Last Hurrah

Here's a few of my favorite shots from this year. This has been one of the busiest, blurriest years I can remember, but also one of the best. Watching Eli turn from a hungry, grumpy little butterball of a newborn into a chortling, gleeful little brother chasing Addy around the house has been the most miraculous transformation I have ever witnessed. Addy has turned from a toddler into a nearly-preschooler, learning letters and shapes and how to much more firmly and clearly express herself about clothing, food choices, toy preferences, and her love for her purses, tiaras, and various lucky family members. And Jim and I have learned how to... Cope. Go with the flow. Enjoy the moment. I MAY have had a harder time with that lesson than he has, but I think I'm getting there. I fully believe next year will be even better.

And To All A Good Night

Dear Santa,

My greatest dream has been realized. Jewelry, perfume, books, sweaters, or fancy hand creams would now be only a side note when compared to the Christmas miracle you delivered to our house this evening... My daughter caved to my coaching, cajoling, and outright bribery, and, after much fussing and begging for a diaper and whining that her tummy hurt, begrudgingly pooped on the potty.

I have never in my life felt so excited about another person's bowel movement. I have never felt so excited about MY OWN bowel movement. I nearly cried. I gushed, "I'm so proud of you!" so many times that Adelay finally gave me a consoling, somewhat worried hug and replied, "I'm proud of you, too, Mommy!"

Early Christmas!

So guess what arrived out of the blue the other day? A gorgeous handmade carseat cover that I had totally forgotten about winning from Valley Momma! It was like the thrill you get when you discover a forgotten five dollar bill in your pocket, but, you know, a lot BIGGER of a thrill. I mean, LOOK!



And if that weren't enough, she threw in a bunch of other goodies, just 'cause she's nice like that! Lookie!



The top two are little zippered bags; the smaller one is Addy's, with cute little guitars on it, and the brown and pink one is a cosmetic bag for moi. The bottom one is a cover for a travel wipes case. So nifty, right?

Also, she sent a Christmas bib for Eli, very cute, but it's in the laundry right now so I can't show you. AND she sent crayon rolls for each of the kids! Here is Eli's, rolled:




And here is Adelay's, unrolled:



Note the possessive little hand grasping for it. That was literally the best shot I could get of her crayon roll; in all the others, Addy is actually snatching it off the desk, and all you see if a blur of fabric and grubby fingers.

These were all really well made items, in adorable fabrics. I especially love the car seat cover, though. I mean it's so awesome! Beyond the obvious convenience factor, that it is removed EASILY for washing in case someone stains it with juice or um, bodily fluids of some sort, it is just so colorful and fun and SUCH an improvement over the previous, boring navy blue fabric. And it fits perfectly, nipping in at all the right spots to conform to the shape of the car seat. I highly recommend! Thank you again, Beth!

Sigh

Well, I had my Clomid consult today, and it served only to totally frustrate me. The doctor I saw today, the "fertility expert" in the new practice I'm going to, thinks that I don't have a luteal phase defect at all, despite what two other doctors have suggested. She thinks I've just had bad luck twice, and that the low progesterone levels I had early on in those losses were just indicators that the pregnancies were failing, rather than being the reason the pregnancies were failing. I've heard this theory online from many different medical sources. Basically, as the doctor today told me, even the top experts in the field of infertility disagree on whether low progesterone is a cause or an indicator of miscarriage.

She said she thinks luteal phase defect is "overly diagnosed" and that if that were truly what I have, a, I wouldn't have been able to carry Adelay without help, and b, the progesterone supplements I took would have saved the pregnancies that I lost. She thinks my problem is that I have a delay in my ovulating process, which is causing the DNA in my eggs to deteriorate before I finally release them, which is then causing poor quality conceptions that can't develop. This delay obviously doesn't always happen, but maybe more often than not it does. I do frequently experience kind of drawn-out, painful ovulation cycles, which seem to go on for days and days instead of being over in thirty six hours or whatever.

