Diary of a Modern Matriarch

Away

2009-11-05T10:08:00.004-05:00

Mike and I are taking the kids to his parent's house in the Adirondacks for my birthday. (By the way, how many times is it socially acceptable to turn 29 for future reference?)

There's no internet, shitty cell phone coverage, and 340 acres of mountains and trees and beauty.

If you need me, I'll be curled up by a fire with a book, a glass of wine and the sounds of my kids playing with Uncle Mark.

I wasn't looking

2009-11-04T13:48:00.003-05:00

And he:

Became him:

Lowlights

2009-11-03T18:56:00.003-05:00

You know, the opposite of highlights.

Despite tugging at my heartstrings, the decision was made for me about the puppy in the last post. The rescue group emailed me back and said another family had adopted her. I was happy for her, a little sad for me, and more than a bit relieved that I no longer had that decision to make. After going back and forth, Mike and I decided to wait until the relocation for his job was final before getting another pup. This way, when we move, we have one less living thing to cart with us.
Exactly one week after I took Sawyer to the pediatrician for his 15-month well visit, we're all sick. Nothing terrible. No fevers, no aches or pains. Just a head cold. I mean, I know I'm a bit of a germaphobe, but I even BATHED the baby after his visit because he was crawling on the floor in his diaper while the pedi examined him. And yet, a visit to the Cesspool of Child Snot and Grime has me sneezing 898 times an hour and a river of snot pouring from my poor baby's face.
Because of aforementioned minor cold, I had to call and cancel his seasonal flu shot which was scheduled for today. I had no intention of taxing his immune system with a vaccine I'd rather not even give him to begin with (Thanks, NJ lawmakers for taking away my right as a mother and making it LAW that I give my school-enrolled child the flu shot.). It's just as well figuring he'd probably pick up the bubonic plague this time around.
I didn't want to bundle up a sick kid and take him out just so I could get coffee, so I tried to drink the equivalent amount of caffeine in Pepsi Max this morning. You know what happens when you do that? You pee a lot. Note to self: buy more Tassimo pods.
Daylight savings time still blows. Kids up at 6 am are not nearly as cute as they are at 7 am.
Oh, GET THIS CRAP: My gym broke up with me. Well, that's how it feels. I actually almost cried and am still really upset. I get a letter from my gym yesterday telling me they weren't renewing their lease and they were closing IN FIVE DAYS. There's no other comparable gyms in the area and I feel so...lost. Going to my gym was part of my life and I know some of you will get that and some of you will think I'm nuts for being this upset about it. I wrote about more in my post over here at Bodies in Motivation.
The baby will not drink milk from a cup. I took away all his daytime bottles and tried to get him to drink it from his sippies during meals. Know what he does? Shakes his head, says "nononono, juice? juice?" and throws it on the floor. So I've given up. I'll get him his servings of milk in yogurt, cheese, etc., during the day. He still takes a bottle at night before bed and he drinks tons of mostly-water juice during the day to keep his fluids up. Whatever.
That's my new motto: What. Ever.

What's one more, right?

2009-11-03T07:31:00.007-05:00

EDITED: The decision has been made for me. The rescue organization contacted us to let us know someone wanted to adopt her and is going to sign the contract to become her forever home. I am happy for her, sad for us, and a little relieved that the choice is out of my hands. I'll take it as a sign that maybe we're not ready for another puppy right now.

Look at that face.

RIGHT?!!?

No, she's not ours. Yet. I was stumbling through Petfinder.org lately because I've been thinking Phoebe needs a friend. And I came across her story here. Her and her littermates were rescued from a highway down south and are being transported to a rescue organization just down the road here in NJ. She's six-weeks old and no one really knows what she is - a mix between a sheltie and a rat terrier maybe?

Just like my kids who I never intended to be only children, I never wanted Phoebe to never have a companion. I grew up with two or three dogs and a few cats, rabbits, hamsters, etc., all rescues. We were that family. And I loved it.

I KNOW it's more work. I KNOW I already have two kids and a dog. Mike is a big dog kinda guy. If it were up to him, our next dog would be a Great Dane or Great Pyrenes or something, but we have a small house and though we are eventually moving to a bigger house at some point in life in theory, I don't want to keep living my life for what may come.

I know Phoebe could use more exercise. I know she loves being around other dogs. I know a medium-sized dog would fit in here whereas another big dog won't. I know I'd prefer to rescue a puppy this time.

I emailed the woman last night and she is still available and she sent me an application.

I'm torn. I like my life right now. We have a lazy dog who sleeps all the time and doesn't bother us to get up in the morning or at night. She's perfect with the kids and other dogs and strangers. But I worry that she's lonely. We have a huge backyard and she loves to play and run. She desperately tries to play with the cat who only bats at her and probably hatches evil plots for her demise while we all sleep.

I know a lot of you have one or two dogs and a lot of you have no animals. Even my in-laws who are very busy people had two dogs up until recently when the oldest passed away. I get it if you're not an animal person and you think I'm crazy.

But if you ARE an animal person (granted, you might still think I'm crazy) what would you do?

Do I return the application and adopt her or keep my little life the way it is?

Where's the line?

2009-11-02T09:30:00.005-05:00

The other day, Mike and I pulled up to a red light. He glanced out of his window and said, "Oh my god, tell me those kids are not standing up."

I look to my left and in the minivan next to us was a woman in the driver's seat with two small children - one boy and one girl - perhaps three and four, climbing all over the seats, and standing between her seat and the passenger seat. Jumping. Climbing.

"How STUPID can you be?" I wanted to yell at her. "These are your BABIES. If you get hit by another car, they will FLY THROUGH THE WINDOW and be DEAD. Your BABIES will DIE because YOU are stupid. How is that fair!?!" I imagined getting out of my car and screaming at her through her window.

