What I Should Be Doing

Laundry, kid's laundry in particular since I had to bust out a 6-9 month sleeper for my 4.5 month old last night. We're leaving for Florida tomorrow and it would be nice if they had something to wear.

Packing, my worst procrastination activity EVER. I am the 5am packer for an 8am flight. I'm a 'I'll just do it tomorrow, there's plenty of time.' I'm a slacker packer for sure. It's never really been a problem, but now that I have not only myself, but two kids to pack, I have to get my ass in gear.

Mailing a package to a friend that had her baby like a billion months ago (OK only 2, but shit).

Buying AAA batteries for my currently dead Palm Pilot, which is why I showed up for a haircut I didn't have last week.

Going to Target to buy some stuff for my newly rearranged kitchen. Returning some stuff to Kohl's.

Making sure I have all the information for the dogs to go to the boarders tomorrow morning.

Calling my dad to respond to a letter he sent, but I'm putting off for some reason.

Going to the playground to exhaust the boy and take advantage of this cool weather.

Do some sort of ritual sacrifice to the weather Gods so Francis doesn't run over us while we're in Tampa.

What am I doing? I think you know....

Okey doke

Dude, really sorry that you had to be searching for this: rugburn on penis. Just maybe you're taking the whole carpet/twat euphemism a tad bit literally.

Are You Hot or Not?

Oh yeah, I'm still hot, still got the ole char-isma, yup, I'm smokin'. Well, at least I was to the 20-something chubby blonde loser in the biker bar that stood 10 feet behind me waiting for me to notice he was there. Ah well, beggars can't be choosers.

My girlfriend A and I had a good ole fashioned girls night out. We ate some dinner, talked up all the stupid shit we did when we were single and childess, saw a movie (Suspect Zero--don't see it, it sucked), drank a few beers, shot some pool and talked a drunk guy out of driving home that night. I guess even in the midst of our mental break from kids and family, we're still mothers by nature. And because it's almost to funny to be true, I have to mention the drunk guy's name was Rhajin. Why's that funny? Well for one, he wasn't Middle Eastern, but rather a Missouri redneck. Two, it wasn't pronounced Rhah' jeen, but Rage' in, kind of like cajun, but so.much.worse.

I had a great time, it was awesome to get out, blow off some steam, feel like I'm not 'just a mom' for even a few hours. I was still happy I went when I got home at midnight, had to shower because bar smell=yuck, and then had to pump because my boobs were about to explode. I got less happy when as I finish pumping, GB wakes up hungry (it's now 1am), but what can you do? I was pretty ticked when I woke up at 3:30 for no reason and downright unhappy when GB woke up at 5:00. I knew there was a reason I don't go out.

On a completely unrelated note, did you know that muscle relaxers, like, relax your muscles? Yeah see, despite this SEEMING like it should be obvious, I wasn't prepared for the total lack of coordination I'd feel. Hello, rubber lady. My doc put me on these because I've been having a lot of stiffness in my back, causing much discomfort. I have to report that I'm not feeling all that much more comfortable in my current state of elasticity. I guess it beats the anti-inflammatories he originally prescribed. Anti-inflammatory is not an apt description as I was pretty damn pissed by the unpleasant accompanying side effects of faucet ass and insomnia. I guess faucet ass and drowsiness might have been a worse combination, but still, who wants to be wide-awake and shitting at 3 am?

K-Mart Wal-Mart Sucks

Reason #1 I hate WM: The carts are gross; they are rusty, squeaky and make me want to soak my hands in alcohol after touching them.

Reason # 2 I hate WM: The inhabitants of Wal-Mart, are the rudest, nastiest, white trashiest collection of people in a solitary structure that I've ever seen (with the exception of a few bars I've braved at 2am, the DMV and possibly the unemployment office).

Reason # 3 I hate WM: The place is so freakin' disorganized. There are piles of shit everywhere, the toy aisles are total chaos, and I can never find anything without traipsing through the whole place twice.

Reason #4 I hate WM: Did I mention the people?

I don't know why I ever venture into Wal-Mart, yes I do, it's because my friend is an optometrist at a Wal-Mart and she gives us free eye exams. The BWB needed an exam so he could buy more contacts, so last night we braved the local Wal-Mart with a toddler and baby in tow. I was even looking forward to going and doing some shopping since I'm basically a loser these days who is excited by the mere prospect of leaving the house. I should have just dropped off the BWB and driven to the strip mall across the street that houses my favorite money depository-Target, because last night did nothing to decrease the WM aversion.

Within five minutes of being in WM a scraggly woman with her daughter stepped in front of my cart to grab something off a lower shelf not once, not twice, but three times--in different aisles--and had I not stopped I would have t-boned her. She didn't even look up and acknowledge I was there, just went on her merry fucking way. There are a myriad of similar examples. I wanted to stand in the middle of WM, shouting at these classless assholes, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY, and while you're at it, put some clothes on, brush your teeth and hair, go to a dentist, stop procreating at 13, get yourself and education, and for the love of GOD put on some damn deodorant." I made my way to the checkout praying that BWB was finished. I just couldn't handle dealing with one more slack-mouthed, rotten-toothed, underdressed, overweight, uneducated asshat looking at me like I was the problem when I would say, "Excuse me, can I get by?" If the BWB is smart, he'd move us somewhere that only has Wal-Mart because it would save him a shitload of money.

Dumb & Dumber

That whole having-kids-sucks-out-your-braincells thing has really caught up with me.

Yesterday, I dropped my car off at the shop to get inspected. Before having them cart my brood home (they have drop off service), I grabbed some breakfast at Panera Bread next door. I came back to let him know I was ready, and went to go get the carseat out of the SUV. The guy asked if I needed my keys, I said, nah, I'll just use the door code. I grab the seat and bring it inside, only to have the guy tell me there is a seat in the van--well damn, why didn't you tell me BEFORE I uninstalled my seat, dipshit. He asked if I had my keys, I said no, I used the door code. So he takes my seat back to my truck and I went to put DB in the van car seat, which I discover is NOT installed. Damn. I get it done, get the wee one strapped in, throw the stroller in the back and 6 hours later we're ready to leave. The guy walks up to me and says, "I'm freakin' out here a bit, are you SURE you don't have your keys?" I'm all, yeah, I told you, I used the code to get it (jackass, good job losing my keys). Since he seems all panicky, I look at my purse which is unzipped and there are the damned keys sitting right on top. WTF? Obviously now I feel like a total ass. To my credit, I did use the door code, but now I'm thinking I never gave him the keys to begin with.