She pointed out that several days ago when I had my ultrasound, my follicle appeared just two or three days from being ready, but my cervix was clearly far from being ready. And it's only just today that I'm beginning to feel the pain in my side that always indicates ovulation is imminent. Which means that follicle has just kind of been swelling and swelling, waiting, and meanwhile the health of the egg is suffering. I guess. That is basically what I gleaned from the discussion. Has anyone ever heard of this or had this problem themselves?

She said she didn't think Clomid was strictly necessary in my case, that Adelay is proof that I CAN conceive naturally and not miscarry. But she said that given my history of loss, and especially since I responded so well to the low dose of Clomid I took to conceive Eli, that taking Clomid is probably what she would do if she were wary of another miscarriage. She said she'd have me come in on day fourteen of my cycle, and if I hadn't ovulated on my own yet even with the drugs, she'd give me a shot to make sure I did in time to preserve the health of the egg.

I am so confused! I mean, I'm kind of relieved that I don't HAVE to take Clomid if I don't want to. I'm not DOOMED to repeated miscarriages without it. But they are significantly more likely, apparently. So what do we do? Leave it to chance and hope for the best one more time? Or say better safe than sorry and take the drugs?

Just Curious

Do you send holiday cards or write Christmas letters? Or neither?

Do you have white or colored lights on your tree?

Do you do outdoor light displays?

Do your kids get into the Santa Clause stuff, or not seem to care? Do you promote him, or actively discourage him?

What do you usually have to eat on Christmas Day?


We are writing a letter this year, and we did last year, too. It's kind of hard to find the right balance between enough information (children's ages, current activities, adult's jobs and hobbies) and too much information (probably won't begin the holiday greeting by making sure everyone knows that I lost a pregnancy in August, then had hernia surgery in October.) It's also hard to know what tone to go with: fun and breezy, or heartfelt and overflowing with gratitude. But it's fun to include pictures to go with the kids' paragraphs, and it's fun to get to brag about them a little (though again, the balance problem: how much bragging evokes a smile, and how much bragging is just plain, you know, braggy?)

We have white lights on our Christmas tree, and a white-light star. Also, gold ribbon instead of garland. But our ornaments are totally random and mostly kiddy stuff, so it's hardly a stuffy, designer-looking tree. The tree skirt is a Christmas quilt that belonged to my late grandma.

We hung icicle lights around our front porch, and wrapped blue lights around the front lamppost. I also attempted, from atop a teetery ladder, to put lights on a tree, but it was a disaster and we aren't turning those lights on. Half the strands ended up being dead, and the tree is deceptively tall and I could only get lights on the bottom two branches, and... It looks really dreadful. And is going to be a pain in my arse to take down, too, since I decided to wind the strands around and around each branch instead of stringing them gracefully from branch to branch. Yeah, it's just bad all around.

I have mentioned Santa a few times in passing to Adelay, and we have a German Santa (complete with a beer stein) in our living room, but I don't think she has any idea or concept of him, and she already seems to grasp that adults bring gifts. So I think it may be a lost cause.

I usually eat candy out of my stocking for breakfast, and then at Jim's parents there's a traditional coffee cake. My mom usually has brunchy things too. But I have to admit I pretty much just eat sugar nonstop on Christmas. I set a wonderful example, I know.

This Is A Long One

I haven't talked much about when we're planning to try to conceive baby number three, have I? Ever since August's ill-fated pregnancy, and my unofficial diagnosis with luteal phase defect, we've kind of been taking it one month at a time, but with the general agreement that we would wait at least until after the holidays.

Also, I am pretty much convinced that I want to be on Clomid when we try again, since out of my last three pregnancies, the only one that went to term was conceived using Clomid. The other two were supplemented with progesterone to try to correct my low hormones, but the supplements alone apparently weren't enough. The new doctor suggested giving it one more go with just supplements, but starting them as soon as I ovulate rather than waiting until I get pregnant. And logically, that seems like a reasonable option. But emotionally, I just cannot chance that it won't work and that I'll lose another baby. So apparently we'll be chancing twins instead! Whee!

