1. Babies are meant to be born in the spring (or summer.) Unless you live in Alaska - in which case, God help you - who wants to be off when it is cold and snowy?

2. If you need to be off work for medical reasons, you need to do it when the weather is warm. (See rule #1)

3. Wait for the “window of opportunity.” That means that all major surgeries, vacations, childbirth, and (un)expected sickness must happen when the sun is out and the average temperature is above 73 degrees. (See rule #2)

4. Every two years, I need a Leave of Absence (hereby referred to as LOA) to keep me sane.

5. LOA’s occur in even numbered years only (2006, 2008, 2010…) and usually begin in April or May.

This year, my LOA is not because of a joyous occasion like the birth of a baby (as in 2006 and 2008), but because I somehow managed to thoroughly tear up the meniscus in my knee. And, because of a crazy surgical calendar and a national meeting, my time off somehow managed to fall in the spring. (Gee, I wonder how that happened?!?!?)

“But wait Lori!” you’re saying… “How can you possibly get time off from work? I know I couldn’t! I am way too important and busy to take time off! And my company needs me! And I can’t possibly (*gasp*) plan to be off for an extended period of time without everything going to hell in a handbasket!”

Well, you would be wrong. NO ONE is that important. Not even (shockingly enough) me.

If you think you can’t take time off, be it a week or a month or more, ask yourself this: “if I got hit by a bus tomorrow, what would my company do? Would it fold? Collapse? File bankrupcty? Cease to function?”

I am guessing that unless you are self-employed, your company would find a way to absorb your workload and manage to survive without you.

You disagree? Have you ever heard the expression that “you are only essential until they don’t need you anymore?” Well, I have. And since a sleek metal walker lovingly adorned with fluorescent green tennis balls was SO NOT the fashion statement I wanted to make, I needed to have my knee operated on - STAT! As it is, I have waited for more than a year to have this surgery (read : subsequent time off) and let’s face it, my knee wasn’t getting better on its own. So, my work can live without me. My family can’t.

So, how can you get time off - and still have a job waiting for you when you get back? Simple: strategically devise an interim plan that rivals modern warfare in its scope and complexity. Remember: your goal is to get that time off, but have your company and colleagues glad when you come back. Here are my ESSENTIAL RULES for getting that time off:

1. You must notify your boss many, many months in advance. Because, inevitably, some crisis will throw your “planning” off and you will need to punt. And if you haven’t planned for your absence, your company is not likely to approve your leave.

2. Select your replacement. They must be savvy, intelligent, knowledgeable, ambitious, friendly, and likable. But not too likable that no one wants you to come back in favor of keeping your replacement.

3. Let your co-workers know who will be in charge of covering your workload while you are off. Let them know you will be going out on XX/XX/XXXX date - come hell, high water, or national emergency. 

4. Clear your desk, inbox, and phone of all stuff that “only I can do.”  Sigh deeply, as this will never happen again in the history of your lifetime.

4. Turn on your out-of-office and show faith in your replacement by letting them do the job they are entrusted to do. Enjoy shirking your responsibilities for a while. Breathe a big sigh of relief. After all, it is not your responsibility to handle the everyday chaos that happens - that’s why it’s called a LEAVE of ABSENCE.

And now, for the non-work work related stuff that is really critical to making the most of your time off:

* Fill your prescription for pain-killers in advance. Stock-pile if needed. There is nothing worse than being stuck in a house by yourself, unable to drive, and being out of those oh-so-comforting meds. Except maybe a straightjacket. Which you will need if you don’t get those meds in advance. Trust me on this one.

* Clean your house. Thoroughly. Because for the next few weeks, no one else is going to do it. Unless, like me, you have taught your toddlers how to wield a dustbuster. In which case, you may be able to avoid dust bunnies swirling across your hardwoods. Besides, even if enough debris accumulates to impede your access to the couch, you won’t care about it either.  (That’s the magic of Vicodin.)

* Do every last scrap of laundry. Because, unless you are out of clean underwear (which, by the way, is optional on LOA) you really aren’t going to give a flying fig Newton about the mounds of dirty towels that are clogging up your laundry room for the next few weeks.

* Religiously DVR every chick flick, crime drama, and reality TV show known to man. Memorize the Bravo TV line up. Search and record every Ryan-Seacrest-produced show on E! TV.  To be fully prepared, my rule of thumb is that you need 16 shows for every week you are off. Give yourself bonus points for successfully recording an entire series of The Real Housewives and managing to keep your husband from “accidentally” deleting. Ditto for any Kevin Costner movie and for Criminal Minds. (Truly, is there anything better than Shemar Moore every week? I think not.)

* Load up your pantry with every flavor of fat-laden, salty snacks known to man. Buy in bulk. Hit Costco like a snowstorm is coming. Forget bread, milk, and eggs. You won’t bother to eat those anyway. But don’t forget the toilet paper. Again, reference my last point for clarity - you don’t wanna be without this stuff!! Besides, LOA means that you can eat leftover Chinese and cookie-dough ice cream for breakfast, and chase it down with a Propel and a vicodin. No one but you will care - unless, of course, you allow your kids the same pleasures. Because a visit from Child Protective Services is certainly not the house call you want to have.

* Make a trip to your local public library and reserve every new book by Danielle Steel, James Patterson, Stuart Woods, and Jen Lancaster (my new favorite author, who does “snark” like no other.) It’s cheap! It’s free! It’s an easy way to “look busy” while working on your tan!

* If at all humanly possible, send the kids to their grandparents’ house for the week. I personally like to be miserable in peace. With this surgery, changing diapers and chasing kids while on crutches simply was not a viable option. Hooray for Grammy and Pop-pop! They graciously gave me the quietest four days I have had in the past five years!

