They caught me at the wrong moment

I generally try to be at least civil to the various right-wing, conservative publications and organizations that call my house looking for my husband. I see no point in getting into political debates with low-level, probably paid by the hour, employees (or for that matter volunteers). But after several hours of horn blowing and tears because the horn was not being equitably shared, the RNC called at JUST the wrong time. And got a mouthful about both their inability to keep accurate notes in their telemarketing database and their inability to run a country.

I think I am telling M that if he gives them a dime it has to be earmarked for upgraded telemarketing software and training. Because this is just embarrassing, and I'm not even a Republican.

Do you see why I have a headache?

It's a very loud, obnoxious horn which did not make it into the stockings for a reason. It was unfortunately found this afternoon. It is now free to a good home. Or even a not so good one.

Too wise

Today is swimming day for C, at least for this session. I have tried swimming lessons on a variety of days and at a variety of times but it has never quite worked out for us the way I had hoped. We are constantly running late and my temper is always short. Today was no exception. I was trying to get everyone fed lunch and C dressed while he insisted that Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head needed a change of expression. I finally snapped at him "You know, I'm not signing you up for activities if you aren't going to meet me halfway here. It's just not fun or quite honestly fair." Which of course led to a long conversation about what was and wasn't fair instead of movement towards getting dressed. But finally, I got everyone out the door only a little bit late. On the way to the pool C sat silent in the back seat.

Mommy: "C, are you OK?"

C: "Yeah, I'm sorry I made you mad."

Mommy: "Well, I'm sorry I yelled, but swimming costs money. And when you drag your feet and refuse to get ready, it makes me think you don't want to go. And if you don't want to go that's fine, but then I'm not paying for your lessons."

C: "No, I love swimming. But why does it cost money?"

Mommy: "Because almost everything costs money."

C: "Hugs don't cost money, do they? Cause I would like a hug when we get to the pool."

Mommy: "Hugs don't cost money C. And you may have as many of them as you want when we get to the pool."

C: "Not too many though or I might be late."

All in one week

In the space of a week I have become "Mommy" to A instead of "Mama," "Mom" to C instead of "Mommy," and A had finally lost the adorable full body shake for "yes" and instead lets out a subduded "yeah." I know all these things had to happen, but did they have to happen all at once?

Jealous No More

I have always been slightly jealous of my friends who have playdate after playdate and birthday party after birthday party. Their lives seemed so much more interesting and engaged than ours. While we have a few regular meet ups and hang outs, in general our life revolves around our house and whatever activities I dream up (or, more and more frequently, those C invents). I have frequently wondered if I am doing C and A a disservice by not exposing them to more children, not reaching out more to the other families we meet.

Today C and I spent the late morning at the adored Julia's birthday party. C had a blast stuffing his new pig Pete, eating pizza and chocolate cake, and participating in all the varied games and activities. I stood in the other room for most of the party watching C and listening in on the conversations of the other mommies who run in very different circles than I. The circles that do playdates and birthday parties.

As I was listening to the schedules these families keep, I realized that I could never have kept up if I had ended up in that world. By nature I am a homebody, my ideal day is one spent at home curled up with a good book or in the kitchen cooking. This weekend most of the children at the party had attended three birthday parties and they had playdates scheduled for most days of the week. It made me neurotic and anxious just thinking about the pressure of it all. Not so much from my children's standpoint, but from my own. I had a hard time finding someone to talk to through one birthday party; if I had been forced to do that three times this weekend M would have had to have me committed on Monday morning.

I know that many people thrive on interacting with others and look forward to social interactions with new people. M is one of those people and I believe that C will probably be one too. But it's just. not. me. C and A may choose to be more social when they grow old enough to dictate their own schedules, and part of me hopes that they will. But for now they are stuck with my choices. Today made me realize that I have chosen the path that is right for me just as my more social friends have chosen the one that is right for them. And my jealously has turned to relief.

Gul

Gul (n): A design in oriental carpets

And that folks, won me a game of Scrabble. The sleep deprived finally triumphed. I may regain my status of the family Scrabble master yet.

Comment Changes

I switched over to Haloscan because I just couldn't take the word verification thing anymore. The funky lettering gave me headaches, and I usually had to try three or four times to post a reply before I figured out what letters it wanted me to type.

In the process, however, the comment counts on my old posts seem to have gone away, although the comments are still there. I told you I wasn't too up on template customization. So bear with me as I try to figure this all out.

Edited to add: Now they are all gone. And stupid me didn't save a backup of my template. I may or may not be able to get them back. But know your voice was, at one point in time, heard, and will hopefully be heard again :-).

Awww

Mommy: "Tomorrow you and Daddy are going to go to Cousin N's baptism. A and I have to stay home because she's sick."

C: "Why can't Daddy stay home with A? I want to see you dance."

Mommy: "Umph. Well, Cousin N's mommy is Daddy's little sister, not mine, so really Daddy should go."

C: "But Aunt L is all grown up."

Mommy: "She's still Daddy's little sister just like A will always be your little sister."

C: "But Aunt L doesn't live with us."

Mommy: "No, and when you and A grow up you'll have your own houses too."

C: "I will miss A when we have our own houses. I really love her."

Two shows of sibling affection in less than 24 hours. I'm filled with motherly joy.

Celebrity Look Alikes

As soon as I saw this over at Phantom's I had to try. My celebrity look alike list for your amusement. Rebecca, as you know me IRL, this should make you laugh.

Gwyeneth Paltrow (62%)
Maria Sharapova (61%)
Sandra Bullock (60%)
Gillian Anderson (58%)
Madonna (58%)
Kate Winslet (58%)
Ingrid Bergman (58%)
Andie McDowell (57%)
Scarlett Johansson (53%)
George Clooney (50%)

Hey, if you look like George Cloony, how can you go wrong??? Now if only I could have their figures too.

Editted to add: I've been having fun with this and it actually picked up my two famous relatives on A's pic and A, C and I actually had some overlap. Go figure.

Frequent Flyers

We have become frequent flyers at our local pediatric ER. Last night M woke me out of a lovely sleep with a slightly panicked "Have you HEARD this?" A had the croup. It was actually the first time M had ever really heard the croup in all its glory and was suitably horrified. We quickly whisked A into the steamy shower and I waited for it to work the miracles it always worked with C. Five minutes, still barking cough. Ten minutes, still barking cough. Fifteen minutes, still barking cough and we managed to set off the fire alarms in the house. At 20 minutes with no improvement what.so.ever I called the on call nurse and calmly asked what else I should try. "Steam?" Check. "Humidifier?" Already running. "Elevated crib?" "Check. "Hmm. Cough syrup...wait, is that the cough? She's been doing that for how long? Oh, my. I hate to tell you to go to the ER but where do you live? Ah. You'll go to the lovely pediatric ER on a hill? I'll call ahead for you so they will have a room ready for you."

When your pediatrian's office offers to call ahead to the ER for you, I figured it was probably time to go. A and I raced off, and in what seemed like much too long a time for the middle of the night we arrived. And she stopped coughing. I called M from the parking lot, wondering if we should just turn around and go home. The ER at midnight, not fun. Not ideal. Not our beds. But then she started coughing again and in we went.

Needless to say, that was, of course, her last cough of the evening. And, once we were inside the doors of the ER, we were kept for observation for two hours and administered preventative steroids. While I sat there feeling like dumb overreacting mommy. We were finally released, and A got to spend another night in our bed. "Well, at least she'll sleep in after losing three hours of sleep," I thought. And she did, for a whopping hour and fifteen minutes.

On the upside, I no longer have to figure out what to wear to her cousin's baptism extravaganza this weekend.

New Years, Smuyears

So cell phone, out of juice this afternoon. And if you eat pizza at the pizza parlor instead of taking it out, does it still count as takeout?

It's not even February yet. I am such a weak-willed individual it is not even funny. Remind me never to make a New Years resolution again. This is just embarrassing.

Twice as Nice

After C was born M and I weren't sure whether we really wanted a second child or not. A second child meant leaving the city. A second child meant that I would have no other choice than to be a stay-at-home-mom as my income could never cover the cost of childcare for two. A second child meant another two plus years of limited sleep. We discussed and rehashed and discussed some more, but finally reached the conclusion that while it had its ups and downs, we were both very glad that we had siblings. And thus, A came to be. Now we can't imagine life without her, but before she was even an appleseed like object in my stomach it was hard to imagine the joy she would bring.

One day last winter C insisted he wanted to play outside but I didn't have appropriate winter attire for A. As a compromise, I bundled him up and then sat on the sun porch watching him trudge sadly around the yard while I nursed A. "This is why we had two," I thought. "In a few years A will be out there playing with him and he won't be alone."

Today we met several friends at the park. All the children C's age were girls and, like girls tend to do, they started playing "girl games" and refused to include C in a rather mean way. He wandered slowly off by himself to find a stick and practice his letters. All of a sudden a small purple object came flying at him and gave him a big hug. C smiled and hugged A back and then they concocted an elaborate game of their own. I never quite got the rules but the two of them giggled and chased and giggled some more and an afternoon on its way to a teary conclusion became fun again.

When we got back into the car at the end of the afternoon C sighed happily. "It's nice to be part of a family Mommy. Families love each other and it is nice to be loved." A reached over and held C's hand "Dove C," she pronounced and the two of them held hands for about thirty seconds. Then they started arguing over what TV show to watch after dinner and the love fest that had made me shed a few tears turned into a sibling battle of gargantuan proportions. And I wondered once again why I had decided to procreate at all...