I went for an ultrasound a couple days ago to make sure everything was good to go in the ole' reproductive organ department, and then Tuesday I have a pre-Clomid consult with the fertility specialist at my OB's office. Anyways, at the ultrasound, the tech apparently knew that I was there to prepare for a round of Clomid, but didn't know what the Clomid was being prescribed FOR. As soon as she got a view of my ovaries, she got all giddy and exclaimed, "Look at this! You've got a great big follicle on your right ovary! You're going to ovulate this month- you should try to get pregnant on your own!"

For some reason, this made me irrationally angry. "I KNOW I can ovulate," I said a little snappishly. "That's not my problem. If I get pregnant this month on my own, I'll just lose it." What I wanted to say was, "Stick to your job. Measure my uterus, measure my ovaries, take note of my follicle, whatever. But don't give me fertility advise when you have no idea what I'm here for." I think it just made me feel inadequate all over again. I mean, there was a lovely, giant follicle, ripe for ovulation, and I have no choice but to let it go to waste.

Well, sorry about that detour into Unresolved Hostility! The point is, we're getting ready to try again soon, albeit with pharmaceutical assistance. Slowly but surely, I've been feeling the Baby Urge again. I want to the hospital to visit a friend and her day old baby girl last Sunday, and whew, it was so fresh and exciting, yet so familiar and instinctive, to hold a tiny baby again. I forgot how they fit perfectly into the crook of your arm, their heads in your hand and their feet tucked in your elbow. I forgot how you can rock them on your lap and just STARE at them forever and not get bored once. I forgot- but so quickly remembered!- how inexplicably sweet they smell. Especially before their first bath... Oh. It is the smell of newness and innocence and magic. As I watched my friend snuggle her new daughter, wearing that very particular, exhausted but satisfied new mother smile, I felt just like Tina Fey in 30 Rock last week: "I want to go to there!"

It's just the getting there that has me hesitant, still. I know adding another kid would just be more chaos and mess and noise and sleeplessness, but really, once you have two, how much worse could it get? So I'm pretty much over fearing the realities of another child. I just fear the realities and risks of pregnancy. I so badly do not want to experience another loss. And I so badly do NOT want to be nauseaous and tired and weepy for three months, and then bedridden and bloated and dilated and crampy for another two months at the end. Pregnancy is miraculous, sure, but, just like a newborn, it is a miracle that is filled with messiness and complication and major inconvenience.

I wish I liked being pregnant more. It's kind of a sore point with me, because I always thought I would love every second of it. I wish I could walk around the whole time feeling like a glowing Madonna, rubbing my fertile orb of a belly. Instead, I mostly feel kind of like a joke. Like a whale. Or like my regular self, stuffed into a fat suit that I cannot escape. The fat suit prospect is especially scary given that I am finally getting into shape for the first time in my life.

But. I think we will probably try again soon. Or soon-ish. So, um, if you're pregnant, or just LIKE being pregnant, pretty please will you leave me some reminders of why it's special! and magical!?

New Tricks

This is, very obviously, not an exercise/diet/self improvement type of blog in any way, shape or form. If anything, I could be called an enabler for such things as chocolate addictions. However, I think it is worth mentioning, necessary to mention, even, that exercise has totally changed my life.

Well. Maybe not rocked it to its core or anything. But it was definitely a big part of what finally lifted the fog I felt lost in for a few months following my last miscarriage. The greatest thing it did for me, even more than the faint but still visible physical changes that are surfacing, was to allow me to see myself in a new way. I got to reinvent myself.

See, I have always thought of myself as somewhat soft, if you know what I mean. A bit of a wuss about things like headaches, colds, menstrual cramps, slight variations in temperature, having to sit in the backseat, etc. Not a fan of anything that would cause me to perspire, and certainly not a seeker of muscle tone. A girly girl, definitely. (I think the fact that I got through childbirth- TWICE, even- without an epidural shocked me more than anyone else. Sure, I had said I really didn't want one, but I said it with kind of the same mindset I am in when I say I really don't want a second piece of cake. Even I don't believe myself.)

