Morning Person

I stayed up late last night visiting with a friend and her boyfriend, drinking wine and eating gluten-free tortilla chips and salsa.

I'm tired and even though I'm by definition a morning person, I like the first hour of my wake time to be quiet. By rote movements, I get the kids their breakfast and juice, vitamins and supplements (omegas and probiotics). It is the same routine every morning and as they eat breakfast, I sit at my laptop, sipping my coffee, occasionally leaning over to pick up the sippy cup Sawyer deliberately threw on the floor for the 89th time.

This morning, more tired than usual, I forgot to get Charlotte her milk and after I made their buckwheat pancakes and sat down, trying to coax my brain awake, she yelled, "Momma, you forgot my MILK!"

"I'm sorry. I'll get it for you."

"No, don't bother," she tells me, holding her open-faced palm in my direction. "I'll do it myself. You look tired."

Stifling a giggle of pride at her ability to be sarcastic at three, I retort "Oh, I do huh? How do I look tired?"

"Your face looks like it's still sleeping."

"Gee thanks."

"And you have a booger on your cheek."

Halfway

I was engaged at 22, married at 24, had my first child at 25, my second at 27.

I'm nearing 29 (the first 29 of at least 5 more I think) in the fall. Many of my friends are very successful young professionals - a dermatologist PA, a biochemist, an environmental scientist, an actuary, a toxicologist - and most of these people I've been friends with since I was 13 and they are a part of me and I love them all.

But.

I'm the only one with kids.

And whether you plan on it or not, it changes things. It changes the friendships.

Mike and I were the first in our group of friends to buy a house in 2003 - a cute townhouse with ample sleeping space for those friends too inebriated to drive home at night. We had dinner parties and Party parties. We went out to dinner often and stayed out late. We saw our friends once, if not twice a week.

Then after we got married - on our honeymoon to be exact - I got pregnant. I still went out but was tired and could barely keep my eyes open past 8 pm. I was uneasy and certain smells at restaurants made me nauseated. I couldn't drink and watching a group of people get drunk when you're stone cold sober isn't always fun. We also bought a new, slightly larger house with a backyard for our dog and our future babies.

Between the pregnancy and moving, I saw my friends less and less.

Once I had Charlotte, the dynamic changed further. They were still my friends. They came to visit and hold my little girl. They brought cute little outfits and tiny hats and shoes. As the baby grew and I stopped nursing, I could go out and have dinner and drinks again.

As the time has gone by and I've added another baby to the mix, I've gotten better at juggling the social part of my life and the mother part of my life. I go out once or twice a month with my friends - I see some more than others - and I meet them at their side of life. I go to the places they had planned on going, often tagging along last minute because we got a sitter or Mike offered to stay home with the kids.

But sometimes, if left unworked-on, these friendships can slip. If I make the effort to meet them in their realm of life to see and spend time with them: at wine tastings, loud bars, dancing clubs for a birthday night out - all of which I truly enjoy - than why is it so hard to ask them to meet me on my side of life once in a while?

A loud dinner at Applebees with a baby and toddler destroying their table? A shopping spree in the mall with a double stroller? A trip to Sesame Place where I could use the extra help and company? A night in my living room, sipping wine and talking after the kids go to bed?

I can see how that might not be what a young single professional wants to do in their spare time, but it's me. It's not glamorous, but it's part of who I am.

I am diapers and pigtails. I am poop and boogies.

The problem with me having kids and my friends not, is not how different our lives are - because they are of course by default - it's which of my friends still sees me beyond my children and simultaneously as part of them, not in spite of them.

The friends that I've remained closest to are the ones that invite me into their lives but still make the effort to be part of mine, children included.

The friends I know I'll be friends with forever are those that meet me in the middle, in the space between our past lives and the ones we live now - halfway.

No apologies

On Saturday, we are heading up to Mystic, CT for a wedding of a friend I've known since high school.

Without kids.

Fo. Shizzle.

I get that a lot of people deeply miss their kids when they're away from them. I read tweets from working parents lamenting how much they'd rather be home snuggling their babies. I read blog entries of people on trips who can't wait to get home to their children. I read about people left in their own home alone while their spouse and children are visiting relatives and they feel lost, sad, and miss their family.

I get it. I do. And I sympathize and wish those people could have what they wanted.

But then for a second I feel like a total dicktowel, because dudes, if Mike said "Hey babe, I'm gonna take the kids to my mother's for a few days and I thought you might like some time to yourself," I'd have their suitcases packed before he could remove the booger Sawyer had just wiped on his pants.

Then I think about it, and I no longer feel like an asshole parent. It's not that I don't love my kids with every ounce of my body. I'd gladly lay in front of a freight train for them. Okay, well "gladly" may not be the correct word, but I'd do it.

But when I'm at the office for the day or away from them for a night or two...here it comes...I don't miss them that much. I KNOW. There are about 50% of you clutching your wee heart and thinking of how black and cold mine is and the other 50% is thinking that they agree but they'd never admit it because MY GOD for the love of all that is choreographed by Wade Robson, how can she admit she doesn't MISS HER CHILDREN?!?!

