Reproductive Empowerment! Er, I Mean, Happy Mother's Day!

Just for you, Tessie, here's a nice sappy Mother's Day post topic (and boys, here's a fervent warning to get out now): friends, tell me about your cervical fluid. Or more specifically (and less horrifically,) do you observe it, as such? Do you chart it and discuss its condition with your sexual partner? Because with the long-awaited advent of my first postpartum period, I am now faced with once again pondering a Birth Control Decision, and I'm leaning heavily towards trying the Fertility Awareness Method as outlined in Taking Charge of Your Fertility.
If you're unfamiliar with the concept and don't feel like clicking linkies, basically the FAM is a method of tracking your cycle to either achieve or avoid pregnancy. It involves the generally familiar concept of taking your basal body temp, but just for funsies, also throws in the daily observation and TRACKING on GRAPHS of your cervical fluid condition. Like, essentially giving yourself a nice little pelvic exam every morning.
It is a bit Fussypants, admittedly, which is very not me. There is much charting and temperature taking and self control, and I don't have a brilliant track record with any of those. But I have an even worse track record with most other b.c. options. Mirena and other IUD types just plain freak me out, we want more kids so any tying or snipping of things is out of the question, and the idea of screwing with my hormones long term (aka The Pill) kind of worries me. Also, it makes me feel like crap. And all the so-called barrier methods and sprays and foams and sponges are just... Gaah! Baffling! Messy! Requiring forethought! Un-fun!
(Bitter Side Rant: Boy, there are just SO MANY appealing options for birth control, no? And all are so particularly simple and convenient for the WOMAN! Which is thoughtful, since she has to deal with PMS and periods and pap smears and fibroids and cysts and menopause and pregnancy and BIRTH and all. At least the men have to handle the messy details in ONE area of family planning, at least. OH WAIT...)
So has anyone else tried this method? Is it worth the work? Or am I just going to end up pregnant and once again concerned with things other than birth control?

Go Sell Crazy Some Place Else- We're All Stocked Up Here

Ahh. You know that feeling, when you're standing on a kitchen chair, ridding the cereal cupboard of its taunting, antennae-waving intruders using only a paper towel and the force of your own kill-crazy ant hatred? And in between your little girly noises of revulsion and your muttered cursing of the so-called exterminators, you realize that it's possible your little red choo choo has finally chugged around the bend?

Or when you're laying in bed at three in the morning, listening resignedly to the escalating noise in the nursery next door, and you actually start crying a little because it's possible that DYING would feel better than being woken up One. More. Time. in the same sleep cycle?

Or when you're trying to get all the laundry done for another showing and you realize you've processed your single pair of jeans that fit properly through the wash about three times already this week? Who says housekeeping is unfulfilling and just an exercise in futility?!

Or the Schwann man comes to the door, and it dawns on you that he is now inquiring automatically as to your corn dog and frozen pizza status?

Or you're watching P.S. I Love You with your sister and can only summon up the emotional fortitude to throw back your cheap wine and scoff bitterly, "Oh please! That's not a real argument! That's just foreplay." And later, "What is with her schizo outfit? Am I the only one who just finds this girl annoying, and also, a TERRIBLE kisser?" While your less emotionally stunted sister is wiping tears?

Or you blithely volunteer to bring a salad to church for a post funeral dinner, no less, and then just as blithely forget about it until someone calls you to kindly ask if you maybe left the salad somewhere they weren't looking? Cue giant, self-loathing forehead smack. "Um, yes, I left it on the third shelf of my brain, right next to the spot where I like to pile up all my to-do lists and goals for safe keeping while I am otherwise occupied by wiping noses with my sleeve and changing six to eight poopy diapers per day."

Speaking of! Ever have that feeling, as you're scrubbing chewed up dirty diaper remnants out of the carpet for the third time in one week, that it's a good thing you've clung so staunchly to your fear of guns in the home, because if you currently had access to one you can't vouch for what you'd do with it? Fonzie? Do you hear me?

I Win I Win I Am A WINNER!

You GUYS! Eeek! I was one of three first place winners in Swistle's name contest! I just about passed out from the joy of it. Winning this prize has restored my faith in the ultimate balance and justice of the universe, because, seriously? This really has been a crappy couple of weeks. And then Jim was out of town overnight for business, and the baby was SO fussy and just newborn-like (feeding all night, leaking through multiple diapers and into my shirt at three in the morning, etc.) the whole time, and I've been cleaning this ever-loving house for FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT in preparation for our open house tomorrow and.... Well. I wasn't even going to get on the computer tonight, just wanted to crash into bed from exhaustion, but I was all, "Gotta check out the Swistle contest, at least."
I'm so glad I did. Visions of adorable elephant onesies will be dancing through my head tonight.
I WON! I never win ANYTHING! Go me!

One Of Those Weeks

You know that saying, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?" This is the best explanation I can offer up for my blogging absence. Every time I had the urge to sit down and type, it would have ended up one long list of complaints. And while those can be amusing, even MY ability to find the humor was beginning to be stretched. So I decided to just rest the 'ole fingers for a while until I had a more positive (or at least, not homicidal) perspective.
Without further ado, I present Last Week's Highlights:

-Busting my hump cleaning and getting the kids and the dog out of the house for a showing on Monday only to find out from our realtor the next day that the people drove by with their realtor, decided they didn't like the looks of it, and didn't even come in. After already having seen "the looks of it" from the online video tour! People suck. The end.

-Addy acting up at her tumbling class, to the point that I was blushing and apologizing to the other moms for being such a disturbance. Going to pick Eli up from the on-site daycare to find him screaming. Realizing I had no cash to PAY the onsite daycare.

-Having to call in an exterminator on Wednesday to finally take care of our Ridiculously Large Ant Problem, which I have been (fruitlessly) attempting to combat without the use of deadly poisons being sprayed around our house for over a month. This involved a can of pesticide exploding all over our driveway, and of course having to keep the kids out of the house all afternoon during their nap time.

-Another showing on Friday, which apparently accomplished nothing, as I have heard no feedback.

-Terrible sleep all around from Eli. One night Jim had to sit up and play with him for an hour, between three and four AM, because he screamed every time he was laid down, didn't want to nurse, and just apparently needed to hang out and chill with someone.

-Any attempts at weaning have been excruciating and unproductive. I'm beginning to get nervous about the whole situation, as we're supposed to be gone from the kids overnight in two weeks. Anyone had any luck with cold turkey weaning?

And a BONUS anecdote from this morning: Dog running away, chasing dog in my pajamas, driving around neighborhood to find him (didn't,) and Addy throwing horrible temper tantrum and slapping me in the face.

Kisses!

Things Currently Saving My Life

So, where to begin? The house is preternaturally tidy, and there are bottles of pink goo chilling in the fridge. So, to clarify, more showings, and one kid with a sinus infection, another with an ear infection. It's been a fun week.
But it was very nice the last few days, and I dragged us all to the playground three days in a row, which was lovely. And also hilarious, because all three times we went, no matter if I was there with my sister, my SIL and one of my friends, or complete strangers, I ended up talking about pregnancy and birth. It's the inevitable conversation. "So, how old is your daughter?" I may ask, gesturing to the stocky, dark haired girl running around with Addy. Upon hearing she is three, I mention, "Wow, she's tall for her age!" The mother nods vigorously. "Yeah, you'd never know she was a preemie. They had to take her by C-section, eight weeks early...." And we're off, trading birth stories. It's like the secret password into the mom club.

I'm so tired and out of it right now. I laid awake last night, after finally getting Eli to bed at eleven thirty, suddenly panicked because I couldn't remember if his dedication at church was THIS Sunday or next. If it is this Sunday I'm kinda screwed, because I literally have bare cupboards right now, and I had invited all our family over for lunch and cake to celebrate. Looks like we'll be celebrating with takeout chicken! It is now eight forty on Sunday morning, and I still am not sure if it's today or next week. I tried to find it on the church website and the domain name was being refreshed or something and won't be available for forty eight hours. COME on! So now I'm just waiting until it's a reasonable time to call Jess. I'm assuming she'll know for sure, since her son is getting dedicated too, and like a normal, good mom, she'll probably have made some kind of MENTAL NOTE about it. Gaah.

Can I just say, in a whisper, that Eli is the worst sleeper in the world? I cannot remember the last time I slept for more than four hours at a time. I haven't had a full night's sleep (full, for me, being at least seven hours) in over a year. And our dream of somehow weaning him and helping him sleep through the night with formula is pure fantasy at this point, at he still refuses to touch a bottle until he is on the brink of starvation. He was so stuffy and miserable this week that I actually had to feed him expressed breast milk through a freakin' MEDICINE SYRINGE so he wouldn't die of thirst, as he had refused to nurse for twelve hours straight.

