEAR ME ROAR. I am fresh. I am recharged. I can do this.

P.S. I give the Good Attitude until about 10 am, when the children very well may have me screaming for mercy, but still. I'll try!

P.S.S. Donna, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Killing Me Softly

I am tired. Bone tired, exhausted, head crunching TIRED. I am tired of food (What? WHAT? Did she just SAY THAT?!?). I just can't find anything fattening enough to be worth the effort. I am tired of TV...summer reruns. I am tired of breathing, bathing, cleaning, cooking, blogging, scrapbooking, and picking my fingernails. And mostly, I am tired of children, especially my own. So I took the day off.

Let me just say - never a good idea to take the day off when your children are still actually IN YOUR CARE. So here's a list for you, since I am so fond of The Listing of All Things. A list of things that occurred when Mommy took the day off. You must promise not to report me to officials after reading this - ok? OK.

Actually accomplished two small things this morning before taking my 'little vacation'.

1. Took cat to the vet. Cat proceeded to poop AND throw up in his carrier before we made it out of our subdivision - "Did someone poop? Don't LIE to me. I smell it. WHO POOPED????" - and for once, it wasn't MY CHILDREN. God, they make me proud sometimes.

2. Got my eyebrows waxed for the first time ever. My eyebrows. They are gone. Do not laugh at me OR mention the words 'fire' or 'singed' or 'brow pencil' in my midst.


My eyebrows before. They were happy. See them smile, even the crrrazzzy ones growing in the wrong directions. Eyebrows that were made just for my face with the perfect space in between.





My eyebrows today. See them look sad. See my skin looking pasty. See my sad eyes with no eye makeup and Christy Turlington's eyebrows. See them. WAIT - can you SEE THEM????? And Brandy my hairdresser - I love you! It's not your fault! I promise I'll come back to you (but maybe just for haircuts...someday. Right now I am in the time consuming process of Letting Myself Go.)

Anyway, I digress. After the vet and the waxing, I took the day off. So, what happened while I was vacationing? Here you go, in no particular order!

1. G escaped out the front door with my car keys. Found him in the side yard, attempting to unlock outside doors.

2. Went to retrieve things from my car and realized G had locked my car doors with the aforementioned keys.

3. Cake sprinkles were dumped outside my front door. Ants. ANTS everywhere.

4. G nearly hung himself on the stairs. And yes, I was sitting right here. I heard him scream for help but didn't see him. This will be hard to picture but...the stairs have no backs, and underneath is just mud, under the deck. G had decided to get under the stairs by climbing through the open stair backs, feet first.

Two problems. First, it was a further distance than he realized, and second, his body fit through, but not his head. So he was dangling under the stairs, which I can't get to, with his head actually stuck between the steps. He's fine, thanks to Mommy Adrenaline, which is a power like no other.

5. My fridge door has been broken (AGAIN) by children repeatedly swinging it as WIDE open as possible, over and over. Currently being held shut by a "child proof" fridge lock. Yeah, "child proof" my ass. But it is helpful for holding closed broken fridge doors!

6. I make cakes, so I keep extra icing flowers and such in a container in the very back of my fridge so I'll have them when I make cakes with flowers. Or should I say, I USED to keep them in the fridge. G and L ate all my icing flowers and leaves today. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, there is NOTHING like a two kids under the age of 3 who have just ingested approximately 2 pounds of confectioner's sugar.

7. G poured himself a giant travel cup of juice, you know, to wash down the sugar flowers, most of which landed on my freshly mopped floor.


8. G was nearly electrocuted. After being left in his room for timeout, hubby discovered that he had unplugged both nightlights in his room and actually BROKEN one of the bulbs.

9. L pooped her pants in the car. Of course, my always constipated daughter who always poops hard, non messy balls of poop, had a very uncharacteristically soft and messy poop today. You know, 'cause it was in her PANTS and mommy had the day off.

10. Some of the outdoor plants foamed and bubbled when watered. I'm guessing approximately 2 bottles of bubble solution? Good bye, plants. I loved ye so.

I'm getting the feeling my husband is regretting his decision to allow me to stay home with the children. I am going to spend the rest of my "day off" trying to get back in his good graces.

But good grief. The kids are ALIVE, aren't they? What more can you EXPECT from a sweaty, crying woman in her pajamas with no eyebrows?

the PICTURE!

Yes, this is it. The now-totally-out-of context picture I wanted to post along with my "Advice" post. No it is not exciting, but OMG, my newly waxed (!) eyebrows just SHOT UP with surprise when I realized the picture ACTUALLY POSTED.

And though quite a dull picture, and by far not the best shot ever taken of me, it is ever so full of meaning.

This was taken on my last day as an employee of my former school. No kids that week, just me boxing up and cleaning up my room.

Me, behind that gorgeous, gigantic, wooden teacher desk that no longer belongs to me. *sniff*

The pin I am wearing says "Employee of the Month". I broke it out on special occasions just to get a reaction from my superintendent, whose children were both students of mine.

And, AND...see the three sheets of paper in front of me? Yes, they are LISTS! (I told you, I love my lists).

Me, thrilled at the prospect of no more pencils, no more books, and ready to go HOME to give MY children dirty looks!