Garbage Eve

Today is a holiday in my house, not just Christmas, but a special holiday that comes once a week that I like to call "Garbage Eve".
I can't say I coined the phrase myself, but have embraced it and am not afraid to claim it as my own.
Usually this holiday falls on a Sunday with Monday being our pick up day and we are off to a fresh start of the week. As it does with most things, Christmas totally screwed us.
There are not words for the number of boxes, gift bags and bags full of wrapping paper that were sitting outside my back door tonight. That is what I get for being the only one in Tim's immediate family with an indoor Christmas tree, and insisting on allowing my children to stay home on Christmas day.
I am a pretty hard core recycler, but I failed to flinch at each can, bottle, or other recyclable that ended up in the trash. Alas, as with credit cards the trash cans do have limits and when I had burned through all the space in the gargantuan garbage can as well as the equally as large recycling trolley I started to panic. I hate not recycling perfectly good recyclables. And even if I set it all with the recyclables there is some pissing contest between the garbage men and the recycling guys that whoever gets there first doesn't have to get all the stuff that they can't reach with the mechanical arm that comes out of the truck and picks the can up to dump it in. God forbid they have to get out of the truck and help do their part to save the environment. All I can do is hope that the garbage man comes first and the recycling guy is forced to take all the stuff. At least it is all out of the shoe for the rest of the week and we don't have to shove all the new crap in around the boxes. And oh boy is there a lot of crap.
It has been quite a day for all of us. Nora's first Christmas, Abby's first that she really got "it", and not to mention all the family. Our holiday ends tomorrow when we finish the tissue toss with a family bash at Judy's.
Then can we be done?

A Memo to My Father in Law

Hi Jerry,
Remember me? I married your son? You know the kid who idolizes you and you shit on him constantly? Not familiar? Let me make this easy, the guy who transports you to and from the airport all the time? Got it? Good.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that calling me literally 24 hours before you are supposed to be at my house and asking me what to get your granddaughters for Christmas is uncool. First of all, a lack of planning on your part is not an emergency on my part so back off on calling my cell phone because Tim didn't answer his cell, or the house phone. Second, your estranged wife has already bought them every single toy, outfit, book, anything you can imagine to the point that even Santa was having a hard time finding something in his workshop for these kids. Third, I don't really care that you have a cold. If you are so sick that you had to go to a doctor who didn't tell you what you want to hear (an is thus a "quack" according to you) then please don't bring it into my house tomorrow. Keep your disease to yourself.
Happy shopping!
Your Daughter in Law

The One Woman Show Gets Panned

So I have told you (yes, you) about how Christmas this year has been a one woman show (starring me) because Tim is beyond a basket case, right. So along with all the regular stuff I do (raising a husband and 2 kids) I get to shop for gifts, wrap said gifts, do Christmas (now they are New Year's) cards, bake, make the holiday magical for my children, etc. Now I have been doing this without complaint until yesterday.
So Wednesday night I told my tech support staff (Tim) that my email was not receiving anything. He took a look at it and installed some new Internet Explorer thing with all these weird tabs and declared there to be nothing wrong with it. Hey, fucker, a mother knows when there is something wrong. Don't you find it odd that the number of spam messages I get goes from approximately 100 per day to 0? You don't? How about that Charles never got the pictures I sent and I never got his email? Still working fine? Well you're wrong, pal.
He has all our stuff so strangely engineered that I just don't bother to figure out what is what. So when this problem persisted into yesterday I sent him a cute little email asking who I could contact at freeservers to get my business fixed. This prompted a nasty phone call from him telling me that I am crazy and that I am just not getting any email from anybody anywhere. Really? The guy who wants to sell me Viagria and Ciallis at dirt cheap prices begs to differ.
So he tells me I never listen and that he has explained that there is nothing that can be done and the way in which he does it (Tony, you know what I am talking about here) totally hits this nerve in me that unleashed all the crap I have been bottling up for the past month and I start to cry.
Not just Finding Nemo crying but full on Titanic (if you are a 13 year old girl), Hotel Rwanda crying. He gets all pissed that I am crying and we end our conversation. So I go about my day and see that he has fixed my email by a series of irritating test emails that he sent to everyone who has a mailbox in our domain (?).
He then had "plans" last night so he didn't get home until late.
Obviously we had a miscommunication, and when he asked me what I was pissed about that was what I told him, and he again lost his shit because I had been "stewing" on this all day rather than dealing with it as it happened (You know that had I said anythign to him while he was at work I would have gotten my head bitten off because he was at work, but he didn't like me pointing that out, so I won't). When he took a tone with me I had a fit, and immediately started the Yuletide fight we have every year at this time. I hate that all he can do is complain about Christmas when I am the one doing everything. He hates that we have to spend money on people like my friend Karen who babysits for us and gives me some much needed time during the day to do stuff that my kids don't want to do. I hate that he can't seem to figure out where exactly the dishwasher is, and that he is completely incapable of taking care of his children and makes no attempt to learn their schedules (that is an ongoing one but it seems exacerbated by the holiday nonsense that I also have to put up with so I just tucked that into his stocking). But this year he can't even deny that I have done everything. He doesn't even know what we got his mother for Christmas. He still tried (poorly) to defend himself, and when he knows he is wrong he just gets angrier, which is so irritating. He also smirks which I just can't look at anymore. I told him that he best buck up and start at least pretending to give a crap about all this, and say "Hey, thanks for doing that" at least once a day to me from now until the end of time.
He smirked, then scanned a picture that I have been asking him to do for about 2 weeks now. When we were in bed watching The Girls Next Door and I gave him some of my water after he ate half a jar of peanut butter he said "Hey, thanks for sharing".
Its a start.

A Memo to My Mother in Law

Hi Kathy,
Could you do me a favor and not buy me anything from Walgreen's this year? I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but really, keep you $1.99 and pass on the crap that you think is "so cute". Pleas include my husband and my kids in this also. We do not need anymore generic toys, or any toys for that matter, or any light up spinning musical anythings. I really feel bad when I have to throw it all out because it is full of chocking hazards and broken pieces. And all that "adorable" plush you found there- leave it there. The charities that I donate most of the crap you give us have told me that they won't take anymore stuffed animals form me because even the poor kids don't want them. And on the subject of the "Chocolate Fountain" you want to buy Tim, please don't. We don't use the Chilli set, Smores maker, Foot Bath or any of the other shit you have bought in the past 6 years.
Thank you,
Your Daughter in Law

Do you hear what I hear?

The Christmas spirit has been sucked out of me and it didn't even feel good.
On December 2nd I was aglow with holiday spirit. We were putting up the tree, I was was listening to the radio station that plays non stop Christmas music from November 1st to December 26th (which, hello, why cut it off so abruptly? why do we have to start Christmas so early and then kick it out the day after without even leaving any money on the nightstand?), and I was getting ready for Nora's first Christmas, and what Abby assured me was going to be "the best Christmas ever!".
Then my mom came over and went crazy about something she did last year (ahem, giving her sister ornaments off of my tree in a lame attempt to repair so many years of damage that the little fucking mitten ornaments just fell into the abyss between them. I digress), then Tim had this minor meltdown and refused to put his Star Wars battle scene on the tree. Which to some may seem like the best Christmas gift of all, but to me it made me sad. I like the Star Wars ornaments, not because we are those people who dress up as Luke and Leia before we do it, but because it is something that he enjoys and that he can add to our tree.
It was that night that I knew we were in for a bumpy night. And our journey through this festive season has been filled with the land mines of Tim's parent's divorce and the mental illness that it brings, a broken furnace that wiped out the holiday budget, a wonderful photographer who's trip to Florida fucked all of my Christmas gifts, and so on. I have managed to power through because I have two kids who do have a ton of the holiday spirit and who deserve at least one parent who can put on a happy face.
But you know what, I have had it. I can't do it all anymore. Tim has helped me shop for the girls, and that is the extent of his contribution to Christmas. Last night while I toiled on a scrapbook to give to HIS mom did he sit by me and wrap the million gifts that need to be dealt with? Did he address or print our "holiday cards" (now wishing Happy New Year because there is no way they are getting done before this weekend? Did he bake cookies? Clean the house? Go to the grocery store? Plan the menu for Christmas day (or now Christmas Eve too since "it is more fun" at our house for his parents to impart their insanity)? Figure out what to get Tony (the most difficult person in the universe to shop for)? Do anything other than take a nap and play computer poker? No.
We have a one woman Christmas show going on here and what sucks is that it is going on while I have to play house too. I know plenty of people have it much worse, and it is all a matter of perspective, but alas this is my fucking perspective, and it blows.
The only thing that is keeping me a little joyful is that it is Nora's first Christmas and we have this fiber optic snowman that brings her such joy I don't know if I have the heart to put it away when all this stuff comes down. Abby's preschool "holiday show" is also tomorrow and if a bunch of 4 year olds in Santa hats with bells singing songs doesn't pump a little of the holiday spirit back into me then nothing will.
I wish I celebrated Hanukkah like Charles.

Follow The Leader

So last week my friend shows up on my doorstep with formula, and I feed it to Nora thinking it was just going to supplement the 2 times a day I nurse her, and alas she no longer has any interest in me.
I should be dancing in the streets. I should be thrilled that I can now say yes to that second, third, fourth and fifth cocktail and not feel guilty about it. I can finally put away all things related to being pregnant. I can stack outgrown baby stuff on top of that and clean the house for the party I kept saying I wanted to throw when I got my body back. Well, now my body is being given back to me by the one who took it in the first place and I am not sure I'm ready for it.
I am not going to force her to nurse if she doesn't want to, but I had planned on going the full year like I did with Abby. While I know that each child is different, blah, blah, blah, I guess I just wasn't ready for her to wean herself so abruptly. We are down to one feeding a day and bottles the rest of the time. Not only is it a pain in the ass to cart formula and bottles and what not everywhere, I guess I have to take (yet another) one for the team.
Rather than be weird about this I guess I will go and shoot tequila, and celebrate that I can wear non El Camino bras.
I wonder what Charles would do?