I have never enjoyed exercise, and I felt that as long as I watched what I ate, that was good enough. (I'm using the term "watching" very loosely here.) But after that second miscarriage, I was so sad, so conflicted, and more than anything, so flat and numb feeling, that I knew I had to change up something in my life. And I had heard that those endorphins can cheer you up, so... I begrudgingly requested a gym membership for my birthday in September. Aside from a brief hiatus after my hernia surgery, I've been going two to four times a week ever since, kids in tow, and walked, jogged, biked, done the Nautilus circuit, and even tried out the hot tub. Just once, though. Mostly I've run, which is perhaps the most shocking part of it all.

I've always hated running, and more than that, I'm not really supposed to run, since I have weak knees. I've been advised to ride an exercise bike or swim for cardio instead. But I'm a terrible swimmer- I look like I'm drowning when I try to swim laps- and I hate being on the bike. I feel like a hamster on a wheel. So, I'm running anyways. And slowly but surely, I am enjoying it. Looking forward to it, even. Once I start panting, actually getting my heart rate up, it feels good. My body craves it, sometimes. I can feel my pulse quicken when I approach the track, much the way it would in the past upon spotting a box of chocolates. Okay, it still quickens for chocolate. But but BUT- now it quickens for running, too. And that is something I never, ever thought I would say.

I am pretty proud of myself.

Jim Halpert No Longer

So I finally cut Eli's hair, with Jim's begrudging permission. I've been wanting to for months, as it was beyond the "cute toddler curls" stage and fully into the "baby mullet/Jim Halpert-type hair sprouting out around the ears" stage. Here is before:



Ahem. And also maybe think "a healthy dose of that kid from The Exorcist."

Aaaannnd... After:



Righteous, dude! My new haircut, like, totally rocks!


And here's one of Addy, since I felt my last post perhaps painted her in a less than angelic light:

Potty NotTraining

The Disney Princess potty, bought in the hopes that perhaps it was a simple aesthetics preference keeping Addy from using our other potty chair, was quickly converted into an amusement park for those swingin' Fisher Price Little People.





Here we have a close up of a few of these stout, long suffering toys. This woman in the headset here appears to be warning the others back from the edges, as though from a volcano. She shouldn't have worried. Nothing more fearsome than dust has been deposited into this particular bowl.





Is it just me, or does the fellow on the right appear to have designs on the wholesome looking chic beside him?

Picking Your Brain

On My Mind: When do kids get old enough to be expected to perform "chores"? And when are they old enough to reliably take their dishes to the sink, pick up their own toys, throw dirty clothes in the hamper, rub my feet on command, etc?

What's that, you say? Around the age of thirty five? I thought so.

In No Particular Order...

We had an early Christmas in Michigan on Sunday, which is roughly three hours each way. So is it at all shocking to say that by the time we reached home, we had acquired FOUR Madagascar Happy Meal toys? Toys which emit such charming little one-liners as, "I know I'm every hippo's dream!" and "Holler at'cher boy!" If that's not annoying enough, these are motion activated toys, but they don't work all that well, so rather than just shake them you have to actually bang them on a hard surface before they'll release their garbled, mechanical quips. And um, did I mention FOUR of them?

Eli is throwing major, albeit short lived, tantrums these days. He throws his head back wildly, usually into his crib or the corner of his arch nemesis, the changing table, and then screams even louder in coupled fury and pain. Or he crumples miserably to the floor, after hurling his toy or book or milk cup across the room, and wails piteously for about ten seconds. Then he's done, and on to the next thing. Head bumps and spilled milk aside, these little fits are actually more amusing than frustrating. (Unlike those occasions of hour-long bedtime screaming, which feel like a kind of relay race: "Okay, your turn to try to settle him while I sit here at the computer and gather my strength for the next passing of the baton.")

What do you guys usually do for stocking stuffers? Do you DO stockings? And what's a reasonable price limit for stocking gifts? Because it seems to me that small does not necessarily equal inexpensive, even for kids' stuff.

