The Magic Number

I was talking to Tim's secretary yesterday and she was telling me about her adventures in new motherhood. She had a baby boy back in November and has not really adapted well to motherhood. She is one of those girls who decided to have a baby because she wanted to make sure she fit in in before she turned 30. The unfortunate thing is that she is married to an Irish guy who wants to have slew of kids, all within 18 months of each other. She was asking about how I liked the age difference between my kids then made a comment about how if her second one is a girl, then she would be content to be done having kids. I asked how many boys she would have before she called it quits and she told me she would have as many as it took. Seriously?
How could she go from having 2 kids to having "however many it takes"? I just don't get it.
this leads me to a conundrum in my life right now. How many kids are we going to have? Tim and I never had a set number in mind as to how many, but we knew we wanted 2 and we are open to a third, but kids are something that you kind of need to plan, or not plan on.
It is no secret that Tim would love to have a son. I don't think that he is disappointed in the fact that he has 2 girls, but I do think that he is looking for the father son bond that he never had. Is this a reason to have another baby? No.
At any rate, the idea of a third kid has been floating around, but seems far off, maybe in another ...I don't know...while. I mean when do you have another kid? Thank God the window for irritatingly close is closed, and while the door to too close for comfort is still ajar, I just don't have a good answer.
And maybe my hesitation means that a third is not a good idea, at least not now. But it feels like I have to make this decision soon. No one is forcing me to, mind you, but I feel like it is just one more thing looming around like the piles of paper around my house that I need to deal with.
Part of it I think has to do with the fact that this all that most of my mom friends can talk about. Mrs. Materialism just had her third little dividend, and as I watch her struggle with that new born stage I can't even imagine going back to that once Eleanor gets a little more independent. I love the age difference between my kids, but I do remember coming home from the hospital and having to pack a diaper bag and thinking how easy life had just gotten before I had Nora. Mrs. Materialism never really wanted to have 3 kids, I think she just got pregnant again because her husband doesn't know enough to wrap it up when he is busting a move while she is sleeping (this is true, Mrs. Materialism is completely convinced that she conceived #3 while sleeping- just one more reason to be horrified by these people).
Then I see Super Mom R.N. (one of the moms at pre school who I sometimes like, but then other times I want to punch her in the neck) who is pregnant with her third but isn't telling anyone yet because she miscarries easily. She is showing, and prances around reveling in people talking about her. She often "coffees" (seriously these people use it as a verb, it is so not right) with that bitchy mom who excluded Abby and then lied about it, who is also pregnant, but with her fourth (seriously, you need 4 kids? Really?) and when I see them at pick up they have some comment to make about how it is time for me to start thinking about having a #3. Once they tied to tell me that I wasn't getting any younger but I was able to throw my trump card of not being 30 yet. The problem is that they make valid points even if they are about the logistics of a trip to Disney World.
I don't think there is an easy answer here. I hate the idea of waiting 5 years and then starting all over again, but maybe that is going to be how it goes. I also hate the idea of having another baby anytime soon.
I guess it could be worse. It could always be worse...

A Rhetorical Question

This was a conversation between my husband and I last night:
Me: Honey, we have a problem.
Him: Oh, yeah, what is that?
Me: Tony is in love.
Him: That just means we won't see him all summer.

The truth is that this is not really a problem. It actually in fact is great, however I am hoping that this chick has the integrity of Tori Spelling. I realize that it may be inappropriate for me to concern myself with Tony's love life, but as my sister says, it is my job. And he is supposed to build me a piece of furniture that I really need and I am worried that this will distract him.
Is that selfish?

Don't answer that.

Prachute Pants and Pop Culture

Do you remember when Jared Leto (to me always known as Jordan Catalano) made that comment about how blogs were a fad like parachute pants?
Is it horrible to say (on my blog) that he might be right? I don't really frequent too many blogs, with the exceptions of my sister and my internet friends, I usually just kind of drop in and lurk on a few here and there. And if you haven't noticed I have not been updating my own very often.
So maybe Jordan was right maybe this is a pop culture phase that is going to go the way of the plastic charm necklace and Zubaz.