Wigged Out*

Today I got my hair cut for the first time in, well, awhile. When I walked back in the door C came running to inspect the new do.

C: "Mommy, your hair is short! I like it." Pause (in a very worried voice) "Did you have to get new hair?"

The way the mind of a child works...

* Title courtesy of Rebecca.

A Playdate Pickle

For the last three, almost four years, C has been desperate for his peers to interact with him. While all the other babies in town were parallel playing and ignoring each other, C was reaching out trying to find a friend to connect with. He would offer up toys, babble incessantly, and dole out hugs and kisses to every playmate he met. He was always shrugged off or pushed away as the child being pursued looked for his own toy and space, but kept on trying anyway.

As I continually tried to keep C from upsetting the children with whom he played, I would tell myself, "At three this will be great! He will be the king of the playdate!" And for a brief period of time, he was. But for the past several weeks every playdate we have had, whether it be as our house or someone else's, has ended the same way. With C desperately trying to retreat into the lap of any available adult while the other child begs C to play a game with him. After our playdate yesterday I tried to elicit from C what the problem was. He kept telling me that he was a good sharer and that he was letting his friend play with the toys. I tried explaining that part of a playdate was actually playing with his friend, and in response he said sadly, "But I just want to play by myself Mommy."

I'm so unclear on what to do here. Do I just let him retreat into his shell, which seems very reminiscent of my childhood spent on the sidelines watching others play but being too scared to interject myself into their games? Do I keep trying to engage him with his friends when he clearly doesn't want to be engaged? Do I stop our participation in playdates for a while and let him chill out at home and then try again later? If past experience is any indicator there is something behind this change in personality, it's just a matter of figuring out what. Unfortunately, I'm clear out of ideas.

At school today I'm going to ask his teachers if they are noticing the same thing at school. I would doubt it as when I drop him off and pick him up he always seems cheerful and participatory, but then again I only see a minute or two during one of the more chaotic times of the day. Perhaps their response will shed some light on the situation. Or perhaps I will be left to figure this one out on my own. The bottom line is that I just want C to be happy, and right now I don't think he is.

Placeholder

Kristy, I will write up some farm stories for you, but not tonight and probably not tomorrow. I have to sort through a bit and try and figure out where to start. And right now I'm just too tired. So I did see your reader's choice selection, and want to do it justice (plus, if I get the details wrong Nana will send me to time out...).

Clean up, Clean up

C: "Mommy, the sun porch and the playroom are both really messy. I can't play anywhere."

Mommy: "Well, clean one of them up."

C: "But that will take a long time. I don't have a lot of time right now."

Mommy: "Why, what are you doing?"

C: "Being crabby. And a little grumpy."

Mommy: "I see. Well, even crabby and grumpy people need to clean up." Pause "Or take naps."

C: "I think I'll clean up the sun porch."

From the Back Seat

C: "Mom, you're going a little fast. What if a policeman sees you?"

Mommy: "Thank you for the reminder. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

C: Yeah, you missed the turn. Are we really late now?"

Sleep sleep, where art thou sleep

I'm at my wits end. No matter when A goes to bed, or how well or poorly she naps or sleeps during the night, she is up at somewhere between 5 and 5:20 am. This is not an hour at which I function. At all. But given the option between trying to force the issue and therefore waking up C who REALLY doesn't function well on less than 12 hours of sleep a night, I am stuck waking up at 5 am. Is it really true that there are 20 month olds who can function on eight hours a night? Cause that's what I'm looking at today. She got eight hours. And that's not counting the time spent during the middle of the night wake ups. I would take 7. Even 6:30. I was happy at 6:30. I used to go to work at 6:30. 6:30 would work.

Someone please tell me this is a phase and how you got through it. Please. I beg of you.

My biggest pet peeve

Oooh, good one Gina! It's so hard to choose. So hard to choose. Should I go with the people who walk soooo slow and in such a wandering way that one cannot easily pass them on the sidewalk? Or with the grumpy man at the Y who refuses to say good morning or respond to my cheery "how are you" as he swipes my ID card? Or, should I cause marital strife and mention the litter of K-Cups on my counter because the trash can is just.too.far.away. from the Keurig?

In actuality, I'm not frequently bothered by much of the pet peeve sort these days. Which is a real switch from the former, highly stressed out me. The old me had a list of pet peeves a mile long and I would get terribly worked up over each and every one of them. The subway riders who didn't give seats to pregnant women. The barista who did not make my tall decaf skim caramel macchiato exactly the way I like it. The people who left food in the communal work fridge for waaayyy to long. At some point a few years back I decided that it wasn't worth the constant teeth clenching and let most of it go. There are still many little things that bother me, but generally I can chalk it up to someone else's problem. I have much bigger fish to fry, like stressing over how to get my kids to sleep later than 5:30am.

But right now at this very moment I believe that my biggest pet peeve is the highly insecure mommies of the world. Don't get me wrong; I am a highly insecure mommy myself. But I choose not to share that insecurity with every random stranger I meet. No, I leave the pleasure of listening to my insecurities to a few close friends, family, and, of course, all of you. Just today I spent a good half an hour reassuring a woman that I had just met less than three minutes earlier that really, the fact that I carry pull ups in my gym bag in no way reflected the fact that my 20 month old was on her way to being potty trained, but instead the fact that she refuses to lie down on changing tables. And while I will happily change her on the floor at home, the floor of a public restroom, not so much. This poor woman thought she was losing some potty training race, however, and kept asking where she had gone wrong because her 23 month old was not yet in pull ups.

Or there are the women in the grocery store who freak out because I buy a lot of fruits and vegetables and tofu instead of french fries and hot dogs. Again, many many minutes reassuring a total stranger that just because her kids eat French fries and mine are begging for soy beans, she is not a complete parenting failure. Quite honestly, I'm not sure what my kids' issues are with potato products, I'm a fan and often wish we could keep a bag of French fries in the freezer instead of shelf upon shelf of veggie burgers and edamame.

It would never ever ever occur to me to subject a person I had never spoken to before to my parental hang-ups. When I notice a child C's age who can swim across the poll or who knows the first 14 presidents, I wonder where I went wrong and how I can fix it, but to open my mouth and let that freak out be known to the rest of the world? I don't think so. But perhaps it's just because I am so insecure that I am afraid to let my insecurity show. If I were comfortable with my insecurities, I might feel free to stop the woman who's daughter colored in each and every coloring page at church with an amazing precision and gorgeous color selection and ask her where I had gone wrong in providing C with artistic outlets. And then spend the next 45 minutes of her life discussing all of my parenting blunders as they relate to art.

Yep, while grumpy Y man and annoying slow walkers irk me for sure, verbal insecure mommies who are not known to me win the day. So now if you see me in line at Trader Joe's nodding and looking for escape routes, you'll know why. And you should run far, far away or you'll be the next target.

Huge Mess

C: (in a singsongy voice) "I made a HUGE mess! But I can't clean it up! Oh no, I can't clean it up!"

Warm Snap

We are in the middle of a January thaw here. I have to say, I hate the January thaw. With a passion. It gets warm enough, and starts smelling like spring enough, that I get excited and think that the end is almost in sight. When in reality we have at least three and probably four or more months to go until spring truly arrives.

A is rebelling at the undershirt because she is "too hoot" and C wants to wear his windbreaker instead of his winter parka. We are actually planning a playground trip for post-nap this afternoon. These things just shouldn't happen in January. It should be colder than cold, snowing, with perhaps a little ice thrown in. I should be huddled under blankets on the couch drinking tea and cocoa, not wondering where the beach ball landed last fall.

I am sure next week we are going to have a cold snap and I will be bemoaning the loss of the warmth that envelops us now. Which is exactly why I hate the thaw. Because if it didn't exist I would happily trudge through the rest of winter believing that there were no other options. Once the thaw hits though, I know that it can in fact be warm in the middle of winter. And once I remember that there is warmth out there I just can't wait any longer for spring.

Buttons, what buttons?

As I was trying to get both kids dressed and out the door this morning...

C: "Roar! ROAR! I'm ROARING in your face!"

Mommy: "Don't push my buttons. I'm tired and grumpy."

C: (Looking puzzled and inspecting my shirt) "You don't have any buttons on today."

Why I Blog

Barbara asked why I blog...why indeed. While I work on A's birth story, which is slightly more complicated that C's, here are my thoughts on blogging.

I started blogging in September 2004 because a friend had started blogging and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Nothing like being a sheep (no offense to sheep, I grew up on a sheep farm and they are lovely animals, just not original thinkers). I was pretty good about writing for a while, then my son was diagnosed with apraxia of speech and I started getting heart palpitations so my few precious minutes of spare time got eaten up by hours of speech therapy, many doctor's visits, and a lot of panic attacks. Blogging fell by the wayside at a time I probably could have used the outlet the most.

I started blogging again this September, almost exactly a year after my first post, go figure. C had been temporarily released from the speech therapy system after having made amazing progress thanks to a goddess of a therapist and an incredible amount of dedication and hard work on his part, which no one had expected or demanded from him. He also rediscovered the joy of napping so my free time grew exponentially in a matter of a few short weeks.

