Something so simple can bring such joy

Good things

This week has not been one of the easiest, but we've escaped mostly unscathed and covered in only minor amount of snot and goo.

In order to keep my mood lifted and positive, I'm going to share with you some of my favorite things of this week rather than rehash the sickly-house, poop-covered-dog, fraudulent-bank-account-debits week it has been.

1) I got this awesome shirt which makes me smile

2) These really awesome labels I received to review from Applied Labels. They're dishwasher-safe and laundry-proof. I noticed that even the Sharpie would fade in the dishwasher, so this is very helpful for me. They're great for keeping track of shoes and bottles at daycare. You can also get dates with them to put on breast milk containers or frozen baby food. You can also use them for lunchboxes, sippy cups, blankets, and jackets. They even come with an extra shield for the labels to put inside shoes and a clothing backer as well. And I can personally attest to the fact that even after being worn by a rambunctious two-year old, they did not move or bunch up in her shoes. I'm not one to review things on my blog ever, but I really need something like this and this came at a perfect time.

They're offering a discount to my readers of 10% off using code: Blog10. Seriously worth it.

3) The puppy. Despite her affinity for baby bottle nipples and pacifiers is really damn cute:

4) The look on Charlotte's face when she got caught playing with Momma's mascara:

And the fact that she thinks it's funny when I can't keep a straight face while disciplining her:



5) Charlotte's independence and fierce sense of self, insisting she dresses herself everyday. I kind of like the look. Very punk:

(Yes, her shoes are on the wrong feet)

And her smile. Both of my kids got their Daddy's one-sided dimple and it is my favorite thing:

6) My son's ability to look like an elderly troll doll in one shot:

(The hair.It kills me.)

and completely adorable in the next:

8) The wonderful feedback and e-mails I am getting from my posts over at Bodies in Motivation. I've posted about my story, gym class tips, and asked for advice on what to do when you're sick.

9) That Cass is an awesome blog designer and put this one together for me while working on a Very Awesome Blog Design that is to come.

10) That I have my mother. She came over today while I was sick and sent me back to bed while she took care of the kids and house. She is always there for me when I need to vent or advice on how much baking powder to use in a recipe (although very often, "fuck if I know" is not a very specific measurement) and I am very thankful for her love and friendship.

What are you thankful for this week? Even if your week sucked, find the goodness.

The Ninja Cold

We're all down for the count from The Ninja Cold - it came from nowhere and kicked our asses.

The baby handles being sick as well as I do. That is to say he whined and cried all night, mostly in our bed. Charlotte, who started this plague on Monday, is now well enough to go back to her dayhome so Mike and I are both home sick today with a sick Sawyer, taking turns napping to get better as quickly as possible.

I mean, we have big plans this weekend. The world would just come to a bitter end if we could not enjoy Disney on Ice on Saturday as planned.

My days

The other day I took Charlotte shopping to get some one-on-one time with her and pick up some stuff we needed at Target. When we walked in the door, both husband and son were staring at the television, completely enraptured in what they were watching. I walked into the kitchen, four bags on each arm, dropped them on the table, grumbled about how some help would be nice and then caught a glimpse of the TV.

Figure skating. Women's figure skating.

"Um, are you serious?"

"He loves it. I had on Rocky but he started crying and getting angry when they'd beat each other up."

"Yeah but what's your excuse?"

----

We've been trying to train Phoebe and most of it centers around the fact that I'm in charge of the pack. She thinks Charlotte is a puppy which given the way puppies play, mouths open, jumping and tackling, isn't particularly fun for Charlotte. Charlotte tries to bat her away and screams which only fuels the puppy fire. During these times when Phoebe gets overly excited, I have to put her on a leash and correct her from jumping. I also roll her on her back and hold her there, ensuring she submits and knows I'm in charge.

Often I say, "I'm the boss."

The other night, Charlotte chimed in, "No, I'M the boss."

"No baby, you're not. Mommy is the boss."

"Well, then I'm the LITTLE boss."

"Well, Daddy's a boss too," I remind her.

"No, Daddy's not. Mommy's the boss. I'm the little boss."

Mike, resigned, chimes in from the couch: "Well, I'm fucked for the next 16 years, aren't I?"

---

We've been trying to teach Charlotte not to hit or kick the dog away from her when she's bothering her. It's almost like training TWO creatures. I have to train the dog NOT to jump and nip and have to train Charlotte on how to handle it properly, by turning to the side and saying firmly, "No! Off!" Sometimes she's better with this than others, and like bickering siblings things can get out of hand. Out of frustration, Charlotte will try and hit or use her foot to swat away the dog. I have told her repeatedly that this is not appropriate behavior and no matter how mad we get, it is never okay to hit or kick.

Yesterday morning, after being trapped in this house with a sick kid since Sunday I was ready to lose it and after I caught Charlotte hitting the dog, I grabbed a garbage bag, went into her playroom and collected all of her princess stuff - dresses, jewelry, rings, all 15 pair of shoes. I told her she could not have it back until she proved to me she wouldn't hit or kick the dog.

Not more than 30 minutes later, I was in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher after just sweeping and vacuuming. I hear the puppy play-growling and then the inevitable toddler shriek. I turn around just in time to see Charlotte whack the dog with a broom.

"Charlotte, what did you DO!?! That is NOT nice?!? Go in time out! I told you not to hit or kick that dog!"

Through tears and sobs, and snot running into her mouth, she says, "But I didn't hit or kick. I used a broom."

White sheet

I've never seen a dead body.

I'm an Editor. It's not like I'm in a line of work that I'd come across one too often and thankfully, no one has ever died in my presence. Part of me always wanted to be a volunteer firefighter or EMT. I even started training for firefighting school back before I got married when I was in good shape. Then I got pregnant and had my first baby and realized I could never go into that line of work, even on a volunteer basis.

Not because of the danger posed to me but because if I ever had to confront a dead child, there'd be no way for me not to interpose and picture MY child. I know I'm not emotionally strong enough to ever handle that kind of situation. I hope I never have to because I'm not sure I could come back from such a place. No matter what situation, even fictional ones on the television shows I watch, I imagine being that person in that situation - my baby trapped in a train, my husband killed by terrorists, my sister murdered, my family dead in a plane crash.