I don't expect you to tell me what 50% you're in.

I'm not a mushy person. I'm not overly sentimental. I'm a realist with a side of optimism. I'm fiercely independent. I work not because I have to but because I WANT to (Cheezits Christmas, she just admitted she wants to work AND doesn't miss her children when she's away from them; what kind of soul-less bitch IS she?!?!)

I like having a self that is divorced from my children - a social life that doesn't involve them, a career that is often so busy I go hours without even thinking about anything other than deadlines, a sense of identity that is not just...Momma.

And I am proud of that.

I love my kids but a couple days away from them will do everyone a world of good so why waste the time and mental energy thinking about how I miss them or wishing I was somewhere else? Why not just let them learn that sometimes Mommas need to go away, that they are safe and happy in the care of the person I've entrusted, and that Momma's always come back. Happy. Relaxed. Recharged.

I don't apologize for not missing my kids. I don't apologize for not weaving my identity so deeply in being a mother that I forget who I am and what makes me happy.

A happy momma is a good momma.

And dammit, I'm both.

Changes

After a year of discomfort, a month of pain, and an ER visit, Mike finally saw a gastroenterologist a few weeks ago. They drew blood and sent him for an upper endoscopy yesterday.

While he was there, they told him the blood tests were positive for Celiac disease. In short, it's an auto-immune disease which causes the villi in the small intestine to be damaged each time the person consumes gluten. The villi are responsible for the absorption of nutrients into your body. Some people have no symptoms, some people are misdiagnosed with irritable bowel disease, and some people go undiagnosed for so long, it can lead to anemia, osteoporosis, cancers, and thyroid disease, among other things.

As sucky as this is, the treatment is simple: Remove the gluten that causes the body to attack itself, and the body will begin healing. In adults, it can take years to heal the damaged villi and get your body back to absorbing the correct amount of nutrients.

Though a positive blood test is almost 100% accurate, they are also doing a lower endoscopy as well to biopsy and check the villi in the small intestine to see the amount of damage and confirm diagnoses. He also has to get another blood test to confirm he carries the gene.

Then, we test our kids and start our new life of gluten-free.

I'm not worried and even though he was definitely bummed out at first at the thought of never again being able to eat what he wants, we spent the day yesterday researching and talking to our friend at The Bon Bon Gazette whose son is on a gluten-free diet. As far as cooking and eating in the home is concerned, I'm fairly certain not much will change, except a higher grocery bill and more dilligence in reading recipes. They even have gluten-free beer.

There will be a learning curve. But it will be okay.

There are so many resources, gluten-free stores, and our local supermarket has a few aisles full of gluten-free foods. The hard part will come when we're out and about, running around with the little ones and starving. He won't be able to stop at a fast food place or get a sandwich. Everything - every meal - will have to be thought about. And I can see how that can totally suck.

We've come up will a rule: if it had a face or grew on a tree or in the ground, he can eat it.

There's more to learn, more to research, more to accommodate.

He's not to change his diet yet, as it could alter the results of the lower endoscopy in a couple of weeks, so it gives us plenty of time to wrap our heads around this and fill our minds and refrigerator with ammo.

In the grand scheme of things, it sucks, yes. But we could have walked out of that endoscopy with a myriad of diagnoses that I don't even want to think about. We got one that will change his life - our lifestyle a bit - but one that is totally manageable without medication. The silver lining is pretty bright.

Verbosity

At 8 months, Charlotte started saying words. The long-awaited "mama" came decidedly after dada, puppup, titty (kitty), and soos (shoes). Yes folks, shoes were above me to my infant daughter. By the time she was 18 months, she was speaking short sentences and by two-years old, she could converse freely.

I tell you this not to brag because I'm not sure it has much of anything to do with me other than the fact that, well, I talk. A lot. And I never talked to her like anything other than another human being. I digress. This is is not about how well my daughter speaks.

It's about the issues she's having speaking now.

Right around her third birthday, she started stuttering. Nothing too significant, and since her father does it on occasion, I quickly dismissed it as a genetic thing that she'd get through. But it's gotten worse. Sometimes, she struggles so hard to get a thought out, she has a breakdown and screams, "I CAN'T SAY IT!"

It's not the stuttering I'm overly concerned with. It's how much it upsets her. It's heartbreaking.

It is most definitely worse when she's tired or over-stimulated and excited. It doesn't occur mid-sentence, only when she is trying to start a thought. Some days are worse than others. It seems like her brain is working faster than her mouth can and the link between her mind and mouth is severed or stuck on a loop.

From all the research I've done and a quick conversation with her pediatrician, it is normal. It typically occurs between ages 3-5 and will most often clear itself up within six months. After six months, if it's still bad or worse, I will have to look into some sort of therapy I assume. I'm not overly concerned and am fairly confident it will fix itself.

Still, it sucks.

When she feels a stutter coming, she immediately puts her hand to her mouth and starts whispering, almost not wanting her impediment to embarrass her. When I ask her a question and she can't get it out fast enough, she starts crying and says, "Momma, I can't say it!"