What is your take on Christmas decorations? Do you feel they should be bright and fun and clash-y, and that in fact therein lies half the fun, or do you prefer your decorations to at least BLEND with the rest of your all-year-round decor? And who can guess how I feel about the subject?

Jim and I have been watching season two of Rome the last few nights, and holy crap! Has anyone else (who is familiar with the show, obv.) noticed that there is WAY more nekkedness and sex than in the first season? And not even fun sex, but kind of disturbing, this-is-the-opposite-of-a-turn-on kind of sex? Still, it is addicting, that show. Also, unfortunately, not conducive at all to getting sleepy.

Normal Is As Normal Does

I always wonder whether certain things are normal, and having kids has only heightened this curiosity. Is it normal, for instance, that Addy sometimes has tantrums because I don't pour her juice into the right cup- or even because I am not pouring it at the desired end of the kitchen counter? Is it normal that Eli will resort to biting his own hands, kind of hard, after having remote controls, DVD cases, and other people's hands removed from his jaws? Is it normal that I am sometimes loathe to let anybody change clothes one more time until I have the laundry all put away, just so that for one glorious minute all the hampers are empty?

Normal is such a relative term, I realize. In some cultures, for instance, what I would consider to be borderline child abuse or neglect is just part of how they raise their kids. While it may not be ideal, I imagine that those kids are probably not as traumatized by such treatment as kids in our society would be simply because they see it as normative. Another example would be that in many cultures, the expectation that romance, falling in love, and sexual passion will lead up to and be present in marriage simply does not exist. Marriages are like business partnerships, formed for financial security and to create a stable environment in which to raise children. And frankly, there are days when our marriage feels slightly like this: both of us handling one crisis or another, brushing teeth and mopping spills and pasting on diaper cream, then finally collapsing in the living room and completing the obligatory performance review to see how we might improve the system the next day.

But I guess it's the littler, less significant aspects of my life that I wonder about the most. Is it normal that Jim and I rarely go to bed at the same time because once in bed, no matter how tired we previously were, one or the other of us will inevitably not be able to shut up? Is it normal that Addy wants to wear her Tinkerbell costume over her regular clothes every single day- and is it okay that I allow this? Is it weird that I have such frequent dreams about being in high school? Does this happen to other people? Is it bad that when grocery shopping, I often choose kids' snacks based solely on whether or not they look like they'll be messy?

And lastly, and most importantly, is it abnormal that I really do not like Thanksgiving food very much? Especially the yams with marshmallows... And the JELLO SALADS! So... Many... Jello salads!

Humble Pie

I am not by nature a quick tempered or confrontational person. Like, even when I've had a glass or three of red wine, the most that happens is that I'll tell you loudly and with a great deal of animation how much I love you and how gorgeous your hair looks tonight! I really don't get a thrill from telling people off, or from any kind of DRAMA.

But last night, as Jim and I pulled in the driveway from a night of Christmas shopping for the kids, our neighbor stood waiting at the edge of our lawn to inquire primly if that "was your dog running around without a leash the other day." And man, I got immediately defensive and angry. This is the woman whose dog attacked ours the first time I attempted to take both the kids and Fonzie on a walk, just a few weeks after Eli was born. I was wearing Eli in a sling, and Addy had been strapped in the stroller, screaming in terror as I tried to drag the dog off Fonzie's neck while still protecting my newborn son. I yelled for help, but it took a few minutes before our neighbor, the woman's husband, sauntered out of his house to call his dog off. He seemed barely apologetic, just saying, "Huh, guess we need to keep these two apart, huh?" At the time, I was too shaken up to say much, but I was absolutely furious. His dog had run at mine- mine was leashed- and latched onto his neck, just inches from my two year old daughter. I have rarely felt so frightened and vulnerable. And unable to coherently express myself.