*Upgrade your cell phone plan to include unlimited talk and texts. Use this to torture co-workers and up your entertainment quotient for the week. Example:

Hey - what’s new? Oh, no, I didn’t see that e-mail. No, its too hard to read the tiny screen on my Crackberry with all the glare from the sun, even with my Chanel knock-off sunglasses on. Why is it so bright? Oh, did I forget to mention I am on my deck in the 79 degree weather, icing my knee? Oh, sales suck? Hmm… I must have missed that. Yeah, no, sorry, I haven’t really been keeping track of the stock price this week. My biggest accomplishments today were navigating the stairs and getting a shower. No, I didn’t know that was due. Oh, it’s due at 5 PM today? I hope that she sends it in for me… Oh! Whoops! Sorry, sorry, I dropped the phone. Funny how slippery my hands get with all that tanning oil on… Oh, yeah, I thought it would be a good idea to let the sun warm me up a bit. Yeah, I have been so busy today. I finished the book Bright Lights, Big Ass in record time. The only thing better than that was managing to carry my cranberry pomegranate cocktail outside without spilling a drop! It’s so festive! All that crushed ice, capped off with a tiny pink parasol and a cherry-orange garnish. Yessss…. I realize it is only 1 P.M… No, no, of course it is just juice. Of course I know it’s dangerous to mix alcohol and painkillers. Pffft. I am not Heath Ledger or anything.    Oh, you have to run? So soon? Oh yeah, no, no problem. I didn’t realize you were trying to get a performance review done. Yeah, that’s OK, call me back later. But not around 4 - that’s when Oprah is on. Oh, yeah, sure. Have fun today. Talk to you soon! Love ya - ‘bye!!

See what I mean? How much fun was that? That’s priceless entertainment there, baby!

So… have I inspired you to “get away” yet? Well, get your ducks in a row. Call your doctor. Schedule that surgery. Turn on that Out-of-office. Plan for your absence. And yes, “take leave while the sun shines!”

Hey work - see you in May!

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Don’t get me wrong, I have a good job. My colleagues and co-workers like and respect me. My boss treats me well. My team seems to enjoy working for me (or at least they are smart enough to fake it.) It’s just - well - there’s no place like home.

Of course, while I was off, I broke the cardinal rule of leave - I occasionally worked. I read e-mails almost daily. I fielded a few phone calls. I read through the internal company website to keep up with what was going on. Basically, I did all this in attempt to make my first few weeks back at work that much smoother.

You know how hard it is to get caught up at work after taking a week’s vacation? It takes a few days just to dig out, to clear the pile off your desk and to respond / delete / file all the messages in your inbox. Your phone rings off the hook. Everything takes twice as long to finish because you wish you were still on vacation and not chained to your desk. Combine all that with the busiest time of year for your particular industry (in my case, back to school), so every day is a MADHOUSE. NOW, MULTIPLY THAT TIMES TWELVE, for the number of weeks I was off. Then, multiply by 14, for the number of stores I supervise. Do you now understand why I have begun to fantasize about drinking heavily, although it is only 8:23 A.M. and I am not really a drinker?

Nevertheless, I am happy to report that I survived my first day back, which was an at home “office day.” Which meant I didn’t need to leave the kids that day, thank God. You may wonder what an “office day” is… basically it’s manager-speak for trying to catch up on a shitload of work while taking conference calls and trying to dodge people you are really not capable of dealing with at that immediate moment. I have 4 phone lines in our house. Plus a cell phone. And they were all still ringing at 8:30 P.M.

And yet, I made it through the first day. And the first week. And the first month. And the second month.

Then, things started getting tricky.

You see, the back to school rush is over. It was followed by a post-holiday type of letdown.

Everyone in my  stores suddenly began to think, “Hey, wait! I am finally not swamped, and I have been meaning to talk to Lori about XXX.” Which translates roughly into “Hey Lori… I am ticked off about XXX, and I need you to fix it / give me a raise / solve this problem for me.”

In fact, all the “issues” that could have cropped up while I was off DIDN’T. Instead, they were merely in hibernation until I returned. Everyone was waiting for their “real” boss to come back.. and hoo boy, are those festering issues smacking me in the face right now.

Like ever-present tumbleweeds blowing across a sun-parched desert, like dust bunnies hiding in a rarely used room - all the issues have quickly resurfaced. And they are now cluttering up my brain. I am stressed - which is, quite possibly, the largest understatement I have ever made.

In fact, I have been so stressed that I have chewed what my dental hygenist refers to as callouses on the inside of my cheeks. Is that even freakin’ possible? Apparently so!

I find myself waking up in the middle of the night thinking “Oh, crap! I forgot to call so-and-so back!” Or, “I hope so and so doesn’t quit.” Or, “I hope those two don’t go all postal on each other before I can get in to mediate.” Or, “If I have one more issue at Store #### I will plead with real estate to just close them already!”

I have been working like a madwoman over the past few weeks. And I am making progress, but I am not  - metaphorically speaking - where I want to be right now.

And oh - did I forget to mention this? - Jeremy re-entered the workforce a few weeks ago. He has been traveling several days a week, doing “overnights” as part of his training. Which leaves me (the parent not so used to being a full time caregiver) in charge of the kids. Aaaaccck!

I must confess that I have a great support network… my parents have ever-so-insanely signed up for watching the kids several (read: three to four) days a week - Thank God! But, since my parents live in a different state than we do, I have been staying (read:living) at their house, in my childhood bedroom, several nights a week. With a 2 year old and a four month old in tow. Which sounds so easy on paper, but in reality it is quite challenging.

Even the sleeping arrangements are unique. Thankfully, Kid #2 sleeps like a champ, but only if she is attached to the magic boobies on and off for most of the night. Meaning she is sandwiched next to me all night. I live in fear of rolling over on her. On the other hand, Kid #1 has been bunking with my dad. (Oh, Pop-pop, how lucky can you get!) My dad and Ty, they are quite the pair.

Why, you ask?

Well, Pop-pop snores like a freight train (sorry, Daddy!) and Ty kicks like Billy Blanks doing a “best of Tae-Bo” DVD. One would think that Grammy - being the only member of the household to NOT be co-sleeping with anyone - is getting the better end of the deal.

One would be wrong in making that assumption.

Why, you ask?

Well, although the bulk of the child care responsibilities is “technically” mine (seeing as how they are MY kids and all) Grammy has been gracious (or crazy enough) to take care of the kids all day until I come home from work.

On some nights, my arrival doesn’t occur until well into the final minutes of Dancing with the Stars. On a few occasions, I have actually dragged myself over the threshold in the wee early morning hours (around 2 AM or so) after doing a night inventory or remodel. My ridiculous schedule alone is enough to really aggravate even the most dedicated caregiver. Couple that with the amount they are spending on beverages (Milk, diet Pepsi, and formula - in that order) while housing my clan, I am surprised my parents have not kicked me out by now. I am sure it will happen any day now. Just please, mom and dad, keep the kids, will ya? And at least give me two weeks notice!

