The Family Cold: A Photographic Essay

Please note the half emptied industrial-size bag of Peanut M and M's. Also the fact that we have converted our coffee table into a makeshift wastebasket for tissues. Efficient, no?




The floor is where we seem to have decided to hang Eli's snowsuit these days.





What? I'm not SUPPOSED to do laundry- must focus on CHILDCARE!




Medicinal chocolate.

Hypochondriac, Or Just ALERT TO DANGER?

Boy, I am ALL ABOUT revealing my Inner Crazy to you guys this week! Yay for honesty! Wheee!
ANYhoo, am I being paranoid to think that if my lymph nodes under the right side of my jawbone are swollen and tender, but the left side is fine, that... That that's BAD? Because I thought it was your GLANDS that swell when you have a cold or sinus infection or whatever. This is like, right under my jaw, not along my neck or throat or whatever where doctors usually feel for swelling. And I've never heard of only one side swelling. I mean, is this like CANCEROUS? Or are glands just another WORD for lymph nodes, and am I in fact not only crazy paranoid but also frighteningly ignorant of basic anatomy?

Also, I'm just gonna throw this out there: If you have to have a bad headcold, it's not such bad timing to get it when your son is also pooping four to five times a day.

A Day In The Life Of Florence Nightingale

Note: Spelling errors are most likely RAMPANT today, so please move right along and try to pretend that you still think I'm intelligent.

It is germapalooza around here, seriously. I can pretty much guarantee that any surface in this house has had enough used tissues and/or mucus covered little fingers on it to render any visitor automatically infected pretty much upon entrance. We should be quarantined. We are GROSS.
My surly mood isn't ALL about the Emergency Levels of Snot situation, though. I was pushed over the edge when, in an effort to cleverly humidify the air so as to comfort my congested children, I freaking scorched the crap out of my pretty shiny tea kettle. I had filled it up, brought it to a boil, opened the spout and turned the heat down a bit, then just let it go to work as a kind of homemade humidifier, right? And I was feeling all proud and efficient and nurse-like for a, thinking about humidifiers in the first place, and b, thinking of a way to accomplish air humidifying without dragging in the dusty Vicks contraption from the garage. A serene, efficient nurse probably wouldn't have just IGNORED the kettle for the next hour, though, until the sight of the FLAMES within it grabbed her attention.
But really? Really the worst thing about colds, scorched kettles-turned-humidifers aside, is the inability of small children to blow their noses. It's a serious handicap, and results in a nose that needs wiping roughly every five seconds. That's not even an exaggeration; I've been doing a case study all morning, and I estimated that that's what it takes- dabbing with a Kleenex LITERALLY EVERY FIVE SECONDS- to keep Addy from absentmindedly swiping at her mucus-covered lip with her sleeve. It is not possible for me to do this, however, considering I have to take breaks occasionally to deal with my own seal-bark of a cough, and to care for the eternally needy Eli, and the eternally messy kitchen, and the eternally empty sippee cup. Oh yes, and to BANG MY ETERNALLY POUNDING HEAD AGAINST A BRICK WALL.
I MEAN, and to go on children's Tylenol runs! (Rite Aid is my new bff, by the way. They have SUCH GREAT SALES on chocolate! All the time! It feels like poor consumerism to pass up bags of Russel Stover Private Reserve when they're only two for four dollars!)
While there, besides getting side tracked in the candy aisle, I am inevitably perplexed by the vast array of medicinal products. What do you guys give your kids when they have your run of the mill bad cold with excessive sneezing, stuffiness, and watery eyes? I've just been doing Tylenol, as when I was in the throes of this bug I felt really achy, and I'm just going to assume they do as well. But should I really be medicating them at all? And are those homeopathic treatments, like the Sniffles and Sneezes tablets or whatever the h they're called, any good? (Side rant: What is UP with all the Dimetapp, Robitussin, etc.? Did I HALLUCINATE that whole children's cold/cough medicine debaucle? I thought they weren't even supposed to sell that stuff anymore! So as to not confuse me with their array of multi-symptom treatments!)

Tallying Up; Also, Boring Maternal Fretting!

The polls are closed! And well, you all do like your sex! But you like your chocolate just a LEETLE better. Those voting for sex over food had convincing arguments, but the foodies had the solid numbers, outvoting you nymphos eleven to seven.
I was actually surprised that the numbers were that close- I had kind of assumed everyone would be all in one camp or the other. Some sort of female solidarity or something. But it seems that the preference depends greatly on both the place we are at in our relationship, and our physical health. Many of us still find sex so new that it's more of a thrill than, say, flourless chocolate cake. Others have been, er, having fun with the same person for over a decade. They look at the bed and think, "Well I've had THAT. But there's a new flavor of ice cream I haven't tried in the freezer!" Or we are pregnant/breastfeeding/have small clingy hellbeasts (phrase credit: Tessie,) and sex, for a variety of reasons, is no longer convenient or even pleasant. We are physically imposed upon almost constantly, and sex can feel like just another invasion of personal space.
That said, I'm still going to push the numbers just a little closer to even by joining ranks with those who would regretfully say goodbye to dessert before sex. And ya'll KNOW I like my food. Anyone who's ever joined me for a meal knows not to even ask if I'd like some cake with my coffee, or some cake with my lunch, or some cake with my CAKE. Now, I could probably give up "real" food fairly easily, but my tastebuds would be in major chocolate withdrawal for some time.
Nonetheless, I still think I would miss the sexual aspect of my life even more than I'd miss Ghiradelli. I'm kind of a tactile person, in so many ways (i.e. I CANNOT shop for things online because I have to actually touch and handle it before I feel comfortable committing,) and I don't think I could do without that physical connection. For me, it is grounding and comforting almost as much as it is exciting. And also, as Mairzy mentioned, I do really like my husband.

All righty then! Before I veer into dangerously romantic and nauseating territory, I will turn this discussion sharply in a different direction: bowel movements! My son's, to be specific. I apologize that I haven't updated on his diaper situation of late, so as to set your mind at ease, but be assured that he has neither roto virus nor any other strange or dangerous intestinal infection, including but not limited to e. coli. HOWEVER, he is still pooping (through his clothes) round the clock, and all of our patience is wearing paper thin. The doctor nonchalantly guessed that he has "some kind of peristent virus" that must be let to run its course, but what the heck, nonchalant doctor? If it's such a strong strain of virus, how come no one else in the house has gotten it despite repeated exposure? This child has had the runs for nearly three weeks, you guys, and been fussy as heck to boot. Do you think I should be worried at this point? Be honest. (But if you can think of a reassuring reason such as TEETHING to explain it, that would be the PREFERRED form of honesty, kthanx.)

A Pointless Poll To Make You Question Your Priorities

If things like starvation weren't an issue, and your only concern was pleasure, would you rather give up sex or food?
You can answer this anonymously if you wish, but by all means weigh in. I want enough replies to compile a comprehensive study of the female psyche! Or the state of most people's sex lives, or the quality of restaraunts, or something.
Anyways! Vote, and tomorrow I'll give you MY answer. (You: A whole day on pins and needles? How will I get anything accomplished?)

Edit: Ahem. That's restaurant, isn't it? Blogger SpellCheck (*cough cough notsomuch*) you are a pain in my lazy arse! Now get off yours and start WORKING, because I cannot be expected to stay sane AND know how to spell COMMON EVERYDAY WORDS LIKE RESTAURANT!

Truth or Dare!

I'm a wuss and always picked truth, so here goes... I've been feeling pretty down lately, a combination of approximately a zillion things. The weather is gross and gray, I've been sick and then sicker, the house isn't selling, Eli's diarrhea seems never-ending (and the dirty clothes and sheets along with it.) I always feel let down after the holidays, I've been feeling depressed about my body lately, and to top it off, I've been having anxious thought patterns which are making me worry that the PPD anxiety which I experienced after Addy was born has sneaked up on me after all. I've basically been experiencing all of this, just a little late this time.
But I think it's turning a corner. First of all, I've been emailing Kara a lot, and I just wanted to thank her publicly for making it okay to talk about depression, anxiety, dark thoughts, and the private things which usually make us feel so ugly and ashamed. Just telling someone else and getting perspective can make it so much better.
Also, I talked to Jim about my mood (which has basically been despondent and detached, unfulfilled and fearful) and he made some good suggestions. One was that I stop thinking of keeping the house clean as my job, because, as he put it, "You don't stay home so that we don't have to pay a HOUSEKEEPER. You stay home so that you can be the one to take care of the KIDS." He has made this point multiple times, actually, and I think I should really take it to heart this time.
SO! I am on strike from housework. I am just going to get up in the morning and get to work HANGING OUT WITH THE KIDS, and do housework only as needed to keep us from sinking into filth. But I will not be cleaning windows or dusting baseboards. While I actually LIKE cleaning, trying to keep the house perfect makes me feel both anxious (I have to do THIS and THIS and THIS...) and also kind of like a hamster on a wheel. A RESENTFUL hamster. So NO MORE!
I also had a talk with my mom awhile ago about my body image (BAD) and she really helped me snap out of my obsessing. So at least my stretch marks aren't tormenting me multiple times a day anymore.
Perhaps the biggest change is that I am trying to incorporate my faith more in my daily life instead of just attending church and letting it go at that. When I forget the truths that I believe in and listen to the negative voices in my head instead, I can quickly spiral into feeling that my role in life is pretty pointless and that none of us really matter anyways, life is just a giant rat race ending in death, etc, etc. Cheerful. So I've been really concentrating on feeding myself a steady stream of healthy, positive messages that I know to be true (I am loved and needed, there is a purpose for my life beyond changing diapers) instead of anxious, fearful thoughts all day (I am a bad mom, I am fat, the sun is never going to shine EVER AGAIN, etc.)
To further cheer me up, today Addy leaned over to kiss Eli and out of the blue, for the first time ever, murmured, "I wuv you, Eli." If that can't make you feel better about your job...
AND my mom ran into my OB-GYN today and mentioned that she and I have been working out lately, and the doctor replied, "Well, that's good, but Sarah's in good shape already." Mwahh, KISSES!!!! And THEN he said that I'd had a pretty rough pregnancy but that I was a TROOPER! I heart him so much right now. It makes me want to schedule an extra Pap smear just so I can bring him a plate of cookies.

