Desperately Seeking Erin

More Time

2013-03-12T22:43:00.001-04:00

Bucket lists have been on my mind a lot lately. It started with the Mayan apocalypse back in December. There was a realization that in the year leading up to the "end of the world" I was pretty much in the same place. Sure my kids had grown and I had a different job. Small, incremental changes. Those ultimately make up life, right? But over all, nothing profound had happened. Step by step, minute by minute, life just slowly ticks by.

When I look back, what do I want to see? Happy, healthy children. Successful marriage. Nice cars? Those trips to Ireland, Iceland, Peru I dream about? Maybe a few more cruises? Do the people with passports full of exotic travels feel like life is slipping by? Jesus wasn't a world traveler. I wonder if, had he the chance, he'd have gone on a Carnival cruise a time or two. Just so he could feel like he'd LIVED.

A few months ago I found out someone close to me has cancer. I remember talking about her treatment with Nanny Penny. How long could she hope to extend her life by undergoing all this treatment? Long enough to see grand kids? To watch her boys grow up? How do you decide how long is long enough? I want to stay around to watch your kids have kids, Nanny Penny told me. You always want more time.

So how do you know when you've lived?

Recently I watched an old high school classmate say goodbye to her 2 1/2 year old baby girl. As a mother, I felt her pain, the urge to hold your baby just one more time. I stood in the funeral home, hoping that my ache could ease her burden somehow.

This is living. That lady with cancer is living. That mother aching for her child is living. The woman bearing a child is living. The couple vowing to love each other until they die is living.

Life is not about how many houses you own, how many nice pairs of shoes you have, how many cars are in your driveway. It isn't about the places you've been or the nights out with friends. Life is where you are pushed as far as you can go to see how little everything else is. It's about feeling small in the face of it all. It's about those raw moments when everything changes in the blink of an eye.

And the rest of us with our faces in front of screens thinking about our next vacation or the next Pinterest recipe we will try or the sale at the mall where we will buy that purse we have had our eye on, as the minutes pass us by. In a year will we still be here asking for more time?

Are we living?

Momming Out

2013-03-04T20:40:00.001-05:00

Today I was lamenting to some coworkers about my lack of weekend wardrobe options. Work I've pretty much got covered, though I'd love to trash it all in favor of one of everything from Ann Taylor and Limited. And brunch? Should I ever actually become a lady who brunches, I'm sure I'd have plenty of options for that as well, as it mostly involves whatever I'd wear to work plus jeans. But there is a vast majority of my life that falls somewhere between pumps and yoga pants that I have nothing to accommodate. When getting ready to go over to a friend's house or preparing for a trip to Target, I often spend 30 minutes or more staring blankly at my closet trying to conjure up something that hits somewhere between 16 and Pregnant and The Golden Girls before giving up and pulling on the Uggs. I feel like if I'm going to arrive late, my arrival should at least be worth the wait.

This presents a particular challenge when my weekend is an active one. A visit to the zoo or Day Out With Thomas means not only are yoga pants out of the question, but comfortable shoes are a must. Add to that the Mom-as-family-pack-mule expectation (water? Baby wipes? Change of clothes? No problem!) and the high chance of ending the day covered in food/snot/et al and what's a girl to do?

This leads to a phenomenon I like to call "momming out."

Last year we attended Day Out With Thomas with the boys. It was July so jeans were out, and there isn't enough Gold Bond Medicated Powder in the world to get me to wear a dress or skirt on a hot summer day with lots of walking. Shorts were my only option. Since I'm caught in that no mans land between regular and plus size, I decided to go up to the plus section and invested in some Bermudas. Ah yes, the elastic waist was comfy. But plus size apparently means extra room in the thighs as well, essentially making my walking shorts into culottes. Zexy! Then there were my white sneakers straight off the clearance rack. And let's not forget the backpack! Oh yes, the backpack, the fanny pack's only-slightly-better-but-not-really sister. I had totally mommed out.

I know there are probably those moms out there who have slipped down the rabbit hole without even realizing it. But for most of us, momming out is a conscious decision, one made none-too-lightly while staring at our closet as the minutes to Thomas tick by and toddlers scream and we search in vain for something, anything, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME WEAR THE FANNY PACK DEAR GOD WHY???!!!

And then we realize that we are miles from home and no one really sees us anymore anyway and isn't it nice to be sort of invisible and just enjoy your family without hurting your feet or smothering your gut in spanx and......

.....what's that? Do I have a granola bar? Why yes, yes I do. It's in this backpack somewhere, along with my dignity.

Scientists

2013-02-23T01:59:00.001-05:00

To the person that came to this blog by way of gogetporn.net, I apologize. I know this isn't what you had in mind. Or maybe it was. In that case: Ew.

Move it along, nothing to see here.

So I was talking to some folks the other day and out of the group of about ten or so of us, about half have kids that come with a label. You know, ADD, ADHD, autism, dyslexia, irritable bowel syndrome. Oh wait, that last one's me. Never mind.

Anyways, it's weird that like half of us have kids who aren't 'normal,' right? Like....right? I mean, really. I mean, I know my kid's not normal. He is mine, after all. But I mean, how could roughly 1 in 2 kids be part of this acronym-obsessed special needs world? Kind of makes it feel...not so special.

Here's the thing: I'll play the game. I'll get my kid tested, I'll do the conferences, I'll throw around legal jargon like IEPs and 504s that I'm not really too sure what they mean but they seem to send the staff of my kid's school scurrying like cockroaches in direct light. I'll get him labeled, all kinds of acronyms, if that's what it takes to get teachers to teach him in the way that he requires in order to learn. I will ninja-star the shit out of you with acronyms, because I'm his mama and that's my job.

President's Day I was home from work and I was able to meet Brooks when he got off the school bus. We talked about his day and, with a little prodding, he was able to tell me stories about what he'd learned, how he'd played with his friends, and the work he was doing. He went inside and did his reading without being reminded, and after he was finished he was able to tell me everything that happened in the book. (It's strange that he's halfway through a chapter book that he's been reading completely on his own--this must be what it feels like when you let go of the bike and they take off.) Later, we went outside and he mentioned the sun. I told him about how the sun sets in the west every day and so by looking at the sky we could tell what direction we were going. He made up a game right there on the spot where we traveled the globe in our backyard, using the setting sun as our guide. Our travels took us all the way to Nanny's house, where he began an impromptu sketch of the solar system. We went through each planet one by one, searching the internet for what makes each planet unique, and then he'd draw them on his paper and carefully write the name above it. We went home and ate dinner, followed our usual bedtime routine. As I tucked him in, we talked about the stars in the sky and how they were all around us, as far out as you could think. I'd mentioned earlier that sometimes you could see Venus or Mars at night, that they looked like big bright stars. He peered out of his window and called me over, excitedly asking me if he'd found one. I pulled out my phone and we used an app to figure out that we were looking at Sirius (appropriate, as we are reading the 3rd Harry Potter book now). Then we talked about the different constellations, and the space station, and the Hubble telescope. I asked him if he liked learning about all this science and he said no. I said, do you know what scientists are? They are just people who are curious. Doctors, dentists, weathermen, zookeepers, astronauts...they're all scientists who are just trying to figure out all they can about why things work the way they do. In that case, he thoughtfully replied, I think I might like science after all.

Special? Yeah, totally.

Reasons Why Your Husband Is Better At Grocery Shopping Than You Are

2013-02-09T12:08:00.001-05:00

Tired of fighting the crowds? Looking for ways to save money? Wondering how to fit some "me time" into the weekly shopping routine? I've figured out the solution. And he's in your living room right now, scratching something.

1. He Is Not On Pinterest
Your husband did not see a new recipe online that he's been thinking of trying. He does not have coworkers who bring cookies to work and then share the recipes. How many men do you see wandering the aisles of the produce section, handling the squash thoughtfully as they try to remember where they saw that one recipe that they could maybe use this squash for...or was it zucchini? Eggplant? Eff it, I'll buy all three and hope I can find the recipe later (although I'll more than likely just end up finding 30 other recipes I want to try instead and then giving up and shopping for shoes).

2. He Does Not Have Mommy Guilt
Woman Way: The list says granola bars. Do I want to get the sugary ones that I know the kids like, or the healthy ones made from paste and tree bark? Check the label. Still not sure. Price? Do I have enough to get both? What if I get the healthy ones, and then let them pick out a toy? We don't do enough crafting, so I'll stop by that aisle too. Man, having it all is tough....

Man Way: List says granola bars, reach hand out, first box hand touches wins. Done.

3. He Is Not A Hunter-Gatherer
Man's laser-like focus proves impervious against aisle displays, fancy end caps, and taste testers. His pulse does not quicken at the sight of a 20% off sign. He has not been price-stalking that bread making machine for months, watching the price fall, waiting for the chance to pounce. He does not see anything that would be a great birthday present for that cousin you hardly see. He doesn't even know when her birthday is. He does not ever go to a store "just to look."

Marketing companies have spent tons of time and money figuring out how to throw women shoppers off their game and get them to spend. But for men, if it ain't on the list, it ain't going in the cart, which means you save money. Pull out the big guns by sending your man to the store, and teach those companies a lesson.

4. No Mind Reading Required
Stop trying to figure out which meals your family loves most and what you should have on the menu that week.

Tip: if he buys ribs, it means he wants ribs for dinner. (Sorry, liver or mom's secret family recipe spaghetti: maybe he's just not that into you.)

5. He Is Proud
After that first trip to the store, be sure to marvel at how fast he was and at how much he saved. Something like "oh honey, you big strong man, I could NEVER have done as good a job as you" should do it. He will be so full of himself that he'll forget all about how much he hates the grocery store! (Insert evil laugh)

6. He Won't Get Everything
It took my husband 3 weeks to figure out where the corn meal was in the section of the store labeled "corn meal." Side note: if anyone needs any shake n bake, I've got a plenty! So yeah, I sometimes have to run back out and get stuff. And tampons? Forget it. It's enough that I'm asking him to go to the store, but to walk around with a cart full of feminine products? He's not going to let that happen. So what's a girl to do when she runs out?