The Hills Are Alive

Tim and I are doing some mindless computer stuff and he has his iTunes playing which doesn't bother me. What bothers me is his heartfelt rendition of every song in the fucking playlist. So far he has emoted with Johnny Cash, rapped with Kanye, jammed with Bono, and he is currently getting jiggy with Will Smith and Snoop Dogg (two of his favorites in one song-oh the joy). I am about to lose my mind! I have him scanning pictures for me and he is taking it very seriously, worrying about shading and lightening and the such, which is so nice that he takes the most menial tasks and does them with such flair, but really the singing, is it necessary?
Why is my tolerance for other people's back up singing so low?

The Roof is on Fire

At 6:30 this morning we woke up to Abby doing her Ozzy Osborn impression of laying in bed and hollering for one of us. To my surprise (and delight) it was for Tim so I was able to squeeze those last few minutes out of my night's sleep. I could hear the baby stirring, but I usually wait until she is fussing to go in. I heard Tima dn Abby talking, and I thought he was just trying to reason with her that 6:30 is too early and that we need sleep, but then I noticed that Tim was getting a wee bit agitated and that he started running around the house. I humored him by opening one eye to see what was up, and that was when I noticed it, the distinct smell of burning plastic.
Oh.My.God. What is on fire?
I help Tim scramble around the house unplugging every fire hazard we can think of (the Christmas tree, the space heaters, the computer crap) to no avail. The smell was worse and there was a haze of smoke filling the house.
With no obvious source of fire anywhere and every foul word used, I suggested we call the fire department, but Tim refused. He finally decided it was the furnace and called the Mafia at 7:15 am. (you know I am a Mafia princess, right? We can only use certain people for things. We have to use the Mafia landscaper, electrician, contractor, car guy etc. And they all get paid in cash and we never get a receipt of any kind) At about 9 the Mafia furnace guy finally calls and is on his way over. (Yes, when Tim hadn't heard from him when his dad called at 8 another phone call was made on our behalf and then next thing we knew he was 10 minutes away. Gotta love the Mafia) I had gone out to do some "doorbusting" (my new catchphrase for Christmas shopping at places that run ridiculous sales- I got Nora the Leap Frog table for $15.99- can you believe it!) and when I called to check in Tim informed me that we had blown the motor on the furnace. I don't really care about what the problem was, I just wanted to know how much it cost and when it would be fixed.
When I got home the smoke was gone, but the nasty plastic smell was still there (and still is). The upside is that we didn't need a new furnace, but the downside is that we had to shell out $400 that wasn't really in the budget.
I guess heat is more important than Christmas. Right?

The Secret Formula

Sorry, Charles, another day is going to pass with me not blogging about you. But wait, I just did, now you don't have to ask.

Anyway...I feel like an alcoholic staring at a bottle of vodka, afraid to drink, but yet so tempted. A week or so ago the pediatrician recommended that I supplement Nora with formula. My nursing has been waning, and I was starting to supplement with whole milk. Since she still needs more nutrients formula would be best, but something in me could not bring myself to buy it at Target last week. I wish I could explain why I am like this. Plenty of kids get their fair share of vitamins and what not from formula. Hell I was raised on formula! But for some reason I just don't want it in my kids. And to be honest it probably would be better for her than the breast milk I create made out of the more than occasional glass of wine and an unbalanced diet, but I can't do it. I am just as content to let her iron levels continue to drop while I give her whole milk.
My friend Marnie has been listening to this saga, and can't believe that I just won't suck it up and give her s damn bottle of formula. So today she turns up on my doorstep with a can of formula and a jug of nursery water. I think she was trying to be nice, but I couldn't help but feel like she was telling me what to do, but my sister made me get over it. As I was unloading the dishwasher I made Nora a bottle. It was like a scene from a movie as the alcoholic pours the drink and stares at it. I am still not sure if she will even get the bottle.
The only thing that I am sure of is that I am more comfortable leaving her sleeping in her crib while I run down the street to pick up Abby than I am giving her formula.

What the fuck is my problem?

Blogging maintenance

I should be putting the finishing touch on an embroidery project for Tony right now, but I am procrastinating (its just Danny's star, Tony, the rest are done, don't worry).

Anyway...we have been busy little elves around here, and I will blog about the Christmas tree meltdown, Abby's holiday wishes, our evening out (including you Charles)and our long lost family later, I have to tend to a few business matters first...

#1-Can anyone tell be about Beta Blogger? Is this something I want? My sister was supposed to check it out and give me a detailed report, but she is just as behind on her Christmas Crafting as I am therefore I have heard nothing. Since I am accosted with it everytime I open blogger I am tempted to make the Folgers switch, but that leads me to an issue of security, and .....

#2-If I come across a blog that I want to read and that I am blocked out of because it is password protected, how to I get ahold of the blogger and gain access? And, if you are a blogger reading my blog who has a blog that is protected can we be friends or something? I keep coming across blogs that I would like to read but I can't even get a hold of the blogger to let them know that they want me to be reading their blog. Am I a moron because I don't know how to do this? I like to scroll through blogs, and the ones with the interesting names intrigue me, but I am finding myself locked out, and wasn't junior high enough of excluding me? Any help with this would be good.

O.k., I guess that is it. Back to work.

Wait, one more thing....Does anyone else find it odd that the word 'blog' is not in the blogger spellcheck? Have I asked you this already?

Panic! At the grocery store

We were almost out of baby wipes, and definitely out of milk yesterday so I packed up the ladies and off we went to the grocery store.
Now our local Jewel is usually pretty crowded, but the parking lot was ridiculous. I circled a few times before settling in the furthest corner from the door Abby will go in. (Have I told you about her OCD that won't let her go through the Osco entrance because it is "the wrong way") So we walk in and there is not a cart to be had. There were people everywhere. It was weird. So there were no regular carts, just the (fucking) butterfly carts with the big car attachment on the front. You know the ones that take up over half the aisle and weigh 2 tons? So we set off in one of those and fight our way through the oxygen tanks and "little rascals" that are clogging the aisles. I finally asked someone what they were giving away, and the guy reminded me that our local weather hero, Tom Skilling, had forecasted snow. Tom Skilling is never right, so who cares. But of course as I was making my way to the milk I grabbed a few things "just in case".
I got yelled at twice because my cart was too big, and reprimanded for leaving my cart with my kids in it at one of the intersections of the aisles while I ran down the crowded aisle to get eggs. What the hell people? Do you really want the big cart coming at you to complicate things? Didn't think so.
I opted for self check out since the overwhelming number of old people guaranteed me a no waiting spot in line. Self check out is great when you are just buying 1 or 2 things, but for nore than that it is a pain in the ass. Whatever, we got out of there unharmed and went on with our day to wait for the snow that never came.
Until this morning when we woke up to blankets of dense snow on everything. Tim swore a lot as he snow blowed, but I was so excited to get Abby out building snow men and frolicking the way I love to. School was cancelled today because the Honda Odesseys can't make it through 6 inches of snow, so we had a nice day inside. As the witching hour hit, I was glad I got swept up in the frenzy of storm preparation at the Jewel. Had I not the girls would have not had ravioli for dinner and we would have turned into the Donner party.

Tis The Season

What the hell, is it really December?
Oh, I have one more day that is not December, great, thanks.

I am not going to bitch about the holidays being stressful like everyone else. I don't think they are that stressful. I like shopping. While the crowds are annoying, it is sickly fun to be kind to frustrated cranky holiday help and shoppers. I like cramming my already stuffed house with all things red, green, and festive. I like the fight Tim and I have every year about how many lights to put on the tree. I like Christmas music. I like it all.
What I don't like are people who decide to have graduation parties the weekend before Christmas. What I don't like are people who think that we need to hold audience with them on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day when they are indifferent to us the other 363 days of the year. What I don't like are the Salvation Army Bell Ringers who wish me a 'Happy Holidays' in hopes that I will donate money to their gay bashing fund.
Deep Breath.
I am fairly (and to some, annoyingly) adamantly against taking my kids out of the house on Christmas Day. Part of that is from my own childhood, when I would get all this great stuff and then have to pick one thing to go with me to a relative's house where I would sit and dream of all the cool things that I had back at home but I couldn't play with because I was singing Christmas carols with family that I saw once a year. I am not scarred by this, and my Christmas pasts were not awful, I just look back on pictures of the year that I got a new ice skating costume that I insisted on wearing because I loved it so much I couldn't bear to part with it and get embarrassed that I actually donned it in public. No wonder the weird cousins didn't want to talk to me.
I realize that by 4 pm Christmas day the yuletide wad has been blown and an escape hatch would be nice, but I refuse to use it because I have made such a stink about not going anywhere. This year this is trying to bite me in the ass, but I am meaner. Since August we have planned to spend Christmas eve with Tim's mom and her family. After the last 2 years that Abby has been kept up so far past her bedtime that Christmas day borders on unbearable, I have put my foot down. How we have done it in the past is that we go to Tim's mom's family's party until about 8:30 (past Abby's bedtime) then to Tim's dad's family's party until 11 (really really past Abby's bedtime) then on to celebrate with his parents privately which usually ends at a time when Abby is so deliriously tired that she can't even function enough to be crabby. In the wake of Tim's parent's "parting" I decided to take this opportunity to cut his dad's family out of Christmas and begin alternating between his mom's family and his dad's on Christmas eve, thus leaving Christmas day to spend with our immediate family and oh, yeah, my family too. Since it is unclear whether or not we will be seeing Tim's dad on Christmas eve I told him that if we in fact don't, he can come over Christmas day, but could he please refrain from bringing his estranged wife. I would have told his mother the same thing if it was his dad's family's year for Christmas eve. If we do celebrate with Tim's dad on Christmas eve then the invitation is rescinded, and we will continue to do our thing. Apparently this is entirely unacceptable.
If my family is coming over on Christmas Day, then obviously Tim's parents should both be invited so they can have Christmas with their grandchildren.(as decreed by his mother). Fine, so then they can come over Christmas day, but we will not be getting together Christmas eve. Unacceptable, Tim's mom's family is expecting to see us, we have to be there (as decreed by my mother in law). So let me get this straight, my family is not invited to spend Christmas eve with my in laws, but we have to include them Christmas day? What the fuck? I have also been told that if my father in law is coming over Christmas day, my mother in law will be there also.
And here is the difference between my husband (the spineless wonder that he is) and I...I will not allow that. His parents can have whatever fucked up Christmas they want, but I will not play host to it. If we have to spend an entire fucking Sunday with that woman and, we will not be spending the Monday with her also. Done. There is no discussion. If she wants to include her estranged husband in Christmas eve, bonus, one less person in my house Christmas day.
Am I being unreasonable?
Think carefully before you answer that because I am right here and you can't tell me different until you have met these assholes.
Anyway...
We have to go to this graduation party the weekend before Christmas. It is for someone my age who has just gotten her masters. Now the last time I saw her was at a 25th wedding anniversary party for an "aunt" and "uncle". At said party she asked me what we "gave" them. "A card" was my reply and she proceeded to tell me that she was concerned the check she wrote was not enough. Do you really give checks to adults? I can't imagine writing these people a check as a gift. So now we are faced with her graduation party. What do I give her? I realize that it is a cultural thing that they all exchange money at things like this, but I am just not that type. Any suggestions? Do I just have to suck it up and write her a check?
O.k., I am done now. We can talk about the Salvation Army later.