I did nothing. Mike did nothing. When the light turned green, she made a left onto a busy highway and we pulled onto our quiet street with our two babies strapped in their $300 LATCH five-point harnessed car seats.

"Should we have done something?" he asked me.

"What can we do? The only thing we can do is get her license plate and call the local police, right? Maybe we should have done that." I imagined those kids getting in a car accident, flying through the window, and blaming MYSELF because I did nothing.

"Yeah, maybe we should have."

But we didn't.

I could use the argument that they aren't MY kids. Just like when you see a parent using a discipline technique different from yours, it's not your place to say anything. Short of someone hitting their kids in front of me, I say nothing. They're not MY kids. I'm not their parent.

But when the safety of innocent children is at stake, at what point do we abandon that notion and DO something? Why didn't I get her license plate and call the police? Those poor kids don't know any better but their adult mother should. Why are we so afraid of getting involved? Have we as a society really become that complacent? That I let two babies drive away in a minivan STANDING UP?

Have you been in this situation? What do you do?

Yesterday, she was my baby

2009-10-30T08:30:00.003-04:00

Today, I can see the woman she'll become and she's so beautiful it makes my chest hurt.

Because it feels like a bullet sort of day

2009-10-29T08:07:00.004-04:00

The people who say "Woohooo, an extra hour of sleep" for the night the clocks turn back clearly don't have children. To parents, DST is the work of the debbil, Bobby Boucher. My kids will sleep the same amount, less since it will be brighter earlier (not that I'm complaining at that point because it was still dark here this morning at SEVEN THIRTY). So, while some of you will sleep an extra hour, I will be up at 5:30 am with two kids asking for pancakes, MOMMA NOW!
As much as I like it getting lighter earlier for the purposes of the days I need to be up and coherent before 7 am, the whole getting-dark-at-5-pm thing kinda sucks.
I'm still a little bitter over the whole Disney debacle. I went back to the office yesterday and everyone was asking how it was, did we have fun, and wow! you look tan! (Yeah, thanks Jergen's daily gradual bronzing moisturizer since I put SPF 948593408 on while in Florida).
Also, back at the office, I had this psychotic gem waiting for me on my chair.

Yes, that's a thermometer (with the company logo emblazoned on it), with a memo indicating we should not come to the office with a fever and here are a list of symptoms of H1N1, why by the way, has no cases at our company. OMG, really?!!? You need to tell people to stay home if they a fever? COME ON. Way to fuel the flames of paranoia. Not to mention, this is the SECOND memo we've gotten on the flu, washing our hands, using the 7847594837 Purell hand sanitizing stations they've set up around the buildings. Redonkulous, right?
I denied the MMR vaccine for Sawyer at his pedi appointment on Tuesday, despite there being an actual outbreak of the EFFING MUMPS in the town next to ours. MUMPS. Like, REALLY. When I asked the pedi about it, she said that some of the kids that were getting it WERE vaccinated and it doesn't always prevent it. It's spread through saliva and close contact (sneezing, laughing, etc) with an infected child. Since my kids are only interacting with the other (so far) healthy kids at their dayhome, I'm not that concerned. Not to mention, mumps - although I cam imagine it would suck greatly - won't kill him. The risk of catching a random virus is not enough for me to risk a vaccine I don't trust with a 89-foot pole.
I'm not getting into a vaccine debate here. You do what you think is best for your child and I'll do what I think what's best for mine. We're all trying here and I don't think anyone (short of the people holding SWINE FLU PARTIES) is in the wrong.
We refinanced our mortgage for an entire percent lower rate, which doesn't sound like a lot, like ONE PERCENT is NOTHING, right? Saves us over 160$ a month AND almost 40K in the life of the loan. Crazy.
Charlotte told me the other day that my mouth smells like the dog's butt in the morning.
Sawyer is getting increasingly more verbal, stringing two words together now. Like "UH-OH, FOOR!" which means "Hey mom, I'm about to drop this thing on the floor and pretend like it was an accident so you can pick it up for me for the 6th time" or when he says hi to our dog, Phoebe, he'll say "Hiiiii PEEBEE!"
I'm hoping to be in Boston in the second week in December WITH NO KIDS. Just girlfriends. AND BOOZE! Wanna come?

Paranoia?

2009-10-27T08:47:00.002-04:00

I'm a bit of a germaphobic, though nothing Monk-like. I wash my hands often, I don't touch bathroom door handles. If it's one of those public bathrooms with an air dryer and no towels and the door has a handle, I've been known to stand there until someone else comes in, just so I don't have to touch the door .Having a three-year old means I'm in a lot of public bathrooms. I'm always screeching "don't touch anything!"

I use anti-bacterial wipes or gel to wipe down the tabletops in front of my children if we're out to eat, knowing they're going to eat off the table. I wipe down the handles on the shopping carts because my son apparently thinks that those things are damn tasty and I can't stop him from licking it if I've forgotten my cart-seat cover thingie.

We wash our hands when we come home from the store, before we eat, after we've been outside. I wash my kids' hands A LOT.

Recently, everyone in the known universe is sick. Some with mild colds, bad colds and coughs (like my poor husband). Some people's children have one flu or the other, and without any vaccines available in our area, there's really nothing I can do.

Because of this, I think I've stepped my germ-a-phobia up a notch, and I'm not sure it's entire healthy or necessary. I used to take the kids to the gym with me in the mornings twice a week and while I'd take an aerobics class, they'd play in the large daycare and interact with other kids. But now, knowing how gross kids are and how everyone has been sick, I've stopped taking them there, wanting to limit their exposure as much as possible during this cold/flu season.

But if I keep them away for the entire season, it means months of me missing my gym classes and them missing out on an activity they enjoy. BUT if I do take them and they get sick, that's time off from work, poor sick babies, dayhome money wasted, holidays and parties missed out on.