But boy, I found my words last night, and I quickly turned what should have been a short reminder to keep my dog in my yard into a tongue lashing about how this lady had some nerve, lecturing me about my dog escaping our yard when hers had been just lounging around in their front yard, unattended, when he obviously wasn't able to handle being around other dogs. She got very huffy, informed me that SHE never allowed such a thing and that perhaps her husband had forgotten to chain their dog, and then stormed down the driveway, yelling that there was no need to have gotten nasty.

I went inside, shaking and with a huge case of the nervous tummy. While I felt that I had a legitimate point, it was also true that a, our dog undeniably had been running around the neighborhood that morning, having escaped my eye, and b, the incident in question happened over a year ago, and it was an incident that this woman had had no personal part in. I felt terrible that I had ended the situation is such a way- I just can't stand to have people upset with me unless it's absolutely unavoidable.

I almost went back to her house, which is about four doors down, and tried to make amends. But I decided she might still be upset and not in a making peace frame of mind. So I wrote a note, not overly apologetic, but admitting that I was in the wrong for letting my dog get out and for bringing up such an old situation, and one that didn't directly involve her. I left it in her mailbox this morning, hoping for the best.

Well, I got a call from her this evening, and this lady was just pleased as PUNCH about the note. No kidding. She went on and on about how sincere and heartfelt it was, and how miserable she had been about our exchange until she found the note in her mailbox. She said, and I quote, "I really hope things can be just friendly and... And peachy between us from now on."

So, there you go, kids. Go forth and make peace. Even when it's a bitter pill to choke down. That phone call felt good.

Season's Greetings

It is snowing for the first time here. I mean, heavy, pelting, sticking to the ground snow. I am so! excited! It looks like a holiday card out there. We are celebrating by eating doughnuts and watching Clark Griswold and family making merry. Nothing like the classics.

Also, I went Christmas shopping this morning for the first time this season. I needed to buy gifts for a holiday get together that is happening NEXT SUNDAY. And now I need to buy WRAPPING PAPER. Is it, like, Christmas time already? What is going ON? Next thing you know I'll be dragging out the tree, and wondering where on earth I'm going to put all the gorgeous Christmas decorations I just had to have from last year's after Christmas sale at Target.

Anyways, it's been awhile since I took a poll, hasn't it? I sense your impatience for another one, my dears, so here we go: When do YOU put up holiday decorations? And what is your family's favorite holiday movie? (My answers, for the record, would be: the day after Thanksgiving, and A Christmas Story. Also, I'm not sure if this counts as a holiday movie, per se, but I always watch Love Actually at Christmastime too.)

Breaking My Rules By Making Some Rules

I am not, as a general rule, a big fan of strict schedules for kids. Or for myself, come to that. What I have had to admit in recent weeks, though, is that while schedule may not be a necessity for little ones, having a routine is enormously helpful. In terms of sleep, the last few weeks have been shockingly different to the previous months and years, thanks mainly to our reluctant instituting of a bedtime schedule. Which means both the kids are in bed by eight thirty, or very close to. Which means I can get a few hours of peace and still be in bed by eleven, as opposed to twelve or one, like before. Which means we all wake up around seven, when we're supposed to. And also that I wake up feeling reasonably okay, and not like I want to sob with exhaustion.

A month ago, bedtime was killing me, and not so softly, either. I would stagger into the den at ten or eleven, having finally succeeded in settling one or the other of the kids down for the final time, and fall onto the couch thinking, "Another baby would kill me dead. We simply have no more room for chaos- full capacity has been reached." After one particularly bad night when I was in tears of exhaustion and frustration, we decided we had to do something differently, so we put together a much more detailed bedtime routine than had previously been in place.

Before, the only set events which took place were brushing Addy's teeth, saying prayers and singing her a song. But it happened kind of whenever she seemed sleepy, which was usually not until nine or even ten. Eli was the same- we'd respond to his sleepy cues, rather than just arbitrarily saying it was bedtime. I still think this is, generally speaking, not a wholly stupid plan, and that it works for some kids. It worked for Adelay when she was a baby just fine. And really, it's still kind of what we're doing- we just had to force them to start getting sleepy earlier, and around the same time each day. It wasn't working for them to stay up so late, because we inevitably ended up staying awake later ourselves to try to get in a few hours of grown up time. This made Jim exhausted (and late for work) and me sluggish and miserable until about noon the next day.

