Diary of a Modern Matriarch

Automated

2009-11-21T09:18:00.003-05:00

My electric bill was late. I couldn't pay online because I was One Of Those Late Payers so I had to call to talk to someone.

It was one of those voice automated systems.

"If you're calling about a late bill and want to make payment, say 'Make a Payment.'"

"Make a -- "

"Blirgh! MOMMA! ISHIE! SNORFF BLAT GAAAA"

"I'm sorry I did not understand. If you're calling to make a payment, say 'Make a Payment'"

"Make a pay --"

"POOPIES! I DID POOPIES AND SOME PEEEEEEEEEEEPEEEEEEEEEEES!!"

"I'm sorry I did not understand. How can I help you? Say "help."

"Help!"

"I'm sorry, I did not understand the sheer desperation in your voice. If you're calling to pay a late notice, say "Make a Payment.'"

"Make a payme---"

"GLURG! MOMMA! JOR! PEEEBBEEE! PUPPY! KITTY!"

"I'm sorry I did not understand. Could you please speak your account number?"

"100976--"

"Momma, is that Daddy? Can I talk to Daddy? I wanna tell him I HAD A HUGE POOP! Daddy? Is he working? When is he coming home? I want a banana. Do we have any milk? I like your shirt. Mine's pink.I'm wearing boots. My boots are pretty. I wanna fly. Can we go to the store? I want a Barbie. Can I have it? Is that DADDY!??!"

"I'm sorry. I did not understand. Please speak your account number."

"SUCK A WANG!"

"Please hold. I will connect you to an associate who may be able to help you."

Clearly, these automated voice payments were not invented for people who have children. So, apparently saying help will get you nowhere, but asking him to suck a wang gets your prompt attention.

Good to know.

Sassy pants

2009-11-20T08:35:00.006-05:00

Last night, after a great night at Karate and some hilarious Dancing Clean-Up Time in my high heeled boots, I turned the channel to watch Celebrity Jeopardy. The questions are always a little dumbed down and I feel like a genius. You know, as opposed to the Kid Jeopardy when I just feel like a failure as a human being because NO, I do NOT know what the capital of Lichtenstein is and a six-year old does.

That was when it happened.

The hands on the hips. The grunting. The screaming.

Mike made her take the boots off. She kicked one at him. He put her over the baby gate and told her to go to bed.

She threw a fit unlike one in MONTHS. I honestly thought we were past the Throw a Motherlovin Fit for No Good Reason and Scream Until She Pukes Phase.

Apparently not.

Since Mike was handling it and get increasingly frustrated and I could hear the gags of impending self-vomit, I hopped the gate, told him to go cool off and I'd take over.

I took her on my lap. I hugged her.

"You are NOT allowed to speak to Momma and Daddy that way. You do NOT put your hands on your hips and grunt. It is NOT acceptable behavior. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We don't want to yell and punish you to your room early, but if you don't respect us, that's what happens. We work very hard to make a good life for you and you need to respect that Momma and Daddy are the bosses, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I understand that sometimes you may disagree with what we want, but you are NEVER allowed to sass back, especially with your hands on your hips and grunting. There will be plenty of time for that in 12-15 years."

"Okay, momma."

We went through our nighttime routine and she went to bed. Where she got up SIX times, another event that hasn't happened in months. She was up three times before we went to sleep around midnight (there was a late football game), and three times in the middle of the night.

I am exhausted.

I know she's learning behaviors from other girls older than her. I know she's like me in more ways than I care to admit, fiercely independent and stubborn as hell. I know she's going to test boundaries. I know it's only going to get worse.

But I expected more from her. And maybe that fault was mine. Thankfully, she is normally very polite and jovial, but these glimpses into the tired mind of a three-year old girl reminded me that she's just still a baby.

This morning, we talked about it again and I surmise I'll have to remind her many times throughout the day and for the rest of my life that putting her hands on her hips and grunting at me is NOT tolerated and a punishment will follow.

The mothers of older girls reading this are laughing at me, knowing how easy I have it and how much worse it's going to get.

But I don't want it to.

I want her to grow up respecting me and her father. Not because she fears retribution of her Barbie being taken away or an earlier bedtime, but because she wants to. Because she appreciates all we do for her and how much we love her.

Today, I'm tired.

And wondering if a three-and-a-half regression is normal? Maybe it's not regression (although the sleep thing KILLS me) and is this some milestone in development or is she just trying to kill me with sheer will and sass?

Because I swear to littlebabyjeebus that there's just not enough martinis in the world to deal with a freakin-out three year old without wanting to impale yourself on your own kitchen knives.

The Jor

2009-11-19T08:24:00.005-05:00

"Jor! Jor! OH NO! OH NO! JOR!" Sawyer runs into the living room, a drama clearly unfolding.

"What's the matter baby?" I ask him, trying to put socks and shoes on his sister. At three, this should be an easy task, and yet "Ooooh shiny! This is shinnyyy MOMMAA! SHINY SHINY SHINY! Can I have it? Is it mine? I want it. Where's Dadda? Is he working? Your hair is pretty. My hair's a HOT MESS! I want cookies. Where' my fruitsnacks? Is Phoebe sleeping? Your breath stinks!" Yeah, not so easy.

"Jor!" and he puts both hands to the side of his face in a Home Alone-like gesture, indicating the severity of the situation.

He turns and runs back to his room, then runs back to the living room. He claws at my legs.

"Jor! Jor! OH NO OH NO!"

"Honey, I'm sorry but I have no idea what 'Jor' is. You want juice?"

"NO!"

"You want to eat?"

"NO! Jor! Jor!"

"Jesus kid, I don't speak Angry Toddler. What is it?"

And this is when he got so mad at me not being able to understand him, he lost his collective shit. He first tried to bite me. And when I pulled away and said, "No bite!" as if chastising a puppy, he tried to bite the couch. When I moved him away from the couch, he grabbed his own hand, shoved it in his mouth, and bit himself.