Between A Cubs Game and a Hard Place

I am totally ok with being "that mom". You know, the one who talks on her cell phone at the park (I only do it sometimes), and the one with the extensive collection of Happy Meal toys that is almost embarrassing (I have to buy 2 at a time now, that is just why is seems there are so many, really, we aren't there that often). I am also the mom with the kid who is dressed like Cindy Lauper on acid circa 1987 (really, who wants to fight with a 4 year old about clothes?), and the other kid who is leaping out of the stroller because she refuses to allow the buckles to be done.
I am also ok with being "that girl". You know the one is who is often over served at weddings. Or the one who makes friends with the one person in the room that makes everyone uncomfortable (a la Chach and Alpana's engagement party and the bookslut, but I digress). We have all be "that girl" at one point or another, and I am totally ok with being her more often than not.
What I am not ok with is being "that wife". I never want to be the wife who tells her husband that he can't play hockey because his hands are what do the work to feed the family and if he gets hurt the gravy train passes us by (a la Mrs. Materialism, who we have to talk about later). I don't want to be that wife who makes it impossible to have a social life that does not include her. I enjoy when Tim goes out with his little friends. I like that he is exposed to people other than the fools he works with, and that he is forced to confront his social retardation. I trust Tim to make the best decisions keeping in mind what is best for his family. Which leads me to this....
Last night Tim's friend the 42 Year Old Bachelor calls and asks him if he wants to go to the Cubs Game on Saturday. Now I don't mind this guy, he is from Tim's hockey team and I think he understands Tim in a way that most people don't. they have fun together and he used to have this girlfriend who I kind of liked (I more tried to for the sake of the men folk) but he just dumped her because she didn't want to live with him and his mom in the event that they ever got married. This was too much for the bachelor- he could never kick his mom out of the house and really is it that hard to be married and live with someone who will help take care of the baby? Yes, yes it is, pal. Good luck finding someone who will go along with that.
Anyway, Tim and I had talked about this weekend and we planned on taking the girls to the Botanic Gardens. Tim has never been and I thought this would be a good way to celebrate Earth Day Weekend (and there is an antique fair going on). So Tim tells his pal he had to talk to me and that he would call him back, and then he did what he always does that makes me want to kill him....He gets off the phone and says to me, "Dude called to invite me to a Cubs game Saturday. HE has seats right behind the dugout. It sounds like a lot of fun, but I am going to tell him no because we are supposed to go to the Botanic Gardens and that will probably be closed Sunday, right?"
What the fuck.
So we did our song and dance where I ask him if he wants to go to the Cubs game (He does), and then I tell him that the Botanic Gardens are open Sunday. I make no reference to him definitely going to the game, and I just let him run with it. He puts me in this position where I feel like I am begging him to go do what he really wants to do so that I don't have to watch him play the martyr and hang out with his wife and kids.
Now, really I could care less about him going to the Cubs game or not. Sure, it will be a long day since he will work in the morning then go directly downtown. He will probably come home either drunk, or coming off of being drunk which makes him completely obnoxious, but I can deal. I just don't want to be his reason for not going. If he wanted to spend the day with the kids and that was his reason for not going that would be ok, but that wouldn't be his reason. It is usually something about how I need him to do something or that I didn't want him to go. In this scenario the reason he has been test driving is that I had planned a family day and I don't want to move it to Sunday (which is kind of true, but really it is more about the weather. If it is nice Sat then I don't want to roll the dice and expect good weather Sun because it never works out that way).

What is a girl to do?

Better Late Than Never

Today is my sister's birthday.
I don't feel like i have given this event quite the attention it deserves.
I started a post about all the fond memories I have of my sister from when we were kids. Even though we joke about growing up in different houses there are lots of common threads.
I remember when we were kids my sister could tell me just about anything and I would believe it. This was wonderful early in the morning when we had stayed at my dad's apartment growing up. She would tell me these amazing stories that made those early morning hours before we could wake our dad up not seem so long. This ability was tested when she was 17 and told my mom that her new tattoo would wear off in 7 years.
Amanda has always been inherently cooler than I will ever be. This was true when we were in Jr high and she had a perm and used Stiff Stuff hairspray and I couldn't even grow my bangs out. This was true when we were in college and she traveled everywhere. And it is still true as she snowboards around listening to the coolest of the cool new rock out of Detroit.
We used to not get along, but I could always count on her to be my one and only ally on the long car rides to New Castle when we were kids. We would have these ridiculous fights every day, but put us in a car to Grandma's house and we were all of a sudden the best of friends. Maybe it was the common enemy (parental figures), or just the change of environment we needed to push us together.
At any rate, my sister is my favorite. She makes me laugh, makes me cry, and makes me glad that I have her to do all that with. I could continue with a bunch of flowery stuff about how amazing she is at everything she does, but anyone who reads this already knows that....