This time around I have used blogging more as an outlet for me rather than a way to record fun factoids about my kids. While the bulk of my writing is still about the kids, as what else do I really have to write about, I'm doing it for me instead of as a baby book substitute. I've always liked to write and my secret dream (besides being president of course) is to write a book of some kind or another. I don't really have the discipline or ability to write a book, but short essays on my kids, I can do that.

What I really like about blogging is the instantaneousness of it all. I write, I try to edit (unsuccessfully most of the time, I'm a lousy self editor), and I hit the publish button. Voila, my words are out there for the few people who are interested to read. I also like that it gives me a way to think about what my kids are doing and how I parent in a more detached way. In the heat of the moment I tend to overreact and think that just because A hasn't slept in days means that she will never sleep again and I am a horrific parent for not somehow teaching her how to sleep many months ago. Once I get things down on "paper" I can step back from it a little bit and laugh.

I also like the fact that I can follow along with others via their blogs. I've always been a huge fan of book series, I like to get to know characters and follow their lives in books. I used to cry when I got to the end of a particularly good series, and may even cry when the final Harry Potter installment arrives, although I've discovered that reading a series in "real time" is an awful lot less satisfying than reading it years after the author has completed it. I find the same kind of satisfaction in reading other blogs regularly. "Will little Bobby ever use the potty?" "How was Jane Smith's job interview today?" Also, I don't have many close friends "in real life" as I tend to be a clam in social situations. Being able to connect in some way with others who have children makes me feel much less isolated than I was before I began blogging in earnest.

What I don't like about blogging is the pressure I sometimes feel to write because I haven't posted anything in a while. I like the fact that a few people read my writing, and worry that if I don't post anything funny or thoughtful they'll move on to greener pastures and I'll be left alone in the blogsphere again pathetically calling "Hello? Hello? Anyone still there?" I also don't like the fact that I no longer have an editor who catches my typos, spelling and comma errors. I'm a bit of a perfectionist. At my last job I wrote grant proposals and had a wondrous woman who spent her time reading my work and fixing my errors. I got used to that and became lazy. I think I'm getting a bit better but still end up going back into my posts several times because the blogger entry screen drives me bonkers and I can't seem to find my errors until they are "live."

What I like and don't like about my blog. That's one I haven't thought about much. There are several posts that I am quite proud of and should really put up a "from the archives" section so people can find them, but I am barely stumbling through the blogger template customization and can't quite figure out how to do that. I'm not wild about my template options, but also not really willing to pay for a new skin. On my list of things to do (near the bottom) is to try and figure out how to do the template changes on my own. Someday. But don't hold your breath.

I also like everyone who has found my blog. There isn't a single commenter who annoys me or who I don't look forward to seeing pop up in my email. I really appreciate the time everyone takes to read my writing and comment on it. I'm not much of an express you feelings type, so take this as your love fest for the year.

Phew! I think I hit on everything. Thanks to everyone for playing along and giving me some things to write about. I'm happy to return the favor if you ever need it.

Reader's Choice

Clearly, I have been able to find very little of importance to write about over the last several days. A blog I saw once had a reader's choice entry, which I thought was fun. Of course I can't remember who it was, so forgive me for not giving credit where credit is due. And if it is you, raise your hand so I can assuage my plagiarism guilt. Or maybe it was from Ellen, who once did a viewers choice monologue (Leave me alone, it's my treadmill addiction.). Either way, still not my original idea.

Pick a topic, any topic. Anything you are dying to know about my not so interesting life? Any current events topic you would like me to weigh in on? I'll write about it to the best of my abilities. Fire away. There, the burden of creative thought is now on all of you...all six of you...

New Years Resolutions Be Damned

Today I broke several of my resolutions, lets see just how many.

I am on Diet Coke number three (caffeine free though...).

I took both children to the grocery store.

I am harboring much ill will towards the woman who commented that really, she had never heard a small child shriek quite so loud, and have I had A evaluated for developmental delays yet.

I am harboring more ill will towards the woman who commented that she had never seen a child scream so much when being forcible buckled into her car seat, was I sure that it fit her.

I have not looked at the New York Times since New Years.

I have not yet emailed out the Christmas pictures (but I DID download them to the computer, that's a start!).

On the upside, I have managed a shower every day.

I Forget

When my kids are sick I always forget how remarkable they are when they aren't sick. The descent into sickness is generally slow, the first day a little crankiness, the second crankiness and clinginess, the third crankiness, clinginess, and lethargy, and so on. As a result, I tend to think that they way they act when sick is the norm, not a result of their not feeling quite themselves.

The past few days have been the first days that both kids have been healthy in a long, long time. No cough, no runny nose, no fever, no nothing. And they were a joy to be around (well, until the disastrous playdate, but that was not entirely C's fault). They both "slept in," A until 6:30 and C until almost 8. No one woke up in the middle of the night. Everyone napped or had quiet time without protest. When I announced we didn't have mac and cheese in the house, the temper tantrum was minimal, and easily ended by the peace offering of tofu stir fry. They played elaborate pretend games together while I sat and knit and occasionally offered up suggestions like "If you are going for a walk with the stroller I think you need a baby and some toys for her..." Everyone snuggled and kissed and told me they loved me.

I took them out to lunch and no one cried, everyone ate, and we had a lovely time grooving to the salsa music playing. I was able to try on some jeans, check out the sales downtown, and we even took a walk around the town pond. I should have pushed my luck and headed to the grocery store, but I think that would have ruined the mood.

I know that if I kept them away from others indefinitely that the feeling good honeymoon would be replaced by trapped inside alone boredom, but the temptation is great to not take them anyplace to try and keep them healthy. Do you think they would look odd walking around in hospital masks and gloves?

Yarn pics plus a bonus shot

So for those of you who have requested (both online and off) a picture of the newly purchased yarn , here you go. The camera doesn't do it justice, but I am afraid to use M's new toy without lessons so it will have to do for now.

For the bonus picture, M's big fat cat who was too intrigued by the skein of yarn to stay away.

And yes, she is sitting on the dining room table. I gave up on that one years ago and just scrub the heck out of the table the two times a year we use it. From a cat's perspective it's a great location. The kids can't get to her easily, but as we have to walk through the dining room (hallway really) to get from the kitchen to the playroom, she feels like she's in the mix still.

Mission(s) Accomplished

Library books returned - check.

Trader Joe's visited - check.

Shoes-ehh, one has to ease back into errand running you know.

But instead of shoes I am now the owner of a pair of size 7 knitting needles, some gorgeous orangy-red yarn and a pattern for a very cute (and hopefully easy) sweater for A. Sized to fit her next winter as I figure that's about how long it will take me. My mother and Kristy will be so proud.

When C saw me with yarn and knitting needles, he almost did a backflip.

"Mom! You KNIT??? Why didn't you ever TELL me you knit. I want a sweater. Make me a sweater!"

How many years do you think it will be before he thinks it is decidedly uncool that his mother knits?

Giddy with Anticipation

In approximately half an hour we will all be leaving the house for someplace other than the pediatrician's. Yes, that's right, C is all better, A is all better, and it looks like I get at least a day of normalcy before someone comes down with something.

After dropping C off at school, where do I go first? Trader Joe's? The big grocery store? The shoe store to get A shoes that actually fit her? The library to return the dreadfully overdue books? Decisions, decisions.

Just the thought of going out into the world is making me positively beam with excitement. Enough so that C even asked "Mommy, was I really good? Cause you look really happy. What did I do that was so good?"

How did I not know this?

Mommy: "C, why aren't you asleep?"

C: "I am, don't you know that I sleep with my eyes open?"

Ahh. That explains a lot.

Blankets and Shoes

A has become an avid reader these days, so we read at every given opportunity. She has developed an interesting quirk, however. We can only read books that feature blankets or shoes. If a page comes up on which a person's feet have been excluded, she bursts into tears and demands where their shoes are. If a character has no blanket to snuggle, hold, or be tucked in with, she similarly bursts into tears because they have no blankie. Then we have to run through the litany of people in her life who do in fact have both shoes and blankets (read: everyone she knows) before she calms down enough so we can continue.

I am thrilled that she is developing empathy, although her choice of things to be concerned with seem a bit odd to me. My concern is with finding a book that we can actually complete without a hysterical meltdown. So as a favor to little old me, as you read your children books, keep an eye out for a combination of characters who both wear shoes and snuggle blankets. A and I will be eternally grateful to anyone who can find a satisfactory combination.

Looking for a bright side

So apparently the upside of having two children under the weather is that it is 1:45 and everyone (including a clean mama hippo) has been tucked in for naps. I'm a little unclear what I am supposed to do with myself here. Laundry has been folded, dinner has been started, and toys have been picked up. I suppose a smart person would be taking a nap themselves, but I feel like that would be such a waste of precious quiet time.

At least someone slept

While C puked and whimpered his way through the night, M snored happily on. Not criticizing here, just commenting. I am somewhat in awe of M's ability to sleep through an almost 4 year old crying hysterically and vomiting 10 feet from his bed.

C has been quiet since about 4am so hopefully we are through the worst of it. At least with him. I am now waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. A is in the fuggliest, oldest, too small outfit I could find.

Vomit Vomit

As we have not left the house in over a week except to play with another family who had been similarly housebound, I am unclear how we got this one. But there was much vomiting. Even C's mama hippo wasn't spared.

I guess we will not be resuming our normal activities tomorrow after all...