Part of me thinks I'm being reasonable because no one wants their kids to be sick if it's avoidable and the other part thinks I'm being crazy, that I can't have my kids at home all the time for the next five months or not take them to places. I also know that some exposure is actually GOOD for their immune systems. And yet, I can't help but cringe at the thought of them putting a toy in their mouth that Sally Snotface just snotted on, ya know?

Today, we have a well visit at our pediatrician for Sawyer. I'm actually thinking of ways I can avoid him having to touch anything. Normally, since he's ambulatory, I just walk with him up to the office, but knowing the cesspool of the pediatrician's office this time of year, I plan on putting him in his stroller and only letting him out when it's time for him to be examined. And afterward, I plan on a Hazmat shower for both of us. See? I'm crazy. Right? Or am I?

It's not even the dreaded H1N1 or any illness in particular I'm afraid of. Sick kids just blow. We miss work. They feel like hell. Then, almost inevitable, one or both of the parents get sick and then it REALLY blows. It's no fun for anyone and I want to take every step imaginable to avoid it but part of me thinks I'm going too far and need to stop myself from letting paranoia take over before I become a full blown nutcase.

Are any of you as paranoid as me about their kids getting sick?

One of the funny memories

2009-10-26T19:04:00.002-04:00

A few months ago, Charlotte had this phase where she would wet herself whenever we put her in timeout. It was most definitely a mixture of spite and a newly potty trained child. Thankfully, she stopped this but one of the last time she did this, it was in this dress - the one Cass gave her.

It was a Belle dress from Beauty and the Beast. I washed it carefully and hung it to dry in the basement.

When we were meeting the princesses at Disney, Sleeping Beauty asked her if she had any of her own princess dresses when Charlotte commented how beautiful her dress was.

"Yeah, I do. A Belle dress."

"Oh, how pretty! Is it at home?"

"Yeah. I peed on it."

It's not you, Disney. It's us

2009-10-25T07:53:00.005-04:00

I planned this trip for her.

Because she's at the age where everything is magic and wonder. She loves princesses and fairies and dinosaurs. We packed and planned and loaded all for her.

And she was miserable.

Her favorite part of the whole trip was the pool at the resort. I mean, it was a nice pool.

I thought the baby would be an albatross and most of our trip would be spent trying to keep him happy. I thought she would be in awe and high on princess pheromones. Instead, he was a joy to be around and she was clearly not ready for this trip.

(See? JOYFUL)

She was afraid of everything. Since it's Halloween time, they had Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween party which should be renamed The Castles All Dark And Purple With Fog and Witches Come Out and Cackle and YOUR Kid Might Be Scared So Don't Waste $160 and Come Back When She's Older.

We tried. We tried so hard. I held her, tried to show her it wasn't scary. I bribed her with flashing necklaces and ice cream. But she was terrified. She wanted to leave. She was literally sobbing and shaking and pulling us towards the exit of the park. Not wanting to emotionally scar her, we gave in and left after it was clear she wasn't going to calm down.

"I'm sorry I was so scared Momma," she kept apologizing after we had to leave. I hugged her and told her it was okay but inside really I was angry, disappointed. I said to Mike, "Do you know how hard we worked so we could do this for her?" I huffed. I puffed.

I felt juvenile and small, but I was upset. I knew I shouldn't be, but my disappointment was bitter. That morning was a failure because she was also scared of everything at Hollywood Studios and we were THAT family that had to leave shows and rides because our kid freaked out. And not even the little one - the one I did this whole thing for.

Animal Kingdom was a better day. She was talking all morning about getting her face painted. She wanted a lion. No, a tiger! No, a cheetah! All morning long, she talked about it. So as soon as we got in the park, we headed for the face painting section. The man did a great job and made her look like the tiger she picked out. He handed up the mirror and she lost her ever-loving shit.

She was afraid of HERSELF.

I tried not to laugh out of sheer madness and the fact that, well, it was sort of funny. I apologized to the man, said we'd be back in a few minutes, and went to the bathroom to wash it off. He kindly repainted her without charging me again with a rainbow and stars and glitter and she was once again appeased (even if this poor pic doesn't show it).

By the end of the day, she wanted us to carry her. She refused to sit in the "baby stroller," she wouldn't let us rent her a "big girl" stroller and wouldn't even sit on my mother's lap on her scooter. So I had to carry my 40-pound three-year old out of the park in 90 degree weather. I wanted to cry.

She wouldn't sleep unless I was next to her. She wouldn't nap. She was NOT tired and she did NOT want to nap. See?

She cried at every little thing. I had disrupted her life, she was over-tired, and she was not herself. Rather, she was the worst version of herself.

Magic Kingdom during the day proved to be a better choice and the only thing she seemed to mildly enjoy. We brought both strollers this time and Sawyer was in the "baby" stroller and I pushed her in the Sit-n-Stand so she felt like a big girl. We tried some rides, walked around a bit, but her favorite part of the day was playing in the water area while we waited to meet Ariel.

Because all the fairies are getting the play these days, the lines to meet them were upwards of an hour. But there was NO line for the princesses, so both kids got to spend a ton of time in there. Sawyer flirted with Sleeping Beauty and Charlotte hugged and danced with all of them. She looked like a hot mess due to previous Ariel water logging in all of her pictures, but whatever. At least she wasn't screaming.

My mother-in-law took Charlotte to the Arabian Nights show that night (where she was a perfect angel for them of course) and Mike and I took the baby to Epcot to see the fireworks. This is what he thought of them at first.

(Dude, WTF?)

But he loved them and was such a good boy.

The next day we went back and finished the few things we missed at Magic Kingdom but it was HOT, she wanted to go to the pool, and I was ready to be done. We got back, relaxed by the pool, had a nice dinner, and then my mother put the kids to bed so Mike and I could go back to Epcot and enjoy it as adults. By which we mean: eat and drink our faces off.

