I want to write

I want to write something, as I sit here at the kitchen table waiting for Mike to finish showering so we can go to bed.

I want to talk about Sawyer and how great he's doing on the medicine, or about Charlotte and how she made me want to sell her on ebay today. Note: Do NOT give Nemmy-Nemmy treat before shopping excursion.

I want to talk about my Biggest Loser competition and how I lost EIGHT pounds this week (more totals here) and how great we all did.

I want to talk about how Seasonique was the bane of my existence and a mere four weeks of it has caused cascading effects for almost two months.

I want to talk about how hard work is and how I dream about deadlines and toss and turn with anxiety.

I want to talk about my sick grandmother and how I feel like a total shithead because I'm too busy to bring the babies to see her and by the time I can spare it, she's back in the hospital, where I can't risk my kids. And how the guilt eats at me like tiny worms inside an apple that I am failing at being a good granddaughter. I am not trying hard enough.

I want to talk about something important like our country and how it's going to shit.

I want to talk about something frivolous like how I love cookies or how I have a countdown to my birthday on my calendar like I was 12 again.

I want to talk about how my teeth hurt so much I pop Motrin like candy.

I want to cry.

I want to laugh.

But I'm too tired to do all of it.

It's been a kind of day where I could use one of these...

(from the bachelorette party a couple weeks ago)

What I need & What I have

I need a day off.
I have no forseeable time off until November.

I need a good night's sleep.
I have a newborn and toddler who are up a total of 1-5 times a night.

I need a massage.
I have a cat who kneads me with sharp nails.

I need to lose 50 pounds.
I have a scale that for some reason doesn't go down 30 pounds a week.

I need a vacation.
I have two small children and have no plans to travel with them for at least a year and even then, the word "vacation" is used loosely when kids are involved.

I need a million dollars.
I have a house worth less than we bought it, student loans, car payments, and credit card bills.

I need a cheeseburger and fries.
I have a banana.

I need a night out with my husband.
I have no babysitters that don't have busy lives of their own.

I need allergy injections.
I can't dedicate the hour each week to go get them right now.

And yet....

I need a bigger house
but
I have a home.

I need peace and quiet
but
I have beautiful babies.

I need more time with my husband
but
I have a best friend that I kiss goodnight, every night, no matter how busy we are.

I need more hours in every day
but
I'm alive to live each one.

I'm tired
but
happy.

Improvements

We're going to bring Sawyer to the dayhome tomorrow and see how he does. Mike is taking the day off to finish some projects around the house and to be close in case he needs to pick him up. We started the Prevacid on Wednesday night and there has been a definite slight improvement, though angels haven't flown out of his ass and he isn't in MENSA yet. He seems to be in less pain during feedings though he's still a pain in the ass to feed. He takes an ounce, refuses for 15 mins, an ounce, burps, talks for 10 minutes, an ounce, etc. etc. etc. all. day. long.

This is okay for me because I'm his mother and know how to handle him and his nuances since I'm with him all day. But I can see how frustrating this can be for a daycare provider. Then again, she is more than willing to work with us and I DO want them to get to know each other. He's just about to hit that magic three-month mark and I'd rater him stay there and get adjusted rather than having to do it all over again. So we'll try and stick it out. Worst case, she has to call one of us and we go get him. And we're okay with that. The medicine also can take up to two weeks to show it's full effects so I'm hoping that things get better in time as well. As long as he's not in pain, I can handle a fussy eater.

The best benefit of the medicine so far seems to be that it is helping him sleep better. He's been sleeping from 830ish-530, which is fan-mclovin-tastic. He usually goes right back down but on the days I have to work or get stuff done, it's an okay time to start my day (with the appropriate 4 cups of coffee of course).

So now that I have the newborn sleeping through the night, you'd think I'd be getting uninterrupted sleep, right? Nay, nay. Charlotte has at least two freak-outs a night. They are usually small things that upset her, she flips her shit, screams into our room, I fix whatever it is, and she goes back down. Some nights her diaper is too wet and she wants to be changed (PEE ON THE POTTY ALREADY KID!). Some night she can't find one of her 4-5 bippies she needs to keep by her bed. One night she dropped her sippy cup of water on the ground and this was cause for a complete hysteria. Last night, her blankets fell on the floor. Instead of picking them up and putting them back on her bed, she had a nuclear meltdown. It took no more than 30 seconds to put her back in her bed, pick the covers up, and settle her. But why is she FREAKING out? I mean, utter screaming in hysterics, like she's terrified? Over her water falling? I don't get it.

There are drawers under her bed so it's not like she's afraid of something underneath it. She has a ladybug nightlight that she can turn on next to her bed that puts stars on the wall. We leave a light on in the hallway and our door ajar. We make sure she has everything set up next to her bed before we tuck her in. I just wish I knew why everything is so terrifying and how to make her not freak out.

I think I'd give up martinis forever for just one night, straight through, nobody SCREAMING THEIR BLOODY HEAD OFF.

Maybe.

Gratuitous newborn pics

Just cause.

The Five Diets

I've lost 16 pounds in just over six weeks. A lot of this is from sheer determination, hard work at the gym and with Jillian Michael's Shred, and very little food that isn't green or yogurt. But some of it is a result of the following diets I've been on the past few weeks.

1) The Dentist Diet: Don't go to the dentist for three years because you're a giant pussy, and thereby get cavities UNDER your fillings. Go to the dentist three times in two weeks. Each time you go, between the numbing, needles, tooth drilling and subsequent jaw/tooth pain, you will be sure to skip a few meals.

2) The Too Old To Party Like A Rock Star Diet: Leave your children home for the weekend and go to a bachelorette party. Make sure you haven't slept more than 30 hours all week. Start drinking before dinner at your friend's apartment. Have a few glasses of wine with your dinner. Order shots at the bar. Make it back to the apartment, puke, sleep, puke some more, wake up, and spend the next day too nauseous to eat. A whole day of negative calories!

3) The Touch of the Toddler's Tummyache Diet: Wash your hands vigorously and spray all surfaces with Lysol when your toddler has diarrhea. However, this is all in vain as you will get the stomach bug anyway, which will leave you unable to eat a few meals until you feel better.

4) The Two Kids Are Simultaneously Losing Their Shit Diet: Make sure both kids get pissed off at once. Then, hope against all hope that they both decide to poop at the same time, or the big one falls and yells, scaring the little one, causing tandem screaming. If you're really lucky, they'll both be starving at the same time, or the big one will punch the little one in the head to see if "it cries REALLY loud, momma". Then, you will be so busy it will be noon before you realize the only thing you ate was the moist toddler-gnawed-on crust of your kid's peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

5) The Work Fucking Sucks Diet: Go into the office. Sit at your desk to start working. Then, get called into fifty meetings. Also, start a new system where things go much slower than before making deadlines ever so imminent. By the time your friends come to get you for lunch, you realize you didn't eat the Lara bar you brought for breakfast and your fucking coffee is cold.

So, there you have it people. The Five Diets I've been on that have helped me lost 16 pounds in 6 weeks! Try them! You might get an ulcer or have a stroke, but hey, you'll be thin in the hospital!