How To Feel Like Crap

1. Get a cold/cough which seems to be getting better, than turns around and gets worse.

2. Arrive home to a distinctly unpleasant odor. Search house and find that the dog has vomited all over your bed.

3. Be up half the night with apparent food poisoning.

4. Live in a state where it is gray and gloomy and foggy approximately one hundred and five percent of the time.

5. Have to drag children out in said gloomy rainy weather to a well-child visit, meaning you have to carry your eight pound purse, your ten pound diaper bag and your seventeen and a half pound child in one arm while holding a toddler's hand with the other.

6. Have child take enormous crap while in doctor's office, and realize that your diaper bag is out of wipes. Spend ten minutes scraping poo particles off child's bum with damp Kleenex while a nurse waits impatiently. Feel like an incompetent idiot.

7. Have to comfort TWO screaming children while baby gets his shots, one of which is red-faced and breathless with outrage and pain, while the other is screeching in a voice probably only dogs can hear, and staring at you in horror for allowing her brother to be injured.

8. Arrive home to realize you are out of toilet paper.

9. Prepare yourself tasty leftover tacos, only to bite into them and remember that you have a cold and therefore, no taste buds. Nor is eating even PLEASANT because you cannot breathe while chewing.

10. Dude. EATING IS NOT EVEN PLEASANT. Is there no comfort in this world?

Pet Hair Eraser. Bissel Pet Hair Eraser.

Here he is, ladies. My new main man. You can look, but don't touch...

There is a special pet hair lifter that proceeds the actual vacuum, which supposedly results in greater pet hair pick up than regular vacuums provide. Who knows if this is true, but it did SEEM as though the carpet looked cleaner, and the pet hair lifter reaches really far under furniture. This part definitely works, and is nice when you're reaching under the couch for a lost crayon and you don't have to dig through mounds of dog fur to find it.

The Pancake Effect

I really like making pancakes. I used to suck at it, inevitably whipping up batches of burnt-on-the-outside, alarmingly-batter-y-on-the-inside breakfast treats. But I have practiced and learned, and have now perfected the chocolate chip pancake, the apple cinnamon pancake, and even the (personal favorite) pumpkin pecan pancake. I bought a griddle specifically so that I could be cooking six pancakes at a time, thus allowing me to make double batches, freeze half the pancakes (you can SO do this!) and still be able to eat my own helping while everyone else is still at least IN the kitchen (have you noticed how usually the generous pancake maker ends up eating alone an hour after breakfast began because they're still at the stove flipping pancakes to use up the batter while everyone else has poured a second cup of coffee and is moving on with their day?)
Ahem. My point being, we like us some pancakes around here. BUT. I have noticed a serious problem. Upon consuming said pancakes, usually with a glass of juice and always with a cup of coffee, I feel full and happy. But a couple hours later, by the time I realize I'm getting hungry for lunch, my blood sugar has plummeted wildly and I feel shaky and dizzy and faint. Yesterday it was so bad I actually felt drunk, which is not a feeling I'm particularly fond of. Tipsy, maybe, but...
What I'm asking from you, my friends, is this: Cure my pancake shakiness without taking the pancakes from me! Do I just need to pair the pancakes with eggs to balance the carbs? Do you have a delicious, "hearty" sort of pancake recipe that is filled with whole grains and will break down slowly in my system, sparing me the sugar crash?
Just don't take my pancakes, okay?!
Also, for some reason spell check is refusing to work today, so disregard any errors as being, not evidence of my lack of basic knowledge, but of the pain-in-the-arse-edness of Blogger.

Alternate Uses For Plastic Wrap

So! I finally caved and took Eli, Addy, and the Poo Diaper Baggie downtown. In the five degree weather. Only to be told that the liquid poo had been dissolved and compromised by the absorbent gel of the diaper, and that in order to collect a usable sample, I needed to PUT SERAN WRAP IN HIS DIAPER to catch the diarhea. "Just listen really closely," the helpful tech suggested, "and as soon as you hear him go, run in to change him and try to make a little bag out of the seran wrap, and hopefully you'll catch enough of the liquid in there to get a culture from it."
I'm pretty sure I said very little to the people at the lab as I bundled the children up to leave, so hard was I working to keep from screaming in frustration, both at the doctor, who TOLD me to bring in a diaper, and at the NONSENSE of it all, because I'm about ninety percent sure he doesn't even HAVE roto virus. But what if he does? Or what if he has some horrible virulent form of malaria or something?
So we went home, I cut a strip of plastic wrap and put it in the middle of his diaper, and we waited. Of course the little bugger didn't poop for like ten hours then, so it took til this morning to get a proper "sample" of the liquid poo, which of course flooded off the seran wrap and all over his clothes. But I'm pretty sure I caught enough to provide a legitimate sample!
On the bright side, I'm very happy I'm not a lab technician who has to test other people's feces!

Whiny and Wistful

I've taken a new lovah, my friends. His name is Bissell Pet Hair Eraser. We've been busy making sweet, sweet love on the floor of every room in the house, which explains my neglect of my poor blog.
No, actually, the truth is a bit less glamorous (not that being hot and bothered over a new vacuum is all that glamorous to begin with...) Eli has had diarrhea for a week now, along with a horrible rash which turned into a yeast infection and required a doctor's visit and a prescription. The rash has all but cleared up now, but the diarrhea continues, so the doctor wants me to take a dirty diaper into the pathology lab to see if he has roto virus. My thoughts on this are as follows:
I really don't think he has roto virus, as he has not vomited, is not running a fever, does not seem dehydrated, and has only been cranky and lethargic when his rash was bad. He doesn't seem SICK, if you know what I mean. Am I a bad mom if I ignore the doctor's instructions? It's not like they would do anything different even if he HAD it, right? Just up the fluids (we've been trying to give him Pedialyte in between feedings) and change diapers frequently and wash hands and all that jazz? Because I can do THAT without taking two kids and a poo diaper in a baggie downtown.


My other Thought Of The Week is this: How is Eli such a big boy? He has begun eating cereal (another attempt to halt the diarrhea) and LOVES it. He snarfed down a whole bowl last night in under five minutes, barely spilling a drop on his bib. And he finally slept through the night following his cereal binge- the first time that's happened in over a month. He is in size 3 diapers now, and is wearing mostly nine month clothing. He weighs almost eighteen pounds, and we are moving him this week into a rear-facing convertible car seat, as he is so heavy in the infant carrier that I have begun having chronic shoulder pain from carrying him to and from the car in it. In a few short months he'll be crawling, and... And then I'll want ANOTHER little baby, I suppose. Sigh.

How It Is For You

This is something I wonder about a lot: What is normal for you all? Is it normal for you to still be in your sweatshirt and pajama pants at one o' clock in the afternoon because there hasn't been a good window yet for showering (and you are way too fond of sleep to get up before the kids to shower?)
Do you usually sit down and eat lunch with your kids, and all have the same nutritionally balanced meal, and talk happily about your day? Or do you usually take the opportunity of having your kid strapped in a chair and busy eating spaghetti-os AND shredded wheat to unload the dishwasher without her grabbing at the steak knives? And then do you find that it's four o'clock and all you've eaten is bits and pieces of whatever your kids were snacking on and suddenly you are STARVED?
Do you space out at the computer in between diaper changes and sippee cup distribution and baths, then jolt back up in an hour so, feeling guilty, and morph into Mary Poppins for the next hour to make up for your negligence?
Do you find grocery shopping still to be confusing and frustrating? Do you buy oranges, only to have them rot in the produce drawer forever, and then a month later buy some and watch your family eat their way through two bags in a week? Let's make up our mind about the oranges, people! Yay or nay?!
Does your toddler have a special pooping spot in the house, which is not the actual potty, of course, but a room into which he or she must run and hide, and then emerge from moments later demanding a diaper change?
Or this all just me?