Feeding Time at the Zoo

It makes my mom crazy that I do not clean out Nora's high chair after every meal. Unless there is a huge rotting stick mess, the thing gets cleaned out after dinner. You may think its gross, but that is how we roll here.
Anyway...I have noticed lately that sometimes at weird times of the day she goes over to the high chair, pulls herself up, and will start eating out of the foot rest, the seat, or off the floor. We call it the snack bar, and it is kind of funny. A problem has arisen, however, and I now try to clean it up everytime she eats. The problem is not ants, or bugs, or mold, it is Abby. I have found that when she doesn't want to eat something she just chucks it into Nora's high chair and hopes I won't notice. The half eaten turkey sandwich yesterday was a dead giveaway. When I confronted her about it, she was sweet and told me that she was just giving Nora more choices at the snack bar.
So now we clean the high chair after every meal which has led to a new problem. When there is not food at the "snack bar" Nora goes directly to the cat food dish. Am I worried that she seems to have eaten her weight in cat food?

4

Jump
Originally uploaded by K.C. Belle.

My best fried turns 4 today.
Her 4th trip around the sun has been full of changes. She has started school, became a big sister, and has become a walking, talking, understandable person. Not that she wasn't before, but she has gone from being this adorable little lump of a baby to a walking uber destructor toddler to an amazing preschooler. She is bright, funny, beautiful, and anal retentive. She has more nuances than most dead languages, but her joy and love make it bearable.
This little girl has changed the world in these 4 years. She has taught me to be a better person, and to strive to keep it up. She taught her father that there is more to life than what he thought. She has taught her Auntie and Uncle that kids are pretty resilient. She has taught her Grammy and Tony that kids really are fun. She has taught her Grandma how to shop, and her Grandpa how to read. She has taught her Grampy and Grandmary a patience that they didn't know they needed. She has taught Nora that standing up is the safest way to be when they are playing together. She has done all this not on purpose, but with purpose, and I hope the lessons she has for us never end.
This morning when she woke up the first thing she said to me was, "Am I 4?"
unbelievably, she is.

A Party

Kid's birthdays are fun. The first birthday is always an extravaganza which includes parents and their friends coming together to fete a child's first voyage around the sun. There is cake and beer and pictures. The second birthday passes with less fanfare, but still enough to overstimulate the little darling and send them into a 3 day schedule tailspin. The third birthday is when friends get introduced, and it starts to be less about the parent's friends and more about the kid's. Now we are at the 4th. The first "kids only" party, which flirts with dangerous territory of asking yourself if you just drop your kid off, or do you stay and socialize while making sure that your little darling uses his/her manners and doesn't shit themself.
So Abby's party was at our local park district's indoor playground. It is this kind of gross ballpit that has a big slide and kids can just go bonkers. There were about 15 kids there between the ages of 18 months and 3rd grade (how old are you in 3rd grade?), and it started out really fun. They played in the ball put for about an hour, and Mrs. Materialism's little dividends (Thug, the elder one, and Duh, the little one) terrorized all the other children there. They just ran wild and had a ball jumping and chasing eachother. I was thinking about how well behaved they all were when all of a sudden Abby burst into tears because Thug had pushed her. When I asked him if he did he said "She was in my way". I made him go apologize, and all was well until Kate burst into tears because yet again Thug was pushing. I told him if he did it again he was not allowed in the ball pit and Mrs. Materialism told me that she would take it from there. She proceeded to do nothing.
Normal turbulence continued and we did cake and a pinata. Ever since Abby saw a pinata at another kid's party she has been begging me for one, and I thought it might be a fun activity for them.
Here is a tip, it may not be a good idea to stand on a chair dangling a pinata over 4 year olds while they swing with a broom stick. Also, make sure that the swinging space is far away from other children.
Cake was eaten, pinata was burst, candy was everywhere and there was still 20 more minutes of party left. Fuck.
Everyone went back to the ball pit. During these last 20 minutes Abby's friend Rachel arrived with her Alpha Mom, and sisters in tow. Rachel was late because she didn't want to come due to her overwhelming social anxiety. She just wanted to play with Abby alone. Alpha Mom didn't care, she wasn't going to pass up a free activity for all her kids just because Rachel's social anxiety was flaring up. So as this circus is going on, and Rachel wouldn't stop crying until Abby came and sat with her, I go to see what is happening in the ball pit. I walk in and I say to Tim's cousin, "Wow, one of the babies sure needs a diaper change!" and that is when I see him. Abby's friend Robert standing next to the ball pit looking sad an a little bit guilty. I approach him, and it was like my bat sense kicked in and I knew exactly what was up.
Robert shit in his pants.
So I take this darling to the ladies room and expect to find some dumpable little kid turds in his shorts, but alas, I was being punished. Robert had diarrhea. And it was everywhere. I lef tthe poor kid in the stall while I went to get wipes and see if I couldn't find something to change him into. I come back and get him stripped down and make him start wiping himself off.
Here is something you should know, when you have to clean up shit that didn't come from you, your spawn, or someone you love, it is gross. Really gross. Really really gross.
I get his pants rinsed out, and him cleaned up for the most part. His pants were wet, and I think he is scarred for life, but I gave him a goodie bag and some candy and sat him down until his mom came to pick him up. When she got there and I told her what happened she started yelling at him in this bizarre passive aggressive way that made me really uncomfortable. She apologized profusely, which was nice, but just not enough after the intimate knowledge I now have with what that kid had for lunch.
I was so busy dealing with this that I missed the latter half of the party, but everyone seemed to have fun.
Here are the highlights:
Thug made 4 different kids cry (not including his brother)
Abby got 6 different gifts with chocking warnings on them which means that Nora is now forbidden from crawling or teething. That is going to go over well.
Mrs. Materialism is one of the top 3 most delusional parents in town
4 year olds cannot break open a pinata unless there is an adult present to tear a hole in it
It takes 3 handwashings, a change of clothes, and a 6 pack of beer to get the smell of Robert's poo out of your nostrils
My mother in law can smoke a half a pack of cigarettes in 2 hours
My mom is sometimes a saint
Rachel's social anxiety is annoying
My daughters are amazing

So we survived, and it was fun for my kid, so I am happy.
I can't believe she is going to be 4 tomorrow.

Out of Office Reply

Tomorrow we embark upon a family trip to the north to see my sister and her fam. The original purpose of the visit was to go to a tile sale, but it exploded into more than that. I went alone last year, and I have to say it was kind of fabulous to leave at my leisure, and not have to transport Tim. (I love him but he does not travel well- like linen or silk, he gets unruly and does not do what he is supposed to).
This year, since I am slightly tethered to my babe, we are making it a family affair. A while ago I made Tim take tomorrow off so that we could drive during not rush hour and get there at a reasonable time so it didn't seem like we were driving there just to drive right back. The weekend has also been expanded from shopping to a photo shoot to nab that perfect family photo to slap on the Christmas cards that I will be obsessing about in about 2 weeks (it will take the place of the obsessing about the wardrobing for the photo shoot).
Anyway...Tim has tomorrow off and Abby is thrilled that he will be the one to take her to school. I asked if Nora and I could come too, to help Tim who has never seen her school, let alone the drop off routine (homework out, lunchbox in cubby, apple on the attendance tree, not to mention that Abby is in charge of bringing birthday snack tomorrow), but Abby said no, just Daddy. I thought this would be good for him, a chance to see what we do during the day, but I think he has other plans. He mentioned something about sleeping in and getting my oil changed. Ha ha sucka, I am in charge, and he will be hanging with Nora while I run around and get a few errands done before we leave. Not only is tomorrow a day off for him, but it is one for me too. I will be able to actually leave the house without kids during morning nap time, and it will have no repercussions on anyone's schedule. I will be able to "run in" to places and not have to unload the ladies or fear a police sting operation catching me leaving them in the car. I will be able to shower uninterrupted. Ok, that is probably pushing it.
So we are off tomorrow, and rather than being home to pack and get ready Tim is still at work (it is 10:44 pm as I type this). Apparently he needs to tie up every loose end he has ever had there before he takes this one day off. He didn't prepare this much for the week he took off when I had Nora. I don't know if he is trying to prove something to someone, or what his deal is, but his over developed sense of importance is kind of annoying here. It is not like we are leaving the Cingular coverage area at any point and they can't get a hold of him. And no matter how many loose ends he ties up he will still get 2-4 phone calls from there that will cause him to inhale sharply and dramatically dig his phone from his pocket, sighing at the number on caller id, announcing "It's the shop" in the voice that he uses when he is trying to sound important (come on, Amanda, Tony, you know what I am talking about here). And that doesn't count the phone calls from his dad asking him inane questions (this is a whole other blog entirely about how Tim refuses to tell his dad that he will call him back he just tells him what he is doing, then he lets his dad hold him hostage on the phone even at the most inappropriate times, getting mad at me if I tell him to hang the fuck up).
I can't imagine having a job like that- always being on call, and having to stay (up)late if the (dishes, laundry, etc) project isn't complete, a demanding group of (kids) employees constantly demanding your attention and wisdom.
I don't know what that is like at all.

