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.

Complaining? Check. Halloween? Check. Movie Review? CHECK!

Why the heck are there suddenly fruit flies swarming my house? Is it not October? Do I not generally put food away in a timely manner? What is with the infestation? On another note, why am I actually posting this evening even though my computer is still on strike? Because I have access to Jim's computer, as he is out of town until tomorrow. So I had a wild night of grocery shopping and rice cereal spooning and multiple bathings! But it's cool. I actually went out by myself the last two evenings, sans children, so, you know, turnaround is fair play.

Last night I went to an... Odd Christian Halloween-alternative event put on by my old church/school. It's called Final Judgement, and basically, you end in a silver-tinsel bedecked vision of heaven after having journeyed through the depths of hell, complete with fog machines, cranked up heat, and screaming demons. And... And it was just so disturbing. On so many levels. The only reason I even went was curiosity, because back in jr. high I had been a cast member in this event several years running, and I was eager to experience it as an outsider looking in. Well. That was an experience I could definitely have done without. I'm so embarrassed I used to take part in it! Worse is that I genuinely believed I was doing the world some service! Gah... I'll just say this: it's no wonder so many people get turned off to Christianity in this country.

The evening prior was spent much more pleasantly, watching The Duchess with my mom after having dinner out, including wine and excluding baby food or chicken fingers. It was a great movie, I thought. I almost want to go see it again to more properly absorb it. Which means...

That's right, kids, it's time again for another installment of Desperate Housewife Movie Reviews! Today's film in question is the aforementioned historic drama, starring Keira Knightley, which I had the privilege of enjoying in a COMPLETELY EMPTY theater two nights ago. Said emptiness could, I suppose, reflect poorly on the movie itself, but I choose to believe it more reflected the fact that it was a Thursday night in a town where many people have recently cut back on their spending.

Anyhoosiers, it was awesome. So much better than The Other Boleyn Girl, which I had anticipated much more intensely. The acting was very good, I thought, and all the players well chosen. No one overdid it, really, and there was a kind of spareness and reserve to the script that left just the right amount of emotion and motive to the viewer's imagination. Well, ok, maybe not just the right amount. I could have done with a deeper look into some of the character's baffling behavior. But overall I prefer vagueness and lack of explanation to films that go to awkward pains trying to explain everything via dialogue, to the detriment of realism.

The time period (immediately following the American Revolution and on the cusp of the French Revolution) is one not often seen from a British point of view in films, so that was an automatic interest factor for me. The scenery was opulent and amazing (as is often the case when a movie is about a VERY RICH PERSON) and the costumes and hair seemed painstakingly accurate to the period. Sometimes horrifyingly so, actually- I don't know how women could even hold their heads up with such enormous and elaborate wigs on.

My only complaint would have been the camera work. My mom and I both kept noticing how WAY too many scenes ended in close ups of faces, especially the intimate ones. We're talking close up to the point that I could see the ingrown hairs and razor burn on Duke what's-his-nuts' five o clock shadow. That is something I would prefer to have glossed over, personally, but perhaps I'm too idealistic in my cinematic tastes. Maybe you will enjoy the razor burn. But either way you should see this film. Especially since it is based on an actual person's life. It's history! It's entertainment! It's a win-win!

Seasonal Affective Disorder! It's Come Early This Year!

Hey! Sorry about the long time, no post situation. It was soccer tournament time for Jim's team last week, so we were pretty busy and driving back and forth a lot. The girls played really well, from what I could tell, and made it further in the tournament than they did last year. They are out now though, I have to admit to a small amount of relief that it is all over with save the end of year banquet. It was kind of crazy around here sometimes with all the coming and going. I am looking forward to a return to our boring nights watching TV and folding socks. Er, I MEAN, taking walks and playing games.

Is anyone else feeling incredibly sad about the passing of summer? Two months into fall, nearly, and I'm still mourning it. I usually love autumn, and I am enjoying it, but it seems so brief, an all too fleeting last hurrah before winter sets in inexorably. Today it was so chilly out, even with the sun beating down, and I got very depressed for a minute thinking about how soon, none of us will consider leaving the house without a heavy coat and probably gloves. Soon everyone will be tracking in leaves and dirty slush every time they enter the house. Sweatshirts and sweaters will be the bulk of my laundry, meaning lots of wet things hanging to dry and lots of super long dry cycles. Soon it will be even harder than ever to leave my warm cozy bed in the mornings. Soon the chill winds will be freezing my nostril hairs, and ice will make leaving the house with small children seem daunting and dangerous.

Can anyone remind me of the nice things about winter? Besides Christmas, I mean. OBVIOUSLY there's Christmas. But Christmas also entails decorating and shopping (and thinking about how much money you're spending) and post-Christmas letdown, so it's not a WHOLLY magical thing, once you're old enough to partake in the work of it.

Oh and also, HALP! A few days ago my computer got unplugged, and when plugged back in has refused to return to life. The monitor turns on, but the computer sits there like a stone, stubbornly unyielding in response to my pleas and threats. So I finally snuck onto Jim's laptop to catch up on my reading and throw you all a little something. But does anyone know what could have happened to it? And also, what is up with my Fridgidair oven? Suddenly it is on strike, as well, and only the broil will work. The baking element sits stone cold. Are all our appliances like, staging a coup or something? (Just please don't let it be the toilet next.)

Breakthrough: Secret To Patience Is Drugs!