De Ja Vu

Want to make your house so clean and pretty that you never want to leave it? Have an open house in which you try to convince OTHERS to take it from you. Gaze around in awe that every room in your house is clean AT THE SAME TIME, all the dishes done, all the laundry folded and PUT AWAY even. Make breezy comments to your husband about how you're not going to know what to do with yourself the rest of the week since EVERYTHING IS DONE.
Realize on Wednesday that there is a sink full of dishes and two loads of laundry to be put away and that all the surfaces and floors which were so shiny and clean are looking dusty and crumby and smudged. Remember, as you begin to sweep and wipe once again, that you used to ENJOY doing this sort of housework. That it felt like PLAYING HOUSE. Laugh bitterly.

Then laugh in a normal, non-deranged manner at this picture, in which it appears that we are playing "Stiff As A Board" with poor helpless Eli.

For All You Front Rowers Out There

Heaven help me, I'm doing this twice a week now. And I LIKE it. What has the world come to that I like ANY form of exercising?
I was originally doing hi/lo aerobics, but I quickly discovered that in that class I spent more mental energy frantically trying to remember the fancy-pants steps ("and lindy to the RIGHT!") and much less energy trying to keep going physically. So I switched to the Zumba class, which is WAAAAYYY more fun and also a better workout. I'm actually psyched to go tomorrow.
Here is my question for you all (I am looking at YOU, Tessie): what do you wear when you work out? If I were home I would just rock out in pajama pants and a sports bra, probably, but I'm at an actual gym where there are tiny little blonds running around in coordinating outfits with moisture wicking and what not (I get a good view of these women because they are of course always the ones in the front row, whereas I am firmly in the middle-to-back row,) and here I am in my yoga pants, circa 1998, and an oversized tee shirt. How do I gradually upgrade my workout wardrobe without breaking the bank?

Oh Thank You, Sweet Baby Jesus!

That I am NOT pregnant. I drove like a madwoman to make it to the pathology lab before they closed, because Jim called them (and was irate and demanding, presumably) and they finally agreed to give me the results, but only in person.
I was a little afraid that I was going to feel somehow disappointed if the results were negative. Just because it always seems like you should be feeling pro baby, and I worried that maybe there was a part of me secretly cheering on a pregnancy. It would not be unlike me, let's just say. But I was so relieved when I got the results, I was actually shaking. There was no disappointment. And it's not that I don't want more babies. Just not now. I SO did not want to have to go through another pregnancy. Pregnancy does not seem to like me.
Anyways. Thanks for putting up with my obsessive worrying, you all. I am going to chalk this up to a Sobering Lesson in why you don't let those moments of passion get the better of you when you are all out of birth control!

GAAAA!!!

Oh my gosh, you guys, I am seriously about crying with frustration right now. I called the office at three and my results still hadn't been faxed in. The nurse said to call back "in an hour or so." So I dutifully waited an hour, and then gave it an extra twenty minutes just to be safe. Called back, waiting with bated breath, only to get the doctor's answering service! Because everyone is gone for the day! I called the pathology lab then, probably sounding like a frantic lunatic, only to be of course told that they aren't allowed to actually release that information, only pass it on to doctors and doctors only. IT'S MY F-ING BLOOD TEST WHY CAN'T YOU JUST TELL ME!!!
But no. Looks like I will be waiting till Monday. Son of a beotch.

Just Killing Time Blogging

I sincerely wonder what people must think of me when I'm out in public with the two kids. Is she nuts bringing both kids shopping with her? Can she not see that she doesn't even have room for PURCHASES in her cart once she piles in baby and toddler? Can she HEAR the screeching of her child as she clings to the slide of the indoor McDonalds playland even though she is not big enough/old enough to play on it? Why is this woman torturing us with her kids?
I was sweating bullets yesterday, trying to pull a screaming Addy off the play equipment with one hand while holding Eli with the other as older, retiree-types sipped their coffee and watched with curiosity and/or judgement. Probably thinking I should either be sterner ("My mother would have tanned my hide if I acted like that in public!") or gentler ("That woman is practically dragging her kid by the arm!") or at least calmer ("Look at that, her jeans are riding down as she bends over to talk to the kid and it looks like her back is covered in nervous perspiration!")
I got practically nothing accomplished on the outing save providing a convincing demonstration of my incompetence as a mother. Then I got home, tried to get them both fed and settled down and changed and ASLEEP, and then there were what seemed like endless things to do: cleaning, of course, laundry, of course, dishes, of course, and then also the dog is whining whining WHINING at me all day, and there are countless phone calls of people needing things and asking questions and PEOPLE, DON'T YOU SEE I HAVE NO ANSWERS?
Two is enough, I think.
Oh yeah- just called the office, and the results aren't back yet. THE NERVOUS TUMMY PERSISTS.

Taking Deep, Cleansing Breaths

Well, you guys, I did it. I couldn't take all the complaining and impatience, so, despite the fact that I was perfectly willing to wait another week and was not getting squirmy and nervous AT ALL, I went ahead and got the blood test this morning JUST TO APPEASE ALL OF YOU.
Was it just me, or was the receptionist at the pathology lab shooting me weird, slightly sympathetic glances as I plodded out the door, Addy in one hand, the stroller containing my clearly not very old baby in the other? Probably just imagining things, I'm sure.
I'm feeling pretty terrified, to be honest. I think it's just the SIGNIFICANCE of getting actual blood work done rather than peeing on a stick. I've peed on sticks roughly eighty seven times, and they've only turned up positive three times. But the blood tests? So far I'm three for three. And even though I'm pretty sure (at least MENTALLY sure) that I'm not pregnant, there is the fact that EVERY TIME I've gotten the call with the results, the results have been positive.
I'll keep you posted.

Pictures! And No More Crazy!

Eli as "Deer in Headlights."




Addy with her toy MP3 player. Which we quickly hid because it is just the sort of toy that sends her THROUGH the ROOF when she can't figure out exactly how to use it BY HERSELF. ( Oh and DO enjoy the sight of my rear end clad in worn Hanes Her Way sweats. HOT STUFF.)


* Also, by "No More Crazy," I merely meant that I will no longer torture YOU with the details of the crazy. I myself am still in full on Obsessive Panty Checking Mode.

What To Say, What To Say...

(Drumming my fingertips on the table) Hmm, let's see... Shall I write about being moody beyond belief, and forcing Jim to engage in an "assessing the health of our relationship, i.e. do we talk enough do we cuddle enough do we have enough romance yada yada yada" discussion at ten thirty last night? Shall I talk about how Eli seems to have digested my moodiness and has been fussing and/or screeching almost nonstop for two days no matter what I do?
OR do I write about how THE SPOTTING IS GONE AGAIN?! And again, lasted only for an hour! OH MY GOD WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!! I am getting ridiculously freaked out, and the two negative tests are not really comforting me because A, it is possibly just too early for a positive to show up anyways and B, when I was testing with Eli, THREE different tests showed up negative until I finally got a blood test. I finally called the OB's office to talk (read: flip out on) a nurse, only to be told that all the nurses were busy. Was it an emergency? I was asked kindly.
YOU TELL ME, people, YOU TELL ME!

Ahem. On a completely different note (except not that different, as it still involves babies. You: "Shocker.") I have a lovely little linky which you should totally go check out. I WANT TO SEE THIS so bad! The Business of Being Born is a documentary about birth practices in America produced by Ricki Lake. LOOKS AWESOME.

Come Obsess With Me! Part Three

Hi! Yes, we ARE still talking about this. You have apparently found your way to the all TMI all the time station.
Now I'm spotting again. I feel crazed and hormonal and have, as Catherine Newman says it, "hurt my own feelings" several times today over comments Jim made which were in fact completely benign. I also took a test with first-morning urine and it was negative. So based on these facts, I'm thinking period. I know it would still be really early for a test to come out positive even if I were pregnant, but I'm going to relax about and just assume this is the cycle grinding reluctantly back into gear.
That said. I am not enjoying the mood swings and the bleak winter scene outside my window, nor the fact that my knees, after just two aerobics classes, are creaky and cracky and threatening to slide out of place all the time. Am I fifty years old, here, body? You can't handle a high/low aerobics class without starting to go all arthritic on me? Soon I'm going to be able to feel it in my bones when a hard rain is coming.

Still Mentally Curled In Fetal Position

Okay, I guess I won't take the other post down, TMI be damned. Now I just want to hear stories. I want THE INFO, people. Has implantation bleeding ever happened to anyone else? It never has to me, but nor has random spotting. When did you get your period back after breastfeeding? How did it happen- spotty first, then full on a while later, or just, boom, back in business? Did you have PMS beforehand at all? DETAILS, give me DETAILS. Preferably ones to reassure me that this is just my cycle coming back. SET MY MIND AT EASE.