I don't care if my daughter has a stutter. What I do care about is any long-term affect being self-conscious about her speech can have. I always want her to be proud of who she is, stutter or not, but she already seems all too aware that she has something "wrong" with her right now, even if it does goes away. Right now, she feels it. Right now, she gets upset and mad at herself.

When she has a bad day - like today - almost every time she speaks she stutters to get the first word out. We've learned to tell her it's okay, that sometimes words get stuck, and try and change the subject before she gets too upset about it.

I hope it will pass as her brain matures and perhaps catches up with her mouth. I believe that in six months or a year, she'll be just as perfect as always. In the meantime, I will just try and help her feel secure, to help her to know that having a stutter isn't her fault - that she is most definitely, still perfect.

Some Bullets

-Sawyer had his one-year well visit this past week. He's only 21 pounds, but 31 inches. And as usual, his dome is ginormous. Dr. M, our tiny Filipino pediatrician, spent more time than normal trying to wrangle him to properly check him out. To say he is an active child is a bit of an understatement and she looked at me as she grabbed one of his thighs as he was Xtreme Doctor Table Base Jumping and said, "Um, wow. Good luck with this one."

-We got our tax assessment in the mail and even though it's an estimate, our house value is now only $65K less than we bought it, rather than the $80K less it was a year ago. I guess I'll take it.

-We didn't join our local CSA this year because, as awesome as it was last year, we didn't have the upfront cash this year. Instead, we're joining a local co-op and I may even be the host/sorter every week since you get a HUGE discount.

-Sawyer is obsessed with hammers. He has a little toy workbench and his Aunt Courtney gave him a cute little tool set for his birthday and he sorts through both until he finds the hammers and then won't relinquish.

-We ran out of dog food yesterday and I didn't get to the pet store today so I cooked for the dog all day. Hot dogs, cheese, left over meatloaf. Note: If a dog's ass is bad on holistic organic puppy food, it will be noxious to the point of causing mental impairment on human food.

-A bunch of people are at BlogHer. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I think it would be awesome to spend the weekend with people I know I'd have fun with. Considering many of the blog people I'd really like to meet live far far away, having one central place to all get to would be great. However, I get the impression it seems a lot like the cliques and sororities I desperately avoided in high school and college. Then again, a lot of the women I know that are going are most decidedly un-sorority-ish. Am conflicted. I'd have no real interest in the marketing aspect as I have no interest in making money off of my little corner of the web. I barely have enough room in my life for the things I WANT to put effort into, ya know? So I'd be there for the parties and the fun and dude, that would be awesome, but I'm not sure it's worth the cost. I've already met some amazing women on here that have made the seamless transition from "blog friend" to "real friend" although the more I get to know some of you, the fuzzier that line becomes. For the most part, that line fades into a horizon of shared life experiences. I feel that for the people I really and truly want to meet in real life, it will happen, conference or not, ya know?

-Okay, that was one long bullet. I guess that could have been a post, huh?

Relative

I remember flipping through the channels one afternoon about a year ago and saw Suri Cruise with a bottle. Her and Charlotte are around the same age, so she had to be well over two. I smugly thought to myself that clearly Katie Holmes had no idea what she was doing and that it was just downright bad to have a two-plus-year-old still on a bottle.

My baby gave up the bottle on her own, you snobby-ass rich people. You must be doing something wrong! Clearly, this kid is doomed, right?! I mean, a BOTTLE? At TWO?!

Then I had my second baby. Sawyer, the Xtreme-Couch Diver, Eval Kneval of Throwing Himself off The Changing Table, Refuser of Pacifiers, Hater of Car Rides, Clingy Von StickToMe. And you know what shuts him up?

His bottle.

Long car ride? A bottle and some Curious George. Whiny in the supermarket because I've secured him in and he can't throttle himself out of the cart to his crack-skulled demise three feet below? A bottle. Crabby before a nap? Bottle. Before bed? Bottle. Wakes up too early? Bottle.

I'm not new at this parenting thing, but what I think people tend to forget when they have a child or another child is that not all children are the same. I mean, logically we know this of course, but we don't expect such vast differences - ones that will require us to shift and change in our own ways - from one kid to the other.

Charlotte gave up all bottles on her own at 13 months. I do not see this in our future at any time soon with Sawyer. And just for the same reason I didn't see the need to take Charlotte's pacifier away so young, I see no need to take away Sawyer's source of comfort.

It's so easy to say "I would never" or "not my kids," until you're in that position, even if the object of your judgment is some celebrity's baby. Maybe Suri Cruise was like Sawyer. Maybe despite her parents' attempts, it was the only thing that soothed her, and when you're dragging a two-year old through paparazzi flashes, I'm going to assume she needed some comfort. And if that came in the form of a bottle, who am I to judge?

Who I am to judge anyone?

A few months ago, I was in Target. I walked by a mother and her adolescent son. I could tell that he was mentally impaired in some way. He limped as he followed her and his head ticked to one side. He tried to form speech but it was only in a language she understood. A few minutes later, I was at the checkout lane when I heard a young boy screaming and being what I assumed was belligerent. I turned and realized it was the handicapped boy having some sort of breakdown and the mother was desperately trying to get him to calm down.