Fast forward to today. I have a hair appt. at noon. I feed the boy lunch and around 11:37, start loading up the car, which normally would be fine, except for two factors. 1) I never reinstalled the car seat since DB rode home with the BWB last night. I get it hooked up in about 5 minutes and get on the road, would have been fine except for factor 2) I'm riding on fumes. I stop at the gas station, fill up, and get out with about 13 minutes until my appt. Thankfully, it's not far, but I'm really pushing it. I arrive at the salon about 2 minutes after 12:00pm and get ready to unload the boys. My flamboyantly straight super fabulous stylist comes running out and says you're Tuesday! What? My appt was yesterday? No honey, next Tuesday. I showed up for an appt I don't even fucking have. Damn. Thankfully, my stylist has 3 boys under 5 and didn't laugh too hard at me.

On the way home, I stopped at Culvers and plied myself with a turtle sundae. Then I drove straight to the Early Childhood Center and signed DB up for 3 consecuive sessions (20 wks) of pre-preschool. It's only one day a week for 2 hours, but I'll have some time all to myself...um...with the GB...um...better than nothing?

[Update: Just got a call from the Early Childhood Center to tell me that I wrote the check for the wrong amt, because apparently $68 + $68 + $34 = $160 in AK dollars. Please kill me now.]

Because I'm Mean

I decided to show the BWB boy this picture before bed last night.

Of course, I was the one who couldn't sleep, but not because of the pic. I just haven't figured out how to shut off my brain when it's time for bed. I toss and turn, looking for the magic position where my back doesn't ache, my boobs aren't squished and my arm doesn't fall asleep after about 3 minutes. Even when I do find it, I think. I ponder the day's events, I run through my to-do list, sometimes my mind wanders to terrible places or songs get stuck in my head, and I even think about what to blog about (is that the Queen Jellyfish call I hear?). And it's not like I'm not exhausted, but my brain simply won't cooperate with my body. I've tried sleep aids, but all they do is make a groggy bitchy AK the next day. I've tried exercise, sex (BWB's favorite method of sleep induction, glad it works for him--bastard), relaxation techniques, and I even tried our friend OKC's way of clearing his mind (not that it's hard)--focusing on a white dot. Currently, there is only one tried and true method of achieving slumber--moving to the couch. This scares me, because do you know when else I had to resort to the couch? During both pregnancies. Maybe that sex wasn't such a good idea after all.

Oh Boy.

Yes, it's official, I am the mom of a male with working genitalia, and we just got to have the first boner chat. DB was sitting on the potty and complains that his penis hurt, I take a look and it's erect (shoot me now for saying erect in reference to my son). Then he comments that, "it's big mommy"--typical male--and proceeds to fiddle with it. I try to ignore him, interest him in a book, anything to take the focus off the woody. And you know how boys love dick talk, so insert many more comments here. So now I just want to vacate bathroom, flushing myself down the toilet would have been preferable to hearing one more second of that conversation. Thankfully the 'moment' passed and we moved on to something infinitely more toddlerish-juice and a snack (after much hand washing). Shoot me now.

At Least I'm not the Only One

olympic gymnastics leotard crotch
usa gymnastics women's leotard crotch

Only a Man

...would rather sleep in the guest room than put clean sheets on the bed.

and some more olympic ramblings

Two words--Olympic Badminton. How the hell is this Sunday on the lawn game an olympic sport? How is four people diving around a miniature court, swinging tiny racquets at something called a shuttlecock an olympic event? What's next Olympic Ping Pong? Wait that's already here. Olympic Handball? Shit they have that too. I vote for Olympic Darts and Pop a Shot--I could be a star!

Piersol, congrats on your win, sorry for your disqualifi.., congrats on your win, now pull up your fucking shorts, I don't need to see your asscrack.

Go USA for the men and women's individual gymnastics, seriously good show.

Svetlana, you are not sexy. Stop pursing your lips to make your cheekbones bigger. I don't care if Russia loves you or that they asked you to pose for Playboy (which is ok, because Russian playboy only shows boobs), or that you think you are a Diva, you are still not sexy. Oh and you didn't deserve that score on the uneven bars. Nah.

Amanda Beard--you are gorgeous and talented. I would so do you (so would the BWB).

Billy would be happy to know, that I watched the entire second half of the US v. Japan women's football soccer game, and even enjoyed it. But that one Japanese player, with the afro, oh no.

Well that was fun

You know how to make a trip to the vet with two dogs, one infant and one toddler even more fun? Add rain. Here's a synopsis of how the trip went.