Why, go to Target, of course! And maybe while I'm there I'll stop by the clothing section. You know, "just to look."

The Sweet Smell of Success

2013-02-01T19:59:00.000-05:00

Today was a great day. Today was the first day in longer than I remember that my child was excited about school.

Teacher (finally) met with problem solving team and made some recommendations. Nothing earth-shattering, just basic things. You know, the type of stuff one might have tried by applying common sens.....nevermind. Anyways, so there are recommendations of seating Brooks at the front of the class, verbal prompting during independent work to keep him on task, and one or two other things that escape me at the moment. She's sent home notes about how many times she's had to prompt or re-direct during the month of January, and will rate the day going forward based on how many times she has to re-direct him (with the ultimate goal of 2 or less). She told me I'd need to discuss with Brooks, because she would be working with him to come up with a reward system for performing well with the new interventions. She also recommended that we develop something at home to further reward and reinforce any progress made.

Sounded like a lot of work, but man, at least we were getting somewhere.

The official plan for him doesn't get rolled out until next week, but today she was going to discuss everything with Brooks, explain the plan, and have him pick out the reward that he would get for behaving and remaining on task. And, apparently, they would use today as a practice day so that he would be ready to rock and roll come Monday.

So I get home today and Brooks comes running into the kitchen where I'm getting settled in. He's beaming, bright-eyed, excited to show me the new Slinky he got from the dollar store with great-grandma. How was school today, I ask. GREAT, he exclaims. He begins telling me all about his new special spot on the carpet--obviously a way to make sure he's seated at the front of the class, but he thought a super special Brooks-only spot was about the coolest thing ever. He also told me about how the teacher would come up to him while he was working to ask if he was on task, which he took as praise throughout the day. And if there's one thing Brooks thrives on, it's praise. Mom, he tells me, the teacher said I did AWESOME!!! He's so full of excitement he can hardly stand himself. That's great, I tell Brooks. Yeah, he says, I was able to remember all my assignments and all the stories and everything. When I ask him why he thinks he was able to do such a great job focusing today (was it the special spot? the reminding? what's the secret?) he tells me he just felt so good, he was proud of himself and that helped him remember.

Could you just die?

So of course I had to pat him on the head and dismiss him so that I could have a little mini-meltdown all to myself there in front of the microwave. Thank God we are making progress! Thank God all this trouble has been for something! Thank God that he feels so great about himself! What a wonderful thing to see him so proud!

P.S. I am giving myself major Mommy points--I suspected his issues were more self-esteem/anxiety based, and it would seem that I am right. I love being right. But I love being the mom of a happy kid even more!

What's Up, January!

2013-01-30T23:05:00.000-05:00

Hey y'all, when did Anne Hathaway go from this:

To this:

Also, I don't get Jennifer Lawrence. I don't know why. I just don't. So there.

New Year's came and went and I decided that perhaps I should actually put effort into what I was eating and try to lose some weight. I've been at it for about 5 weeks, and so far I've lost 1 lb. Well, I've lost like 5 lbs and gained 4 lbs, all in a cyclical pattern spread over that 5 weeks. Sooooo yeah. If that paragraph had a hashtag it would be #lapband.

Speaking of losing weight, what's the deal with Kerry Washington? She has like a huge skeletor head on a baby body. Remember when she looked like this?

What a porker, amirite???

Anyways, so snow then ice then frozen rain and sleet then mild and rainy, and now I'm sitting in my living room watching the news because we are under a mother-loving tornado watch. Gotta love NC!

Oh, and I'm back on my PC (correction: HUSBAND'S PC) because my iPhone met an untimely demise tonight when it fell into a sink full of dishes. We won't talk about the fact that said phone fell into said sink because after single-handedly bringing in 4 Wendy's bags, two drink trays, keys, and an almost-two-year-old while the group of people said Wendy's was for sat there and watched, I plopped said food onto kitchen counter, whereby the phone which, out of hands as I was, I had perched precariously onto the top drink tray, toppled into the sink when said drink tray overturned, then sat in said sink unnoticed for upwards of a half hour. Yeah, we won't mention it. Oh here, have some rice, Erin, everything will be juuuuuuust fine. Why are you acting like a crazy person, it wasn't anyone's FAULT! P.S. thanks for the fries.

Yeah, we won't talk about that.

Anyways, much as I do loves me m'smartphone, the mobile site for this blog bah-loooooows hard so I haven't been updating my blog. I know that's counter-intuitive, and believe me, I was as heartbroken as you were to realize that smartphone didn't mean you guys got blog updates from me all. day. long. Okay, maybe you weren't so heartbroken. Fake it, I've had a hard day.

Besides that, I'm still staying super busy loving my job. Don't get me wrong, there are days where it feels like I'm running around all day long. But at the end of the day, I have to take a step back and remind myself that must mean that I've been productive, and you can't be mad about a hard day's work.

That is, as long as it doesn't keep me stressed out when I get home. My kids are everything, but they exhaust me after a long day at work. It's not their fault, I just need to loosen up and let go. There's entirely too much yelling that goes on in this house (when you're reading a passage of Harry Potter in which Snape berates Neville in front of the class and you think "What? That's not so bad" you've got a problem) and sometimes I can't help but wonder how badly I'm just messing those babies all up. We've already figured out that Brooks's ADD-Inattentiveness is really more of a coping mechanism for extreme anxiety (he quite literally goes to his happy place when he's overwhelmed)--how much of that issue is because he's so used to having to check out at home? It's weird because the whole reason this ADD thing started was because I felt out of control and overwhelmed with him, feeling like I was yelling too much. The ADD diagnosis kind of allowed me to take a load off--it's okay, Erin, he can't control it. It's not anything that can be helped, it's not anything that you've done. But then when I began to piece together the issues, and the fact that it all stems from anxiety, it brought me right back to where I started. I feel like there should be some kind of support group for people like me: "Hi, my name is Erin. I yell and it messes my kid up."

So I'm trying to be lighter (in more ways than one). Trying to be happier. More carefree. And it starts with songs like this:

Adventures in Acronyms

2012-12-19T00:57:00.000-05:00

"What did I just say?"

"Why aren't you listening?"

"Can't you just sit still?"

"Don't you understand what that means?"

"Think about what you're doing before you do it!"

Ever since he was old enough to be yelled at, Brooks has had these words hurled at him over and over and over. Interrupting, back-talking, forgetfulness, daydreaming...it's all a part of being a kid, right? And as parents, it's our job to shake all that out of him and whip him up into a responsible member of society, who at the very most becomes Pope and at the very least holds the door open for old ladies at the mall.

And while there have always been issues, since, you know, he's only human and all, he's not a problem kid. So the streak of "yellow" and "red" days at school had James and I stumped. And pissed. Weren't we teaching you anything, boy? By mid-October, Brooks had already racked up more yellows and reds than he had all of last year. James and I would lecture, we'd ground, we'd withhold privileges, anything. But Brooks was like Teflon; as I would explain consequences to him, it was like he wasn't even hearing me, as if I was telling him a story about someone else. So I'd push harder to make an impact, which would always result in a meltdown (for both of us) with him proclaiming himself a failure and me feeling like absolute pond scum.

Then, it hit me. It is NOT supposed to be this hard.

To make sure I wasn't over-reacting (who, me?) I emailed his teacher. Are you having the same issues, I wondered. Is this how all children his age are? Am I putting too much pressure on him, or is there some kind of issue that just won't let him "get" stuff sometimes? The next day, she replied to tell me that no, I wasn't over-reacting. In fact, she and the teacher assistant in the class had discussed Brooks and the issues he'd been having and were ready to have a conference with James and I about it. Oh. Okay.

James and I met with the teacher, and we all agreed on the obvious: Brooks wasn't paying attention. And he wasn't able to control it.

A.D.D.

Of course, there were other issues at hand as well. We discussed his struggles during independent reading time. The teacher told us how she would look over at him and see that rather than reading the books from his "Book Box" he would be daydreaming, wearing the book on his head, or disregarding the book altogether in favor of playing out an imaginary game of Angry Birds. When I asked to look at the books he had in his Book Box, there were books full of bright pictures of Thomas the Tank Engine or Big Bird, with two or three sentences on a page. Brooks is on a second-grade reading level. Of course he was struggling to pay attention during independent reading time: he was bored out of his mind.

So where do we go from here? The teacher told us that our next stop should be to our pediatrician to confirm our A.D.D. suspicions. In her experience, there would be a questionnaire that each of us would have to complete. From there, we'd probably begin the path to medication. What about a special plan for him at the school, I asked. Medicating my child isn't something I take lightly, and I didn't think that should be our first recourse. Would he have anyone working with him here at the school? Any plans like these IEP things I've read about online? She tells me that IEPs are generally for children with more severe issues, such as Autism, and that for children with ADHD there really aren't any resources. Of course, if Brooks were to fall so far behind that he should become "at risk" then there would be plans put into place. But then again, that's what we were all trying to avoid. Even though he had his yearly checkup in about a month, she urged me not to wait until then to meet with the doctor. The longer we waited, the more he would miss, and the further behind he would fall.

Actually, I did end up waiting until Brooks's yearly checkup to mention it to the pediatrician. In truth, just the acknowledgement that his struggles were due to something outside of himself (rather than just bratty-ness) was a great relief. It helped me see things from a different perspective, and I began concentrating more on ways that I could reach him or better explain things to him in order to avoid losing his attention. His grades showed improvement, as did his daily behavior chart, so I assumed the teacher felt the same.