PS I love you Mom and Dad! See you Monday!

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It doesn’t feel any better to have said it, but at least it’s my first step on the path from denial to acknowledgement.

Two years ago, at about this same time, I headed back to work after having my son Ty. My husband had been keeping an e-journal of Ty’s first 100 days at home after birth, a tome he called “Daddy’s Diary.” In it, he reflected on each new day with Ty, and the wondrous impact he made on our life. There were many introspective moments captured, some humorous, some poignant, some trying, some laughable, but most were just REAL.  Seeing those moments in print brought it all home, all those little moments we would have otherwise forgotten.

One of those particularly difficult moments was my first day back at work. I felt like a kid going to back to school after my first summer vacation - apprehensive, scared, excited, nervous, and emotional. Here’s a glimpse of what Jeremy wrote to sum up that day:

“Ty got up at 11:15 p.m.  I fed him until about midnight, and then he was out cold again. I think Lori got up with him around 5:00 a.m., and I don’t remember hearing him in between. As we agreed, I got up at 8:00 a.m. and was ready to take him by 8:20 a.m. This was Lori’s first day back to work that she had to leave the house. She didn’t want to give him up, and she fed him for 20 extra minutes while I got coffee and the newspaper and checked e-mail. I didn’t want to rush her out the door, as it was an emotional experience for her. [...] Ty and I gave Lori a big hug and kiss good-bye, and I told her not to worry and to have a good day…but don’t stay at work any longer than absolutely necessary. I’m sure that, in between tears, on her way to work Lori thought, ‘He’s never going to be able to do this.’”

What Jeremy didn’t write was that I really bawled the entire morning. I bawled like a baby who just lost his pacy. At the front door. Kissing Ty and Daddy goodbye. Getting into the car. On the way to work. The entire hour drive, I BAWLED. In between gasps and sobs, I called my mom, looking for some moral support. She tried, but it didn’t really help. She told me to just try to make it through the day, and that it would get easier. “Fat chance!” I thought. I was virtually inconsolable.

No, scratch that, I was a train wreck.

By the time I arrived at my destination, I looked like a cross between Tammy Faye Baker and Amy Winehouse. I had huge mascara clumps congealing on my cheekbones, eyeliner smeared and “winged” across my temples, and rivers of foundation streaking down my face. My nose was so red I gave Rudolph a run for his money. I knew this was going to not be a good day.

I wasn’t worried about Jeremy taking care of both Ty and Chani, who had just arrived the previous day. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was a great daddy, and I secretly felt he had it easy and was getting the better end of the deal. When you find yourself longing to be changing a poopy diaper instead of doing what you’re doing, you know you are in a bad place.

Somehow, I made it through the day. I can’t say I was effective. I can’t say I got any “real work” done. To be quite frank, I can’t even remember which stores I visited that day. It was all a blur.

Side note: While I was on leave, there were a few “fires” in my stores that my acting DSM attempted to put out. He did a great job, but was clearly overworked and undercompensated for his trouble. My temporary replacement was also “geographically challenged,” as he lived in NJ and my territory was MD/VA/PA/WV, which made just simply getting to a store to fix an issue a heckuva lot more challenging. But, they survived without me. And that lead me to think, “Why can’t they survive without me for just one more day? I don’t know how I am going to make it through this day, let alone seem professional and upbeat about being back!”

I do remember thinking - for about the thousandth time in a span of a few hours - about just getting the heck out of there and calling it a day. After all, I made the attempt and showed up. No one said I needed to be productive, did they? I could always be productive at another time, like say, next year.

I also remember the boobies being ready to explode, and I mentally used that excuse to cut my losses and bolt a little before 5 PM.  I remember the wave of calm that engulfed me as I walked in the door and picked up my baby and smothered him in kisses. I also recall how glad I was to be home and how tormented I was at the thought of doing it all again tomorrow.

As the days passed, it got easier. Ty was still not pleased when Mommy left and often pitched a crying fit upon seeing me gather up my things and head for the door. My heading to work routine soon sounded like this:

Ty would ask in this sad little voice, “Where mama? Where mama go?”

To which Jeremy would reply, “Mama’s going to work.”

And Ty would respond, “Mama go work? Bye- byes?”

Jeremy would then say, “Yep, mama went to work - she’ll see you later.”

And Ty would say “Mama work. Bye byes” - and promptly burst into tears.

Those were the days it was the hardest to leave. To this day, my mom thinks he’ll never want to go to work when he becomes an adult, because of the bad associations he has with that word!!!

Eventually, Ty got better at this part of our daily routine. He’d say ”‘Bye mama” as he waved and blew kisses. Later on, he added the “see ya gator” expression to his vocabulary, indicating he was OK with me leaving him in Daddy’s capable hands.

I’d like to say that it got to a point where I didn’t mind leaving. But, that would be a lie. It did get easier, particularly as Ty transitioned into the terrible two’s at about 15 months of age.  Though I felt bad for Jeremy on those days, there were a handful of moments where I was like “Peace out! Gotta go! Have fun with the crying screaming baby! See ya later!”  as I made a mad dash to the door.

There was an upside to all of this work nonsense, besides just getting paid. What I really took away from going back to work was a sense of better time management. I got a LOT of work done in the wee morning hours between 4:30 and 7 AM. I prioritized my e-mail and phone calls, and squeezed them in before and after my store visits. I multitasked by burning through literally thousands of cell phone minutes during my commute, which often stretched into ungodly realm of 5 or 6 hours a day .

Most importantly, it became easier to walk away from my job and call it a day, knowing that work could wait but my family couldn’t. A self-proclaimed workaholic, I suddenly realized that my work would never fully be done, and my to-do list would never be completely blank. And I accepted that. My colleagues noticed. My husband noticed. I noticed. And most importantly, Ty noticed.

I soon lived a new mantra: being a manager is NOT HOW I AM GOING TO DEFINE MY ROLE IN THIS LIFE.  It’s like the John Lennon quote, “LIFE IS WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU WHILE  YOU’RE BUSY MAKING OTHER PLANS.” 