So ANYWAYS, to segue all this into the title, the one thing that has buoyed my spirits and kept me going the past few days, coffee and new Office episodes aside, is the discovery of this little pairing: Pillsbury crescent rolls and chocolate chips. It was in the RealSimple magazine this month as their cheat recipe, and it is heavenly in its simplicity and in its ability to satisfy my sweet tooth. You just roll ten to twelve chocolate chips (or more, if inclined) inside the dough, bake, and voila! Chocolate croissants. After the first successful batch, I got daring, adding coconut flakes, and it was just as wonderful as I had dreamed. If you enjoy chocolate and pastry together, you must try this pronto. Ideally, you would stop at two, though, and then add something sensible like bacon and eggs to round out your sugar fest of a breakfast. Ideally. But if you choose to eat four while watching Dan In Real Life- and wiping noses ten bajillion times- I wouldn't judge you. I may even have been there myself.
(Did you guys like this movie, by the way? I found it oddly endearing, despite the obvious hokyness and sap oozing out of every scene. I half expected one of them to pick up a guitar and lead everyone in a spontaneous round of Kumbaya. And yet I wanted to be adopted into their Rhode Island beach front house-living family all the same.)

Here's your mission, oh internetz. I want to hear what (fairly simple) chocolate fixes save YOUR life. Last night, croissants having been obliterated, I was reduced to eating straight chocolate chips, which, while perfectly delish, feels a little tragic and Cathy-esque. So send me some ideas to spruce those chocolate chips up into more life-saving treats!

What Doesn't Kill You...

Gripe The First: Still no word on the house, either ours or the one we're hoping to buy. I guess that's at least half good news.

Gripe The Second: In other (fully BAD) news, both children have disgusting, virulent colds and have been miserable, mucusy little cling-ons for the last two days. I feel awful for them, especially Eli, who is particularly congested and who gasps and chokes every time he tries to nurse because he cannot simultaneously drink AND breathe. He's not eating or sleeping well, and spends the majority of his waking time wailing in heartbreaking misery. You know, I always thought my mom was just being noble when she said she'd rather be sick than have us be sick, but now I get it. And it's not a purely unselfish thing (i.e. I'd rather suffer than watch you suffer.) A lot of it is just common sense, too. Given the choice between dealing with my own cold and trying to help a (shh, already somewhat cranky) infant deal with his cold, I would infinitely prefer to be sick.

Gripe The Third: Addy is being even more finicky about food than usual, which is her main symptom when ill. All she wants to eat is Cheerios and applesauce, and frankly I'm fine with that, but it makes the whole ordeal of dinner and lunch just that- an ordeal. We're trying to establish some sort of "try at least a bite" rule, but so far the score is Addy-100, Parents-1 or 2.

Gripe The Fourth: The weather around here had been glorious and sunny and warm for a few days, and I was being lulled into a false sense of spring. Then, Friday afternoon, it started raining and being cold and gray and gloomy again. I'm trying to take heart, as the sun IS currently shining, but spring has been an unfaithful lover one too many times. My heart is growing hard to her persuasive charms now- I know she's just going to betray my trust again.
But I DID put Addy's new spring clothes in her drawer today, so I guess despite my mental resistance, I am beginning to weaken yet again. What can I say? The heart wants what it wants, and in this case it wants darling little polka dot skorts and tiny tee shirts with ruched sleeves.
Oh, spring. I wish I could quit you.

Not The WORST Day Of My Life, But...

Our realtor called on Thursday to let me know we had a showing at twelve thirty the next afternoon. So, the cleaning commenced- I'm beginning to get it down to a science, actually. I should hire myself out as a professional speed cleaner. "Unexpected guests? In-laws called to say they'll be there in an hour? Let Semi-desperate Housewife come to your rescue!"
But I digress. The point was, the next morning as I was doing all the last minute things (finishing up laundry, wiping down kitchen and bathroom counters, mopping the floor, making beds, hiding toothbrushes, etc.) Eli was sick and snuffly and wailing mournfully the whole time. But, I had to have the house spotless and everyone out the door by twelve fifteen, so besides changing diapers, setting up movies, and doling out food, I wasn't doing a lot of cuddling and entertaining. It just wasn't possible. Usually this is no biggie. Not ideal, but the kids don't seem too traumatized. Yesterday, however, Eli was MISERABLE, and so I felt a combination of "Hurry, hurry, must clean" stress and "Terrible mother with screwed priorities" stress/guilt. I was in a pretty horrible mood by the time I finally loaded up the car (that's kids AND dog, remember) and headed out.
My parents live about two minutes away, so when I have a morning or afternoon showing, I've been taking us all over to their house and locking the dog in the garage. My mom has a playroom set up for the kids, plus they have a better cable package than we do, so it's kind of a nice little reward for the kids and me after the whirlwind cleaning sessions. I was really looking forward to setting Addy up with her dollhouse and laying on the couch watching TLC while finally snuggling my poor sick boy.
Alas, it was not to be. We recently had some trouble with my car, and in the process of getting it back and forth to the shop, Jim and I ended up switching cars and never bothered switching back. Which means we also switched key rings. Which means HE HAD MY KEY TO MY MOM'S HOUSE. I pulled up in the driveway, let the dog out to pee, then went up to unlock the door and felt the knowledge slowly dawning upon me. I swear you could probably have SEEN the light bulb go off above my head.
I got back in the car with the muddy pawed, wound up dog and pulled back out, wondering where the heck we were supposed to go with two hungry kids, one enormous dog, and a mom who was still in her (mismatched) pajamas because she didn't take the time to shower and didn't think anyone was going to see her. I wasn't even wearing a BRA, people, and let's just say that when you're breastfeeding, the girls aren't able to run free unnoticed. You might as well slap on a sign that says, "Hey, look at my hooters!"
So I just kind of... drove around. I decided to go to Wendy's because it was across town and I figured that in the lunch hour traffic I might just kill enough time. It worked out pretty well, except that as soon as I got the food in the car, the dog started salivating so wildly that the slobber was dropping in steaming globs into my handbag. Bon appetite! Also, I cannot even IMAGINE what I looked like to that girl in the drive thru window. Two yelling kids, giant, panting, vacant-eyed dog, piles of laundry, and me in my plaid pj's. I was really wishing for a cloak of invisibility, but I was wishing for a Diet Coke just a LITTLE bit more, so I swallowed the shame. It was thick going down, let me just tell you.
So! I finally make it home, give Addy her food and start spooning carrots into the baby's hungry little pie hole, then lastly get to eat myself. Get kids down for a nap, and feel myself slowly relaxing for the first time all day. My sister was home from school for the weekend and came over to hang out with me for awhile, so that was good too. At that point I really needed some adult conversation other than the frantic voice inside my own head.
It was seeming like it was going to be a nice afternoon after all. Then Jim called and told me that our realtor had just spoken with him. You guys, another couple is buying the house we want. The sale isn't pending yet, and they have to sell their house before they can buy, just like us, but they're moving here from Maryland and are a little more desperate than we are. So I guess they're trying to work out a land contract deal with the sellers until their home back in Maryland sells. The realtor said nothing is definite but it seems like it's going to work out, so unless we get an offer on our house, like, THIS WEEK, we're probably going to lose our deal on the other place.
This was not a happy day. I felt okay at first, all zen and "Se la vie" and "I guess it wasn't the house for us." Now I feel all bitter and sullen. My heart has its hands shoved deep in its pockets and is spitefully kicking its toe in the gravel that is this crappy situation.
To top it all off, Jim was playing basketball yesterday and sprained his ankle pretty badly. He was supposed to play in an alumni tournament at his old high school today with all his friends, and now he has to sit and watch. The disappointment is being generously ladled out all over this weekend.

Edit: AND my sister tried to make me cookies yesterday to soften the blow, and they ended up being burnt and inedible (fault of recipe, not her.) Is there no solace?

Oh, The Humanity

10:30PM- Finally get baby settled down and into bed. Fall asleep around eleven thirty after watching Seinfeld/attempting to make adult conversation.

1:30AM- Am awakened by furious screaming. Find baby sopping wet, having managed, in the space of three hours, to pee through a dry diaper, a onesie, pajamas, a blanket, a sheet, and a mattress protector.

5:00AM- Baby is hungry again, as urinating apparently works up an appetite.

8:23AM- Take Adelay to potty, where she swings legs and smiles sweetly. Finally give up and take her to her room for a clean diaper, where she promptly lays down on the edge of the bed and pees, soaking HER sheet and mattress protector, and also sending a river of pee down the edge of the bed, under the bed, and onto the hardwood floor.

9:00AM- While reaching into the fridge for the butter, knock egg onto the floor, spattering salmonella all over recently cleaned laminate.

1:30, 2:00, and 2:30PM- Adelay lets me know in no uncertain terms that napping will not be on the day's agenda. Nor, perhaps, on the agenda for the rest of her life, if the last three days are any indication. Hold me.

A Pause

If you haven't been directed here already by Tessie, please let me encourage you to read this story. This beautiful little girl is sixteen months old and has been diagnosed with an incredibly rare and life-threatening form of cancer. Every time I revisit this blog to check on her condition, I get all tight-throated and weepy- I'll look up and see my own perfectly healthy, happy daughter running around playing and chattering, and I would give anything to promise Emily's parents that their little girl will have the chance to reach Adelay's age and run and play like any other kid.
So please take the time to read her story, and to donate towards her parents' expenses, which are staggering. With all the frustrations and even dangers that the internet has brought into our world, there are times, like these, when it can be a miracle worker for people who would otherwise have limited time and resources to network for support. Let's take advantage of this chance to reach out to strangers who are faced with such a heartbreaking situation.