My kid gets so mad, he bites HIMSELF.

Despite being very verbal for his age (I'm not bragging, truly. It just is what it is.), he still sometimes can't express himself as well as he wants. I can see the frustration build, the inevitable tantrum/self-biting, and the final throwing himself on the floor, literally kicking and screaming.

All because I couldn't figure out what "Jor!" meant.

After both kids were ready to go, I put Sawyer down to grab his coat.

"Jor!"he pointed and he ran to his bedroom. He stopped, turned, looked at me Lassie-style, indicating I was to follow.

I walked behind him and in between the slats of his crib was his Curious George doll. He had tried to pull it through his crib while I was getting Charlotte dressed and he had gotten stuck. This was the cause of his great concern. His George was stuck.

I removed the doll, handed it to him, and he smushed it to his face, giggling with such simple joy.

"Jor! Tan-tu!"

"You're welcome!"

But part of being verbal early is the sheer frustration that comes with not being able to communicate. And the tantrums that follow. I've never seen anything so self-destructive in all my life.

Is there some Irrational Toddler to English dictionary I can borrow from someone?

You know, before he gnaws off his own hand?

Things I don't get

2009-11-18T09:51:00.002-05:00

Why I like that Shakira She-Wolf song. It is ATROCIOUS and should not be considered "music" in any realm, and yet I can't help myself. AWWWOOOOOOO
How it's possible that I do literally 5-10 loads of laundry a week and can never find my white cami.
How I'll never learn that no, I won't fall to my death when I lean back in an office chair and I startle myself.
Mustaches
Why I raised the Terror Alert Level to Code Orange the other day when my crockpot broke. I should have said RED. It is a TRAVESTY. Related: anyone wanna buy me a new one?
How I can not be 30 yet and get upset over something like my crockpot breaking. Shall I learn to knit? Perhaps get a Bridge group going?
How Thanksgiving is next week. Seriously, what. the. eff?
Why I prefer blue pens over black even though black is way cooler.
How much you can love someone and simultaneously want to duct tape them to a wall and throw grapes at them for sustenance, like Goldie Hawn in Overboard.
Why carrots can't taste like fried calamari.
Why I always want more when what I have is too much
Mushrooms. Dudes, they're fungus.
Stepping on a toy airplane in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom despite swearing you cleaned up every toy.
Why I have to pee 15 minutes before my alarm goes off
People who don't love the movie Rat Race as much as me. It's comedic gold.
How my cat hasn't managed to hatch an evil plot to kill me with cat vomit yet, although horking on the hardwood floor directly in front of the bathroom at 4 am was a good try.
How the same people who are always praying for other people's sick children are the same ones who complain about theirs all damn day. Perspective, people.
Assless chaps.

What don't you get?

Flying

2009-11-17T08:14:00.004-05:00

He climbs to the highest point.

If we're outside, it's to the top of the steps or the highest part of the deck or porch. Maybe it's a giant rock or a tree stump. If there's a jungle gym, he's trying to climb the ladder.

If we're inside, he's on the couch, trying desperately to get to the TOP of the couch, like the kitty, a task almost insurmountable for his tiny body, yet I know soon he'll do it. If I bring something new in the room like a Tupperware bucket full of clothes, he will climb on top of that.

He will bring his little chair to a big chair and climb, climb, climb.

I'm sure one day soon he will climb out of his crib. I'm sure one day I'll find him in the sink, at the top of the stairs despite the baby gate, on the kitchen table, on top of the refrigerator.

The problem isn't the climbing so much. I know some kids are climbers. I happen to be the parent of one of them. I keep a closer eye on him than I did his older sister. I don't leave the room - not to shower, not to switch a load of laundry, not to take the garbage outside - unless I know he's confined to his booster seat.

Because once he gets to the apex of his climb, once he manages to stand atop his totem, he puts on foot out and takes a step. INTO NOTHING.

As if there were a fluffy cloud filled with marshmallows and feathers, the kid will walk right off a ten-foot porch. He has no sense of caution.

He is fearless.

He has fallen off smaller ledges by doing this, down a couple of stairs, but thankfully someone's always been there to catch him when he's attempted a kamikaze base jump off the big rock in the front yard. The small falls have not scared him, despite a bloody lip, a bruised head, a scraped chin. He remains unflinching.

His little foot hovers into space. And then he just takes a step.

Into nothing.

Where he fears nothing.

How do you teach a child fear? How do you show a sixteen-month old that he can't fly?

You can't.

So for now, we'll be by his side when he climbs.

I'll let him take that step.

I'll let him fly.

Because I'll always catch him.

Bicker

2009-11-16T09:19:00.004-05:00

My husband and I rarely fight.

Oh, we bicker. Mostly, I bicker and he says, "Sure, honey. Whatever you need."

And then I call him a jackass for placating me instead of growing a pair and fighting me back.

And then he calmly asks me to lower my voice and to please stop yelling at him.

And then I call him a jackass because I hate being talked to like I'm 10.

And then he says he's not talking to me like a child; he's being respectful and trying to talk to me rather than yell.

And then I call him a jackass.

And then we take a few minutes away, I realize I'm being irrational and immature, he realizes he was being a jackass (okay, maybe he wasn't being a jackass but he admits he was because he loves me), and it's over. We apologize to each other, hug and kiss, and life goes on.

This doesn't happen often, but when it does, I don't feel the need to shoo the children or hold the fight till later. Short of me calling him a jackass - which is usually all in jest - in front of the kids, we let our bickering out in front of them.

Our arguments are usually respectful (see above when not respectful: use of the term jackass) and resolved within minutes. I, personally, think it's good for the children to see that Momma and Daddy can have a disagreement and resolve it and still love each other.