I quickly realized I needed to be a wife and mother FIRST, and an employee second. It helped that Ty welcomed my return each day with his own fanfare - equivalent to a thousand Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parades. He’d stretch out his chubby arms and excitedly yell, ”Mama! Mama! Hi Mama! Mama HOME!” with a huge grin plastered across his cherubic little face. THAT ALONE WAS ENOUGH TO MAKE IT ALL WORTHWHILE.

I know that next week will not be easy. Let’s face it, it will probably suck. Running errands for a few hours without the kids is nothing like going back to work and leaving your newborn for the first time.

It’s going to be hard on all of us. Ty’s gotten used to having both Mommy and Daddy around. Caitlin has never gone more than 4 hours without me. And let’s face reality - Jeremy won’t have it easy either, as he will be in charge of a 12 week old AND a 27 month old. SIMULTANEOUSLY. And the “reinforcements” won’t be home for another 9 hours after I walk out that door in the morning. That is, of course, unless I hit the lottery this weekend, in which case, Sayonara! I won’t be going back at all!

But in reality, I’d like to think I’m a little better prepared for going back to work this time around. I bought waterproof mascara and eyeliner. I’ll skip the foundation. My support team is on-standby for my impending Chernobyl-like meltdown. I bought 8 boxes of Kleenex at Costco. I’m putting my game face on, and am psyching myself up like a starting quarterback before the Superbowl.  But we’ll get through it - I think. Wish me luck… and pass the Kleenex.

Anyone else relate to this moment? Moms? Dads? Let me know what YOUR family did to cope!

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Please take a moment to zip on over there and see what I REALLY think on this topics!

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Just born

In the NICU

Meeting her brother Ty for the first time 

Today, healthy and thriving:

I love you, baby Caitlin!

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I am not one of those women who always felt strongly about wanting to breast feed my babies. In fact, I probably would have decided to not breast feed, had both of my babies not spent time in the NICU after birth. Yes, I have heard all the blah blah blah about why breast feeding is better, more nutritious, cost effective, healthier, etc. My initial instinct to chose formula was not for aesthetic reasons or vanity; rather, it was because I planned on returning to work after my leave was up, and did not want to be chained to a breast pump. I also wanted Jeremy to be actively involved (read: an unwitting volunteer) during those pesky nighttime feedings. Formula feeding seemed to be the best option to meet both objectives.

So, I decided to give breastfeeding a whirl after having Ty, mainly because the hospital staff strongly encouraged it as a away to ensure proper nourishment and bonding time with my son.

It wasn’t really that hard. Ty latched on like a champ. He ate like a Survivor contestant after returning back home.  We were constantly upping the amount he took each feeding. He was downing more than 6 oz. each time by 2 months.  Ty was insatiable, and it’s no wonder why we call him ‘Ty the Tank’.

There is an expression in crab fishing - thank you, Deadliest Catch, for enlightening me - to describe when a boat has hit the mother lode of Alaskan crab. It means that the string of pots is producing high numbers of “keepers” - crabs that are legal to catch. That expression is known as “on the crab.”

Well, we began to refer to nursing as “on the crab” due to Ty’s frantic energy and excitement at clamping on to the booby. It reminded me of a heat seeking missile locking onto its target. But I digress…

So we began to alternate every other feeding with formula. This would also help me avoid having to pump every few hours after returning to work. It seemed to be working out well for all of us. But then, we began to notice something unusual after formula feedings: Ty was harder to settle down. He wasn’t quite as toasty warm. He wasn’t as drowsy. He wasn’t as snuggly. He wasn’t as calm. He didn’t sleep as well. He was crankier. He exhibited preference for being “on the crab” rather than gobbling from a Playtex bottle. Or, at least it seemed that way to us.

Still, we persevered.

When I went back to work, I still had to tote along the pump. The best laid plans, eh? (I can’t tell you how many times I’d escape to my car to pump before my boobies exploded. Nope, I won’t mention the number of times they leaked. Through the pads. All over my blouse. And I certainly won’t tell you about the time I went away on business for a week to California and my pump broke the first day and my former boss would not let anyone take me to Target or Wal-Mart to buy one. And I won’t tell you how difficult it was to “manually express” myself. And I won’t tell you that I have a whole new respect for cows, or that I haven’t drank milk since. And I won’t tell you that halfway through the trip, one of my former colleagues, a gay Hispanic man from San Francisco, was so pissed off about my ex-boss not letting me go and felt so bad for my miserable ass that he drove to the store and bought me a breast pump. Without me having to ask. I won’t tell you that there were MANY days I’d call Jeremy on my way home from work and say, “Don’t you dare feed that kid before I walk in the door. The boobies need him, stat!”)

I will, however, tell you that after I returned to work, my boobies became the stuff of legends in our house.

I will tell you that our initial observations seemed to be correct - Ty definitely was a happier baby when I nursed. And thus, the legend of the “magic boobies” was born.

During the next few months, Ty became - as all babies do - a little more challenging to care for. Some days, he was an absolute angel for daddy. But, there were also some days that nothing would make Ty happy. Not swaddling. Not swaying. Not shushing. Nope, Ty was having none of it. Except, for the magic boobies. They, it seemed, always did the trick.

Unfortunately, I only had one set of magic boobies, and they were at work. With me. And unlike the ”Ferber method” shown in Meet the Parents, daddy does not have magic boobies. And some days, I suspect he wished he did.

On days like that, instead of me calling Jeremy to bitch about my painfully engorged breasts, he was now calling me to say “How soon ’til you and the magic boobies get home?” I took comfort knowing that both my guys were eagerly awaiting my return as much as the boobies were looking forward to seeing Ty. I felt better that I had a magic trick up my sleeve (or in my shirt, as the case may be) that would ease away the frustration and crankiness we all felt.

With time, Ty became less “attached” as it were to the magic boobies. We replaced his bottles with Soothie brand ones, which he still loves to this day. I began to slowly start to wean him, and completed the task right around the time he cut his first teeth. (I love my son, but no way was I going to  attempt to nurse an angry, hungry child with teeth! I am not THAT freaking crazy!)