And, for easy reference/nagging worry: (taken from http://www.justmommies.com/articles/implantation-bleeding.shtml)

What does implantation bleeding or spotting look like?
Implantation bleeding, also called implantation spotting, does not look like a regular menstrual period. Implantation bleeding is scanty and usually pink or brownish discharge.


What if I feel like my period is about to start?
If you have had spotting and think it might be implantation bleeding you may be paying very close attention to your body. If you are trying to get pregnant, the good news is that early pregnancy symptoms feel very similar to the start of your period. If you are pregnant you may begin to notice symptoms of early pregnancy right around the time your period would normally start and sometimes sooner than that. If you suspect pregnancy you can test for pregnancy as early as ten days after ovulation.


Particularly enjoy the bolded section. WTF?! How is that GOOD news?

Flipping The Flip Out

Um, this whole post is too much information. I will probably take it down within twenty four hours, so if you have a comment, please make it now or forever hold your peace.
I thought I was getting my period back all last week. Crampy, exhausted, cranky, bloated, but no bleeding. Yesterday I spotted for a few hours. Thought, "Hooray! The cycle is returning." And now? Now nothing. Nada. I think back a little to that one oops time when we didn't use protection. It was eight days ago.
Holy. Crap.
Implantation bleeding, no?

*Edited to add: Took a pt test this afternoon, which was negative. Whew. HowEVER- it would probably be too early to tell yet even if I WERE pregnant, right? (Which I am NOT.) Eight days past (hypothetical) ovulation = too early to test. But I couldn't HELP it!

Wake Up Call

Here's a fun game: Who can guess the number of inches I have added to my waist since my sophomore year of high school (that being the last year I remember measuring my waist)?
No? Not a fun game? Well then, here's the answer. Seven. SEVEN. Good grief. Why does this always happen- as soon as I write about making peace with my body, I get slapped with renewed self loathing after seeing myself in a picture, or getting on a scale, or some other form of COLD HARD FACTS. Bah.
On a more cheerful note, the reason I was torturing myself with the tape measure is that I had to send in my measurements for my pretty BRIDESMAID DRESS for the WEDDING I'm going to be in come September! Yay! AND Addy is going to be the flower girl!
But seriously, folks. I need to whip this body back into shape, and I don't think two hours of aerobics a week is going to cut it. My first plan is to stop buying all the #%$^#ing chocolate just because it is on a major sale. The calories are not seventy-five percent off, Sarah. But I think it will take more than that. My love handles are stubborn little buggers. I need dieting ideas that are both nutritionally acceptable (so no cabbage soup only diets) and okay to implement while breastfeeding. How do I get the pounds to melt away while still providing good milk for baby and also keeping up my energy for toddler chasing (my method for keeping up energy heretofore having been to alternate doses of caffeine and sugar)?

Why I Am A Loser

-I entered Adelay in the Live!With Regis And Kelly Most Beautiful Baby Search. And I cannot help myself, I have visions of scholarships dancing through my head. Here is the picture I sent:


I should have cropped it closer, but I think they do that anyways once you send it in, because all the pictures on the website were close ups of faces. The faces of all the poor LOSER babies.

-I showed up to my first aerobics class, EARLY even, and no one was there. No one. Turns out the instructor had cancelled class in honor of a football game which is pretty important to most people around here and forgot to call me. So instead of working out, I went to a diner and ate pie and sulked.

-My husband and some friends of ours were having a spirited political debate tonight, and instead of taking part, I totally zoned out and drank coffee heavily laced with Kahlua. Either I was too tired to join in, or I just don't give a crap anymore. Either way, it's pretty sad that I'm already too lazy to think about campaigns and it's only January.

-I am obsessively checking The Other Boleyn Girl websites to see if there are any new trailers out. I am marking the release date on my calendar.

And Now For Something Completely New... A List!

1. It is starting to feel like we are never actually going to move; it's just this hypothetical idea swirling around, which we occasionally discuss. I go to the realtor's website sometimes and take the video tour of our house just to "visit" it and remember that it's still out there, waiting for us. (Hopefully waiting for us, and not whoring itself out to other families to be bought out from under us. *Sniff.*) Also, another house in our current neighborhood, just across the street, went up for sale a few weeks ago, and they are asking ten thousand less than we are. Not good for The Desperates. Not good at all. I took their video tour and I think ours is nicer inside, but who knows what other people will think? I am obviously biased. And unfortunately, lowering our price significantly is just not really an option.

2. Kindermusik is over, and I am not re-enrolling Addy. I think I might try tumbling at the Y or something a little more... Unstructured, I guess. I just felt like it was the adults who were more into it than the kids were. The toddlers just wanted to run around and play, and most of the time weren't really participating anyways. Which meant four kids racing around laughing while four adults pranced in a circle to ethnically enriching music, trying to coax the kids to join us. It wasn't BAD or anything; Addy liked the other kids and enjoyed playing with the instruments. I just feel it was maybe a little overrated and not worth the expense. I think she probably enjoys the FREE church nursery just as much if not more.

3. My sister-in-law hooked me up with the website for an orphanage in Guatemala which does basically what I was wanting to do here awhile ago. I am going to try to donate to them on a regular basis, and I encourage you guys to go check them out too! Also in relation to my desire to DO something for underprivileged kids, I am going to take the advise of one of the commenters and look into being a teacher's aid once a week at one of our city schools. Has anyone done this before, and want to weigh in? (Not that everyone attending city schools is underprivileged, necessarily; it just seems more likely, at least in OUR city school.)

4. I have watched Barbie as The Princess and The Pauper roughly fifteen times since Addy received it for Christmas. I have caught myself several times now singing the songs while working around the house. Singing them with feeling.

5. I think I am reaching a healthier place in terms of body image (crossing fingers fervently.) I realize that I am pretty out of shape and could stand to get more active, but I am coming to terms with the fact that no amount of weight loss and/or physical fitness will change the stretch marks all over my hips and abdomen, and that my skin will probably remain weird and almost scar-like on a portion of my lower belly. I have been quietly (and not so quietly) grieving over this ever since Eli was born, though I haven't posted much about it. I guess it seems both shallow and kind of obvious to complain about post-baby body, but it really does bother me a lot.
Anyways, last night as I was putting Eli to bed, I experienced yet another one of those in-love kind of pangs for him as I snuggled in his chubby baby sweetness. Then I went to put my own self to bed, and as I was changing into my pajamas, found myself staring with hatred at my stomach for the zillionth time. And it just seemed so stupid, suddenly. Weren't my babies worth those marks? They are battle scars! If anything, I should be proud of them! Why should I expect that my body come out of such a transformative and HARD experience as childbirth unaffected and unscarred? My body had to stretch to make room for my babies, and now I think it's time my mindset about physical beauty stretched, too, to make room for the beauty of motherhood.

You can all go barf now.

Real New Year's Resolution: No Babies In '08!

Hello, old friend.


Tessie posted recently about Health Kicks and making resolutions to exercise, not eat Doritos while sitting on the couch watching Biggest Loser, etc. So in her honor, here is my confession: I am signed up to take an aerobics class twice a week. I realize I'm about, oh, two decades late in climbing aboard the aerobics bandwagon, but I'm still feeling cautiously excited about it. Listening to a peppy instructor, bouncing around to music, all while wearing Lycra! What is not to love in that scenario?
Oh, but about that not eating crap part? Will not be happening so long as all the delicious Christmas candy is fifty to seventy-five percent off. Let's just be very clear about that. And I blame Jim! He is my enabler! He actually called me from CVS to say, "All the good chocolate is on sale... What should I do?" What should you do?? Do you need to ask?
Apparently, my thighs and Lindt chocolate truffles are having some kind of twisted, dysfunctional love affair. I'm just their channel, people!

Beer Belly

The breastmilk just isn't cutting it anymore- he's on to a more manly beverage.

An Overly Paranthetical Ramble

Oof. I haven't eaten a vegetable that wasn't cooked in butter and cream of mushroom soup for over a week. I have consumed so much chocolate and coffee and alcohol it's a wonder Eli hasn't stopped eating in protest (okay, not an ALARMING amount of alcohol, but more than usual, the usual being none.) I got such good presents- bracelet, sunglasses, lotions and chap sticks aplenty, new jammies, a new DVD player (at last!) Pistons tickets (yay!) the new Philippa Gregory book (ohmygosh her books are like literary crack to me) and also some lovely gift cards which I used to buy shoes and a silky new party shirt and a sweater. (The silky party shirt? A little more low cut than I realized when I bought it, but OH WELL let's flaunt these girls while I've got 'em, 'cause Lord knows after nursing a few more kids they are going to seriously be DOWN TO MY KNEES.)

I have already taken the tree and decorations down- I find them kind of depressing after Christmas, so I just put it all away and try to get excited about the New Year and all the New Stuff instead of feeling mopey and wistful about Christmas being over. Except I still end up feeling mopey and wistful, but that could be because the sun hasn't shone in about three days, and there is no snow, only dead grass and barren limbs and a gray, ashy sky. And also because my Christmas CD in the car has Jonie Mitchell's "River" on it, and it is so pretty that I keep skipping to that track, but it's a little too depressing to listen to over and over again, it seems, without casting a melancholy shroud over your own mood.