Wired

People have made comments about how many laptops/computer equipment we have around the house. And it's true. It looks like Dell came here and shit all over my house.

(three random laptops)

(Two laptops and a wireless keyboard to use for the one hooked up to the TV which is on the shelf in the picture above.)


(My work laptop)


(Mike's gaming PC)

By most people's standards, our house has a surplus of electronic media. We have two XBoxes, both of which are hooked up to a server in the basement. Because the Xbox works as a media center, we can stream movies, music, and such from that server onto our TVs. Our server is 1.5 terabyte NAS that we back everything up to with a three-drive redundant RAID, and contains all the pictures, videos, and documents from the last few years. Then we have an additional outside commercial service from Mozy that we pay a small fee and they store all of our data offsite in the event of fire, theft, etc.


(Our basement server)

We each have a work laptop, and we each have a personal laptop. Our TV in the living room is also hooked up to an additional laptop in which we can browse the internet, etc. And there are two laptops that just float around that Mike constantly messes with. That is seven laptops, two docking stations, two PCs, two widescreen monitors, one big screen TV with a built-in entertainment system, and a partridge with a PDA in a pear tree.


(The TV room: the Wii and another Xbox is upstairs and the Gamecube is not currently hooked up)

We each have our own computer workstations downstairs as well, which I use to actually work and he uses to game, when he has the time. Both kids rooms have video monitors. We have every gaming console system and even an arcade dance pad for Dance Dance Revolution (which by the way is exceedingly fun AND good exercise).



(My workstation)


(Mike's desk, which if you look closely, you'll see ANOTHER PC box off to the right.)

In normal people's homes, the clutter you see around is baby gear, papers, magazines, books, clothes. In our house, it's laptops, wires (OMFG, the wires!), adapters. And though I love the convenience of having a Giant Computer Geek for a husband and all of the electronics, this is still my most favorite thing:


(I found him! I still haven't gotten to the store to buy Tassimo packets, so my old friend Coffee Pot and I got reacquainted. I think it's love all over.)

P.S. We are not rich by far and many of these electronics were acquired over a period of years, some before I was even around to yell at him when he walked through the door with a Best Buy bag. He's also very good at fixing things so can buy them cheap and in parts and fix them.

P.P.S. If there's ever a disaster, come to our house because if you think Mike's penchant for electronics is bad, wait until you see what the need to be prepared has done to him. Think survival gear, first aid kids, stocked gallons of water and a generator in our garage.

I'm married to The Biggest Geek of All Time. Thankfully, he's cute:

Down the same road

When I called my mother to check on the kids this morning, she was in tears.

"I can handle babies who cry because they want to cry. But your son is in pain. This is Charlotte all over again. You need to call the doctor."

So I did.

Even though I'm still in a little bit of denial that both of my infants had the same health issue, he was put on Prevacid for acid reflux. It was not the formula he was on, nor the cereal. He does not have gas issues or a bad reaction to dairy. He actually barely spits up at all, especially compared to his sister, who if mounted on the top of a tank could have taken out the enemy with her projectile vomiting. He digests his food fine and has no tummy troubles between feedings and is usually content to entertain himself on his playmat, sleep, or have a conversation with the pictures on the wall. He very rarely cries. As long as there's not a bottle in his mouth.

It's how he eats. He's starving but only takes two ounces and then once those are in, he begins the arching back, the screaming, the gasping, the kicked out legs. Then there's the gurgling of formula in the back of his throat that sounds like congestion for upwards of an hour after he eats that he occasionally chokes on. The doctor's visit was during a feeding so he got to see firsthand today.

Charlotte greatly improved on the Prevacid, and eventually outgrew the reflux around 10 months. And as evidenced by my bright, healthy toddler, the medicine doesn't cause horns to grow or any other side effects of the sort. So I'm hoping Sawyer does equally as well on it. I'm keeping him home from his dayhome tomorrow to give the medicine the next few days to work and we'll see whether or not he'll go back on Monday. I'm hopeful that things will improve.

I think because he is such a happier infant than Charlotte was and because he didn't spit up as much, I was loath to see the connection to the reflux.

Today, I am having a mini-pity party for myself and my baby because how can I get TWO kids with the same thing? How come I have to deal with two kids who are in pain during a time that should be soothing and relaxing? How is it fair to them? To me? To be on medicine so young?

Add in work overload, a sore mouth, sleep deprivation, and the feeling that I'm treading water but going nowhere, and I feel like a big Boo-Hoo Sissy Marypants because I'm feeling so sorry for myself.

And then I feel like an asshole for feeling sorry for myself because he is such a good baby and we're all healthy and happy and lucky and I'm so thankful for all of it.

But still, if I had soup today, I'd cry in it.

I'm alive

No thanks to Dr. Patel, who just snickered at me each time I called him a douche nugget. Kidding. Mostly.

In all seriousness, today's dentist appointment was better than the last, mostly because there was no drilling. He said the sensitivity I've been feeling is normal since he had to drill so deeply and with the permanent inlay in, should get better in a couple of weeks. I go back in three weeks to have the other tooth drilled out and fitted, unless it hurts too badly between now and then, in which case I call and cry like a sissy schoolgirl and have them fit me in sooner.

I forgot to mention that we finished Sawyer's new bedroom and I'm very proud of us. Here's what it looked like as a dining room:


(yes, that's my brother-in-law playing Magnetix with my husband.)


(why yes, that is vodka in that glass with pineapple juice)

Here's what it looks like cleared out:





Then we primed the hell out of it:



Then we (Mike) painted it and here's the finished product:







We did a surfer theme:


(Border is not actually crooked; we used a laser level. I apparently did not have my V8 when I took this picture.)

What do you think?

Recovery

One night of drinking has spilled over into day three and I'm still exhausted. Normally, I'm up at the asscrack of dawn, ready to get the kids up and fed, work out, and start my day. Today, I sit at the computer, one hand on head, dripping yogurt from my spoon into the container because the energy it would take to lift spoon to mouth is too much for me.

I'd make coffee except I ran out of Tassimo packets and I don't even know where that archaic thing called a coffee pot is. Or even if we have any coffee or filters to make it. Oh woe. Why can't Dunkin Donuts deliver?

I did get my ass to the gym last night, mostly because it was the big weigh-in for the Biggest Loser contest. Since I was there with my cousin, we worked out a bit. I did a gigantic incline on the treadmill and HOO BOY does that make a difference in your workout. I didn't even need to run and burned more calories than if I did. Starting today and until October 31, anything I go to put in my mouth, I will question myself if it's worth the 5K prize.

Considering we have like half a gallon of milk and a cheeto in the house, I think I'm safe at least until we go food shopping. Oh woe. Why doesn't Peapod deliver here?

(Notice the theme of me wishing places woul deliver me my necessities because I think I'd rather eat that cheeto than venture out with two children when I'm this run-down.)