A Tedious Post With Redeeming Pictures

I don't know what to do about potty training. We have been taking Adelay to the potty, when she will cooperate, before her naps and bed, and first thing in the morning. We have a potty chair, as well as a little seat that fits over the actual toilet to allow Adelay to do her business in a way that doesn't involve wiping poo particles off a nasty little pot when she's done. I even purchased, in a fit of optimism, the requisite Disney Princess underpants. But it seems we've made little progress in the six months or so that the potty has resided with us.
She will occasionally make a deposit, if we happen to catch her with a full bladder and in an approval-seeking mood. But I think mainly she enjoys the attention of it: the stories read to her while she sits on her throne, the excuse to get out of bed anytime she calls, "Potty!" and the copious clapping and cheering upon any success. She still doesn't seem to have an awareness of when she physically NEEDS to pee, and she definitely prefers to poop in a secluded corner of the house, hunched over intently, than to sit on her potty before an enthusiastic audience.
She turned two and a half on the third, and ever since then I've been feeling this pressure that we really SHOULD be potty training hard core now. I'd been telling myself, "We should really just wait until she WANTS to use the potty and knows that she needs to, and not force it on her. Why make it hard on everyone?" But I always assumed that by two and a half, she would have reached that point of desiring it for herself. Yet it appears... not so much. She strives for independence in nearly every other aspect of her life, yet in this area of WALLOWING IN HER OWN FILTH, she seems perfectly happy to maintain status quo.
I toyed with the idea (mercifully brief) of just going cold turkey with the panties, setting the timer for every fifteen minutes and taking her to the potty all day long in the hopes of keeping them dry. But this sounds impractical, likely to ruin my couches, and frankly quite a drag for everyone concerned. Should I break down and buy the Pull-Ups? I'm not convinced that they will mean anything to her, and part of me still believes she should exhibit more signs of readiness before we really force the issue. Another part of me believes that a child old enough to roll her eyes in my direction like a disdainful teenager is a child old enough to wipe her own nether regions. Thoughts?

And, as promised:


Stripey pajamas proclaiming fealty to parents. Ah, BabyGap, how you do love your ironic humor.



Someday, when they're slamming doors and shouting obscenities at each other, I will be shedding wistful tears on this picture.



Oh, my handsome boy. Please don't break too many hearts. Especially not your mama's.

Some Stuff

-Still working out, still showing the house. Both are currently happening about twice a week. If only my waistline were wearing as thin as my patience. But alas, still no second showings. And still enough saggy flesh around my belly to enable Adelay to lovingly grab double fistfuls of it, while I remind myself, "They were worth it. The children were worth it."

-I recently concocted a little pancake/toast/bagel spread out of cream cheese, sugar, and cocoa powder. Which is also to say, I "concocted" my own double chin and love handles. I mean, I eat and I eat and this inner tube of fat just WILL not go away! What am I doing WRONG here?

-I just got up to find Adelay and discovered that she had climbed onto the swivel desk chair to reach the Tupperware of leftover Easter candy. There was a graveyard of Hershey's Kiss wrappers on the desk and a pleased expression on her face, as she had devoured about five of them in approximately twenty seconds. In response to the only comment I could muster ("You little MONKEY!") she nodded in satisfaction and yelled proudly, "Good girl! Good job!"

-Hmm. There seems to be some sort of cause and effect connection here, but my brain doesn't feel like going there.

-Moving on! Jim just found out he's going to a work conference in Orlando at the beginning of June, so hopefully the kids and I can go too, and we can all go to Epcot and the Magic Kingdom while we're there. This is only if I can get my little sister to come along too to help with the kids/keep me company. Otherwise, it would just be me sitting in the hotel room with two kids until Jim got done with conferences for the day. Which equals not a vacation at all. And also, this is assuming we aren't in the middle of moving by June. Frankly, I'd prefer that scenario, but Epcot is a close second. I seriously love that Tour of the World thing. It never gets old. Nor does the tour of world beers.

-The idea of weaning Eli keeps floating around in my brain. The last few nights he's only gotten up once to eat, which is markedly better than three times a night, but is still once more than I'd prefer to be getting up. Also, Addy was around six or seven months when she basically stopped taking the breast at all, so I think my body/brain is kind of thinking it should be done with the breastfeeding gig by now and is growing impatient. I really wanted to make it to a year for Eli (arbitrary, I know) but I am also really wanting my body back and desperately in need of a full night's sleep. Any advise? It can be in the form of a lecture about the benefits of breastfeeding; I won't be offended.

Reasons For Sainthood Nomination Are As Follows:

This week I planned out five meals (recipes courtesy of Meals Matter,) shopped accordingly, and so far all have been successful and fairly nutritious. Feel loving and homemaker-y and also clever and organized, like a cross between the Barefoot Contessa and Sandra Lee.

Thursday night, Jim and I drove forty-five minutes in the pouring down rain to go work out with the trainer. We are both so unbelievably sore now that Jim took a hot bath with baking soda this morning to try to soothe his muscles (usually he equates baths with estrogen,) and my thighs are screaming in protest every time I do strenuous things like bend down to pick up a toy or try to sit on the toilet. Keep in mind that we are PAYING DEARLY to be in this much pain.

Yesterday I cleaned like a mad woman for another showing- again, with less than twenty-four hours notice. I ended up cramming about three loads of dirty laundry into the washer just to hide it, two loads of clean, unfolded clothes into the dryer, and another two laundry baskets of dirty clothes were driven away in my front seat, while the dog sat in the back, wedged between two car seats, panting nervously (and wetly) into my right ear. I am getting sick of this crap.

Last night, at about one thirty, Eli bit me for the first time. Like, BIT me. With his two pearly new TEETH. I think I see weaning on the horizon.

The (insert very bad word of your choice) dog crawled under the deck AGAIN this morning, and got so filthy this time that just wiping him off with wet towels wasn't cutting it. It was time for A Bath. The dog is seventy-five pounds, has hair like a sheep, and is as skittish and leggy as a newborn colt. Giving him a bath is the equivalent of bathing one of the kids like, a HUNDRED times in a row. Then you have to blow dry him, otherwise he runs around the house shaking wet fur all over everything for the next half hour. Upon releasing the clean dry dog at last from the bathroom, your own clothing is wet and filthy, as well as about six towels, the tub, the bathroom rugs, and everything else in the bathroom, including the walls. Keep in mind that this is the bathroom you just scrubbed down YESTERDAY for strangers to walk through and admire. Try, if you can, to summon up the will to clean it. Also the will to live.

Respite

I woke up this morning blinking in disbelief. It was a quarter to eight, and I felt... rested! I had gone to bed at eleven, gotten up with Eli at five, and not gotten up before then! Which meant the kid and I both got six CONSECUTIVE hours of sleep! I seriously can't remember the last time that I went to bed and wasn't called upon to nurse someone at least twice before morning.
Getting enough sleep when you haven't for a long time is kind of the same sensation as finally feeling healthy when you've been ill for a long time. You wake up and think wonderingly, "Oh yeah- THIS is what normal feels like! It's so amazing! I never realized!"
Even more wonderful was the fact that Addy slept in LATE this morning. Usually I would wake her by at least nine, but she had been feverish and sick last night, had stayed up really late, and I thought she probably needed the rest. So when Eli went down EARLY for his morning nap while Addy was still ASLEEP- it was like Mother's Day had come early. I rushed to the bathroom, ran a bath, and brought coffee, Easter candy, and the portable DVD player in with me. Afterwards, I lotioned up with my new Victoria's Secret Sweet Daydreams lotion, and I tell you, it smells just like Ralph Lauren Romance perfume. So heavenly.
I don't even know what to do with myself after such a lucky morning. Maybe I should go shopping and try on some size 6 jeans- I bet they'll be LOOSE!

Big Girl

Acrobat


Beauty Queen



Budding Rembrandt

Home Ec Dropout

I am in a big rut, food-wise. Lately I've been eating turkey sandwiches at least four times a week, and Addy eats a rotation of pb and j, cheese and crackers, or macaroni and cheese (homemade, usually) with a side of applesauce for lunch every day, with occasional culinary delights like Campbell's Noodle O's thrown in there for variety. I was doing pretty well there for awhile making interesting dinners, at least, but my enthusiasm for cooking has waned again, and I feel despondent and confused come dinner time. I poke around lethargically, opening the same cupboard four times hoping to see something new pop out at me as a Delicious Dinner Solution, and instead keep seeing the same can of pizza sauce (but no pizza crust mix or other toppings) and inexplicable box of unflavored gelatin.
The ridiculous amounts of chocolate and leftover lemon coconut Easter cake floating around in the kitchen today are not bolstering my resolve to cook. It is noon and I must produce lunch soon, but there are no tortillas for me to wrap up my turkey and cheese, and if I feed Adelay peanut butter for one more meal in a row I fear she'll be taken away from me on suspicion of neglect.
I have a bin overflowing with bags of organic lentils and split peas and black beans, purchased in a fit of nutritious overachieving. I was planning on making simple and hearty soups a la Catherine Newman, but those soups have yet to be enjoyed. Instead, I discovered that black beans take approximately two months to soften, and that when cooked in the microwave to speed the process up, they splatter black bean juice all over which will depress you so much that you will refuse to clean the microwave out of spite at the universe until, two weeks later, you get really sick of that charred bean smell every time you reheat your coffee.
Does someone have some sort of Official Pantry Checklist, with ingredients that, if you always keep them on hand, will provide an endless cycle of tasty yet simple meals? Meals which are hopefully not based around a can of cream of mushroom and a block of Velveeta? Although at this point, even processed cheese product would be an improvement.