Nonetheless, mostly I am very happy, because all the exhausting parts of the holiday (shopping, wrapping, loading and unloading the car, pretending to like your relatives) are past, but there are still a few more days of the lying around in pajamas together and eating candy and watching Christmas movies and not minding that the house is messy. Those are really the best parts, as far as I'm concerned.

But I do wish the sun would come out.

Ho, Ho, Ho

Here you are- Merry Christmas! A festive shot of my new haircut, with bonus double chin angle for no extra charge!


The highlights have since been touched up, so it does look a little less ghetto than what you see pictured. They were touched up, however, by a complete MORON who, when told to try to match the blond shade growing out in the bottom half of my hair, liberally streaked the top half with BRASSY ORANGE. It's not immediately noticeably, but when you look at it under direct light, it's pretty glaring. And horrid. Bah humbug.
But my Christmas shopping is done- AND I actually feel confident this year in my gifts for Jim (i.e. they are not just a ton of lame SHIRTS that basically say, "Here, you should dress better!") I am getting very excited. Our various celebrations start on Christmas Eve and end the day after Christmas, so that's three whole days of presents, people! And family and love and stuff. *ahem.*
I hope you have a Merry Christmas, everyone, and that all your wishes come true. My wish is that it would snow again, because what we currently have is a Brown Christmas situation. There was about ten inches of snow a week ago, then rain, then all the snow melted into wet dirty mush. This seriously happens EVERY. YEAR. I am getting pissed here, Mother Nature!

One Of Those Days

I felt like the worst mommy ever today. Most Likely To Permanently Screw Up Her Children. First, Eli finally learned how to roll over- and promptly fell off the couch, missing the oak coffee table by inches, but still managing to bump his head on the floor and completely freak his little self out. Also to completely freak ME out. Because here's the bad mommy part:I wasn't even there. I heard the thump from the kitchen and ran to the living room in time to see his face scrunch up in horror and his mouth open in a scream.
He's generally fine if we lay him on the couch, positioned so he won't just roll off the edge, of course, and so I often put him down there while I fold laundry or play with Addy (or blog, or totally space out...) But I must have been puttering around, tidying things up, and gone to return some dirty dish to the kitchen when it happened. I felt SO AWFUl. He was fine; no red marks or bumps on his head or noticeable weirdness of any kind. But, to use a line from a few days ago when I was judging other people for their stupidity, WHO DOES THAT?! Who leaves a baby old enough to be learning to roll over alone on a couch?
Then, while I was comforting him, Addy ran off on her own, and returned with some mysterious red mark on her forehead! Now, she's very fair and gets blotchy anytime she bumps into anything, but what the heck! My children are clearly not safe in my care; they're just falling all over the place. I need a rubber room.
Fast forward to naptime. Cue the screaming and forty-five minute circus. Again, I feel like the stupidest mother alive. See, almost the day after I posted about Addy's fit-throwing over naps and bedtime, she quit throwing the fits and finally got used to the no-bottle policy. But then- THEN- I went and screwed it all up the other day. She was overly tired and crying even as I was getting her ready for bed, so I tried to comfort her by getting in bed with her, reading extra stories, letting her up for snacks and drink, etc. (You: Smacking head. "Oh no you DIH-UHNT!") Yes, I did. I am a moron. And now she's throwing fits again. She is in fact throwing a fit from behind her baby gate even as I type (it's eleven thirty at night.) I already dealt with this today, and am still recovering. I can't go up to bat again. But I have no choice, because Jim got called back to work at seven thirty and I am here alone. Alone with the special lasagna I made for dinner that he DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TIME TO EAT.
If there weren't brownies in this house, I might have snapped awhile ago.

People For Whom Strangling Is Far Too Good

That would be the parents of Riley Ann, otherwise known as Baby Grace. I would rather not describe the whole sickening thing, so if you are not familiar with the story, just follow the link.
This kind of thing makes me physically ill, and this particular case has been bothering me on and off ever since it hit the news. It just fills me rage that some people would give anything to be a parent- a GOOD parent- and other total wastes of oxygen like these two "parents" are able to reproduce at will. God help us.
But then I got to thinking, we are supposed to be God's hands on earth. So instead of just sitting around feeling nauseous and furious, I would really, really love to be able to do something to protect other kids from this sort of fate, preferably by removing them from dangerous situations BEFORE something tragic happened.
Ideally, I would have some sort of enormous home (funded by an endless cash supply, of course) where people who are total assholes and have no interest in properly caring for their offspring could drop their kids off, no questions asked, at any age, and sign them over. Just say, "Here is my kid. I don't want to/am unable to care for it any longer." And then my agency would legally adopt the child and take care of it.
I realize I am not exactly in a position to do just this. I have no idea how one would legally go about setting up something like that. I just know that I want to do something, even if it's just raising money and giving it to people who ARE doing something like that. Does anyone have any good ideas about how to make a difference for abused kids, or have any referrals for me to organizations that are doing that very thing?

People I Want To Strangle

-The guy at the paint counter who completely ignores me for five minutes while he unloads stock, as I stand, LITERALLY drumming my fingertips on the desk, ten feet away. And then, when I have put in my order and come back ten minutes later, as instructed, to pick it up, he is too busy chatting with another employee about some sweet new scanning gadget (SERIOUSLY??) to address me. I wait patiently for another five minutes, then finally interrupt to say tersely, "I'm kind of in a hurry. Is my paint ready yet?" Shrugging, he glances at the paint mixer machine and says, "I don't think so. Another few minutes." As his fellow employee gives me a raised eyebrow- "Bitch," that eyebrow is saying to me.
-The clueless moron working at the drive-thru carryout who, with a line of three cars, mine included, waiting, stands chatting away with his friend in the first vehicle. Seriously, just stands there, chomping a toothpick and shootin' the breeze with his pal while we are all idling behind them, dollar bills in our hands, waiting for our gallons of milk or whatever. WHO DOES THAT?

The Long Goodnight

Burning Question of the Day: How do you handle kids who keep getting up and up and up out of bed even after you have read the story, sung the song, given the kisses, turned on the CD, and said the prayers? And maybe you've even read the story a couple of times, and changed the diaper a couple of times, and sung the nighty-night song more than once, and the kid is STILL popping up?
Specifically, I'm asking about bedtime policy. I understand the importance of routine, and we've gotten better about that. Our routine has become regrettably long, but it is in place. We've even broken her at last of taking bottles to bed. But this means she has no happy juice lulling her reliably to sleep. Now, she will willingly go to bed, but then, unless she is dead tired, will jump out five minutes later to yell for us. Over and over and over again she will yell for us to put her back to bed, until she has at last exhausted herself of the whole tucking in process. This could mean she gets up twice, or it could be ten times. Just depends on the level of crazy she's hit before bedtime.
So what do we do? Is there a certain number of times we should go in, and then after that, just let her yell? Do we not go in at all, not even the first time? Is she playing us for fools, or are we just helping her get over the hump of learning to go to sleep without her beloved ba-ba?
I mean, I'm fine with it if it's a temporary situation which will eventually (SOON) resolve itself, but if it's just some stalling ritual destined to become more and more elaborate each night, then I'd like to nip it in the bud. Suggestions? Ideas that worked for you? If nothing else, commiseration?

My Monday

The problem with buying festively wrapped Reese's cup minis is that you cannot in fairness be snarfing them all day in front of your salivating toddler while telling her, "No more candy, eat your banana!" You have to invent reasons to sneak off to the kitchen and furtively shove one in your mouth, then saunter off as though it's all Business As Usual.
But that was not my point. My point today was about Preschool Politics (i.e. other parents' subtle and not so subtle comparisons of YOUR child to THEIR much more remarkable and advanced child) and how I loathe them so very much. First of all, let me say as a disclaimer that I am no less prone to this shameful habit than any other parent. I feel the urge to brag about my kid's cuteness and genius, too, and I am no stranger to those private comparisons to other people's kids. But I try to keep them PRIVATE. I try not to, say, ask every other parent in the room when, specifically, their child turned two, then nod at my own child knowingly and say, "Ah, THAT's why..." The end of that sentence presumably being, "...These other kids seem like such drooling idiots compared to you."
I love all the other parents in our Kindermusik class, but there's this one dad who drives me nuts on a regular basis. He just acts so superior, and his kid is always dressed in preppy little outfits complete with Bass Weejuns. The dad is always asking him questions designed to show off his brilliance, such as, "William, can you count to ten in Spanish for the group? William, can you show Miss Amy how you learned to tie your shoes already? William, can you explain The Theory of Relativity to the rest of the kids?" And so on.