A woman in front of me in line who couldn't see the handicapped boy said, "Some people just can't control their kids. If that were my boy...."

I'd like to say I stopped her mid-sentence, and stood up for that boy and his mother.

I'd like to say that I told her that before she judged anyone or their situation she should walk in those person's shoes.

I'd like to say I told her that she was making incorrect assumptions and that she was a total dick.

Instead, I smiled blandly, felt bad for the boy and his mother, and walked out deflated.

But it taught me a lesson. You never really know anyone's back story.

You never really know why that little boy in the store is screaming. Maybe he's having a sensory meltdown. Maybe he really hurt himself. Maybe, just maybe, he's having a bad fucking day and wants to cry.

And maybe, we all should learn to take a step back before we judge and just realize that something different is not necessarily wrong.

That, in this parenting gig there are no manuals, no instructions.

That it's really all relative.

Limbo

I mentioned in one post about our relocation move. I've not really mentioned it since. I'm not sure why I don't talk about it more. It's not that I'm afraid anymore.

Oh, I mean, I AM. Moving halfway across the country and leaving what little family you do have is scary. But people do it. It's okay. I'm okay. For now.

The thing with the government - and any of you who's ever worked for The Man or been married to someone who has will know - they don't make decisions very well. But when they do, it's WEHAVETODOTHISRIGHTNOWEVERYONEUPHEAVE! So, the bottom line is this: the move will happen. The base will close. We will sell our home. We will move.

When? I have no fricken idea. Seriously, none. It could be six months, it could be a year. We have no idea when to get our house ready to sell, when to seriously start looking for new places, nothing.

And that's what kills me: living in this sort of limbo where I know only parts of my future. I know my husband and children are here and I know that even when we move, we'll still be close to our family and maybe some of them will even move out there with us. But, when I look ahead to the fall, winter, or next spring, I don't know where I'll be, where my life will be.

Will I be packing up the first home I brought my babies into? Will I be sad? This house is small and was never meant to be our forever home - at least not in its current state. We wanted to expand, renovate, build! And then the economy went to shit. And here we sit with negative equity in a house that I love and have made my own, yet simultaneously chokes me with the limitations.

I want a bigger house. I imagine a big kitchen, an open-planned family room, a master bath. Things we sacrificed to buy this little house on a large piece of land with images of a future we can never have here, thanks to the current state of the economy. I want an easier life, and I imagine that for myself in Iowa, although as soon as I mention the word Iowa to people, they go "Hope you like corn!"

As if Iowa only has corn. It has more than corn, right?

It's taken me months and I finally came to grips with leaving my roots, because I know as the matriarch of this family, it is my job to make my own.

I just wish I could see my future more clearly.

But I guess no one can, right? That even when we think we know what's to come, it never really ends up that way.

Three + One

Both of my kids are at ages that make me wish I could take a bath in vodka and benzodiazepines. Oh and fudge.

They're beautiful, really. I know it's fleeting and I will miss it when it's gone. And intermingled with these difficult ages are wonderful, awesome moments, like Sawyer learning to point to pictures in his book and say "puppup! oof! oof!" or Charlotte telling me she's going to be President so she can be friends with Barbie Thumbelina.

But most of the time I find myself caught between two children who I'm sure are really evil gnomes sent from some other world to see if they can kill me with sheer whining and mental torture.

Three-year olds are basically miniature crack-addicted bi-polar schizophrenics without the actual diagnosis. A conversation with my daughter can go something like this:

"Charlotte, do you want Cheerios for breakfast?"

"No, Momma. I want Trix. I loooooooove them."

"I know you do and Momma was a giant dillhole for buying them and letting you taste them. You cannot have Trix for breakfast, only as a snack, okay? Do you want eggs?"

"No, I want Trix."

"You cannot have Trix. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Momma. I love you anyway."

"I love you too. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"Trix."

"You CANNOT have Trix."

"I'm going to eat your soul and chew it up, rip off your head, and then spit it down your throat, you stupid evil witch of a mother," and then her head spins around and green stuff comes out, and Gremlins come at me from underground caves and then I die.

Sawyer, on the other hand, is stuck in this stage where he desperately wants to walk and yet is not quite ready or balanced enough to let go and take a step. So he has this little push-walker thing that he loves. He gets behind it, like a little shopping cart, squeals with glee and starts pushing himself. He's the happiest baby in the world.

Until he hits a wall.

Or a door. Or the couch. It's like a Dead End. And bless his little blond head, he just doesn't get that he really isn't being sucked in to some evil vortex of doom that is stopping his walker, and all he needs to do is turn and keep pushing. So, he screams. Until someone walks over to him and moves his cart.

Imagine how often we have to do that in a tiny house.

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Squee!!!" Translation: This is the BEST toy ever!

"AAHHHHHH! EHHHH, EHHHH, SIOJTRHOVNDOINNOPAKDEWM," Translation: "Oh for fuck's sake, another wall! HELP ME! The WALL IS GOING TO EAT MY PRETTY BABY FACE!"