Sex and the City- Banished Boyfriends Edition

Because of some people in my life who are still in the, shall we say, choosing period of their lives (making decisions about school, work, dating, moving, dating, changing schools, DATING, and so on) I've been thinking a lot lately about when it's time to say goodbye to your guy. When do you pull the plug on a relationship that you've had concerns about for quite awhile? What is the straw that breaks the camel's back?
(Side note: Don't anyone go taking anything personally here, or think that I'm talking about YOU and how YOU should or shouldn't have broken up with someone. This post is a CULMINATION of lots of events and conversations. This is about curiosity, not passing judgement.)
My question for you, oh internets, is this: Historically speaking, what is the longest amount of time you've spent with a guy that you knew (or at least suspected) wasn't the One? What's the most time you've wasted with a guy who treated you badly, or at least not well enough? About whom you cried a lot more than you smiled? And what was it that let you know you weren't working as a couple?
For me, I think it was about six months wasted. And what finally got through to me was the fact that he just didn't love me enough. I went through all kinds of crap with his family thinking eventually, eventually he was going to be on MY side and grow up and decide that I mattered more to him than they did. And one day I realized, pretty suddenly, that it just wasn't going to happen. Not then, and not if I gave it another six months of arguments and crying and sneaking around. I was giving and not getting back, and I felt like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, emotionally. I just had nothing left to give to him in terms of patience and understanding and support, unless I got something BACK to replenish my own reserve.
What's your story?

Another Step In My Descent To Crotchety Old Ladyhood

Dear Sister,

Apparently my complaints about Eli's nighttime feedings and my own sleep deprivation have not been vocal enough. Otherwise why would you have called me AT TWELVE THIRTY PM last night? When I grabbed for my phone in a half-awake panic, thinking, "Oh no, who's died?" you said nonchalantly, "Hi. Homework question: what is the opposite of Western religion?"
"What?" I demanded, barely coherent. "Is this some kind of trick question?"
Sister: "No, it's an essay thing. I'm just not sure what they're looking for here."
Me: (blinking in disbelief)(also, speaking slowly) "The opposite of west is east- you are familiar with the concept of DIRECTION, right?"
Sister: "I know, but do they mean Eastern religion, or a specific religion? What's a SPECIFIC Eastern religion?"
Me:(stares at phone, hand shaking with rage) Long pause. Sigh. "BUDDHISM? And also, GAAAA! Do not call me at this hour of night unless you are DYING!"
SISTER: (in injured tone) "Sorry. Geez."

Spoiler Alert: Devastatingly Cute Baby Pictures

Sorry the posting's been so random and infrequent the last few days. Eli's been VERY fussy the last week or so, and has also been getting up three and four times a night. I'm exhausted. I'm grumpy, too, because you have a certain level of TOLERANCE for this sort of nighttime behavior at six weeks old that you are sort of lacking at SIX MONTHS old. I'm trying, on the pediatrician's advice, to night wean him, but it's not so easy when he goes from "groggily awake and thinking about maybe eating" to "ravenously hungry and screaming for the walking milk machine to come get him NOW" in about five seconds. He shares a wall with Addy's bedroom, so it's not as though I can just let him "cry it out." And standing by his bed patting his back, as the doctor suggested when I told her of my dilemma, doesn't seem to do more than further enrage him. "You're RIGHT THERE!" he seems to be trying to convey to me. "Why not just whip the ole' boob out if you're going to be awake anyways?" I have to say, the logic of his argument is pretty convincing. I have managed to soothe him back to sleep without nursing exactly once so far. Ask me about night weaning in another month or so.

We had a showing of our house today, with less than twenty-four hours notice, so as soon as everyone was up and about I sent Jim and the kids to his parents' house and then cleaned like a Merry Maid on speed for about three hours. Due to Eli's frequent waking and my consequential tiredness, plus his fussiness during the day, I haven't done any kind of deep cleaning for over a week other than dishes, laundry, and picking up toys after the kids were in bed. It wouldn't have been that bad except that it has been in the thirties here all week, meaning piles of snow are melting into muddy slush everywhere you walk, plus it's rained the last few days, so there are also dirty puddles all over. So... add the dirty shoes plus the giant muddy dog and you have some very dirty floors. There was some frantic mopping going on here.
The house is getting shown again on Monday, which is good because I feel like I'm getting more bang for my buck, if you will, out of the thorough cleaning I did today. All I'll have to do is vacuum and tidy up for this next showing, hopefully, since everything got dusted and scrubbed already today.
All right, wake up there, you. I see you skimming through, wondering where those baby pictures are to redeem this ridiculously dull post. HERE:


Eli with his birthday buddy, Gabriel. Note the holding of hands taking place, completely of their own volition. Dab a sentimental tear away. Oh wait, that's MY tear. Sorry.



Cutey patooty.


The airplane game fails to amuse.



Straighten my posture and imagine away that giant zit on my chin and it's the perfect picture!

Pendulum

The thing that surprised me the most about parenting, that continues to surprise me on an almost daily basis, is the wild arc of emotions which kids can unleash within an otherwise patient, rational person.
In the car or on a playground, I feel an intense, borderline-paranoid fear that my children will somehow meet danger. I check on them in their sleep, laying my hand on their chests to feel that they are indeed still rising and falling reliably. Yet other times, laying around the house in the evening, wanting to read my book and eat my cookie, or watch The Office and eat my cookie, or even to sit zombie-like and EAT MY COOKIE, I feel frustration that my children's safety requires my constant vigilance. There's Eli, pulling a blanket over his head. There's Addy, careening around the house, narrowly missing sharp edges of furniture at every turn. Can't they just lie still and not need protection from themselves EVERY second? I think.
There is the wonder I feel at my luckiness in having them at all, after reading countless stories of people losing babies and trying so hard to have babies, of having had some small experience with miscarriage and fertility drugs myself, even. I lean down to kiss one of their little blond heads and am overwhelmed by the animal love that the smell of them brings. But then, sometimes within moments of that love-rush, there will follow a feeling of restlessness and resentment at the caged-in monotony that life will small children inevitably brings. And we even get out quite a bit, I would say, compared to lots of parents. We are lucky enough to live around family, and to have a reliable and trustworthy babysitter. It is hardly dire, our situation. But I stiff chafe at its confines, sometimes. Times when the reclusive winter sun is shining and I want to just go, but one baby is sleeping and another has just pooped and I myself still haven't even brushed my hair, and the whole process of going just seems overwhelming and not worth it.
Most of all, there is the surprise of realizing how much anger you can feel at a child, even while awash in the baby-love. Flashes of anger, which are immediately followed by guilt and self-chastisement, of course, but anger nonetheless. When you have done literally everything you can think of, yet for days on end, your baby is fussing and yelling the majority of his waking hours. Those waking hours run through the night, as he gets up sometimes three times to nurse, while still refusing more than a taste of solid food during the day. You begin to take it personally, to think defensively, "Wait, I've DONE my job here, kid. Yours is to sleep and eat and play, not to scream at me furiously all day as though there is something I am not providing."
The guilt about the anger is of course followed by self-doubt about your fitness to be a parent in general, about the wiseness of embarking on this whole scary, IRREVERSIBLE journey of parenting, and feelings of profound pity for your poor, poor children, suffering your incompetence and your frayed nerves.
Then you delve into the Easter basket stash for that lovely legal drug, refined sugar, and the kids do, finally, fall asleep, and everything seems fine and manageable again. But you wonder, how can your baby be six months old already and you are still finding yourself sometimes feeling like you did when you first brought him home from the hospital? How can you still be floundering?

Gimme Five

Okay, this is an unapologetically lazy post, because I am rushed due to having had to read all of YOUR blogs with a baby in my lap and therefore having to comment one handed. Which is tedious and slow and leaves me with approx. zero minutes to write my own post. Darn babies, always interfering with the important stuff.
So I'm pretty sure somebody tagged me for a Five Things meme, yes? Shelly? (No, I will not link. Refer to above paragraph.) She used a theme, so I'm attempting to follow suit.

Five Things About Me, The Last Time I... Edition

1. The last time I cooked an actual dinner was probably over a week ago. I'm really not sure what happened in the time between then and now. A lot of pizza, is what I'm thinking.

2. The last time I shaved my legs was two days ago. That's respectable, right?

3. The last time I cleaned out my car (beyond dumping the accumulated trash) was right before Eli was born. There is also a ginormous spray of mud up one of the sides because I drove into my in-laws' yard accidentally. Suffice it to say I mentally cringe every single time I get in the car. I was raised by a dad who FREAKED if you so much as fingerprinted the GLASS, you guys. I actually take car cleanliness pretty seriously, though you would never know it from the STATE of my vehicle. Its filthiness weighs on my conscience.

4. The last time I ironed anything was at LEAST three months ago. Probably a lot more. Our ironing board is basically a decorative prop strategically placed in the laundry room to make it APPEAR like normal, shirt-ironing type people live here.