The Lab Coat Affair

So yesterday I went to teach my class and when I go there I noticed that my lab coat and paperwork were not in my car. They never leave my car, why would they start now? Then I remembered that Tim had taken my car to move some stuff out of his mom's house on Sunday, and he must have moved my stuff.
Now Tim moving the crap at his mom's was kind of an issue. There is this new regime in which Tim's mom asks him to do something, and Tim, being a control freak asshole like his dad, puts it off until it is his idea (he does this with just about anything that anyone asks him to do, but then he forgets he had to do something in the first place then he gets mad if someone reminds him that he forgot or nags him about getting it done) this tact usually blows up in his face. Lately when he puts his mother off if it goes on for more than a day she calls his dad and tells him that Tim is not helping her or being supportive of her thus resulting in an angry call from Tim's dad which leaves Tim feeling like a scolded little boy for 4 days and building resentment in Tim towards his mother. Oh the joys of divorce, I can't wait for Thanksgiving!
Anyway, I tried to avoid this series of events by suggesting that Tim go and move this stuff when his mom called because it was a good window of time for him to do so. The kids were fine, I was starting dinner, and there was nothing holding him back from just moving this shit and bringing it back. No big, right? Wrong. Of course Tim left in a huff because he just doesn't like being told what to do.
Fastforward to yesterday when I had to go teach and my stuff wasn't in my car. I call Tim because I had honestly could not fathom where this stuff could be since I never take it out of my car. Our conversation went like this:
Me: If you were my lab coat, where would you be?
Him: I would be in the garage where I put it when you made me go get that shit from my fucking mom's house.
Me: Settle down, I'll just teach without my lab coat and home that I don't get burned by chemicals ( I then giggled because I teach fun science to 1st graders who just sit and pick their nose anyway and we rarely use any chemicals of consequence)
Him: FINE! I DON"T HAVE TIME TO FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS BULLSHIT!
*click* he hung up on me
We haven't said more than 3 words since.
Now I know that I am no saint, and that I should have talked to him last night, BUT I think that he owes me an apology for hanging up on me and talking to me like that. When I came home last night form a meeting I went to, I noticed that Nora's high chair was cleaned off, which I think was his way of apologizing. Am I wrong to think that isn't enough? Am I being stupid that I think he needs to say it. I am also a little bent out of shape that he blames me for my stuff not being in my car because I made him go to his mom's house. Am I right that this is not my fault? (This is not a rhetorical question, I really do what to know if I am handling this poorly)
Tim has some anger issues, and he has some big issues with how he handles people, but I am already raising 2 kids, I can't raise an adult too. There is a lot he never learned about dealing with people or his reactions and problems with people. I really think he needs therapy for all the damage his parents have done to him, but he thinks that he is fine and refuses to do it. I loved when he quit smoking using Zyban because it got just that little bit of Wellbutrin in his system that I think he so desperately needs, but then it fell to the wayside when his parents started falling apart and he started smoking again.
The problem is that we had this fight about how he yells at people just last week when he just paraded around the house ranting about anything he could think of. Tony even put him on probation after a phone conversation they had. When that happens I know that it is not just me.
So what do I do about this? It is not just that I need an apology (actually I don't need one for any other reason than that I think Tim needs to take responsibility for what he does and says), I need to not have this same argument again and again and again.
Any suggestions?

The Witching Hour

That time of year is back, and it has gotten worse.
Now that it is dark before I have even cleaned up lunch, and the weather is questionable on a good day, the witching hour has again become the most dreaded time of day. You know those hours between 3 and 6 when there is NOTHING to do and NOWHERE to go. That time between the afternoon activity and the evening rush. When all the toys have been played with, and you fear DCFS is going to come and get you if you let your kid watch one more minute of TV. The time when you look at the clock and it reads 4:15 pm and then 10 minutes you look again and it reads 4:17 pm and you think that it is broken but it really isn't so you cry out and wave your fists at the sky curing time for passing so slowly. I think that working parents don't escape this witching hour either. They are the ones running around trying to get home in rush hour traffic, trying to figure out what is for dinner, trying to get a day's worth of quality time in. It gets worse just after the time change because the dark is such insult to the injury of cold weather. I am convinced that no one is productive or happy during this time of day.
before she had a kid I used to hold my sister hostage on the telephone during these times because it gave me something to do as well as a reason to not be paying attention to Abby (Not that I neglect my kid, its just that sometimes I need a fucking coffee break, is that so much to ask? Really, it is, seriously?! Then nevermind.). She used to tell me that it was times like this that I needed a close by neighbor who I could while away the witching hour with drinking wine and watching our kids frolic. It would be perfect to live in a neighborhood that had that, but the one cool family here on the communist block is busy.
What turned today's witching hour into an excrutiating exercise in parenting was a phone call I got at 4:45pm. Now when the phone rings at this time it can go one of two ways, it can be my mom, or some other distraction who will keep me on the phone, or better yet come over, to distract my and the Ladies until it is time to get dinner on the table; or it can be Tim, calling to tell me that he is working late.
Today the 4:45 phone call was Tim.
He has been having some trouble at work (his boss quit-not his dad, his uncle), which I can be understanding to, but tonight, yeah, I'm sorry but I am going to have to go ahead and be that wife that needs you home. His reason for staying late is that a "customer" needs to come and photograph his car. Huh? That never happens, that is why we all have insurance, so that they will photograph our cars. When I started asking about said customer I discovered that it was Tim's buddy from his hockey team, and that he was coming by at closing so that they could have a beer. Just 1 beer, and he is leaving no later than 6. The last time this happened Tim came home at 10:30 piss drunk without calling. This is going to go down as the longest day of my life on record.
Hopefully he will surprise me and really will leave no later than 6, but I am not holding my breath.
At least blogging is a new way to pass the witching hour.

Rock the Vote

So I took the girls with me to vote today, and I think that one of the election officials wants to turn me in to DCFS.
The girls were good, they helped me decide, although I don't think I trust Abby's opinion. She wanted me to vote for "the lady that looks like Grandma" which I could not do. Judy Barr Topinka just scares me, probably because she does look so much like my mother in law, but also because she is a republican who wants to open a casino on the Mag Mile.
So we do our civic duty, and I went to get my sticker (you know the 'I Voted!' one that you can wear with pride for the rest of the day). They went to give Abby one, and I said, "But she didn't vote". The lady looked at me like I was nuts and gave her one anyway.
How I am I supposed to feel self-righteous if they are handing these stickers out to just anyone?

The New Kid on the Block

Have you been watching? Did you see it today? We got to meet Marco! Let's all shout congratulations to Gina the veterinarian for adopting such a sweetie from Guatemala!
What, you don't know what I am talking about? Haven't you been watching Sesame Street? How could you miss it?
Gordon and Maria's kids are all grown up and they needed a fresh new face! Gina, not to be outdone by the Jolie-Pitt clan, went and got herself a third world baby to liven up the place. Yesterday she told Elmo and the gang that she was going to Guatemala to pick up her little darling, Marco. She explained that Marco needed a home and that she was going to give him one on Sesame Street, why was this easier for the muppetts and Abby to grasp than my mother? (She is disturbed that Gina is not married) Off Gina went yesterday with Maria as a translator to go and get the kid. They were back by today (fastest adoption in the west) so that everyone could meet him. Poor Gina was overwhelmed, and Big Bird wouldn't leave until little Marco knew the ABCs. It was good TV, my friends.
What is kind of sad about this was that I went to see a movie tonight with a mom friend of mine and we talked about this at length. We had both happened onto Sesame Street yesterday and had to tune in today to get the rest of the story. Is it sad that I have TiVo set to get tomorrow's episode to see how they are adjusting?