Bonus Humiliating Anecdote!! So the holiday season is upon us, and with it many occasions for some indulging in the spirits. So I was thinking, since I'm not on the pill yet and not getting periods, it might be a good idea to take a p.t. test just to be absolutely sure I'm good to go with the drinking this Christmas (alcoholic that I am.) So I go into the Dollar General (the ghetto Wal-Mart!) to buy one of their cheapo generic tests, only to discover that you have to request them at the counter now. As opposed to what I used to do when I was trying for Eli, which was grab them buy the handfuls out of a big ole' Bin O' Pee Sticks.
So I stand in a line winding halfway to the back of the store, then quietly state my request to the cashier. Who SHOUTS ACROSS THE ROOM in front of the approximately thirty customers waiting behind me, "Hey Andrea, do you have any PREGNANCY TESTS at your counter?" Andrea yells back, "No, but there's some in the back! Have a stocker go get you one!" Cashier No. One then SHOUTS to a nearby stocker, "Hey Chris, go get this girl some PREGNANCY TESTS!"
To make a long story short, I scurried out of the store, redfaced, without the test. I'm pretty sure I'm not in the family way, and definitely not concerned enough to wait for five minutes with a whole line of people tapping their feet behind me waiting for Chris The Stocker to go fetch me my pee stick. Gaah.

Siblings

Unfortunately, she knows just how cute she is.


Addy hearts Eli. Eli... Tolerates Addy.


Eli, keeping an eye on Addy for any sudden moves.

Mom Hair

Oh geez. I'm getting night-before-big-haircut jitters. One's life is sadly lacking in drama if you're getting the Nervous Tummy about a haircut.
I think I'm for sure going short. I had it pretty short at one point, the summer I was pregnant with Adelay, and I mostly liked it. Other people seem to like me better with long hair, but hey, it's my head. My only fear is that despite my best explanation of what I want out of this hairstle, I'm going to end up with the dreaded Mom Haircut. Wish me luck, people.

The Remedy

...For a morning in which every room you step into presents new chores to be done and new messes to be undone...
...For a morning in which the hours are flying by too fast to even shower, but the minutes themselves, of wiping bottoms and fetching snacks and letting dog in and out, are going by way too slow...
...For the deep longing to get the h out of the house, but you can't because winter has come at last, gracing you with icy roads and a snow covered car...

Is watching Waitress while eating vanilla ice cream covered in Nutella spread. Nothing like fudgy goodness, with a reminder that one's life could always be worse on the side.

Pretty In Pink

Adelay, just for the record, is not always a girly-girl. She loves to run and wrestle with Daddy, and is very good at kicking and throwing balls. One of her favorite things to do is drive her truck around the house. That said, I need to express my mounting annoyance in regard to her TOTAL OBSESSION with all things pink.
She has shown a preference for the shade since even before she could verbally identify it, and now that she can, we never hear the end of pink. At our church about a month ago, they had a slumber party for all the girls, and one of the activities was nail painting. Well, I made the mistake of letting- nay, ENCOURAGING!- her to get her fingernails done. Of course she chose the pink bottle of polish, and of course, she soon discovered that I had a bottle of pink polish hidden away in our bathroom at home. So now she must have her nails, fingers AND toes, painted pink at all times. If it begins to fade or chip, she notices, and demands, wiggling her hands urgently in my face, "Pink! Pink!"
She also has what borders on a fetish about pink socks. The last time I replenished her sock drawer, I bought about ten pairs, and two were pink, one dark and one light. It was then that Adelay became suddenly aware of the existence and importance of socks in her universe. The importance, specifically, of their color. Every day when I got her dressed, she began to run to the sock drawer and search frantically for the pink socks. If they were dirty, I had to talk her off a ledge. I finally wised up and just bought a whole crapload of pink socks. Problem solved, right? Except that now she suffers pangs of horror every time she changes clothes, because she cannot bear to banish a perfectly good, perfectly PINK pair of socks to the hamper, no matter how grubby they might be.
This morning this whole obsessive-compulsive tendency came to a head. We were seriously late for Kindermusik, and I was trying my best to get the whole dressing process finished without sounding like a stuck record of a song called, "Hurry Up." But as usual, the more I tried to light a fire under Addy, the slower she wanted to move. It came to the sock exchange- I pulled off the dirty ones, threw them in the basket, and put on a clean pair. Simple enough. Until the child wrenched herself from my grasp and fell to her knees before the clothes basket, weeping actual tears and sobbing incoherently about "The pink! The pink!"
I thought maybe she was upset because I hadn't let her throw the dirty pair in the hamper herself, something she loves to do. So I pulled them out and handed them to her. Still she wept, and began to root through the basket, flinging every item of clothing onto the floor, searching for some imaginary pair of pink socks. Snot and tears were running all over her face, and I couldn't understand anything she said. Every attempt I made to talk to her or physically remove her from the situation was met with hysteria. It was seriously like a scene out of a mental institution or something. A sock induced nervous breakdown.
I finally just worked around it, putting on the rest of her clothes and brushing her hair as she screamed and flailed. She didn't stop talking about the friggin' socks until we pulled into the parking lot of the Kindermusik location.
She has also of late developed a passion for (shudder) Barbie. Not that she plays with the actual dolls, but she has a Barbie movie, "Barbie as Rapunzel," which she loves with the whole of her little pink loving heart. Almost every morning she wakes up requesting to watch Barbie, and we have had to institute a "one showing of Rapunzel a day" rule. When we tell her, "no more Barbie," she grows sober and grief-stricken. "No mo Bah-bie," she will murmur softly to herself, staring at the TV sadly.
If only this were so.

Wallowing In Our Own Filth

Or, The Post House Showing Let Down. It sure feels good to wake up in the morning and know that there's no compelling reason to dust or vacuum anything, and that it's just fine to go ahead and make a huge, greasy breakfast, then let the dishes and splatters just be for awhile (awhile = all day) while we sit back and sip our coffee.
You could also say it's a Post Christmas Decorating Let Down. I always forget that, while fun and festive, putting up a tree and all the related trimmings is a long and kind of chaotic process of rearranging furniture, digging in closets rarely explored, and stepping over boxes and cords for the majority of the day while things get situated. It's good old fashioned family fun, sure, but it's also a massive pain in the rear.
All of this to say, our house is happily messy right now, and while I am sometimes a clean freak and unable to relax in clutter, at the moment the clutter and mess feels like a big sigh of relief.

Addendum: I made an appointment to have my hair cut (or CHOPPED OFF) next Saturday. I was going to just walk in somewhere today, sit down, and let them do as they would with it, but then chickened out and called a stylist I at least knew and trusted. So now I have a week to decide whether I want a trim, or an actual whack job. You'll all be waiting with bated breath, I know!

Top Secret Weight Loss Tip

So yesterday Swistle was asking about weight loss ideas that involved only small, painless changes to one's day (as opposed to a drastic overhaul of your entire pantry leading to the eventual loss of the will to live due to chocolate withdrawal.) At the time I had no ideas to contribute, but as I was making Adelay's lunch today, I realized one very simple principle I have always lived by which, while not exactly sculpting my abs and toning my rear, and most definitely not contributing to my overall health, has managed to keep my weight somewhat under control.
It is this: (bracing self for rotten vegetable throwing and outcries of horror) Whenever possible, I eat dessert first. I know I'm going to want it eventually, and I know I'm not going to be able to consume the calories of a full meal AND a giant piece of cake without gaining weight, so I just eat the cake first and then however much of the regular meal I want until I'm full.
I know, I know. It's appalling. So while I'm horrifying you, I'll share my second, corresponding rule of thumb: If planning to eat dessert, lessen portions of the rest of the meal accordingly. Even at Thanksgiving, when I had to follow the standard courses of the meal and couldn't dig into the pie immediately, I ate tiny portions of the regular stuff to compensate for eating as much dessert as I wanted.
I realize this probably breaks every health rule in the book, and what I should actually be doing is cutting OUT dessert in order to make room for MORE veggies and lean proteins and blah blah blahs, but the fact is, skipping the sweet stuff makes me feel woeful and deprived. I also realize that all that sugar contributes to sugar crashes and I would probably feel much more energetic if I ate complex sugars instead of the white, refined stuff that I crave like crack.
But there you have it. That is what works for me (well, if your definition of "working" involves love handles and a number on the scale stuck stubbornly about fifteen pounds higher than this time last year. But I AM out of my maternity pants at long last.)
Oh, and to make up for the aforementioned crashes, I've been making half decaf, half regular coffee and drinking it all day long. Eli is finally tolerating moderate amounts of caffeine, which I discovered accidentally after drinking a soda at a hockey game, remembering in horror that it had caffeine, and then realizing a day later that there had been no tearful, inconsolable episodes as a result!

Early Christmas

Saturday we were in Michigan with Jim's family for an early Christmas celebration. Highlights are as follows:



Addy with her new baby. It's pink! It's a doll! It's heaven!




Addy and her cousins, showing off their brand spankin' new snowman! (Snow courtesy of Michigan lake effect. Snowman was decapitated by the boys approximately five minutes after this photo.)




Okay, is this an acceptable Christmas card picture? Be honest.

Really? A Post Having Nothing To Do With Real Estate Issues?