I have a very hard time not empathizing and being miserable for hours afterward. This is why I very rarely watch dramas. I had to stop watching Criminal Minds and Law & Order altogether because they'd upset me for days. I also can't watch the news. No matter how logical I try and be, or how much I rationalize that these are not MY experiences, my mind always wanders into the what if. How many steps away are we from being those people on the news? They didn't wake up expecting their child to be kidnapped and killed that day.

Obviously, we can't live our lives this way - there'd be very little living if we always worried about the bad stuff. So I deal with it the best way I know how - I ignore it. I don't watch those shows or the news who sensationalize tragedy and pain. I don't go to the movies to watch dramas, no matter how many awards they've won. I try and limit my exposure to things that I know will make me sad for days, or put images in my head that I have a hard time shaking.

But I guess we can never fully live in a self-induced happy hole.

Last night on the way home from the gym, I sat in traffic that I overheard was from a big accident at the intersection. This is a very large intersection and I suppose to handle the situation better, they had put up large spot lights.

There was a car in the right lane with the entire left side ripped off. I drove past it on the shoulder and could see papers in the windshield, a bag on the front seat, dry cleaning hanging in the undamaged right side window - implications of a busy, normal life.

On the cold black street right next to the non-existent driver's side of the destroyed car, maybe ten feet from where I sat ensconced in my warm Explorer, lie a body. It seemed like it was almost glowing, the bright white sheet illuminated by the stadium-esque lights. I could see the outline of the face, the nose propping the sheet up and gently sloping back down to the neck and shoulders. I could see a right foot sticking out from the sheet and I couldn't tell if it had a shoe on or not and for some reason, this bothered me.

I wanted to look away and focus on driving. My stomach tightened and I had to hold back a wretching feeling.

What I was seeing was not gory. There was no visible blood. The rest of the accident was cleaned up, and due to the fatality there were still police on the scene, measuring and cataloging, doing the proper investigation in such a case.

But I saw that body and didn't see a stranger. I saw my husband on his way home from work, blindsided and dead on the road, mere miles from home. I imagined getting that phone call. I saw my future teenager lying on the cold pavement and wanted to give them a blanket and stop them from being so cold. I saw my sister, my mother, my babies.

It's going to take me a while not to see that.

Until the image fades, I'll just hold everyone just a little closer.

Well, there was no dog poop

Today is arguably better than yesterday although in comparison, a root canal would have been better.

I was only up with one child - the baby - at 2 am for a feeding (when will he stop this madness?!) and then he was up for the day at 5:30. So, even though I got 6 broken hours of sleep, it was better than the dozen times I was up the night before.

I called the pediatrician as soon as they opened and they made Charlotte an appointment for 10:30. Mike came home from work to stay with Sawyer so I didn't have to take an otherwise healthy child (save for the agony that has been teething) to the germ-infested doctor's office.

After having Charlotte yell to the doctor from the office waiting room, "MY BAGINA HURTS!" they asked if she could pee in a cup. Pee in a cup!? Bwah-ha-ha. I can't even get this kid to pee anywhere other than her diaper, clean panties, or the only piece of rug in a hardwood-floor room. So they placed this collection bag in her diaper with a foam sticker thing stuck to her skin. The only way she would allow such shenanigans was because the nurse and I convinced her it was a princess sticker. I should have known this would come back to bite me in the ass.

I took her to a deli in the same strip mall for lunch and to load her up with fluids so we could get the collection back to the doctor while still in the area. While we were sitting in the deli, I asked her if she could pee for me. She got upset and yelled, "NO MOMMA, I CAN'T PEE ON MY PRINCESS BAGINA." Awesome. So home we went, pee-less bag in her diaper. After THREE hours, we eventually convinced her it was okay and right before her nap, she peed in the bag. I then drove the pee BACK to the pediatrician for testing, where it showed that it could be a UTI. It was showing only one of the two things they look for, so they sent me to the lab with a sample and a prescription for Amoxicillian to start today just in case. They will call me with the results and let me know whether to continue with the antibiotics or if the culture didn't grow anything.

This will be the first antibiotic my kid has ever been on. Can't say I'm thrilled about that but I know that the bacteria in a UTI needs to be treated.

Moving on from urine...

We got through to the bank and had to go to one of the local branches to fill out a form to get our money back. We're also going to have to freeze our account, get a new account (which I will be doing at a less annoying/more helpful bank), and transfer basically my WHOLE life to this new bank -- our direct deposits, all of our billpay (I have over 30 payees in my billpay), all auto-debits like EZ-pass, Booksfree.com, the gym, etc. It's a nightmare in and of itself.

On the brightside, the dog did not roll in any poop today.

On the not-so-bright side, there was no naked men on my doorstep this morning. Or gold doubloons. I really wanted those.

Karma

I'm a good person. I whine sometimes, but usually it's half-hearted or in a joking matter. Overall, I'd like to think I'm a fairly positive person and try and put good energy back out in the world. I get easily annoyed by really negative people - which I guess in and of itself makes me a little hypocritical - but the "woe is me" crap is really tiresome, especially when there are certain people who are ALWAYS like that. WHINE, WHINE, BLAH, BLAH, STFU.

So usually when I'm having a shitty commute, a rough week at work, a sick kid, or am so damn tired I could cry in my oatmeal, I try not to spread it out into the world. Of course, there are days when my Suck Reservoir is so full, it has to overflow somewhere.

Today is one of those days and that somewhere is here.

Yesterday, I logged into our bank account like I do every morning to make sure things are okay. Something was awry. It said we only had $59 in my account, and even though this happens entirely too often for two people who make pretty decent livings (thank you, New Jersey), it was not the amount I expected to see. I had paid all the bills and left us with enough money for food and gas for the week, daycare, and put a little extra aside for a babysitter and a night out - something Mike and I haven't had in ages. I checked the pending transactions and there was a huge chunk of money taken out for Verizon bill pay. We don't have Verizon. I called the bank and they could do nothing because the people who investigate fraud and overturn charges don't work on the weekends

So, if you ever plan to have your money stolen out of your account, try and make sure it happens Monday through Friday.