A Trip Round the Sun

Since anyone who reads this blog reads my sister's blog as well, I am assuming that you know that I celebrated my 29th birthday yesterday. (I have taken to referring to birthdays as 'birfdays' as a nod to the comedy that is 50 cent, but people don't think that is funny, they just think I am stupid and can't spell, but I digress) My 20s have passed with little fanfare and with the arrival of children there is even less. I remember my 20th birthday, celebrated with my friend Josh in the Monmouth College belltower. My 21st on a rainy Sunday at a riverboat casino. 22 through 24 and 27 were unremarkable. 25 I was massively pregnant. 26 I just remember wearing a lot of makeup. 28 I cried because Tim would not stop snoring and told me to go sleep on the couch if it bothered me so much. I had low expectations for this birthday, but not in a poor me bad way, but in a I am a mom now so these things are not what my focus should be.
By the end of yesterday I was pleasantly surprised by the celebration of my 29th year. Things did not start well....
When Tim came home from work on Friday he busted in the door with 2 huge brief cases of work that "had to be done", a bag of vile moldy tupperware from the leftovers he takes for lunch, and a gift bag. I asked about the gift bag because sometimes people send him home with stuff for the girls, and he got a bit giddy and tried to be all "oops, I forgot to leave that in the car!" Whatever, he knew what he was doing. So then he tried to give me this gift which I wouldn't take because it was days before my birthday. He and Abby hid it and it was not shoved at me again until after trick or treating on Tuesday. I was pleasantly surprised by a cute iPod Nano in a lovely shade of red. Tim knows I like red and figured that outweighed my hatred for Bono which I guess it has to since he got the Nano engraved.
After I took Abby to school and got Nora settled down for a nap I was looking forward to doing what I wanted to do with my morning which meant I was going to lay on my bed and watch Regis and Kelly (stop laughing, they are funny) until I was motivated to clean my house. I got as far as my bed when a knock came at the door.
Who else drops in unannounced at 9:30 in the morning? It was my mother. Sometimes I am happy to see her, others I want to hide and pretend that no one was home. This time I was somewhere in the middle.
She brought me some lovely and thoughtful gifts...a new winter coat, and some spatula things I wanted form Williams-Sonoma. She also brought the ugliest shoes ever. I am just not acknowledging them yet. I can't keep them, they are truly awful, but she tried and for that she is sweet. The problem with her visit came after we dodged the ugly shoe issue. She wouldn't leave. My time with Regis and Kelly was gone, but Bob Barker was still on and had she left when I wanted her to I could have gotten a little rest and time to decompress, but she just lurked around my house making inane small talk. I tried to give her hints to GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE! but she wasn't having it, so I dealt. Then the phone rang. It was my dear friend Brook who I don't talk to often because she can only talk during her commute which is never at a good time for me. She was calling to wish me a happy day and fill me in on a new place she is buying (anyone want to sublet her 2 bedroom in Lincoln Park?) and her goiter (yes, she has a goiter). My mom was not having it. She started acting all huffy, and touching things that she shouldn't. She is like a little kid, once your attention is diverted she starts acting up. I sadly cut Brook off and went back to the neverending visit. Then my mom's cell phone rang and she realized she had to be someplace. So she left, and literally as I closed the door behind her Nora awoke and my down time was off with my mom. Bummer, but I cherish my alone time with the baby. I like to watch her explore when there isn't anyone around her to terrorize her.
We frolicked and ran some errands. I rejoined the gym in attempts to get in shape again (actually, if you want the truth, I do it to get away from my house and my kids. When they are at Miss Betty's and I am on the treadmill all by myself, not looking at the piles of stuff I have to find a home for in the shoe that is my house and my cell phone is not audible and Tim is tucked safely at work I feel a calm that doesn't exist the other 23 hours of the day. I used to feel bad about that but then I realized that I am NEVER alone, ever, and this is my only shot), and signed Abby up for swimming lessons.
All in all it was a pretty boring day, it picked up a little after dinner out with my mom and Emil (her "companion" who is blog entry in and of himself). The girls were rockstars and we made it out past bedtime with no meltdowns. My mom had invited my aunt and Emil back to my house for cake after dinner (nothing is better than when your mom plans an impromptu gathering at your house, really, nothing) so I took it one further and called Tony to join the festivities. Emil bailed, but my Aunt and Tony came by for some lively political conversation in my kitchen around the worst Jewel cupcakes ever (my mom wouldn't spring for a real cake because "no one wants to eat all that frosting" Fuck you! I want to eat all that frosting- all I want is a cake from the bakery). As usual Tony gave me one of the most thoughtful gifts ever. After reading on here that I am more brilliant in my car and that I want to be able to blog and drive, he got me a little voice recorder that I just love (even if he did almost blow my cover since my mom doesn't know I have a blog and I like it that way- I am a secretive Scorpio, deal with it). Amanda is a bit concerned that Tony (you all get who he is, right? Tim's best friend who loiters around here and builds stuff for us. I would call him "my friend" by he introduces me and refers to me as "My buddy's wife" so I guess that is all we are, right, Tony?) give me more thoughtful gifts than my husband, but that is just how we roll.
When I retired to my computer after everyone left I found a lovely blog entry by my sister about my birthday. She, as always, knows exactly what to say to make me smile even if it always ends with "Shit, I have to go, I'll call you back".
All in all this past trip around the sun was a good one. I have a new daughter to keep me company for this next one, I have good family and friends and some ugly new shoes (I didn't even tell you about the purse from my dad). I am older and wiser. I dropped some baggage off and pick some up. I have still not cleaned my house.
And I probably won't this year either.

A Second Opinion

So I have this friend who I may not always lovingly refer to on this site which makes me feel like a bad person, but I think that I would not be her friend if I did not have a place to vent my frustrations with her. She really does have a special place in my world even if she is one of the most irritating people in the universe. Anyway, if you know who I am talking about and go to her and tell her that I have been slandering her all over the Interweb I will find you and rough you up a bit. Actually more than a bit, a lot. And it will hurt. I am a Mafia Princess you know.....

Now you may remember this friend. Her husband asked me if I thought he was pompous (which he is). Her kid is a pain in the ass, and she likes to say things to me like, "You guys really need a new house, or a maid" (really, I hadn't noticed), and "You can do that when Abby is a little better behaved" (really, because my kid is not the one dismantling the carnival ride). She says a lot of things without thinking, and she is just kind of an asshole.

Anyway, this friend is expecting baby #3 in March. She has 2 boys and I am still not sure why she is continuing to procreate. Her soon-to-be doctor husband is never around, and is useless when he is around. Her boys are a handful- as 2 kids can be, but now she is adding a 3rd into the fray. So a few weeks ago she went to her husband's hospital and had him do an ultrasound for her. Hooray, she is having a girl! She fired up that credit card faster than the speed of light to start buying anything pink she could get her hands on. She started planning a new nursery, picking out names, telling everyone she is having a girl, the whole bit.
So she goes on Monday for her official ultrasound and oops, Baby Girl was misdiagnosed or she grew a penis.

The depression that has taken over this woman is mild, yet astounding. She always said she wanted boys. That had to be a defense mechanism or something with the way she tears up when Nora is wearing a dress or she looks at the pink baby bedding in Target. Part of me feels bad for her, but I really feel bad for the fetus. HE has to suffer being the girl who never was. Poor thing.

I think the funniest part of this whole mess is that her pompous ass of a husband was wrong in his diagnosis, and it is his specialty. Or maybe the funniest part is the excuses she makes for her husband being wrong. Or maybe it really isn't funny and I am just being mean. Nah, it couldn't be that.

Dear Blogger,

Dear Blogger,
Can you explain a few things to me? I am curious why my darling daughters, named for amazing, revolutionary women in history, are constantly abused by your spell check yet "Ritchie" like Lionel, Nicole, and Guy Ritchie is part of your spell check. Why is it that everytime I say "Really Blogger, it is ok, that is how you spell it" you ask me if I am sure. I doubt everything I do almost all day. Do you have to too?
I also would like to know why the word "blog" or "blogger" is not in your spell check. Is that not like not being able to spell your own name?
Can you also tell me why you crash when I have written something brilliant which deletes it entirely and leaves me tired and sad because I can only be brilliant about once a month (if that) and what I end up re-typing is not is not as good?
What have I done to you, friend, that makes you act this way? I feel like we are in an abusive relationship and we should seek some help. Can we work on this?

Your Friend,
The Blogger You Abuse
(oh, wait, not specific enough? The fix your shit buddy. If I'm not the only one complaining then maybe you should do something about it. I'm just sayin'....)

A Day Late and A Mini Snickers Short

I know that posting about Halloween a mere hour and a half before November2nd is like asking how your break was on a Wednesday, but that is like here with the first ladies.....
So I love Halloween. I love the candy, the costumes, everything. I think it stems from my childhood. Halloween always signified the much anticipate arrival of my birthday so on top of all the fun costume parties there was the promise of the continued sugar high. This was the first year that Abby was really into Halloween. We debated her costume for weeks. I wanted to make one, but Tim and my mom were all about the store bought, and to be honest I don't think I could have pulled off a cute homemade costume. Not this year.
At first she was going to be a ghost, then a witch, then Cinderella, then a candle, then the scarecrow from Bob The Builder (not that we EVER watch that, but whatever), then the Target "Pumpkin Witch", and finally an angel. Nora on the other hand can't talk so she got dressed up in whatever we wanted, hence the Princess Leia costume.
We have always had a tradition to go "trick or treat" at our friend Judy's house followed by a visit to Tim at work then home to hand out candy. This year we were on a time crunch to get home so we could do our own trick or treating so our visits were cut short.
I really thought Tim was going to wet his pants when he saw Nora. That odd Star Wars obsession runs deep in him and I think seeing his little girl dressed up as a woman he loves may have brought a tear to his eye. I haven't been to see Tim at work in months. His secretary is pregnant (she is the first woman ever to be pregnant, by the way) and I was amazed to see how pregnant she is. Now I would never call a knocked up woman fat, but this woman has added 50 lbs to her 5'2 frame and it was all I could do not to gasp when I saw her. I had to sit through the litany of first time mom-isms. I smiled and nodded as she told me things like "the weight I have gained is all baby" (really, it has nothing to do with the fact that I haven't see your hand out of the bag of Halloween candy or dorritos since I walked in the door); "I am not going to make it to my due date- I am measuring 2 weeks ahead" (really, did your doctor tell you that? No? Then hold on sister that kid will come out when it is ready, and I can guarantee it will not be by Thanksgiving if your due date is December 15th); and my personal favorite- "I have had the best pregnancy ever- just ask anyone!" (ummm, I think my husband has come home swearing about how miserable you are more than once, and of course I am not going to ask anyone- they are all afraid of you- I have heard you yell at 3 people since I walked in the door 5 minutes ago).
We scooted on home to meet our friends from the north for a quick round of trick or treating before dinner. Our friends Thomas the Train and a cute little puppy arrived with their mom who walked the neighborhood complaining about he weather, the fact that no one was home, and the amount of stairs at each house. Her kids ran into the street, which of course was my fault for living on a street with cars! In her neighborhood they trick or treat the Sunday before Halloween, when everyone is home, sitting and waiting to greet you so you don't have to go up and down the stairs and the cars "just know" that kids are going to be out so no one drives on her street. (I know, she sounds awful, but I have a post waiting for you about the misfortune that has befallen her recently so don't worry, karma wins again) We went around part of our block, and just as Abby was getting into it they had to leave (bummer, I know) and once we dropped that baggage off we set out again for round 2 around the other angel of our block.
Now we were supposed to meet up with some neighbors, but her anal retentive adherence to her infant's nap schedule put them behind us so we planned to see them later. Abby tore the neighborhood up. Saying thank you and falling down people's stairs (the costume was a little long). Soon her bucket was full and it was getting late. We stopped by home so I could throw a freezing Princess Leia in the mei tei and headed our for round 3 with our friend Gavin (dressed as a delicious little pirate- Old Navy wins for having the cutest costumes for boys). Abby tore the rest of the street up then all of a sudden a switch was flipped and she became this exhausted, bleary eyed little dumpling who needed dinner and bedtime ASAP.
We got home and were forced to hang out with my mother in law who regaled me with tales of her sex life and her on again off again divorce (this is killing me, friends, KILLING ME!).
All in all it was a good Halloween. Abby is already asking why the neighbors don't always give her candy, and wondering what Nora will be for Halloween next year.
I have eaten every mini snickers bite in my house and I am not ashamed to admit that I literally dumped her pumpkin out to find just one more. I will be checking into rehab for this addiction next week if it continues.