When I did see the pediatrician, she acknowledged that what I was noticing did seem in line with ADD. However, she was a medical doctor, and if I was expecting to leave her office that day with a prescription, that wasn't how she did things. Children that are suspected of having ADD would need to see a psychologist to obtain a diagnosis. If at that point medication was deemed necessary, she would then step back in to write the prescription. She gave me the number of the psychologist at their office. I made the appointment on my way home.

Meanwhile, I talked to family and friends about what was going on. It seemed, based on the experience of others, that the path we had started down was a little different than usual. Instead of being referred to the pediatrician with well wishes and "let us know how that turns out for you", they had been approached by the school, brought into a process that the teachers and administrators and school counselors had already begun. With their children, there had been interventions, observations, testing, evaluation, and recommendations. Yes, there were also prescriptions from the pediatrician. But that was part of a larger process, a team approach led by the school, where the parent was guided and informed throughout.

So far, I was going it alone.

At our meeting with the psychologist, there was no testing. She asked Brooks a few questions, but mostly he was allowed to play on his own while she and I talked. As frustrating as this experience was proving to be, I wasn't completely opposed to the idea of me being in the hot seat at the shrink's rather than Brooks. But still, I wondered, how could she be sure that ADD was the issue? We left the visit with the promise of more visits, but with no diagnosis in hand. When we returned two weeks later, I flat-out asked what was going on. Does he have it or not? Yes, she answered, flipping through papers on her clipboard. Well, okay. So now what? I began explaining my confusion about the process, my concern that no changes had been made at the school, and my desire to see Brooks learn coping skills and ways to manage his challenges, rather than simply relying on medication to get him through. The teacher had said she would be open to any suggestions that the psychologist had, but how could I be sure that any techniques we asked to be implemented were actually followed through on? And furthermore, why was I in this middle-man position? Did the school have no idea how to handle this?

504 Plan.

That was the psychologist's suggestion. Not quite as....specific? serious? severe? as an IEP plan, a 504 basically is a list of accommodations for Brooks that the school is legally compelled to follow, such as seating him near the front of the class, giving tests orally, allowing more time on tests, yada yada yada. We don't have a set list of things Brooks needs, and to be honest I'm not sure where that would come from but the idea of having sort of an agreement between everyone involved in Brooks's education about how we can all pitch in to get him where he needs to be sounded great. Yeah, let's do that! How do I do that? The psychologist refers me back to the school, saying I need to get in touch with the administrator. Ugh, here we go again.

Before I have a chance to get in touch with the school principal, I get an email from the teacher. After a long streak of incident-free days, she's again noticed that Brooks is struggling to pay attention and it's affecting his work. As much as I hate those parents who refuse to fault their children and think teachers are a lazy, incompetent group out to blame kids for every bad hair day they have, this whole process is beginning to turn me into a cynic. After our meeting, I felt there was a mutual understanding of the situation, and had been encouraged in the lack of bad notes from teacher. Is it the upcoming holiday break? The fact that both flare-ups occurred around progress report time? Does he just turn into a different kid once every three months, like some kind of weird werewolf? What is going on? So cynical as I may be, I still believe it's in Brooks's best interest for parent and teacher to present a united front. I promise her that I will address the issues she brought up--you know, those same issues that we talked about LAST time. Oh and by the way, I'm going to be talking to the principal about this whole 504 plan thing.

That must've been the magic word.

She responds to let me know that she will be getting with some special group of teachers and counselors at the school to present Brooks's case. From there, the group will suggest interventions for her to try in the classroom, and then she will report back on the results. There will be evaluations, observations, possibly some testing, and then we will all get together as one big, happy family to talk about it and hammer out our plan. Interesting, I think to myself. That sounds EXACTLY like what everyone else was telling me would happen 3 months ago. This process, also, takes several weeks, and since winter break is coming up, it's not going to start until the New Year is here. So much for wanting to get this whole thing started as quickly as possible so Brooks doesn't fall behind, huh?

So here I am, ping-ponging between a teacher and a psychologist about the best way to give my child what he needs. I'm walking the fine line between disciplining my child so that he learns to make good choices and that his special need is not an excuse, and questioning the teacher on why nothing has been done yet in the classroom to help him, all while bending over backwards to be civil and tactful in observance of that whole kill-more-flies-with-honey approach. I'm asking for what basically amounts to lesson plans from the teacher so that I can re-teach my son what was covered that day in class to make sure he understands it. I'm lecturing, I'm making phone calls, and I'm drinking a lot of wine. Did I mention that I also work full-time, have a husband in school, another son (what's his name again??), and oh yeah, Christmas. It's enough to make a woman crazy. Or cynical. Or just a really big drunk.

Either way.

Christmas Wish List For The Boys

2012-11-17T11:07:00.000-05:00

Brooks's Christmas Wish List:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

A Microscope

A Paint Set

A remote control plane or helicopter

A Toy Truck With Sound

"Blue Mountain Mystery" DVD

"Ticket To Ride" Board Game

Tiny Cooking Utensils From This Place (He Does Want To Be A Chef, After All)

Anything Angry Birds:
Like This

Or This

These Would Also Be Nice

Anything Harry Potter:
Like This

Or This

Or Maybe This

Or Even This

Henry's Wish List:

Books

Balls

The Target Dog

Anything Curious George:
Such As This

Or This

Or Perhaps This

Trains

Socks

Shoes (5-6):
Like This

Or This

Clothes (18-24mos):
Like These

Or This

Or This

Today I Don't Feel Like Doing Anything

2012-11-12T18:03:00.002-05:00

Oh oh oh it's been so long.....

It's Veteran's Day, and I'm off work, so I figured I'd take the chance to (finally!) update the old blog.

(Hopefully this won't end up as another of those saved drafts. I've started and abandoned so many posts...)

So the Bennetts have been super busy lately:

JAMES

James continues the school thang. He's a senior now me thinks, with graduation ETA of May 2013. Yay for graduation! I can see the light at the end of the long, dark, and broke-as-hell tunnel. Even so far we've had bits of reprieve: though James is busy doing his big senior paper and all, he has actually not had as busy of a school schedule. He's even been able to do things on the weekends besides sleep, write, and watch football. It's a nice taste of what life might be like when both of us have day-jobs like normal people. "You mean, if I'm not able to get off work to take some kid to practice somewhere it's okay? There's someone else that can take them?" Still taking some getting used to from me. I mean, as nice as it is that sometimes he cooks dinner, grocery shops, or watches the kids while I work late, I still can't help but feel a little like "heeeey, that's MY job!"

Speaking of job, James's search has begun. Am I proud of him for going to school? Absolutely! Do I love the maturity and confidence he has found, and am I proud of all the hard work he has put into it? Of course! But man, oh man, I cannot WAIT to have him back working full-time!

HENRY

Henry has also been super-busy. He's now 19 months old. He loves his big brother, loves copying everything he does. He loves his daddy, and follows him everywhere. And he still loves chasing the cat, much to the cat's chagrin. He thinks watching dogs on TV is hilarious, but is terrified of them in real life. He also has a new-found love of sitting in laps and reading books, which happen to pair perfectly together. He can say a few words: Daddy, Mommy, Bubba, banana, kitty cat, choo choo, hello, bye, pee pee, no, uh-uh, and uh-huh. And while he babbles up a storm and clearly understands lots of words (he knows to stick his feet out when I say it's time to put your socks on, he knows to bend over when I say let's wash your butt, and he knows to throw something away when I tell him to put it in the trash), he has yet to really start talking. I'm not sure how much of this is because there's a delay and how much of this is just Henry being Henry and all "I'll do it when I damn well please." But either way, we're going to make it more of a point to work with him. I can't help but have some I'm-sorry-you-weren't-my-first guilt about it.

BROOKS

Brooks has started first grade. We've been having some issues lately. Not that he's a bad kid or a disruption. But that whole lack of focus thing is really catching up with him. I must admit, I took it for granted that he seemed to do so well last year, and really wasn't on top of him about homework and all that when the new year started. With everything else going on, I decided I could let that ball go. Then we started noticing him getting in trouble a lot more at school. Like A LOT more. The kid was always grounded! He would talk about how easy first grade was compared to Kindergarten because the days were shorter. His first progress report was horrible! Then one night as I was yelling at him for the 50th time that day for not paying attention or doing something I'd asked, he looked up at me through tears and said "I'm just BAD!" And it clicked. This yelling, this having to constantly be on top of him, this feeling that I'm looking right at him and he sees my mouth moving, but he's not even on the same planet right now, he's out floating somewhere in outer space....This isn't normal. It was like a light bulb went off. So now we're slowly easing down the road of trying to figure out what's going on. We've had the parent-teacher conference and have an appointment scheduled with the pediatrician. I'm thinking it's ADD. I mean, what else could it be? I'd be glad to hear any suggestions or techniques they can offer us for helping Brooks (and for keeping me from being the constantly-yelling crazy person!) but at the same time, freaked about him possibly having "a thing" and what path that puts us on, especially the prospect of medicating.

But he's come out of his shell so much. There is still some major worry-wart in him, but he's much more social. He has lots of buddies at school, is riding the school bus, is learning to ride his bike without training wheels, and even played t-ball this fall (and didn't completely suck!) We've also been focusing a lot on reading, since he's at a second-grade reading level but refuses to do anything beyond picture books when left to his own devices. He reads chapter books like Junie B. Jones, and we've gotten into some more mature things when doing our bedtime stories (where Mommy reads to both boys to get them settled down). We just finished the first Chronicles of Narnia book, The Magician's Nephew. Before that, it was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. He seemed to really enjoy both. I've promised that after we read each Harry Potter book, we can watch the movie. Now I just have to hope that someone gets him the books and the movies for Christmas!