5. The last time I flossed was... Never. I mean, I seriously could count on one hand the number of times I've done this. I've only had one cavity and always get congratulated by the dentist on the state of my teeth, btw, so don't give me that "you disgusting, rotten-toothed person" look. My teeth are SERIOUSLY close together, though. Before I got braces I had to have four teeth pulled just to make room in my mouth for the others to be straightened. It's CROWDED in there, is what I'm saying. Flossing, beyond being a general pain, is a LITERAL pain for me. I have to forcefully saw through my teeth, inevitably stabbing my gums with the wire, to achieve anything like flossing, and it ends with a mouth full of blood. Not worth it, my friends, not worth it.

And thus ends yet another eye-opening look into my life! Happy weekend, everyone. Everyone who doesn't live around here and isn't facing another ten inches of snow, that is.

Movie Reviews

Firstly. The Other Boleyn Girl. Soap opera-ish? Check. A wee bit campy? Check. A one-dimensional character for Scarlett Johansson and an overly hysterical one for Natalie Portman? Check and check. Not nearly as engrossing as the book itself? Check. A very rushed timeline which squeezes the events of ten-plus years into a little under two hours? Check. A director who seemed PHYSICALLY UNABLE to segue from one scene to the next without placing a camera behind lattice work or a pillar or a tapestry, as though there were an Unseen Presence watching the movie with us the entire time? BIG CHECK.
And yet I loved it. And yet I will undoubtedly buy it and watch it and stroke its glossy case like one of the doomed puppies in Of Mice And Men. Because despite its drawbacks, which I was warned of ahead of time by reading other reviews, it still had all that I require for a satisfying movie experience. Exciting yet not quite porn-like sex scenes? Check. Lots of shots of various European castle-y structures with elaborately costumed actors frolicking about in them? Check. Much intrigue and romance and frantic horseback riding to and fro? Check. Lots of pregnancies and having of babies? Big fat CHECK. And we have a winner, folks!

Now, on to another recently viewed film, Silk. This movie, to quote Linda's husband, was a hell of a way to spend a Saturday night. It has Keira Knightley, who usually chooses decent films. It has elaborate costumes and is set in France in the vague "olden times" period of which I am so fond. It seemed set up to win with me. Yet how it disappointed. Minutes and minutes of drawn out travel scenes in which NOTHING happens and NO ONE speaks. A romance for which a man risks his nearly perfect marriage, a romance which is based only on EYE CONTACT and in which the two star-crossed lovers have never even SPOKEN. Love letters full of cringingly awful "erotic" prose. A forlorn Keira Knightley wasting away tragically, fainting in gardens, and being "aged" by apparently having someone liberally streak her hair with baby powder.

Check back next time for another exciting installation of "At The Movies With Semi-Desperate!"

Because I Know You Love The Randomosity Of My Posts

-Grocery shopping on a Saturday afternoon is enough to make you hate humanity and want to move to a commune and grow your own food so you're never again at the mercy of The Man (aka Meijer.)

-Cleaning like crazy for two days to have an open house to which NO ONE shows up is enough to make you hate the whole process so much you want to stay in your current home until you die.

-Getting your hair trimmed by the only person in town who knows how to cut it so you actually feel hot is FLIPPIN' SWEET. Sweetness is only slightly tempered by the tiny hairs stuck all over your face and neck for the rest of the day.

-Having to drive an hour away to see The Other Boleyn Girl really burns my biscuits.

-But being able to finally go see The Other Boleyn Girl (and with cute hair no less!!!) is making me irrationally excited. I'm doing little countdowns in my head (less than ONE HOUR until we leave!) as though it were some sort of vacation to the Bahamas instead of a trip to the Cineplex. Clearly I need to get out more.

-BUT. Getting my hair cut and going to a movie all in one day is getting out QUITE a LOT for a stay at home mom of two little kids, no? Look at me, all Angelina Jolie! I can be a doting mom AND a jet-setting humanitarian/actress! (Guess which celeb I was reading about while my hair was drying?)

Soy Free

I have a little mission for you, should you happen to know anything about soy-free cooking. My friend Jess (the one who gave birth to her son a day before I had Eli) has recently found out she is allergic to soy. She has been having health problems for quite a while, and while she is happy to have hopefully discovered the root of them, giving up soy is apparently a very big deal. I hadn't realized it until I started checking labels, but soy- or more specifically, soy lecithin- is in EVERYTHING. Jess can basically only eat rice and vegetables right now, because she is a vegetarian, and dairy sometimes causes her problems as well.
So here's what I'm wondering: any of you know any great soy-free products she could order online? We have very limited resources around here. Not even a Whole Foods, if you can believe. Or maybe you know some yummy recipes for cakes, cookies, or breads without soy? She has a sweet tooth almost as bad as mine, which means we both echo Swistle's sentiment: I almost feel like I cannot be happy if I don't have sweet things to nibble on. You can imagine how bleak this would be, to be facing a LIFE without normal candy or ice cream or birthday cake.
Recipes, please!

The Morning After

To: Large dog who appears to think he was put on this earth to whine.
Re: Ya'll gon' make me lose my mind, up in here, up in here. Ya'll gon' make me act the fool, up in here, up in here.

It doesn't bode well for your day when DMX lyrics say it best.

Moving on! Jim and I had our first session with a personal trainer last night (we're actually getting a group rate because we're working out with two other couples, which is even more motivation to push through the pain. Everyone is watching! Must not collapse on the floor and cry!) Man, am I out of shape. I've been doing aerobics for a few months now, but let me just say that Zumba seems like a brisk walk compared to last night's torture. My muscles are so sore I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to lift Eli today.
My lower abs in particular are shockingly weak, even though just to look at it my stomach seems mostly flat again. I had no idea how much two pregnancies take out of you in terms of muscle tone. It was really embarrassing. There were a couple of exercises that I literally couldn't do because I didn't have enough strength in my lower abdominals to keep my back on the floor. The trainer assures me in a few weeks I'll be surprised at my progress. I'll be surprised if in a few weeks he's still alive. Sometimes the only way I could make it through a whole minute of whatever circuit station I was on was by thinking, F you, Dennis, F you. Except the word was longer than f.
Also, it's kind of weird to work out strenuously with people you know well. There you are, sweating like a pig, feeling sick to your stomach, and making noises like you should be in a delivery room, all in front of people you otherwise mostly just watch movies and have dinner with.

In other late-breaking news, you all DO know which movie comes out tonight, right? RIGHT?! I have actually convinced Jim to go see it with me, even though I also have plans to see it later with some girlfriends. Because they can't go to it tonight with me, and after waiting four months, I am INCAPABLE of waiting even a FEW MORE DAYS.
Oh, you don't know which movie I'm talking about? Skimmer. But I'll tell you. TOMORROW, when I review it extensively! You'll just have to wait!

And also, because apparently I have abandoned completely the idea of continuity in writing, here is a link to an article about women in the workplace during WWII that I thought was hilarious. And is genuine, according to Snopes. I'm betting that in the back of their minds, a lot of male bosses still adhere to some of these rules. Do any of these ring true to those of you working outside the home?

Edit edit URGENT EDIT: GAAAAAAA! My movie- fine, it's The Other Boleyn Girl, and yes, it's MY movie, as in, I HAVE RIGHTS TO SEE IT IMMEDIATELY- isn't showing in this town OR the one closest to it. I'm sorry, I wasn't aware this was some sort of FOREIGN film with SUBTITLES and ANGST and VAGUE PLOT LINES. I'm pretty sure this is a regular old Sony Pictures release full of partial nudity and elaborate costumes! What the frickity frick, people? Ya'll gon' make me LOSE MY MIND!

Good/Bad, Part Deux

What is lovely: The snow outside, sparkling in the bright, bright winter sun.
What is not: The bitter, biting cold, which feels like a betrayal every time you step out the door. It looks so PRETTY though! you want to say. Why are the hairs in my nostrils freezing?

What is lovely: Having family pictures taken for the first time since the newest addition was born.
What is not: Having to wait a half hour because there is only one person working at the portrait studio. There was only one other customer, and she was wrapping things up, so this shouldn't have been a problem. Except that she happened to be the Most Infuriating Fellow Customer Ever, and was standing at the monitor examining twenty-four gajillion different poses of her "little guy" in seventy-bajillion different outfits and backgrounds and was literally losing her MIND trying to decide what she wanted to purchase. "I just don't know," she mused about thirty nine times, shifting her son back and forth from hip to hip. "I love the naked one on the blanket, but the naked one in the bathtub is great too..." I was THIS close to screaming, "It's all the same face! It's just that ONE kid in all of those pictures. How different can they really be? For the love of ALL THAT IS GOOD just pick one!"

What is lovely: Having had a good- or at least not BAD- showing.
What is not: Having an open house scheduled for this weekend, meaning not only did I have to clean the entire house Tuesday, but I have to KEEP it clean until Sunday afternoon.

What is lovely: Having food to eat, not worrying about starving, etc. (I was kind of reaching on this one.)
What is not: Quaker's Weight Control oatmeal. It tastes like rubber cement.

Thus ends yet another thrilling installation in my current series of Boring Topic-less Posts!