I have apparently underrated art

I am sitting at my kitchen table while my children are happily engrossed in art projects. A is scribbling away with purple markers pronouncing her scribbles to be "e" "d" or "a." C is cutting strips of construction paper and making sculptures with popsicle sticks. I could actually be cooking right now. Except for the fact that it is 9am and nowhere near the dinner hour.

I have clearly been missing out on the benefits art projects could be bringing to my life and need to reevaluate my dislike of all things artsy craftsy.

Just over 12 hours

I have officially broken a resolution, I finished off C's lunch for him. Apparently before he was actually done with it.

It's going to be a good year. I can just tell.

You know you are old when

you watch Dick Clark New Year's Rocking Eve in bed and fall asleep well before midnight. I was tired. I ate too much sushi. I'm getting old, what can I say.

I also exposed my utter lack of knowledge of 80's music. It was, at best, an embarrassment. Although for anyone with a good memory and grasp on pop culture, this is probably the game for you, if you change the rules a bit.

Happy and healthy New Year!

New Years Resolutions

I've never been much for New Years resolutions, but as we've been stuck in the house since before Christmas with snuffly, snotty, coughing children, I don't have much else to write about right now. It'll be fun to see how quickly I break each one.

I will not eat my children's leftovers.

I will not listen to children's music while alone in the car.

I will not start every conversation with "Did I tell you what (insert C or A here) did today?"

I will at least skim the headlines of the New York Times on a regular basis.

I will read at least one book a month that does not feature pictures and small woodland animals who talk.

I will not serve takeout more than once a week.

I will limit my diet soda intake to no more than two a day.

I will be better about emailing pictures to the relatives.

I will teach A to sleep through the night in her own bed.

I will teach C to sleep through the night in his own bed.

I will not lose my wallet.

I will keep my cell phone charged.

I will hang up my coat before M comes home in an attempt to keep the family peace.

I will not use the dining room table as a storage device for all things without homes.

I will not harbor ill will towards the little old ladies who comment on my parenting abilities in the grocery store.

I will not go to the grocery store with two children in tow except in the most dire of circumstances.

And last, but not least...

I will try to get a shower in at least every other day. Even if it means bringing my kids in with me.

I feel like a rock star

A's newest bedtime routine consists of a book (or two or seven) a lullaby, and then kisses on both her hands. Once I kiss her hands she stares at them and gets the "I'm not going to wash my hand/cheek/body ever again" look that pre-teen girls tend to get when confronted with their adored boy-band hero. I can't hold a tune to save my life, but I guess I've got myself a fan club of one. Now if kisses on the hands could only get her to fall asleep...

The Great Indoors

Today we had an unexpected visitor in our kitchen, a bird. Yep, a real live bird flying around my kitchen. At first I thought it was a bat and I freaked. Bats are not high on my list of favorite creatures. In fact they might be close to rock bottom. Right down there with rats and cockroaches. Once I figured out that it was one of those little winter birds (A chickadee? A sparrow? I'm not a bird watcher. Sorry Dad.) I calmed down a bit and stopped my hysterical "eeekkk" ing and started worrying that it was going to poop on my newly washed floor.

I grabbed a mop and started opening every window and door in the kitchen hoping that with some gentle prodding the poor lost BIRD IN MY HOUSE would find its way into the great outdoors again. Apparently my bird-herding skills are lacking, however, as instead of shooing the bird out of the kitchen door I sent it flying through the rest of the house. Which alerted the cats and children to the crisis at hand as I ran willy nilly through the house screaming "Here birdy birdy, out the door. NO! NOT the closed window, the open door! THE DOOR!!!"

The two cats were useless, not that I wanted them to kill the bird, just scare it outside. One slept through the whole thing, the other was so excited by this turn of events that she just ran circles around herself meowing at the top of her lungs. A followed suit, except instead of meowing she screeched "Mama! Bird! Bird Mama!" C sat on the couch and cried. "I'm scared Mommy! I'm scared! Oooh ohhh! He went that way!"

After much screeching, meowing, crying and shooing, the bird finally found one of a few dozen openings to the outside. C sat back and proceeded to tell me how brave HE had been. A sobbed hysterically that there was "No more bird mama, no more bird." And the cat went in search of her food dish.

While I am all for nature and wildlife, I'm not so keen on such things in my house. I'm still very unclear on how the bird made it in in the first place, and will be spending many hours searching for large, gaping holes in my kitchen. And perhaps investing in some skill-building lessons for my cats.

Bedtime Musings

C: "Mommy, even when I yell at you I still love you. And even when I yell at A I still love her too. Except when she rips my books."

The music of my life

While burning all of my CDs to the computer so I can then transfer them to my iPod I've had a chance to revisit my life, or at least my life since the CD came on the scene. And a little bit further back than that since I rebought many of my favorite tapes in CD form.

For whatever reason, there are certain songs that can instantly transport me to a different place and time. Enya's Caribbean Blue, for example, puts me back in a beat up Mazda truck at the one traffic light between my high school and home as I was racing to make curfew. The windows were down and it was a bit chilly, and I was amazed at how much traffic there was at 10:58 in the tiny little town center.

Hey Jealousy (Gin Blossoms) reminds me of what I believe is a now defunct bar from college. It wasn't a bar I chose to frequent, but one of my roommates loved it there so I spent portions of many Friday or Saturday nights sitting at a table near the windows watching the snow fall and listening to this song, wondering why I was there instead of at home in bed.

I'm highly embarrassed to admit this, but Rhythm is a Dancer (Snap!) was my top pick the year I lived in London. I think I probably liked it because I was broke, homesick, and the peppy dance beat gave me a brief jolt of something resembling energy. As I would run through the neighborhoods surrounding my apartment, I would just play that song over and over again. There was one particular street that had meticulous gardens which always found its way into my path. I could still tell you to this day what each garden on that pristine little road looked like. That was one of the few years that I was a hard core runner, I think because of the endorphin factor.

The entirety of Sophie B. Hawkins album Whaler, but Did We Not Choose Each Other in particular, reminds me of the long drive to graduate school the summer I lived at home to save money. It was an awful highway drive until the last 15 minutes or so when I started winding through the hills. It was at that point in the drive that Did We Not Choose Each Other always came on, and as I made the final turns into school, I would marvel at her voice.

I would be remiss if I didn't include our wedding song in the list, although the song doesn't actually transport me back to our wedding day. Instead it takes me back to the dingy house I lived in during my final year in grad school. M and I were watching Conspiracy Theory on the tiny TV during one of his few visits north. We had just spent the last week arguing over "our song." I wanted Marc Cohn's True Companion, he refused to play a song that talked about making love at a wedding (see my eyes roll???). I can't even remember what his song of choice was (sorry honey). As the credits rolled Frankie Valli's Can't Take My Eyes Off of You played and we looked at each other and shrugged. It worked. It got our mothers and the DJ off of our backs. And that folks, is how our song came to be.

There are many other songs that didn't make the list, but those are the ones that stick out as I flip through my collection. Note that there is no mention of Laurie Berkner or Music Together. While I love my children, their music tastes leave something to be desired these days. Although A did start bopping to Jonathan Richman this afternoon, so there is hope yet.

Six hours

Six hours of sleep last night. That's all. There is no way this child is possibly functioning. I am not functioning. At 9 pm I thought it was an ear infection. At 12 pm, when I turned on Blues Clues, I was convinced. At 6:30 am, when she woke me up after sleeping happily in my bed for 6 hours, I realized she had won the battle of wills last night and I'm going to be undoing this for weeks to come.

Arghhhh.

Save me from the chaos

I cannot bring order back to my home. The new influx of toys have many little parts, and defy organizational logic. I have tossed, moved, tupperwared, stacked, and squished. There are still toys without homes.

Have I mentioned yet that I hate a disruption to my organizational scheme? I go through this after every Christmas and birthday. I think I am instituting a "you bring it into my home you find a home for it" policy. Buyer beware....

The aftermath

Some quick holiday updates while I work on a longer entry.

Santa came, saw, and conquered. Both kids had a blast. And were very well behaved given the chaos. The toy hits were the plethora of Thomas add ons for C (yes, I caved) and the Wags the Dog slippers for A (No noise! Keep her feet warm!). She also liked singing Wags, but hasn't complained about his location next to Elmo just out of reach...

Yet again, we managed to screw up the turkey making process, forcing us to put the turkey BACK into the oven for another HOUR while the restless house guests foraged through our bare fridge. I pointed them to the stash of emergency rations in the basement, but no one seemed to find them as appealing as the string cheese sticks. Next year we're doing a Honey Baked Ham.

Nana and Grandpa S were very good doobies and entertained the kids for hours on end as I tried to sleep and decompress. Unfortunately, they did not take over the middle of the night hallway sitting. I tried to rope Santa into the task too, and he swore he would return right after the holidays. Really, he would.

My hit of the holiday season was an iPod. And I just have to say that my iPod ROCKS. I didn't realize what I had been missing or I would have asked for one the instant they came out. It makes picking up the mess at the end of the day so much more enjoyable. I just need to figure out how to separate the kid music from my music in the shuffle. I don't need to listen to the Wiggles once everyone is tucked in bed, as tempting as it might sound...

Anyway, it's back to normal today as Nana and Grandpa S have headed back home to recover from reading Blueberries for Sal over and over again. A is still drippy and coughy (although fever free, thank God) so we have no immediate playdates scheduled during the most boring week of the year. Happy, happy, joy, joy. At least there are new toys to entertain us all.