There went the babysitter money, the money for our night out we desperately needed, the money for daycare. I could charge food and gas and pay it off when we got our cash back, but last time I checked the babysitter and dayhome provider don't take Mastercard.

I figured we'd take today to decide what we were going to do. After my children woke me up a combined total of TWELVE times last night (yes, twelve) I eventually woke up to a toddler with a stuffy nose. And an infant with a cough who refused to nap.

When I finally got the baby down to nap, I went to let the dog in and she trotted in covered in dirt and crap she rolled in. As I was wrangling a 9-week old puppy in the tub, Charlotte was screaming loud enough that her princess dress got wet because she insisted on being up my ass in the small bathroom with a splashing puppy. This commotion of course woke up the crabby-ass Sawyer who had just effing fallen asleep.

I was sitting in the bathroom, soaked with muddy shitty puppy water, a sick diva toddler running snot down her face because MY PRINCESS DRESS IS RUINED, MOMMA, a whining tired teething infant and a husband working a 12-hour shift on maybe three hours of sleep, and I swear I literally saw red. My vision actually changed and the entire room looked reddish black. I had to put the dog in her crate to dry because she was chasing Charlotte around who was screaming about getting WET DOGPOOP WATER ON ME, MOMMA, I NEED A TOWEL RIGHT NOW!

As the day progressed, the dog needed to be blown dry because the way her coat is, two hours went by and she was still wet. Yeah, THAT was fun. Charlotte got sicker and has said twice, "my vagina hurts when I pee in my diaper" which I'm assuming is a UTI and a trip to the pediatrician is in my future.

Having a sick, UTI-ridden toddler has made the conundrum about what to do about paying for daycare tomorrow moot considering I had to call out of work because she's sick and needs to go to the doctor. I have an issue that closes tomorrow, so even though I'll be taking a day off I will still have to work to make sure the issue mails on time. I will still also have to pay for the day that the kids miss, as with any other daycare. Super.

This has been one of those weekends that makes me wonder what in the hell I put out in the world that I got this back?

I fully expect a million gold doubloons and a naked Taye Diggs on my doorstep tomorrow morning.

Well, it IS a compliment

Mike does the baths around here. He always has. When I was home on maternity leave and with the kid(s) all day, it gave him something special that was just his.

Now that Sawyer is big enough, we dump them both in at the same time. He does the washing and playing, I do the drying off, lotioning, and dressing. We have a system and it works.

He takes his shirt off to bathe them in order to avoid getting anything else in the room soaking wet.

The other night after getting out of the bath, Charlotte looks at Mike, touches his chest, and says, "Daddy, you have the most beautiful hairy boobies."

Can't argue with that.

Assurance

Well, I can't say I'm HAPPY that at least 22 of you are in the same funk Mike and I are in, but it's nice to know I'm not going off the deep end. I'm not a depressed person AT ALL and I can't imagine what it's like to deal with such a disease, especially when just having the "winter blues" makes me all WOE IS ME.

My life is good. We're just in a down patch. As long as we acknowledge the elephant in the room, maybe we can decorate it, or at the very least, get it drunk.

I took Phoebe to the vet again for the second-second opinion and even THIS vet said he heard nothing, let alone an audible grade two murmur. I am going to go on every website I can find and write bad reviews of that mean vet or mail him some dog poop; he really broke my heart that day. And over nothing. My puppy is just fine.

Fine enough to do this to her dog bed:



Despite the guilty look on her face, she's lucky she's cute:

Funk

Am I the only one in a funk lately? I just can't seem to snap out of it. I'm still working out, still eating well and taking my vitamins (And still drinking coffee. Don't judge. I'm human) so I can't attribute it to that.

I've decided to blame the enlarged prostate on Old Man Winter. He's cranky and irritable, so we are too. It's too cold to go out; it's too wet to go out; it's too icy to go out. We've yet to get any real snow to play in, so the weather has mostly kept us in the house, only running out for errands, like the endless supply of diapers and baby food/formula we need.

I feel tired even when Mike gives me extra time to sleep in. I feel like time moves slower than Aretha Franklin in a 5K, despite being insanely busy. I wait for the kids' bedtimes, even though I enjoy my time with them, only to be faced with work deadlines, a sink full of dishes, and a never-ending stream of laundry.

Mike and I talked about it and we both feel the same funktastic way so we're trying to come up with ways to help it. We have a babysitter scheduled for Saturday night so we can go out together. We're also going to try and get out once a week with the kids to do something despite the weather, like the aquarium or an indoor play area. Anything to break up this monotony.

I like winter. I like soups and wintry days and snuggling under the covers. But I do not enjoy this part - the never-ending part - and I don't even live in a part of the country where it's winter that long. This officially solidifies I will not be moving any further north of Jersey EVER.

Anyone else in this Groundhog Day-esque funk? I'm such a happy high-energy person normally but I just can't seem to find her right now. I think she's buried in my basement under the 4 piles of dirty baby clothes (MY GOD, HOW CAN SOMETHING SO SMALL MAKE SO MUCH LAUNDRY??)

What do you do to help? Any suggestions? You know other than the obvious: booze and violent video games.

Inside Voice versus Outside Voice

Scene: Toddler is awake again at 3 a.m. for the fourth time this hour, throws open door, screams and slaps me on the face to wake up because something VERY SKEERY is making noise in her room.

Inside Voice: OHMYGOD, does she not know I have to be at work in 4 hours? Can't I get one ever-loving night of sleep? What do I have to do to? Who do I have to pay or sleep with for just FIVE GODDAMNED HOURS because I will!?
Outside Voice: Aww, honey, what is it now? Big scary truck? Wanna snuggle with Momma while Daddy chases the truck noise away?

----
Scene: Boss at work gives me double the work load without the promotion because I "can handle it."

Inside Voice: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Seven years I've been here, never been late on an issue, worked my ass to the bone and now you want me to do MORE work for the SAME amount of money? I quit.
Outside Voice: Sure, I'll take care of it.