While recuperating, I have finally finished the crosstitch I started for Eli before he was even born. I also resigned myself to reality and filed away in albums a bunch of pictures that I had been optimistically stashing away to use for scrapbooking. Apparently that long-awaited moment when getting out glue and scissors and cropping tools seems like the best use of my time is never going to come.

Regarding Vicodin: I've stopped taking it every four hours at this point, but the last few afternoons I have given in around two or three o' clock and allowed myself to lie down on the couch and take a pain pill. I watch The Office (Jim got me the last season as a get well soon present!) while Eli naps and Addy plays quietly on the floor. Or sometimes even naps herself, a remarkable and timely gift courtesy of the head cold which struck down each and every one of us the day after my surgery. It's really fun to cough and blow your nose with a painful incision right in the middle of your abdomen! Wheee!

So to get around to the title, I've discovered that the meds render me a somewhat more patient and creative type of mommy. I am normally more of a "Why don't you color here at the table while Mommy unload the dishes!" type of mother, but lately I've been doing a lot more coloring WITH Addy. I also showed Addy how to form her play-doh into pretzels, but rather than doing it herself, she required me to continue showing her until the entire coffee table was covered in pastel pretzels. Which in retrospect means I probably spent about a half an hour making play-doh pretzels, but I don't remember getting antsy or impatient about it. UNUSUAL. And today, strangest of all, I actually instigated an honest to God craft project.

Fact: Addy loves helping me get the mail. So today when she finished industriously scribbling one line on about ten pieces of paper, I helped her fold them up like letters. But then, of course, she wanted to put them in the mailbox. Commence tantrum, right? WRONG! I averted a potential disaster by quickly helping her (pause for effect) FASHION A MAILBOX OUT OF A SHOEBOX. And further DECORATE it with construction paper, stamps, and pictures of My Little Ponies, Dora the Explorer, Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake which I SKILLFULLY CUT OFF OF HER LEFTOVER BIRTHDAY CARDS. I may photograph it later; I am that proud of this little project. I was very possibly more excited to show it to Jim than Addy was.

*On an unrelated note: I had a good moment today at CVS which led me to believe I am pretty much over my depressed phase. I was walking in with Addy to get diapers and milk when a woman walked out carrying a newborn little boy, snuggled sweetly in his carrier and pretty much looking like an advertisement for baby-having. And you know what my first thought was? Boy, I'm glad I don't have to haul my kids around in one of those thigh-bruising contraptions anymore! Then I squeezed Adelay's hand and continued on. Progress, no?

Am Sickly And Pathetic! Again!

So, um, did I mention that I was having a hernia repaired this morning? No? Well, I did, and hoo boy am I feeling it now, Vicodin notwithstanding. I am also enjoying the sort of fakey-tan orange shade of my stomach, thanks to all that sterilizing stuff they rub all over you before cutting.

The official name of my affliction is "incarcerated umbilical hernia," which is Doctor for "a hernia right underneath the spot where your belly button pops out during pregnancy." This is my second hernia repair, and I'm beginning to sense a pattern of medical procedures in my life (two pregnancies, two miscarriages, two hernias... Hope this doesn't mean a second knee surgery is coming! Har har! Just kidding! But also knocking violently on wood.)

Here's my question: Does anybody else HATE having IV's put in? Like, hate it even worse than the idea of being put under and having someone cut around in your abdomen? I am SUCH a baby about it. To be fair, every nurse has always told me I have small veins, so it is consistently difficult to get the Giant Surgical Needle into my hand. But still...

I've had approximately ten procedures requiring IV's in my lifetime (Jim and I counted up just for funsies while waiting this morning.) So you'd think it wouldn't cause me to cringe in terror anymore. And yet... This morning was particularly noteworthy, as my tiny vein sent blood spurting all over the crisp white hospital sheets before the needle was finally in place. Every time I looked over at the stains, I felt myself growing woozy and faint, somewhat in the manner of a delicate Southern belle wearing a tightly laced corset. And looking at her own blood stains.

Birthdays, Rapid Fire

Eli. Handled his first cake with admirable aplomb.




Sarah. Overly jolly following a glass of white wine and the unwrapping of the third season of The Office. Please note that recent weight loss has done nothing for the inevitable Photo Shot Double Chin.




Addy. In awe of the birthday booty she has raked in (including dangled socks.) Also, apparently wearing at least three tulle skirts.

Birthday Girl

Happy Birthday, big girl. Three years ago, I remember walking circles around the house, wondering if this was "it." Indeed it was, and you were born the next morning at eight sixteen, a delicate, blue eyed beauty. One of our visitors, holding you adoringly the evening after you were born, described you as a rosebud. I thought this was a perfect word for your newborn self. And for your three year old self, too. Throughout the day you are a wild child, run run running everywhere, constantly moving to the next activity, a whirlwind of energy and fun. But if you could only see your sleeping self! It is the very same porcelain skin, the full, pursed lips, the fan of thick lashes. I still see my rosebud baby. (Thankfully, however, I no longer see that plaid couch! Ahem.)

For Your Amusement

I heart The Office. My favorite line of all time is, "He's always up in my bidness. Which is ebonics for being in my face and annoying the bejesus out of me." A close second is, "I would rather work for an upturned broom with a bucket for a head than work for anyone else in this office besides myself." And third is, "Sometimes the clothes at GAP Kids are just too flashy so I'm forced to go to the American Girl Store and order clothes for large, colonial dolls."

A fabulous prize will go to the person who can tell me who said what! Like... Three glorious Dwight Schrute magnets and an Office post-it pad! Or maybe you'll just win the satisfaction of being such a cool person!