I see a benefit to my children to see a problem be confronted, sides argued, and eventually resolved. I don't feel like all "fights" and disagreements should be saved for later when the kids aren't around. I mean, sure, if in your house, you cuss, throw things, and act out of anger, then yes, by all means, do NOT fight in front of your kids. I also think some topics should not be argued in front of your kids, of course.

But if you can have a respectful dispute, I not only do not see the harm but I see a benefit to our children. My kids will grow up knowing that not everything is perfect - that people who love each other can sometimes disagree. But that ultimately, you can confront issues respectfully and calmly, resolve them and still love each other.

What about you? Do you keep any and all arguments from your kids? Do you let them see you and your spouse fight?

A moment

2009-11-14T13:30:00.002-05:00

Charlotte and I are on the couching watching Animal Planet while Sawyer naps. I'm rubbing her head, hoping she falls asleep so I can have a few moments of quiet.

"Momma, you're my best friend," she says and crawls into my lap. It's awkward because not only is she three, she's a large three-year old.

"Aww, thanks. You're my best friend too," I say back to her, my arms hoisting under her bottom to pull her closer to me so I can kiss her forehead.

I'm going to try and etch this memory. I will remember this moment.

She starts to giggle.

"What's so funny, baby?"

"I totally just farted on your hand."

A look into the crazy

2009-11-13T09:08:00.007-05:00

Scene: I've been sick almost a week. It's to the point where my sinuses on the left side of my face hurt so much, I can't chew on that side. The colors that my face is making should not be produced by any human. I've developed a hacking, continual cough, keeping me and my husband awake well into the night.

Internal monologue with Self 1: This sucks, sucks, sucks, fucking sucks. You should probably go to the doctor. I mean, green is not a normal color to come from one's FACE, right?

Internal monologue with Self 2: But chances are it's a virus. I haven't even had a fever. There's no way to tell if it's a bacterial sinus infection unless they test for it, which let's face it, Dr. L is not going to go. I mean, she pulls a Xanax from her pocket if you start to cry in her office. So, if it's just a viral thing, it can take up to two weeks to clear. You should just be patient, drink lots of fluids, rest.

Self 1: Rest?!!? BWAHAHA! Have you seen your house? Your son is licking the dog bowl and your three-year old just cooked dinner. You have deadlines and people coming over this weekend. You should get to the doctor and get an antibiotic. I mean, what can it hurt?

Self 2: What can it hurt? WHAT CAN IT HURT? If it's a virus - which it 99% is - I'm putting something in my body that's not necessary. My body will fight the virus, thereby making my immune system stronger. We are a nation of antibiotic whores and one day, when we reaaaalllly need them, they're not gonna fucking work because the strain will be resistant because people have been pumping themselves full of Amoxicillian for decades. The ZOMBIES WILL COME!!

Self 1: Ok, dude, calm down. Fine, it probably is viral. But you're going on Day 8 here. Let's make a deal: If you don't feel better by Thursday, you'll go see the doctor.

Self 2: Yeah, sure, where'll I'll probably pick up SWINE FLU IN THE WAITING ROOM. Do they make Hazmat suits for mothers?

Self 1: You're hopeless.

Self 2: I know. Where's my Purell?

Self 1: See, Purell. That's probably what got you into this mess. You practically bathe in Purell and looky looky, like everyone said, you get sick as hell. Your son licks the floor and he has a runny nose. Stop fucking Purelling evertyhing. Let your body fight the germs. Just wash your hands often. Purell is the debbil, Bobby Boucher.

Self 2: Why are you obsessed with Adam Sandler movies?

Self 1: Stop looking at me SWAN!

End Scene

Conclusion: I did not go to the doctor and am almost better, so take that Self 2. However, Self 2 has concluded that perhaps coating oneself in Purell is not the best way to avoid getting sick. Clearly, a Hazmat suit HAS to be on Amazon somewhere, right?

Not a traditional veteran

2009-11-11T18:53:00.007-05:00

Mike was off from work today because it was Veteran's Day and he works for the Army. He went in to the Fort anyway to get extra work done.

He's a government contractor - a civilian.

But he spent a year in Iraq in 2003 and six months in Kuwait in 2004 supporting the troops. Ensuring they had communications. Networks. Satellites. He lived among them.

He drove in a Humvee convoy. He slept in chem warfare gear in 120 degree weather. He picked scorpions out of his sleeping bag, bathed with baby wipes, crapped in a communal hole, and stood in line for food.

He drove through towns with Iraqis cheering for our side, happy Americans were there to topple Sadam. He drove by children on the roadside begging.

He drove by charred bodies.

Nightly, he heard RPGs and mortars blowing up outside his tent. Sometimes, if it was during one of our phone conversations, I could hear them myself. I worried he wouldn't come home, that the last time we spoke would be the last time I'd hear his voice.

I sent him care packages with Twizzlers and magazines and love letters, deodorant, batteries and toothpaste.

I cried every time I dropped him off at the airport for days.

I walked around like a part of me was missing until he came home.

Safe.

I am so proud of our troops and our country. They are true everyday heroes. I thank them for everything they do to keep us safe - to keep us free.

But I'm also proud of my husband and those who help them help us.

Young Iraqi boys hold up the American flag and cheer.

Overturned humvees

Townspeople give thumbs up.

Toppled statue of Sadam

There are so many more pictures that he took over there - some heart-breaking, some uplifting, some of the beautiful land of Iraq. If you want to check them out, check out the Flickr set here.

Sprinting

2009-11-10T20:19:00.003-05:00

He picks up his Winnie the Pooh phone and puts it to his ear, "'Lo?"

"Who is it, Sawyer?"

"Daddeeeee? 'Lo? Lo? Daddeeeee?"

---

He has figured out how to take one of the little play chairs and move it to the big chair and climb from one to the other.

The other day I came out of the bathroom to find him on the kitchen counter licking the spoon I used to scoop dog food.

"Mmmmm, nummy."

---

"Momma, up? Juice? Cheese?"