---
Scene: Toddler won't stop talking and wants to show me: how she shakes her heiney/jumps real high/picture she drew/tower she made/poop in her diaper/cat puke on the floor/dog pee/spilled juice.

Inside Voice: SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPFORTHELOVEOFALLTHATISGOODINTHEWORLDSHUTUP.
Outside Voice: Wow, honey, that's FANTASTIC! You're the best heiney-shaker/jumper/picture drawer/tower-maker/pooper/cat-puke detective/dog-pee finder/juice spiller in the WHOLE world.

---
Scene: Husband insists on putting dirty laundry ON TOP of laundry basket.

Inside Voice: I swear to the man who invented Nutella that if you put your socks inches from INSIDE the laundry basket one more time, I'm going to collect them all for a week and put them in your lunch box. Also: Say goodbye to boobies.
Outside Voice: Hey babe, ya think you could put your socks INSIDE the basket, kthx.

---
Scene: Infant is inconsolable while teething and unhappy anywhere but in my arms.

Inside Voice: Oh sweet jeebus, all I want is a shower. Could you please just take a nap for a few minutes, please please please please please? I smell and oh yeah, I smell.
Outside Voice: My poor little man. Wanna snuggle with momma?

---
Scene: Toddler is throwing a fit of epic proportions because dog is chasing her and biting her princess dress.
Inside Voice: I am going to take the dress off and burn it outside in the firepit in effigy and laugh manically as I watch it burn.
Outside Voice: Charlotte, calm down. You only excite her by running and squealing; she thinks is's a game.

---
Scene: Day is over, work for the day is done, kids are in bed, dishes done, laundry put away and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open while watching Ghost Hunters.
Inside Voice: I'm so tired I could cry. But I'm so thankful for every aching second.
Outside Voice: Today was a good day with you. I love you Sawyer/Charlotte/Mike.

A new project

I'm sure many of you reading this know Linda from All & Sundry.

She has started a new fitness/health website called Bodies in Motivation and has asked me to be a contributing blogger. I am beyond flattered and kind of girlishly giddy with excitement over this. See also: Agent Sealy Booth, 100 consecutive jumping jacks without passing out, sneezing in rapid concession without peeing myself.

My first post is up here and the About page has a list of all the other bloggers and their bios. So, if you all wouldn't mind heading over now and then to comment or check on me, I'd be very happy. Also, for any of you into fitness and nutrition, there are some great articles and all around, I find it a really cool place to hang out and get ideas, find motivation, learn new things.

Hope you come visit me!

P.S. YAY!

Reality Bites

Charlotte got her first tooth the day she turned seven months. I remember bringing her into bed to wake Mike on a weekend morning after letting him sleep in. We were all cuddling in bed, playing and being goofy, and Charlotte reached out, grabbed Mike's hand, shoved a finger in her mouth and bit down hard enough to elicit an "OUCH!" from her father.

That of course explained her rotten mood the few days prior. She was proving to us that teething would not be easy with her. And lucky us, she was seemingly teething constantly. It felt like she got a tooth a week, and by the time she was 14 months old, she had 16 teeth. By 18 months, she had her 2-year molars and now, at two and a half, the three-year molars are popping through in the back. It was NOT fun. She'd often be inconsolable, her pacifier and Motrin the only thing that helped. I tried those homeopathic teething tablets, the Orajel, frozen waffles, a cold washcloth - every remedy - and nothing worked until those little effers popped through.

Sawyer, on the other hand, is a much less dramatic baby than his sister. He smiles and giggles all day long and very rarely ever cries. He may yell for food or whine to be changed or because he's tired, but he rarely cries. This week, he started getting pissy. Nothing seemed to make him happy except being held by me. If I'm in another room and he's with Mike, he'll literally yell at me until I look at him or pick him up. And this week, he actually cried. Inconsolable, red-faced cries. From my happy boy.

And sure enough, he has a little tooth poking through with the other on stand-by, the iridescent white showing through his gums.

He doesn't really want to eat; he just wants bottles and momma. We've been giving him Motrin or Tylenol (we alternate) when he seems to really need it.

But just my luck, he is proving to us that we are not blessed with those children who teethe so well the parents didn't even notice the tooth was there for days. We have children who are in pain and who show it. Every time I start getting frustrated or irritated that nothing we do seems to help, I just remember something the pediatrician said to me once with Charlotte, "If adults had to teethe like babies do, we'd all be hopped up on Vicodin."

So we hold him a little more, kiss him a little more, drink a little more vodka, and wait for that tooth to pop through.

It also helps that he's so damn cute.

Evolution of a Daddy-made waterfall

Because I'm busy

I am insanely busy today trying to clean and do laundry and work and make sure my kids have, you know, food and stuff.

So I give you the world's smartest and cutest puppy, who incidentally has also added "gimmie paw" to her repertoire since this video was taken a couple nights ago.



Note the following things in this video:
1) My super-hot cherry pajama pants.
2) My daughter also complying with the tricks.
3) My annoying high-pitched voice (which I'm sure many of you will add in "and your annoying Jersey accent")

Doctor's orders

I just got in from the doctor's. I had some routine bloodwork done last week and had a physical scheduled for today.

Weight: Down 50 pounds from Sawyer. Great. Even though I have 40 more to go, it's still good.
Kidney function: A little off, but it could be from my high blood pressure (genetic - have it it for years, no matter health or fitness level)
BP: Perfect on the new meds. Remain on new meds, despite my agony of peeing 40 times a night from the hydrochlorathiazide (water pill)
Cholesterol: 180. Perfect. I rock.
Liver function: Perfect. SAH-WEET. Hand me my martini, please.

Any complaints, she asks?

Well, my heart has been doing this little bumppity-bump thing for the past couple of months. It used to only happen a couple times a month, and I just attributed it to hormonal palpitations. But, it's been happening every day, sometimes for up to 10 minutes at a time, sometimes more than twice a day. It feels like my heart stops, catches in my throat, and then gallops to catch up the beats.

Do you drink coffee?

Yes, I have a toddler and an infant. I'd get an IV drip if I could.