In just over two years, Ty has developed into a strong, healthy, well-adjusted child. His formula was replaced by whole milk, and ultimately downgraded to 2%. He guzzles it by the gallon.

And yes, with the arrival of Caitlin, I have resumed the alternation of breast and bottle feeding. Ty has renewed his obsession with my magic boobies… he now is fascinated by watching me feed Caitlin. When she cries, Ty asks Caitlin “Whassamatta, baby Caitwin? U hunwgry?” Ty then reassures her by saying,”Its awwight, don’t cwy baby Caitwin! Mama dwink? Mama baby Caitwin hungwy. She want boobies. Mama boobies?” And I, in turn, proffer the boobies. Which makes EVERYONE happy.

I “get” Ty’s interest in watching Caitlin eat.

However, I am ever so slightly more concerned by his two newest odd - but typically male - fascinations.  Like any true male, Ty loves all things electronic. And yes, that includes my electronic hospital-grade breast pump, complete with its adjustable speed and suction dials. He loves to help me by grabbing the pump and saying “mama make milk? boobies?”

And, as if I can’t figure it out by myself,  Ty “helps” me with the pumping process -  by lifting up my shirt and pulling those magic boobies out. He is enthralled by breasts, no matter who they belong to. (shocker, right?) Ty even pulls up his own shirt, and says “Mama, whassat? Booby?” as he touches his own tiny nipples. And, if that is not weird enough, I’ll leave you with this picture, taken by my cell phone camera, as Ty attempts to combine his love of the breast pump and love of boobies - by making his own milk:

How’s THAT for your laugh of the day?

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As I mentioned before, I have learned countless things that I did not know before becoming a parent.

If you missed the first three principles of this law that I proposed in Part 1, please click here to get caught up! For those of you joining me again, thank you! Now, on with the discussion and debate:

Principle #4: Upon entering any restaurant that does not have a “ball crawl,” one or more children will immediately begin to display behavior not fit for public viewing.

It does not matter how much you have attempted to prepare for what was supposed to be a pleasant meal cooked by someone other than you or an immediate family member. It does not matter what kind of food and drink you have stashed inside the diaper bag as a preemptive strive to stave off hunger and starvation. It won’t matter which toys you have stuffed into that diaper bag (or your purse, or the stroller, or the car seat.) Nope, you may as well have just left all that extra crap at home.

Because, you see, your child will immediately WANT NONE OF WHATEVER YOU BROUGHT INTO SAID RESTAURANT in the hopes of entertaining them.

They WILL, however, want to stand on the benches in the waiting area. They WILL attempt to pull or push open the doors of said restaurant. They will throw themselves - head first - onto the deeply soiled and stained, absolutely FILTHY all-weather mat by the front door, begin SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER and loudly shriek phrases of total gibberish. Phrases which are uttered at a decibel understood only by dogs and dolphins.

But don’t worry about what is being said by your child. Oh no. For the words themselves don’t really matter all that much. Instead, through body language only, it will immediately become clear to EVERYONE IN THE RESTAURANT that your child is deeply unhappy. And no matter what you attempt to do - cajoling, bribery, tickling - absolutely nothing will work to stop the fury of a despondent toddler.

It is at that point that you will contemplate just leaving now.

You should probably heed that inner voice. It’s smarter than you are, you know.

Instead, like a crab fisherman in the midst of a blizzard on the Bering Sea, you will attempt to weather the storm. Big Mistake. The elements always win.

In this case, the element is a wayward toddler.

While you quickly reach your breaking point, he or she is just gearing up.

While you have been trying to reason your child way out of the tantrum with promises of french fries and threats of time out, your child is busy thinking: “Ha, ha! Don’t mom and dad know my tricks by now? They’re toting enough stuff to fill a U-Haul! Boy, all my toys are sure weighing them down! Do they really think ANY of the stuff they brought will really keep me happy? Are they serious?? … Hmmm… wait a second, anyone else notice that Daddy sure moves A LOT slower when he is carrying my stuff? I can definitely make it through the maze of tables, around the wait staff, and into the kitchen before he catches me!”

And, as Simon Cowell says, “Off you go!”

The race begins… your toddler steaming ahead, heedless of the impending danger, you wheezing like a three pack-a-day chain smoker, toys flying everywhere, as you take off in hot pursuit. All this happens much to the smirking delight and amusement of other diners, and the embarrassment of the the rest of your party. Who, I might add, is still waiting in the lobby, silently praying for the seating pager to vibrate and flash that your table is ready - soon.

Little do they know (clearly the rest of your party is childless) that the ordeal is far from over.

The “simple act” of just being seated bring us to Principle #5: Your child will buck like a wild bronco when attempting to place them into their designated seat at the table. Because, as any parent knows, kids hate sitting still more than they hate waiting for the table to be ready.

It does not matter if they will be sitting in a car seat, a high chair, a booster seat, a real chair, or a booth. Nope. Kids hate all things that attempt to confine them in one place, and seating in a restaurant certainly tries to accomplish that. Not even the lure of artery-clogging trans fats (proffered in the form of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and crispy, salty french fries) will entice them to sit still. Even if you manage to hog tie your kids into their seat (which earns you a medal right off the bat!) you have not won the war yet. For getting them into the chair can mean only one thing: now the fun REALLY begins!

Do you have any idea what kind of weaponry can be found on a typical restaurant table? If you have boys, I bet you’re aware of the potential dangers lurking within their grasp. If you are fortunate enough to only have girls, I’ll be kind enough to enlighten you: Silverware. Glasses. Drinks. Sippy cups. Straws. Sugar packets. Butter. Creamer. Glass salt and pepper shakers. Place mats. Ketchup bottles. Mustard jars. Crayons. Napkins. Saltine crackers. All of which are just waiting to be launched. Preferably at other diners. And this is before the food arrives!

Little boys just HAVE to touch things that don’t belong to them (setting a trend which will continue for the rest of their lives. Remember Tailhook? OK, digression. Moving on.) Especially if they are sharp or able to be thrown easily. Especially if you have told them “no, don’t touch.”

So you managed to get them seated. And order. Congratulations! But, don’t get too excited yet! You still have roughly the same odds of actually being able to eat your meal in peace as oh, say, winning the lottery. A snowball in hell stands a better chance than you do.