MOMMY

As for me, I've been super busy of late. Not too long ago, I got a promotion. The new role is fabulous: fast-paced, busy, lots to do, great group of people, and I can see the mark I've been making already. It's so satisfying to know and be appreciated for the things you are doing. Makes a girl look forward to the drive to work every day! What a change! Subsequently, though, I'm daydreaming less and less about what life must be like as a kept woman, free to sit around and blog, make crafts you saw on Pinterest, drive your minivan, and pop out babies like a Pez dispenser. Not that that doesn't sound fabulous. But so is my life now. And that's saying something.

Which isn't to say, however, that I'm totally giving up the SAHM dream and jumping to Team We Can Have It All. I still feel pleeeenty guilty most nights when I'm rushing the kids to eat and shower and go to sleep hurry hurry hurry. And I do still daydream about what it would be like with just one more baby. Or 2. Or 5. We all gotta have something, right?

Oh, and this happened:

THE BOYS AT HALLOWEEN

So I guess now that Halloween is over, we are heading straight into holiday season. Hard to believe that next week is Thanksgiving. Especially because I usually host Thanksgiving, and not one plan has been made yet. OOPS! Soon it will be time for lists and frantic shopping and tree decorating. But for right now, I'm just going to enjoy this day off and not do a darn thing.

Getting Where I'm Going

2012-09-16T13:58:00.000-04:00

To the lady that honked at me (twice!) in the Bojangles' drive-thru today:

I didn't go to church this morning. Not that that's an unusual thing for me. In fact, it's more rare that I go than I don't. Sometimes I feel a conviction about it. Sometimes. But even when I do, I am rarely as convicted as I was this morning when our paths met.

That line this morning was pretty long, right? Maybe the workers were slow, or maybe there was a big rush of people on their way to church. I guess I could've gone inside, especially since I knew I was going to be ordering lunch for a family of four. But you see, I had just finished walking around Walmart for an hour or two with a very hungry toddler. I don't know if you have kids, but going inside and standing in line when you have already gone past lunch and are heading straight into nap time isn't fun for anyone.

I'm sure you didn't know I had a toddler in the car with me. Maybe that would've changed your mind. What about if I didn't have legs? Or if I was very, very pregnant? What about if I had just lost a loved one? If I was on the way back from the vet after having a beloved pet put down? What about if I was trying to decide if today should be my last day on earth? Would that have made a difference?

But I'm sure you weren't thinking about that. No, you were just thinking about how long it was taking for you to get your biscuit. I'm sorry I took so long. For all I know, you were in a hurry to take that biscuit to your very sick mother, or perhaps you were late to work, or to church. Perhaps the time it took for me to order all that food caused you to miss something. I'm very sorry for that, and I promise it wasn't done intentionally.

I'm sure you know that, too. But I couldn't help but notice your expression: head in your hand, eyes rolling, deep exhaling, shaking your head. Of course, you wanted me to see that. That's why you honked the horn at me. Your frustration had grown and grown, until finally it bubbled over. It wasn't enough for you to feel it inwardly anymore. Now you needed for others to see it. Perhaps if we knew how angry we were making you, the seas of ignorance and ineptitude would part and you would be allowed to proceed in peace.

I was about to put my car in park and let you know how I felt. But then, I saw your face again in my rearview mirror and I recognized something. The look you had on your face is a look I wear a lot myself. Frustration, anger, feeling like the world owes you something, if only people could get their crap together and get the hell out of your way. I understand. When I'm having a crap day, I won't be satisfied until everyone around me is having a crap day too.

But then, what? Everyone just goes around angry at each other all the time? That's no way to be! Why should I let my perfectly fine day be ruined by your bad day? Why not reverse that and let my good day change yours for the better? Isn't that why we are here? To love one another?

So, I thought to myself, if getting out of the car and giving you what-for wasn't an option, then what was? I thought about that as I pulled around to get my food. I watched as they put my boxes together, as your biscuit sat in a bag by the window waiting on you to pull up after I left. I was thinking about it so much, perhaps that's why I didn't rush out of the parking lot into oncoming traffic. I sat there for a minute, thinking, taking my time--which I'm sure is why you decided to honk at me again. I wonder if you knew I was thinking about you?

How could I push back against your bad attitude and throw a little sunshine your way? Finally, a few miles down the road, it hit me. I should've paid for your biscuit! Of course! It was so simple, so obvious! You were obviously in a hurry, you were obviously frustrated. I bet having a stranger unexpectedly pay for your food would've lifted your spirits. Heck, you may have even been a little more patient with me as I waited to turn onto Main Street. At the very least, it would've let you know that I saw you, I understood you, which is all we really want when we are having a bad day, right?

So I want you to know that I am thankful I crossed paths with you today. I know that God wants me to be in church on Sunday; however, I am grateful that He still sees fit to teach me even when I'm not. I don't ever want someone to look back in their rearview mirror at me and see the face I saw today in mine. I don't want to be the contagious bad mood. I want to be the sunshine. I see that I should try to treat everyone with patience and love and compassion, because we never know what struggles they may be facing.

Just to make sure I got the message (and because He has such a fantastic sense of humor, I'm sure) I got behind someone on my way home that was going about 10 mph under the speed limit. Right at that moment "When I Get Where I'm Going" came on the radio. I was reminded that even though I may be in a hurry, where I'm ultimately going is far more important than whereever I'm trying to get in my car. So I slowed down, took my time, and turned the radio up to drown out my screaming baby. Lesson learned.

But next time we meet, I will know just what to do. And that biscuit will totally be on me.

Have a great Sunday!

Love,

Erin

Moves like Jagger

2012-09-07T21:31:00.002-04:00

It's Friday, and the Bennetts are so happy we just couldn't contain ourselves! Nothing like grabbing your shades and your fedora and shaking your money maker!

17 Months

2012-09-02T20:42:00.000-04:00

Seemingly overnight, Henry has gone from cuddly infant blob to actual human toddler. He's got personality--lots and lots of it, actually. He throws balls; wrestles his brother; makes choo choo noises and car noises; and occasionally, if he's in the mood, he may follow a simple command or two. He can even say a few words, like "tan-tu" (thank you), " paaa" (up), "dye" (bye), "itty" (kitty), several various greetings (mostly yelling HEEEEEY! at the top of his lungs), and exclaiming something that James and I are pretty confident is a baby-talk version of "oh shit.".

I'm so proud.

Mi Vida Loca

2012-08-25T15:14:00.000-04:00

Okay, Team Bennett has been super busy lately, what with jobs and school and general living and such. A quick recap:

Healthiness is all around!

My friend Aimee has recently started the Paleo diet. Fine, fine, I thought when she first told me. Aimee's always been more weight-conscious than I have been, trying this and trying that in the hope of getting back into skinny pants. Good for her if it makes her feel better. I mean, I'd read about Paleo online, seen some bloggers that were doing it here and there, and the basic idea of it sounds good. I don't know how hard-core Paleo she is going about it, but the general idea of not eating processed, chemical-laden, man-made gook seems pretty common sense. Treat your body well and it treats you well, right? Well apparently, because that skank picked me up the other night to go with her to open house at her daughter's school and holy crap she looked great! What a bitch, ammirite?

Then the hubs came home one day and announced that the university he works for is going to do a health study and are basically looking for some Biggest Loser type folks to help get on this healthy lifestyle thing and see what happens. He had put his name in to be considered, but they were only taking the fattiest fatties from the pool. So.....is it good news or bad news that he made it? Not really sure, but he's pumped about being a participant and getting some direction and all that. And I'm pumped for whatever residual healthy-lifestyle trickle-down I may get from it. Yay free stuff!

All of this in my face diet stuff had me borderline considering becoming a Whole Foods convert. Hell, I'd even managed to drag the treadmill from the garage into the bedroom to begin working out more. The dragging was quite the workout in itself, and thus said treadmill has been used approximately 4 times since. But it's something, dammit! Get off my case! Oh right, that's not you, I'm just hungry. And winded.

What were we talking about? Oh yes, right, the walls of my fatty fat lifestyle were slowly closing in, when then came the piece de resistance. My dad, who has always been a large-and-in-charge type of guy, came over to the house the other day and began talking about his recent switch to a healthier diet. But then again, I guess having a few high blood pressure scares and that infamous 'elephant sitting on your chest' feeling will do that to a guy. He told me how he's off the fried crap, off the soda, and really making a concerted effort to think about what he's putting into his body. He's even been taking blood pressure medication regularly, as well as some medication to regulate mood and some blood sugar medication since he's a nose hair away from full-blown diabetes. I'm really proud of him for taking better care of himself, particularly since his father died of a massive heart attack when he was about 10 years older than my dad's age now. But dang, it's really hard to pull the covers over my head about my own health when everyone around me is being so dang HEALTHY!

So I've been trying to do the treadmill thing a little more, and trying to stay on the water and away from the soda. And I've also been trying to be more careful about what I eat, by actually packing my food for the next day the night before. That way I'm less likely to find myself bored and starving at 3pm and ready to stuff my face with whatever I can get my hands on. It's been working.....I suppose. I can definitely say that processed crap and fast food do not hold the same lure they once did. I just realized the other day that it's been a while since I've been out to my beloved Bojangles or Wendys on lunch, which both my waistline and wallet are thanking me for. And though I won't be in my skinny jeans any time soon, I have dropped a 1/2 lb. Which is a lot, seeing as how I normally gain between 10-20 lbs a year without even thinking. So at this point, I'll take maintaining (as opposed to steadily heading towards looking like the Kool Aid Man).

A new job!

Yes, that's right, a new job. I mean, same company. It's not like I got canned or anything. No, no, I'm moving on up like George and Weezy. Holler. I'm all corporate and stuff now. I get, like, a desk. And books. And a place for family pictures. And I call meetings. And send emails. And look at reports. My keyboard doesn't stick. My mouse is smooth and glide-y. My chair is comfortable. I have cute stationary and all the pens a girl could ask for. And not once, not ONCE this week (my first full week at said new job) did someone come in right when I was in the middle of some big project to ask me some weird question or if they could use the bathroom or can I use your pen even though I just got done picking my nose and scratching the oozing open sores that cover my arms and legs. It. Was. Amazing.