Umhmm, I see. How many cups would you say you drink?

What do you mean by "cup"? Are we talking coffee mug at home or Large Dunkin Donuts?

Say a 6-8 oz serving.

Um, like 5.

Umhmm, I see. Would you say you are stressed often?

Well, I have a very deadline-driven job, a pretty crappy commute, and those kids I mentioned who always need food and stuff. I'm also fairly high-strung, but I feel like I handle stress fairly well. Or maybe not. I don't know. I do get frazzled but I don't get angry or crazy or mad. Or maybe I do. I don't know.

Ummhm, I see. And I notice here you've lost a lot of weight and your cholesterol is great. You must be taking good care of your body. Do you exercise?

Yes, I take pretty intense cardio classes at least three times a week, sometimes four or five.

Well, let's do an EKG.

---

Twenty minutes and one EKG later, the doctor comes back in. My EKG was fine, but the arrhythmia is concerning if it keeps happening. Large caffeine consumption, stress, and intense exercise can exacerbate the irregular heartbeat. Since exercising is a good thing and reducing my stress level is almost impossible in a personality like mine, she wants me to....god, I can't even say it.... qu..quit...coff...coff... QUIT COFFEE!

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

She wants me to start slow, decreasing half a cup a day over the course of two weeks or so until I'm on complete decaf. She even gave me medication to help with any headaches. Double my water intake (which should be fun with above-mentioned peeing pills) and avoid any other stimulants (Damn, looks like I'm off the meth.)

Then I go back and see her in two months. If after being off the coffee, the arrhythmia is still bad, she will refer me to a cardiologist for one of those 24-hour monitors that I wear all day.

Seriously, people. This is bad. Coffee is like my one real vice. Yes, I love my vodka and my martinis, but that is all done in moderation and only on the weekends. But I'm a serious FUCKHEAD in the mornings without my coffee. The warmth flowing into my empty belly, the caffeine coursing through my veins, the almost-immediate pep in my step.

How, on 4-5 hours a sleep at night, am I going to give up the ONE thing that makes it bearable?

I know many of you non-coffee drinkers think I'm insane for being this upset about it, but I know many of you will understand.

Who has advice? Hit me.

Like sister, like brother

I guess reactions to the first time in the big bathtub are genetic.


(Charlotte, 6 months old)



(Sawyer, 6 months old)

Apparently, eating orange food prior to first bath is a tradition.

Pass the hackey sack

Yesterday when I called to make the appointment with my old vet, I only spoke to the receptionist. The same one who calmed me down from near hysteria after holding my dog as the vet injected the pink barbiturate ending her life more than a year ago. The same one who called me the next day to make sure I was okay. When I got there, she asked for all the paperwork but told me not to mention anything to the doctor. She entered Phoebe as a new patient, not a check for a pre-existing diagnoses case.

My holistic bald vet in red Converses put her on the table, weighed her, shoved a thermometer up her bum, rotated her hips, checked her paws, and then reached for his stethoscope. After listening on both sides for a good few moments, he declared "She's a perfectly healthy little puppy."

It was then I asked, "Are you sure you don't hear a murmur? And her legs look okay?"

When he asked why, I relayed the story I told you all yesterday and he immediately listened again. And again. And again. He swore she had no discernible murmur and even if there was a tinge of it on the left side as the other vet had said, it certainly was incredibly faint and nowhere near a stage 2 and it would most certainly heal itself as she grew.

He also had her walk and run around the office and noticed nothing that would indicate dysplasia but of course, it's something that needs to be watched with these breeds. He said he left hip looked slightly higher if he was REALLY searching for something but it could just be because she is growing into her long, goofy, gangly legs. Hence, the waddle. He rotated her hips again and again and said he noticed no bowing as the other vet had.

Next Thursday when I go in for her vaccinations, he's going to have his associate come in and check her heart and hips to get a second-second opinion. But he said he would have never thought twice about signing a certificate of health or thought she was anything but perfect.

But most importantly, he picked her up, loved on her and carried her around proudly. He showed her off to the people in the waiting room. He reminded me why he was my vet in the first place because he truly loves the animals. He had actual emotion and treated my dog more like the living creature she is and less like a defective machine or broken toy.

When he handed her back from being tucked under his arm, her whole coat smelled like the patchouli oil/deodorant he must wear, which caused Mike to exclaim "MY DOG SMELLS LIKE HIPPIES!" when I brought her home.

To which I replied, "Better to smell like a hippie than an asshole."

Matters of the heart

Mike and I spent most of last night trying to console a howling puppy. I mean, this dog was SCA-REAMING for it's momma and siblings. And here we were, putting her in a crate for the first time in her life on the first night in her life she's ever been alone. No wonder she was waking up the dead. (Seriously, her howls hurt my ears.)

All night long, we went back and forth over what to do. Take her out? But isn't that re-enforcing the crying behavior in the crate with the fact that if she whines long enough, we'll let her out? Leave her in to cry it out? But she was crying so hard and yelping that she kept waking Sawyer (a floor and two rooms away). Around 3 am after no sleep at all, I finally gave in, waited for her to settle a bit, and put her at the end of my bed on my electric blanket where she curled up and slept till the kids woke up.

GAH!

I KNOW I defeated the purpose of the crate training for the evening, and I am a HUGE believer in crate training. And I KNOW letting a dog in the bed is a bad idea, especially for training and alpha-issues. Not that this excuses it, but I've never seen a less alpha type dog in my life. She's calm, content, playful and loving and doesn't even chase the cat, who is adjusting remarkably well to the new housemate.

I think our first mistake was introducing the crate at night and on her first night. So, today for an hour this afternoon, we put her up there and she cried for just a few minutes and then got quiet. After an hour of being quiet in her crate, I released her with lots of praise. Hopefully, we'll introduce the crate slowly and by the week's end, she'll be in the crate full time at night. Because as cute as an 8-pound puppy curled in bed is, it will be a hell of a lot less cute when she's 60 pounds. Not to mention, I don't even let my HUMAN babies in my bed EVER; it feels kind of wrong to let my furry children in.

