Home Alone

So Tim calls me today and tells me that a friend of his from hockey needs help doing something with the tires on his car tonight. He then, very politely, asked if I minded if he stayed late at work. Of course I told him that was fine, I never want to be THAT WIFE, and really I had nothing going on tonight. I looked at the clock and it was 4:45 pm and then 20 minutes went by and I looked at the clock again and it was 4:47pm. I was trapped in the slowest afternoon ever.
At 5 on the nose I fired up some mac and cheese for A. Lo, which totally screwed me because it took all of 5 minutes to make, eat and clean up. I know my kids go to bed early, but 5:30 is pushing it. We made cards for the teachers (tomorrow is the last day of school- yikes!), called an old friend, fed the cat, and still the clock wouldn't tick any faster. I then got a brilliant idea...a pajama walk! We used to do this when we were kids, and loved it! Abby got all dressed in her jammies, I got Nora ready for bed and we piled onto the double stroller. Of course, I am slightly a moron and forgot that it was 90 degrees today, and despite the brief cloudburst we had earlier it was still pretty hot out. When I noticed that Nora's (all decked out in her fleece footie jammies) hair was starting to curl by the time we got out of the driveway, I decided to make it a quick walk. Abby loved being out and about in her jammies, and it did kill about 11 minutes so I decided to let her have an extra story tonight and call it a day. Of course the baby fussed all through the stories, and I got more and more irritated with Tim. Why wasn't;t her there to read to Abby so that I could feed the baby? Why wasn't he there to hold the baby so I could read to Abby? I hate doing bedtime alone.

As irritated as I am at Tim for abandoning me for the evening so that he can drink beer with his buddies while rotating tires or whatever he said he was doing, I know that I am wrong to be. There are plenty of nights where I leave him while I go off and do whatever it is I do (I am getting a haircut tomorrow, pilaties starts in a week, belly dancing the week after), and while he has not been with the darlings all day he has been working too, and I respect that. But that doesn't make the witching hour any easier, and it doesn't make me want to kick him any less.

Now I am left home alone with 2 sleeping lovelies, hours of Tivo to catch up on, a new book from the library that I am finding too painful to read (anyone read Smashed?), bills to pay, a house to clean, and toes that need to be pedicured...where do I start? I think I'll have a snack and figure it out....

Picture Perfect

I was looking through an album of pictures that I had made my mom for Christmas last year and noticed something. Abby doesn't have a mommy. I remember buying that album, it held 200 pictures. It is full of photos of Abby playing in the snow, frolicking in the pool, going to school and so on. There are pictures of her and Tim at the zoo, her and Tim in the pool, her and Tim playing games and doing puzzles. There are 7 pictures of her with me, and 4 of them are family pictures of her and Tim and I. The other 3 are of me not looking at the camera, or me talking to whoever (Tim) taking the picture. Why does this make me so sad?

It makes me really angry that there are no pictures of me with my kids. I worry about the day that they go to look back on their childhood and see pictures of them with their dad doing all kinds of fun stuff and they will be left to think of me as a deadbeat. True, there has to be someone behind the camera to capture those good memories, but why is that NEVER Tim? When I said something about this at the world's weirdest barbecue (details later) no one really said anything, but I think Tim kind of got the hint, How I know he got the hint was by this:

Yes, it is a cute moment where Abby and I are baking cookies, but could he have done a little better? Could he have maybe zoomed in a little? Told us to look at the camera? I mean, really is that the best he can do? WHen I take pictures they look more like this:

How is that fair?

Am I a whiner for being so worked up about this?

Mallrats

We went shopping today.

Our trip to the mall was so that we could get Abby's hair cut at one of this ridiculous places where they have the cars to sit in and the TVs for the kids to watch as they get their hair did. My mom had won some gift certificates in an auction and I felt like I should use them, so off we went to Snippets. This place was seriously one of the worst places I have ever taken my child. The only word I have is RIDICULOUS. I could have done a better job and just let Abby sit in her cozy coupe in the backyard. And I was shocked and horrified that they a)charge $18 for a haircut, and b)didn't give my kid a lollipop. It was truly awful.