8:30: Quit blogging you idiot, it takes forever to get out of the house with everyone.
8:40: Start making my way upstairs because I like to make life harder.
8:45: Get GB changed and ready
8:50: Retrieve DB from breakfast table, clean glued on cereal off his face, get dressed.
8:55: Get Zeus' lead and look for Fiji's--nowhere to be found, fuck it, she's small.
9:02: Look at clock and think we're in ok shape. Open garage door and notice rain. Shit.
9:04: Start loading up the vehicle with all occupants.
9:14: How the fuck did that take 10 minutes? I'm never making our 9:30 appt.
9:22: Yell at idiot drivers, DB ask "what happen mommy?", GB says "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh", Fiji whines, Zeus blocks entire rear window view. Repeat at random at least 12 times.
9:37: Arrive at vet and unload stroller. Put fiji in basket. Put all shades up and put GBs pumpkin seat into stroller, have DB jump down, get Zeus out back.
9:42: Realize there are steps leading up to the entrance, fuck. Carry stroller up stairs while wrangling dog and telling DB to go go go.
9:44: Struggle with heavy doors into vet building--both sets.
9:45: Woman watches struggle for at least a minute before she decides, oh, maybe I should help. Thank you.
*insert fiji whining throughout*
9:48: Stand at counter hoping receptionist will hand me pen to sign in. Zeus leans hard into me.
9:49: Still waiting. Zeus rubs his face on my leg.
9:50: Snatch her pen off the counter when she goes to type something. Sign in.
9:51: Find a seat as far away from every other animal possible.
9:52: The vet has kid's books, bless you vet. DB asks mommy to read every one while Zeus constantly rubs his face against me.
9:54: Look down to see I'm covered in enough dog hair and eye goop to make a new dog. Curse.
9:55: Cheerful vet asst. brings over paperwork to fill out. DB asks to read 15 more times.
10:00: Zeus & Fiji? Get up follow asst. try to get Zeus on scale. Zeus lays on floor instead. LIFT Zeus onto scale, see that I just lifted 103lbs. Plop fiji on scale, ah 7.3lbs, much easier.
10:04: Asst. nice enough to take Zeus so I only have the boys and fiji.
10:05: Enter room the size of a phone booth and try to find a place for everything. GB starts crying, pick him.
10:06: Did you bring a stool sample? Fuck! (just what I needed to add to my day, searching for two sets of dogshit in the rain).
10:10: Asst. comes back with about 50 syringes and heartworm meds.
10:15: Vet comes in, love my vet, he's very cool, makes comment on my 'crew'. Checks dogs, draws blood, gives shot, explains both dogs need dental appt, chats me up for a while then goes.
10:30: Work my way back out of phone booth to check out. Sign away my new dishwasher with a promise to sign away the stove within the next six months.
10:36: Gather crew and make for the door with the help of bubbly asst. (who incidentally has a st. bernard, 2.5 yr old and 4 mo. old in an apt--ask me how I know).
10:44: Everyone strapped in, DB throws tantrum for not giving him an altoid.
11:02: Pull into garage, everyone freakin' asleep. Sigh. At least I didn't get attacked by any spiders.

ArAKnaphobia

This last week has proved to be spiderful. We'll start with last Saturday when the BWB was chopping down the cherry tree in our front yard (hee, I cannot tell a lie). It had been dying for a couple of months, no idea why, but seems to be a trend in our neighborhood. Anyway, apparently spiders galore in this tree, and BWB, oh he LURVES spiders. First he encountered these nasty white ones with big bulbous bodies and probably used his axe to chop them to pieces while shrieking like a girl. DB was out there with him, in his WOOKboots, because he loves doing what daddy does. So GB and I decide to sit out front and watch so I can make sure BWB isn't teaching DB how to use the chainsaw. GB loves watching his brother, DB is dancing around being his nutty self and GB is laughing. I told BWB to take a break from his spider smashing to watch. This is when DB says something I don't quite hear and Jason is walking over to see GB's face and that is when they both say THERE's A BUG ON HIM! Of course, it's a spider. I'm holding GB facing out, so I didn't see it at all, but now there's the frantic, wherediditgo?! as I'm taking off his shirt thinking I probably already brushed it off, um nope, there it is crawling around on his little bare body. Ack. I'm sure we looked hilarious, trying to swat this small spider GENTLY off GB while DB is yelling 'Get it mommy, get it!' Well I do, and the sucker webs down and lands guess where--on DB. Fucking spider. BWB gets it off and I decide sitting out in the front is no longer all that desirable.

Monday, I took the boys to the playground so DB could run off some energy. After a while, it was time for GB to nurse so we walked to one of those covered pavillions where they have BBQ pits and picnic tables. I sat there and nursed while DB had a snack. While nursing I watch a couple of daddy long legs meander about, hoping they wouldn't meander over to me. I've heard that DDLL are supposed to be the most poisonous spider around, but have no way to bite--fact or fiction? Anyway, DB takes notice of these spiders and watches them in fascination. I mean they are fascinating, those legs are so long (sort of life Svetlana Khorkina) and they have these tiny little bodies. Well one starts walking towards the stroller and climbs up onto the wheel. I say "DB will you please roll/kick the stroller so the spider will get off?" He looks at me like I asked him to eat brussel sprouts or something and doesn't move a muscle. "honey, please, I'm nursing" His eyes are wide and he shakes his head no. I finally relent and get up myself and kick the damn think so I don't end up transporting spiders back home. Hello, you're a boy, you're supposed to like mud and bugs and nasty crap. It's then I realize that DB has inherited BWB's spider phobia, goody, I'm always going to have to be the one to kill spiders in our house.

Fast forward to yesterday, I'm driving to the grocery store with the boys in the car. I'm currently on one highway about to exit onto a different highway, so I'm going 50 and heading for the clover. Just as I'm about to start turning a little friend descends from somewhere in my door frame directly to the left of my face. OK, I'm going fast, heading for curve, I have two boys in the back of the SUV, I don't have the luxury of freaking out here. I weigh my options, I think, roll down the window, he'll get sucked out! One flaw with that, he'll land right fucking on my if I reach for the button. I don't mind spiders too much, but them crawling on me, no fucking thank you. So I calmly grab the top of the thread his hanging from--and you know those spiders can fly down their threads when they need to (or climb back up, ick) and gently move him over so he lands on the door lock button. I'm trying to keep my left eye on him, and use my right eye to seek out some sort of tissue/napkin/anything--and let's not forget I'm driving. I find a business card, smash the spider and deposit out the window. Now that it's over, I'm laughing thinking how the BWB would have handled this--for humor's sake, let's say the boys aren't in the car. He would have seen this spider, jumped out of his skin, swatted wildly at it trying to kill it, running off the road in the process and flipping the truck over. Lying there trapped in the truck, his first thought would not have been damn, I'm trapped in my wrecked vehicle ouch. It would have been, I bet that fucking spider is crawling on me, I have to get out of here. Heeee.