Check out the Halloween pics here

Easy Like Sunday Morning

Hi, I tried to post this on Sunday, but I think blogger hates me, or in another scenario it is just as tired of everyone else of me whining about my useless husband. At any rate this was the start of my Sunday...


I hate Daylight Savings Time.
I hate going to bed and waking up and not knowing what time it is. I hate making sure you reset all the clocks and trying to figure out what time it is. I hate getting used to what time it is and them having to readjust my kid's internal time clocks accordingly. I just fucking hate it.
So this morning when Abby woke up it was 6:11 am in daylight savings time, but 7:11 am in her world (this borders on late for her, kind of). I went and got her and let her hop into bed with us as I always do. Usually there is a 7am rule, but I didn't feel like explaining it to her. So we all pile in bed, I nurse the baby, and we watch a little 64 Zoo Lane.
I usually get bounced out of bed by this scenario first, but I was determined to sleep in this morning. Usually whoever gets fed up with the family bed first loses the sleeping in time, but I was determined this morning. Alas, Tim rolled over and said something about it being too early for all this and that he could not be awake before 7am (he was unaware that I had changed the clock last night so in truth it was about a quarter to 8 on his internal clock). This set me over the edge and I gave up the half hour I sometimes get of sleep in time and took the girls downstairs.
As I was leaving our room and closing the door in a huff, Tim told me to "make sure" that he "doesn't sleep through the Bears' kickoff."

I want to kill him for so many reasons this week. This is just the most current.

The Rundown

Last night I was going to fill you all in on the blogs I write while driving in my car, but alas blogger wasn't cooperating and it didn't happen.
Here are the things we were going to talk about:

Play Dates
Abby has been on 2 playdates this week. One where she decorated a pumpkin with all kinds of cute paints and glitter glues and another where all the girls from her pre school go together and made cookies. They actually did real structured activities, can you believe it?! As much as I complain about her friend Rachel, at least when she goes over there Rachel's mom just reads the paper and checks her email. Now I have to schedule palydates with these girls at my house and come up with activities...any suggestions?

Baby Boom
There are babies in the air around here. Well, not here exactly, but in our world. Our good friends are finally pregnant after 3 years of trying. As my sister says, people get really myopic about fertility when it isn't working for them, and these people are case and point. Just after we had Abby they started trying, then trying more aggressively, and still nothing happened. This pregnancy (I don't dare say baby in the singular until we know for sure it is singular) is the result of 3 rounds of invitro. They talked about adopting, but wanted to exhaust their invitro options first (it is covered by their insurance). I am excited for them because they can store some of my baby shit while it is not in use. Oh, yeah, they will be good parents too. My long time on again off again hair dresser is also expecting. Her circumstances are a bit different, and I will be interested to see how her soap opera unfolds. (She has 2 older kids and had an "accident" with some guy she was not that serious about, but she's keepin' her baby so papa don't preach) I think she and I might have to reunite over my hair (she does great color, but has too much of an opinion about how I should wear my locks) so I don't miss any of the story line. Mrs. Materialism ( a good friend of mine) found out that she is having a girl so we have been talking about about buying new bedding for the babe. I am officially done with this project, anyone interested in listening is more than welcome to take my place on the Internet shopping trips for the perfect pink toile bedding.
Also, a woman I work with had a baby boy yesterday. When I asked who he looked like she said a raisin. When I asked how he was doing she said she hadn't seen him yet today (this was at about 11am) because she had asked the nurses to keep him in the nursery. This relationship between mother and child does not seem to be getting off to a good start.

The King of 90%
Tim is on the list this week and his prospects for getting off just seem further and further away. He is physically incapable of completing a project and I am beginning to resent this about him.
Here are some of the things that are 90% finished in my house (in no particular order):
My computer is missing a side cover, I am unclear why, but he is going to "get to it"
The bills- there are 3 left that need to be dealt with and they stare at me everyday. He made a production of taking care of it because I forgot to mail one thing last month and so I am hands off, but it is killing me
The Great Basement Cleanup- about a month ago (actually over a month ago) we decided to revamp the basement. I have cleaned up and out all areas pertaining to me and the Ladies and it is still a disaster area. If I have to watch him blow up trolls on his computer one more night this week while this shit piles up more I may hurt him.
The Garage- if you have ever been to my house you understand
I really could list about a million things about him that make me want to scream, but I won't bore you with the details. I will just let them fester and burn my soul until I can no longer contain them and he turns up missing. Then they will find him choking on all his papers and the crap that he leaves laying around the house with the dishes that her never puts in or takes out of the dishwasher broken over his skull.

My Car
Everytime I sit down to blog I get crabby because it is never as good as the blog I write in my car. Can we do something about that?

I think that about sums up what has been happening here. Nora went to the doctor this week and weighs 22 and one half pounds. The doctor also confirmed that she did in fact get cuter since the last he saw her. Just as I suspected....

Go East Young Family!

So Tim's father's day present this year was a trip to Virginia International Raceway to drive his beloved El Diablo too fast with a bunch of other people way too interested in their cars (my father included). When it was just a thought 6 months ago it made sense; we would drive out to my dad's in Bethesda MD, hang out for a day, Tim and my dad would go racing for a day and we would have a nice little family vacay. I hadn't really worked out the particulars of travel, but it is rare that I can get Tim to commit to travel so I ran with it.
(not that this father's day gift totally beat the pants off the crappy $25 gift card to Target I got for Mother's Day)
I spent the first part of last week getting my life together, my kid's lives together, and my house ready for us to be gone for a while. Tim and I only had one meltdown when I told him that I was not his mother and he had to pack his own damn bags. Now anyone who knows Tim understands that he does not transport well. He is very anal and over cautious in his packing. He worked all day Wed with the plan to leave before dawn on Thursday. By 9 on Wed I was in bed with all my stuff, the kid's stuff, and the house packed, ready to get rest before hitting the great wide open. Tim was still running around like his ass was on fire freaking out about having a tool kit and 100% cotton clothes for racing (he left a shirt behind that was 95% cotton and 5% spandex in case he caught on fire).
So by some miracle we are all set and packed into El Diablo and on the road by 2 am. Tim wanted to drive the first leg because he was so "wired" on Monster energy drink and his general hyperactivity. He got about 60 miles and we switched. The drive really wasn't all that bad. We were crammed into the car, but we kind of expected that. The leaves were pretty and the girls were good (the recent release of The Little Mermaid on DVD kind of helped. You can think less of us for being the people who let our kids watch TV in the car, but really, it was great, and she didn't watch it the whole time so back off and go judge someone else).
We got there with little incident, ready for a weekend of family fun. Tim was leaving Friday night with my dad so we went to the National Zoo to see the Pandas during the day. Abby was an insufferable brat. She was tired and crabby and completely over stimulated. In all honesty she was a little shit, and I don't think that went over too well. Tim and I deal with it because we know it comes from a place that is not her. There was so much going on in her little (almost) 4 year old world that you had to feel bad for the kid. 12 hours in a car followed by a house where there is 1 room where you can be free to be a kid where something priceless won't get broken, and a strange bed to sleep in, it could put anyone in a state. Add the impending doom of her beloved daddy and Grampy leaving for the weekend I am sure she was on overload. The day was fun other than her spurts of brattiness, and we had a nice dinner before the boys left.
That night, Abby called me at about midnight and asked me to cuddle her. I told her to come get in my bed because the commotion had woken Nora and I was going to nurse her back to sleep. We all piled into my room until 3 am when Abby woke up to tell me she was going back to her bed. Huh? What had happened was that she had peed in my bed because she had taken off her sleep pull up (I know, she should be potty trained at night, but she isn't get over it) and didn't want to sleep in the "wet spot". Fun to clean up at 3 am, right. Oh wait, the baby woke up again.
Saturday we went to see my great aunt and uncle who live about 2 hours away (just what my kids wanted a car ride, meh, they survived, I wanted to show them off to the old people). We had a nice visit with them and continued on to lunch and a trip to the outlet malls.
Saturday night was just as much fun as Friday. Nora was up constantly because she chose this weekend to cut 2 new teeth (we are now at 6, how many does she need, really?) and Abby wanted to sleep in my bed again. Whatever, we survived.
The boys finally came home Sunday with all kinds of tales of auto racing. I stopped listening after about the first 10 minutes (I am a bad wife/daughter, I know). Sunday night was by far the worst night I have ever had with Nora. She would not stop crying. If she wasn't nursing she was crying. If I wasn't holding her she was crying. If she was not in my bed she was crying. I got maybe 2 hours of sleep, jealous?
We spent Monday on the Mall looking at the monuments. How do you explain the Vietnam Wall to a(n almost) 4 year old? It was actually one of my favorite days I have ever had in DC (check my flickr page this week for pictures). We had great parking luck, great things to see, and my kids were back to normal once Tim came back.
We left DC late last night and drove through the driving rains of Ohio to get home before noon today. Again, the drive really wasn't that bad, but I think it was because our dear Tony lent us his GPS system which totally rocked. I used to make fun of it, but now it is all I want in life. It gives you an ETA based on where you are going. It will tell you where the closest Gap Outlet is, and lets you know everything short of what color that state trooper's boxers are. (Both Tim and I got Certificates of Merit for our ability to exceed the speed limit; mine in Ohio, Tim's in Maryland)
It is good to be home, but of course we kind of exploded back onto the scene here and have a ton of stuff to do this weekend. Both girls are tucked safely into bed and Tim and I are blowing off our responsibilities for the evening to catch up on all the great Tivo we have missed (I am dying- did Flav pick New York or Delishes?). This is actually a red letter day in our world, Tim told his dad to take a cab home from the airport. That was worth blowing off belly dancing tonight, right?