Happy Merry Holidays

Everyone over here at Chez J-E wish you and yours a happy merry holiday, however you chose to celebrate (or not celebrate). I'll probably be offline for a few days, although it sounds like I'm the only blogger around still blogging at this point anyway. But as M returns to work Tuesday, I'll be here next week. So if you see me trolling your archives, take it as a compliment that I miss you all. Enjoy your vacations, family togetherness and all that fun stuff. Can't wait to read all about it...

Do you think they make middle of the night house calls?

Scene: 5am Chez J-E. Mommy and Daddy are tucked snug in their bed. The pitter patter of little feet are heard. C arrives (on mommy's side of course) for a snuggle. Mommy is too tired to escort him back to bed, so in he crawls.

A few minutes later, another noise is heard. This time emanating from A's room.

"Wee wee? Wee wee?"

M: "Did she just call out for the Wiggles?"

Mommy: "Yep."

C: "I think A is up and she wants the Wiggles."

Mommy: "Yes, it sounds like she does."

C: "Can we get up and watch the Wiggles?"

Mommy and M: "No."

I find it highly unfair that she is calling out for the Wiggles at 5am, yet we are the folks who have to get out of bed. If their appeal is that strong, they should really take responsibility for their actions.

Lost, Reward Offered

Lost: One Farm Journal's Cookie Cookbook

Location: No where obvious

Reward: A healthy portion of gingerbread man cookies

I have lost my cookie bible two days before Christmas. C is insisting that he must have gingerbread men, only Nana's gingerbread men. Nana has left her house and is somewhere on the Mass Pike en-route to our home and therefore cannot provide her copy of said cookbook.

If anyone happens to have said cookbook and can offer up the gingerbread men recipe, please let me know. I will send you copious quantities of gingerbread men in return.

Explain this to me

M's side of the bed in MUCH closer to the door than mine. Why is it that all of the little visitors at 2,4, and 5 am walk ALL THE WAY AROUND to my side? I figured that when A started making the pilgrimage she would head directly to her beloved Dada, but no, last night I woke up with a start to find her peering into my face commenting on the fact that I had no glasses on.

I just want an uninterrupted night's sleep. Is that too much to ask for from Santa? I'll give him my share of chocolate...

C's random thoughts of the day

C: "Nicholas didn't know where heaven is." (pause) "Where is it?"

Mommy: "I think maybe it is in the sky? I'm not really sure."

C: "I think it's on a boat."

_____________________________

Mommy: "C, what are you doing?"

C: "I don't think I want to tell you."

Mommy quickly races to the scene of the crime. C is wrapping scotch tape around the coffee table (see, I TOLD you that they like scotch tape...). C looks up guiltily.

Mommy: "I'm going to pretend I didn't see this until later."

C: "Really??? You're being so nice today Mommy."
_____________________________

C: "Under the swaddling, does Baby Jesus wear a diaper?"

_____________________________

C: "Why does Santa come down the chimney?"

Mommy: "I don't know, let's Google it."

Mommy: "It says that Santa started coming down chimneys for the Dutch children. That doesn't help me at all. Why did the Dutch children need him to go down chimneys?"

C: "I thought Google knew everything. I'm so disappointed."

Weird Things About My Kids

Landismom over at Bumblebee Sweet Potato tagged me for this meme. I'm rather excited as I've never been tagged for anything before, not even in games of tag. I was always the kid who ran and ran and no one wanted to catch. Sigh.

Anyway, without further ado, here you go.

1) Both my children eat virtually only fruits and vegetables. On his second birthday, C turned aside pizza in favor of broccoli. True story.

2) C falls asleep every night to a CD of Gregorian chants. At least that's what we think they are, I'm not very up on monastic chants.

3) The first word out of both C and A's mouths was "cat." Not mama, not dada, not hi. Cat. Mama and dada didn't enter the picture until about word 100 for C and 50 for A.

The next two are toss ups. Should I mention the fact that my children eat their waffles and pancakes frozen? Or that they both prefer playing with scotch tape to all toys in this household. Decisions decisions. I think I'll go with:

4) A is allergic to every brand of diaper except the really expensive Pampers Cruisers. Have you ever heard of a child allergic to DIAPERS? Even my pediatrician scratched her head. If I were a different type of mommy I would have started cloth diapering. But although I did consider it, I hate laundry too much. Plus, M would have never ever changed another diaper.

5) C can remember in which space we parked our car and for what purpose months. For example, when at the mall a few weeks ago he pointed to a space and said "That's the space we parked in when we came to get Baby C a birthday gift." Her birthday is in July. And it was in fact the space. Or at church, where we have obviously parked in many different spaces, he can point out the space we parked in with the baby green car when Mommy had to drop off some papers, and the space we parked the big black car in when we came for the BBQ, and the space where we parked when we saw his babysitter in the green dress, etc. I find it a bit disturbing, although it is a handy trick when I can't find my car...

I'm not sure how the meme tagging thing works, so feel free to play along if you so desire. Kristy, cough cough. And Steph, poke poke.

There's No Crying in Jammies!

So I'm getting C ready for bed tonight and I tell him to pick out his pajamas while I get out of my suit. When I come back, he has picked the new pj's just sent from Auntie M. He loves them, but they are light-weight and we're going through a cold snap right now (not to mention that our house is almost 250 years old and just a wee bit drafty), so I wanted him in the warm footie jammies. And of course, when I say as much, he starts crying because this is the biggest crisis to hit his life since, well, the last one.

I choose to ignore the crying and press on: "Oh, hush, C. Get in your diaper."

C: "It's a pull-up daddy." (He's potty trained but the pull-up is our insurance policy at night).

Me: "Well, when you're crying like a baby, you wear a diaper like a baby."

He stops for a second, turns to me, and says very seriously and without a tear, "Daddy, sometimes people just get sad and right now I'm sad."

Are three-year olds normally so in touch with their feelings? Are we raising Dr. Phil here?

Ah well, I let him wear Auntie M's jammies, he now looks like a 3-foot-tall candy cane, and life goes on...

Just call him motor mouth

Yesterday I got to take C to swimming lessons without A in tow as M was home because of the transit strike in NYC. So instead of chasing A around the parent "lounge" (really, it's a hallway) and trying to keep her somewhat entertained, I was able to actually sit and watch C swim. After about five minutes it became abundantly clear why we are repeating the introductory "learn how to get into the pool without crying class" for the THIRD time. You see, instead of focusing on swimming like the other children, C is using the time to make friends. He chatted up the lifeguard when he arrived, made the rounds to all of the different teachers, and then checked out the older kids' cool goggles before heading to the lane in which his class was occurring.

He obligingly put on his white bubble but then saw a friend in the next lane and started conversing with him about the temperature of the pool today. As he began his doggie paddle down the pool, he stopped to visit with the lifeguard again, checked in with the teacher, and encouraged the little girl trailing behind him to "keep it up!" He was perfectly happy and charming and polite to everyone, but focused on swimming he was not.

At the end of the lesson I had to go in and collect him as he was still chatting with the lifeguard. As I walked by one of the instructors, he stopped me and said, "C is the sweetest kid. But man, can he talk." To which I had to agree. It had just never occurred to me that his penchant for conversation would spill over to athletic endeavors. It is clear that I need to rethink C's extracurricular activities. Do you think three is too young to start the debate team?

Desperate or brilliant, you decide

I thought I had sunk to a new low over the weekend, but if that was low, this is rock bottom. A refused to nap in her bed this afternoon (surprise, surprise). Since she is sick, she has.to.sleep. or she will never kick this thing. So in a moment of sheer desperation (or brilliance, I'm not sure which yet) I scooped up both kids, carried them to the car in slippers, and drove like the wind to a friend's where I borrowed a Video Now player. I then took a detour to Dunkin Donuts drive thru, picked up a decaf latte and returned home. C is now happily watching Sesame Street in the back seat, A is snoring away, and I am blogging from the comfort of my car parked as close as possible to the wall with the wireless hub.

You can all laugh now. But we are all happier than we have been in days.

Jinxed

Not to continue my whiney theme from the last few weeks, but A seems to have developed a horrific cough in virtually no time what so ever. We did mommy and me gymnastics yesterday, and about halfway through the class she broke out in this horrific, verging on croupy sounding, cough. The other mommies gave me that "Why did you bring a sick child to class" look, and I frantically tried to explain that really, I swear, I hadn't heard that cough until right that very second.

By 2am she had a roaring fever on top of the horrific cough. I think I will just cry now. I will not be leaving A with the babysitter I hired so I could get the trimmings for the several holidays meals I will be cooking over the weekend. I will not be leaving her with the babysitter to finish purchasing stocking stuffers. I cannot even take her to the store. I am going to be stuck running around on Christmas Eve with the 40 billion other last minute shoppers, even though I had thought I had finished my holiday shopping well before Thanksgiving.

This is my own fault. She got the cough less than three hours after I mailed a holiday card to my pediatrician saying I hoped we wouldn't see her until C's four year appointment.

When will I ever learn about jinxing myself??????

Self Esteem

A is currently stomping around the playroom in a pair of yellow rainboats singing the Wiggles theme song at the top of her lungs and stopping periodically to flail her arms wildly and clap for herself. C announced at lunch that he was the best gymnast in class today, even if he couldn't do a handstand yet.

I am always amazed at my children's self esteem. I hope they can hold onto it through adolescence, it will serve them well.