I'm starting to think it's the TV stand

It may the The Force of The TV stand and the exact age of 1 month and 1 week, but no one can say my kid's can't shake what their momma gave them:
(I promise this will make you smile if your day has sucked, especially Charlotte's old school moves)

Charlotte, 2007


Sawyer, 2009

I know

I took a pregnancy test today.

It was negative.

I'm on birth control and have been since Sawyer was four weeks old. I had no real reason to think I was pregnant other than not feeling myself and having messed up my birth control a little bit last month. I've been tired and my stomach's been a little off. I've been having weird foot and leg cramps. I got a small pimple on my chin. I NEVER get pimples unless I'm pregnant. Nothing really significant. Nothing that a little virus or simple stress couldn't explain.

But, it was negative.

In the 30 seconds it took for only one pink line to show up, I tried to see any happiness in the thought of another baby - to find any joy - to prepare myself if the second line showed up. There was none.

I'm on a blood pressure medication that has a big giant warning on the packaging: CAN CAUSE FETAL ABNORMALITIES. Do not take if pregnant or trying to conceive. I drink alcohol fairly often, though probably not enough to cause anything serious, it still is at a level above what I think would be safe for any fetus developing you know, A BRAIN.

In those 30 seconds, I worried about how we would afford another baby, we'd have to move, Mike would have to get more shifts, there's not enough bedrooms here, the house is too small, daycare is too expensive, would I have to quit my job?, what if something goes wrong from the medicine? I've already given away all the babies stuff, I can't handle a newborn, I don't LIKE newborns, they cry, they poop, what if I can't love another baby?, Sawyer won't be my baby anymore, he'd be the middle child, would that change him?, would I become a bad mom from so much stress? how could we afford maternity leave? what if my water broke earlier than 36 weeks like it did with Charlotte? what if I get pre-eclamptic again? oh god oh god, I really don't want another, but what if I am pregnant and he or she finds out how much I didn't want him? what if I'll resent him? what if I can't do this? what if there's not enough of me left to love anymore?

Only one pink line.

Thank you.

I know I could love another. I know there is always room. I know Mike and I love each other enough and have enough support that we could do it.

I just don't want to.

And today I had the realization that it is okay to feel this way.

It does not make me a bad mother to not want more children. I want to love and nurture the ones I have and help them grow into good a good man and a strong woman. And I don't see anything wrong with it.

But why do I feel so guilty?

A Three-Year-Old Con Artist

"Momma, Can we go play outside?"

"Not right now honey. We were outside all morning. Momma's got stuff in the oven and other stuff to do. We'll go outside again tomorrow or after dinner."

"Okay.....WAIT! OHMYGOSH! I left my Hello Kitty sunglasses outside! They will get ruined!"

"No, they won't. They'll be fine until we get outside in a little while."

Commence total shit-fit.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH I NEEEEEEEEEEEEED THEM!!!!!!"

"Okay, fine. Let's go outside and get them."

We walk outside to where her purple-rimmed Hello Kitty sunglasses are beaming in the sunlight. She picks them up, puts them on, grabs her helmet, and stuffs on it her head.

"Okay. Let's go back inside before Sawyer sets the cat on fire."

"Well, I'm already outside. You go back in with baby Sawyer. I stay here. BYE!"

And she slams the door in my face.

His and Hers

Mostly, Mike and I share household and child-rearing duties fairly evenly - the dishes, laundry, cooking, taking care of the kids. We're both equal partners, equal parents. However, after being married almost four years and living together for six, there are some things that have become His Job and some things that are My Job.

His Jobs:
1) Anything dead: Half-chewed on mice from Cronus the Cat of Death, the poor bunny whose skull was crushed by the dog, or the squirrel-of-the-week that got electrocuted on the transformer wire by our driveway. I can't handle dead things; I just can't.
2) Moving the lawn: I'm not really sure why. I just never learned how to use the lawnmower. I plan to learn soon because I wouldn't mind doing it and may even welcome the hour-long solace of being outside with a noise too loud to hear whining children.
3) Taking out the garbage and recycling: Although I do it when he forgets or is away and have no qualms about it, it has just developed into his chore.
4) Bringing in the mail: I hate mail and there is never anything good in there, only bills and junk mail, so if it were up to me to remember, it would sit in there for weeks.
5) Bathing the kids: It started as a way for Mike to have something that was solely his to do with Charlotte as a baby and as it turns out, the way I have to lean over the tub to do it really hurts my bad disc, so I only do it when I have to or when Mike is sick or away.

My Jobs:
1) Cleaning the bathroom: Mike never complains about cleaning anything, but he despises cleaning bathrooms and every time he's had to do it for me when I've been sick or too pregnant, I may as well have sent a blind armless monkey in to do the same job.
2) Sorting/Organizing/Kids Rooms: I'm not sure he's ever put away our kid's clothes for the season, cleaned out a closet, or organized a thing in his life.
3) Errands: This is in part because I'm home more but I do most of the shopping, dropping stuff off at the dry cleaners, taking the kids to appointments, etc., and in part because I'm the Keeper of The Schedule (and Mike can't remember shit.)
4) Paying the Bills: Again, not sure how this evolved into my job but it has and I carry the burden. Mike has learned to pour me a drink, keep the kids occupied, and leave me alone when I do it because chances are, I will not be in a good mood for a few hours.
5) Crafts: Mike's about as artistic as the same blind armless monkey that cleans our bathrooms, so I make the masks, play with the paint, glue, pipe cleaners and Popsicle sticks.