So, we drew up battle plans, essentially, deciding that around seven o' clock, the bedtime routine would commence. We assigned ourselves battle stations (feeding Eli his nightly oatmeal, brushing Addy's teeth, getting out pajamas, etc.) that we should be manning simultaneously so that each child was ready to be tucked in by eight pm. We've been following the plan for about two weeks now, and while we are sometimes off by up to a half hour, in general we are adhering pretty faithfully to the rules. And it... It works. The kids are getting reliably sleepy, exhibiting their cues of glazed over eyes, yawning and thumb sucking, by about seven forty five each night. They are going to bed and staying there, without Eli's usual ruckus and protests and jumping and screaming and having to be settled down multiple times.

I suppose it's probably too early to call it, and one must also factor in the fact that they've been kind of sick-ish and run down lately with colds/allergies, and so may just be more sleepy and compliant in general, but... I think I may just be in love with our new schedule. Who knew?

Increasing My Carbon Footprint One Diaper At A Time

I am making another halfhearted go at pushing the potty training thing. As I type, (having been up for two hours already on a SUNDAY, what the heck) Adelay is dancing around bare bottomed to her Angelina Ballerina movie, her potty chair abandoned behind her. At the moment, her brother seems more interested in it than she does, though his designs for the potty have more to do with licking and less with peeing. Lord, but parenting is disgusting.

Ah, and now she's just gone to her room to fetch a clean diaper, informing me that she is done sitting on the potty. "Have you gone pee?" I ask hopefully, jumping up like a fireman to a bell. But no. As always. Two sticker charts, bags of pink M and M's, and multiple packs of Disney Princess and My Little Pony panties later, our successes on the potty could still be counted on two hands.

And... Eli is hunched over the potty chair, up to his elbows in the actual POT part now. He looks like a small, portly plumber. His little sleeper sleeves are rolled up, even. Off I go again to put a stop to it.

And I'm back. I must remember to corner and hiss at whoever suggested dragging that stupid potty all over the house with us.

Someone tell me about the worst potty training stories you can think of. Children going to sleep-away camp with Pull Ups in their duffels, that sort of thing. Cheer me up.

Overthink

So I kept hearing about all the LINES and the WAITING for voting this year, and I was determined to go, but equally determined not to take the kids with me. They are not old enough to appreciate the process, only old enough to whine incessantly and be miserable when forced to stand in line for more than two minutes. So. I convinced Jim to work from home today, got up a little early, got the kids all dressed and fed and changed and played with, and had Eli down for a morning nap by NINE AM. Nice. Then I got Addy busy with her paints, grabbed my purse, double checked my stance on a few issues, and dashed out the door.

Our precinct's voting center is the high school that is literally about two blocks away from us. But I was still feeling anxious, thinking LINES. Instead, when I got there, I had to wait behind literally one person, and was then immediately ushered through the speedy process of having about six rather old people find my name in their books, squint at my driver's license, copy down my first name as KAREN instead of Sarah (how?..wha?) and then discuss how they went to high school with a kid who had my very same last name and do I know good old Joseph so and so?

But that aside, whoa, the voting process was speedy quick and painless for me. I'm proud that I planned for any and all disaster, but yeah... I probably could have saved those plan-ahead skills for times like, say, when Eli had a poo blowout at the Y the other day and I realized my diaper bag was fresh out of wipes.

How about you? Everyone out voting with kids in tow, or did you have a contingency plan?

Here's To Autumn Sunshine

Good morning, my lovies. I had fun playing in the leaves with you today.

I Think I've Written This Post Before, But...

Today's exciting topic is spacing of children. This is something that frequently keeps me up nights. Say it's three am or so, and I'll have just settled Eli back in his crib, or given up and settled him into his favorite spot, draped across my neck in our bed, and it will occur to me that it would be awfully hard to be doing this WHILE being pregnant.