She had her first vet appointment with a new vet and I went in, proud of my puppy who already knows how to "sit" and is basically completely house-trained already. (I mean, seriously, she goes to the back door and whines to be let out and then cries to come in when she's done - no accidents.)

I left in tears.

The gruff vet found a second-degree heart murmur and said he "didn't like how her back legs looked." He said she was "unfit for sale," gave me a certificate saying so, and said I should give her back and get my money back. He said shortly, "The murmur could go away on its own. It could get worse. The hips could lead to dysplasia or not." He added that he knew someone who has healthy Maltese puppies available right now and if I wanted one he could give me a phone number.

He said this to a crying woman holding her new puppy - an animal she has wanted and watched grow for the last two months. He insinuated I should trade her in for a better dog.

I called Mike crying. I called my mom crying. I called the breeder crying.

The breeder has clean bills of health from all the puppies and the parents - no histories of murmurs or hip dysplasia from either lineage. By contract, I can give her back for another puppy or my money.

Phoebe is not a pair of shoes that doesn't fit. I can't return her. I won't.

She is our dog. She is a part of our family.

I called my old vet, and even though he is 40 minutes away and I was looking for one closer, offered to give me a second opinion. He's also a homeopathic holistic vet and I'm hoping he can give me better options, other than "get your money back."

I realize I'm taking on a potentially costly and perhaps unhealthy future for this dog. A dog I paid for with the intent of good health. But in my mind, there are no guarantees in life. It's not the breeder's fault; she's holding true to her contract. Both Phoebe's parents were from different parts of the country; there is no chance of it being an in-breeding or known-genetic issue. It just is what it is - a random sucktastic event.

My hope is that it's nothing. That she outgrows the murmur and the "bowed legs" turn out to be nothing. In any case, she's here to stay.

How can you look at this face and think otherwise?



---

Since today is Delurking Day:

I'm asking you to come out and comment, even if you usually don't. And if you need comment fodder, tell me if you would do the same thing in my position. Would you keep a dog that maybe has potentially life-long expensive health issues? Would you return her to the breeder? What would you do?

The new addition

Well, after seven hours in the car, stops for both species to pee, Phoebe is home and getting used to her new family. My ass, however, is still a little tingly from sitting and driving for so long.

There was a large welcoming committee of my parents, sister, friend, and nephew and she did great, wagging her tail, chasing the kids, licking and snuggling with everyone. She went to the door and whined already to go out and seems to be adjusting very well, albeit it a little sad and missing her mom and siblings I'm sure.

I'm very happy to have her and she completed a part of our house that has felt empty since we hd to put our last dog to sleep over a year ago. Now, remind me this tomorrow when she has chewed up my shoes and shit on my hat.

Some friends

Five years ago in December, Mike and I were invited by one of his friends to a Christmas dinner. It was a cold, windy night and I remember my hair blowing in my face as we walked toward the apartment building.

I had never met his friends before - his old roommate and all of his friends from his old job. I knew they loved video games and movies and science fiction. I knew they saw midnight showings of Lord of the Rings. And from how Mike talked about them, I garnered that they were good guys.

A table was set up in the middle of Jack's* apartment and he had cooked dinner himself for the ten or so people in attendance -- a very delicious chicken parmesan. I shook everyone's hand, and sat and listened while they caught up since Mike had been in Iraq for the previous year. I answered questions about myself and since these friends were into technology, they actually knew the company I worked for.

They were very different from my high school and college friends. They didn't go out to clubs or bars and party. Instead, they opted to hang out with their close friends, see movies, go to dinners, play video games. It was foreign to me - how Mike and these friends could talk for hours about EverQuest or a new piece of technology or gaming equipment. They didn't even really drink and I spent my weekends with my friends at late dinners in NYC, polishing off bottles of wine or at bars and clubs, singing and dancing.

We were different. But I was in love with one of them. We weren't engaged yet, but I knew I would marry Mike. So I wanted to be a part of every aspect of his life, even these friends so different from my own.

Later that night, I went into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. I was using one of those traditional wine openers that you screw in and then use the little handles to push it down and lift the cork out. While pushing down the handles, my thumb got caught in the screw part, and when I pushed down quickly to remove the cork, it pinched the tip of my thumb off. Yes, off. It was actually still stuck in the wine opener.

I grabbed my thumb with my other hand, not looking at the damage and quickly sat down on the nearest chair, feeling my head start spinning and my stomach dropping. Mike managed to convince me to remove my hand where blood was seeping through my fingers so he could look at the injury. It was a small gaping hole where the pad of my thumb should have been.

I knew they wouldn't be able to stitch it since it was so open and I knew they wouldn't reattach the tiny piece of thumb that I ripped off, so I didn't even consider going to the Emergency Room. I was holding pressure on it, trying to figure out how to deal with it, when the door flies open and a very windblown and red-cheeked Jerry* thrusts a white paper bag at me. It was filled with medical supplies - gauze, tape, antibacterial ointment, band-aids.

In the melee of the situation, I didn't even notice the quiet friend had left. Since Jerry lived in Hoboken and commuted to work, he never needed to drive so didn't have a car or a driver's license. He had run into town to a local pharmacy open late, bought all the supplies, and ran back.

I bandaged my thumb, calmed down, drank my wine, and finished the evening. I hugged them all as I left and could tell by their stiff bodies, they weren't huggers. But I didn't care.

They've sent gifts and bonds for each one of my children's births. They've bought Christmas presents for us and the kids even when we couldn't afford to buy them any back. And when I saw Jack and Jerry this past weekend, Jack taught me to drive stick shift in his car. I became close friends with Mike's old roommate Steve's wife Brandy and their little boy. We get our families together as often as we can.

Every time we see them, Mike always mentions in the car ride home how much he wishes he could see them more often. But we live far away and have very different schedules.

These are the types of friends I didn't know I was missing in my life. The quiet ones. The ones other people may call "geeky" even if they take it as a compliment. The kind of friends that you see maybe three or four times a year, but could call them on a Sunday at 3 am if your car broke down, and not only would they be there, they'd drive you two hours home.