Later that afternoon, I filled up the pool out back and GB snoozed on the swing while I sat next to him and DB swam (splashed around in 10 inches of water). We have a wooden swing under our deck which is wonderful and shady and this is where I was sitting. As I'm looking out into the back yard, I notice this spider web, not just random strands of web, but one of the beautifully intricate webs in the corner of the deck post. I see one of those ugly bulbous spiders flitting around making repairs, reinforcing the web and then disappearing back up into a little knothole to await his prey. The sun was at an angle where I could really only see the outline of the spider with no detail of color/markings and I wanted to make sure it wasn't a black widow, so I took a couple of blades of grass and threw them into the web. I sat back down and waited. The spider came down to examine his catch and I saw it was NOT a widow and so I left it be. I sat utter fascination watching this spider meticulously removing the blades of grass from his web. I didn't think about the camoflage factor when I threw them up there, so now I even felt a little bad. The spider would get the blade separated and then it would fall another centimeter down and reattach, he would move down and repeat on the blade of grass floated gently to the ground. Another hung perpendicular to the web and I plucked that one off myself. Who knew I had a soft spot for something so typically creepy and nightmare inducing. Unfortunately, when the BWB reads this, it will be his mission to find this web and destroy it and it's inhabitor, because he LURVES spiders.

Spiders I can tolerate, send a wasp, hornet, yellow jacket or those damn bumble bees the size of a YUGO at me, then you'll see me shriek like a girl the BWB.

Good Morning!

Really, it is, because I didn't have any middle of the night wake up calls. My poor snarfy, snot filled GB slept from 10:30pm to 5:30am, pure bliss. Granted I removed at least an oz of snot from that boys nose to a cacophy of screams that would wake the dead (but not my husband) at 5:30, but he even went back to sleep.

and some rambling...

Olympics were awesome last night, I know the results had been out all day, but what's the fun of just looking them up online? I can't believe Hamm (male gymnastics) came back to win the Gold after falling on his ass (he must have been channeling my trip down the stairs). Go USA! Also, we kick some serious ass in swimming, our women broke the oldest swim record on the books--by 2 seconds. I can't wait for track and field!

Speaking of falling, yes my ass and shoulder are sore today. I'm so happy I wasn't carry a child at the time, though since I slid more than fell, I think we would have been ok. They probably would have thought it was fun, a cool new ride--AGAIN MOMMY!

I think GB is ready for solids, he stares intently at whatever we're eating and tries to grab it out of our hands. He's just a pinch over four months and I was really hoping to wait until around six months, but we're not going to make it that long. I'm excited about my kid growing up and doing new things, but I've really like our breastfeeding relationship, and the fact that thus far his only sustanance has come from me. (with DB we had to supplement from early on). I'm also not looking forward to the change in diapers that solids bring, pee-u. Why can't they stay snuggly tiny little babies forever?

Tomorrow is going to be fun when I head to the vet with one toddler, on infant, one giant dog and one mini dog (for their annual exams--the dogs, not the kids, but it sure would be nice to get it all done at once). I'm going to have to figure out a serious strategy--everyone needs to be strapped in somewhere. I think I'll use the stroller for DB, put Fiji in the basket, bjorn GB & and hold on damn tight to the big dumb dog who can be unpredictable around other dogs at times (he's really protective of the boys). Any way you write it, this is going to suck.

Blogshares

Blogshares

People are trading in our popularity, how um odd. Go look up your current value.

Ow.

FYI, sliding down your stairs on your left thigh while dragging your arm behind you to try and stop yourself is rather painful and not the most fun way to acquire a rugburn.

Olympic Observations

Ahh, the Olympics, funny thing about them. I don't wait with baited breath until they arrive, but once they're here, I'm all sorts of addicted. After watching for the last several days, I have several observations...

Swimming:
The man with the longest face wins! (let's hope this doesn't hold true for the presidential election). Have you seen these guys?

I guess they are more aerodynamic. Though I'm surprised Phelps ears don't slow him down. :P
Speaking of aquadynamic, WTF is up with these new swim uniforms? I'm no huge fan of the weenie wrap, but the wrestling style suits are a bit over the top.

Gymnastics:
Did you ever take a paperclip, fold the inner loop down so it's perpenticular to the outer loop, then shoot it off the end of a pencil so it flips end over end across the room--this is what Svetlana Khorkina looks like vaulting. Feed that woman some stroganoff, she scares me, those chicken leg, ack. And she models for some less than savory magazines they say? The horror of a nekked Khorkina, dig out eyes with spoon.

I can't.stop.looking at female gymnasts crotch--especially in white leotards. It's not a sexual thing, it's just a waaaay to much information thing, white leotards should be banned. I sit and wonder if their underwear are attached to the leotard because I've never seen them sticking out, but you can see there is a waistband in there. Why am I obsessed with this--no fucking clue.

Hello sparkle eye shadow, face powder and hair gel--did we time warp to the 70s or are the American female gymnasts part of some glittery harem?

Why do we let one of our gymnasts perform on the floor exercise when she has been taken off the beam? Uh huh, mmkay. Could have meant the difference in the color of shiny metal we acquired.

Twin men gymnasts--hmmm...interesting.

Sand Volleyball:
I love this sport. I played as often as I could when I lived in Florida. I was in a league, we had a court in my complex, and played whenever we went to the beach.

First, the American women rock.

Second, I think all the material used to make the new swim uniforms have been taken from the sand volleyball uniforms. That was a whole lotta ass.

more later...

Dream a Little Dream

Last night, somewhere between my 1am & 5am wakeup calls, I had this really weird dream. It started off with going to a concert with my friend VG and some older man that seemed familiar but I can't remember who it was. The concert was crazy and VG ended up leaving early. Somewhere before the end, I lost the other guy who was my ride. So, I start wandering towards home and things get eerie. I feel like I'm being followed. I go into this basement entrance of a building (why is it always creepy shit like that?) and realize I'm only wearing a towel. The door sticks a bit and is really hard to open and I can feel someone behind me. Of course I'm going into a dark, wretched place with someone behind me, it's not like I can find a nice clean police station or anything. Somehow, no hands reach out from behind and I walk through another door and find I'm in a dorm of some sort. There are a bunch of guys running by me wearing red and blue bandana material. I look down and voila, my towel just happens to be bandana print too! So, I run into this room, and instead of a raucous party it's a small gathering of guys who look at me like what the fuck are you doing here? I explain that someone is chasing me while feeling very self conscious about my garb. They end up being very nice and give me some cake to eat.