C-a-n Y-o-u S-p-e-l-l?

No one ever told me that spelling would actually be a much more useful tool in my life than higher math as I failed spelling quiz after spelling quiz and lost spelling bee after spelling bee. But now that C and A understand every word we say, I find that at least some portion of my conversations with adults involve spelling.

Dinner decisions, for example: "Do we want to go out for p-i-z-z-a?" "Oh no. How about the d-i-n-e-r?

Or holiday gift discussions: "Did your parents get him the j-e-t e-n-g-i-n-e or the b-r-i-d-g-e?"

Or looking for the light at the end of the tunnel: "Is it time for b-a-t-h?"

I even find myself spelling out loud when childless. This weekend at the grocery store, I was apparently muttering "Shall I get the pre-made p-i-z-z-a or the d-o-u-g-h? And where is the c-a-n-d-y?" as I wandered the aisles. When a friend stopped me near the c-o-o-k-i-e-s, she just about fell over laughing.

Recently we've run into a little problem, however, as C is starting to spell certain words, such as p-i-z-z-a and b-a-t-h. In order to keep my children from discovering that p-i-z-z-a is even a dinner possibility, we either need to increase our spelling speed or change the spelling to an understandable by adults but temporarily confusing to children alternative. Neither scenario is particularly appealing to the spelling challenged. I have hard enough time getting the spelling right a half speed, at double time I am sure to fail miserably. And while changing the spelling might seem like it would be a no brainer for me as I generally spell wrong anyway, it's not a skill I'm particularly good at on demand.

I was never skilled at gibberish or pig Latin either, it took too much thinking on my feet and I tend to get flustered under pressure. I could speak in French, but M is a Spanish guy, and I'm not about to take up a new language just to keep my children from hearing the word c-a-n-d-y. And plus, they're smart enough that it would be no time at all before they figured out that caramelo is really c-a-n-d-y.

I haven't yet figured out a solution to this issue beyond wildly making gestures that bear no resemblance to p-i-z-z-a or b-a-t-h (did I mention I am also lousy at charades?) and M spends a fair amount of time looking at me quizzically and saying "Huh? Repeat please..." Perhaps if we both learned ASL? Or perhaps I should just stop speaking of things I don't want my children to hear...

Contemplating My Navel

Over the last 24 hours I have spent a total of five hours sitting on the floor outside A's door trying to cajole her to sleep. Most of the time has been spent staring at a blank spot on the wall wishing I had had the foresight to prepare a small snack, and perhaps procure a book or magazine to read, while periodically reassuring A that I have not left my post outside her door.

After cleaning out under my fingernails, showering love on the parade of cats who realized I was a captive petter, and doing a few yoga poses, I sat contemplating the larger issues in life. In no particular order, here are some random thoughts from tonight's sit-in.

We need to get a nice comfy rug for the hallway if I'm going to be spending the next 16 years sitting out here several hours a day.

I should really find a hobby. If only I knit or sewed or did anything requiring very little apparati, I would probably be much less annoyed by the hallway sitting experience.

Is apparati the plural of apparatus? I should look that up if I ever get out of the hallway.

Perhaps I could stash some snacks in the linen closet. I seem to be rather hungry when sitting here with nothing else to do.

The heat in the hallway leaves a lot to be desired. I really need to call the furnace guy and have him take a look at our heating system.

There is a large black spot on the wall which needs a visit from the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

All male members of our household snore. Even the cat.

Do we think sipping a glass of wine while sitting in the hallway at 8pm is inappropriate? Cause really, a nice glass of wine might make the experience a bit more enjoyable.

I actually really like my bed. It is comfortable and warm. Very unlike the hallway. I'm not so fond of the hallway these days.

I still don't know what I am cooking for the holidays. I really need to figure that one out. Perhaps I should stash a cookbook with the snacks in the linen closet.

Speaking of snacks, I wonder which class party I am supposed to be doing for C's preschool class. I should look into that if I ever leave the hallway.

Did I mention that the hallway is cold and uncomfortable? Just checking.

I wonder what I am going to do with my life when my children are in school more than 6 hours a week. I guess I'll need to find a job again.

I wonder what I want to be when I grow up.

I'm fairly certain that I don't want to be anything that requires me to spend a lot of time sitting in hallways. I guess that means that hallway monitor is out.

I still have half my holiday card list to complete. I wonder if there is enough light from the nightlight to address them.

I wonder why we all bother with holiday cards anyway. I mean not that I would ever be on top of things enough to write the holiday letter, but I do enjoy getting the few I receive. More people should write holiday letters.

The clock in C's room ticks quite loudly.

I wonder how he ever falls asleep with that ticking away over his head.

On second thought, it's actually quite mesmerizing. I wonder if A would freak if I just lay down on the floor.

Ah. That's better. Nope, nope. She figured it out. Up I go.

Shhh. I think she's finally asleep...

Socks????

I was hoping for the Christmas sweater, but got socks. Blech.

You Are Socks!

Cozy and warm... but easily lost. You make a good puppet.

What Crappy Christmas Gift Are You?

A New Low

I reached a new low in my parenting experience today. I walked out on my screaming daughter and ran away to (drumroll please) the grocery store. At nap time I just completely and utterly lost it. The child would not sleep, would not be quiet, would not be rational. I know that expecting rationality from a 19 month old is a bit much, but she has the vocabulary and sentence structure of a rational human being so I find it hard to remember that she is in fact still a very small, just minutes from infanthood, human being.

M was a star today, while I ran away to the grocery store he managed to get her down for a real nap. When I returned he announced that she was 100% my daughter as she is stubborn as they come and likes her back scratched. Go figure. Even C is somewhat amazed by her ability to allude sleep. At bedtime tonight he told me that A was a very sleepy baby, and he didn't understand why she didn't like her bed. His suggestion was bumper beds (bunk beds for the uninitiated), but somehow I don't see those working out quite as he imagined.

Tomorrow is another day. Hopefully one filled with an awful lot less yelling and crying. And hopefully for your sakes I can find a topic other than my daughter's sleep issues to write about.

Not to beat a dead hourse but...

there is still no sleep over here. A was up every hour on the hour and C was up every hour on the half hour.

To top it off, A has decided that she is too big for diapers and strips hers off the instant I put it on and then runs to the potty. Not that she has once peed in the potty, she doesn't have the control. But she seems to think it is time to potty train. And I must beg to differ. I can't handle the stress of potty training while sleep deprived. I just can't.

Overheard at Bedtime

C: "Do I have two daddies?"

Mommy: "Uh, no. You just have one."

C: "Oh. I guess I'm not lucky then."

Mommy: "Why?"

C: "Well, Jesus had two daddies, and you have two daddies, but I only have one. And two is better than one. But then again I have the best daddy in the whole world, right?"

Mommy: "You do indeed."

C: "So I guess I am the luckiest boy in the world after all. But if I had two daddies I would be even luckier..."

Things I learned last night

1. Rain drops on the roof are not a sound A likes.
2. A 19 month old is not a rational individual.
3. C has become a light sleeper.
4. Two children and a grownup do not fit in a crib turned toddler bed.
5. Two children and a grownup and a cat do not fit in a twin bed.
6. A cat is not a rational individual.
7. 4am is not an hour at which I function well.
8. 4am is too early to be up.
9. The Wiggles do indeed make a night night CD.
10. The Wiggles night night CD may be my last shot at sanity in this century.
11. I was willing to pay an astronomical shipping fee to ensure that the Wiggles night night CD arrives in my home as quickly as possible.
12. A is going to be a very difficult teenager if she continues down the path she is following.

Happy Birthday Nana

Today Nana is, well, we won't tell the whole internet now will we? C and A will call at an appropriate hour, but since we are all up now, and I'm fairly certain you'll log on before work, here's an early morning birthday shout out.

Oh, by the way, this is my blog. The archives have (more or less) a year+ of stories you've already heard about C and A typed up for posterity. They're on the left side of this page (click the underlined words). Some of them are OK, some of them not so much. Browse at your leisure.

And you can confer with Cindy if you wish, she got a similar birthday gift this year (click the underlined words again). Becca explained it all a bit better. I'm a little sleep deprived right now so I'll explain more in person.

Happy Birthday, we love you.

P.S. Auntie M doesn't know about this yet either, so don't tell her. I'll send a link to her in a bit too.

The kind of parent I am

Before I had C I had visions of the kind of parent I would be. I would sit on the floor and play games endless with my children. We would do lots of arts and crafts, and make big messes all the time. The kids would love to read and read and read, and I would snuggle with them on the couch narrating all my favorite books. My children would take long naps, and I would have an opportunity to read my own books, work on my own projects, and get dinner ready. We would eat as a family and then everyone would happily drift off to sleep in their own beds.

In reality, I am a very different type of parent. I'm not much for floor games. I do set up train track after train track, but I tend to let my kids figure the stacking cups, puzzles, and stacking rings out on their own (or not) as they choose. I make toy suggestions ("Why don't we get out the cars") but don't get down and zoom the cars around myself unless begged.

Arts and crafts drive me bonkers. I never liked them as a child, and I truly hate them as an adult. Crayons are fine, markers are OK, I avoid paint and glue like the plague. I've been relenting more and more on the paint front with C, but it takes some real negotiation on his part. I don't know what possessed me to think I would be an arts and crafts parent, but I am clearly not. I hate big messes. Which I am sure amuses my mother to no end.