Sawyer continues to have some reflux symptoms and rough moments at his dayhome, but there is definite improvement all around on the cereal. He keeps it down and takes his bottles with less of a fight. He started sleeping longer stretches, from 7-3, feeds and then goes back down again until 630 or so. So thats almost 12 hours with one feeding. I can handle that. In another few weeks, we'll try sneaking in the 10pm feeding again to see if we can get that 7-3 to be 10-6 which would be fan-fucking-tastic. If not, I'll go with his flow. I want him to be happy and if that means I have to get up at 3 am every night, I will. I can't say I'll look cute the next morning, but I'll do it.

Charlotte has been better at staying in her bed. She gives me a hard time at naptime, but only me. Not Mike. Not my mother. And not at bedtime. Just me. Just naptime. When I need to work. When I've killed myself to get both kids down to nap at the same time so I can have an hour or two to work. I've considered duct-taping her to the bed, but I hear that's frowned upon.

I have to go back to the dentist this afternoon to get those permanent inlays put in (hold me), but I think the back tooth may be beyond repair. The dentist said I could chew on that side with the temporary filling in but it's so sensitive, I can't. It's like chewing aluminium. For the past two weeks, I've been chewing on one side and now I'm convinced I will need a root canal after all. I don't think I can handle that. My stomach lurches as I type those words. I very well may pass the frick out in the dentist. Also, the one tooth that they didn't drill last time because they couldn't do all three at once was the original one that was hurting and now it hurts so bad, it makes the whole side of my face throb and causes terrible headaches. So I'm hoping he can drill that one out today or something even though that wasn't the intent of the appointment. Fun, huh?

If you don't hear from me tonight or tomorrow morning, I'm dead at the dentist.

Then and Now

Then: I'd have ten drinks a night, get up the next morning and be able to function, go to class and then work all day.
Now: I have eight drinks and can't function for more than 24 hours.

Then: I could dance all night in sexy high heels.
Now: I went back to the apartment midway through the night to put on flats and if I had orthotic granny shoes, I would have put those on too.

Then: I'd encourage my friends to dance with any guy in the bar.
Now: I laugh in the face of men who tell me they're 24 and have no job.

Then: People who were at bachelorette parties always seemed so old.
Now: That was us.

Then: I'd only throw up if I mixed drinks or ate too much before drinking.
Now: I throw up if a glass of wine looks at my martini funny.

Then: I'd find a guy for the night and dance and let him buy me drinks.
Now: I leave the bar to call home to hear my husband and babies.

Then: I'd take out my contacts, wash my face, and brush my teeth before bed, no matter how drunk I was.
Now: I've had my contacts in since Saturday and didn't shower until 7 pm last night.

Then: I could go out and drink three-four nights a week.
Now: I can go out and drink three-four times a year.

Then: I was 21.
Now: I am, most definitely, not 21.

I'm out like a fat kid in dodgeball

This afternoon, I'm leaving my husband and children home to go to a bachelorette party in Philly for the weekend. Oh, the debauchery! Oh, the childless flights of fancy! Oh, the dirty martinis!

So to entertain you in my absence, here is a video of Sawyer smiling and cooing and if you listen around the 45-second mark, Charlotte will entertain you even further.



And if you feel like you need a weekend pick-me up, these videos are sure to make you smile: (some of you may have seen these before, but really, can you ever get tired of a dancing baby?)

9 months:


13 months:

Helping Fight Cancer

My sister from another mister, Cass, is donating $3.00 for every comment she gets to cancer research on her post here. What's even better is her husband and mother have agreed to match it. So if you can't do math, that's $9.00 a comment and right now, she's up to 120 comments.

Even if you're a lurker here and don't normally comment on any blog (I mean you, Aunt Carol), please click the link and leave a comment on her site. All you have to do is click the "anonymous" button and say anything - say you're glad her mother is alive and she kicked the crap out of that cancer, say you're happy that her breast lump was innocuous, say "moley moley moley." I don't care what you say, just go say something and make your 35 seconds worth $9.00 for something important.

Um, ew

This post will contain a very gross image. If you're weak in the stomach or just an all-around pussy, scroll past it quickly.

I went to the dermatologist on Thursday morning for a full-body birthmark, mole (How come I can never say mole in my head without saying "moley moley moley" from Austin Powers?), and skin check. I'm blond and fair, with tons of freckles and birthmarks. I like them, always have, and love how they pop out after an afternoon in the sun. However, I also know it puts me at greater risk for skin cancer especially since my grandmother has had it twice. I've been meaning to go and for no real reason other than sheer time constrains and my loathing for waiting in doctor's offices, I've put it off for oh, about 28 years.

But I went. I finally went.

And came home with four of these bad boys (gross image in 3, 2, 1..):


(That's my left shoulder. I others on my belly, right thigh, and face. YES. I HAVE ONE OF THOSE MONSTROSITIES ON MY FACE. Send bag for face and vodka.)

Those craters are gouges of my flesh left by Mr. I Just Started Wearing Big Boy Pants Dermatologist Man. The four "suspicious" looking birthmarks were sliced out of my body and sent for biopsy. No calls are good calls, says Mr. Wanna See My Thomas the Train Dermatologist Man.

You should come back every three months for more checks, Mr. I Can Ride My Tricycle All By Myself Dermatologist Man tells me.

So I go about my merry day, four tiny pieces of my body being sent to a labortatory and hope that phone never rings.

More than ONE MILLION cases of skin cancer are reported each year. Do you get checked regularly?

Spinning

I'm a busy person usually. That's okay. It's how I choose my life.

But the past few days have been sheer insanity. I wake up at 5:45 am and before I know it, it's midnight already, and I have to fall asleep knowing I have to be up again at 3 to feed the baby and then again for the day a mere two hours after that. I'm running on empty and literally find myself standing in the middle of a room wondering what it was I was doing because I was doing so many things at once, my brain seized and died.

I'm a very good multi-tasker and credit that ability to the reason I can fit so many things in one day. That and an incredibly wonderful partner in life who works just as hard if not harder at our family, our home, and our marriage.

But when I am home during the day, I'm a whirlwind. I am checking my work inbox while Sawyer drinks his bottle, my left arm contorted around or the bottle propped under my chin. I check email or return work phonecalls while the baby naps and Charlotte's eating breakfast. I fold laundry while the baby gets tummy time and Charlotte unfolds. I unload the dishwasher while holding a crabby baby in my left arm. It takes a little longer but I get it done. I clean the bathtub while I'm in the shower. I hold the baby while I vacuum because the sound soothes him. I color with Charlotte while I try and edit a paper while Sawyer naps. I switch the laundry quickly when I go in the basement to get more crackers from the pantry shelf. I sweep the floor while Charlotte plays playdough and Sawyer sings at his reflection from the mirror on the bouncy seat. I blog, read a chapter of a book, and watch Bones while talking to Mike about his day. I return phonecalls to my friends while I'm in the car on my headset. And after 19 hours, I fall into a dreamless state, waking to numb arms and legs and the grunting of a newborn.