Suddenly it's morning and I guess I feel safe to leave. I walk out and it's gorgeous outside, the scenery is almost tropical and I think they were on a golf course. I'm dressed now, and walking home realizing that I've been out ALL NIGHT and I have TWO KIDS with a babysitter, a teenager. FUCK! Not to mention that I'm nursing and haven't fed my baby in 12 hours or more. I get home--though it wasn't my home--and my mom was there saying how when she talked to me on the cell phone last night (I had a cell phone??) that I made no sense and was really belligerent. (Don't remember being drunk, but suddenly feel guilty) BWB woke up (I'm thinking he was out of town and had to come home) and was pissy with me. I asked if they'd fed GB formula and they said of course, what choice did we have?! I remember being very upset about that.

That's what I remember, and this morning I woke up feeling really upset, like I let a bunch of people down. I hate when my dreams follow me into consciousness like that--stay in my sleeping brain you damn weird dreams!

A Question of Faith

An old friend was in town and she came over for dinner Friday night. She and I met outside our very first class at USF--a painting class--and wouldn't you know it, we were both from St. Louis. Our friendship was fun, interesting but sometimes complicated. She was (obviously still is) about 6 yrs older than I, married and very Catholic. I was a single agnostic college student at the height of party mode. The one thing we shared aside from some St. Louis history was our love of art and the amazing ability to debate sensitive subject matter without letting it erode our friendship. Abortion was always the big fight, she is obviously very pro life, picketed clinics & demonstrated, sort of pro life, while I was vehemently pro choice. We went round and round, but never changed each other's mind, but it was ok. Any time we've gotten together since then, the subject has always been touched upon. After I had kids, she was sure I'd change my stance. But really, if I had, wouldn't I be the ultra hypocrite? Though I'd personally never get an abortion, I'm certainly not ready to take that right away from every woman. As expected, our dinner conversation consisted of topics like gay rights, abortion and various other hot button issues. Normally I'd be game, but it isn't much fun trying to defend my views to two adamant right wing conservatives (BWB included) and one who has spend an enormous amount of time and energy doing pro life research. I'm not sure if my convictions have weakened or if I just didn't care, but I was mollified.

I put the kabosh on the abortion topic and we moved to other things where we're actually in agreement, like death penalty (pro), faith-based charity vs government handouts, and pretty much any other fiscal issue (where I'm very right winged myself). We drifted to religion and this is where I discovered that my friend was so Catholic she wasn't even Catholic anymore. :P You've heard the term Catholic Lite? We'll she's SUPERSIZE Catholic. She only attends Latin Mass, she's old school and is all but excommunicated from the Nova ??? Catholic church (forgive my ignorance on this). I was and really always have been in awe of her faith and devotion to her beliefs. The last of the wine was poured, conversation wound down and my friend's father called asking when she'd be returning (she left her four kids with her folks), so we said our goodbyes and were genuinely sad to part. Before she left, my friend said something that made me smirk but left me thinking. She said that rather than go round and round about these issues, she needed to work on making me a better Christian and that the rest would fall into place.

Having grown up in the bible belt and been inundated with more than my fair share of bible beaters and born agains, I was always put off by organized religion. I believe in many of the tenets but not usually the organization as a whole. When I met the BWB, he was an avid church goer and even taught the high school Sunday School class. Whenever I came in town to visit (we were long distance for 18 mos) and we went to church, I'd sit next to him and whisper under my breath, "I'mmmm meellttinnnngggg" being the heathen than I am. This would always illicit a smile or snicker, but deep down I think it troubled the BWB. We had several discussions about my beliefs vs his and never really got anywhere, but I had no problem bringing up kids in the church because like I said, it's a good moral base, so it never impeded our going forward with our relationship. Over the last four years, BWB has gradually stopped going to church. First he quit teaching the Sunday School class because he was really frustrated with the kids. Then we traveled a lot, got pregnant (and morning sickness kicked my butt), the had an infant and no sleep, blah blah blah, it just got easy not to go. This of course didn't bother me too much, because I don't think that church attendance means you're a spiritual person. If you find comfort there and it makes your faith strong, more power to you, but to me, it's a building and I can feel just as close to God outside on a beautiful day as in my bedroom praying about something at night.

BWB on the other hand is distressed. We went to church yesterday because we hadn't been since Easter--granted I went into labor that night, but four months is a long time, and we are baptizing GB next month so we thought we should go. Per usual on the drive home (it's 30 mins), BWB was especially quiet and seemed troubled. I pushed a little when he resisted telling me what was wrong, but I knew it was the church thing. I think he's at an impasse, and not sure where to go, so he goes nowhere. He finds our church lacking in faith, more just a meeting ground for suburbanites to rub elbows and clear their conscience. He's grown up at this church and knows the patrons well, so if he sees that then I believe him, as I don't pay much attention. It's a shame as we really like our pastor, but if the whole point of going to church is to build and reinforce your faith and you don't feel that, then it's time to a)look for a new church b)stop going and find a new way.

After this weekend of being with someone so strong in her faith and another lost in his, I'm back to examining my own. I feel like a fraud in church because as I recite the words, that's all they are, words. I don't feel some deep meaning in them. I listen to the sermon, sometimes it resonates, sometimes I couldn't tell you after the service is over what the pastor said. I believe in a higher power, I feel like life isn't just a random series of events, I do believe in the Golden Rule (though I don't always follow it), and I really hope that when we die that there is something more, an understanding, a reunion of sorts, something. More than that, I don't know. Maybe I'm ready to find out, to be more open to the power of faith, maybe...