Though they were both perfect on the plane trip down, the plane trip home was something out of the rule book of What Would Suck To Happen To You On a Plane. We got settled in the wrong seats. The baby screamed most of the flight. He peed out the side of his diaper and down my shirt and pants. Charlotte screamed because she couldn't watch her DVD when they made us shut if off. Worst flight ever.

They were two little kids who were worn out.

I was worn out. I wanted to cry with them.

I wanted this trip to be magic and filled with awesome memories of watching our daughter experience something so many people love. But it wasn't. I can't change what it was so I'll try and remember the good things, laugh at the bad things, and vow never to go back for at least 7 more years when I don't have to deal with diapers, car seats, or sleeping issues.

I'll hold onto these:

Testing the waters

2009-10-18T09:55:00.006-04:00

Last night after I could take no more of the screaming (my god, how can something SO small make SO much noise?) I decided to run the baby's bath a little early and let him play in the tub.

I sat on the edge of the tub with him on my left hip, leaned over, and turned the water on. I waited till it warmed up, plugged the drain, and poured in some organic baby bubble bath that smells like coconuts and lavender and bunnies and rainbows and all that hippie stuff.

"Can I take a bath too?!!?"

"No, Charlotte, you already took a shower earlier today, remember? It's getting cold out and too much water will make your skin itchy and dry. I'm just going to bathe Sawyer tonight and tomorrow you both can take a bath, ok?"

I'd like to say she accepted this with a simple "okay, Momma," but she did not. There was huffing and puffing, but she eventually acquiesced. Mostly because I ignored her completely.

I walked into the baby's room, placed him on the changing table and began to undress him, singing my stupid "Heiney Boy" song that he loves so much.

Who's my heniey boy, heiney boy, stinky silly heiney boy?

Yeah, so I should probably stop that before he goes to high school, right?

"Momma, I know I can't take a bath, but I'm just gonna test the water to make sure it's warm enough for baby Sawyer," she yells from the bathroom.

"Okay, be careful," I tell her. She always reaches her arm out and sticks her hand under the running water before her bath, something we taught her to make sure the water wasn't too hot before getting in the tub.

I finish undressing the baby and carry his long, skinny body to the bathroom. I open the door and Charlotte is sitting naked in the tub and says "Yep, it's warm enough."

Sibling Rivalry

2009-10-16T10:35:00.002-04:00

I spent a small fortune this morning at Target on Stuff to Keep the Kids Happy on The Plane, which include a new Barbie movie, pretzels, goldfish, fruit snacks, fruit cups, coloring books, sticker books, a few new trucks, and oh yes, BENADRYL.

I have given it to Sawyer before when he's been sick and/or teething so badly he couldn't sleep, and thankfully he's not one of those kids who have the opposite effect. It does make him sleepy although he is stubborn enough to fight anything if he really tries. I'm going to take the advice of a commenter from a previous post and think positive. I believe in that. If I assume it's going to be a negative experience, well then maybe it will be. But I'm going to go into this thinking that everyone will do swimmingly, myself included (because for some reason they don't sell benzodiazapines at Target).

I also think my kids know we're getting ready for a vacation because instead of being the mostly well-behaved children they are, they've collectively LOST THEIR SHIT. Sawyer will grab something Charlotte wants and she will grab it back. He will then lunge at her linebacker-style and then she'll roundhouse him to the face. And then the YELLING. How can a child who still CANNOT SPEAK in full sentences still talk and yell ALL. DAY. LONG?

I know siblings fight and truth be told, I don't even get involved. I'm not here to be a referee and it's not like they're ever going to stop fighting. I teach them to share, to be fair and kind. The rest? They're three and one, they're brother and sister, and they're going to fight. For many many more years. I figure I may as well teach them how to fight fair and let them work it out and not stress myself out trying to stop it. My rules involve: no biting, smacking, kicking, or hair pulling. Also: we do not put our hands on anyone else (i.e., no pushing the kid at the playground.)

So basically my house is kind of like a toddler UFC tournament most of the day. But you know what I noticed? When I don't get involved, and they get pissed at each other, and one pushes and the other pushes back, it ends there. Usually, Charlotte will even share what it was Sawyer was coveting, or Sawyer will relinquish his grip on Charlotte's toy and move on to something else.

Do you intervene or do you let your kids fight?

Cat Puke, Glee, True Blood, and Plane Crashes

2009-10-15T11:21:00.007-04:00

Sometime in the middle of last night, I got up to pee. Because I am blind without my glasses, it was dark, and cat vomit is stealthily the same color as hardwood floors, I step, slide, and subsequently almost busted my ass on cat barf at 4 am. Of course I had to wake my sleeping husband to tell him of my near death experience. And the clean up that followed.
I love Glee. Really, I do. But COME ON with the fake pregnancy thing. And the idiocy of that poor kid who thinks he knocked up his girlfriend by being in a HOT TUB. One one hand, I like that they're featuring a pregnant teenager and a gay one and all that current social stuff, but A HOT TUB?
While I'm discussing television, let's talk about True Blood. For those of you that read the books, you know that a character named Alcide will be coming up soon. And because I think my other call in life is casting characters from books, I've decided Jason Momoa (was on Stargate Atlantis, married to Lisa Bonet) should play him. RIGHT? Thoughts? Difference in opinion? What about Quinn?
I had a dream last night about a plane crash but I was not on the actual plane. It was one of those giant cargo C-130 military planes and I was driving on the interstate and it flew over my car and crashed in the distance. I called 911 and the dispatcher lady was all concerned about how scary it was for ME and trying to calm me down. Weird. I suppose my anxiety of flying with a rowdy 15-month old is manifesting itself in dreams of DEATH AND DESTRUCTION. Super.