And on the ride to the pediatrician's office this morning (more on that in a bit) I found myself thinking about my new position. And I realized, hey, I'm not overcome with the sudden urge to punch something. In fact, I'm pretty happy. Dare I say that for the first time in a long time, maybe even ever, I really really like my job. Now, it's too soon to throw that other L word around. But so far, I am definitely happier. Which is good for everyone, considering that my past sudden urges to punch something usually resulted in me being a big giant grumpy-grump when I came home from work. Hurry hurry hurry to dinner then bath then bed, Children, so that Mommy can have some freaking time to herself while she contemplates how glorious solitude is while simultaneously being wracked with guilt about how she never spends quality time with you kids!

Of course, there were times this week when things were tight, like the day that I had a work event to attend, a toddler to retrieve from daycare, and another child to herd to open house at the school, all in the span of about 2 hours. Was I stressed? Absolutely. Was I cursing my life for not being financially blessed enough to be able to stay at home with my children so that I didn't have stupid work crap infringing on my precious Mom time? Nope. Mostly I just chalked it up to maybe needing to leave a little earlier. No big deal.

And to me, that kind of thinking is a very big deal indeed.

The kids!

I took Brooks to the dentist the other day. Aside from that one visit to the dentist that Daddy took him to (Daddy, with the pure hatred of appointments and dentists and things that touch the mouth and nose and general face area with medical instruments, and who has since been fired from chauffeuring dental visits), Brooks loves to go. He had an especially fun time this time, when not only did the dentist confirm that he does indeed have two loose teeth, but also discovered two of his six-year molars coming in. He was super excited about again not having any cavities ("NEVER IN MY WHOLE LIFE" he kept saying), but then on the way home was curious as to how a person who has such good dental fortune could ever hope to get some gold teeth like those that Daddy has. I explained to him that those are called crowns, and they are for when teeth break. But one might also be able to get gold teeth like those that rappers and basketball players and others with too much money have by buying a Grill. Oh yes, he decided, he would like one of those please. So it was settled. Once he gets his fatty-fat job as a train engineer, he will use his first paycheck to get himself a grill.

There was also the open house the other night at the school. It was so funny to watch this little kid who is usually so shy and slow to warm up to things walk around the halls of that school like a boss. With his signature thumbs up sign, he greeted teachers and friends and other familiar faces. We even got to see his classroom and teacher, which coincidentally is the same classroom and same teacher he had last year. Apparently they are doing some kind of half-Kindergarten/half-first grade class this year. I'm a little thrown off on that, as he is pretty advanced as far as reading goes and I'm anxious to have him chugging ahead full steam this year. The teacher gave me some sugary-sweet answer, explaining that the first graders chosen for her class have to be good independent workers since she will be splitting her time. She also mentioned that it would be an advantage over the other classes, since actually he will be working in a small group all year as opposed to being one of a large class. I'm still a little skeptical, but seeing some of the names of children from his class last year that were on his level is giving me some reassurance. This is me choosing to trust the system (as if I have another option).

As for the pediatrician visit we had this morning....Well, Henry has been an exceptional holy terror this week. Clingy, crying constantly, he even had another one of his bouts of insomnia the other night. No telling how late James and Henry were up, while James tried the patented Daddy Sleeper Hold all night to no avail. And even though in the back of my mind I knew that every insomnia fit he has had before has happened directly before an ear infection diagnosis, I still hate going all the way to the doctor unless I'm absolutely sure something is wrong. So I packed him up on Friday and sent him to daycare. I went all day without a call, but when I went to pick him up I did see that he was in some of the spare clothes the daycare keeps on hand. Yeah, the teacher said, he's had some pretty bad diarrhea today. And with both my boys, you can bet that is a surefire ticket to Blistering Diaper Rash Town. Sure enough, Henry couldn't even bear to sit in the bath water last night. So after days of crying and screaming and trying to decipher symptoms and "PLEASE JUST TELL MOMMY WHAT HURTS", I was at my wit's end. Then this morning, here comes Brooks holding HIS ear and telling me that it felt like someone was pinching it from the inside. Oh blessed speaking child, who is able to effectively communicate with adults in order to seek treatment for your ailments! And with that, I had all the motivation I needed to call the doctor and schedule a 2-for-1 appointment.

I arrived at the doctor's office the epitome of frazzled-mom-of-two-sick-kids-on-a-Saturday, unbathed and still wearing the yoga pants I'd slept in. When we got into the examination room, the doctor began asking Brooks to tell her what was going on. If she was expecting a simple "I've got an owwie in my ear hole" then she had the wrong kid. Brooks not only explained his cough, his snotty nose, the dry tickle in his throat, but also assured her that no he was not allergic to any medications nor had he recently had any surgical procedures. Furthermore, my brother seems to have a pretty bad case of diaper rash and has been pooping a lot and even had a turd stuck in his butt, he shared. Okay, talking child, that's enough out of you now.

Turns out, Brooks does indeed have an ear infection. Henry, on the other hand, just has a massive case of KARATE EXPLOSION IN THE PANTS. Doctor's orders were a steady diet of bland starchy foods like bananas and toast and yogurt, plus some quality diaperless-kid-on-hardwood-floors time to ensure maximum air-to-bottom ventilation. I also tried for maybe a scrip of downers for poor old Mom, but she wasn't willing to help a sister out. What the hell was my co-pay for?!

So there you have it. What have you been up to lately?

Child Labor

2012-08-12T15:13:00.001-04:00

I've always been about self-sufficiency. I teach my children sign language so they can quit whining and actually express thoughts. Brush your own teeth. Give yourself a bath. I believe in independence. I also believe in Mommy Sit-Down Time. Quit bothering me and get it yourself.

So it's a little surprising that I am just now having the holy-crap-I-am-not-the-only-one-who-can-do-housework epiphany. I mean, 90% of the reason I love watching the Duggars is how their household runs with the efficiency of a military platoon. Scrub this, wash that, and everyone falls in line. But I'll tell you, I am late to the game. I just have been hesitant to get everyone else in on the cleaning. I mean, I'm the mommy. I want the whole lots of kids, minivan, mopping and sweeping kind of life. Keeping house is one way I can make sure that my children are happy and taken care of.

But Brooks is starting to become interested in money. This summer, he has hatched schemes like lemonade stands, restaurants, and his latest--an antiques store. ("Do you have any antiques, Mommy?" he asked me one day. I guess because I'm old, I must have old stuff?) And it's important to me that my children understand how to manage money and know the value of a dollar. Besides, he is asking for a new app on that God-forsaken iPad every 5 minutes, and it would be so nice to say STOP BOTHERING ME AND BUY IT YOURSELF CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DRINKING WINE?!

Not to mention I am just dang tired of being up until 11 or 12 at night mopping applesauce up off the floor while everyone else is already sleeping peacefully. Screw this Mom-the-martyr crap. It's time for a dang chore chart!

I've scoured Pinterest and Google, searching for ideas. I've seen dry-erase charts, chalkboards, magnetic boards, clipboards, and other other type of board you could imagine. I've read about tokens and popsicle sticks and jars of money. I've read about how you should get your kids to spend their money in order to get them interested in earning it (although that sounds like a horrible way to over-commercialize your kid and make them prime targets for this more-is-better thing we've got going on now, but whatever). I searched and searched, and came up with vague ideas about some things. But they all just spun around in my head and I found myself paralyzed by lack of clear direction. And time. And materials. Oh, and skill. But other than that.....

(This is the problem I have with Pinterest, and the internet in general. I just can't wrap my hands around it. Literally. But I digress...)

So I'm in Target yesterday standing in the dry erase board aisle waiting for inspiration to strike, when I look down and spot this:

Days of the week. Dry erase marker. Magnetic stars to mark off the chores for the day. It ain't inspiration, but it'll do. And now my head can quit hurting.

So I've decided that the chores will be things that Brooks must do each day before he is able to watch TV or use his iPad. Things like making sure homework is done, the cat is fed, the table is wiped off after dinner, and some other things I haven't figured out yet. As for money, that will be completely unrelated to chores. I'm going to try to keep chores based on everyone being responsible for taking care of the family home. Besides, Brooks is totally the type to say he's got enough money and just not work. So instead, I think I'm going to base money earned on something else. I haven't decided if that's going to be extra jobs that he can choose from, some sort of caught-you-being-nice thing to help build his self-esteem, or some combination of the two. So much for being done with thinking.

Hopefully I'll get something figured out soon, at least before Henry starts thinking about money and jobs. But that day may be here sooner than I realize....

Angry Bird Pencil Box

2012-07-27T17:29:00.000-04:00

It's Back To School Time

So the other day, Brooks and I went to pick up some back to school supplies. He needs a pencil box this year. I thought for sure we'd have a wide array to choose from, but that was not the case. The same plastic tub in a variety of four colors was what we had to choose from. Good lord, how was he ever going to be able to tell his apart from everyone else's?

I went to the local craft store thinking we'd find some fun stickers or felt or something to decorate his pencil box with, but the selection there was dismal too. Especially considering that Brooks is a boy. Come on, boys can be crafters too!

Finally, I realized that I'd have to just take matters into my own hands. I mean, you know I love a reason to paint something. At first, I was thinking just painting his name would be cool, but that wasn't going so well. I can copy just about anything, but free-handing a cool font is not my forte. Then I considered going the Thomas the Train route. I know Brooks still loves trains as much as he ever did, but I wasn't sure how cool Thomas still is with school-age boys, so I thought better of it.

Then, it hit me....

Brooks, like most kids his age, is obsessed with Angry Birds. He plays the game, he watches the YouTube videos, he wants all the toys and figurines and whatnot that are showing up in all the stores. So I Googled some Angry Birds pictures and let Brooks pick out the one he liked best.