"You're hungry I guess?"

"Num Nums. NUM NUMS. NUM NUMS!"

I get in him in his booster and set out some snacks. Since he only eats three or four things, quickly his arms are reaching out.

"Mo? Mo, momma? Mo cheese?"

---

He climbs up on my lap, point to my features, narrating his journey.

"Eyes. Nose. Mouf."

"Be gentle baby."

"Do niiiiiiice?" and he pets my hair like he does the cat.

---

He comes and pulls on my uniform of yoga pants as I wash the morning's dishes.

"Poop!!!"

"You did poops, huh? Want a new diaper?"

"Diapeeeeeee" he giggles and runs to the changing table, opens the cabinet, gets out a diaper and brings it to me, indicated my role in life is to change his stank ass.

---

I hear the monitor crackle in the morning. He talks to himself for a few minutes, playing with his blankets and stuffed toys. When he's ready, he lets me know.

"Up? Momma? Up?"

Since I can't answer him over the monitor, he gets impatient.

"Up? LESGO!"

---

Today, Sawyer is sixteen months old. My last baby is sprinting. Part of me stands by amazed at the speed with which he learns and grows and I watch the journey, excited for what's to come, where he'll go next.

The other part of me keeps whispering in his ear as I put him in his crib every night, "Slow down baby. Slow down."

Why

2009-11-10T05:38:00.000-05:00

One thing about traveling with two small children is that it, well, sucks. Like, if Sasquatch or Yeti were real and they had giant hairy hanging testicles, traveling with small children would suck those.

I mean, once we're at the destination, it's pretty good. Assuming I'm not in ~~the seventh layer of hell~~ Disney World, my kids are fairly easily adaptable. It's the actual getting there and packing and all that stuff that is sheer agony. There's just so...much.

Charlotte has certain dolls she has to have. And pillows. And blankets. And clothes. And shoes. She's a particular child and I just roll with it. It's easier than fighting with a tired kid who won't sleep because I left her Belle doll at home FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Sawyer still has diapers and wipes and bottles (shut up).

We took the dog with us so there was her food and bed.

Since we were staying at Mike's parent's mountain house, we packed a cooler with all of the food for the kids and that would go bad here - yogurts, juice, fruit, milk. And because the nearest supermarket is 30 minutes away up there. Yes, seriously.

We were all fighting colds so there were medicines to pack, toiletries to remember, and because we were going somewhere cold and there was the potential for snow, there were boots, jackets, gloves and hats.

Then we get to our destination after driving five hours into the night. There's a pack n play to set up, a roll-away bed to be made up RIGHT NEXT TO MOMMA AND DADDY! It's midnight and the kids are both near meltdowns because they were woken up from their slumped-necked car seat slumber and I know they're still gonna be up at 6 am and I think to myself: WHY? Why do I do this to myself?

But then the next morning, we wake up on 340 acres in the middle of nowhere with a thin blanket of snow on the ground. Because I'm sick, Mike and my brother-in-law Mark take the kids outside to play in the snow while I curl up on the couch and read, an endless forest outside the sliding glass door as my backdrop. I occasionally catch a glimpse of Phoebe - only a few shades darker than the snow - romping past leashless, free.

We make hot cocoa with the big marshmallows. Friends come to visit. A young boy is taught to hold his first BB gun rifle. We make big fattening breakfasts with bacon and butter and biscuits. We all sit down to a big mock Thanksgiving dinner. We sit by the fire and roast marshmallows and make Smores. We play cards and drink mimosas into the night. We laugh and snuggle the babies.

This is why.

Away

2009-11-05T10:08:00.004-05:00

Mike and I are taking the kids to his parent's house in the Adirondacks for my birthday. (By the way, how many times is it socially acceptable to turn 29 for future reference?)

There's no internet, shitty cell phone coverage, and 340 acres of mountains and trees and beauty.

If you need me, I'll be curled up by a fire with a book, a glass of wine and the sounds of my kids playing with Uncle Mark.

I wasn't looking

2009-11-04T13:48:00.003-05:00

And he:

Became him:

Lowlights

2009-11-03T18:56:00.003-05:00

You know, the opposite of highlights.

Despite tugging at my heartstrings, the decision was made for me about the puppy in the last post. The rescue group emailed me back and said another family had adopted her. I was happy for her, a little sad for me, and more than a bit relieved that I no longer had that decision to make. After going back and forth, Mike and I decided to wait until the relocation for his job was final before getting another pup. This way, when we move, we have one less living thing to cart with us.
Exactly one week after I took Sawyer to the pediatrician for his 15-month well visit, we're all sick. Nothing terrible. No fevers, no aches or pains. Just a head cold. I mean, I know I'm a bit of a germaphobe, but I even BATHED the baby after his visit because he was crawling on the floor in his diaper while the pedi examined him. And yet, a visit to the Cesspool of Child Snot and Grime has me sneezing 898 times an hour and a river of snot pouring from my poor baby's face.
Because of aforementioned minor cold, I had to call and cancel his seasonal flu shot which was scheduled for today. I had no intention of taxing his immune system with a vaccine I'd rather not even give him to begin with (Thanks, NJ lawmakers for taking away my right as a mother and making it LAW that I give my school-enrolled child the flu shot.). It's just as well figuring he'd probably pick up the bubonic plague this time around.
I didn't want to bundle up a sick kid and take him out just so I could get coffee, so I tried to drink the equivalent amount of caffeine in Pepsi Max this morning. You know what happens when you do that? You pee a lot. Note to self: buy more Tassimo pods.
Daylight savings time still blows. Kids up at 6 am are not nearly as cute as they are at 7 am.
Oh, GET THIS CRAP: My gym broke up with me. Well, that's how it feels. I actually almost cried and am still really upset. I get a letter from my gym yesterday telling me they weren't renewing their lease and they were closing IN FIVE DAYS. There's no other comparable gyms in the area and I feel so...lost. Going to my gym was part of my life and I know some of you will get that and some of you will think I'm nuts for being this upset about it. I wrote about more in my post over here at Bodies in Motivation.
The baby will not drink milk from a cup. I took away all his daytime bottles and tried to get him to drink it from his sippies during meals. Know what he does? Shakes his head, says "nononono, juice? juice?" and throws it on the floor. So I've given up. I'll get him his servings of milk in yogurt, cheese, etc., during the day. He still takes a bottle at night before bed and he drinks tons of mostly-water juice during the day to keep his fluids up. Whatever.
That's my new motto: What. Ever.