Two if by air

2009-10-13T07:37:00.002-04:00

So in less than a week, my mother and I will be on a plane with two small children. I'm not worried about dealing with Charlotte. As snarky as she is, she's a great kid. Very easy going and loves new situations. She will do fine on the plane. I'll have our mini-DVD player, she has her own page of apps on my iPhone and she'll be so excited by the whole situation, I'm sure she'll do perfect.

I'm not going to list here all the ways boys and girls are different, because well they ARE, but I'm worried he's going to ground the plane. Or that he'll be THAT baby on the plane - the one who cries and fights and turns into a demon and spews pea soup. And then some douchenozzle will say something and I'll lose my cool because that's MY baby you're rolling your eyes at and get in a fight on the plane and then I'll be arrested and live out the rest of my life in an orange jumpsuit and orange is so NOT flattering on me.

I tried to time the flights with nap times and we're leaving Philly around 11:45, assuming no issues with the flights. I plan on keeping him awake and running around the airport for as long as possible, boarding last, all those tricks. I thought about the Benny bottle but they don't let me carry through liquids, right? How can I take Benadryl through the gate?

I'm hoping that since he's still on the bottle I can plug him up for a bit, at least during take-off to help with his ears. Thankfully his cold is gone but I'm sure there's some lingering congestion. I plan to give Charlotte gum for the first time on the plane, hoping the novelty of the new candy and chewing will help with her ears.

The DVD player may hold his interest for a bit and I plan on buying some new Curious George movies which are his favorite. I'm also going to bring a few little toy cars and trucks. Bottom line is I'm hoping that he sleeps but if he doesn't and I'm sure he won't for the whole trip down, what the heck else is there?

Short of letting him run up and down the aisles a couple of times or walking with him, what else can I do? We took Charlotte on a plane at his age and I wasn't even remotely concerned. I didn't even bring a DVD player. She just looked out the window, talked to a few people, sucked on her bippy, and passed out.

But Sawyer is a different breed. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dreading this flight. He's a GOOD baby, happy and smiley, giggly and funny. But he's ALL OVER THE PLACE and will NOT sit still. He doesn't even like to be rocked or held when sleeping, which adds to my concern about him sleeping on the plane.

Of course, I may not be giving him enough credit. He may end up being perfect, sitting nicely, playing with toys, watching a movie.

Or I could be right and we'll be kicked off the plane somewhere in the hills of West Virginia and I'll have to change my name to Bobbi Jane and become a hillbilly. Have you met my son Jethro?

Any tips on taking a very spirited small toddler on an airplane? My only saving grace is that it's only a 2-hour flight. I mean, people endure torture for years. I can handle two hours, right?

Think she's ready for politics

2009-10-12T09:10:00.006-04:00

Every time we go into Target (which is way too much for my bank account) and we walk by the toy section, Charlotte sees these Barbie fairies that she wants. Nay, covets.

"Momma, can I PWEASE have that Barbie fairy with the pretty wings?"

"No baby, not today. You have plenty of toys." The truth is, I want to buy it for her. I want to buy her everything she wants. I have to stop myself from giving in to her pleading eyes and polite begging because I don't want to spoil her. I don't want her growing up thinking all she has to do is ask for something and she'll get it.

"Okay, Momma. I'll save my money."

Last week, Mike and I figured she was old enough to learn about chores and earning and saving. We sat her down and explained that as part of this family, we each pitch in to keep the house running. That it's her responsibility to clean up her toys when she's done, put her plate in the sink, pick up her clothes and put them in the hamper. Those are expected. But then we added that if she did something above her normal responsibilities and helped beyond, she could earn an allowance.

"Like what Momma?"

"Well, you can help Momma unload the dishwasher by putting all the cups and bowls on the counter. Or help Sawyer clean up his toys since he still needs help. Or get a wet rag and help Daddy wipe down the cabinets. Anything you do extra, we'll give you some money. And you can put it in your piggy bank. And when you have enough, we can go to Target and you can get your Fairy Barbie. Or you can save it for something bigger. It's your money to do what you want with it. But you have to earn it."

"Can I buy more jeans with my money?" She's currently obsessed with jeans.

"No honey. Momma and Daddy will still buy all of your clothes and food. You never have to worry about that. Unless you want an $80 pair of jeans when you're 15 and then you're on your own."

"Umm, Okay! Let's clean something!"

So for the past few days, she's been helping extra and waiting for the one-dollar bill or few coins of change I have in my pocket. She "washed" the glass front door. She "swept" the kitchen floor.
Obviously, I realize she's not doing anything but making things harder for me but she's learning a concept - one I value above having to re-wash the windows. She's learning that hard work is rewarded, that she has to work for the things she wants in life.

She puts the coins in her pocket and runs to get her kitty cat bank where she stuff the bills and jingles the coins around.

"I think I'm almost there!"

"Well, sometimes it takes a long time to save up for something you really want. You have to be patient. We'll count the coins together every week and when you have enough, we'll go to the store"

The other day we were at my in-laws and she found this hideously annoying flute toy. It was literally making my ears hurt. To be funny, I said I'd give her a dollar if she stopped playing it. She did so I kept my promise even though I realized I'd just given her her first lesson in bribery.

Yesterday I was home all day with the kids while Mike worked a 12-hour shift. Charlotte helped me clean out my car while Sawyer napped. She threw away the garbage and helped me wipe down the windows so I gave her all the change in my console.

"I'm earning more money, Momma!"

"Yes you are. I'm very proud of you. You're learning a good lesson."

After we went back in the house for lunch, I gave the kids some bowls and spoons to play drums with while I cleaned up lunch and did the dishes. Charlotte went into the cabinet and grabbed a stainless steel saucepan and began banging that with a metal ladle.