Painting wasn't too hard because it's basically just a red circle with some other features. The hardest part was getting the paint to agree with the plastic surface. But Brooks seems to be pleased with the outcome...

I was going to do something similar to his clipboard. I thought maybe a little scene of the green pigs across the clip on top would be cute. But once he saw my finished project, Brooks had some ideas of his own.

A Stroke Of Genius

2012-07-23T21:00:00.003-04:00

First of all, shout out to the lady that stopped me at Walmart today and called me a genius. And she was right, because when she passed me in the cereal aisle, I totally had my shit together. Coach diaper bag hanging over the handle of the "minivan" cart....yeah, that's right, "minivan cart."

(Seriously, what is the deal with these damn carts? They are heavy, they don't corner well AT ALL, and they're too big for the aisles. Why don't I just leave the kids strapped in their carseats and push the car through the store? It'd be just as easy. Somehow I think whoever invented these things was also the genius that thought carrying a 10lb baby in a 20lb carrier was more convenient than just carrying the 10lb baby.)

The one year old was busy nom-nomming away on a granola bar. The six year old was occupied with the grocery list, crossing items off, telling me what we needed next, etc. (Bonus: I had written the grocery list out for him according to where the items are located in the store so that it would be easier for him. And yes, I am aware that this means I have an all-too-detailed knowledge of our local Walmart's floor layout.) And I with my cellphone, adding prices as I go to ensure we stay within budget. (Which we didn't. But that's another post.) Yes, it was pretty genius indeed.

And then of course there was the stroke of brilliance I came up with last night known as "Fort Brooks." Every six year old boy should know how to build a fort out of sheets and carefully arranged dining chairs, right? I mean, I assume that's what normal children do. I wouldn't know. I was an only child that preferred playing Chinese checkers with Mabel, the elderly landlord living behind us, to riding bikes with the neighborhood kids. And Brooks is very much like his mother, so I have to work hard to give him these experiences to ensure he turns out at least a little normal.

We'd just gotten back from the world's longest, most nerve-wracking road trip, and I knew the boys would need something to get their energy out and get them off my nerves. I just needed them to be occupied long enough to get the bags in the door, get the laundry going, and maybe just maybe take a pee. So I asked Brooks to help me drag all the chairs into the living room while I found some sheets. Some pillows, some blankets, and a flashlight later, and you'd think I'd just put Disneyland in our living room.

The rest of the night was spent watching movies, eating snacks, making shadow puppets, and various other forms of familial bonding. In fact, Brooks slept in his new fort, even after being woken up by Daddy just to be sure he didn't want to be taken back to his bed and tucked in. Nope, he was staying right there. And save for a few Mom-imposed chores, bathroom breaks, and the now legendary trip to Walmart, he has remained there all day today.

Henry's been a little more of a busy-body, happily showing off his new-found hoisting-myself-up-onto-higher-surfaces-such-as-couches skills to climb the various piles of upholstery that Fort Brooks had pushed to various corners of the living room. But even with his activity, the fort offers a nice place to land should I be scrubbing or sweeping something and not able to catch him when he falls. And if Brother decides to turn on a movie....why then they both sit there quiet as mice, laying on each other among the pile of pillows.

And all God's people said, "Amen."

I'd like to think that all this genius is just what my brain would be capable of it not occupied with things like work, meetings, daycare, commute, work, work, etc. And perhaps that's what is behind all this, considering I'm on vacation all this week. Vacation from work, that is. Not an actual vacation, like to a beach or something. Just some time away in a magical land where children behave while you shop, they play happily and independently in imaginary forts all day, and you get to do laundry/wash dishes/sweep and mop floors/waste hours on Pinterest/write hilarious blogs/et al in peace. Glorious peace. I think I'll pour myself a glass of wine and enjoy this vacation while it lasts. Because Lord knows it'll be gone all too soon. Just promise that when you see me at Walmart next week, and I'm back to my normal life, with babies screaming and children whining and me yelling and everything falling apart--just promise, no judgement, okay?

Aurora

2012-07-20T21:11:00.002-04:00

I have spent the day riveted by news from Colorado, soaking up everything I can about what happened there. Except the videos. I don't want to watch the videos.

Obviously, my heart goes out to the victims. I can't even imagine the fear. The thought of spending my last moments on Earth screaming in terror on the sticky floor of a panic-filled movie theater is too much. And let's not even talk about the baby.

(Of course that baby's parents shouldn't have taken the baby to the movie. It's too late for the baby to be out, what if the baby wakes up and starts crying, yada yada. But I'm sure even the best of us parents wouldn't have added "what if there is a crazed gunman shooting up the theater" to the list of reasons why that was a bad idea. I'm sure they feel like shit already, so let's go easy on them, shall we?)

How did no one realize what was going on? How could one man hurt so many people? How did he get tear gas?

In tragedies like this, I can't help but think about the one responsible. I know that is in stark contrast to most. I see things online about how we should just forget this coward, how he should burn in hell, how he is a monster.

But I don't believe in monsters. What I do believe is that we are all equally human. Equally capable of good. Equally capable of bad.

So how could this young man be so bad? What could have happened to him to make him just give up on life? And to have that indifference about his own life turn outward, so that he could be capable of hurting so many others?

It's one thing to throw your own life away. It's another to take so many innocent people with you.

I pray for the victims and their loved ones. I pray for those of us across the country and around the world who might not feel quite the same about going to the movies. I pray for the shooter, that the evil that has him lets him go so he can be sorry for what he has done. And I pray for his family. I can't imagine the agony they must be in, wondering if there's anything they could've done to stop this from happening.

Call Me "Tubs"

2012-07-14T22:29:00.000-04:00

Originally posted 7/16/11:

So here is the part that comes after having a baby where we start to question our body. The baby is moving and laughing and sleeping through the night. I am back to work. My uterus is back in its normal position and at its normal size. Everything is back to reality now. So whenever I run into someone now, with my hair done and not wearing pajamas and in shoes with heels, and they say "Oh you look...great" as I see their eyes dart down to my belly, I am aware that they are full of big fat bologna. I have a gut. And it ain't from freshly birthed baby. "Were you that fat before you got pregnant?" I know that's what they really want to say. And the answer, sadly, is yes.

Now make no mistake, I am in no way holding myself to the same standards as Heidi Klum or Miranda Kerr. They are freaks of nature. Freaks with no 9-5 jobs, money to pay personal trainers and gourmet chefs, and lots and lots of nannies. But, you know, the honeymoon is over. And while I don't expect to be miraculously restored to the body I had before kids--hell, even after the first one--the world also demands that I be out of the "what's wrong with wearing pajamas all the time?" stage of post-partum. Yeah, I gots to get me a gym membership and a diet plan. STAT.

But here's the thing....do I want to be skinny? I mean, sure being skinny is nice. You look good. You feel good (so I've heard). You look fantastic in clothes no matter what you're wearing. Hell, you look fantastic wearing nothing at all! But maybe that's just not my thing. Because, to be honest, whether I'm a size 4 or a size 14, when I look in the mirror I always look the same to me. It's not obvious to me when I gain weight, nor when I lose it. So if I look the same to myself no matter what I weigh, do I really have to care?

So I've decided to jot down a few reasons why I'm happy being fat. Here goes:

No Unwanted Male Attention

When you're fat, people don't bother you. I watch people all day long come in to where I work and make comments about this pretty girl or that pretty girl. No one bothers me. Sure, they're nice. But I don't have to worry about having dudes asking me out or wanting my phone number. Yeah, you'd think the wedding ring would be enough of a deterrent. Or at least the kids. But I know better than that. Men are pretty stupid when it comes to those things. They'll still bother a married chick, a chick with kids, even a chick with her man standing right beside her. But you know who they don't mess with? Fat chicks. And that makes trips to Target a whole lot more pleasant.

Getting My Mom On

A spare tire is the flesh equivalent of driving a minivan. It says to the world "Hey, I'm a Breeder." Perhaps if I were a skinny girl, I'd think twice about going out to the grocery store with spit-up on my shirt. If I were a skinny girl wearing mom jeans, people would shake their heads and say to themselves "what a waste." Practical shoes? Total cock-block. But when you've already got a F.U.P.A., where's the tragedy? And then there's the classic back-handed compliment "Well, you look great for having (fill in the blank with number of offspring) kids!" What does that even mean? But it's cool. I'm not out to look sexy. Looking sexy leads to sex which leads to more kids. Fat=birth control. Duh. Look at that Duggar lady. She's skinny. And she's got 19 kids. How many shows about families with crazy loads of children have you seen where the mom was fat? None, right? Point made.

It Proves I Love My Husband
What do they always say is the first sign of infidelity? Your spouse losing weight and changing their appearance! What better way for my husband to know that I am staying true than for me to be fat? My time is spent on other things than trying to look good to impress other people. Sure, you may say that I should want to look good for my husband. Why? Like he's going anywhere? He's stuck with me no matter what I look like, and no one else will have me. So boom, instant security. Besides, if I started spending all my time at the gym and Weight Watchers meetings, who would do the laundry/pay the bills/clean the house/cook the food? You see, I'm so busy being a good wife that I don't have time to be skinny. So not only is my fatness justified, but I have also found a way to blame it on my husband. Ten points for me!

Double the Wardrobe

When you're sorta fat like me, you get the added bonus of being able to shop at regular and plus-size stores. That's twice the clothing options! Sure there is a downside--apparently being fat also means you should have gargantuan boobs. My mammaries didn't get that memo. But the plus (pun intended) side is that I'm always the skinniest girl at Lane Bryant. Some of those skinny girl stores, they just aren't designed for us chicks with kids anyways. They've got tiny aisles, pulsing music, and tiny dressing rooms with curtains instead of doors. For the love of Jesus, Hollister has stairs! How the eff am I supposed to fit my double stroller up that?! Fat girl stores are always kid-friendly. It's as if they know....it's all the kids' fault.