What about you? Do you and your spouse have His and Her Jobs?

Birthday Boy Post In Pictures

Some of these photos are courtesy one of my best friends Cass, who I was so glad was able to make it to Sawyer's birthday and even brought her grandparents whom I'd like to adopt as a second set (in case they're in the market for another granddaughter).







Cake by the Awesome Kelly

Because I'm an awesome mom*

I made this for Sawyer's birthday party tomorrow:



It's candy sushi - made from Rice Krispie treats, Fruit Roll-Ups, Twizzler Pull-N-Peels, and Gummy worms.

It took me three batches to get these to do what I wanted and formed properly, and because I'm so awesome, I'll explain it to you.

First, you need to make the Rice Krispie treats with a little less krispies so it's a little gooey. Pour the goo onto parchment or non-stick foil. Spray your hands with Pam or rub a little butter on them. This will let you use your hands to mold and flatten the rice krispies without them sticking to you. Flatten them out so they look like this:



Here's where the tricky part comes in. I tried this three different ways. This is the first way I tried: I placed the fruit roll-ups on top of the flattened Rice Krispies, like this:



Then I used a pizza slicer to cut around the edges and eat remove all the excess. Then flipped them over, placed one Twizzler Pull n Peel or a few gummy worms, and rolled it tightly. Once I made one full rotation, I used the pizza slicer again to remove it, and repeated until there were arund 3-4 rolls, like this:



I then used a sharp knife (our boning knife - heh, I just said "boning) to slice them into "rolls."

This way worked pretty well. The next batch, I tried to lay the roll-ups down first and then pour the hot Rice Krispie goo on top, hoping it would form a more complete bond for when I rolled them. Instead, they got too thin from the heat and tore and ripped.

Finally, I figured out The Best Way: You lay the Rice Krispies out as above - flat - and place your candy and make your rolls into tubes. THEN you wrap the Fruit Roll-Up around the tube. This seems to be the best way to keep the Roll-Up in the best form.

The "wasabi" is mushed up candy spearmint leaves that I literally just mushed with my hands, the "ginger" is sliced orange gummy candy and there is just a piece of plain "sushi" on rice: a swedish fish on a oval-formed Rice Krispie treat.



Cool, huh?

*Thanks also to the other cool moms today: 1) My mom for coming over and helping with the above project as well as the 50 million Swedish meatballs I made AND cutting and slicing 12 pounds of cheese and vegetables AND watching the kids so I could run errands and 2) My mother-in-law who is letting us have Sawyer's family party at her house because she has the pool!

One

One year ago, on 7/10 at 10:17 pm at 7 lbs, 7 oz, the only other man to have my heart was born.
Happy Birthday, little Dude.
Here's to your first year of life and the best one I've had yet.

Finally

My mother stayed home with Spawn Part Deux while Mike and I took the day off and took Charlotte and my nephew Colin to Sesame Place. Dudes, I had so much fun. My bathing suit was up my ass after each slide I went down. I chased the kids around with sunscreen. I played in sprinklers and went on a roller coaster. Even though my truck is still broken, and the baby seems to have caught a slight cold and a bloody lip, and I haven't started shooting rainbows and unicorns wearing money hats out of my ass, we had a really nice day.

One of the highlight of the day was coming home to this from our friends John and Perry, two of my favorite people:



The card reads: We just wanted to remind you that not all Flowers are bad. They're GIANT COOKIE FLOWERS. How fricken cool are those guys?

Here are some other of my favorite pics from the day:

Me and my girl on the Lazy River. I so need one of these in my house. One that has random hot tan male attendants handing me martinis at designated spots, kind of like water boys at a marathon, only better because I wouldn't be running, I'd be lazily FLOATING down a river and it wouldn't be water, it would be top shelf vodka. I digress, huh?



Colin on a tube ride


Ice cream break!


I love this pic


How cute?

Plug it in, plug it in

Go on, try and get the Glade Plug-in song out of your head now suckas!

Anyway, as everyone was recovering from the Day From Hell, I had yet more to endure. I had yet another eye doctor appointment since I keep getting recurrent corneal infections. It turns out the reason is because I have extremely dry eyes and this causes microscopic scratches, which in turn are beacons for infection. And since I live with the Gross-O Kids, I'm bound to pick something up.

Ok, so we need to make my eyes less dry. Drops didn't work. All different kinds of contacts didn't work. So, what did we do today? We inserted punctal plugs in my four tear ducts. This is to prevent my eyes from draining, thereby keeping them more moist. The ones he put in today are only temporary and if it makes a difference, I get permanent ones put in next week.