So how are you going to manage to eat some part of your meal? How will you keep the meltdowns to a minimum? Basically, the rule of survival is simple… and it applies to more than just dining out. In fact, I bet you use this strategy every day as a parent.

Without further adieu, may I present Principle #6: Parenting by distraction.

Yup, you read that right. Distraction. Basically, keeping the peace is an ever-so-slightly more sophisticated form of Bait and Switch. It works best when used as part of a parenting tag-team, but can be effective when used by just one parent. In essence, parenting by distraction is the never-ending attempt to refocus your child’s attention from something negative/dangerous/loud/messy onto something well, less so.

When you throw more than one child into the mix, parents must get more proficient at this principle. Quickly.

“How does this work?” you ask. Well, when your child wants to do or have something not acceptable, you keep offering your kid other options that you think are OK. Like this:

Child: mama dwink? soda? Mama DWINK? Soda? MAMA DWINK!!!! SODA!!!!! MAMA SODA DWINK!!!!!!! (this demand escalates frantically into shouting and is accompanied by banging on the table.)

Me: “Ty, you have a drink.  You have two, in fact. See, your milk is here. And your cup is there. Which do you want?”

Child: MAMA SODA DWINK NOW!!!! Meaning, Ty wants my drink, not his. Which mine is, of course, Diet Pepsi. Which Ty LOVES. No, I am not kidding.)

Me: Oh, look Ty, Croutons! Do you want croutons? Or crackers?

Child: MAMA SODA DWINK NOW!!!! MAMA SODA DWINK NOW!!!! More banging. A crayon is launched at my head. More banging. Some kicking, too.

(Editor’s note: At this point I wipe the sweat off my forehead and offer Ty my drink because 1) I suck and 2) I just want him to shut up.) This seems to pacify him for like a minute, until he begins rocking the high chair so hard I fear it may tip over. And yelling “OUT! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!” And I say, “No Ty, we are going to eat dinner here. You need to stay in your seat.” Which works about as well as politely asking bin Laden to surrender. It doesn’t.

So I do the only thing I can do. When all else fails, move into Phase 2 of parenting by distraction: offer up your spouse as a sacrificial lamb.  I know, heartless right? But that doesn’t stop me from doing it. I turn to my husband and say “Jeremy, want to take him to see the parking lot?  So he can play in traffic?” (OK, just kidding about the traffic part. Kinda.)

And Jeremy, being the great dad he is, obliges both of us. And they head to the parking lot, with Ty struggling and yelping all the way. They exit, much to the delight of myself and the other patrons of this fine restaurant.

I spend the next 3 minutes and 42 seconds hanging my head in embarrassment, shoveling in as much food as I possibly can, and preparing for ”my turn” which is coming up next during the tag team effort of parenting by distraction.  What will I do to entertain darling Ty when he comes back in, no doubt kicking and screaming all the way? Will I successfully be able to feed Ty his dinner - since we came to the restaurant to actually EAT?

Naw, not a CHANCE. Lucky for us, the kid doesn’t really enjoy eating. He does, however, like games which involve eye-hand-mouth coordination. So we have taken to feeding him like ducks at the park, by tossing him snippets of french fries which he then catches in his mouth. As he weaves around and under the table. What, you didn’t think I was going to actually try to put Ty back in his seat, did you? We’re optimistic, but not CRAZY!!! Now, if I can only get him into the car seat to go home…

So, what do you do to make eating out less of a struggle? Any tips or tricks you’d like to share? Let me know!

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The first three principles:

Principle #1: The amount of time takes you to complete a routine task (if you were childless) is multiplied exponentially by the number of children living under your roof.

Think of it in terms of a basic math equation.

1 task X 1 Child = 2 times as long to complete said task
1 task X 2 Children = 5 times as long to complete said task
1 task X 3 Children = 8 times as long to complete said task

Like any complex mathematical problem, there are several factors that determine your ability to compute the correct answer to “how long WILL this task take me?” (Note: I did not say how long SHOULD it take, because I live in the real world here.)

Some of those variables are:

Are any of the children infants under the age of 1? Then add 3 to your original answer, because invariably there will be a hungry child screaming or poopy diaper to be changed while you are trying to complete the original task.

Are any of the children are between the ages of 1 and 4? Then add 4 to your original answer, because there will be an inevitable toddler meltdown / temper tantrum that occurs in response to you loudly shouting ”No!” or ”Don’t touch that!” repeatedly while trying to complete said task.

For children ages 5 through 12, add 1 to your original answer just for the heck of it.

For children / teenagers aged 13 through 18, add 3 to the original answer because you will certainly need to stop at some point while trying to complete said task and utter a phrase such as “Stop rolling your eyes at me!” or “Did you do your homework?” or “Turn that music down!” or “NO TEXTING AT THE DINNER TABLE!” which will throw your progress off track.

***This principle came courtesy of a Twitter conversation between Elliott at 21stcenturydad and my husband Jeremy of Discovering Dad. Thanks, guys!***

Principle #2: You will begin to ”invent” errands that need to be run TODAY so you can slip out of the house for a few minutes sans children. Keep in mind that errands are important s**t that need to be done, and you are “helping” by checking them off the to do list. Never mind that you actually placed them on the to do list just so you could leave the house. Let’s hope no one else figures this out besides us. It’ll be our secret. Pinky swear.

The downside of the errands ruse is that the desire to run errands ALONE is so strong that you, the parents, may actually fight over who gets to accomplish said errand. So pick your proposed errand wisely… here is an example of a typical pre-errand run conversation in my house with Discovering Dad (AKA Jeremy):

Me: “Honey, I need to run out for a few minutes today.”
DD: “What do you need? Where do you need to go?”
Me: “Um, well, I thought I’d go to Wal-Mart… we need blah blah blah. And then I thought I’d swing by the bank, and maybe Costco, and then I need to go to the library. Oh, and if I have time, the oil needs changed in the Toyota.”
DD: “Do you really need to do all that today? (Read: are you really planning on leaving me here with the little monsters for that many hours without expecting me to go all postal?)
Me: “Um, yeah. I was. But, I guess I can wait to get the oil changed another day. I mean, I can stay here if YOU want to go to Wal-Mart.” This, I know, is the equivalent of asking Jeremy if he wants to have an apple shoved in his mouth and be slow roasted like a pig over the glowing coals of an outdoor fire pit. Seriously, he hates Wal-Mart so much I think he’d chose the spit over running THAT particular errand.
DD: “No, I do not want to go to Wal-Mart. Are you sure you really need this stuff today? How long will it take you?
Me, silently thinking: ”Score! Jeremy just conceded the errand run to me! I can go! Free at last, free at last, Thank God Almighty… free at last!  Ok, Lori, don’t be greedy. You’re getting out of the house. Promise to be back as quick as possible. You can do it!”
What actually comes out of my mouth: “Um, maybe like three hours? Depending on how long the checkout lines are? I’ll call you to let you know how things are running, ok?”