We do read. A lot. And I will read the same book over and over and over again until I can recite it word for word on demand. Unfortunately, my favorite childhood books are not my children's. But 99% of the time I let them choose the story of the hour. I hope our tastes merge when we hit the chapter book stage, but if they don't, I will still be a mom who reads.

As for the long naps, yeah. Those never happened. With either child. I've always been lucky if I could squeeze in a shower, and maybe a trip to the garage to take the trash out. There is no mommy time for reading, projects, or cooking. The family dinners are also few and far between. Between M's commute factor and the lack of daytime sleep leading to an early bedtime factor, there is just no possible way that a family dinner could possibly work. And quite honestly, while I have some guilt over it, I relish the 30 minutes of time with M to talk about grownup things and eat grownup meals.

I frequently wonder how my children will remember me when they look back on their childhood. Will their therapy sessions be all about how mommy wouldn't do art with me? Or how mommy emptied the dishwasher while I ate dinner? Or will they remember the snuggles on the couch reading books or the long, long chats we have about whatever strikes their fancy. I hope they will look back on their childhood fondly, and be glad I was home. But some days I question whether I'm really the type of parent who should be staying home, or whether I've made a colossal mistake.

A 2, Mommy 1

We're 0 for 2 in the nap department. I'm going to count last night as a win for mommy in overtime. C is so exhausted that he is happily sleeping his way through the afternoon, while A sit and stares at me with a vacant, much in need of sleep look.

If she never naps again I'll, I'll, I don't know what I'll do. But it will be big and awful and impressive.

Let the games begin

Well, it could have been a worse night I suppose. At least C promptly climbed into his bed for once and stayed there in the interest of showing A how it is done. If both children has been up wandering the halls M might have come home to a note explaining that I had driven to Boston to deposit my children with Nana for the duration.

I think the fact that A refused to nap in her new digs helped as it only took about 2 hours for her to finally fall asleep. She spent the first half hour convincing me she wanted to sleep in the pack and play, but when I finally set it up for her she promptly climbed out in about 5 seconds flat. At least she could do that one safely. But if it didn't contain her, it didn't help me any so bye bye pack and play.

The next 45 minutes or so were spent with her sitting on a stool kicking her legs commenting "I sit. I SIT." while I sat in her doorway responding "Get into your bed A, it's night night time." She finally got tired of that game, and came over to pull me to back to her bed. Not to put her into it though, oh no. She wanted MOMMY to sleep in the bed. In the interest of convincing her that beds were for sleeping, I obligingly shoe horned myself into the former crib turned toddler bed, and she happily climbed in. And then out. And then in. And then out.

It was crystal clear that this was yet another game, so I returned to my not so comfortable perch in the doorway and began my mantra again. "Get into your bed A, it's night night time." She finally came over and put her head in my lap and began fake snoring. Which eventually turned to the sleepily little sighs she makes as she is falling asleep. I carefully snuggled her, sang her night night song, and laid her down in bed. "Mama sing again, Mama sing A again." After several rounds of that, she was too tired to more than whimper for a second as I left to room.

A actually DID stay asleep in her bed until 5:45 this morning, so at least there wasn't a middle of the night repeat of the bedtime fiasco. But for those of you counting, she has gotten a total of 16 hours if sleep in the past two days. C is down a significant amount of sleep too as he has been woken by the early morning scream fests. It's going to be a fun day.

I'm still reserving the right to head to Nana's for reinforcements. At least both children would be tired enough to sleep the whole way. If I stopped off at the library and got a book on tape the drive might actually be decadent.

Freedom of Speech

When I picked C up from school today he climbed into the car and burst into tears. At first he refused to tell me what was wrong, but by the time we had made it out of the parking lot it all came pouring out. Apparently, another little boy in C's class had told him he couldn't talk about the Baby Jesus. After getting over my initial shock that my son was bringing up Jesus in playground conversation with friends, I quickly tried to explain to C that no one could tell him what he could or couldn't say.

Mommy: "Just because someone tells you that you can't say something doesn't mean you can't say it C."

C: "But he said I can't say it. It made me sad. I like to talk about the Baby Jesus. It's almost his birthday."

Mommy: "Well, if that's what you want to talk about then you should talk about it. Other people can choose whether they want to listen to you or not, and someone may decide that they don't want to hear about the Baby Jesus, but they can't stop you from talking about him."

C: "Why?"

Mommy: "Remember the pilgrims from Thanksgiving?"

C: "Yeah, the ones who hadn't built the grocery stores yet."

Mommy: " Right. Well, do you remember why they left their homes?"

C: "No."

Mommy: "Because they didn't like how the government where they lived did things. One of the things they wanted was something called freedom of speech. Which means that they wanted to be able to say what they wanted to say without getting in trouble. And they also wanted to be able to pray to God how they wanted to pray to him instead of how their government told them to."

C: "Uh huh...."

Mommy: "So when they wrote the rules for their new home, one of the rules was that everyone could say what they wanted to without getting in trouble."

C: "So I can talk about the Baby Jesus even if he told me I couldn't?"

Mommy: "Right. No one can tell you what you can and can't say."

C: "But what if he doesn't want to be my friend anymore?"

Mommy: "Well, that's a decision that you'll have to make. You can say whatever you want, but you also can't force him to listen to you."

C: "Oh. But I like being friends with him."

Mommy: "Do you want to be friends with someone who tells you what you can and can't say?"

C: "I don't know. I guess not. But maybe I could just decide not to talk about the Baby Jesus around him."

Mommy: "You could do that."

C: "I'll have to think about it."

I think that's the best one can ask of an almost four year old. Peer pressure is a bitch.

It's Over

We spent the weekend trying to convince A that cribs were for sleeping, not climbing. On Saturday morning I though we had done it. Then at 5am this morning, there was a crash. And it is over. Over, over, over. At 19 months I am moving A out of the crib.

I keep telling myself that I was equally terrified about moving C to a bed, and he eventually learned to nap and sleep there, but, quite honestly, he was a little bit more malleable than A. She makes up her mind and that's IT. C could usually be persuaded to come around. I have a feeling that the crib conversion is going to be one of those events we talk about for the rest of our lives. "Do you remember when we had to move A to her toddler bed??? We never slept again until she was a teenager..."

Nevertheless, I'm too much of an anxious fraidy cat to allow her to stay in a crib from which she can (sort of) escape. If she is getting out of bed she might as well do it safely. Thankfully her room is childproofed to the hilt from the days that it used to be C's room, so if (when) she climbs out of the bed she won't be able to do much damage beyond taking all the clothes and books out.

Do you think her early monkey abilities will translate into an early potty trainer? That might make up for the lack of sleep....

I am a good mommy

I broke down and purchased A what she would really want for Christmas if she a) knew it existed and b) understood the concept of Christmas, a singing Wags the Dog. Yes, you read that correctly. I voluntarily brought a loud, obnoxious, plush singing TV character into my home. At least the Hokey Pokey Elmo was purchased by grandparents. But I knew no one but me was buying A the singing Wags the Dog, and I knew that when she sees it come out of the wrapping on Christmas she will be hysterically happy.

I know I will kick myself several times over when I hear that song over and over and over again. And I sincerely hope that Wags will quickly find a home on the top shelf of the bookcase with Elmo. But I just had to see the look of pure joy on her face when she figures out what it is. I should get the mommy of the year award for this one, really I should.

A's Swimming Lessons

Saturday morning is my time with A, which is spent at swimming lessons. She's missed many of the sessions this round due to her cold the past couple of weeks and our schedules, but with nose (reasonably) dry, and no fever for a change, we ventured out to the Y. We got another 7 inches of snow yesterday, which makes putting your bathing suit on a rather surreal experience, but the Y keeps the pool at about 100 degrees it seems, so once we're there, it's actually quite nice.

Anyway, for the past few sessions, she was not making much progress and while she had a blast, I was getting discouraged and thinking maybe we'd just stop doing swim lessons until Spring. Today, however, something must have clicked with her. She was blowing bubbles on demand, kicking (i.e. running) her legs, and "scooping" when asked. I got so bold as to even let go for a sec and she didn't sink! She even doggie paddled for a few seconds before she started to face plant into the water and I grabbed her. Nothing but smiles from her.

I think we'll sign up for the next session.

And those of us with business degrees...

...get 8 out of 10. Since this test does not show what you got wrong, I had to ask my history/poli-sci wife. Seems we were friends with Russia during world war II and the constitution was ratified AFTER 1776!

Now before you all think I'm an idiot, let me justify my responses. Growing up, my family kept moving and as a result I went to 3 different high schools. Each had their own curriculum and as a result I missed European history entirely (my excuse for the WWII question) and the only period of US history that I can remember was the Civil War through WWI (my excuse for missing the constitution question). Come college, History 101 focused on... the Civil War through WWI. I then switched to the business school.

Those history and poli-sci degrees are still worth something...

You Passed the US Citizenship Test

Congratulations - you got 10 out of 10 correct!

Could You Pass the US Citizenship Test?

A's New Word

A has a new word, "why." I feel like we didn't get to the why stage with C until much later. Much, much later. I'm still unclear whether A actually knows what she is saying or is just mimicking C, but every time I make a statement such as "You can't strip down A, you'll freeze," she responds with "Why?". I now have two children demanding an explanation for EVERY MOVE WE MAKE.

Mommy: "It's breakfast time!"