I think they are working. Every time I blink it feels like my eyes are re-wetting and when I close them, there's this cool sensation of moisture, which I suppose is what eyes are supposed to do. My contacts feel better in my eyes. I ultimately decided on Acuvue Oasys. They're two week wear and they feel and fit great.

I'm hoping this is one less thing for me to worry about.

---

Let's talk about The Explorer Saga again. It's been two weeks now, and it's currently at the dealership because it needed a new computer, which neither our mechanic nor our engine guy could do. The engine dude - a really nice guy - took it to the dealership for repair for us since he knows one of the guys there. They called this morning and said when they went to start it, it was dead. Turns out that the fuel pump broke while there.

TOTALLY UN-FRICKEN RELATED TO THE REASON THE CAR IS THERE.

Also? It's $800 to fix. They called Dan The Engine Guy who didn't believe them and he actually drove over there to check. Yep, busted. They wanted to charge us $1200 for the fuel pump but he got the down to $800. Then, once that's fixed, they still have to fix the computer. You know, THE REASON THE CAR WAS THERE. And who knows how much that will cost - at least $400 more in our estimation.

The last thing I needed today was more bad news and now we have to find money we don't have. Money we need be to saving for our trip to Disney in October. Money that we can't spare. Money that has to pay to keep our electric on.

I just want something good to happen. I know in the grand scheme, I'm lucky and have a great life, but I just want one surprisingly good thing. Like, Oh Look! A Check in the mail! or Hey! You won a new car! Or hell, I'll even take: Hey! Nothing bad happened today!

Eh, fuck it. I'll just have another martini and be thankful I have these things to worry about.

Some Days 911 Tops the List

There are some days that leave no words to accurately describe their suckiness. Starting it off by spending 6 hours in the ER with your husband (gall bladder/GI issues) after he's been in pain for two weeks and you finally make him go is bad enough. Dropping and breaking your iPhone makes it a little shittier, considering your backup cell phone is in your car. You know, the one that's STILL fucking broken at the shop and will cost at least a few hundred more dollars to fix. Money you don't have.

Running around to your allergy injection and then warehouse shopping for a baby's party alone with two kids because your husband is so sick is definitely not fun nor easy, especially around dinner time. Shoving churros in their whine-holes while you buy 50-gallon vats of mayo only works for so long. Getting the kids home and the car unloaded, getting them dinner, then running back out to the pharmacy before even you can eat to make sure you fill your sick husband's prescriptions sucks as you sit and wait, downloading all the old apps you lost on your iPhone, which you broke, remember? After 40-minutes of waiting, you get in the car, finally ready to get home, get your husband his meds and shove some food in your mouth and pass out on the couch.

Calling 911 puts that day right at the top of the Shitty Day List.

"911, where is your emergency?"

"13 This Day Sucks Lane, Howell. My daughter: she's 3. She fell backwards off a chair and hit her head about an hour ago. We thought she was okay but she's starting moving her leg seemingly involuntarily. My husband is sick and has to stay home with our infant and I'm afraid to drive her to the ER by myself and have something go wrong in the car."

"She's three?"

"Yes."

"We'll send everyone out there."

In the three minutes it took the first responder to arrive, we had gotten her blanket, dolls, slippers and juice ready to go and I was waiting outside. I explained the incident at least four different times as every one who showed up wanted the "official" story.

"She was standing on her booster seat. She pushed away from the table and instead of the chair sliding back, it tipped. She fell from at least four feet onto the back of her head. I wasn't home. I was at the store. My husband said she cried so hard, she lost her breath and was pulling on his hair, clawing at him. When I got home, she was calm and normal, albeit with what feels like someone literally shoved a golf ball under her scalp. She was playing with my iPhone when her foot turned inward and started moving, twitching. She looked at me and said 'Mommy, what's my foot doing?' That was enough to make me call you guys."

They were great with her and she was pretty much calm and happy the whole way, trying to make the experience seem exciting, rather than scary. The whole neighborhood was outside, watching me clutch my daughter and load her into an ambulance. Something I figured I'd have to do at some point in my parenting career, but hoped would never happen.

We got to the ER, they ordered a CT scan for which she was great for, and two hours later we were released with a negative CT and an order for a follow-up. Apparently, the leg thing was unrelated and may have just been a muscle spasm or cramp. But the timing was enough to send me to That Place. I'm not a panicky parent. My kids fall and I tell them to get up, shake it off, and come get a hug. I don't coddle or overreact. Kids fall. Kids get hurt. But this was different.

I didn't want to be that parent who thought their kid was fine - all kids bump their heads - and sent her to bed, only to have a brain bleed or fractured skull and have an outcome I can't even consider. An outcome whose mere thought catches my breath and squeezes my heart until I can't see straight.

This time it was just a bump on the head. A bad bump, but just a bump nonetheless.

I hope there never is a next time.

Green

We ran out of paper plates two days ago. In those two days, the dishes have at least doubled. I emptied the dishwasher this morning and by noon - after we all ate lunch - the sink was full again. Also, there may or may not have been pygmy marmosets living in there.