What's one more, right?

2009-11-03T07:31:00.007-05:00

EDITED: The decision has been made for me. The rescue organization contacted us to let us know someone wanted to adopt her and is going to sign the contract to become her forever home. I am happy for her, sad for us, and a little relieved that the choice is out of my hands. I'll take it as a sign that maybe we're not ready for another puppy right now.

Look at that face.

RIGHT?!!?

No, she's not ours. Yet. I was stumbling through Petfinder.org lately because I've been thinking Phoebe needs a friend. And I came across her story here. Her and her littermates were rescued from a highway down south and are being transported to a rescue organization just down the road here in NJ. She's six-weeks old and no one really knows what she is - a mix between a sheltie and a rat terrier maybe?

Just like my kids who I never intended to be only children, I never wanted Phoebe to never have a companion. I grew up with two or three dogs and a few cats, rabbits, hamsters, etc., all rescues. We were that family. And I loved it.

I KNOW it's more work. I KNOW I already have two kids and a dog. Mike is a big dog kinda guy. If it were up to him, our next dog would be a Great Dane or Great Pyrenes or something, but we have a small house and though we are eventually moving to a bigger house at some point in life in theory, I don't want to keep living my life for what may come.

I know Phoebe could use more exercise. I know she loves being around other dogs. I know a medium-sized dog would fit in here whereas another big dog won't. I know I'd prefer to rescue a puppy this time.

I emailed the woman last night and she is still available and she sent me an application.

I'm torn. I like my life right now. We have a lazy dog who sleeps all the time and doesn't bother us to get up in the morning or at night. She's perfect with the kids and other dogs and strangers. But I worry that she's lonely. We have a huge backyard and she loves to play and run. She desperately tries to play with the cat who only bats at her and probably hatches evil plots for her demise while we all sleep.

I know a lot of you have one or two dogs and a lot of you have no animals. Even my in-laws who are very busy people had two dogs up until recently when the oldest passed away. I get it if you're not an animal person and you think I'm crazy.

But if you ARE an animal person (granted, you might still think I'm crazy) what would you do?

Do I return the application and adopt her or keep my little life the way it is?

Where's the line?

2009-11-02T09:30:00.005-05:00

The other day, Mike and I pulled up to a red light. He glanced out of his window and said, "Oh my god, tell me those kids are not standing up."

I look to my left and in the minivan next to us was a woman in the driver's seat with two small children - one boy and one girl - perhaps three and four, climbing all over the seats, and standing between her seat and the passenger seat. Jumping. Climbing.

"How STUPID can you be?" I wanted to yell at her. "These are your BABIES. If you get hit by another car, they will FLY THROUGH THE WINDOW and be DEAD. Your BABIES will DIE because YOU are stupid. How is that fair!?!" I imagined getting out of my car and screaming at her through her window.

I did nothing. Mike did nothing. When the light turned green, she made a left onto a busy highway and we pulled onto our quiet street with our two babies strapped in their $300 LATCH five-point harnessed car seats.

"Should we have done something?" he asked me.

"What can we do? The only thing we can do is get her license plate and call the local police, right? Maybe we should have done that." I imagined those kids getting in a car accident, flying through the window, and blaming MYSELF because I did nothing.

"Yeah, maybe we should have."

But we didn't.

I could use the argument that they aren't MY kids. Just like when you see a parent using a discipline technique different from yours, it's not your place to say anything. Short of someone hitting their kids in front of me, I say nothing. They're not MY kids. I'm not their parent.

But when the safety of innocent children is at stake, at what point do we abandon that notion and DO something? Why didn't I get her license plate and call the police? Those poor kids don't know any better but their adult mother should. Why are we so afraid of getting involved? Have we as a society really become that complacent? That I let two babies drive away in a minivan STANDING UP?

Have you been in this situation? What do you do?

Yesterday, she was my baby

2009-10-30T08:30:00.003-04:00

Today, I can see the woman she'll become and she's so beautiful it makes my chest hurt.

Because it feels like a bullet sort of day

2009-10-29T08:07:00.004-04:00

The people who say "Woohooo, an extra hour of sleep" for the night the clocks turn back clearly don't have children. To parents, DST is the work of the debbil, Bobby Boucher. My kids will sleep the same amount, less since it will be brighter earlier (not that I'm complaining at that point because it was still dark here this morning at SEVEN THIRTY). So, while some of you will sleep an extra hour, I will be up at 5:30 am with two kids asking for pancakes, MOMMA NOW!
As much as I like it getting lighter earlier for the purposes of the days I need to be up and coherent before 7 am, the whole getting-dark-at-5-pm thing kinda sucks.
I'm still a little bitter over the whole Disney debacle. I went back to the office yesterday and everyone was asking how it was, did we have fun, and wow! you look tan! (Yeah, thanks Jergen's daily gradual bronzing moisturizer since I put SPF 948593408 on while in Florida).
Also, back at the office, I had this psychotic gem waiting for me on my chair.