I think Addy was just a few weeks older than Eli is now when I got pregnant with him, so this would be roughly the time to try again if we wanted to aim for identical spacing patterns. But she was such a good sleeper that issues of bringing her into my bed at three in the morning maybe cropped up once a month, rather than once or twice (or every single night) a week like with Eli. And also there was just ONE of her. One of her, who napped reliably at least once a day and was kind of on the quiet, well-behaved side. (This is no longer the case, but darn it was luxurious while it lasted. Now it's all three-going-on-thirteen, hands on hips, ordering Mommy to the time out chair. While still refusing to go near the big girl potty. Yee-haw!)

I think about and waffle on this subject every. single. day. Part of me still really, really wants a big family, and wants kids approximately two years apart so they're close enough to be playmates and friends. Another part of me wants to perform my own lobotomy if I hear that familiar, swiftly escalating cacophony of tandem whining and screaming one more time. It's like some twisted, nursery school take on the dueling pianos concept so popular at dive bars.

Also, it amazes and frightens me how quickly I can go from thinking, "Look at the two little honeys! I must make MORE of them, right now!" to "Let's BOTH have sterilization procedures just to make sure, okay?" Surely such wildly shifting emotions cannot be trusted? I should probably put any decision making on hold until I can at least make it through a full day of feeling one way or the other.

Or... Does that day never come?

Buckle Up! So! Much! Randomness!

1. My kids LOVE the movie Madagascar. They both start bopping their booties as soon as the "Move It" music begins. I mean, they really get into it. They drop it like it's hot. This is also one of the kid movies that doesn't cause me to flee the room within five minutes. TWO THUMBS UP. I cannot wait till the sequel comes out. (Here's a picture of them watching the new "Move It" music video on Jim's laptop. That is some intense concentration right there.)



2. I am really regretting buying Halloween candy early. I think I'm going to have to buy more to replenish our stash before trick or treat night. There are crumpled Reese's wrappers all over this desk even as I type.

3. At least I am working out again. I'm not supposed to weight lift until my post-op appointment next week, but I've been walking, doing the bike, and even jogging the last few days. It feels so good. It hasn't yet made a dent in the five pounds I gained during the couple weeks following my hernia repair, but I'm sure it will soon. Just as soon as I put down the candy bag...

4. Last month I repainted our front hall for the third time in three years. I painted it a shade of lighter green. Before it was bold green. Not kelly green or lime green, but just... Green. Grass green, maybe. Now it is hopefully more of a sage green. Few people have even noticed the difference, but I definitely do, and I am happy I did it. But dang, was it hard getting even a hallway painted while trying to decently look after two small kids. I can't believe how I used to repaint the whole KITCHEN on a whim before I had kids. Like, "Oh sure, no problem, let's just tear this room apart this weekend!

5. I recently got side bangs. I realize I am about two years behind on this trend, but better late than never. Maybe. They really get in my eyes a lot. But I think I've noticed more sidelong glances when I'm out, so I suspect it makes me look younger. That's always good, right? Worth having to flat iron bangs every day?

6. Eli says, "Feed me or I will eat your soul!"



7. The fam in our soccer fan attire. For the record, we tried our darndest to get Addy in the photo, but the closest we got was a shot of her sliding off of my lap like a Gumby doll wearing a soccer jersey, so...



(Also, please note how my idea of babyproofing the wood stove area was to shove a loveseat in front of it. Easy peasy, and wholly effective.)

8. This is because I realized while downloading pictures that I still haven't posted photos from our zoo trip. Here's Adelay having her little mind just BLOWN by the polar bears. Or maybe it was the walruses. I kinda forget now.



And lastly, you may have noticed that this post was devoid of links in several spots where links might have been good. For some reason I could not get the linky thing to allow scripted windows, or some crap. And I am a little doped up on Benadryl and am probably missing a very obvious solution to the problem, but whatever. DEAL WITH IT, people. And a happy, happy Monday to you all.