Part of me feels better using real plates. Even though we use the recyclable paper plates and buy in bulk at BJs, I feel like I'm making less waste and thereby a smaller carbon footprint by using our regular plates. Which, considering we drive two SUVs makes me Hypocrita Von Asshole.

But then this conundrum starts rolling around in my head: How is it any better for the environment if I'm not putting paper plates (that would biodegrade, mind you) into the world's landfills, but instead am running twice as many loads of dishes, thereby using twice as much water and adding twice as much chemicals into our water with the detergent? (For what it's worth, we have switched all of our soap/detergents to Seventh Generation and LOVE them but still, the point stands.)

The same thing with cloth diapers. I get the concept that disposal diapers are bad and take eons to degrade but, again, what about the extra laundry to wash all the dirty cloth ones? Which by the way, after this past week of Puke and Flowers I could never do.

We also use our own bags almost every time we go to the store and I've been so good at remembering or using paper (also excellent fire pit fodder) that we completely ran out of the plastic store bags all normal humans keep under the sink.

This would be a good thing except those are what we use to line the bathroom garbage cans, the diaper bin, collect cat litter, put wet bathing suits into, etc., and now what? I had to use a regular garbage bag - easily three or four times the amount of plastic in a Target bag - for such tasks. Now how does that make sense?

I just have to be careful not to run out and when I do, make sure my next shopping trip I "forget" my bags, which I then feel BAD about. Ugh.

I just feel like no matter what I do in my family and my home to try and do good for the environment, there's always the flip side. Which is the lesser of two evils? Where is the line drawn? How can I know in the grand scheme of things I'm doing the right thing?

Hope your weekend was filled with as much reckless abandon

So you can tell me how cute my kids are

My high school friend Brie has started her own photography business and she is wonderful. Unfortunately, the weather was horrible making bad lighting conditions in our small house and Charlotte has just broken her leg the day before but we were able to get these three great pictures. Even though she's in a cast, I kind of like having that part of our life immortalized.

If you're in Eastern PA or she often makes Jersey trips, please go check out her website. She has great photos of families and couples, specializing in awesome outdoor shots. I can't wait for her to come back and take more.

You don't buy me Flowers

No more puke!

No more Flowers!

We even got out today to see some friends I haven't seen in a while and miss a lot and had a great family get-together.

But, if you still want news from the Something Still Has to Suck File: My car is still broken. It was a computer issue and not an engine or mechanical issue. No idea when we'll get it back or how much it will cost, but I can imagine it's not going to make me happy.

Since it's a holiday weekend and I just had one of the worst weeks ever, I'm going to commence drinking now.

Have a safe and happy Fourth!

Day 6: Notes from the Trenches

The pediatrician did call back yesterday and confirmed what I already knew - it can take up to a week for some viruses and as long as they're staying hydrated, it will run its course.

Last night, both kids ate dinner, seemed in good spirits and I was looking forward to a full night of sleep, hopeful the virus was finally through.

The vomit trail from Charlotte's bed to our room at 3 am would beg to differ.

In case you were wondering: Light beige carpet in a kid's room is the DUMBEST idea I've had, second only to putting a Flowering baby in a one-piece feetie sleeper.

Mike took her downstairs and cleaned her up while I scrubbed, bleached, scrubbed and then burned my hands in an open flame because surely the smell would NEVER go away.

However, Charlotte woke up saying she was hungry and thirsty this morning which is a change from the past week and she ate a half a bowl of cereal and a pancake and as of 11 am as I write this, seems better. Note to self: You daft cow. Haven't you learned that whenever you say that, someone literally shits in your hat?

Sawyer slept without incident and has been Flower free all day. Again, self, you are a giant tool.

This has been the sickest my kids have been for the longest. I've lost three days of work, two days of dayhome money, and most of the sanity I had left.

If you need me, I'll be in corner trying to bite my own ear.

Flowers do NOT smell like Roses

We're still fighting the good fight with the Flowers today.

After three days of being trapped in the seventh level of Hades - which in case you were curious is made from ALL FLOWERS - Mike took over today and I went into work.

Charlotte seems so far to be better. The night went by cleanly for her.

The same cannot be said about Spawn Part Deux, who at 4 am, had an incident that Mike will only refer to as The Day My World Changed. Apparently, one-piece feetie pajamas are not the best choice of attire for a Flowering infant.

Let's just say, I'm glad it was him and not me. I think I would have officially gone over the edge.

"Babe, it was unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was down both legs and up to his arms. I died a bit inside as I unzipped the sleeper."

"Better you than me. I think I just would have put him outside and used the garden hose."

I have a call into the pediatrician since this is day four/five of the Flower Virus. I'm sure they're going to call me back and say that as long as they're staying hydrated - which they are - that it's a virus and will run it's course. But, I feel less like a slacker/asshole parent for calling.

In the meantime, we lost out on Sesame Place today, it looks like another lost day of daycare, and I'm hoping they're all better by Friday for a friend's BBQ.

And in case you were wondering, Sawyer did have the Rotateq vaccine so this is not that, and Charlotte already had Rotavirus as an infant and it was way worse than this. Oh yes, there is worse. But in that case, at least it was only one baby.