(I quickly grab my purse, coupons, and my keys, thrust the baby at him, and sprint to the car before he can change his mind! WOO HOO! I DID IT!)

Just so you know, there are some errands that your spouse will willingly do if it gets them out of the house and away from the kids.

For example, the bank and Costco are Jeremy-approved stops. So, in order to be able to do the errands myself, I must throw in another dreaded stop, like Wal-Mart (see above). Other examples of dreaded places are the grocery store, BabiesRUs or someplace for me, like the nail salon.  It is critical that you add a place that your spouse hates to the destination list in order to successfully win the “I’m the one who’s going” coin toss. Keep that in mind when planning out your to-do list this week.

Principle #3: The child that is your pride and joy, the child you love more than life itself, the child that you would do anything for, will invariably at some point in every day, make you wonder if Goodwill accepts donations of much loved, gently worn children.

I love my son Ty. I really, really do.

He makes me laugh. He has begun to string together words and sentences that make me wonder “Where’d he learn that?” He makes my eyes sparkle. He makes my heart swell with pride. He allows me to appreciate all the little, everyday things through the wondrous eyes of a child.

And lately, he has made me contemplate putting him in a permanent time out.

You see, Ty has been going through the terrible two’s since he turned a year old. That’s right. Since he turned one, we have experienced unforgettable raucous tantrums. He’s so advanced, that Ty.

Which, not like I am counting or anything, means there has been oh, say, 15 months of meltdowns here at our house?

It’s not just about verbal outbursts. Oh no. I can deal with a little yelling now and then.

To make things worse, Mommy’s little angel Ty has several tricks up his sleeve.

Like banging his head against any hard flat surface until he has our attention.
Or lunging onto the floor, usually backwards, and proceeding to clunk his head. Hard. Which he then “presents” to me for an “all better” kiss.
Or throwing toys over the gate or directly at the object of his anger (which is usually me.)
Or screaming “Mama hold! Mama hold Ty!! over and over again in a Rainman-worthy outburst. While manufacturing real tears and flailing himself at me, or on to me, as the case may be.
Or licking my leg. Or my face. Or my tongue. (I have no idea where he learned this one.)
Or biting my toes. Or my knees. Or, like yesterday, my lips.
Or my personal favorite, smacking like he is Mike Tyson in the 9th round. Come to think of it, maybe he learned all of the above from Tyson???

Did I mention that at 26 months, Ty weighs almost 40 lbs and is 39″ tall?  So yeah, that hitting HURTS.

Oh, and did I mention that Ty is a mama’s boy? And that I brought a newborn home this summer, which has added jealousy to his ever-present frustration? And that Ty does not appreciate that my lap cannot hold two kids comfortably at once? And that, basically, all Ty’s frustration is now directed at me and Caitlin?

Intellectually, I know that these meltdowns are a result of his frustration at not being able to communicate his wants or needs when he wants or needs something. But, it is a little hard to not take them personally. I have read the advice, I have tried virtually everything I know how to do to negate his behavior while he’s in this stage. And I know that “this too shall pass.”

It doesn’t mean I love Ty any less.

But it does mean that I may need to invent some errands to get me out of the house for a while. Note to Jeremy: Don’t worry honey, I’ll be back by the time he turns 3!

Tune in again for more principles of the “Law of Parenting” … and while you’re at it, send me your own “principles”… I can be reached at lori@mamanuggle.com or on Twitter as @mamanuggle.

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*However* there are some things in life I just don’t get.

Here is a list… if you can explain to me why these things occur, I’d love for you to skool me!
In no particular order:

How is it that our Yale and Harvard educated U.S. president, despite having said the word oh, say, a billion times over the past 8 years, cannot pronounce the word “terror” correctly? The way Mr. Bush says it, it sounds like “turd.” Since when in the word “terror” pronounced “tuurrrr-urr?” And why haven’t one of his 50,000 aides corrected his speech yet? It’s sad that Heidi Klum better enunciation skills than our own president.

When will the US budget be balanced in a way that doesn’t expand the national debt? Why doesn’t our government make more of an effort to do so? Washington DC is populated by some of the most brilliant minds in the universe. Many of our elected officials have earned advanced degrees from prestigious institutions of higher learning. So why is it so hard to abide by the simple rule “don’t spend more than you earn?”

Is there really a “Kennedy” curse? Or, is this family more prone to tragedy because wealth and power provide access to “riskier” situations like flying a plane or becoming an assassin’s target? Or is it just that we hear about tragic circumstances that befall influential people more readily than those of “common” folks?

Why would have Prince Charles preferred Camilla over vivacious Diana? Even the “grass is greener” explanation just doesn’t make sense here.

Why, after the whole I’m-as-crazy-as-a-loon head-shaving incident, can’t Britney Spears get a decent set of extensions? Her old ones look like she has never washed them, and the new ones do nothing to camouflage her washed out puffiness. In fact, I think she is the new Courtney Love. ’Nuff said.

If you think that no one participating in the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics will test positive for using performance-enhancing substances, you would be mistaken. 80% of athletes surveyed at the Sydney Games admitted taking at least one substance and another 20% admitted five or more, and one ‘junkie’ admitted taking 26 different concoctions. Who do you predict will get caught during this year’s summer games?

Quick: Name the only two industrialized countries that don’t provide guaranteed paid medical or maternity leave for new mothers! Why, that’d be the United States and Australia of course! Out of 168 nations, 163 had some form of paid maternity leave. Aside from these two, Lesotho, Papua New Guinea and Swaziland are the only others on the list. (Can you even find those other nations on a map??? I can’t!)