We then went to the treehouse of terror. Northbrook Court is a semi high end mall with a semi high end clientele. Their "playland" is this lovely treehouse thing that usually has hundreds of children behaving like wild Indians while their moms drink their Starbucks and talk on their cell phones. For some reason Abby loves it despite the fact that she gets the shit kicked out of her by the 12 yearolds that hang out there while their parents are in the Louis Vuitton store. If nothing else, this place is a great location for people watching. So as we approach the treehouse of terror it is eerily empty. I really thought it was closed, but when Abby pushed the gate, it opened so we were good to go. I sat down and decided it would be a good time to feed Eleanor while Abby was otherwise occupied so she could actually enjoy a meal without her big sister pawing her. Now I have no problem nursing in public, and often I choose not to so that I don't make anyone else uncomfortable, but here there was enough space that I thought it would go unnoticed. No sooner had Nora latched on the Peg Pergo brigade came swooping in. I am serious, the population of the treehouse went from 1 to 100 in 45 seconds. The moms pushing their strollers were scrambling for a place to sit, and glaring at me and my prime real estate.
I just sat and kept an eye on Abby, feeding Nora, doing my thing, and this woman comes and sits next to me on the bench. Fine. She looks over, sees that I am nursing, and LEAPS out of her seat. Is it really that offensive? If she had to listen to the baby cry it would have been worse.
We finished at the treehouse, did a quick jaunt into the other playland (i.e. the Land of Nod store)and dismounted by buying FABULOUS shoes and a shirt (that Abby told me looked like Dragon Tales, how could I not buy it) at Fields.
Then we went to the Mecca of competitive mothering, Target. I love target as a place, but I hate my Target, they never have what I want. Today I wanted to get Abby gym shoes for her "soccer school" that starts soon. Tim had bought her this pair of Nikes that were $40, and I just can't justify spending that on her little feet when I know that before they are even dirty she will have outgrown them. But alas, Abby is a label whore and HAS TO HAVE the shoes that match her soccer ball.

Can anyone tell me how I went to Target to get shoes that were $9.99 and I still spent $84.56? Could it have been on the new pair of black flip flops that I HAD TO HAVE? Or maybe the vitimins that the pediatrician told me that Nora should start taking? No, I know it was on the toilet paper. Wait, I forgot to buy toilet paper, that is why we are using paper towels until I can get to the store tomorrow.

Tonight Tim and I went to buy this patio furniture that my mom saw in the Lowe's circular in today's paper. It, as are most things, was a production. But that is a story for another time. Let me just say this, EVERY single person we talked to knew that he had a "Quad Cab Hemi" in the parking lot and I am serious when I say that had he said that one more time I was going to SCREAM. (thank you, Chip, for acting interested, it made Tim's night)
Having typed that I feel better now. That all has to do with Tim's bizarre upbringing and insecurities, but I don't want to think about that.... I would rather havae swet dreams of my new shoes and my Dragon Tales shirt.....

Touched by an angel

So last night I realized that the toilet paper had been unrolled and then rerolled (a common occurrence). However this time the overhang of where the toilet paper had not lined up once rerolled had been touched by we hands thus making the paper a sticky mess. Par for the course when you have a 3 year old.
One of her other great tricks is when she puts her hand in my water glass when we are at a restaurant. There is nothing better than water with stuff floating in it. Really, it adds to the flavor.
I also love when I am trying to talk to Abby and she plays with my necklace or messes up my hair "to make it look nice" after I have spent the last 15 minutes arranging my greasy hair into a semi presentable ponytail (the sleeked back look is I, right? It is cool to look like the chicks in the Robert Palmer video eventhough it is 2005).
There really is no sarcasm (ok. Maybe just a little) when I say that I love it because I do love her little hands. I have always had a strange fascination with them. I have watched as they started as little fists when she was a newborn. I remember the first time she actually grabbed onto something. I loved the little dimples on her knuckles and the fat roll around her wrist where it looked like I had put a rubberband there. I remember making a mess to get the perfect handprint for her 1st birthday party invitations so that everyone could see how cute they were.
Tim freaks out about the handprints on the car window by her seat, but I don't clean them off because I love them. I love her interest in touching EVERYTHING, despite my constant warnings of "don't touch". I love the way she folds her fingers down to say I love you in sign language. I guess I just love her and everything she does (most of the time).

But you knew that already.

For Rent?

So the other night when I was getting my teeth cleaned (before the eyebrow wax), Dace, my friendly family hygentist started telling me about her fertility woes. She miscarried at 24 weeks after several other miscarriages and she is now barren. (Harsh word to use, yes, but for some reason nothing is funnier to me than Holly Hunter bursting into her trailer in Raising Arizona and shouting, "I'M BARREN!" I now try to work that into my comedy act)
Anyway....as she was talking and I was trying to be polite and respond appropriately while her hands are in my mouth she kept joking about me carrying her child. She explained that it would have to be my eggs, since she didn't have any left, and that she would pay for it all. I didn't really say anything but it got increasingly uncomfortable as she continued to paint this scenario of me carrying a baby then giving it to her. When Earl, the dentist, came in she changed the subject to the Botox party going on in the back room and was showing me where she had injections in her forehead. She was going to try to get more before she left that evening because she thought her mouth could use some work. (yikes)
As I was leaving after my waxing, Dace stopped me and gave me a huge hug and told me to talk to Tim about "what we talked about" and then thanked me for considering to do this for her.

Excuse me, did I miss something? Did the dental hygentist really think I would consider carrying her baby? And am I crazy that for part of my drive home I was almost considering it?