Guts Are Handy

Yeah, I could give you some b.s. about how my big, fat gut, flabby legs, and sad boobies are an ode to my body's ability to bring forth life. I've made peace with it, I could say, because to wish away my fatness would be to wish away my baby. Yeah friggin' right. But I have to admit, sometimes my fatness works to my advantage. Flat-tummied ladies: have you ever tried polishing off a scratched up CD in your car? I bet the damn thing would slide right off! But a big round belly makes an excellent buffing tool. And what else would I perch Henry on as I, towel splayed across chest, pull him out of infant bath tub and wrap him up nice and warm? Were I skinny, he'd slide right off into the floor! My belly also comes in handy when Henry needs a place to sit to look out as we are watching TV or hanging out with friends. It makes a nice little pillow for Brooks when we're cuddling in bed. It helps me carry laundry baskets and close kitchen drawers. It also helps me know when I'm sitting too close to the steering wheel. So I guess in some ways you could say being fat has saved my life. Skinny girls, what has your six-pack ever done for you?

Skinny girls aren't funny. No one ever calls a skinny girl "sassy." You can't eat around skinny girls, fart around skinny girls, tell dirty jokes and laugh way too loudly with skinny girls. Skinny girls always have to look good. But being fat, I can let my hair down. No one bats an eye when I finish the rest of my kid's chicken nuggets. No one feels bad when I bum it one day in a t-shirt and sneakers. So even though I know I'm supposed to want to be skinny....maybe I just don't. Sure, it would be nice to look good, to not worry about what's bulging or sagging or not contained by Spanx. But it also takes time. And time is a precious commodity these days. I think I'd rather keep the gut and kiss my kids instead.

Besides....ice cream is awesome.

Brooks Is A Rock Star!

2012-07-10T21:57:00.000-04:00

Brooks is very much like me. Artistic, sarcastic, nervous, talkative, and very much an over-thinker. Very much an indoor kid. That can go downhill very quickly. Over-thinking that leads to crippling self-doubt that leads to just not trying that leads to being that weird kid that plays way too many computer games. Like that robot-voice guy from Grandma's Boy.

But I am also convinced that with just the right push, the right nurturing, these things can be molded into the ultimate rock star.

James and I have agreed that teaching Brooks an instrument would be a great way to bring out the best in him. It will teach him patience. It will teach him perseverance. It will teach him what he's really capable of, if only he tried.

Today, he got just a little taste of what that feels like:

Mom-cation

2012-07-08T21:19:00.002-04:00

Every now and again, I feel myself getting a little too....

I mean, it's great to be a mom and all. But sometimes it's a little too easy to slide right into fanny-pack town. I'm a regular closet-cleaner-outer, but usually stuff I'm not wearing regularly. But every now and again I like to take the old look-see to keep the mom-jeans at bay. And there's nothing to get my cool-mom juices flowing like a little trip to Tarje (How do you make that little accent appear? Aw, nevermind, you get the picture).

The kids were at grandma's. I had a Target gift card burning a hole in my pocket. The hubs was otherwise occupied at the house. Seemed like a perfect day to go shopping.

What I bought:

A new day-to-night dress
Now if I could just find a cool place to wear it....

T-Shirt Alternative
Bat winged shirts are awesome...until it's bathtime.

In Black, Natch
Can a woman ever have too many black tees?

To Be Worn As A Tunic
Honestly, I didn't even realize it was actually supposed to be a dress. If you let your daughter wear that without pants, you should have her taken away immediately.

Red Jeans? Why Not.
Now I just need some kick-ass boots to wear them with this winter.

Yes, they may be Jorts. But I will be living in them.
I'm wearing them right now!

Great with skirts, or as a layering piece once jacket season returns
Racer-back bra required.

Other things that did not make the cut:

A fun little top for skinny jeans

I could dress this down with a tee and flats, or dress it up with a jacket and belt

Since when did all the shoes become stripper-heel height?! I can't go to the park in these!

A fedora would look awesome with my new hi-lo dress. Too bad I'd feel like too much of an asshat to actually wear it.

It was great to see you, Target, my old friend. See you in another six months or so.

The Perfect Fourth of July (Hold The Bananas)

2012-07-06T00:01:00.001-04:00

Listen, I know I'm crazy. I expect too much. I was devastated when my college roommate didn't get that obviously because we were college roommates we were destined to be lifelong friends and maybe even god-parents to each other's children. One of the worst fights James and I ever had was when, even after much not-too-subtle hinting from me, he still failed to plan a Valentine's Day surprise worthy of a Nora Ephron screenplay. And let's not even get into Christmas presents.

So sue me, I strive for perfection. And if everyone else would go along with whatever plan I've come up with to ensure the day lives up to the ideals I've come up with in my head, then the world would be a much better place, I guarantee. Unfortunately, those ideals most often get trampled on by the people in this world who don't care about things like order, rules, planning, and magical moments that your kids will remember for the rest of their lives and aren't we the best parents EVARRRRR. People who hate effort, hate planning, hate magical moments because most of the time those moments involve doing stuff and being around people and blech who needs stuff or people why can't I just stay inside in air conditioning and be left alone? You know, people like my husband.

We had epic plans for yesterday. Not epic in that they were large or extravagant or anything, just going over to my mom's for some pool/food/family/firework 4th of July goodness. But epic in the sense that James and I both agreed on them. Which of course, doomed them to fail. And they did, when Mom squashed any reservations I had about taking Mr. Double-Ear-Infection Henry swimming, by telling me that she had some kind of weird viral thing. She had me at viral. So....onto Plan B.

In my head, Plan B was some kind of fun dinner, then picking up an ice cream or something and sitting on the tailgate while we watched fireworks in some obscure parking lot far away from the madness of Organized Firework Display Events.

You know, like this

In James's head, Plan B was oh well, so much for that. Guess we'll just sit here like any other Wednesday.

You know, like this.

Not acceptable.

And so began hours of this:

Me: But Jaaaaaames!

James: No.

Me: But Jaaaaaames!

James: No.

Me: But Jaaaaaaaames!

James: No.

(Now you see why nine years of marriage is such a feat, right?)

Finally, I'd had enough. We were going to eat dinner, we were going to give the kids baths and get them dressed in their pajamas, and then we were going to all load up into the car and get some ice cream and watch fireworks. And we were going to like it DAMMIT!

Steam rolling off of both our backs, James and I schlep out into town for ice cream. As he goes inside, he asks what I'd like. "I dunno, something with caramel," I reply. He comes back later with some caramel-nut-banana concoction. I hate bananas. Like, HATE them. We keep bananas in the house all the time, I never eat them. I don't go near banana pudding. I don't even like banana flavored Runts candy. As I oh-so-lovingly remind James that helllooooo I hate bananas, when in our nine years of marriage have you ever seen me go "Hurray, bananas!", he oh-so-lovingly reminds me that he asked what I wanted and I had simply specified something with caramel. What he brought me has caramel, he points out. Fine, I agree. Next time I'll make sure to tell you I'd like something with caramel, but without bananas. Also, no anchovies, mustard, brussel sprouts, liver, and also I don't like arsenic in my ice cream either.

He did not make me walk home. That's love.

With the ice cream portion of my grand plan under our belts, we decided to find a great place for fireworks watching. On our way to the ice cream shop, we had passed the lake and seen some great places where people were congregating to watch. By the time we got back with our ice cream, however, those spaces were filling up fast. After a quick detour through lake traffic, we decide to scope out a spot on the bypass and watch the fireworks from there. We wait and wait and wait, but nothing. Not sure if we've missed the show already, we decide to head home before there's a mutiny in the car. I try not to be upset. Sometimes things just don't work out. On the way home, James and I turn our thoughts to next year. Next year, we will be sure to have Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C.

Out of town and just a few turns from the house, James notices lights just over the trees. He pulls into the parking lot of the country store on the corner and cuts the lights. With not another soul around, we watch what must've been the fireworks display at a baseball game in a nearby town. Pretty soon our crappy moods melted away, just like the rest of that banana ice cream that Brooks happily polished off for me. The first fireworks display ended just as the one at the lake began, and I laid my seat back so that Brooks and I could snuggle up and get a good look.

As he takes in the sights, Brooks leans over and says "So I guess this is a happy ending after all."

Kids Aren't All Bad

2012-07-03T23:39:00.000-04:00

So, the other day a friend of mine warned me that my posts are giving her second (third, fourth, hundredth) thoughts about jumping on the baby train. "Write about how sweet and amazing your kids are," she implored. So behold, photographic evidence that having children doesn't completely suck all the time:

They Can Mop!

I mean, some may say that it's not fair to use your children as maids. I say pish posh! Back in the olden days, people didn't care about having a whole heap of kids....that was just more help to plow the fields, right? Besides, aren't I doing their future wives (or college roommates) a favor by teaching them to clean up after themselves?

Is 15 months too early for chores? Of course not! Why wait that long? Just hot-glue a Swiffer pad to your kid's onesie and you can turn tummy time into yummy mummy time!

Mopping like a boss

Kitty says, "You missed a spot."

Kitty is suspicious.....

They Can Sort Laundry!

See? Here I had all these clothes put into all these different compartments. How inconvenient! Hank fixed that for me by making sure all the clothing was dumped out into a pile on the floor where I could easily grab random pieces and dump them into the washing machine regardless of style or color. Thanks, Henry!

Sorting Baby is not amused.

'Kay, all done.

Wait....I missed one....

They Entertain Your Other Children!

Who needs television when we can just watch a baby swing around like a pinata? Hours of fun!

There's Also This....

As for that other post that prompted my friend's request, Henry went to the doctor for a check-up today and turns out he has a double ear infection. Sooooo........................yeah. Perhaps he's not such a jerk after all. Mommy loves you, Henry!