Good Cop Bad Cop

Abby has developed this habit of saying no to me in this awful, bratty way. It to obnoxious for a variety of reasons, but it also defies the concept of "respect" that I am trying to teach her. My philosophy is that if she learns this concept in relation to her parents, herself, and her stuff, it will carry over onto other things in her world like her friends and what not. (I actually just saw that this is an article in Parents magazine this month).
Anyway, this morning when I told her to do something she gave me her "no" and I told her that if she did that again she was going to get all of her Easter candy taken away, along with her TV privileges and all the magnets on her responsibility chart. A bit extreme maybe, but I can handle this no more.
So we made it through the day with no problem, then after dinner she hit her sister. I told her to go to her room and she gave me her bratty, irritating little "no" and I promptly put her in her time out chair. She didn't object until I reminded her of all the things that she was getting taken away. She could have cared less about me taking the magnets off of her responsibility chart (once it is filled she gets either a "Barbie Hairdoer Head" or a scooter). Once upon a time this would have been a threat enough, but I think she is over it. She also didn't bat an eye at me telling her that she can't watch TV until Saturday (this is really a punishment for me since I use TV as a babysitter like all good moms do). She lost it, however, when I told her that the Easter candy was either going in the trash or to work with Tim.
Apparently the loss of her Rain-Blo bubble gum eggs was the punishment to end all punishments, and now I feel bad. Did she need to have all 3 things taken away? Probably not, but that was what I had said this morning so I need to stick to it, right? Right. But that doesn't make me feel better about it. And honestly I don't really think that this is going to stop her from acting like this tomorrow.
What really sucks is that I feel kind of responsible for her acting like this. I think she is looking for any kind of attention she can get, even if it is negative attention. It is not like she doesn't have my attention, but I think she is still feeling the burn of having a little sister. Or maybe I just need to play the fucking Littlest Pet Shop game with her one more time so that she knows I love her.
Where is her owners manual when I need it?

Blame it on the Eggs

Easter has left me unfulfilled.
Eventhough I have offically become Russell Stovers' bitch (damn him and those tasty carmel eggs! And the coconut creme ones, seriously, to die for!), and I am full of candy, I have walked away from Easter wondering what comes next.
This isn't really a God thing, although I do feel like we have to take the kids to church at some point in their little lives. It is more a confusion over what all this Easter hoopla was about.
Tim and I decided that the Easter Bunny would not be bringing any toys this year, so it was kept to a egg hunt around our house with some prizes and candy along the way. Eleanor figured out early in the hunt that the plastic eggs were filled with jelly beans, so she kind of lagged behind, but Abby was adorable. She kept gasping at every egg she found, and helping to fill Nora's basket (she too figured out where the jelly beans were so she would give herself those and the hard boiled to Nora). It was a nice little hunt that ended in the basement in the hopes that we could lounge around while the kids frolicked in the basement.
Back in January I talked Judy in to having Easter at her house to avoid having to negotiate a holiday with Tim's parents that didn't leave him scarred and my kid confused. Usually when we have a holiday with Judy it is some ridiculously rich meal eaten comfortably around her kitchen table, this one was a bit different. It included Judy's brother, and his wife (sometimes I forget that her family is real and not just characters she tells me about), some random cousins of hers from California, and my mom and the boyfriend. Judy went all out, polishing silver, poring over cook books, and planning her centerpiece. It was lovely, and my children performed beautifully. They were adorably dressed in their Judy made Easter dresses, and they could not have behaved better (despite the emerging teeth and excesses of sugar).
We have spent today coming down off the sugar high, adn I am completely unmotivated to do anything. I should have cleaned out my basement today, but instead Abby and I played games and watched Desperate Housewives. I should have gone to work off some of those Russell Stover eggs this morning but instead we sang to Nora while she cried about her teeth and went to Costco to buy milk.
I am hoping to gather some oomph for tomorrow. All of Abby's activities are winding down and it is up to me to perform an educational minstrel show every day for her and her sister. While I am pretty good at this usually, I am feeling a bit burnt out.
I think it is just the sugar wearing off. And again I say, 'Damn you Russell Stover!'

Again?!

Why does Eleanor keep pooping in the bathtub?