Shoes and Showings

Well, my mom and I took the kids shopping for Easter outfits Monday night, and Swistle, you'd have been proud. Not of what we bought the kids- I couldn't find anything I liked for Eli. For Addy we did find a beautiful dress, but it was neither on sale nor could I find a picture of it online to show it off. So, still fun, but not impressive.
No, what I was proud of was the stuff I found for ME! I got three pairs of shoes for twenty bucks! That's for ALL of them. Hello, giant end-of-season clearance sales! I couldn't find exact pictures of any of those, either, despite extensive (ten minutes) research, but here is a picture of approximately what one of the pairs of shoes looks like. They are Keds, but they're not slip-ons, they're skimmers. And there's a blue stripe on the side. The other pairs are more dressy- one pair has about a two inch heel and is kind of a coppery brown with a thin buckle strap and a round toe. The other are just sensible, brown leather, square-toed slip-ons with about an inch heel. Not thrilling, those, but infinitely practical for me. I am not a tennis shoes for everyday kind of person. I prefer having my hands free at all times, so neutral looking shoes that I can just shove my feet into while holding baby/purse/mug of coffee the size of my head are a staple for me, and I am constantly wearing out my current ones and scouting for replacements.
Wow, this little shopping run down is way more boring than I anticipated without visual aids... I'll try again to find pictures to post, but I am too lazy to go take pictures and post them myself, so if I can't find them, you're up a creek, folks.
In other, arguably more exciting news, our house showing went really well yesterday! The realtor said the couple told him that so far in their search it was "between our house and one other one." The woman likes the updates (new flooring, remodeled bath and kitchen, fresh paint) in our house, plus the yard and location are better, but the man likes the floor plan of the other house. And it has amenities such as two bathrooms and a two car garage which ours is sadly lacking.
I am SO hoping that the ideal location of our home (less than five minutes away from the kindergarten, elementary, middle and high schools of the best school district in the area) will win out over the double sinks and central air of the rival home. Also, the realtor mentioned that they have a toddler and that the woman is pregnant, which made me immediately want THEM to have the house. It would be like replacing us with... Us! I want there to still be little kids in this house. Weird, huh?
You know what else is weird? Having strangers go through your home and TOUCH stuff. I mean, open closets, examine kitchen cabinets and look at the cleanliness of the shower all you want, but when I can tell that you have been picking up and examining our FAMILY PHOTOS? That's a little creepy. But whatever. I love you! Please buy our house!

Flesh Pacifier

This is apparently the new function of my face in general and my chin in particular. See, when he's upset (which is ALWAYS,) I hold Eli to my shoulder and pat his back. Usually he settles down, sucks his thumb, and falls asleep. But lately, rather than sucking his thumb, he has been wrenching his face around, LATCHING ON to any bit of my face he can get in his mouth, and sucking voraciously. I have mini hickeys all over the lower portion of my face, and it's getting somewhat painful as well, the UNLATCHING him part. I just... I have no more words on this subject.
Which is lucky, because our house is being shown tomorrow at four and I have to clean like mad now, not ramble on about my piranha son's desire to suck the flesh off my bones.

P.S. Spellcheck, I knew you'd come crawling back eventually. You thought you could do better...

Public Humiliation, Part Infinity

So, you may be wondering, what could be worse than getting called to the front of the class during aerobics? How 'bout finding out at a nice church lady function that some people from your past, with whom you have kind of an iffy relationship due to some mutual acquaintances with whom you have a BAD relationship, have been WATCHING YOU do your dance aerobics from the track above the gym? Stellar.
Also fun: stuffing yourself into a push up bra immediately following nursing, then realizing, a few hours and a few ounces of milk build up later, that your NIPPLES HAVE BURST OUT OF THE BRA and are going berserk under your WHITE SWEATER. AT THE NICE CHURCH LADY FUNCTION.

You people probably think I make this crap up for your benefit, but you would be wrong. I'm just THAT lucky.

Would You Rather...

...Do without toothpaste or shampoo?
This is going to be a FUN post today, yes sir. Further ridiculous poll taking, because I am tired and for various reasons overwhelmed, despite the fact that Eli SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT. He did wake up once and stir and snuffle around quite loudly, causing me to hunch over the baby monitor and WILL him back to sleep, but he never actually fully achieved consciousness in order to demand food.
So there is that cause for celebration. And apparently around here we celebrate by not showering and eating frozen corn dogs for lunch.

Ahem! On to the good stuff. (Yes, I know, I'm playing it loose and fast with the term "good.") Would you rather:
-Refer to first sentence.
-Have a maid, a cook, or (if applicable) a nanny?
-Have a hairstylist or a makeup artist?

AND WHY.

Lordy, I'm sorry. Just pretend you never read this and click on out if you must. I won't hold it against you. I'm going to try to sleep now. Or shower. Or eat something not from a Schwann's box.

Exercise! It Appears To Burn Calories!

Well, I'll be darned if I didn't fit back into two pairs of pre-baby pants I had nearly given up on. Then I got on the scale for the first time in three months, held my breath and hoped for a miracle- and there was no miracle. I am still overweight. But only ten pounds over my weight when I got pregnant, and the last time I braved the scale it was closer to twenty pounds over. (I excitedly reported my findings to Jim, adding, "Plus it's the nighttime, so I'm REALLY probably a few pounds less. Plus I'm breastfeeding, so probably five of those extra pounds are in my BOOBS! Plus last week I ate an entire box of chocolates, so if you factor those out..." "I know!" he agreed supportively. "Really you're probably only about a hundred and twenty pounds!" In case it's not clear, this was a joke. I would have to lose a lot more than water weight to be a hundred and twenty pounds. Like a thigh.)
So yeah... Much to my shock, working out, even just a few times a week, appears to be causing WEIGHT LOSS and a THINNER WAISTLINE. Who knew?
It also caused profound humiliation last night. See, I am a firm Back Rower. I stand in the center of the row so I can still see the instructor just fine (at least until Freakishly Tall Rubber Band Girl gets in my line of sight) but I in no way am eager to call attention to myself. I just want to get in there, work up a sweat, and get out. No forging of friendships or getting suckered into helping lead one of the routines.
But last night, on our very last routine, I realized that the sharp eyes of the instructor were meeting mine. "You. Green shirt! Come up here and show them!" she yelled, when her subtle eye contact and gestures had been ignored. I slunk through the rows of people, waiting for the familiar Nervous Tummmy and red face. Amazingly, they never came. I stood on the raised platform, helped demonstrate a not very difficult move which I was apparently doing correctly, and then finished the rest of the cool down ON THE STAGE. Without even blushing.
I know, go me, right? Now do you want to hear what the move was? It was LEANING, people. Keep your feet together, flat on the floor, and just lean as far as possible to one side and then the other. I was demonstrating how to NOT FALL OVER.

Whiny McBitchandMoanerson

Last night my mom watched the kids for a few hours, and fed Eli some rice cereal, per my instructions. He hasn't had it again since he threw up last week, so I figured his stomach should have been settled down by now. But no sooner did I arrive to pick them up than he started puking down my back (and down my pants and into my underwear, but I can't even speak of that right now.) It was just like the last time- horrible screaming, multiple retching episodes involving multiple clothing changes, and then after an hour or so he settled down and fell into an exhausted sleep.
I don't know what to think. Could he be allergic to something in the actual cereal? I mean, rice cereal is about as plain as it gets. But maybe he has a whey or gluten allergy or something? Grrr. I'm afraid to try it again to see if the same thing happens a third time because.... Well, because I don't want the same thing to happen a third time! I guess I'd better call the doctor AGAIN. Anthem Blue Cross/Blue Shield is gonna be lovin' me, what with the doctor's visits every week or so.
He woke up to nurse twice last night, which was a good sign but left me grumpy and out of it this morning. I had gotten used to just one feeding a night, and hell hath no fury like a me with a screwed up sleep schedule. It's just been one of those days; nothing is getting done and I feel like all I'm doing is putting out fires.
What IS it with mornings and everybody needing, needing, needing, and all at the same time? The baby is hungry and wet, Addy is crying and needs her diaper changed and her nose wiped and her juice cup filled, and the dog is whining incessantly and pacing in front of the door. And of course my bladder is wanting to be emptied and my stomach is hungry, too, but these needs will not be met, probably, for another half hour at least.
There is laundry to be done, dishes to be cleared, coffee to be made (yes it MUST be made) and another diaper to change, and now Eli is fussy and tired and needing to be rocked and I haven't even brushed my teeth yet...
Addy is bouncing around, climbing all over me while I try to rock Eli, begging for her Barbie movie already. I am so not in the mood to see it again, but nor am I in the mood to be a human jungle gym. I put it in the DVD player, and as the saccarine music fills the air, so does the smell of coffee. I tell myself I'll be all better in just a second.
I pour a cup of coffee, and the dog is whining again. The laundry buzzes, and I hear something crashing in the living room. By the time I return to my coffee, it is lukewarm and there is a dog hair floating in it. (BONUS POINTS to whoever correctly identifies the speaker of this Friends quote: "Drink your hair.")
Addy is in one of her Moods today- she is perpetually on edge, upset about some little thing which she cannot explain to me, nor can I satisfactorily correct it or distract her from it. We are both snappy and whiny. Finally I put her in a time-out, for refusing to stop leaping over precarious piles of toys, thudding loudly to the floor, and then screaming while I am trying (again) to rock Eli to sleep. This is not the best thought-out plan, as her furious screaming from the bedroom is far more distracting than the gleeful screaming from the living room had been. I let her out after the requisite two minutes, putting a not sleeping Eli down on the play mat so I can cuddle Addy.
I am trying, but this is one of those days when I feel like all the energy I can muster is not enough. I feel like I am barely holding it together, like my nerves are unraveling one by one. I feel, come to think of it, like a babysitter, who is desperately counting down the hours until the real parents arrive to take over.