*Sidenote: As I sit here writing this, leaning forward to reach my computer on the coffee table, Adelay has taken hold of the lovehandle chunk of my midsection lopping out the back of my jeans and is squeezing and pinching it. She has been at it for about five minutes, totally enthralled. It's like kneading pasty, stretch-marked dough! she is thinking gleefully.

So my hair is really driving me nuts. It grows really fast, and since being trimmed and highlighted about two weeks before Eli was born, it has grown at least an inch and a half. Which means my highlights are hitting me at about ear level, and my thick, thick layers are bushing out around my shoulders. It is seriously SO. THICK. You don't even know.
Does anyone know of any good websites with actual pictures of short hairstyles to choose from? I looked today for about an hour and couldn't find anything actually helpful. It's all, "How to achieve Posh's sleek new short 'do in sixteen simple steps!" One of which being "Lose Twenty Pounds So Your Cheekbones Are Actually Noticeable."

Further Woes About Home Selling

So there's nothing more fun than jumping up on a sunny Sunday morning and flying around in your p.j.'s cleaning like a crazy person. Due to the holiday and being out of town, I hadn't gotten a lot done in preparation for the open house yet, so there was dusting, vacuuming, mopping, Windexing, and hiding of toys, laundry, and dishes to be done, while hubby feverishly raked leaves and swept the front porch. Oh, all while intermittently nursing a baby and getting a toddler dressed for Sunday School (which her grandma took her to- there was no keeping of the Sabbath holy for us, I'm afraid!)
So we finally had everything spotless and left for lunch and Christmas shopping errands, hoping to return to lines of prospective buyers in mad bidding wars for our house. Okay, well maybe not lines, but we were hoping at least a few interested people would have found their way to our house. Instead we arrived home to a note: "Jim and Sara, (that's right, he misspelled my name after seeing it probably twenty times on the papers I signed,) unfortunately it was a really slow day- only one group came through."
One! After approximately four hours of frantic cleaning, ONE family looked at the place! And the realtor said that they didn't even seem interested. Then, we were supposed to have the video tour done this morning so that it could go on the website, but it got cancelled due to the rainy weather. This really disappointed me (although I was relieved not to have to keep the house clean all morning) because our house is relatively bland and unimpressive on the outside. The interior is definitely more eye catching, so I am anticipating a lot more interest once people can view the inside. Now we'll have to wait another week to get it done.
Oh well! Thanksgiving was great and we had a lot of fun, so I should still be in a blessing counting mood, I guess. After all, it only takes one buyer to get the house sold. We could have had tons of people go through it, and if none of them fell in love with it, it wouldn't have mattered at all. We just need one person who can really see themselves living here.
I sure hope they show up soon.

Nabisco Ginger Snaps... Or PURE EVIL?

So it's nine thirty Wednesday night, and I'm all set to start baking my traditional pumpkin cheesecakes (traditional in that this will be the second year in a row I have made them!) I chose a different recipe this year than I made last year, and this particular one called for a crust of crushed ginger snaps and, naturally, butter ("A little buttah makes everything bettah!"-Paula Deen.)
So I put the snaps in a Ziplock and commence crushing them with a rolling pin, and... Nothing happens. These gingersnaps WILL NOT BE BROKEN. Seriously, it was like trying to crush diamonds. Worried that I was losing my mind, I bit into one of them, and it actually hurt my teeth!
Hearing me swearing and fuming in the kitchen, Jim comes in on his white horse to save the day, first trying to crush them the same way I had (the plastic bag finally tore) and then trying to grind them up in a bowl with the end of the rolling pin, pestle and mortar style. The ginger snaps were still winning- it was like these cookies were starring in an all baked goods cast of Braveheart. "Freedom!" they were shouting to each other in silent ginger snap language, somehow, inexplicably, triumphing over their much stronger opponents.
I then had a stroke of genius, and dumped the cookies into the blender on the ice chopping setting. Do you think it worked? Well it didn't. And then, based on my clearly limited knowledge of blenders, I thought that maybe dumping in the melted butter with the cookies would help make them more choppable. Do you think THAT worked? Well it didn't. Are you thinking that instead it probably made a giant goopy mess stuck around the blender blades? Congratulations.
I finally gave up sometime around ten thirty and scraped the goo down the disposal. Then I called Jim, who was out renting movies, and requested a package of good ole' cinnamon graham crackers. While he was getting those, I mixed up the filling, constantly reminding myself that I was doubling the recipe. This was supposed to be a marbled pumpkin cheesecake, mind you, so I knew that at a certain point I was supposed to remove some of the basic filling and then add the pumpkin and spices to the rest. But did I remember to double the amount that I was supposed to remove? Did you guess no? Hey, you're catching on to the theme of this post!
So it ended up being in no way marbled, just a plain old pumpkin cheesecake on a plain old graham cracker crust, finally put into the oven at close to midnight by a very cranky yours truly. But it tasted fine and Thanksgiving was amazingly not ruined by my less than stellar dessert presentation.
For which I am thankful.

Spic and Span

So I'm beginning to wonder what on earth we were thinking, trying to orchestrate a move during the holidays with a toddler and an infant. Today was the realtor walk through, which I guess is like an open house for all the area realtors or something. I wasn't aware such a thing existed until I got a call around four yesterday asking if I could be ready for this by tomorrow morning at nine. So last night after Addy was in bed I bustled around trying to hide all the evidence that we actually lived in the house (dishes, trash, toys, newspapers) and then this morning, let Addy sleep in as long as possible while I finished making everything spotless. When I was ready to go and Eli was buckled in his carseat, I got Addy up, threw a coat and shoes on her drowsy, pajama-clad body, and hustled her right out the door to Grandma's house before she could even ask about dragging out her dollhouse or spilling Cheerios all over the floor.
Now we're over here at my mom's, where I can relax, make coffee, and let Addy get out toys and eat breakfast without fear of destroying the delicate, preternatural tidiness of my own home. But I know that all too soon I must return, where I will resent every dust particle and dirty towel that falls to the floor. I will cringe about every splatter and spill from Thanksgiving baking, because I know that it must ALL be cleaned up again before Sunday, when we will be heading out of town while the realtor does an open house. And then I can't even relax when we get back Sunday evening- no, everything must STAY spotless, because they're doing a video tour of the house on Monday morning!
Blech.
I just keep chanting this mantra in my head: "Dining room. More bathrooms. Basement. It's all worth it, it's all worth it!"

Real Estate

Our house is being listed this week. There will be an open house next Sunday, while we are gone visiting relatives. I feel a little weird about this- strangers will be walking through our sweet little home, all ambivalent and objective, judging and critiquing. I want them to react emotionally, to say, "How cozy! What warm colors! Look at the pretty arched doorways!" Instead of what they will probably say: "One bathroom! No central air! Let's keep looking." I feel all protective and defensive of my little house- similar, I imagine, to what I would feel if strangers were to look my kids up and down and decide if they were good enough to adopt. I want to say, "True, we are leaving this house because we are in the process of outgrowing it, but it's not the house, it's us! The house is fine! It's great! Please love it and take good care of it!"

Also: It is driving me crazy that our offer was accepted, but I cannot start changing anything in the new house until we sell ours and actually buy it. The new house must sit empty, just CRYING OUT to have its walls stripped of the violent floral and goose patterned paper and painted gorgeous shades like "Mocha" and "Camel Hair Coat." It is WEEPING for its turquoise carpet to be replaced with a color less assaulting to the eyes. But its cries must fall on deaf ears until an undetermined point in the probably not too near future.
I hear you, my new house! I will rescue you from the late eighties as soon as I can!