$500

Sunday night (yes, it is Thursday and I am still blogging about my weekend past) we went to dinner and a movie with some friends. Not just any friends, our famous friends.
You have heard me mention Charles and Alpana before, he is a writer and she is the belle of the Chicago food and wine ball. Charles is the only person that I speak to on a regular basis who knew me in high school (well, at least the only one I am not related to), so he is officially my oldest friend, and it is always good to remember what he looks like eventhough we email throughout most days. We rarely get to see them, but Charles needed some software for his computer so they hauled it out to the burbs for an evening out.
So we went to see The Namesake, a favorite book of mine turned movie. My movie review is simple, read the book and then go see the movie if you are not creative enough to give the people faces. I think a lot was lost about what the point of the story was, but it was pretty to look at and I was able to have a good cry in a dark room which is sometimes just what a girl needs.
After the movie we went to the Mafia Hangout- Cafe Lucci. Tim and I hadn't been there in a while, and we were happy that Chach and Alpana wanted to go back. The owner is a friend of Tim's dad (hence it being the Mafia Hangout) and he is very kind if not a wee bit solicitous.
I always feel bad for Alpana when we go out for dinner because she is often recognized. I am sure it is hard to establish any kind of anonymity when you are on TV every Friday night and your picture is in the paper next to your new book all the time. While I realize that I may sound like Eddie Haskell saying that, I really don't mean it because I do see how irritating it is to have someone interrupt your meal, or to just have people starring at you. Regardless of some random guy in a yellow shirt tilting his chair toward our table and randomly making kind of random statements through the better part of our first course, we had a good time. Bobby, the owner (Charles likes to call him Ricky Bobby), is a wine guy so he and Alpana talk shop a lot and I like to learn about wine and all that. The food was fantastic (I even ate pork if you can believe it!), and we always have a good time with them. We tried a wine that tasted like a saddle and we also had some after dinner wine that was the yummiest thing ever (Alpana kept calling it grown up punch, whatever it was it was fantastic). So we close the place down and retire to our respective abodes for the night.
I couldn't sleep that night because of all of the rich food topped by bottle after bottle of wine. When I woke up the next morning I was glad I hadn't succumbed to the heart attack that I was sure was coming after the insanely rich meal, and stopped acting like the guy in Sanford and Son.
Later that day Charles text messaged em to let me know that we had drank about $500 in wine the night before which leads me to the best part of hanging out with them- you never have a bar bill.
Seriously $500?
That was one hell of a pair of shoes we drank.

The Mexican Tooth and a New Strain of Illness

In the first few days we were in Mexico Eleanor developed some vile diarrhea as well as a nasty diaper rash. I thought that they were just bizarre side effects of a whacked out schedule and strange milk so we went to the infirmary and got her some cream for he tush and started her on the clear liquid diet. The next afternoon I noticed what the problem really was, she got a new tooth. From then on it was the Mexican tooth and it made her a bit irritable.
We survived Mexico and the Mexican tooth, but none of her symptoms really went away. Last week I noticed that there was another tooth coming through, this one looked like a molar, and it was ugly. Then I noticed there was another one on the other side pushing its way through her little gums, and another one still. Her poor gums are so red and puffy I want to take a diazepam just looking at them. She is crabby, and clingy, and drooly, and it is kind of killing me.
So I have been spending my days carrying her around and singing to her and then drugging her when I need to get something done around the house. We seem to be on the mend, or at least getting used to this new routing when Tim came home to throw a wrench in it.
One of the souvenirs we brought home from Mexico was a case of the sniffles. My throat has been sore since Saturday, and the girls' noses have been running off and on since we got home. We seem to be on an upswing but Tim came home today and announced that he is "deathly ill". I had asked him to stop at the grocery store on his way home and he bought some ridiculous cold medicine (which he has yet to take) then told the girls that eh couldn't kiss or hug them since he is so sick. (A little dramatic, don't you think?)
So I finished dinner and put the kids to bed while he laid in bed and whined. He pouted a bit when I suggested that smoking was not really helping his illness, and went back to bed, he has been sleeping ever since. Now he is staying home from work tomorrow so he can get in my way and "heal" so that he can "get back on his game". Oy!

So tell me, what is worse an ailing kid or a sick husband?

Speechless

Tim and I went to the opening of Tony's show on Friday. I always like going to his shows because they are fun to look at and it is generally a good night out. His rendition of Alice in Wonderland is quite colorful without looking like a hideous acid trip.

During the intermission the Tims and I (Tim2 came out for the opening) were walking out of the theater and I heard Tony's mom calling my name. This was slightly odd since the last time I saw her at one of his shows she had no idea who I was eventhough we have met on occasion. I said hello and got swept up in the crowd, cutting our conversation short. I passed her later in the hall and as I was walking toward her she asked me if I was pregnant again. I laughed it of until she continued to tell me that I look like i have really gained weight since the last time she saw me.

What do you say to that?!?!

I stammered something about being on vacation, asked about her health and stuck her on the Tims.


Although I am slightly horrified by this I am really not that offended because I know in my heart of hearts the numbers on the scale have gone down since the last time I saw her. The last time I saw her was at Christmas, and you all know that I have been up in Women's Work Out World working on my fitness! Anyway, she is old and maybe not all there, but still, do you say that to someone?! What kind of response does one expect to that?

Vacation Wrap Up

I spent last week entirely intending to post about our fantastic voyage to Mexico. I wanted to write about the Canadians and their competitive vacationing. I wanted to write about poor little Georgia, a girl who Abby befriended who was seriously the saddest middle child ever. Or the bizarre and intriguing lives of the 20 year olds who are employed by resorts, known at Club Med as GOs. Or even the plane ride which was seriously one of the most taxing things ever. But you can just look at the pictures and know that we had a wonderful time.