But throughout my day, no matter how busy it gets, no matter how many versions of me I wish there were, I always take time to just stop and talk and play with my kids and husband. Charlotte and I play blocks together or she helps me change Sawyer. I put on The Little Mermaid for Charlotte to watch quietly so I can feed him peacefully and talk to him while he smiles and "agoooos" and gurgles. I take them outside to just sit on the chairs on the front lawn and watch the people go by, walking their dogs, riding their bikes, holding hands. We eat dinner together every single night. It may be later than usual. It may be leftovers or waffles. But every night we sit together at the table, Charlotte mushing her peanut butter sandwich in her hair, and we talk. Mike and I discuss our day and other things going on in our lives and Charlotte tells us about the fairies that live behind her swingset. Sawyer sits on my lap sucking on his pacifier or agooo-ing at his new family.

My world spins and spins and spins. Sometimes, it spins so fast it seems everything is blurry and moving by too quickly. So I stop. I stop and breathe and hug Charlotte or bite Sawyer's toes or kiss my husband.

One day next week, I'll be at my daughter's wedding or my son's graduation from college. When they stand there on those days that will matter so much to them, I want them to know that they mattered enough for me to slow down.

That I loved them enough to make the world stop spinning.

A Contest Involving My Fat Ass

I'm running a contest over on my other blog Life After to help me name my team for The Biggest Loser Competition at my gym I've entered (ohsweetbabyjeebus, what have I done now?).

Go, be witty, and win 25$ to Starbucks.

You know

You know you work in corporate America when:
-They send out an email about cutting out an entire department before actually telling the people in that department. (not mine, thankfully).
-The salad maker lady, Rosa, knows that in my case, "el champiñón es el diablo" (mushrooms are the devil) and not to put them on my Salmon Asian Ginger salad, thankyouverymuch.
-Half of my department knows I lost my birth control because I had to call the pharmacy at work and 50 people sit thisclose to me, separated by a stupid wall that gives the impression of privacy.

You know you're getting old when:
-You start calling anyone under 25 "kids"
-You eat a muffin and gain a pound.
-The neighborhood kids playing on your lawn annoys you.
-You no longer get carded at the liquor store.
-You take over ten supplements at night
-Your joints hurt when the weather is bad.
-Running two miles at the gym makes your inner thighs so sore you can barely walk without looking like you had a run-in with a gang in prison.

You know you're the wife of a geek when:
-He threatened to not marry you because he found out you had never seen Star Wars.
-Calls you a Commie because of aforementioned travesty.
-You know more about computers than any of your friends by proxy.
-There are wires EVERYWHERE.
-His last phone cost more than the electric bill.
-His idea of a good time is perusing Best Buy.

You know you're the mother of a toddler when:
-You've said "get back in bed" eleventy billion times this week.
-You hate Max & Ruby with the hate of a thousand fiery suns.
-You've made orange noodles, purple cookies, and green muffins because she asked.
-You haven't peed alone in your own house in over two years.
-To a two-year old, tampons are like little torpedoes and six of them will clog a toilet.
-You've fished crayons out of that same toilet.
-Your chapstick has teeth marks in it.

You know you're the mother of a newborn when:
-You think it might be better to walk around the house naked because it has to be easier than changing your clothes 8 times a day and doing all the subsequent laundry.
-When talking to him, your voice hits a pitch that annoys yourself.
-You sway all day long.
-You've made up songs in your head about changing poopy diapers.
-You put eggs in the cabinet, the cordless phone in the fridge, and there's 4 half-drank cups of coffee all over the house.
-Your new perfume is eau de spitup.
-You can't imagine ever doing it again and not ever doing it again all at once.

Looking up all around

Sawyer
Yesterday afternoon, after Mike had already picked the kids up from their dayhome, I called back their caregiver to see how Sawyer's afternoon had progressed.

She said he was better. That he fussed and cried, but it was a normal fussing and crying that all 10-week olds do. That it wasn't because he was in pain. We discussed the possibility of pulling him out and giving him more time to grow out of the reflux. She of course left that decision up to us, but said he had a better afternoon. She said he had a hard time with his morning bottle, taking it intermittently, fussing, etc. When I dropped him off at 7 am, he had just eaten at 430 so I don't think he was that hungry. Which means he spent some time awake, got tired, but was a little hungry and so started a vicious cycle of eating a tiny bit, sleeping, waking to eat, etc., instead of eating a whole bottle and then having his awake time, then sleeping. But once he had a good nap in, he ate better and therefore felt better.

Last night, we tried two different things. We tried oatmeal cereal instead of rice to alternate so that he doesn't get too stopped up on one kind of cereal. He's tolerating it very well. And second, we didn't wake him for the 10 pm dreamfeed we usually do. I want him to eat when he's hungry, rather than focus on getting him to sleep later. I was hoping this in turn would make his mornings better by waking up hungry.

And I was right. I love being right. He went down around 7, slept till 2 am, chugged 5 ounces in 10 minutes, went back to sleep, and woke up at 615 hungry and ate 5 more ounces. Rather than wake up awake but not hungry and fuss through his morning bottle, he woke up starved, took his bottle, pooped, played, and went back to sleep within an hour. Yay! No screaming through bottles since we started the cereal and a better start to the morning should trickle down through the rest of the day.

We'll see how he does the next couple of days at home on the cereal and then decide whether to bring him back on Thursday but if he continues to do as well as he has been, I'm confident that he will adjust in time to the dayhome. It's just a few more weeks until this "fourth trimester" is over and he gets used to the real world. That magic three-month mark when they become interactive little people is right around the corner.

For those of you that had asked about it, here is my little man in his Amby Baby Hammock, where he sleeps.



It's an alternative to a bassinet, designed for newborns, and specifically helps those with reflux, as it mimics the womb. It encapsulates him and sways with his movements. His head doesn't get flat and it keeps his head above his body so his food stays down. It was such a lifesaver with Charlotte and he sleeps very well in it. If he stirs, it gently sways him back to sleep.

He'd also like all the ladies to know that he's very deep and pensive, as well as senstive to his emotions:



And he's hatching an evil plan to take over the world, so you might want to hop on board before you're destroyed like the rest of the peons:



Charlotte
For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you know that we moved Charlotte to a twin bed - SUPER BIG GIRL BED - this weekend. About a month ago, we took down the side of her crib to get her used to the concept that she could get in and out on her own. She adjusted well to that, except eventually learned she could con her way out of bed 50 million times. We're still working on that and now she only gets up once or twice and stays in all night most nights. Sometimes, she has a bad dream or gets scared and we just hug her and bring her back to bed and she stays. We don't bargain with terrorists. We just send them back to bed.

Anyway, Sawyer will need his crib in a couple of months when he outgrows the hammock and I didn't want to just take it from her one day and give it to him the next, thinking it would upset her. So we moved her into the twin this weekend to give her plenty of time to adjust and get over her crib before she sees her little brother with it.

We went out shopping and I let her pick out new princess sheets, an Ariel bedspread, a princess stepstool. We're going to redecorate her room soon (we bought Ariel self-stick border and wall stickers), but have to finish Sawyer's new room first. One project at a time.