And now Addy is playing nicely with Legos and Eli is sleeping and I am, in fact, complaining about problems which are now resolved. But it still feels good. I think a brownie with ice cream would feel good, too.

Pretend You're Interested

All right, I'll bite. Chelle tagged me, and as I was in fact digging DEEP for post material today (i.e., I was contemplating writing about Eli's ingrown toenails,) I will grace you with the ever-popular Seven Weird Things.

The rules are as follows:
# Link to the person who tagged you
# Post the rules on your blog.
# Share seven random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog.
# Tag seven random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
# Leave a comment on their blogs so that they know they have been tagged.

1. When I was little, I went through a phase in which I would literally cry if anyone touched or- oh the horror!- SAT on my bed after I had finished making it up with military precision. It was a long year for everyone.

2. I never liked normal kid food when I was in fact a kid. I hated Doritos, hot dogs, Spaghettios, etc. I preferred "fancy" food, like tea cakes. Or, you know, Little Debbies.

3. I have a very large collection of Willow Tree figurines. I sure hope Adelay likes them, 'cause they're all hers one day!

4. When my sister and I were about seven and eight, we were CONVINCED that we were really twins and that our parents told us we were a year apart just so our youngest sister wouldn't feel left out. We took it so far as to dress alike and speak in pig Latin to one another ("No one can understand us! We have our own twin language!")Now, we did look SIMILAR, but I was a good inch or two taller, and had also seen both of our birth certificates with DIFFERENT DATES, so I'm not sure why I so staunchly clung to this theory. Perhaps it was all the Sweet Valley Twins reading I was doing at the time...

5. I used to obsess over the names of my baby dolls. I would literally make lists and consult them for WEEKS, and I would force my family to learn the names and refer to the dolls as such.

6. I sucked my thumb at night until I was NINE. I'm pretty sure I only gave it up out of shame, too. Otherwise I might still be doing it.

7. I have always fantasized about being on a talk show, and sometimes have imaginary mental conversations with journalists who are fascinated by my extensive humanitarian efforts or brilliant bestselling novel.

I'm pretty sure this list just serves to emphasize what an especially odd kid I was. (One of my friends, with whom I got close in high school, once told me she was glad we didn't meet younger, or she would probably have been mean to me. To be honest, I wouldn't have blamed her.)

All right, now I know a lot of you have probably done this one already, but if not, here's my tags:

Cady

Maggie

Clueless But Hopeful Mama

Fine For Now

Carrie

Miss Mairzy

Musings Of A Mom

Go crazy, kids.

Meaningless Drivel

Because I can think of nothing clever to write about tonight, and because tomorrow I absolutely MUST clean this house and NOT spend three to four hours online, I only have a question for you. A fun one, though, I believe, if you follow celebs at all. I would say I follow them to an extent. I do not subscribe to any mags, but I do read them while waiting to have my teeth cleaned, and I do scan the headlines while in line at the grocery. So while I don't know, say, the current state of Tori's relationship with her money-grubbing mother, I do know that J.Lo is pregnant with twins, and that Britney of course is a train wreck.
The question is, if you HAD to, who would you choose as your celebrity boyfriend/husband/meaningless fling?
I THINK I would choose Clive Owen. Or wait! Colin Firth. Definitely Colin Firth. Mmmm... But I'm open to suggestions.
Go!

Behold The Cute! Behold It, I Say!

That's right, suckahs! I lure you here with wedding talk, and then BAM! You're hit with excessive kid pictures right between the eyes.

Now here we have Jim with his Mini Me. This picture, while I love it, does not do justice to the FREAKISH similarity in profile that these two share. They also both have the exact same browline, and pull their eyebrows together into the exact same Lofty Gaze of Disdain. It is frightening.




I got two of these towels (the other being a yellow duck) for the kids for Christmas, and this was the first occasion which Adelay actually allowed me to pull the animal hood over her head without a colossal freak out. Apparently animal hoodies are right up there with clowns in the list of Things We Want Kids To Like That Are Actually Terrifying.




Eli sporting same towel, with only slightly less enthusiasm. (On different days, though, I swear. We didn't wrap him in her wet, discarded towel.)




This is my first documented evidence of the kids playing together. I plan to trot this thing out for proper guilt trips as soon as it is useful. "See!? See how you used to play nicely together? See you how you used to LOVE each other?"





Now you might at first glance believe this picture to be a showcase of the adorable pigtail braids. It was actually taken to forever immortalize Adelay's odd choice of movies: She does of course dearly love all the Barbie films (who doesn't, really?) but her first love is "Robin Hood: Men in Tights." For real. Followed closely by "The Goonies." My kid is cooler than your kid! Or maybe just... Weirder.




And lastly, in case you were thinking, "These are nice, but they're really lacking that serene yet slightly inebriated Madonna-and-Child tone," I present this heavenly pose for your viewing enjoyment.

Bridesmaid Dresses: Friend or Foe

I think I have mentioned before that Adelay and I are going to be in my friend's wedding this September. This will be my first time as a member of a wedding party, my own aside. Because I am cool and got married at nineteen, thereby beating all my friends to the punch.
Anyways, particularly with that one movie coming out- you know, about bridesmaid dresses, starring that one chic from Grey's Anatomy (yes, I did my research before sitting down to type)- I have been thinking about my excitement over wearing a fancy-pants dress, and how relieved I am that I didn't hate this particular dress.
My question for you is four-fold: How many weddings have you been in, besides your own? Did you like the dress(es) you had to wear? Can you describe the bridesmaid dresses worn by your own attendants? Do you have any regrets about the choice you made?
I have already answered the first two questions, but as for the last ones, my bridesmaids wore strapless, silvery-purple colored dresses that were floor length, had beaded corset bodices, and were kind of a shimmery satin fabric. I still like them a lot, and in fact wish I had gotten to wear one as well as my actual wedding gown. Definitely no regrets.
And you?

P.S. Does this new template make me look fat?

Post-a-licious

Yes, yes, two in one day. Settle down now. Here is some complete and total randomness, none of which provides enough content for a single post, but all of which seemed interesting enough to be floating around in my brain saying, "Write about me!"

1. While the Samoa version was weak and disappointing, Edy's Limited Edition Thin Mint Ice Cream is possibly even better than the cookies alone. What is your favorite Girl Scout cookie? I can eat a whole box of those Samoas. Alas, I find the Tagalongs highly overrated, though they seemed to be most people's fave.

2. Today I gave Addy a bath and was jealous of how small she is in relation to the towels. One of the many perks of being a kid- the towels seem giant and thick and actually wrap around your whole body like a blanket. I remember that feeling, and miss it. Possibly I will sew a whole bunch of towels together and make myself a Big Ass Towel. Sarah's Big Ass Towel, I will call it.

3. Eli's diarhhea is finally gone. I wasn't sure if I had mentioned that, and am even less sure that any of you CARE (from bloggersphere: resounding NO!) but on the other hand I had left the whole subject kind of without a wrap-up, and didn't want you to think that he was STILL pooping ten times a day and that I was just ignoring it. He has not thrown up any more, either. There you go. Both ends reported for.

4. Jim played that freaking "Brothers Forever" song from American Idol about a gazillion times this morning on YouTube, and it has been resonating in my head ever since. Kind of like my head is inside of a gong that is being struck repeatedly.

5. When does a child need to have their teeth brushed regularly? Because it seems like, a, Addy still doesn't have a clue how to do it herself, and just gnaws on the bristles while sucking the toothpaste off (but no more than a pea sized blob, be assured!) and b, she'll only let me do it properly about once every three days, on average. Should I start pushing this whole issue more?

6. I have found lately that my standards for Retail Therapy are getting embarassingly low. Example: It makes me excited to buy a fresh tube of toothpaste, new bodywash, or even to use a new kind of cleaning product (Clorox ReadyMop: Now with a new Zesty Orange fragrance!) I mean, not PEEING MY PANTS excited or anything, but I get that little thrill of pleasure that used to be reserved for at least a new pair of PANTS or something. Before long I'm going to be looking forward to gassing up the car. Look at that, it's on F again! What a high!

Mother's Intuition. OR NOT.

Last night found me happily spooning rice/cereal applesauce mixture into Eli's greedy, baby-bird mouth, enthusing to Jim, "Look how much he's eating! This is nearly twice what he usually takes! Maybe we need to start feeding him MORE!" I glowed with pride in my boy's appetite, sure that this was a sign he was finally feeling well and healthy.

Two hours later found me rinsing a whole crapload of distinctly apple-y smelling barf out of Eli's hair as he screamed bloody murder. I'm SO not exaggerating about the bloody murder part- it was terrifying, how loud and how piercing this scream was. The fact that Addy slept through it is nothing short of miraculous. I felt so bad- clearly his stomach had been overloaded and had no choice but to empty itself. He seemed to be uncomfortable for awhile, even after the first major spew, which woke him up around eleven thirty. I held him and rocked him, wrapped in a towel, as he continued to simultaneously retch and suck his thumb sleepily. After awhile there was nothing left in his little belly, and he fell asleep again.