Sorry Charley

You are simply not allowed to pummel the florida coast when so many friends and family live in your path and I'm helpless to do anything. I know your type, you'll cut the electricity and phone lines making it impossible to talk to my mom to see if she's ok. And look at you all gusty, turning yourself into a category 4. Damn you for making me sit in front of the weather channel all day watching as you inch closer to my loved ones. Just know you'll have me to contend with if you harm a hair on my mom's head or my SIL & BIL's or any of my many friends that live there. Be Warned.

Thoughts and prayers to all of you Floridians in the path of the storm.

And I Complain?

The past two days have been spent with friends who have kids...four kids. Yesterday I went to the house of one of the trip moms and worked harder than I do at home. Though, not in the same way. DB and her daughter S were busy tearing apart their playroom while we alternately rocked, fed, burped and changed four infants. That's a lot of rocking, feeding, burping and changing. I think she said that she's gone through about 3500 diapers thus far. Um...wow. GB doesn't wear me out, he's easy peasy. It's more the battle of wills with DB that exhausts me. When I came home last night (after 7 hours at her house--how did that happen?) I thought about how silly it was for me to bitch. I have two kids, I can still get out of the house with relative ease, I am not constantly feeding infants, I still have a life (minimal as it might be). Then today my friend from FL came in with her four children. They range from 9 to 2 and are so great. She does a fantastic job with them and makes it seem easy.

It's so good to have this kind of perspective. It might be comparing Fujis to Granny Smiths but it's inspirational to see other people surviving the hard shit. And not merely surviving, but thriving. It re-energizes me, makes me feel like I really can do this and be happy. And makes me thankful that I don't have three freaking babies at once!

Dear Diary

Remember your first diary? The little book with the lock and the tiny key. You kept in a safe place away from prying eyes and nosy siblings. You recorded your deepest secrets like which boy you had a crush on, how your best friend was no longer your friend because she's now best friends with so & so, and how mad you are at your parents because they won't buy you a pair of guess jeans and that Esprit sweater that you'll die without. Innocent thoughts and innocent times written in wavering cursive carefully guarded by a tiny lock.

Once an adolescent, you probably graduated to spiral notebooks and juicier tidbits. You waxed poetic about your first kiss. You gossiped about the girls who went all the way. You confided the absolute crush you had on the captain of the football team and what a bitch his girlfriend was. You recorded daily events that seemed relevant but were totally innocuous. You hated your parents for any number of reasons: they didn't let you borrow the car, go to a party, stay out past your curfew, or maybe more serious things like hating your dad's drinking, your mom's neurotic behavior and all the fighting. Pages filled with teenage scrawl in a rainbow of colors, i's dotted with hearts.

Later journals had a more serious tone. You examined everything under a microscope, interpreted the underlying meanings of people's actions. You droned on for pages about love and filled an entire notebook after the breakup with whatshisface. You thought you were so deep.

Ok, maybe you weren't like that, maybe it was just me and you can replace all the you's with I's.

I amassed a ton of journals in my teens and early twenties. I even had one dedicated to a long distance boyfriend and instead of Dear Diary, each entry began Dear Larry--yes Larry, yes I was a cheesedick, so sue me. My college journals were filled with self-important drivel and emotional ramblings typical of an insecure 19 yr old girl. How complex I thought I was, I psychoanalyzed myself to death between those fine blue lines. I justified my actions to white pages that only I would read. On rare occasion I was honest with myself and acknowledged my selfish nature and penchant for unhealthy relationships with bad boys--hmm, must have been drunk.

Most of my journals are long gone. I would move, unpack boxes, come across them and read the drivel I thought so life and death important at the time. I sickened myself with my shallow blatherings and the emotional wreckage of my early 20s. I never wanted to revisit that part of my life, nor did I want anyone else visiting there either.

I hadn't written to and for myself in a long while, until I discovered Web Logs. Seeing as I love computers and jump on all the fun cyberbandwagons (neopets rule dude), it only seemed natural that I start my own blog. Unlike my poor dead Lupe, my blog is still being fed regularly after six months. Blogging has been interesting for me. It started as a way to fill my utterly boring days at the office and evolved into an outlet for discussions much more personal in nature than I initially intended. Normally, this would be a good thing, writing is cathartic and helps me dissect what's going on in this scrambled brain of mine. But, I find myself a bit too absorbed by the audience factor. I wonder what people think of an entry when the comments read (0). Have I bored them all to tears with my inane jabbering? Do they think I'm a loon? Have I stopped being funny? was I ever funny? Because even the BWB thinks I'm funny--online. Does anyone even care what I'm writing about?

Yes.

I do. So I'm going to keep filling this white green field with text about gross kid stories, insecure mother thoughts and hopefully the occasional funny anecdote to keep the masses (all three of you) amused.

I'm a freakin' genius, who knew?

Says so right here

Quite a Scene

So, I was reading Billy's blog and he mentioned a movie that still sends shivers down my spine when i think about it...Trainspotting. That baby scene is probably the most gut wrenching, horrifying, disturbing movie scene I have ever watched. Trying to comprehend, wrap my brain around, the time it took for that baby to die still turns my stomach. Granted I get wrapped up in movies, I cry at stupid shit, but if you didn't bat an eyelash at that, you are one cold mutherfucker.

As sappy as I am, there aren't a ton of movies that resonate with me that deeply but another scene I'll never forget comes from Hope Floats. I was totally unprepared for my reaction to the scene where Bernadette was trying to leave with her dad and she kept trying to get in the car and he told her he couldn't go. When he pulls away and she starts wailing, I broke down in racking sobs. I felt that pain, it welled up from some deep place within me that I'd long forgotten, and I didn't stop crying for a good ten minutes. This is when the BWB and I were dating and he must have thought I was a lunatic--and he married me anyway.

Well THAT Didn't Work

So, you're feeling a bit lazy and want to incorporate a family walk after breakfast to wear out the DB, knock out the GB and exercise yourself and the dog. The fresh air will do everyone good, maybe even relieve some stress, right?