She looked me dead in the eye and said, "If you want me to stop, I'll need some coins."

Weekly Highlights in Photos

2009-10-09T14:20:00.003-04:00

Nobody tell me dogs can't smile:

My blue-eyed boy:

Playing "makeover"

My self-concocted baking endeavor of the week, Pumpkin Nectarine Muffins with Maple Honey Cream Cheese Frosting, also posted over at Chop. Stir. Mix.:

Five words

2009-10-08T10:30:00.002-04:00

I have to give credit where credit is due. SciFi Dad wrote this blog post and asked us to answer this question: What five words would you hope your children would use to describe you? It was though-provoking enough for me to want to answer lengthy enough to warrant its own post.

1) Fun. I have no interest in being my children's friend. As a matter of fact, I think this fault is one of the major problems in what's wrong with kids today (OMG, I just said "kids today." Am official 87.) I think too many parents lose their ability to actually parent because they're trying too hard to get their kids to like them. I am their mother. Not their friend. That being said, my hope is that one day if I've done a good enough job, they actually become my friend. So even though I may not get down on the floor and play Little People every day, I hope my kids see me as fun. A mother who did things. Who took them fun places. Who was happy and had game nights and let them help cook and bake. Who danced to stupid music and sang poorly to made up songs, currently "He's my heiney boy, heiney boy, heiney heiney heiney boy!!" I suppose I should stop that before he goes to high school.

2) Open-hearted. I am friends with all kinds of people - colors, creeds, sexualities. I think everyone should be celebrated for their differences, not judged or persecuted. I believe that men and women die every day so that we have that right in this country and I don't take that lightly. I hope my children can come to me with anything without fear of reproach or judgment. And that they, in turn, learn this from me.

3) Respectful. I hold doors for people. I say please and thank you. I look in people's eyes when I speak to them. I shake their hand firmly. I keep secrets and don't gossip. I've never talked to my children in baby talk, always treating them with the respect of any other person. I respect other people's opinions and even if i don't like them or think they're plain wrong, I respect their right to have it.

4) Generous. I don't have much but I give as much as I can. A friend can call at 3 am stuck somewhere, and I'd go help. You need me? I'll be there. I buy groceries for the food pantry. I donate money and clothing every year. I buy stuff for care packages for the troops in Iraq. I may not have much, but there are certainly people who have less and I try and remember that.

5) Strong. I work very hard for the things in my life. I don't take crap from anyone. I believe that having a strong sense of conviction, a backbone, and good character are things that no one can strip from you. Women don't need to be rescued. I hope my kids see how hard I work and know that I did it for them.

What about you? What five traits would you hope your kids would use to describe you? Do you share any of mine?

Narrator

2009-10-06T10:29:00.000-04:00

Today, in some magical kingdom of rainbows and unicorn foals, both kids went down for a nap simultaneously. Of course, this is in all likelihood due to the fact that Sawyer is sick and Charlotte is fighting it off. I am likely fighting it too as I am not sick yet but I have a low fever, feel listless, headache-y, tired as all hell, although that could be from the 98435030948 times the baby woke up last night whining and snotting and coughing.

So instead of working during this down time as I normally would, I decided to lay on the couch like a big fat lump and watch Animal Cops Houston. (Seriously, why do I watch these Animal Cops shows? They always make me sad and angry. I just can't quit you, Animal Cops.)

A Visa commercial came on and since I don't usually ever watch commercials thanks to the wonderful invention that is the DVR, I wasn't aware that Morgan Freeman was doing the narration for these. His voice, for whatever reason, has always dripped with the sound of justice and fairness, kindness and firmness. Visa done good. Then I thought about that little voice in my head and how cool it would be if Morgan Freeman could be my internal monologue narrator. I started trying to superimpose his voice over my thoughts.

"And now AndreAnna, tired mother to two young children - one fighting a rhinovirus - finds the will to drag herself off the couch."

"Dinner must be made. Babies must be fed. She must carry on."

Apparently, I'm very dramatic in my own head.

Then I thought Samuel L. Jackson would make an awesome narrator, but of course everything would have to end in "motherfucka."

"Look at dis foo! She tryin' to read quietly to her baby. You know dang well he ain't gonna sit still, mothafucka."

Okay, so maybe my fever is a little higher than normal

Because I'm not so sure mentally healthy people have their inner monologue narrated by either Morgan Freeman or Samuel L. Jackson.

Who would narrate your life?

Waiting for Daddy

2009-10-05T21:21:00.003-04:00

Because even though Momma is Momma, there's something special about a Daddy.

Dimensions

2009-10-05T09:27:00.004-04:00

I can't see 3-D.

Remember the guy in Mallrats who stared at the 3-D poster for hours and hours and hours trying to see the sailboat? Yeah, that was me. Back in the 90s when those 3-D books were all over the place, I'd walk by them huffingly, "Who needs to see a stupid sailboat anyway!?" I've failed the tests at the eye doctor where you're supposed to tell them which number is standing out. I just don't see it, but I've never been diagnosed with anything majorly wrong. I just can't see "stereoscopically" and have other depth perception issues on occasion.

This means I won't be taking Charlotte to see Toy Story in 3-D this weekend, Mike will. It will be her first movie and I'm actually really bummed I can't be there with her for that experience, but I'd just be watching a blurry screen. We picked this for her first movie since she has already seen it and likes it. If she does well with this, maybe I'll take her to see her next movie.

---

We're leaving for Disney in two weeks from today. Mike is actually leaving the day before us and driving down. With two small kids and all of our luggage, car seats, strollers, etc., we figured it would be easier to not have to deal with checking it all, getting it all there, renting a van/SUV when we get there. This way, Mike can simply pick us (My mom, I, and the kids are flying) up from the airport with our own car, with the car seats already in it, and our luggage already at the hotel. And we'll save money not checking bags or renting an SUV.