The first night was rough and she was up a lot, for almost two hours in the middle of the night. But the second night was much better and she stayed put. She looks so tiny in such a big bed and only sleeps in that one corner:


(Notice the ever-present mobile. She can't go to sleep without it. The sounds and lights are her comfort. Since it usually attached to a crib side, Mike had to devise a way to get it to fit on the new bed. He drilled a hole through a piece of wood, attached it to that, and then screwed the whole shebang onto the headboard. It's old as hell and pure oak, so it was no big deal to do this.)

She also loves her little brother and asked to hold him the other day. Mike said they sat like this for quite a while:



She'd like you to know her fashion sense is as keen as ever:


and that she enjoys fine art:
.

P.S. My daughter does not have a mullet, though it sure looks like it. We're trying to grow out her bangs and in this interim if I don't put it back or she pulls out her clips, she either looks like a redneck or an emo kid with a very intense hair style.

Overheard in My Daily Life

Last night, I was trying to decide on an outfit for work, taking my clothes off and on.

"Did you like the gray pants? Or the pinstripe skirt?"

"Huh?"

"Which shirt goes better with the white capris? Can I even still wear capris? White ones? I mean, it IS mid-September."

"What? We're you talking? All I heard was 'Look at my boobies. BLAHBLAHBLAH. Look at my boobies. Hey, BOOBIESBOOBIESBOOBIES.'"

*************************

This mornings's commute was extra suckarific, stop and go for a good 10 miles. At one point, the car in front of me was cut off by another car. Because we were at a dead stop, he decided he was irate enough to actually get out of his car.

He began yelling and pointing at the cutter-offer at his window. I couldn't make out exact words.

Until the angry man took off his shoe.

"NOW YOU'RE REALLY GOING TO GET MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS!"

***************************

I'm in my cubicle this morning, and the office is fairly silent, people too busy to do much socializing these days.

There's two coworkers talking a few cubicles in front of me about the printer jamming all the time.

"That printer and I have an understanding. It doesn't jam up for me and I don't take it outside and beat it like an ugly hooker."

*****************************

Charlotte is entranced in Max & Ruby and I am fantasizing about making a pashmina out of those fuckers.

"Charlotte, it's time to clean up for dinner. Say goodbye to Max & Ruby."

"Chillax Momma. I be RIGHT there! Jeebus."

********************************

We're all in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Charlotte is staring out of the window waiting for Fat Boy, the squirrel she feeds.

"Honey, Charlotte said 'Jeebus' before. I suppose I should be more careful. I mean, it was funny and in total context but still, I don't need her saying that to some religious zealot-type in public."

"That's okay. I let some stuff slip, too. As long as it's not too bad."

"HO! LEE! CRAP! THE FAT BOY IS HERE, MOMMA!"

I look at him, "We can never take her to a Walmart south of Delaware. We'll get shot."

**********************************

Blue Monday

This morning started out alright enough. Sawyer ate at 4:30 and the alarm rang out what seemed like mere minutes. I showered and got dressed while both kids slept. He woke up early, but happy and played on the floor while I finished getting everything together. Charlotte woke with enough time to spare to get out of the door. After that, it was all downhill. I forgot something at home for daycare so had to go back and get it, adding 20 mins onto my commute. I spilled coffee on my white cami. The traffic was horrendous and took me almost two hours to get to the office, at which point I was sure I would have to pull over and pee into the giant coffee cup I had just drained, putting me in said predicament with my bladder. My work inbox is full. My editing tasks seem insurmountable. And on top of this, I sit here unable to concentrate because I'm worried about my baby.

We did try Sawyer on a new formula but it didn't make a difference and if anything, made it worse. The kind of formula he was on is one of the best ones out there (Good Start Natural Cultures) and even the pediatrician said that's the kind she normally recommends. So, we took suggestion number 2 and started to thicken his bottles with cereal so that the weight of his meals would prevent him from refluxing it back up. It seems to make a good bit of a difference, but it also constipates him. So, we're going to try barley and oatmeal cereal as well.

I feel like I'm living in a loop from 2 years ago. Charlotte's reflux was so bad, it warranted medication. It was a last resort as she was projectile vomiting up all of her bottles and was in immense pain while eating. Sawyer shows some of the same symptoms when eating, but I don't feel like I'm ready to take the step towards medication yet. At least he doesn't throw up the way she does. He's almost 10 weeks old and I keep hoping he will outgrow it soon.

This morning, I called to check on him at their dayhome and he's so miserable. He screams and cries during his bottles and rarely rests there. The caregiver is worried and upset which makes me worried and upset - that he is not happy there right now. I've tried everything - from bringing his miracle blanket to be swaddled in and his silky blanket he likes to nuzzle with. Between the reflux and the new environment, it seems his days there are pretty rough on him.

I didn't start Charlotte until she was 7 months old. But I also didn't know her caregiver then and it was a big leap. Now, I feel safe and secure leaving my son there. My mom was taking care of Charlotte on the days I went into the office and on the other days, I was scrambling around trying to take care of her and work. I made it work for 7 months, but now my mom only comes once a week, as it wasn;t fair to ask her to use both her days off from work to drive the 35 minutes to my house to take care of my children. That Monday and Wednesday were her weekends.

For me to keep Sawyer at home, Mike would have to switch his schedule around to work on Saturdays instead of Mondays. It would suck, but it would only be temporary, right? I hate not knowing what is the right thing to do. We're going to talk to his caregiver today and she how she feels. She also has four other kids to take care of, one of them being Charlotte, and I don't want their level of care or attention diminished. I wish I knew what was the right answer.

This parenting thing is hard.

Today, I'm sad.

Today, I'm having a rough day.

There. I admitted it.

A Suck-It Summer List

This summer needs to die. Preferably quickly and painfully. I love being outside, watching Mike push Charlotte on the swings or see the pride in her face as she climbs her rock wall by herself. Sawyer loves watching the leaves of the trees against the backdrop of the sky. I love reading a book in our Adirondack chairs, baby on lap, toddler running off all of her energy.

However, this summer has been NASTY and we've actually been outside less than normal. Not only was I ginormously pregnant for the first half of it and could do little but whine, curse, and sweat, but even now back in decent shape I can't enjoy it. The air sticks to my skin, the heat makes people irritable, and the mosquitoes feast on me like they were Britney and I were a cheeto. Our backyard, gorgeous, green and leafy stands empty most of the summer because it is just too gross to go out and enjoy. So even though the next few days promise to continue the sucktastic suckiness, here are some things I am looking forward to as the air cools and the mosquitoes DIE:

-The colors of the leaves. Hopefully, we can get to Mike's parent's upstate house in the Adirodacks and enjoy the fall the way fall was meant to be enjoyed - in the mountains:

(view from front porch)

-Better TV. If I have to watch one more episode of America's Got Talent, I'm going to gouge out my own eyes with sporks.
-Lowered electric bill. This month? 512$. I shit you not.
-Fresh air blowing through the house
-Kids in hats

(Charlotte, 5 months)

-pumpkin pie
-Thanksgiving
-football
-lager beer on a crisp day
-Halloween

(Charlotte, 6 months)
(Charlotte, 18 months)

-My birthday
-The visit from Kellie, Cass, and Kristin in November!
-Fall festivals
-Kettle corn

What are you most looking forward to this fall?