Yes, that's a thermometer (with the company logo emblazoned on it), with a memo indicating we should not come to the office with a fever and here are a list of symptoms of H1N1, why by the way, has no cases at our company. OMG, really?!!? You need to tell people to stay home if they a fever? COME ON. Way to fuel the flames of paranoia. Not to mention, this is the SECOND memo we've gotten on the flu, washing our hands, using the 7847594837 Purell hand sanitizing stations they've set up around the buildings. Redonkulous, right?
I denied the MMR vaccine for Sawyer at his pedi appointment on Tuesday, despite there being an actual outbreak of the EFFING MUMPS in the town next to ours. MUMPS. Like, REALLY. When I asked the pedi about it, she said that some of the kids that were getting it WERE vaccinated and it doesn't always prevent it. It's spread through saliva and close contact (sneezing, laughing, etc) with an infected child. Since my kids are only interacting with the other (so far) healthy kids at their dayhome, I'm not that concerned. Not to mention, mumps - although I cam imagine it would suck greatly - won't kill him. The risk of catching a random virus is not enough for me to risk a vaccine I don't trust with a 89-foot pole.
I'm not getting into a vaccine debate here. You do what you think is best for your child and I'll do what I think what's best for mine. We're all trying here and I don't think anyone (short of the people holding SWINE FLU PARTIES) is in the wrong.
We refinanced our mortgage for an entire percent lower rate, which doesn't sound like a lot, like ONE PERCENT is NOTHING, right? Saves us over 160$ a month AND almost 40K in the life of the loan. Crazy.
Charlotte told me the other day that my mouth smells like the dog's butt in the morning.
Sawyer is getting increasingly more verbal, stringing two words together now. Like "UH-OH, FOOR!" which means "Hey mom, I'm about to drop this thing on the floor and pretend like it was an accident so you can pick it up for me for the 6th time" or when he says hi to our dog, Phoebe, he'll say "Hiiiii PEEBEE!"
I'm hoping to be in Boston in the second week in December WITH NO KIDS. Just girlfriends. AND BOOZE! Wanna come?

Paranoia?

2009-10-27T08:47:00.002-04:00

I'm a bit of a germaphobic, though nothing Monk-like. I wash my hands often, I don't touch bathroom door handles. If it's one of those public bathrooms with an air dryer and no towels and the door has a handle, I've been known to stand there until someone else comes in, just so I don't have to touch the door .Having a three-year old means I'm in a lot of public bathrooms. I'm always screeching "don't touch anything!"

I use anti-bacterial wipes or gel to wipe down the tabletops in front of my children if we're out to eat, knowing they're going to eat off the table. I wipe down the handles on the shopping carts because my son apparently thinks that those things are damn tasty and I can't stop him from licking it if I've forgotten my cart-seat cover thingie.

We wash our hands when we come home from the store, before we eat, after we've been outside. I wash my kids' hands A LOT.

Recently, everyone in the known universe is sick. Some with mild colds, bad colds and coughs (like my poor husband). Some people's children have one flu or the other, and without any vaccines available in our area, there's really nothing I can do.

Because of this, I think I've stepped my germ-a-phobia up a notch, and I'm not sure it's entire healthy or necessary. I used to take the kids to the gym with me in the mornings twice a week and while I'd take an aerobics class, they'd play in the large daycare and interact with other kids. But now, knowing how gross kids are and how everyone has been sick, I've stopped taking them there, wanting to limit their exposure as much as possible during this cold/flu season.

But if I keep them away for the entire season, it means months of me missing my gym classes and them missing out on an activity they enjoy. BUT if I do take them and they get sick, that's time off from work, poor sick babies, dayhome money wasted, holidays and parties missed out on.

Part of me thinks I'm being reasonable because no one wants their kids to be sick if it's avoidable and the other part thinks I'm being crazy, that I can't have my kids at home all the time for the next five months or not take them to places. I also know that some exposure is actually GOOD for their immune systems. And yet, I can't help but cringe at the thought of them putting a toy in their mouth that Sally Snotface just snotted on, ya know?

Today, we have a well visit at our pediatrician for Sawyer. I'm actually thinking of ways I can avoid him having to touch anything. Normally, since he's ambulatory, I just walk with him up to the office, but knowing the cesspool of the pediatrician's office this time of year, I plan on putting him in his stroller and only letting him out when it's time for him to be examined. And afterward, I plan on a Hazmat shower for both of us. See? I'm crazy. Right? Or am I?

It's not even the dreaded H1N1 or any illness in particular I'm afraid of. Sick kids just blow. We miss work. They feel like hell. Then, almost inevitable, one or both of the parents get sick and then it REALLY blows. It's no fun for anyone and I want to take every step imaginable to avoid it but part of me thinks I'm going too far and need to stop myself from letting paranoia take over before I become a full blown nutcase.

Are any of you as paranoid as me about their kids getting sick?

One of the funny memories

2009-10-26T19:04:00.002-04:00

A few months ago, Charlotte had this phase where she would wet herself whenever we put her in timeout. It was most definitely a mixture of spite and a newly potty trained child. Thankfully, she stopped this but one of the last time she did this, it was in this dress - the one Cass gave her.

It was a Belle dress from Beauty and the Beast. I washed it carefully and hung it to dry in the basement.

When we were meeting the princesses at Disney, Sleeping Beauty asked her if she had any of her own princess dresses when Charlotte commented how beautiful her dress was.

"Yeah, I do. A Belle dress."

"Oh, how pretty! Is it at home?"

"Yeah. I peed on it."

It's not you, Disney. It's us

2009-10-25T07:53:00.005-04:00

I planned this trip for her.

Because she's at the age where everything is magic and wonder. She loves princesses and fairies and dinosaurs. We packed and planned and loaded all for her.

And she was miserable.

Her favorite part of the whole trip was the pool at the resort. I mean, it was a nice pool.

I thought the baby would be an albatross and most of our trip would be spent trying to keep him happy. I thought she would be in awe and high on princess pheromones. Instead, he was a joy to be around and she was clearly not ready for this trip.