I also didn't do any planning or meal reservations. I realize some of you just gasped and clutched your chests, but my kids are 3 and 1. There's NO WAY that trying to get them to places at certain times and to sit happily through certain meals wouldn't be a huge STRESSFUL disaster, wrought with STRESS and AGONY. So, we're playing most of the trip by ear. We're staying in a brand new resort in a 2-bedroom suite with a full kitchen. I'm hoping we can have breakfast at the hotel, pack lunches, and eat the rest on the go.

I'm not a planner on vacations. I'm just not. It stresses me out, and if I tried to plan for my kids, me being stressed would make them not have a good time, and IT'S THE HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH, DAMNIT.

---

This is what happens when your son dumps an entire bag of Goldfish into the shopping cart, all over the aisle in the supermarket and some gets in your Vera Wang purse and you're too lazy/busy to clean it out for days. I'm sorry, Vera.

On the bright side, if I were ever stranded in a life-or-death situation I could have survived on rainbow Goldfish crumbs and lip gloss.

---

Also, I tweeted this but I'm also fairly certain this is a death threat from my three-year old. This is my scented oil burner.

There's actually two doll heads, one in each end of the burner. Sweet, huh?

Growing Pains

2009-10-02T11:20:00.004-04:00

"Hey, that's not nice, Charlotte!!"

"What? What did I do?" she asks me, her three-year old eyes trying to woo me into complacency.

"We do NOT grab toys from people's hands, specifically people smaller than you, like your baby brother."

"Okay. Sorry, Momma."

"One day he's going to be bigger than you," I remind her. "He's going to be as big as Daddy." Mike is almost 6'4.

"Wow, Daddy's GINORMOUS! I better be careful then," she purses her lips and wrinkles her forhead, like she's thinking.

"You just need to treat him with respect and he will learn to do the same to you."

"Okay, Momma!"

Three seconds later, I turn around to see her sitting on her brother. Gently, but sitting on him nonetheless.

"Charlotte, get off of Sawyer! Why are you sitting on him?!"

"Because maybe if I can squish him like a bug, he won't get bigger than me."

Choosing battles

2009-10-01T08:57:00.003-04:00

There are some wars I'm just not willing to wage with my children. If Charlotte wants to wear mismatched socks pulled up to her knees with Dora slippers on to the store, whatever. She's expressing herself and as long as she's safe, who am I to quell her independence?

She has a very distinct bedtime routine. I mean, if you forget something or put something out of place, she flips her shit. Thankfully, it's the only time she's so anal and I think it has to do with her needing to control to feel safe, especially once she gave up her pacifier. So, I give her that.

She took her "bippy" till she was almost three. Though I didn't want it to affect her teeth, part of me didn't care. It made her feel safe. It was her comfort. After she turned 20 months or so, I made her keep it in her bed and she could only use it for naptime and bedtime. And occasionally in the car, mostly because I wanted to plug her whine-hole while trapped in a moving vehicle.

Sawyer never took a pacifier. Ok, I lie. He took it for like the first four months or so, until he got his first cold. He was too stuffy to suck on it for a couple of nights, and after that he would spit it out or chomp on it but never suck it. Mike and I took it as a sign to throw away all remaining bippies and save ourselves the agony of going through what we went through with Charlotte (who willingly gave them up, never asking for them, but created a months-long battle of getting out of her bed repeatedly that damn near drove me over the edge of the precipice I call my sanity).

He has a bunch of silky blankets and stuffed animals he likes to sleep with, but has no real preference. Any one will do, which is great. His vice? His bottle.

I'm sure you've seen me on Twitter lamenting about how I'm sure he'll be 35 and still carry a BPA-free "bot" in his briefcase. He still takes THREE-FOUR bottles a day. I've been able to eliminate the morning one since he finally sleeps till 7 and then we just get up and have breakfast. He still takes two naps, and before each one he takes a bottle. And then the obligatory one before bedtime.

As soon as he gets tired or when he's scared or upset, he cries, "Bot! Bot! Bot!" For instance, when I bring him to the gym daycare, he immediately starts crying because he's a momma's boy and doesn't like when I leave a room. I hand him a bottle and he plugs up and walks over and starts playing. If I'm at the supermarket and he starts acting up or whining because I won't let him squish my bread or pull things off the shelves, I give him his bottle and he calms down. It's his soother. It calms him.

I just can't bring myself to take it away.

I remember when Charlotte was his age, she was already off the bottle, drinking her milk in a cup. I'd see older babies with bottles and smugly be proud of my awesome parenting skills. Oh, how I'd love to punch my past self squarely in the throat.

We've tried to put milk in his sippy cup, but he won't drink it. He'll literally throw it on the ground. He loves his sippies and has been taking them since he was 7 months old. But he wants his water/juice (due to constipation issues - most likely due to the crazy amount of dairy he intakes - he also drinks like 2-3 full sippies a day of watered-down apple juice) in his sippy cup and his milk in his "bot." Nothing else will do. Juice in a bottle? Milk in a cup? BLASPHEMER. He won't do it.

So for now, it's a battle I'm not willing to fight. We're going to Disney in a couple of weeks. He'll be on a plane for the first time, staying in a strange hotel, skipping naps, etc. He needs his bottle to get through that. Hell, WE need his bottle to get through that.

Then when we get back we'll try to get him down to only his nighttime bottle. Baby steps, right? Sometimes I get comments. Some are good - like the daycare lady at the gym. She says "Oh heck, my last daughter took a bottle till she was three!!" or his dayhome provider, "he's still a baby." Some are not good, like the old lady in the supermarket, "My, isn't he a big boy to have a bottle?" SUCK IT, GRANNY.