A Crisis of Conscience

So as we were driving this weekend we were 24 miles from a place I used to visit as a child. It is my dad's hometown and the home of an aunt and a cousin whom I haven't seen in a very long time. They met Abby when she was a baby, but have not met Nora. I have very little contact with them for whatever reason. Partly because I am lazy and don't get around to emailing, but also because there just doesn't seem to be a connection there. I was all of a sudden in a crisis of conscience. What is the right thing to do?
As we passed all the signs pointing to this little town I got a pang of longing to go to a place that I remember spending summers and holidays as a child. I want my kids to know it, to know the stories and the memories and the people that this little town holds. I all of a sudden felt guilty for being 24 miles away from family I haven't seen and not calling.
When I got to DC, I asked my dad what he thought I should do. He didn't have an answer either. It is not like there was any big falling out or anything, we just don't really have contact with that part of our family. Would it be wired to call out of the blue? Kind of. Would it be welcomed. Maybe. Most likely, really. Would it be convenient? Probably not because of our timing (we were driving at night to keep the ladies on their "schedules"). Is it polite to call someone you haven't talked to in years and announce your presence after having months to plan for such an event? Not really.
We ended up scrapping the plan to invade, probably for the best. Tim keeps threatening to make this trip an annual thing, and if we do drive out there again I will try to orchestrate a visit. For now I will just feel guilty for not doing it this time.

The Ape House

So we have returned from the wild blue yonder with few scars- more on that later.
We returned to a cold house and a leaky toilet which Tim decided to fix as I started feeding the ladies dinner.
Abby "helped " for as long as her attention span would allow, then came to eat. We all learned some new vocabulary from Tim as he was moving the toilet, swapping out the wax seal, and reinstalling it. He "shit the bed" on the project, but left it as is, if I haven't told you already, he is the king of 90% (everything he starts ends up 90% finished). Before "shitting the bed" he was "asshole to elbow in shit" cleaning out the old wax ring.
This adventure took a little longer than expected and the girls were fed by the time he hit 70%. Nora needed a diaper change, and Tim told me he needed "5 more minutes" so I let her crawl around naked far a few. Tim's 5 minutes stretched into 15, into 20 and by the time he was ready to evacuate the only bathroom in the house. I had left Nora safely playing on Abby's floor while I walked the 10 steps to the linen closet to get towels for bath time and when I came back in to get her she was playing happily with Abby's socks. Abby's socks had something on them. I thought it was ralph. It wasn't. About a foot away from Nora was a pile of her poop. And there she was playing in it.
At least she didn't throw it.
What is really sad is that this is not the first time she has shat on the floor.

The Blame Game

I have fabulous tales of this weekend, but I need to get my Monday morning off my chest....

So I am going through Saturday's mail which had been stacked up somewhere to make room for the bodies in my house and I find a bill from our pediatrician's office. The bill is for $600 some odd dollars for Nora's most recent round of vaccinations. Odd, I thought those were covered.
So I call the billing number, they have not heard from Blue Cross about covering anything. Looking back, the woman found that every claim submitted for Nora had been denied, hence the exorbitant costs from when she was born. Weird.
So I call Blue Cross Blue Shield to see what the story is. They have no record of Eleanor being born or ever being covered by our insurance. What?! I was told to contact HR (Tim's mom) at his place of business and see if they added her to our policy, which it appears that they didn't. Oh, and by the way, we are still responsible for the cost of the vaccines because we missed the 30 day window to add her.
So I call Tim, who promptly hit the roof. He asked me to pull all the bills and stuff from her to see if she was once covered and when it renewed in August she was accidentally dropped. I am glad that I didn't get right on that because his mom just called me to let me know "what really happened".....
According to her it is all Tim's fault that she didn't add Eleanor to our policy in January. Sure she knew Nora's date of birth and stuff, but Tim "failed to remind her" to add the baby to our policy. He "should have known" that she was "out of it" due to "all that was going on in her life". Tell me, am I right to be annoyed that she is not taking responsibility for her own mistake? Or is it really Tim's fault for not telling her to add her to our policy?
How we ended things was by her telling me that she would "try to iron this out" by the end of the day, but if she couldn't get to it, it was going to have to wait until next Monday. She is really busy, you know. Meanwhile I am hermetically sealing Nora into some bubble wrap so that we have to pay no more out of pocket.
I hate HR.

Wilma

There is a Lithuanian family who lives down the street that we sometimes fraternize with. It was great when Abby was little because they have 3 kids- An older girl named Monica, Wilma, who is in 1st grade, and Adonis who is Abby's age. We used to play in their yard and Abby would follow Wilma around (when Wilma would permit it) and they would play ring around the rosy and wear the Abster out when I was killing time before Tim got home.
This stopped last summer because I found that Wilma would get kind of rough with Abby and was not very nice to her. I like the mom enough, she complains about her husband constantly and talks about moving back to Eastern Europe. And Monica is a good kid, she just started junior high and isn't adjusing well. She is interested in things like iPods and boys, which her mother has forbidden. She thinks I hung the moon because sometimes I help her with her homework, and I let her come over and use our Internet. But Wilma is kind of a nightmare. She is the ultimate middle child and I think she would light her hair on fire for attention. I usually like those kids, but Wilma is just not very nice. We would come home from their house with Abby in tears more often than not so it stopped being worth the time.
Today I was passing by the elementary school in our neighborhood while all the kids were out at recess. I immediately saw Wilma (her white blonde hair is hard to miss). She was talking to a boy who pushed her down and kicked her before running away. Wilma got up and just stood there. I kind of paused for an extra minute at the stop sign to see what would happen next. She walked over to where some girls were playing and stood there, they seemed to be talking, but then all the girls ran away. Wilma stood there. I had to move, and I didn't see what happened next, but I felt bad for Wilma. I couldn't tell if she was being the Wilma I know from the neighborhood, of if the Wilma I know from the neighborhood was a product of what happens at school. I felt bad for her.
When we went for a walk this afternoon we passed Wilma's house. She was jumping rope, and came running up to us to see the baby. Abby tried to play with her, but Wilma pushed her. I was a little more forgiving of this than usual because of what I had seen earlier. I asked her how school was, and what her favorite thing to do at recess was. She told me that she hated recess because Monica wasn't there anymore to play with her. I felt so sorry for her. Monica's big move to junior high had been tough on both of them. I let her terrorize Abby for as long as I could stand it, and we continued walking. Abby doesn't notice that Wilma is not very nice to her. I guess that is a good thing.
One of my biggest fears is that I will have a kid who gets picked on, or worse yet, I will have a bully. I don't think that Abby is capable of being a bully because it doesn't seem to be in her nature. Her nature is so sweet (in my humble opinion) that I fear that she is going to be the victim of many mean girls in the future. How do I fix this?

First Blood

Today the ladies and I had a playdate.
I actually like the mom, and I thought it would be fun. It was, with one exception.
Nora was tooling around on the floor and found this wand to chew. I kind of half assed inspected it and found it to be safe so I let her chew away. All of a sudden she let out a cry not to be believed. I looked and she was winding up for another. What had happened? She stabbed her gums with this wand and was bleeding.
I rinsed her and comforted her, but there was not much I could do. I was really quite calm about it.
She seems fine, but her gum is swollen and looks sore. What I am really sad about is that this incident seems to have brought out another tooth. I can no longer call her "White Fang", and she is no longer my toothless little baby. She is actually a kid who is pulling herself up on anything she can.
Please don't clue her in about walking yet.

What?

Sometimes when Tim is talking about work or cars or something equally as uninteresting I completely tune him out.
It is like he isn't talking at all.
When I tune back in he doesn't even notice that I left.
Does this make me a bad person?

Bad Timing

Abby went to her friend's birthday party on Tuesday. It started at 1. I left with plenty of time to spare, and was there, walking in the door at 12:57pm. When we walked in Abby was met with a cheer and everyone told me that they were so worried about us because we were late.
I am confused, when it says it starts at 1 does that really mean that is starts at 12:45? Is there a social hour before the actual start time I was not aware of?
Someone please explain.

Ain't Nothin' But a Number

The other day I had this exchange with one of the moms from Abby's pre school that I have been thinking about all week. Somehow we got on the subject of age and she said to me, " Don't tell me you are still in your 20s!".
Hmmm.
I know that I am often the youngest mom on the playground, and sometimes that makes me uncomfortable. For the most part, it has become my identity, and I am ok with that. Some of the older moms love me because I can identify with them but also explain who Gnarls Barkley is. The only real trouble I have is when I try to talk about what happened last night on Laguna Beach (not that I, ahem, watch that or anything). I get a lot of knowing looks that seem to say, "Oh, sweet stupid youth." I also get a lot of parenting advice because apparently I have not reached the magic age of reason that helps me be able to parent effectively. (Man I hate that! There is this one mom at the park, Whitney's mom, who tries to tell me how to do stuff. What the fuck, I have 2 kids, my oldest is older than her one and we have all survived. I can't be doing everything wrong. Can you tell we had a run in with her today?)
I guess I like being the youngest mom around here who does not have any dramatic back story about having a kid at 18, then having 3 more after she put herself through med school and found Prince Charming. I am comfortable in that I was happily married when Abby was conceived (ok, we were married for about 2 weeks, but hey they were happy weeks). I am comfortable with the "career" I had teaching before I had Abby. And I love staying home and being the youngest mom on the playground. Something about this was weird though. I am approaching my 29th birthday, and for as much fun as I have made of Tim for hyperventilating over turning 30 this year, I am now feeling a bit itchy about being 29. What happens when I am not the youngest mom on the playground? Who do I become then?
As I have been pondering this throughout our trip to the Art Institute today, I came across a blurb in the "Weekend Planner" in today's Trib. There are auditions this weekend for the next cast of MTV's Real World. They are looking for interesting people between the ages of 18 and 25. When did I leave the "interesting" demographic? Why are you uninteresting after 25? What happens? Did I miss something while I was giving birth at age 25? Why am I "too old" to be on a show that I religiously TiVo and try to get into every season? (This past one was just annoying with those whiny kids complaining about how the hurricanes were ruining "their experience"and talking shit, not even good shit, about eachother and just being mean. And that one girl, the anorexic, screaming "Kiss my ass" anytime anyone told her to eat a cheeseburger got really old)
Let me get this straight, I am too old to be on the Real World, but too young to be taken seriously in it?