The kind of friends that run to a pharmacy without being asked in the freezing cold.

**Names changed to protect the innocent. :)

Return of Q-Tip

I took Sawyer to the pediatrician for his well visit yesterday. Despite a swollen lymph node on the back of his head (Did you know we had lymph nodes there? I didn't.), he's a perfectly healthy little six-month old. Speaking of which, um, when in THE HELL did my son get to be six months old already?

As usual, his dome is off the charts. Yes, as in just above the 100th percentile. The doctor says it's fine since it corresponds to his height which is almost at 97% and his weight is still normal but only in the 50% at 17 pounds. His rapper moniker Q-Tip still stands. At least until the peach fuzz on his head decides to do something else. I mean, seriously, remember this picture? Total fuzzhead.

I also want to discuss something that has been happening in my house quite frequently lately, and it's a bit concerning to me.

On Monday, I got up before both kids, got showered and dressed as silently as I could, started the car to warm it up, and sat at the kitchen table with my coffee by 6:30. I have to be out of the house with both kids by 6:50 to get to the dayhome and on the road by 7. By 6:45, I had to wake BOTH kids up, neither of whom where very happy about it, and get them dressed, bundled up, and in the car.

Yesterday was a day I worked from home. I got up to feed the baby at 4 and went back to sleep only to be awoken by BOTH kids at 6 am.

This morning, my mother comes to the house by 7:30 and I go into the office. I got up early and got dressed and ready. By 7:20 when my mother arrived, BOTH kids were still sleeping.

To this I say: WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT?

Do my children hate me? Why won't they sleep in when I can instead of when I have to be somewhere? Why are they up at the asscrack of dawn when I have nowhere to be and could use every extra second of sleep? Is this phenomena worldwide?

Advice to my son

In 15 years:

Dear Sawyer,

Stop harassing your sister. I know you want to be around her and she excludes you from things, but she's figuring out who she is. Don't show off in front of her friends. It will only make you look less mature than you already are.

Never hit girls. Even if they hit you first. If someone tries to start a fight with you, walk away. If they hit you, hit them back. Then walk away.

Don't shave until you absolutely have to. If you've inherited your father's ability to grow facial hair, it will always be sparse at best, and look even more ridiculous with peach fuzz and knicks.

Hide your porn well enough that I never find it.

Smile earnestly at people passing by. Always look people in the eye when they speak to you. Study hard and do well in school. Find your niche and work for what you want.

Hug your father. Men should never be ashamed to show love.

Hug your mother. She's the first woman that ever loved you.

If you play sports, then play your hardest but don't feel like a failure if you're not the best. If you don't play sports, don't feel like less of a man because you don't.

Go out with your friends, make dumb mistakes, but always know when to walk away. Listen to your gut. Know who you are and where you stand at all times. No one can take that from you.

If you get arrested, call your father. I will kick your ass. If you get drunk somewhere, call me. Your father will kick your ass.

Be kind to the girls that like you, even if they show it in horrible ways. Make friends with all types of people and keep your eyes and mind open to everyone. Sometimes, the coolest friends are hiding in the oddest people.

Call your grandmother.

Love,
Mom

In 25 years:

Dear Sawyer,

Find a passion in your life and hold onto it. Whether it's your career or a hobby, follow it.

Don't be afraid of strong women. Don't try and be better than the next guy. It just makes you look like a tool. Be humble.

Be polite to strangers and tip your waiters well. Travel whenever you can and immerse yourself in the local culture.

If and when you marry, make sure the person is your equal, your partner. Even though you can't give birth, when you hold your baby, you'll wish you could. Play horsey with your children. Memorize their smile. If you have a son, teach him to be a good man.

Learn to cook. Read books and educate yourself. If you don't know the answer to something, find it.

Send your sister flowers on her birthday. Go visit her and talk about the times when you were kids.

Don't try and be something you're not. Be proud of who you are. You are part of us - part of something bigger. Remember that and pass it on.

Be a good man like your father. The world needs more of you both.

Call your grandmother.

Love,
Ma


*Advice to My Daughter*

Advice To My Daughter

In 15 Years:

Charlotte,

Don't listen to what your friends think. Think for yourself. Make mistakes and learn from them. Don't break curfew because in doing that, you will break my trust and it will take some time to rebuild.

Study hard and don't skip classes, unless it's to go to Great Adventure with your friends once a year; those memories will mean more to you than the punishment you will serve for it.

If you're going to drink, don't drive. Call me anytime, anywhere and I'll be there without judgment.

Be nice to your little brother. He may be the most annoying creature on the planet, but he idolizes you. Wear your seatbelt. Call me if you're going to be home late.

Put all of yourself into everything you do, even if you hate it. Apply to lots of colleges. Don't follow your friends or what is safe. Do what you want, even if it scares the hell out of you.

No one is better than you and you are better than no one else. If a boy breaks your heart, tell your brother. He'll kick their ass. If a girl breaks your heart, tell me. I'll kick her ass.

Spend your money for stupid things, like a car or new clothes because one day, you'll have bills and wish you were more free when you didn't.

Don't worry about the popular crowd. They're usually insecure and will grow up being assholes. Be nice to everyone, even the "weird" kids. Often, they will end up being the most loyal friends and interesting people.

Call your grandmother.

Love,
Mom

In 25 years:

Dear Charlotte,

Be your own white knight. Don't wait for anyone to rescue you. Live on your own just once, even if it is only for a few months. Travel and take every opportunity presented to you to do so. Be proud of who you are and never make excuses. Don't drink and drive.

Love your body. It is only young once. Take care of it.

Work hard in your career and in your family. Marry a person who isn't afraid of your independence, but supports it with his or her own. Don't marry if you don't want to. Have children and love them so much it hurts because only then will you know the true breadth of existence.

Learn to drive stick shift.

Save some money but don't worry so much about it. No one's headstone ever read: Had lots of money in the bank.

Be a good friend. Call people back. Hang out with your brother and get your families together often. If you move away from home, come back at least twice a year. The roots are the strongest part of a tree.

Laugh a lot and love hard. Nurse a broken heart with expensive vodka and ice cream.