He IS still a baby. And for now, I can't bring myself to take away something that soothes him, calms him down, and quite frankly, shut his hole.

(This is where you comment and tell me YOUR kid took a bottle to college. Or give me some magic trick to get him to drink milk from a cup after vacation.)

Universal Truths as Told by Me

2009-09-30T11:00:00.004-04:00

1) Toe rings were maybe cool if you were 19 and it was 1998. If you are no longer 19 and it is no longer 1998, they are not cool.
1b) This also goes for platform flip flops.
1c) And belly button rings.

2) Some songs should never be remade.
2a) See "Free Falling." Yes, I'm looking at you, John Mayer.
2b) Also: any and all dance remixes of slow songs.

3) When you have the dream where you're falling and you jerk awake right before you hit the floor, you will look at your spouse and wonder why he didn't wake up. I mean, you almost dream DIED.

4) The toddler will bang on the door just seconds prior to Mommy-and-Daddy-special-time because IT'S SKEEEEERY in her room.

5) Dark clothes are very hard to locate in the dark.

6) The second you clean up puke from one creature, another creature will create a mess of equal or surmountable portions in its place. It's like a law of Physics or something. I think it was Newton. Yeah.

7) Men cannot pee in the toilet without splattering.

8) Neither can three-year-old girls.

9) Feathering your hair does not Farrah Faucett make.
9a) Especially if you're a guy.
9b) And especially if it's a mullet.

10) Curly mullets are funnier than their straight-haired counterparts.

11) When you lose a bet to your spouse and have to do all the dishes for the week, you wish you had just given him the "special treat" he asked for instead.

12) Fried calamari is a gift from Heaven.

13) You never look as good in pictures as you think you're going to.

14) There's at least one person in your office you wish would self-combust.

15) Your car will break down, your TV will break, and your tooth will crack all at once.

In Storage

2009-09-28T19:57:00.000-04:00

She has never been on a plane.

My grandmother has been in poor physical health for almost as long as I can remember. She's had three kinds of cancer. Yep, three. She's had terminal emphysema for years now. She's broken both hips, had cataract surgery, and has lived the last few years in a nursing home.

She's still mentally sharp even though she may ask me the same question more than once, she's still "all there."

Her left hip replacement broke years ago and pulverized the bone - you can literally see bone dust and fragments on the X-ray. Because of her poor health and the fact that a stable bone no longer existed, they couldn't surgically repair it so she lives in a wheelchair.

Recently, that same broken hip replacement has begun poking through her skin. It is apparently "tenting" through the skin. She was put in the hospital, put into traction and her options were discussed. Fixing the leg is not an option at this point, so she has two choices. 1) Living the rest of her life in a nursing home in traction or 2) have the leg amputated.

When I spoke to her on the phone today, she said, "They want to cut my leg off!"

"Good! Then you won't be in any more pain or bedridden. You'll recover and learn to sit up without it and be able to go outside and with us," I said, referring to the courtyard garden at her home.

"No way are they cutting my leg off! They want to go all the way to the pelvis!!"

"Well, Nanny, that's where the busted hip pieces are. The top of the socket is in your pelvis. They have to get it all."

"But then I won't have a leg!"

"Well, are you using it now?!"

"That's not the point. They're. Not. Taking. My. Leg."

She'd rather die in traction where it's safe than live the rest of her life with no leg. A leg she hasn't used in years, anyway. I wish I understood, but I don't. She has lived her whole life in fear - of one thing or the other. She never traveled despite having the money to do so. She was afraid of flying. She took buses to Atlantic City and we went to Florida once. Most of her life was lived in a tiny apartment in an urban neighborhood.

This weekend, Mike, my father, and I cleared out the storage unit she's been paying for since she had to sell her house. Most of the stuff was garbage, but it was her garbage. It was broken memories of a life once lived. I glimpsed bits and pieces of my grandfather - cards, magazines, an old trumpet, the flag he flew when he came home from the war. There were half-knitted scarves, buckets of yarn, quilting books. Rocking chairs, old dolls, a walker with cut tennis balls on the bottom.

We packed up her life - a life she'll never see again - and put it in a truck. I sorted through and kept some keepsakes and it's my mother's job to do the rest. I can't help but be heartbroken that someone's entire life can fit in a 10 X 15 storage unit. Her whole life. I guess in the end, things are not what comprises of a person's entire existence, and maybe my storage unit will be smaller. Maybe we all need a smaller storage unit.

All I know is that when someone packs up my storage unit, I hope I'm there on my one leg, having flown my on Cessna over there to supervise.

Explaining God to a Three-Year Old. Or Sponge Bob.

2009-09-27T23:47:00.000-04:00

"OHMYGOD! Sawyer is licking the cat again," my three-year old yells from the living room.

"Charlotte, we say ohmyGOSH or ohmyGOODNESS, not ohmyGOD."

"Why?"

"Because it can upset some people. It's not polite to say that and is a little disrespectful."

"Why?"

"Well, "God" is the name someone very important to a lot of people and by saying it in that way, they see it as using His name in a disrespectful way."

"Who is God?"

This is where my brain died and I lost all ability to speak. Why couldn't she ask me about sex or something easier?

"Well, God is a being that some people believe is the creator of the world, and people, and everything in it. He lives in Heaven, " I answered, trying to keep it simple.

"Oh kind of like Sponge Bob lives in a Pineapple?"

I stifled a giggle "Well, there's a lot more to the story. Other people, including Mommy and Daddy, believe different things. Some people believe in a different God, some people believe in no God but believe everything is life and energy, some people believe in something, but not the same God as someone else."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I know it's confusing. Mommy and Daddy will teach you about all religions and faiths and you can decide what you want to believe on your own, okay?

"Okay, Momma. From now on, I'll just say OHMYSPONGEBOB."