(See? JOYFUL)

She was afraid of everything. Since it's Halloween time, they had Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween party which should be renamed The Castles All Dark And Purple With Fog and Witches Come Out and Cackle and YOUR Kid Might Be Scared So Don't Waste $160 and Come Back When She's Older.

We tried. We tried so hard. I held her, tried to show her it wasn't scary. I bribed her with flashing necklaces and ice cream. But she was terrified. She wanted to leave. She was literally sobbing and shaking and pulling us towards the exit of the park. Not wanting to emotionally scar her, we gave in and left after it was clear she wasn't going to calm down.

"I'm sorry I was so scared Momma," she kept apologizing after we had to leave. I hugged her and told her it was okay but inside really I was angry, disappointed. I said to Mike, "Do you know how hard we worked so we could do this for her?" I huffed. I puffed.

I felt juvenile and small, but I was upset. I knew I shouldn't be, but my disappointment was bitter. That morning was a failure because she was also scared of everything at Hollywood Studios and we were THAT family that had to leave shows and rides because our kid freaked out. And not even the little one - the one I did this whole thing for.

Animal Kingdom was a better day. She was talking all morning about getting her face painted. She wanted a lion. No, a tiger! No, a cheetah! All morning long, she talked about it. So as soon as we got in the park, we headed for the face painting section. The man did a great job and made her look like the tiger she picked out. He handed up the mirror and she lost her ever-loving shit.

She was afraid of HERSELF.

I tried not to laugh out of sheer madness and the fact that, well, it was sort of funny. I apologized to the man, said we'd be back in a few minutes, and went to the bathroom to wash it off. He kindly repainted her without charging me again with a rainbow and stars and glitter and she was once again appeased (even if this poor pic doesn't show it).

By the end of the day, she wanted us to carry her. She refused to sit in the "baby stroller," she wouldn't let us rent her a "big girl" stroller and wouldn't even sit on my mother's lap on her scooter. So I had to carry my 40-pound three-year old out of the park in 90 degree weather. I wanted to cry.

She wouldn't sleep unless I was next to her. She wouldn't nap. She was NOT tired and she did NOT want to nap. See?

She cried at every little thing. I had disrupted her life, she was over-tired, and she was not herself. Rather, she was the worst version of herself.

Magic Kingdom during the day proved to be a better choice and the only thing she seemed to mildly enjoy. We brought both strollers this time and Sawyer was in the "baby" stroller and I pushed her in the Sit-n-Stand so she felt like a big girl. We tried some rides, walked around a bit, but her favorite part of the day was playing in the water area while we waited to meet Ariel.

Because all the fairies are getting the play these days, the lines to meet them were upwards of an hour. But there was NO line for the princesses, so both kids got to spend a ton of time in there. Sawyer flirted with Sleeping Beauty and Charlotte hugged and danced with all of them. She looked like a hot mess due to previous Ariel water logging in all of her pictures, but whatever. At least she wasn't screaming.

My mother-in-law took Charlotte to the Arabian Nights show that night (where she was a perfect angel for them of course) and Mike and I took the baby to Epcot to see the fireworks. This is what he thought of them at first.

(Dude, WTF?)

But he loved them and was such a good boy.

The next day we went back and finished the few things we missed at Magic Kingdom but it was HOT, she wanted to go to the pool, and I was ready to be done. We got back, relaxed by the pool, had a nice dinner, and then my mother put the kids to bed so Mike and I could go back to Epcot and enjoy it as adults. By which we mean: eat and drink our faces off.

Though they were both perfect on the plane trip down, the plane trip home was something out of the rule book of What Would Suck To Happen To You On a Plane. We got settled in the wrong seats. The baby screamed most of the flight. He peed out the side of his diaper and down my shirt and pants. Charlotte screamed because she couldn't watch her DVD when they made us shut if off. Worst flight ever.

They were two little kids who were worn out.

I was worn out. I wanted to cry with them.

I wanted this trip to be magic and filled with awesome memories of watching our daughter experience something so many people love. But it wasn't. I can't change what it was so I'll try and remember the good things, laugh at the bad things, and vow never to go back for at least 7 more years when I don't have to deal with diapers, car seats, or sleeping issues.

I'll hold onto these:

Testing the waters

2009-10-18T09:55:00.006-04:00

Last night after I could take no more of the screaming (my god, how can something SO small make SO much noise?) I decided to run the baby's bath a little early and let him play in the tub.

I sat on the edge of the tub with him on my left hip, leaned over, and turned the water on. I waited till it warmed up, plugged the drain, and poured in some organic baby bubble bath that smells like coconuts and lavender and bunnies and rainbows and all that hippie stuff.

"Can I take a bath too?!!?"

"No, Charlotte, you already took a shower earlier today, remember? It's getting cold out and too much water will make your skin itchy and dry. I'm just going to bathe Sawyer tonight and tomorrow you both can take a bath, ok?"

I'd like to say she accepted this with a simple "okay, Momma," but she did not. There was huffing and puffing, but she eventually acquiesced. Mostly because I ignored her completely.

I walked into the baby's room, placed him on the changing table and began to undress him, singing my stupid "Heiney Boy" song that he loves so much.

Who's my heniey boy, heiney boy, stinky silly heiney boy?

Yeah, so I should probably stop that before he goes to high school, right?

"Momma, I know I can't take a bath, but I'm just gonna test the water to make sure it's warm enough for baby Sawyer," she yells from the bathroom.

"Okay, be careful," I tell her. She always reaches her arm out and sticks her hand under the running water before her bath, something we taught her to make sure the water wasn't too hot before getting in the tub.

I finish undressing the baby and carry his long, skinny body to the bathroom. I open the door and Charlotte is sitting naked in the tub and says "Yep, it's warm enough."

Sibling Rivalry

2009-10-16T10:35:00.002-04:00

I spent a small fortune this morning at Target on Stuff to Keep the Kids Happy on The Plane, which include a new Barbie movie, pretzels, goldfish, fruit snacks, fruit cups, coloring books, sticker books, a few new trucks, and oh yes, BENADRYL.