Not when the DB wants to either push the stroller or walk the 100lb dog.
Not when the sun blares into the GB's eyes and the stupid sun shade doesn't do shit.
Not when you bonk GB's head trying to recline the seat all the way to keep sun out of eyes.
Not when in the span of two minutes DB falls down and scrapes his knee and starts crying, Zeus decides that the Yorkie playing on the sidewalk ahead is a threat, Fiji bolts out of the bottom of the stroller to chase Yorkie, Yorkie walks up to Zeus while DB is holding onto my leg crying, Zeus spins in circles to sniff Yorkie, little girl stands stupidly by after asking her to get her dog while I'm trying to not fall over lead, gather fiji, comfort DB, and not let the stroller roll down the hill.

Nope, not a good way to relieve stress at all.

Under the Microscope

Last night, the BWB and I watched Six Feet Under and the Dead Zone like we do every Sunday night. It's our must see tv night. The Dead Zone was about Johnny (Anthony Michael Hall) seeing a school shooting in a vision. He told the principal who instituted all of these new security measures, including metal detectors and guards. In one scene a good student had been pulled aside to be patted down and he said something like 'this is bullshit' and at one point pulled his arm away. The guard roughed him up, smacked his head into a pole and put him to the ground. This scene sparked a conversation debate about personal rights & freedoms, teenage discipline and the balance between teaching your children to stand up for what they believe while respecting authority.

This is not a new debate between us, BWB is much more hardcore about how the guard was in his right, the boy was resisting, we have to be willing to have certain rights infringed if we want to be safe in this country etc... While, I'm all about excessive force and if that was our kid, BWB would have gone apeshit, and where's the line for infringement of personal freedoms? He asks why I always have to put scenarios in a personal context? So you are forced to think about them outside your standard mindset, I reply. But, adding emotion clouds your judgement, he says. Yes, but it also makes your deal with something realistically rather than idealistically. We do come the conclusion, that BWB would indeed have beat the crap out of the security guard--but he would have been willing to accept whatever consequences that entailed.

This in turn led to my questioning how we would deal with teenage discipline since we aren't always in agreement. And it wasn't long until we landed on toddler discipline, and how we really didn't have a set plan in place. It was here I did something I'm notorious for, and saw it so clearly last night that it made my stomach hurt. I started checking off all the things that the BWB needed to work on when it came to disciplining DB--pointing out all of his shortcomings and how to fix them. I was loud and clear about how he yelled too much, and how he didn't follow through with things I'd asked him to do. Now, these weren't outlandish accusations and untruths, but their purpose was not to improve my husband's disciplinary tactics, but rather to allay my feelings of frustration with how I chastise the boy. (If you're reading this dear, go ahead, say DUH!)

I'm not trying to further allay the blame by suggesting that my punitive techniques are my mommy's fault, but I find that I do react as she did. There is the key word react. I swore I'd always do differently than my mom, I'd follow through with punishments, I'd have a system of warnings and if...then type consequences. Instead? I'm a hand slapper, a yeller, a spanker and sometimes a belittler and according to Sears this means my kid is growing up to be a maladjusted, esteemless serial killer. My kids get a ton of love too, lots of hugs and kisses and praise, but is this being overshadowed by my punishments?

Despite my feelings about attachment parenting and cushy lovey don't-hurt-kids-feelings new age child rearing philosophy, I spent last night reading the Sears discipline site. Now, I'm not a reborn attachment parent, but I did come out of there with something very important, that my reactions really aren't about DB, but about me. Yes, the boy can be a PITA, frustrating, maddening even, but he's not a maliciously bad kid. I'm just really easily frustrated and tend to lash out. I fall into the action/reaction scenario I remember so well between me and my mom. My mom was always stressed out dealing with an alcoholic husband and a spoiled only child. I don't blame her, the steam had to be released somewhere, and regardless of anything else, I always knew my mom loved me more than anything on the planet.

My life isn't nearly so difficult, but I have always had trouble dealing with change. This whole stay at home thing? Big change. I'm finding it very hard not having much if any time to myself. The blissful days of GB sleeping a lot are gone and he's decided that DB's naptime is a great time to be super fussy. Sigh. So, I try to steal time for me, and from whom am I stealing it? DinoBoy. And when he's all 'mommy mommy mommy MOMMY MOMMYYYYY!', I'm all 'WHAT?!' and that's not fair to him. I'm realizing that I'm just going to have to borrow time from somewhere else, like sleep or from BWB. I am proud of myself for signing up for the photo class, that was a big step for me. It was a 'quit your bitching and do something' move, which I have heaps of trouble doing. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a martyr, but I certainly do martyr-ish things sometimes. I hate that about myself.

I am really afraid to fail at being a SAHM. I mean if I can't do this what kind of mom am I really? I love my boys, I want to be a great mom to them, I want them to grow up with a stable, dependable, firm and loving mom, not a raging screamy she-beast. So, here begins a long and hopefully not futile journey down the road to controlling my anger, picking my battles and implementing new techniques to maintain my sanity. Wish me luck.

Kids 'R' Gross, Revisited

DB was being the big helper to mommy whose sweet tooth demanded she bake something chocolatey. I'm mixing the dry bowl of flour, baking powder and salt to add to the wet bowl. DB knowing how yummy it is to lick the bowl and the ripe age of 2.5 sticks his finger in the flour and trasfers a big fluff into his mouth. I tell him that's not going to taste very good as he's sticks his tongue out with the stripe of flour on it. He eats it anyway, says "it's good mommy!" and proceeds to sop up any stray flour he can find with his wet finger and eat it. um, ok, gross.

While changing GB's diaper I notice that his is a bit congested and decide to give him a snot-sucking. Per usual, I blow the contents of the bulb syringe onto a wipe, but this time I notice what looks like a little dried blood. Upon closer examination, that's not what it is at all. No, it's a bug, and the icing? It's still moving. I really don't want to know if that actually came out of my son's nose or crawled into the syringe beforehand.