Though five U.S. states offer some form of mandated paid leave, the remainder of mothers nationwide do not receive any guarantees of paid leave. The exception to this is the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) which gives 12 weeks of job-protected leave for people employed by companies with 50 employees or more. However, this leave is not paid. How ridiculous!

In September, George Soros, the Hungarian-born financier and committed supporter of democracy around the world, said he would give $50 million over five years to help fight AIDS and poverty in Africa. Part of his donation will go toward providing HIV/AIDS treatment in 33 villages in ten sub-Saharan countries. Sir Richard Branson, the publicity-friendly entrepreneur behind Virgin Group, started an AIDS treatment center and pledged to donate up to $3 billion of profits from Virgin’s train and airline businesses to fight global warming.

James Sorenson, the genius inventor, left his entire $4.5 billion fortune to help disadvantaged children, schools and medical facilities in Sorenson’s home state of Utah. Blackstone co-founder Peter Peterson gave $1 billion to his own foundation, which hopes to raise awareness on America’s out-of-control federal deficit. David Rockefeller, the only living grandchild of Standard Oil founder John D. Rockefeller, gave $100 million to Harvard, the largest gift the school has ever received from an alumnus.

In 2006, gifts from 12 individuals totaled almost $35 billion. Why don’t these individuals get more positive press for trying to change the world?

How is it that America’s Most Wanted has captured 1021 criminals to date, and the US military can’t find Osama Bin Laden?

Why are there so many professional athletes in jail? Some notables in the NFL Jailhouse Hall of Shame: Perhaps the most hated, vilified, and best known felon to make my list is Former Atlanta Falcon’s Pro Bowl quarterback Michael Vick. Vick is currently serving a 23 month sentence for running an illegal dogfighting ring out of his mansion.

Stupidity and criminal activity must run in the family… Michael’s younger brother Marcus Vick- a former Virginia Tech standout - was convicted of marijuana possession, contributing to the delinquency of a minor by having sex with an underage 15 year old girl when Marcus was 17. Later, in 2006, Marcus Vick pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct in connection with an incident in Suffolk, VA where a gun was pulled on patrons of a local McDonald’s! Though he briefly played for the Miami Dolphins, Marcus has been busy off the field. Since that time, the younger Vick has been arrested four times and is currently charged with DUI, misdemeanor eluding police, reckless driving and driving on a suspended license. Marcus Vick is awaiting his day in court.

Adam “Pacman” Jones had a lengthy rap sheet before entering the NFL, and has been arrested 6 times SINCE joining the Tennessee Titans. He has multiple convictions for assault, drug possession, and felony vandalism.  Most recently, Pacman was involved in a Las Vegas strip club incident last year that left three people shot and one man paralyzed. Just a few months later, Sadia Morrison - who was with Jones during the Vegas incident - was found dead in New York under suspicious circumstances. Coincidence?

Some other notable NFL criminals: St. Louis Ram Leonard Little was convicted of DUI and involuntary manslaughter for killing a woman in 1998. He was arrested again in 2004 for DUI. Former Carolina Panther Rae Carruth is currently serving a nineteen- to twenty-four-year sentence for conspiring to kill his pregnant girlfriend, Cherica Adams, and their unborn baby. Adams died of multiple gunshot wounds in 1999.

Some other names and cases you may have heard about: Former Green Bay Packers’ tight end Mark Chmura was arrested on allegations of third degree sexual assault on the girl that babysat for his two children (he was later found not guilty) and for providing underage teenagers with alcohol at a post-prom party.  Baltimore’s own hometown hero - the Ravens’ 9 time Pro Bowler Ray Lewis - was charged with double murder following a stabbing that left two man dead at a Buckhead club after the 2000 Super Bowl in at Atlanta. (He later accepted a plea bargain and testified against his former friends. Lewis plead guilty to a lesser charge of obstruction of justice, received 1 year probation and record $250,000 fine by the NFL.)

And the litany of “fallen heroes” continues:After Lisa “Left Eye” Lopez of TLC burned down their house after a fight, Former NFL star and Toronto Argonauts receiver Andre Rison became infamous. Just a few years later, Rison’s off-field woes continued, when Rison was sentenced to jail for failing to pay $107,000 in back child support. Tampa Bay Storm Arena League linebacker Darion Conner got fifteen years for drunkenly running over and killing bicyclist Jonathan Michael Conklin in September 2004. In 2006, Michigan State defensive back Cole Corey was sentenced to two to ten years for sexual assault and rape. An offensive tackle and a defensive end for Texas A&M were indicted for felony robbery.

In 2006, at least 35 NFL players were arrested on charges ranging from disorderly conduct to felony burglary. Not all were convicted, but how many NFL players have a criminal record stemming from prior convictions?

Certainly, football is not the only sport to see its share of “fallen heroes.” A 2004 survey found that a whopping 40% of NBA players listed on the 2000-2001 roster had a criminal record! Every major sport has been tainted by the stain of bad behavior. Obviously, money and fame does not exempt one from making bad decisions, but does, in fact, provide access to better lawyers. What would the outcome have been for these former “stars” if they were forced to use public defenders at trial? Would that have deterred them from committing these heinous crimes in the first place?

All in all, these are just a handful of the issues that I question and struggle with. What are yours? What makes you scratch your head and wonder why? Leave me a comment so we can open the discussion (and maybe even get some answers along with some spirited debate!)

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Today, a colleague of mine called to let me know of a tragic accident that happened on a highway outside of St. Louis yesterday. Two of our co-workers were involved in a multi-car accident that occurred when a truck driver failed to stop his rig in time, and plowed into several cars waiting to merge onto another highway.

All told, 11 cars were demolished, 16 people were injured, and 2 people were killed. 3 people remain in critical condition, one of which is my colleague Mark. His boss, Dave, a passenger in the car, will be released in a few days with minor injuries, including several compound fractures. Every day, there are hundreds of accidents in the US that are just as tragic as this one. Too many of us, myself included, drive too fast and don’t pay enough attention to what we are doing when we operate vehicles weighing thousands of pounds. It could have been any one of us involved in the crash. If you are heading out today, buckle up, slow down, and drive with caution. If you get a moment today, please say a prayer for the victims of this crash, and their families. I know I will.

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