Updates on my skinny boy and my little con artist

Feel free to browse as this is going to be one of those boring talk-about-my-children-till-your-eyes-bleed posts.

------

Sawyer had his two-month well visit today and had his very first shot. He only cried briefly and was fine. For me, the older kids are harder to deal with the shots. They actually understand the concept and feel betrayed by you. Like you're in cahoots with that shot lady and let her hurt them.

He is tall, 95th percentile. I'm 5'8 and Mike is 6'4, so this comes as no surprise. Charlotte is tall too, 37 inches at her two-year well visit.

He has a big head. This I know as well. His male pattern baldness doesn't help shrink the appearance of his giant dome either.

However, he is only 10 pounds, 6 ounces. He's only gained 8 ounces since his last well visit a month ago. I noticed he wasn't increasing the amount he was drinking much at all since he was born, leaving at least an ounce in his four-ounce bottle. He'll take a couple of ounces, get pissed off, and refuse the rest. He didn't seem in pain so I figured that's just the kind of eater he was. But as he's trying to grow he should be drinking more and he's not.

He's never been particularly gassy but he has been fighting his bottles more and has had some belly issues the past few days, alternating between (Leave now if you don't want to be part of the poop talk that will ensure) loose stools and constipation. And I haven't changed a thing in his diet at all since he was 6 weeks old and we added cereal to his nighttime bottles. So it's just weird that this came out of nowhere.

When I picked him up from his dayhome today, she said he was crying basically all day and wouldn't take his bottles, arching his back and kicking his legs straight out. Mike said he was doing the same thing last night. But all afternoon for me and when I'm home with him, he was fine. Charlotte had reflux and screamed through every bottle and then projectile vomited it up. He doesn't seem to do that. He spits up a normal baby amount and just seems to not want anymore than 2-3 ounces. When he hits that amount, he tenses up and doesn't want anymore. Often, I give him a break for 30 minutes or so and then he'll take some more. It's frustrating but he doesn't seem to be in the pain that Charlotte was. At least not very often.

I realize he may be calmed by me more and therefore more relaxed when eating, but that doesn't change his diaper issues. The pediatrician said she wouldn't be concerned until the next visit if he still wasn't gaining weight properly. We're going to try switching his formula and see if it makes a difference in his eating habits.

---

Charlotte has become a total con artist. She was doing very good in her big girl bed and used to stay put, almost not realizing she could get out. Now she gets up at least three times, needing different things - water, a specific pacifier, her nightlight went out, etc. And I always immediately send her back to bed, not letting her be the little boss she wants to be. However, she's figured out that if she tells me she wants to sit on the potty, I will let her come downstairs and try. I feel like if I told her no, it would hinder any tiny progress we've made potty training. She's nowhere close to being potty trained but I try and encourage her to sit on the potty often during the day. She usually refuses, but is smart enough to know it's a Get Out of Bed Free card if she asks.

She's literally been up six times some nights before falling asleep. So tonight was a new plan. I had her sit on the potty before bed, made sure she knows it's the last time. I made sure her nightlight is working, she had her cup of water, and at had least 8 pacifiers (I swear if anyone says anything about the fact that she still has her pacifiers, I will throw her at you and she's a solid 34 pounds). She still got up three times asking for different things, including the potty, but I sent her back to her room each time and she fell asleep much quicker. I hope she outgrows this. And soon.

Did your kids do this? Con you? What do you do?

Let sleeping dogs, er, sleep

I spent most of the morning thinking it was Wednesday, which is stupid because I was home and I go into the office on Wednesdays. But that goes to show you how fried my brain is today. I'm getting used to working and my new schedule, and I'd be a big fat liar if I said it wasn't a big change from being home on maternity leave.

After dropping the kids off at their dayhome, I sat on the couch and opened my laptop to start rifling through work emails. I was going to finish checking email, take a shower, and go down to my office and start my day.

Ninety minutes later, I wake up with drool down my shirt, on my keyboard, my throat dry from my mouth hanging open, and laptop dents in my legs.

I said I was busy and loved it. I didn't say I don't get tired as hell.

There are moments in the middle of the night when Sawyer wakes up, grunting and getting increasingly more irritated that the bottle is not in his mouth RIGHTTHISGODDAMNED minute that I think I can't do it anymore. That I'm going to wake up Mike and let him have that shift. He'd take it gladly too, without question or protest. That I would bargain with someone, anyone, to just make him sleep through the night. And then I hold him and we snuggle as he drains his bottle in mere minutes and I forgot why I was so upset. And then I remember 2 hours later when my alarm BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPS in my ear and I seriously consider throwing it across the room, if only my newborn son wasn't sleeping there.

I compare my children all the time. Charlotte was colicky, Sawyer is not. She was needy, he's a very easy baby. She didn't smile or coo as early. She wanted to be held a certain way, rocked a certain way, fed a certain way. As long as he's not on fire or being eaten by turkey vultures, Sawyer is pretty content as long as he is fed, changed, and napped. However, by this time in Charlotte's life, she was sleeping through the night, from 7-6, with a quick change and dreamfeed at 10 pm. It was the one glorious break we got from a baby who was so needy, she must have known we needed the sleep to recharge. Sawyer is still up once a night, though he technically "sleeps through the night." He's down around 730 and if left alone, will sleep till 1-3, which is great. The problem with this is that I don't want to get up at 1, because that means he'll be up for the day at 5. Um, thanks but no thanks.

So we put him on the same schedule as we did with Charlotte as this age. We gently wake him before we go to bed, change his diaper, top him off with a bottle, swaddle him, and he'll sleep till around 4-430. Again, thats 6 hours, so it's technically sleeping through the night and technically wonderful because then he goes back down till 7, when Charlotte wakes up, her little toddler nose inches from mine: "Momma, I need Cheerios, STAT" Can someone tell me how my 2-year old learned to say "STAT"?

I really have nothing to complain about because he is only 9 weeks old and is doing so well, but like I said, I can't help comparing him to his sister who at 6 weeks was sleeping in 8-hour stretches.

It will come. I know it will. And when it does, perhaps I won't come within inches my my life by drooling on my keyboard and electrocuting myself.

My time

I get a lot of people asking me if I sleep at all because I always seem so busy. I am busy. I like busy. It makes me happy. But in calculating my time, I have found something odd. I will share an average day working at home and an average day in the office in number of hours with you and see if you can find the discrepancy.

Days I Work From Home
Work = 6 hours
Taking care of/spending time with children while awake = 12 hours
Taking care of children during the night = 1-2 hours
Cooking/Baking = 1 hour
Eating = 30 mins - 1 hour
Errands = 1 hour
Cleaning/Tidying/Laundry/House Projects = 1-2 hours
Exercise = 30 mins - 1 hour, 30 mins
Showering/Getting dressed = 30 mins
Spending time with Mike/Watching TV = 2 hours
Blogging/Returning emails/Computer time/Reading = 2 hours
Talking to my grandmother/mother/sister on the archaic phone = 30 mins - 1 hour
Sleeping = 4-6 hours
Total time = 32-36 hours.