C: "Why?"

A: "Huh [A's version of yes], why?"

Mommy: "Because the clock says it is 7:00."

A: "Why?"

C: "Yeah, why?"

I'm going to go insane.

Snow Snow Snow

There is a lot of snow on the ground, and it is still snowing. The upside, M is not (I assume since he is still sleeping) driving up to Boston today. The downside, although I have not yet received the official phone call, the children will not be vacating the house for their respective morning activities.

I remember when snow days were a thing to be celebrated. In grade school no school meant we got to stay in our jammies all day and watch TV, read, play games, or help mom bake bread. Even in college when it snowed all the time and they never ever cancelled school, snow was a happy thing, a reason to haul out the rattiest clothes, bring cocca into class and tromp around hurling snow balls at friends across the quad. I would often sit upstairs in the student center where there were comfortable couches and a fireplace (!) and watch the snow drift down past the Hall of Languages. It was beautiful.

This morning I woke up and watched the snow drift onto the hot pink plastic slide, the peaceful feeling was not quite the same. In a few minutes the kids would be up, and a day of refereeing sibling battles while trying to keep the chaos at bay and simultaneously maintaining a semblance of quiet while M tried to telecommute to work would begin. The snow would need to be shoveled, the cars would need to be scraped, and the cats would need to be rescued after they foolishly insisted on adventuring out into the drifts.

In a few years, I am sure that the joy of a snow day will return. The kids will be older, and I will relish the time spent with them engaged in our own snow day rituals. But for today, I will try to find the peace during nap time. Perhaps by then the hot pink slide will be a lovely white sculpture.

$#!+

Last night we had three hours of "I want to be with mommy and daddy but why would I want to sleep in their bed, their bed is for playing" hysteria from A in the middle of the night. At the two and a half hour mark I escorted her back to her crib, and, she climbed right back out. Rather unsuccessfully and unsafely. @&#%. We have to convert the crib to a toddler bed. I'm going to cry. Not only does that mean my little baby girl is growing up, it also means that I will never.sleep.again.

She is my daughter after all

Despite A's remarkable physical resemblance to M's side of the family, it became clear today that she is indeed my daughter as well. While watching the Sesame Street episode with the tap dancing penguin, she got as excited as I did, and made me replay it several times while she giggled away.

That's my girl. Who can resist tap dancing penguins?

Yawn

Big. Yawn. Long. Day. Many. Tears. Much snow on way. Waahhhh.

Random Christmas Thoughts Courtesy of C

"Why does Santa come down the chimney? Wouldn't it be easier to come in the door?"

"Why doesn't the Grinch have pants on? I really think he needs pants."

"I don't think Santa likes cookies. Or milk. Perhaps I should eat the cookies for him. The reindeer can keep the carrots though."

"Hanging lights [on the tree outside] is a daddy job I think. Maybe we should wait until Daddy comes home. You aren't doing it very well."

"How does Santa know which stocking in mine if it doesn't have my name on it?"

"We can't read that book, it's a Christmas book and it is not Christmas time yet. We don't have a tree. It's just winter."

"What does Santa have to do with the Baby Jesus?"

I'm sure there will be a second installment here, but figured I would preserve these for posterity while they were still fresh in my mind...

The etymology of Chichimama

Rebecca pointed out this weekend that I should really explain where Chichimama came from, now that there are "strangers" reading my blog. And I suppose I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea...

When C's friend Julia was about 15 or 18 months, she had a very hard time pronouncing C's name. (Hey, at almost four C still has a hard time with his name.) She also had a hard time with my name so she began calling me "Chichimama" meaning "C's mommy." I had never had a nickname, and was tickled to have been given one by one of my favorite little ones. When I began blogging, it seemed like as good a pseudonym as any. So there you go. I am not in fact a chichi individual, despite my love of shoes...ah well.

Happy Holidays

Brilliant

We've been trying to get a good holiday card, and our efforts so far have not been rewarded. But in the middle of last night during one of my insomnia attacks, I had a brilliant idea. A picture of my children looking out at the snow on our sun porch, and an enclosure of decent pictures of them on the beach. That way we get the nice holiday feel with the decent pictures of my children, the grandparents can frame the pictures, and I don't have to lose my sanity over this anymore. M wasn't similarly overwhelmed, but then again I did try to sell it to him at 3am.

Now if only it can keep snowing long enough for me to get the shot....

Welcome M

We're trying something new here folks. M has read my blog (yeah M!) and decided he wants some input. So look out for some posts from chichidaddy (or whatever he decides to call himself). We'll see how this goes. I reserve the right to revert back to sole proprietorship.

Welcome to the blogsphere M....

This is the RNC calling...

M apparently gave the RNC some money, as our first holiday card of the season was from George W. and Laura Bush (religious quote and all), and now my phone rings several times a day.

"Oh, Mrs. Republican-Wife, this is the RNC calling. We would love to talk with you about..."

"I'm sorry, do you realize that it is 9am and you are calling a residence? The man you want to talk to is at work. And trust me, you don't want to speak with me."

At 1pm...

"Hi Mrs. Republican-Wife, this is Peppy Lady from the RNC. I'm calling you about..."

"As I told the caller at 9am, you don't want to talk to me. The man who might give you money is at work. Plus, do you realize it is nap time? And our family values here Chez J-E includes nap time."

At 6pm...

"Mrs. Republican-Wife, we're so glad you are home. This is Peppy Guy from the RNC...."

"As I told the previous callers, the person you are looking for is not me. He is out earning the money that you so desperately want. And it is the dinner hour. Isn't family mealtime important to the Republican party?"

Three times in one day???? How hard up for cash can the Republicans really be?

A new deity

At bedtime tonight...

C: "I love God. He loves me too."

Mommy: "Yes, I'm sure he does."

C: "Did you know he had a son?"

Mommy: "Yes."

C: "The baby Jesus."

Mommy: "Yes."

C: "Baby Jesus had two daddies. God and Joseph."

Mommy: "That's right."

C: "His mommy was Mary."

Mommy: "That's right C. Did you learn this all at school?"

C: "Yes. But they didn't talk about Nana. Why? Baby Jesus had Nana too you know. Not just God."

Not sure how Nana will take this one. Not only is she Christian, she is apparently as old as God...

Hero Worship

C: "I wish I could be a daddy just like my daddy. I love him sooooo much."

I think a higher compliment has never been paid.

Miscommunication

M is away for a few days, and when I was talking to him tonight I started ragging on him for not reading my blog to keep up with the kids. After a few minutes it came out that he had skimmed an entry once, but it made him feel bad as he felt like I was criticizing his parents and/or that they were making me feel inadequate. Which was not at all the point of the post. I was more trying to work out how to foster his parents' relationship with their grandkids so everyone got more pleasure out of their visits. I guess I failed miserably.

M, while I don't think that I have ever put anything into here that I haven't said to you in person, somehow reading it instead of hearing it with the facial expressions and the many, many hand gestures I generally use must have made it seem different. For that I apologize in front of the whole internet as it was not my intention to write anything that would make you feel bad.

Procrastination

I am a born procrastinator. I will let the laundry pile up until it cascades down into the basement of its own volition. I still have a birthday present for a friend of C's sitting in my room from a party we missed two months ago, but I haven't yet made it to the post office to mail it. Hey, I've even been known to procrastinate on blogging. You should see the litter of unfinished blog entries on my computer.

Right now I'm procrastinating on going to see my grandma. She's not doing all that well, according to the aunts at least, and even my dad got on the phone after we missed the family Thanksgiving get-together to ask when I thought I was making it up to visit her. So I know I need to make the trip up, probably with both kids in tow. And if I don't make it soon I'll probably regret it. But I can't quite seem to commit to a date.

I'm not quite sure why I can't bring myself to pick a time to go visit her. Is it my fear of seeing what it is like to be old, frail, and uncertain when one used to be young, vibrant, and determined? Is it because I hate to replace my current memories of Grandma with ones of her wheelchair-bound and confused? Probably and probably.

It is hard for me to reconcile the woman I remember from my childhood with the one who now sits in a wheelchair and can't quite remember which of her children I belong to. I'm never sure what I am supposed to say when I speak with her. I ramble on about my kids, but since she's unclear on who I am, I'm certain it just confuses her even more. When I ask about her activities she is silent. She used to be so opinionated, so clear, so determined. Now it seems like she is just waiting to die. And I'm not good at dealing with that.

My grandmother was one of the first female pediatricians, and practiced right up until she was 86 years old. Her "kids" were her patients, not my dad and his sisters, and certainly not me and my cousins. As a young child she scared me silly. She was stern and rigid. Things were done her way, or they would be redone her way if you dared to stray. She actually washed our mouths out with soap when we talked back. So do I have fond, loving memories of my grandmother? Not so much.

But when I was broke and uncertain what I was doing with my life, she let me live with her for a year rent-free in Brooklyn while I commuted to a dead-end job in NYC. When she realized I was in a dead-end job, she coerced me into applying to graduate school and supplied me with the needed funds to tide me over until my scholarships kicked in. While she was never a warm and fuzzy lots of hugs type of grandmother, she has, in her own way, been there for me when I needed her.

And I know that even though she probably doesn't remember my name, or that I lived with her for a year, or that I got married to a man who reminded her of her husband, or that C's middle name was her maiden name, if I show up and bring her some wildflowers I will make her day. It's hard to justify the procrastination when I look at it like that.