I have given it to Sawyer before when he's been sick and/or teething so badly he couldn't sleep, and thankfully he's not one of those kids who have the opposite effect. It does make him sleepy although he is stubborn enough to fight anything if he really tries. I'm going to take the advice of a commenter from a previous post and think positive. I believe in that. If I assume it's going to be a negative experience, well then maybe it will be. But I'm going to go into this thinking that everyone will do swimmingly, myself included (because for some reason they don't sell benzodiazapines at Target).

I also think my kids know we're getting ready for a vacation because instead of being the mostly well-behaved children they are, they've collectively LOST THEIR SHIT. Sawyer will grab something Charlotte wants and she will grab it back. He will then lunge at her linebacker-style and then she'll roundhouse him to the face. And then the YELLING. How can a child who still CANNOT SPEAK in full sentences still talk and yell ALL. DAY. LONG?

I know siblings fight and truth be told, I don't even get involved. I'm not here to be a referee and it's not like they're ever going to stop fighting. I teach them to share, to be fair and kind. The rest? They're three and one, they're brother and sister, and they're going to fight. For many many more years. I figure I may as well teach them how to fight fair and let them work it out and not stress myself out trying to stop it. My rules involve: no biting, smacking, kicking, or hair pulling. Also: we do not put our hands on anyone else (i.e., no pushing the kid at the playground.)

So basically my house is kind of like a toddler UFC tournament most of the day. But you know what I noticed? When I don't get involved, and they get pissed at each other, and one pushes and the other pushes back, it ends there. Usually, Charlotte will even share what it was Sawyer was coveting, or Sawyer will relinquish his grip on Charlotte's toy and move on to something else.

Do you intervene or do you let your kids fight?

Cat Puke, Glee, True Blood, and Plane Crashes

2009-10-15T11:21:00.007-04:00

Sometime in the middle of last night, I got up to pee. Because I am blind without my glasses, it was dark, and cat vomit is stealthily the same color as hardwood floors, I step, slide, and subsequently almost busted my ass on cat barf at 4 am. Of course I had to wake my sleeping husband to tell him of my near death experience. And the clean up that followed.
I love Glee. Really, I do. But COME ON with the fake pregnancy thing. And the idiocy of that poor kid who thinks he knocked up his girlfriend by being in a HOT TUB. One one hand, I like that they're featuring a pregnant teenager and a gay one and all that current social stuff, but A HOT TUB?
While I'm discussing television, let's talk about True Blood. For those of you that read the books, you know that a character named Alcide will be coming up soon. And because I think my other call in life is casting characters from books, I've decided Jason Momoa (was on Stargate Atlantis, married to Lisa Bonet) should play him. RIGHT? Thoughts? Difference in opinion? What about Quinn?
I had a dream last night about a plane crash but I was not on the actual plane. It was one of those giant cargo C-130 military planes and I was driving on the interstate and it flew over my car and crashed in the distance. I called 911 and the dispatcher lady was all concerned about how scary it was for ME and trying to calm me down. Weird. I suppose my anxiety of flying with a rowdy 15-month old is manifesting itself in dreams of DEATH AND DESTRUCTION. Super.

Two if by air

2009-10-13T07:37:00.002-04:00

So in less than a week, my mother and I will be on a plane with two small children. I'm not worried about dealing with Charlotte. As snarky as she is, she's a great kid. Very easy going and loves new situations. She will do fine on the plane. I'll have our mini-DVD player, she has her own page of apps on my iPhone and she'll be so excited by the whole situation, I'm sure she'll do perfect.

I'm not going to list here all the ways boys and girls are different, because well they ARE, but I'm worried he's going to ground the plane. Or that he'll be THAT baby on the plane - the one who cries and fights and turns into a demon and spews pea soup. And then some douchenozzle will say something and I'll lose my cool because that's MY baby you're rolling your eyes at and get in a fight on the plane and then I'll be arrested and live out the rest of my life in an orange jumpsuit and orange is so NOT flattering on me.

I tried to time the flights with nap times and we're leaving Philly around 11:45, assuming no issues with the flights. I plan on keeping him awake and running around the airport for as long as possible, boarding last, all those tricks. I thought about the Benny bottle but they don't let me carry through liquids, right? How can I take Benadryl through the gate?

I'm hoping that since he's still on the bottle I can plug him up for a bit, at least during take-off to help with his ears. Thankfully his cold is gone but I'm sure there's some lingering congestion. I plan to give Charlotte gum for the first time on the plane, hoping the novelty of the new candy and chewing will help with her ears.

The DVD player may hold his interest for a bit and I plan on buying some new Curious George movies which are his favorite. I'm also going to bring a few little toy cars and trucks. Bottom line is I'm hoping that he sleeps but if he doesn't and I'm sure he won't for the whole trip down, what the heck else is there?

Short of letting him run up and down the aisles a couple of times or walking with him, what else can I do? We took Charlotte on a plane at his age and I wasn't even remotely concerned. I didn't even bring a DVD player. She just looked out the window, talked to a few people, sucked on her bippy, and passed out.

But Sawyer is a different breed. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dreading this flight. He's a GOOD baby, happy and smiley, giggly and funny. But he's ALL OVER THE PLACE and will NOT sit still. He doesn't even like to be rocked or held when sleeping, which adds to my concern about him sleeping on the plane.

Of course, I may not be giving him enough credit. He may end up being perfect, sitting nicely, playing with toys, watching a movie.

Or I could be right and we'll be kicked off the plane somewhere in the hills of West Virginia and I'll have to change my name to Bobbi Jane and become a hillbilly. Have you met my son Jethro?

Any tips on taking a very spirited small toddler on an airplane? My only saving grace is that it's only a 2-hour flight. I mean, people endure torture for years. I can handle two hours, right?