To me it is so sad when people who really want kids can't have them for whatever reason. Good friends of ours are having fertility issues and I feel so bad for them, but I feel like I am constantly apologizing for my fertility. Tim and I didn't plan on conceiving Abby when we did (we were married for 6 weeks when I got pregnant), and Eleanor really was the "it only takes one time to get pregnant" baby. We don't take for granted that we were and are very lucky, and my heart goes out to those who aren't, but I am tired of feeling bad that it was so easy for us. I know that I could be interpreting that wrong, but for Tim's aunt to wish me ill will when I was pregnant with Abby because she wanted to use the same boy's name we had chosen, or for my friend to hang up on my when I told her Abby was going to be a big sister, I think I am getting the message. And the truth is my hear goes out to those who can't conceive. My heart also goes out to those who don't have homes, who suffer from disease, who have bad fashion sense. I try to be a good person and help those that I can, but is carrying Dace's baby the same as raising $2000 for breast cancer research?

I felt swindled by Dace. I was really pissed that she made me feel guilty enough to consider having her baby. In reality it could work. I have easy pregnancies, healthy babies, and I really like being pregnant. BUT that is a huge emotional undertaking that I don't think I could put myself and my family through. First , I am not sure if we are done having kids; second, how do you explain to a 3 year old that the baby in your tummy isn't coming home at the end of all this? I understand that it is an amazing thing to do for someone, but I am not that special a person to do that.

Fuck that.

I am still a special person eventhough I won't have a baby for the lady who cleans my teeth.

Besides I don't think I want one of my eggs being raised in an environment where Botox is acceptable.

Call me shallow. I have been called worse.

Some people's children.....

As the youngest mom on the playground I am not one who is always so secure in my parenting decisions. I wonder if I am doing the right thing by letting Nora have a pacifier, or not forcing Abby to wear a bike helmet that doesn't fit her properly. I wonder if I have completely fucked both my kids up by spacing them the way that I have. I worry about their exposure to non organic milk and produce. I worry that they don't get enough sleep or that Nora NEVER naps in her crib. I worry that the 2 beers I had after mowing the lawn tonight are going to make it so that Nora can't get into Harvard. I worry about a lot.
One thing I don't worry about is my children's behavior in restaurants. I know I keep Abby on a tight leash far as manners go, but I see that as something that will serve her now and later in life. Why am I the only one?
I have watched 2 friends of mine this week completely ignore their child's AWFUL behavior and have had to restrain myself form disciplining their children when they choose not to. I am all for picking your battles, but to allow your child to lick mine while eating lunch is wrong. To allow your child to smear ketchup in my child's face during lunch without so much as a "no-no honey" is reprehensible.
Am I hard ass? Maybe. But at least I know my kid won't be starting the food fight in the cafeteria. She will be too busy quietly making castles out of the wrapped butter pats and sugar packets.

In fair suburbia where we lay our scene....

The Cast:

Tim- The most devoted and high strung husband and baby daddy ever (often a subject of much irritation, however his heart is often in the right place)

Abigail- 3 year old darling with the most amazing comedic timing and ability to completely melt down into a screaming banshee in 5 seconds or less

Eleanor (also referred to as Nora)-4 months next week, beautiful chub who totally gets shafted because she is so easy going, has developed an obsession with a blankie as of late

Punk Rock Mama, aka Amanda- my sister, who if I don't talk to once a day my world seems empty (and I am not just saying that because I know that she is the only one who will be reading this)

My Mother-Recently stopped taking her medication and stops by to visit often when she is not over committed to her church activities and any other random stranger who needs her help

Kathy- my mother in law who has just bought a condo 6 blocks away from my house, currently in the midst of a divorce from....

Jerry- my father in law, times boss

Vince- the fattest, most loving and ignored cat in all the land

The Players- This will include all of the other incidental people we come across in our daily adventures

And starring....

Moi- I stay at home and tend to the needs of my darlings and my baby daddy (why do I keep calling him that?) My house is perpetually cluttered, my kitchen floor always needs cleaning, I always have my chocolate chip cookies on hand, and I can't spell. my mother makes me crazy and my kids rock the Kasbah. I still can't figure out blogger, but as soon as I can you will be the first to know.


I just spell checked and blogger isn't in their dictionary. Ironic?

Dr. Earl Schneider DDS

So I went to the dentist last night for my 6 month check up and teeth cleaning and the most amazing thin happened....I GOT MY EYEBROWS WAXED!
Who knew you could do that at the dentist's office?

Drink the Kool Aid

It is official I have a blog.
My sister, Punk Rock Mama, has been bugging me to start one, and after much debate about the title I have tasted to koolaid.
I am kind of not thrilled with the title, but hey, you work what what you've got, and I have 2 little darlings named after first ladies.
I am still maneuvering blogspot, bear with me.....