Call your grandmother.

Love,
Ma

Oh Monday, wherefore art thou Monday?

I am a creature of habit and routine.

Every morning that I'm not in the office, I get the kids up and dressed and at the kitchen table. I feed them both and then plop their asses in front of Max & Ruby for 28 glorious minutes while I wake up with my coffee and email.

Then the TV goes off, music comes on, and cleaning, bottles, crying, napping, email, working, cooking, lunch, painting, coloring, phonecalls, playdough, and princess dresses commence. I normally balance it well and love the chaos that is my life.

Mostly.

But with the holidays, the kids' dayhome has been closed for all but two days and Mike has been working 12-hour shifts to pull in some extra money. So I've been home for two weeks doing this same routine and I'm about ready to shove a rusty spork up my nose. It's like Groundhog Day except without Bill Murray cracking my shit up.

I usually carve out time for myself, either by necessity by going into my office twice a week, or in other ways - going to the gym, meandering alone in a quiet bookstore, going out to dinner with my girlfriends, or in the rare instance, going out to dinner with Mike.

But with everything being closed, us being tight on money with the holidays, and hurting my back, I've been kind of stuck in this never-ending god-forsaken routine. We did go out a few times to see friends or family and had a great time but it all required packing up children, driving, and forgetting bottles (NOTE: NEVER do this. Because the local supermarket will not have the bottles your son likes and will not take any other kind of nipple and he will be a very unhappy little boy until he eats enough butternut squash to calm him enough to sleep until you can get home).

I miss work. I miss routine. I miss me.

I have found myself snapping at Mike for no real reason - or I invent one in my head that I am Really Very Upset about - and not wanting ANYONE anywhere near me when the kids are down. I just can't stand the thought of one more person touching me or NEEDING me after the babies are in bed. I just can't.

And that makes me feel like such a tool. Because my husband doesn't deserve that.

On the bright side?

Tomorrow is Monday. I'll get up before the kids, get myself dressed in something other than yoga pants and stained T-shirts, I'll drop them off at their dayhome and find myself on my drive into work. I'll blast crappy 80s music and sing horribly. I'll come home at the end of the day a better mother, refreshed.

On Tuesday, assuming my back is 100% better, I have a meeting with a personal trainer and three gym classes lined up this week. On Thursday, a friend of mine is coming over and on Sunday, we drive to Pennsylvania to pick up our puppy.

Life will be back to normal. Crazy, but normal.

Cute and Cuddly

Today at Target, Charlotte found this very realistic looking rabbit in the dog toy section and carried it around the whole store. Since she loved it so much and I'm a sucker (and it was on clearance) I bought it for her. She sat with it as I strapped her in her carseat. She gave it a big hug and said to me, "Momma, this bunny looks good enough to eat!" To which I replied "Where in the hell do you come up with these things? Do you really want to eat your bunny?" And she looked me dead in the eye and said. "Hell no. It's too cute and cuddly."

I think I peed my pants.

I guess I need to work on watching my tongue.
---

Speaking of cute and cuddly, here is the weekly picture from the breeder.

We pick Phoebe up in less than two weeks and I'm so excited I could pee again, which after having two kids in three years really only requires a sneeze, cough, or strong breeze. The breeder has two puppies left from this litter if anyone in/around Pennsylvania NEEDS a Goldendoodle puppy.

---

A few of us have been posting up a storm over at Life After, and I just posted my Week 1 round-up. Despite hurting my back this week, I still lost 4.2 pounds, so yay me.

I also posted a couple of healthy vegetarian recipes up over at Chop. Stir. Mix.: One for my creamy hummus and one for my Veggie Flatbread Sandwiches.

Hope you all had a Happy New Year and some of you were less lame than us and stayed awake past 11! As I said to someone on Twitter, my kids wake up at 6 am in 2009, too. Momma needs her beauty sleep.

Resolutions from the Superficial Fairy

For Thanksgiving this year, I posted the superficial things I was thankful for, like Taye Diggs and Grey Goose. I mean, who doesn't like some fine ass to go with the martini?

So rather than post traditional resolutions since I never really make any in the first place, I'm going to list my superficial resolutions. I suppose I could list things like eat better, work out more, be a better parent and wife, etc., but those are things I strive for everyday. Even if I fail miserably. It's way more fun to list shallow things, don't you think? Here goes:

1. Get back into some of my nice jeans and wear them with sexy strappy heels this summer.
2. Go dancing.
3. Buy new makeup. Big girl make up.
4. Accessorize more. I have so much jewelry and hardly wear it.
5. Do something that scares me, like ride on a roller coaster or jump off a high dive.
6. Watch the first season of True Blood.
7. Spend at least an hour a week writing my book.
8. Go to the bookstore more.
9. Find and learn how to use a good fake tanner so I'm not so ghastly pale but can avoid both orange glow and skin cancer. Tips?
10. Buy a nice suit for my work conference in March.
11. Lay on the beach and read.
12. Buy new workout clothes. I don't HAVE to look good at the gym but it would be nice if all of my workout clothes didn't have spit up and peanut butter stains.
13. Get a great haircut.
14. Learn to drive a stick shift so I can eventually get the Jeep I want. (And also be able to drive any vehicle available while fleeing from killers/zombies/man-eating beasts.)
15. Create more new recipes and actually write them down.
16. Eat at a new restaurant with a cuisine I've never had. I've had Ethiopian, real Italian, French, Polish, German, Lebanese, Greek, Turkish, Indian, all forms of Mexican/Spanish/Cuban/Portuguese and all types of Asian - Japanese/Korean/Vietnamese...I'm not sure there isn't a food I haven't tried. Any new suggestions?
17. Not pass out when I donate blood.
18. Walk up a grassy hill and then roll down like I did as a kid. Also: not break any major bones or pop my eyeball out of its orbit while doing so.
19. Expand my beer selection. Right now, I only like Blue Moon and Hoegaarden. And the Harvest Wheat on tap at Harvest Moon Brewery. Suggestions?
20. Get rid of the shoes I NEVER wear and buy ones I actually will.

What are your superficial New Year's Resolutions?