Days I go into The Office
Work = 8 hours
Commute = 2 hours (including daycare drop off)
Taking care of/spending time with children while awake = 5 hours
Taking care of children during the night = 1-2 hours
Cooking/Baking = 30 mins or less
Eating = 1 hour at work
Cleaning/Tidying/Laundry/House Projects = 1 hour
Exercise = 30 mins
Showering/Getting dressed = 30 mins
Spending time with Mike/Watching TV = 2 hours
Blogging/Returning emails/Computer time (non-work related) = 1 hour
Talking to my grandmother/mother/sister on the archaic phone = 30 mins
Sleeping = 4-6 hours
Total time: 32-34 hours

---

In doing this, I've learned two things: 1) I enter some magical timewarp where I make more time fit into each day (ALSO: Send vodka) and 2) My days at home and at work are the same as far as time expended; it is just allocated differently. This is what keeps me happy and sane. That on one day, I may not see my children for more than a few hours, but on the next day I make up for it.

This balance is how I get through each day, knowing that not all of me is being sucked away into one thing or the other. That I can share me with my husband, children, home, and career.

And knowing, that at the end of those 36-hour days, I'm still me.

First day

My first day back to work was really...refreshing. I'm exhausted but I'll get used to it. Getting to bed at 11, then up in the middle of the night (which Mike does most often on the days I go into the office), and then at 5:45 am, an hour BEFORE my children, is like a cruel joke.

I'm a planner and preparer so everything I needed was mostly done the night before. My clothes and accessories were laid out. The baby's bottles were washed and ready to go. The diaper bag was cleaned out and packed up and in the car. The check was written and in their folder. I switched purses from Giant Mommy Bag to Cute Little Handbag and put it in the car, which I of course locked. Charlotte's clothes were laid out and her milk cup was ready to go in the fridge.

The morning went smoothly and I got myself together and got both kids out on time (do I get a fricken medal?) and even had five minutes to stop at Dunkin Donuts for my large French vanilla with skim milk and Splenda. I sipped it in silence as I drove to work; I didn't even realize I forgot to put the radio volume back up until I was 30 miles into the drive. I suppose I was enjoying the silence so much I didn't even notice. For those that asked, my job is 30 miles directly north of me, but the only way to go that way is a horrible set of highways with lights and douchecakes. So I go the long way - east, then north, then back west again - because even though it is 23 miles longer, it is pure interstate roads so I can drive 70-75 and I actually get to work in less time. Gotta love New Jersey.

I fell right back into my routine at the office though I was kind of thrown to the wolves with this new system we're using. But I'm stubborn and a quick learner so I'm determined I'll get better at it quickly.

I had lunch with colleagues and we didn't talk about diapers, poop, or Dora. I showed people pictures every chance I could get of my new little man and of Charlotte. People asked how he was and how I was doing, but mostly I just fit right back in. I started there over six years ago as a post-graduate still living at home, and now am an Associate Editor. Now, I'm also a wife and mother and I love those roles as well. But to them, I'm just AndreAnna.

I felt like I had reclaimed a part of me that was lying dormant and now I feel more complete. I want it all - the career, the family, the suburban home complete with baked goods, a clean floor, and folded laundry, the gym membership, the dinner and drinks out with girlfriends, the dates with my husband, the deadlines, the frustrations, the failures and successes - and I work my ass off to have it.

I can be superwoman. If I just try hard enough.

Back

Tomorrow morning, I will get up an hour before my children.

I will take a shower, shave my legs, and blow dry my hair.

I will go into the big makeup bin for my good stuff as opposed to the eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss I leave accessible in the medicine chest.

I'll put on clothes with buttons and zippers not ties and elastic, clothes neatly pressed from the dry cleaner without peanut butter and spit up stains.

I'll put on perfume and a cute pair of shoes.

I'll grab a purse smaller than Rhode Island when I leave.

I'll drop my babies off at their dayhome, kiss their little heads goodbye, and get back in my Explorer.

I'll sit in traffic for the next hour and curse at many people during the 53-mile drive.

I'll go to the front desk of the giant office building and get buzzed in.

The receptionist will re-activate my badge.

I'll walk to my desk, put my purse down, and go see all my friends and colleagues, before I go in to meet with my boss.

I'll be busy all day catching up on the last four months I missed; a new system has been installed while I was away and I need to learn to edit all over again in this new way.

I'll show people pictures of my new baby and of how big his sister is getting.

I'll be a proud momma. I may even miss his sweet fuzzy head against my lips or her goofy grin when she wakes up from her nap.

But I'll have me back.

I'll have a part of me that's just mine again.

Tomorrow, I go back to work.

If he could talk, this is what he'd say

Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Come, sit, hang out a bit.


Listen closely, I have something to tell you.


You see these fists? They will mess you up. I mean it; I'm tough. I'm from Jersey. I'm like one step away from sprouting chest hair, wearing gold chains, and changing my name to Tony.


You understand what I'm sayin'? MESSED. UP.


HOLY SHIT! What the fuck was that? That giant fluffy thing just jumped over my head.


Seriously, what the HELL was that thing? It's bigger than me.


What was I talking about again? You people bore me.


Oh, right. I was talking about how sexy I am. HOWYOUDOIN'?

There's not enough Novocain in the world...

So I'm alive. So is Dr. Patel. These are both very good things. However, I was very sad in that dentist chair today.


(Notice the left side sagging a bit more; this was when I was waiting for the Novocain to work)

Turns out what I was seeing was the edge of a cavity that was forming UNDER my already existing filling. Oh.My.Donuts. This extended through THREE teeth. Two were worse so he worked on those.

By "worked on" I mean tortured me until I offered my first born.

He had to remove the old fillings, drill out the cavities, and since there was so much gone, he couldn't replace it with another silver filling. He had to take molds to make permanent inlays. Right now, I have temporary fillings until the permanent ones come in in two weeks. The only bright side to this whole thing is that the new ones are porcelain, which means they are not silver. I wanted to get rid of the ugly silver ones anyway but was too chicken.

The initial shots for the Novocain made me nauseous and shaky and even though I felt numb, when he started to drill the "big one" I felt it and he had to re-inject me. I had the nitrous tube on my nose and kept taking deep nasal swigs and swear it wasn't enough. I wanted to ask for more but was afraid they'd think I was a junkie or something. Still, it helped me slightly and I disconnected and thought about being in Hawaii. Oh, sweet nitrous.



It did not stop me, however, from clenching my hands together so tightly, I did this:



Yes, those are my nail marks dug into my skin. It's 10 hours later and they're still visible in some places.

Also, this was not the highlight of my day:


(Yes, my dentist is actually called The Apprehensive Patient. Their tagline is "Dentistry for cowards." I'm such a pussy.)

That would be $740 dollars. Which is COPAY. My insurance company is actually very good and paid 70%. And it's STILL almost a thousand dollars. Suck, suck, suckety suck.