My Version Of Post Secret

Except it won't be so much a secret, unless you choose to comment anonymously. But come on, join me, won't you? It'll be fun! (Sardonic, wry laughter here.) I want us to confess our greatest failures as a mother, or spouse, or person in general. It will be both horrifying and cathartic.
Swistle got me started thinking about this in her latest post about anger, which I totally recommend you go read. She says she has a problem with a quick temper- she blows up, loses it, whatever, then soon calms down and is overcome with remorse. I realize many people have this problem, but I have personally never experienced it, so not only was her post amazingly honest, it was particularly mesmerizing for me because it was like a look into a normal person's psyche.
I was actually just saying to Jim the other day that I WISHED I could lose my temper and totally fly off the handle just once, to see what it felt like. It seems like it would be such sweet release, to lose all control and say any and every scary thing that popped into my head. But that's just not my style. Oh, I'm happy to engage you in a, shall we say, spirited debate. There will be snapping and terseness and unnecessarily emphatic shutting of cabinets and drawers. My voice may even border on raised. But I almost never yell, and even when I do it is intentional, if you see what I'm saying. It's not a loss of control.
So this is (knock on wood) hopefully not something I will struggle with in regards to parenting. I do get frustrated, and I do mutter under my breath. I do feel my entire body stiffen with agitation and impatience as I wait, wait, wait for Addy to do everything by herself while I'm rushing to get out the door, because Lord knows it will only take even longer if I try to insist that she let me do stuff for her.
But my real failing, my real weakness, is selfishness. To me this is far uglier than momentary flashes of anger. Less scary, maybe, and on the surface not nearly as obvious. No one's going to call children's services on me when they see me not taking my children for a walk because I'm on the couch blogging instead. No one's going to know that I had a mental conversation with myself about whether or not to put down the dust cloth and join Adelay in playing dollhouse, and that I actually chose the dust cloth over the dolls because I didn't feel like summoning up the mental energy to play with my child.
There are so many examples. My half-heartedness in attempting to potty train Addy, for instance, because it just takes such consistency. Sometimes I don't feel like waking her up to go to the bathroom as soon as her nap should technically be over, and I'd rather sit on the couch until I hear her actually open her bedroom door, even though I know that means we've probably lost the potty success opportunity.
Or my feet-dragging when it comes to establishing a feeding schedule for Eli, even though I know he probably needs one, as he's been spitting up a lot lately and is probably over eating during the day because he's nursing for comfort. But it's just so much easier to feed him on demand.
And then there's the selfish thoughts, so selfish I am ashamed to write them, but I will anyways. Thoughts at the grocery store, when I'm already exhausted and sweaty from wrestling an unwilling toddler and chubby baby and carseat into the cart, and I still have all the shopping and unloading and putting away to do, and my brain just wants to hide. And so it rages: "I shouldn't even be doing this! I'm twenty-three! I should be getting ready to go to a party, choosing an outfit that accentuates my flat, unstretch-marked belly. I should still be enjoying the occasional license to, as Vince Vaughn puts it, 'Get hopped up and make some bad decisions.' Why am I here? Who is this person wearing mom jeans and a damp bra?"
Do you know what I'm saying? These confessions may not necessarily seem that heinous and are certainly not child abuse or anything, but they just reveal a smallness about myself that makes me cringe inside. I want to want to be a good mommy, not force myself to do it while inwardly I am wishing for the sofa and the remote and, most of all, solitude.

And now, your turn, if you will. What tendency of yours do you most despise? What do you do about it?

The Waiting Game (Or: Somebody PLEASE Buy Our House!)

So you guys! They accepted our offer on the house we love! They didn't even counter offer, despite the fact that we offered a SIGNIFICANTLY smaller amount than they were asking. So now we just have to sell our house (minor detail!) and then we can move in! Yay!
I know this is really a pipe dream, but I'm hoping we can at least spend the last few days of December moving in so that we can ring in the New Year in our new house! Our festive celebrations will of course consist largely of stripping some truly horrific goose patterned wallpaper out of several rooms, but still.
I haven't yet figured out how to show you a picture of the house without basically posting our address for all to see, but I'll try to take some pictures on the digital to show you eventually. Suffice it to say- a ranch. Green-ish blue siding and shutters. Pine trees in backyard. White picket fence. Five bedrooms! Three bathrooms! Basement! A dining room!
I'm so happy!

If Eating Cookie Dough Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right

The alternate title to this post was, "Sugar: The New Caffeine." In my current "sans coffee" state, I crave it so much that I sometimes long to inject it intravenously. Today was particularly rough. Last night, Jim and I were up discussing house stuff until about two in the morning (because apparently we lack the capacity to foresee the consequences of our actions) and I was of course completely exhausted by about two this afternoon. I had grocery shopping and errands to do, including running all over town trying to find out where the heck I was supposed to buy dog tags. I finally found the place, only to be told they are on a two week hiatus from selling the tags and that I had to go to the dog warden's office on the other side of town! Oh sure! No problem whatsoever!
I have since revived myself by baking chocolate chip cookies, and steadily shoving Ghiradelli chips into my piehole as I mixed up the dough. I am currently scraping the empty mixing bowl and eating giant spoonfuls of buttery, salmonella-poisoned goodness. Now I am Happy and Wide Awake!

A Big Glut Of Pictures

My two lovies.


We spend a lot of time smooshed together in the bed.


Rockin' the pigtails.



Adelay's second birthday, October third. Didn't my mom do a good job on the cake?




Please note the remarkably large cheeks on that baby! My breast milk is apparently pure cream.

Pregnancy Envy

So today I was walking around the grocery store, and a few aisles over I saw a largely pregnant girl, maybe eighteen, wandering the toy aisles with her boyfriend (or maybe husband, who knows.) She was wearing a spaghetti strap camisole, much too light for the weather, and you could see her beautiful, taut belly right through the lace. She looked like a commercial for a glowing, healthy pregnancy, and I, naive consumer that I am, bought into it immediately. "I want a big round belly again!" I thought wistfully. "She looks so happy, and so special. I want to look special again, instead of just being a tired looking lady with an extra fifteen pounds around her hips." I of course do not want heartburn and swelling and joint pain and sleeplessness, nor am I mentally ready for another delivery or another baby, but still...
Pregnancy does have its perks.




On another note, whatever happened to memes? EVERYONE was doing them for awhile there. So I'm bringin' 'em back, baby! Everyone is tagged, all you have to do is respond in my comment section- and all you "lurkers" out there chime in, too! (Not that I have anything against lurking; that is certainly your prerogative.)
It's just one question. What's your favorite quote/quotes? Maximum of three. I'm a big collector of favorite quotes, and it occurred to me it would be interesting to hear some of your faves.
Here are three of mine.

"Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love." -Kahlil Gibran, from The Prophet

"Our greatest danger in life is in permitting the urgent things to crowd out the important." -Charles E. Hummel

"Three things are important in human life. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind." -Henry James

The One Where I Talk About Food

1. Bowls are for losers. I prefer to eat my Breyers Oreo ice cream straight from the pint.
2. Swistle asked today about eating cookies for breakfast. The unanimous response seemed to be that cookies are a perfectly acceptable breakfast option. I so heartily agree that I wanted to do it here, on my own little platform: COOKIES- NOT JUST FOR SNACKTIME! (Ditto pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting.)
3. Drinking a half a pot of decaf coffee every day seems to be helping me function better. Is this all mental, or are there trace amounts of caffeine which are finding their sweet, sweet way to my sluggish brain?
4. Am I dork for loving my slow cooker SO MUCH?
5. Forget baby weight- what I am carrying is toddler weight. Or maybe guilt weight. It's the ring of fat that has formed not solely due to pregnancy but also perhaps to my constant cleaning up after Addy's meals. I cannot stand to cut up a banana, heat up pasta, slice cheese, or spread PB and J and then throw it untouched into the trash after she declines yet again to eat. It's the whole "children are starving in Africa" mentality- I feel bad about throwing away food. So I eat it- a quarter of a sandwich here, half a banana here, a cheese stick there- but then forget I've eaten it and make myself a normal sized meal as well. This is becoming a terrible habit, and also a slightly gross one. I remember as a kid cringing at those moms who were always picking at their kids' leftovers, and look at me now. A human garbage disposal.
6. I have invented my own yummy little concoction based loosely around a Rachael Ray recipe (I know, I know- she's so perky and squeaky; it sets me on edge, too. But still. I like her show.) First you boil half a box of penne pasta. While it's going, you chop up either half an eggplant or half a zucchini, a green pepper, and some onion. Throw that in some olive oil to saute, along with some black olives and a can of stewed tomatoes. When the veggies have browned, add some chopped up smoked sausage, however much you like. Throw in about half a jar of marinara sauce, add the cooked pasta, give it all a stir, then cover and simmer for about ten minutes. And voila! It sounds like a lot of flavors, but they blend really well and its very filling, plus you get your veggies without having to gnaw on a carrot stick or anything nasty like that. You could probably use turkey sausages to make it even healthier.

Haiku for Eli

Much as I love you,
My boobs are not a snack bar.
Pace yourself, chubby!

Things I Didn't Know

Things I didn't know before having children include, but are not limited to, the following:
-that while Addy is eating, trying to keep her and the dog away from one another is as futile as the Capulets and Montagues trying to keep the infamous star-crossed lovers apart.
-that baby nails are the sharpest weapons known to man.
-that breastfeeding is NOT always painless and effortlessly natural.
-that when one has a child in tow, complete strangers seem to feel that the boundaries of respect and privacy are removed and they are free to, say, yell sharply from three yards away, "That baby needs a hat!" And that even responding politely with, "Well, he actually had one on and was crying and trying to pull it off, so..." does not shut said strangers up. Instead it apparently invites them to respond nastily with, "Well, he's not the boss, you are!" over their shoulder as they walk away, leaving you gaping and fuming and thinking up wonderful retorts just a few minutes too late.
-that a rather long, lean two year old is actually easier to carry for long periods of time than a short but remarkably solid bundle of two-month-old.
-that introducing vitamins to a child only gives you one more thing to say "No" to when your kid starts asking for vitamins five times a day. Try explaining to a frantic toddler that ONE vitamin is a good thing, but LOTS of vitamins will make you sick.
-that potty training will involve many episodes of spotting a child about to go, rushing them to the potty where they twiddle their thumbs for ten minutes, then putting on a fresh diaper only to have it promptly soiled about a minute and a half later.

This is just off the top of my head. Feel free to educate me further and contribute to the list!