DB claims he has to sit on the potty, of course I'm nursing GB at the time, but I get up anyway, strip him and plunk him down on the pot. Meanwhile I go to the nursery (next to the bathroom) and finish nursing the wee one. I come back in to find DB chewing on something--the piss guard to his potty seat. Gack.

Phototherapy

This is a term I learned very well after the birth of Dinoboy. With a bilirubin count in the low 20s, my son spent part of his first week at home in his own personal little tanning bed.


DB

After a couple of days and a teeny tiny little breakdown on my part, DB's jaundice faded and my yellow boy pinked up and took his leave of the lights. It wasn't much surprise when the Golden Boy came out golden too. He started his therapy in the hospital so he only had to spend one day in the tanning bed--a little different set up this time around.


GB

Now the Golden Boy's only golden part is his hair and despite hating the bed, seems no worse for the wear. I decided it was my turn for a little photo therapy seeing the wonders it did for my boys. No, I'm not going to fake bake, who needs more wrinkles? Last night I finally did something I've wanted to do for years and years--I signed up for a photo class, black and white developing specifically.

Starting next month, for a six week stint, I will have one night a week of my very own time. No kids, no husband, just me, my camera and a quiet dark little hole filled with chemicals--sounds blissful.

Brothers

It is with such joy and a tad bit of envy that I watch my boys interact. GB is at the age where he's really becoming aware of his surroundings and has taken a great interest in DB. He watches him constantly and smiles. And DB is so sweet to him, holds his hand when GB cries, gives him kisses galore and loves to be near him. The other day, DB jumped off a stool and it made GB laugh, DB did it twenty more times while laughing his head off because of how much GB enjoyed it.

I was an only child, and knew that I never wanted to have an only child. Even today I feel this void. I dread the thought of my mom dying, not only because it will be terribly difficult, but also because I think I'll feel even lonelier. I am lucky to have wonderful sister in laws, but it's not quite the same, there's the absence of the childhood memories and the camaraderie that siblings often share. I know there are siblings that can't stand each other as well, and being an only child did have certain perks, but I'd trade them all for a sib. I guess the grass is always greener somewhere else, huh?

I'll just have to live vicariously through my boys, enjoy every second of their special bond, even when it's them showing their love by beating the crap out of each other.

Teetering on the Brink

Some days are so much harder than others, and it really sucks when there are a lot of those days in a row. The DinoBoy, true to his name, is a terror. He is constantly testing his limits, breaking his toys, hitting, talking back, and being a general pain in the ass. All that sucks, but what's going to send me over the edge? Potty Training. Why am I attempting this, he can go to kindergarten in diapers, right? Seriously folks, I about had a mental breakdown after yesterday's big boy pants fiasco--let's just say we broke out the steam cleaner--and this morning's absolute denial of needing to sit on the potty in the midst of pooping.

A mini-script:

Me: DB, do you have to use the potty?
DB: No, not yet.
five minutes later...
Me: DB, do you have to use the potty?
DB: Uh-uh
five minutes later...
Me: DB, do you have to use the potty?
DB: noooooo
during breakfast when a certain boy doesn't want to finish his nanner
DB: I go sit on potty!
Me: Do you really have to go?
DB: Uh-huh.
take out of booster and to potty, remove diaper, sit down.
DB: I no poopy, want all done!
Me: {grrrr} OK, let's finish breakfast
..drags whiny boy back to table...
..DB starts making faces and leaning sideways...
Me: DB, are you pooping?!
DB: {grunting} NOooooOOOoooooo
..whisk back to potty...too late...

His other trick is to wait until I'm nursing GB to sit on the potty. GAH! I really don't know what to do about the lying about needing to sit on the potty to get out of something he doesn't want to be doing. I know you aren't supposed to punish kids for wanting to use the potty, but Christ on a Bike, I can't let him get away with using the potty as an out either. I know that I should give up and wait until he's more ready, but there is this part of me that is so frustrated by the fact that he KNOWS when he's going, but won't TELL me. Yeah yeah, I know toddler control issues. Le Sigh.

Someone please pass me the want ads.

Why?

Why is it that when dogs vomit, it's always on the carpet...less than a foot from a hard surface where it'd be much easier to clean up? Blech.

Ramblings of a Sleepless Woman

So, in the wee hours of the morning when one is suffering some mild insomnia, one thinks about all sorts of weird things. Somewhere between the tossing and turning in bed and the respite from husbandly snoring on the couch I started thinking about the foods that I would not give up to lose weight or save money (meaning I'd sacrifice elsewhere). These are in no particular order.

Cream in my coffee--the real stuff, not coffeemate or milk, but half and half or heavy cream, yum. Hot rich swirly goodness. And speaking of coffee--good coffee, none of that Folgers crap or Starbucks either--I hate Starbucks, it's so bitter. If you want some really good coffee, try Intelligentsia (shameless plug for you Jen!). And since we're on the subject of coffee, let's talk real sugar, I just can't stand sugar substitutes, I think in the future we're going to discover that Sweet n' Low causes brain rot.

Butter, I love butter. No margarine, country crock and certainly nothing that sprays out of a bottle! Even better, European butter, so creamy.

Fresh Raspberries--in season or no, these have been my favorite fruit always.

Wine--crisp whites in the summer, spicy reds in the winter. Wine is good for my soul and sanity.

Cheese--cheddar, provolone, feta, gorganzola, brie, boursin, saga blue, anything but american and velveeta. I could probably live on cheese, crackers, fruit and wine.

Harry & Davids pears--the most succulent and juicy ever--pair with some creamy havarti and there you go.

See's Candies--what woman doesn't need chocolate?

Heinz ketchup--everything else sucks.

Guinness--frothy brown love in a glass.

Diet Coke with Lime--what drug do they put in this that has me sooo addicted? and Fitz's Cream Soda, a real treat.

A fat MR filet mignon at a shmancy restaurant with a big salad, a loaded baked potato and something decadent for dessert every once in a while.

And last but certainly not least, a concrete from Fritz's or Ted Drews (Frozen Custard), black cherry is particularly delish, but I'll take a peanut butter or raspberry and day of the week.