So, I have to go back at least four more times. Once to get the permanent fillings put in. Once to get the third tooth drilled and fitted for a new filling. Once to install that one. And once for my cleaning and checkup that I already had scheduled in October. How much you wanna make a bet during that appointment, they find more shit to do to torture me into an early grave?

Before I left, I looked at the dentist and said, "You have the worst job ever. I hate you and don't even know you. I'd kick you in the shins if I could get out of this chair without slipping on my own drool."

He laughed and told me it would be $35 for the nitrous.

Satan's Chair

I have to go to the dentist again. The list of things I'd rather do include licking goats, sleeping with Steve Buscemi, and going the rest of my life without vodka.

But I have to go. I have a cavity on a side molar that has apparently gotten big enough during my pregnancies when I was too sissy to go because they wouldn't give me nitrous that I can see it and it effing hurts. I went for a different tooth pain when I was pregnant and they said the words - gasp - root canal and I ran away screaming and sucked it up. I was not about to have oral surgery pregnant when they couldn't give me the good stuff.

I have given birth twice and had 17 stitches from a tear giving birth to my daughter. I have had my gall bladder removed after I was so sick from a blocked duct to my stomach. I have had both feet operated on, two back surgeries, and two girly bit surgeries. I have had a chain link fence through my arm. I had the tops of my feet dragged over concrete (stupid scooter) till the skin burned away to almost bone in some places. And I survived and none of it seems that bad facing that chair in that hell.

The dentist is my weak point. My kryptonite.

So now I'm off to deal with the repercussions of my decision to avoid the dentist for the last three years and I'm sure I'll come home toothless with a list of dates to go back for various procedures.

Just call me Cletus.

Have you ever felt...

...like you have to struggle to find something nice to say to people whose views differ so vastly from yours that you're afraid if you argue a point, you'll lose a friend?

...like you have to smile and take the underhanded criticism because it's served on a lovely platter with a smile?

...like you work and work and can't get ahead, putting money into a home that is decreasing in value?

...like if you have to go through one more day of the same. exact. routine you may actually lose your mind and cluck like a chicken on the highway?

...that if you hear The Map one more time, you're going to throw your $190 shoes you got on sale for 40$ through the 40-inch LCD screen?

...that you could walk away from it all, take your family and live in the woods somewhere?

...like life is unfair and what's worse is that your "why me?" feelings annoy you because you know how good you really have it and you feel guilty for even feeling this way when there are babies dying somewhere?

...like you can't imagine having any more children and yet the thought of all the beautiful babies you won't have still makes you sad?

...that you chose the wrong career path?

...that you wouldn't be friends with someone you've known for 20 years if you met them today?

...that you are handling things much better than you're supposed to be and that makes you wonder when the bottom is going to fall out?

...that you've got so much love and happiness that you just know tragedy lurks around every corner waiting to take it away from you?

...that you'll kick tragedy's ass if it comes near your family?

It's been a busy weekend

(Quick note: if the music from the slideshow in my last post is annoying you, you can shut the sound off on the left-hand side of the slide)

Mike took off all five days this past holiday weekend - Friday through Tuesday - so we could get some stuff done around the house before I went back to work. It was nice having him home and alternating days to sleep in and get up in the middle of the night and spending some family time together.

We mentioned that we were going to make our downstairs dining room into Charlotte's big girl bedroom, but after trying to work out the logistics of having a toddler on a different floor than us, our heads exploded. Do we lock her in her room so she isn't meandering around, getting into the bathroom, on the stairs, or in the cabinets (of course, we have everything dangerous locked away, but still, nothing is ever 100%)? But what if there were a fire in her room or something and she couldn't get out? What if she needed us?

So after discussing this with my girlfriends over dinner last week, a brilliant suggestion was made to put Sawyer down here, since we can buy ourselves at least two years (in theory) without worrying about him getting out. By then, Charlotte will be 4-5 and there will be significantly less concern to have her on a different floor, and then we can switch them to keep him safe with us upstairs.

Of course with an infant, there are some nights when they are sick or they need you multiple times a night (like when they learn to stand up and scream because they haven't figured out how to get back down 89 times a freaken night. Yeah, that was the one of the least fun 2 weeks EVER. She was literally up every 30 minutes holding onto her crib side and crying. I tried to let her learn that she could let go and fall but she never did. She'd stand for 10-20 minutes. SCA-REAM-ING. I will end my parenthetical reference now. I promise.), which is why we are still going to put one of the twin beds in there with him and Charlotte will get the other one in her room. This way, if he's having a rough night, one of us can stay in there with him and not have to go up and down the stairs eleventy billion times. We can always bunk them later.

One of the biggest sucktastic factors of this whole thing is that this room we are working on used to be the dining room. A lovely little nook with all of my adult stuff and dark brick red walls. Not only did we have to get a storage unit for the dining room stuff (um, MY stuff) since our basement is finished and our garage is a little full (read: I think there's a family of pygmies living in there), but in case you didn't catch it the first time, THE ROOM IS DARK RED. Oh woe is the little family who hates painting that has to prime and paint a dark red room. We're painting it some rustic cream color so that WE NEVER HAVE TO PAINT IT AGAIN. Cream goes with everything and thanks to those peel-n-stick wall thingies, I can change the decor quick and easy.

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Thanks for all the anniversary wishes! Especially, thanks to my sister for babysitting. We went to a big fancy dinner at SeaBlue at The Borgata in Atlantic City. I lost five dollars in 12 seconds in the nickle slot machine and then quickly decided I'd rather spend our money on these bad boys at the lovely little bar with the hot waitress.

Dinner was fantastic; Mike got the lobster pot pie (yes, it's as good as it sounds and better) and I got some fish with some fried potatoe-y thingies on top (real specific, huh?). We even took a break from our freakishly healthy eating and had dessert. Of course, by the time it occurred to me (four martinis and being blond severely slows down ones thought processes) to take a picture of the pretty plate, I had already eaten the molten chocolate-y caramel-y slice of heaven.



It was a wonderful night out though and we so needed it - to talk about things other than schedules and diapers and bottles - to remember that before we were parents, we were just us. That we still are.

September 2, 2005

Three years ago today, I married my best friend. Here's to another 80.

A New Winner

Because Maggie2 hasn't gotten back to me in a week, I chose another winner to be fair. I did another Random Number Generator, taking out the 2 people who already bought it as well as Maggie2 from the running. The new winner is:

That Chick Over There from Jason. For the Love of God.

She is probably one of my favorite bloggers out there and I'm thrilled she won. She's already lost 25 pounds at Weight Watchers and I'm sure this DVD will help her get to her goals even faster.

Email me with your address and I'll send it out tomorrow morning!

P.S. For an update: I've done the DVD 6 times now, alternating days at the gym or days of rest and along with a very healthy eating plan, I've lost 8 pounds in the last 3 weeks. It's still kicking my ass but I can feel the difference in my body and see improvements in endurance while doing the video. I'm gonna stick with Level 1 for another few weeks before moving up to Level 2, which I hear is brutal. I believe Jillian may even use the words "gargle with your lungs," or something to that effect.