Henry, Meet Insomnia

2012-06-30T09:25:00.001-04:00

Thursday night, I put Henry to bed at around 8:30 or so. James and I do our usual routine of getting Brooks to bed and cleaning up dinner, and then we settle in for the Season 3 premiere of "Louie." Seriously, we love that show. Have you seen it?

Naturally, about 5 minutes into the show Henry wakes back up. Sometimes that happens, no biggie. So I go get him from his crib and bring him into the living room. He falls back to sleep for the rest of the show. Then James and I decide it's time to go to bed. I'm not sure how, but somewhere on the way from the living room to the bedroom I missed my turn and ended up in Hell.

Sensing that we are about to get some much needed rest, Henry begins to cry. He is having none of that. Resolving that I will not let this one little bout of baby insomnia break me, I decide to calmly get up and hang out with him in the living room in Sleeping Chair until he goes back to sleep. It's like 11pm. I've gone to work on less sleep, and he'll surely be out in an hour or two, right?

Somewhere in his little baby brain, Henry said "Challenge Accepted."

There were times when his little head would settle back against my arm ready to give in. And then I would have to pee. Or scratch. Or breathe. And that one little movement would wake him up and start the process all over. It was obvious that Henry and my bladder were in cahoots. One day I will tell him about the time that I used the bathroom with him on my lap because he refused to let me put him down when nature was calling. That may not sound like much, but that takes real talent, you know.

Anyways, I'm watching the hours tick by, wondering how long it will be before he gives in. But really as time goes on, he just gets more pissed off. Okay, so this isn't your typical "I just need you to hold me for a minute" waking up in the middle of the night. Is he hungry? Does he need a diaper change? Does he have a fever? So then I just start throwing things at it, trying to make it stop. Here, have a bottle. Here, have some Tylenol. Here, have a smoke. Here, have some vodka.

Oh no wait, those last two were me.

This cry, sleep, pee, wake up routine goes on until about 3:00 am at which point I give up. I've already resolved that not only will I not be able to go to work tomorrow for lack of sleep, but indeed I will never be able to go to work again because I will never be able to not hold Henry again, because OBVIOUSLY he has forgotten how to sleep and he is broken and will never sleep again. The keeping my cool thing went out the window somewhere around 2am, and I just start to lose it. So I grab my keys and strap him in. I will drive around this neighbor all damn night, but by God you will go the eff to sleep!!!

He screams bloody murder the entire time I'm buckling him into the seat, but that little asshole was out before we even left the driveway. Still, I drove around for a good 30 minutes until I just couldn't hold my eyelids open anymore. I get back to the house, and using my best ninja skills I get him from his carseat into the house without him even flinching. We are in the bed. I am lying down. He's not waking up. Sleep! Glorious sleep! Finally, at 3:45 I have found you!

Yeah, that lasted an hour.

I managed to eke out another hour or two of sleep here and there, but somewhere between Henry's blood-curdling screams reality set back in. Looking at the clock and seeing that it's 6am made me realize, wait, work starts soon. Work. I've had 2 or 3 hours of sleep total. Even on my best night in college I got more sleep than that! And so yesterday I show up. I'm late, my clothes don't match, I have huge bags under my eyes, and I have a large caramel frappe from Burger King in my hand. But I'm here, dammit.

Last night, Henry and I were both exhausted but I kept him up as long as possible out of fear of putting him down too early and setting myself up for another night of baby insomniac. He finally went down around 9 or so, and when he did I made a flying leap for my own bed. I wanted to get as much sleep in as possible before the little tyrant woke up again.

I didn't wake up--Henry didn't wake up--until 8:30 this morning.

Oh, Henry. Always keeping Mommy guessing.

Poo

2012-06-26T21:15:00.003-04:00

The other night after dinner, I'm getting Henry ready for his bath. As usual, I disrobe him right there at his seat so that all of the gunk hiding in his clothes can be swept off the dining room with the rest of dinner. I take the diaper off and get distracted with something else momentarily. No big deal, it happens all the time. Except this time, waddling around bare-assed, Henry takes a notion to take a wiz all over the floor in the hallway. Oh great.

Cut to the next night when he stands up in the tub and does the same thing.

Saturday night, after a heavy diet of blueberries (they're Henry-sized and it was grocery day, don't judge) we are once again in the bath. He stands up. Oh no, I think, not again. Only this time, there was no pee. Best part: when he finished, he looked down at it in horror. Afraid that he wasn't finished, I left him in the tub as the water drained. He refused to be anywhere near the offending turd and screamed bloody murder the entire time.

As if our bodily function hat-trick wasn't enough, Henry again drops a deuce right in the tub yesterday. Only this time, he was less afraid of the poo. I'll let your imagination fill in the rest.

What a Crazy June!

2012-06-22T23:39:00.001-04:00

This weekend will be the first weekend this month that we have been home.

My toilet is crying out for help.

There has been so much to happen this month. First, we took our annual Day Out With Thomas trip. You know you are a parent when you plan a vacation around a friggin' cartoon character. Like seriously, I don't even like Thomas. Or rides. Or kids. (Especially other people's kids.) But friggin' WOO HOO here we are, loading up the car to drive to this place to use our tickets that cost as much as a baby on the black market to take a ride on this train that doesn't even go anywhere wtf. And kids, don't you even think about having temper tantrums or hissy fits or doing anything other than acting like this is the best time of your life ohthankyoumommyandaddy thisisevenbetterthangoingtocollege because so help me!

Behold, the looks of sheer joy and gratitude on their faces. I shall show them this picture when I explain to them why I can't afford college. At which time, they will probably have the exact same expressions.

We get to our hotel because hey sure why not, a hotel. Nice fluffy bed that we don't have to make in the morning? With a pool? Heck yeah! And we didn't skimp and rent some last-minute motel either. Oh no, we went all out. One of those places where you're not afraid to take your shoes off. We're talking elevators with lots of buttons to push. We're talking Chick-Fil-A within walking distance. The continental breakfast in the morning was only the icing on the cake.

Also, luggage racks.

"So, uh, where are you guys going to sleep?"

Did somebody say "make your own waffles?"

Brooks is ready to get this party started

Okay, so enough stalling. Let's load the kids up and go. First of all, let me just say, I think at events such as this, they should just hand out shots to the parents at the door. And then there should be a place like the ball pit at McDonalds, where you just send your kids off into the contained madness while you sit back and relax. And then there's this mist that sprays your kid as he comes out of the ball pit. Except the mist is Purell. Or amoxicillin. Maybe I should open an amusement park?

The closest thing they had to that was a room with this long train table and approximately 3 trains. 3 trains for about 200 kids whose favorite word is MINE MINE MINE. And then there's always this one kid who is like way too old to be at a Thomas event, but you know he's not there because of younger siblings. It's like the kid version of the creepy old man at the club. You know what I'm talking about. Creepy old dude. Anyways, so here's the 13 year old that loves Thomas just a leeetle too much hoarding all the trains. And of course, you see this kid and you want to punch him in the throat. You want to tell all the brats fighting over the 3 trains available to share. But good Lord, you can't even shoot their mother an evil eye because who the hell knows what kid belongs to what parent in this insanity!

Screw that. Let's go outside and watch the train go by.

Something steamy this way comes

Up close and personal

Henry meets Thomas

Brooks waves to the passengers

Some of you may say, "But Erin, aren't there rides? Aren't there shows? Surely you would've made sure to see and do all of the things available to make the most of your trip and the money you spent on the tickets, right?" To which I say, ppppffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttt. Lines were cuh-razy, it was hot, and I had the added pleasure of pushing a toddler in a stroller around an amusement park that sits on the side of a mountain. Sure, I had that urge at first. Brooks let's do this, Brooks let's do that, Brooks I want you to do everything so that you remember this day foreverrrrrrrr. But then James gave me that look. And he was all like dude, if the kid is having fun, who cares. Quit harshing my mellow. And you know what? I don't say this often. But he was right. Besides, who needs rides when there's a fake train in the gift shop?

Actually, we were killing time in the gift shop while Daddy used the bathroom. And thus I violated one of the most sacred rules of traveling with children: children should always participate in bathroom visits. Particularly when one of those is in diapers. Particularly when you are about to stand in line to get on a train, and won't be near a bathroom for the next 45 minutes or so.

We take our seats on the train and wait for the ride to begin. I think I smell something, but you know, we're outside, across from the bathrooms, maybe something funky is going down outside. But then James turns around and gives me the stinky face. Oh boy, if he smells it too, there's a problem. But the train ride is only 30 minutes. Maybe I can hold out for that long. I contemplate pulling the pad out of the diaper bag and letting Henry sit on that just in case, but I decide against it. We'll be alright. And then, I feel it. Massive bubbles and a bbbbrrrrppp sound erupt from Henry's diaper. Aw, man! The train hasn't even taken off yet!

See that look on Henry's face? At this very moment poop is happening.

(Also note my unfortunate choice of white shirt. Which, incidentally, isn't so white after this train ride.)

So after the poopiest train ride in history, I high-tailed it to the bathroom where I maneuvered the world's nastiest diaper on the world's tiniest changing table in the world's most crowded ladies' room. But you know what, at least there WAS a changing table. It's the little things, right? So of course, after the bathroom disaster, it makes sense that we're like "Hey, let's get some ice cream!" We like to live dangerously, what can I say?

Brother helps Henry with some cold, sweet goodness

Another successful Day Out With Thomas under our belts. See ya next year! But of course, what's a trip to the mountains without a stop along the Blue Ridge Parkway?

Throw in a few birthdays, Father's Day, a few family events and some trips to visit relatives, and we've had one busy June! So this weekend should be a great time to relax, unwind, spend time together just the four of us. Or a time to clean my much-neglected bathroom. Whatever.