It reminded me of all those Catherine Newman barfing posts- her children seemed to get an awful lot of stomach viruses. But this is actually the first time I have experienced such sheer volume of puke from a child. Addy never really threw up much at all when she was a baby, and has never had the flu. So hearing that ominouos gagging over the baby monitor last night was the first test of Jim's and my virgin skills in tandem barf cleanup mode.

We did pretty well, I think- I ran and picked up the baby, who was wailing piteously and lying in a pool of regurgitated cereal. Jim went to run a bath while I comforted Eli, who continued to barf all over me and his clothes. We got him undressed, and I bathed him while Jim gathered up the barfy clothes and sheets. Then when he was in clean pajamas, I rocked him while Jim hovered nearby with burp cloths and a bucket (me: "He's a BABY; we're not going to hold his head over a BUCKET!" Jim: "You'd rather have it down your sleeve?")
When he seemed finally to be done with the puking, I rocked him back to sleep while Jim put clean sheets on the crib and helped me remove my yakked-on shirt. Ah, parental bonding.

Not sure how to segue that into Happy Valentine's Day mode, so we'll just jump right in. I made blueberry pancakes and bacon for breakfast, and presented Addy with pink, heart-festooned socks and Jim with a card. Tomorrow night we'll go out for sushi- we were THIS CLOSE to finagling a reservation for tonight, the OFFICIAL Day of Love, but while we were calling to arrange babysitting, the spot was taken. THAT'S WHAT YOU GET, LAST MINUTE SLACKERS! seemed to be the unspoken message from the guy on the phone.

Happy V-Day, everyone! Hope you all get lucky!

Efficiency, Or Lack Thereof (See Also, Laziness)

The morning routine. For some, probably those of you who work outside the home or who have school-aged children, there are certain things that MUST be done at certain times in order that everyone is where they're supposed to be at a designated time. I find this sort of amazing, that people manage to get so much done SO EARLY. Yet, I do not envy you, even though you are probably smugly blow-dried and reading blogs by nine o' clock, while I am still dealing with Pop Tart crumbs and coffee breath.
I am Bad at Mornings. Even on my good days, it's still prettty dismal, frankly. We usually get up between eight and nine in the morning (I KNOW, you hate me now) and even when I'm functioning at my peak, the whole morning routine usually isn't complete until around eleven. In theory, it doesn't seem SO bad- change two diapers, nurse one baby, feed one toddler, feed self, let dog out, dress baby, dress toddler, dress and groom self...
I think my problem is estimation. I always underestimate the time it's going to require to do certain things. Just as I generally underestimate how much it's going to cost to grocery shop per week. This is another of my pitfalls- shopping. Not even unnecessary shopping. I'm really not a big clothes or shoes person; as long as I have what I reasonably need, I'm not too tempted to buy ANOTHER pair of shoes or ANOTHER bag just because it's cute. No, my problem is just in not budget shopping for necessities very well. I never remember to use coupons, and invariably forget to buy enough of something at the cheaper big box stores (like DIAPERS) and end up having to run to CVS down the road and buy it at twice the price.
So my goal this week has been More Efficiency! Less Laziness! For example, I used to do showers in the morning, and that was usually okay, but I had to set Addy up with a movie in order to accomplish it. Lately I've been trying to shower at night to cut down on time in the mornings, and to avoid having Addy start her day with TV constantly. I mean, it still happens, but I've been trying to at least DELAY resorting to movies to entertain her.
Also, I made a list of the things we ALWAYS need, and split it up into two categories: one for produce, meat, dairy, things which are really better purchased at the local grocery store or at Meijer. The other is for hygiene stuff, paper products, baby care, cleaning products, dog food, cereal, crackers, etc. This stuff is ALWAYS cheaper at ye olde Wal-Mart (gag cough hate.) This is doubly true for diapers. I have had time to experiment WIDELY with diaper brands since having Addy, and have found that the best brand for non-leakage is... Parent's Choice! Who knew. I did a diaper run to Rite Aid the other day, forked over ten bucks for thirty Huggies, and the frickin' things leaked all over the place every.single.night. I don't know if my kids have weirdly shaped butts or what, but the cheapies work better (and also have less dye in them, I've noticed, which for some reason comforts me.)
So there you have it. Belated New Year's Resolutions, if you will (Lenten Resolutions?) to be more efficient in time/money management. May the force be with me.

Favorites

I am blatantly ripping the general tone of this post from Swistle and Marizy's recent stroll down doll-naming lane. So MANY people mentioned that their name preferences had to do with certain favorite books, notably the Little House series and also The Babysitters Club. I couldn't stop thinking about all my other favorites, although those two series certainly ranked high for me, too.
There was The Secret Garden, which, while not providing a lot of exciting name fodder, was magical. There was of course Little Women, which I loved to act out with my Barbies (yes, I was a little... Different. No fun and games with Barbie and Ken in the Beach Jeep. It was classic literature for me.) I was a big fan of The Babysitter's Club books for several years, as well as The Sweet Valley Twins series. Anyone remember those? (Twins' names: Elizabeth and Amy, I THINK. And Amy's best friend was Lilah, which is a pretty great name.)
The Little House series goes without saying, naturally- I have lots of good memories of my mom reading those books to us before bed. And did anyone else love love LOVE Anne of Green Gables? I read all seven or eight or however many of those books there were, and can still name all her children. (Oh all RIGHT: Joyce, who died in infancy, James, called Jem, Walter, Anne, called Nan, her twin Diana, called Di, Shirley, and Bertha Marilla, who went by Rilla. In all, not a lot of winners there, name-wise.)
I also loved The Boxcar Children books, but I don't hear many people talk about that series. I read some of the old Nancy Drew books, too, but don't remember being passionate about them or anything. Oh, I know Jim liked the Hardy Boys series, as well as something called Choose Your Own Adventure stories. I missed out on those, I guess.
One of my favorite books was called Baby Island. Really, it was my dream come true- two adolescent girls are on a ship sailing to meet their father and help take care of all the passenger's children, ship crashes, girls are shipwrecked on deserted island with four little BABIES to care for. I wore this book OUT rereading it.
I also really liked the American Girl series that went with the dolls- I got Kirsten one Christmas, and my sisters got Samantha and Felicity (I love that name!) But I'm pretty sure we had ALL the books, even for the other dolls.
Man, I could go on and on (more than I already have.) But I'll give you a turn: What were some of your favorite books/series of books when you were a kid?

Slacker Neighbors

Are you guys friends with your neighbors? And here I'm meaning, did you BECOME friends with them based on their proximity to you (if you were already friends, it doesn't count.) Do you chat casually when you walk your dogs, or are you so close that you maybe even hang out socially or babysit each other's kids? I've been trying to figure out why it is that despite the reasons why I should reach out to my neighbors (they are around our age, they have kids, BECAUSE IT IS CRAPPY NOT TO) I have yet to make even the slightest gesture beyond waving when I pass them.
I think these days it just doesn't seem necessary to be anything more than cordial to one's neighbors. We all have cars, we all (hopefully) (more or less) get out and do things with our friends, and of course we're all busy. There's no real need to make friends out of the people over the fence like there was in the fifties, when housewives usually didn't even have access to cars during the day, and once they had dusted and vacuumed (in their high heels and apron) and sent Johnny and Susan off to school, they had nothing to do but head over to each other's kitchens for the afternoon and discuss their mutual discontent and boredom over Irish coffee. (Geez, Sarah, traffic in ridiculous stereotypes much?)
Now, I don't necessarily think there's anything WRONG with this evolution of social relationship, per se, but it does seem like it would be NICE to at least be on a first name basis with the people living around us. The ones next door have at least one small kid, because I see her coming and going with an infant carseat. Yet they moved in about three months ago and I have yet to go over and introduce myself. I'm pretty sure she's a stay at home mom, too, so I could THEORETICALLY do this during the day. The neighbors across the street have a daughter about five and a son about Addy's age. She's a teacher and he's a fireman, or at least a volunteer fireman. Aside from his annoying habit of backing into his (very short) driveway and swinging his headlights directly into our front window every night, they both seem very nice. We have talked to them a few times, when out trick-or-treating mostly.
Jim was out on Saturday canvassing the neighborhood for his presidential candidate of choice (yes, that's right, we are ACTIVISTS!) and his last stop was their house. He was talking to the husband, Matt, and found out that he had recently been injured when a local business had a gas leak and exploded. We had heard about the explosion (the business belonged to an acquaintance of ours) and I'm pretty sure I even got an email telling me that our neighbor had been injured. But I promptly forgot about it, and then promptly felt TERRIBLE when Jim told me about our neighbor's injuries. I mean geez, I couldn't have sent a CARD? Brought over some COOKIES? Offered to watch the kids so she could go to the hospital in the evening? SOMETHING?
Yuck. There are some things not worth feeling guilty over, but this I do feel genuinely bad about, particularly as someone who espouses Christian ideals (i.e. love your NEIGHBOR!)
So is it too little, too late to go over with some Get Well Soon baked good? Or would that just be weird? Maybe just let this situation pass and then try to, I don't know, watch in a hovery way out the front window until I see one of them come outside with the kids, then dart outdoors and wave frantically, "Hi, neighbors!"?