Pomposity

I have this friend who lives way beyond her means as the wife of a doctor banking on the fact that "In 2 years he is going to be making $367,000 a year." The figure changes everytime we talk about it, but the line is always the same. This is how she justifies a lot of poor financial decisions (like credit card debt, Cole Hahn shoes, and an interest only mortgage). What she does not see in her gravy train husband is that he is kind of an ass. The best word to describe him is pompous. He is going into a field of medicine based soley on the salary, and of course he knows everything there is to know about medicine. He totally gets off on introducing himself as Dr. Soandso, and is a shell of the fun loving cool guy he used to be.
Today we had lunch with Dr. and Mrs. Materialism and their kids.
It was actually quite nice, the kids were good, the food was fine, the conversation was as good as to be expected.
Until he looked at me and said, "Would you call me pompous?"
Oh shit, does he know that I do it all the time? Did their neighbors who I used to be friends with rat me out? Did I even call him pompous to them? Does he have some medical technology that makes him able to read my mind and he could hear me thinking that all through lunch? Am I waiting too long to answer. Here is all I could come up with:
"Not to your face."
I then blubbered all over myself trying to tell the truth (yes, if I were to look up pompous in the dictionary, your picture would be there next to it) without hurting his feelings. I told him he was a doctor, he knows a lot about a lot of things. He has an expensive education. He should know stuff. My husband is cocky. We all have our faults.
But here is the thing about the pompous, they don't care about your answer, anytime anyone else is talking that is just filler for when they get to talk again.
In all I think I gave a fairly diplomatic answer, without lying blatantly and telling him that he was down to earth or anything crazy like that.
I also breathed a huge sigh of relief when he told me that Mrs. Materialism's mom had said that he was pompous and it wasn't their horrible Alpha Parent neighbors (who I used to be friends with) ratting me out for talking shit.

The Agony and The Ecstasy

So for the past few weeks I have been talking about going to the Renegade Craft Fair in Buck Town. As the weekend drew nearer I kept trying to psych Tim up for this adventure. I love him, but he still thinks that he will be shot or his car will get stolen if he travels into the great city of Chicago. Also the whole "craft fair" thing really isn't his thing, he also has a bit of a phobia of people with a lot of tattoos and art, but because he loves me he was willing to go.
So we start our Sunday morning as we usually do, Tim and Abby go to the bakery for donuts while Eleanor and I snuggle and get the paper (doesn't that sound divine). We eat our donuts, (a strawberry for Abby, cream filled for Tim, plain for the baby and I) and read the paper. The baby goes down for her nap, we frolic a bit and start to get ready so we can leave when the babe gets up. Everything is going along swimmingly. We all pile into Tim's car (El Diablo, his pride and joy) and off we go into the city.
As we are driving I decide I just can't take it any more and tell Abby that I am turning off Kids Stuff (damn you Sirius 116) and I replace it with her "favorite" Gnarles Barkley. Things were quiet in the back seat so I turn and look to see the face of an unhappy 3 year old. I ask if she wanted (fucking) Kids Stuff back on (really, a station devoted to annoying kids music, did you have to Sirius?) to which she grumbled something inaudible and I just turned it on. We are getting closer to our exit, passing Addison, Fullerton, I am getting more and more excited to buy cool things and get my ladies interested in what goes on in the city. We hit the North Ave exit, Tim starts to get antsy about the homeless man at the end of the off ramp, and Abby starts whining and crying, I turn around, she is the awful shade of yellowy green and is begging for water. Then all of a sudden her strawberry donut and sippy cup of milk makes a reappearance down the front of her shirt, onto her car seat onto Tim's back seat. All that was missing was the head spinning and we had Linda Blair in the back seat of El Diablo.
In the 45 seconds it took to pull into the gas station on the corner Abby's pallor improved and the mess of "ralph" oozed into every crack and crevice of the back seat. Tim and I hit the panic button and I took over getting her out of the car and getting her vomit-y clothes off. Yes, I am the mom who had her 3 year old girl stripped down to her Barbie undies at the BP Station on the corner of North Ave and Wood St. I tried to get her to kind of hide behind the door, but she wanted no part of that as there was so much to see at this particular gas station (the guys selling the "velvet art" were beyond fascination). We got things cleaned up as best we could with baby wipes and a brown paper bag, and headed back home with the windows down (note to parents, don't let them eat the strawberry donut, it does not smell as good the second time around).
Now here is the thing about when your child pukes, there is no little fairy that is going to clean it up. It is your responsibility to get elbow deep in whatever it is that they have eaten. It is your responsibility to not add more vomit to the pile. It is also your responsibility to calm and soothe your kid after what is kind of a traumatic event. Do the joys of parenting ever end?
The only one in the car who wasn't bummed about all this was Abby because after listening to us call Nora "Ralph" for months due to her unfortunate spitting up issues, she was "Ralph" that day. And once she exorcised the demon of the strawberry donut, she was beyond fine. Tim was a mildly perturbed about his car (ok, that is an understatement, but he handled it well for the children) and I was sad that I was going to miss the last day of a once a year cool fest that I had finally talked my family into going to.
So we get home I feed Nora lunch and try not to pout too much as Tim shampoos, scrubs, and buffs stomach acid and curdled milk out of his interior. At one point he had the entire backseat out of his car, that was when I walked away. I tried to keep Abby quiet, but she was not having it. We put Nora down for a nap and settled in to play yet another game of Candy Land. Abby had no sooner finished her visit with Mr. Mint that Tim came down stairs, gave me a bunch of cash and my car keys and said, "You need a break, go to your thing down town and bring back dinner".
What?! Where is my husband and what have you done with him?
Not being a fool I was out the door so fast their heads were spinning. I made it down there with little trouble, retracing my steps from earlier, only this time I was, ALONE. Truly, completely, unadulterated aloneness is something that I don't even get in the shower. I hit the RCF with a vengeance. I grabbed all the little trinkets I wanted and still got home in time for dinner.
While I was out my Tony called and asked me if I wanted to see a movie last night. Feeling a bit guilty about abandoning Tim for the afternoon, I was almost reluctant, but not really. So not only did I get to go on an alone outing I also got to see a movie in current release in an actual theater. (I know you are dying of jealousy right, I got to have almost 6 whole hours of aldutness that didn't involve my kids).
Now I know that I complain about my husband A LOT, and for the most part he is kind of (really) a pain, but he has been a hero lately. From taking on his mom last week (another blog entirely), to encouraging me to go be me for a few hours without any prompting on my part and then letting me go an a date with his best friend, he has been who I need him to be lately. He'll do anything to stay out of couples therapy.

House Cleaning

If I had a few more hours in my day here are the things I would be blogging about at length:
Nora is on a schedule! Too bad tat we can never leave the house again ever since she has to have her naps at exactly the same time everyday or her schedule is wack-o for the next 3 days. How did I get such anal retentive kids?

Charles and Alpana got married! I am still anxiously awaiting the details since they were in New York fo rthe main event, but I have gotten several hilarious text messages about it.

Can we talk about Anna Nicole Simth's son dying? And that she just had a baby?

Amanda's friend Laura has completely changed my life by reminding me about decoupage. Abby now wants to decopauge the entier house, and I don't really mind.

Tim and I had a row the other night about his parents. It was a whole big saga, and I (of course) was forced to take the high road because Tim was refusing to stand up to them on my behalf. I was pissed, he was pissed, and in the end he did the right thing. Thus reinstating my faith in him as a human being and a husband.

We had a fantastic evening out for our dear Tony's birthday outing on Saturday night. As always it is nice to be out, but it is also always funny being around Tony's friends. We are the only ones really who have kids and it is such a novelty.
We met this hilarious girl who had Xavier Roberts' signature tattooed on her tush which I still think is one of the greatest tattoos ever.
Since today is Tony's actual birfday I have to happily go make some enchiladas and put the finishing touches on his gift....

Love Bites

Yesterday Nora bit me.
I mean she REALLY bit me. I bled, there is bruising, it was bad. I didn't shout no, or flick her cheek as some say to do because it was my fault, I was jiggling her around while feeding her (thanks a lot for making my phone ring and making me get up and causing her to bite me, dear sister, I owe you one!).
This is the first truly painful bite I have experienced, and I think I am scarred. Every now and again she will bite me while she latches, and it hasn't really bothered me until lately. She has been really easily distracted when I feed her, and she hasn't seemed all that interested unless it is at night when the house is quiet. I think the reason that she is waking up twice every night is because she wants to nurse, and kind of needs to because she can't during the day. And it is not that she can't it is just that she kind of won't. I usually nurse her first thing in the morning, which is fine, then after her am nap which is kind of touch and go. She would prefer to be playing with Abby then, but kind of wants to be feeding. I am toying with the idea of supplementing with formula, but something is making me not just bite the bullet and do it. Until this biting incident I was planning on waiting it out for 2 more months so that I could supplement with whole milk and call it a day, but now I don't know.
Why am I so opposed to formula? In truth it is probably better for her than my milk, but it smells and it is expensive and I fear that if I start giving her formula then it will be really easy to just wean her altogether which I realize is the ultimate goal but not now. But why not now? What is wrong with me?
Part of it is that I feel like I nursed Abby for a year and I should be able to do it again, but is that realistic with two? I can't pump so I am totally tethered to the darling to some extent, which doesn't bother me, but it isn't the easiest thing in the world. I guess I feel like she gets shafted on so many levels that this is just one more, but it is one I can control, right?
What should I do?