February 28, 2011

Doctor Dangers

Dear James,

Be careful when you go to the Doctor.  First, you may taken by aliens and forced to wear a steaming head apparatus.  Stay calm and sit very still.  Once the fumes are taken in, you won't remember your visit to the alien planet.

Afterwards, you may be approached from behind by a giant bear.  If so, simply ignore the bear, move cautiously and carry a lemon sucker.



I am tired.  But I've been tired for well over three years.  I can't help but laugh when I rewind back six or seven years...to another time when I "thought" I was tired. 

Boy, was I stupid.

I was tired in law school.  In high school.  During weightlifting.  As a newlywed with a real job. Always so tired.

Dear God.  Those times were like a wild rest-a-palooza.

And knowing what I know now... it is always possible to be more tired. 

Oh, how sleepy this all makes me.....


Things that make me feel completely helpless:
a sick child
...at 3am...
when I don't know what to do to make it better...
....and I'm staring at a pile of work (that I suddenly don't care about)

Yet another little jewel of parenting that I was not warned about.  Sick babies. 

Not only are sick kids "problematic" because they are little incubators of illness and inevitably spread it around the entire house, but acutally watching a teeny little person feel awful is the worst thing a parent can experience.  Even a small cold is heart wrenching.  A questionable illness (do I take him to the hospital?) is nerve-racking and terrifying.  An earth-shaking cough, like nails on a chalkboard. I find my eyes darting all over the room trying to figure out how to make it stop, how to help, how to make it better...only to realize that there's nothing I can do.  Nothing but steaming a freaking bathroom.

And nothing makes me feel stupider than having a sick child and trying to cure their illness with steam.

I am always humbled when one of my children is sick.  As I hold one of them (most recently - er, two hours ago - James) in a steaming bathroom, and his little chest is rattling from cough, and his little baby hands are shaking, I feel completely lost.  And I am in awe of him.  Nevermind the havoc he made on the house only eight hours before...he is now small, quiet and helpless.  With his little juice box and puppy dog eyes. Sometimes I forget that three years old is still so very young and impressionable and small.

I hate the sickness.  But I am thankful for the reminder of what really matters...

February 24, 2011

Home A-Lone?

I work from home two days a week.  I mean really work (not stay-at-home mom "work from home"). Our nanny comes in, I log in remotely, calls are routed home, and it's business as usual. The kids have no idea I am even here - I just hide upstairs in the bonus room office and work - and then sneak down for lunch when they are out of the house, at school or otherwise. Also, they go to school many days of the week, so I have the whole house to myself, quiet, and work-a-palooza.

The whole working from home thing is a miracle, and I love it. Pajamas, mini-fridge and sunshine streaming into the office... it's the best. And the commute is even better.

Sometimes on days I am home, our nanny, Staci, will put Stella Rae down for a nap, and then leave to go pick up three-year old James from his preschool. It's not like I have to "watch" Stella, obviously, because she is sleeping.

Anyway, our nanny just texted me.... as she picked up James from school:

Staci:    Hi, James!

James:  Where's Stella?

Staci:    She's at home, napping.

James:  BY HERSELF????

February 22, 2011


My mom.  1956.  I just wanted to post this today. 

Lately, I've had the kind of days that make me really miss my mom.  And I shouldn't miss her.  She's alive.  I should just call her.  Or find her on Facebook.  Because I know she's watching me.

I love you, Momma.

February 17, 2011

Open Mouth, Insert Blog

I love when I send the Expert a random G-chat ("hi") and he responds with the following:

For the love...am I that bad and unpredictable that he needs to warn me that others are watching?  Am I so bad that he would rather risk sending a humiliating warning in front of seventeen people (which says about him: I have a crazy beotch for a wife) ...than risk those people seeing what may appear in my next chat?

I think this calls for a little self-evaluation.... Okay.  Evaluated. 

Yes, I am that bad and ripe for spouting off some crazy garbage at any moment. Heh heh.  And I am glad he warns me.  I love that guy.

Along the same thread, I found out today that my awesome Hair Stylist Goddess sends her daughter to the same prescchool as James.  And the little monkeys are in the same class.  What fun!  I thought, this is really going to be cool

At least, that's what I was thinking for a split minute... until, after chattering with Hair Goddess further, I learn that not only is she my Facebook friend, but she is also a fan of this blog... who is friends with another girl who also reads my blog... who is friends with the mother of the little girl who made one of the mocked and photo-featured Suck Up Valentines for Stella's class.


What a small world.  And now, my mother's worse fear has come true.  She is constantly saying:  "you need to be careful what you are writing because someone could figure out you are talking about them." 

Well, in this case... there's no real question.  There's photo evidence. Ooops.

My first instinct was to rush home and delete the posting.  Then I thought....eh, what the hell.  Not like she will be the first mother I offend in my countless years remaining as a parent.  Might as well try out the training wheels....  Actually, I've been riding this bicycle for quite some time.

I'll never forget.  When I found out I was pregnant with James, my legal assistant at the time said:
"Boy, oh boy, that is going to be one sarcastic child." 

"Aw, thank you!" I said.

As an update on the kids (since technically this blog is Blogventures of Them, not stupidity of Me).... last night, Stella escaped the playroom gate (not sure how) and was wandering around in the foyer.  James comes over to me, and points his tattletale finger at her.

James:     Stella!  Look at!

Me:          I see her.  She escaped.

James:     Stella need time out.

Me:          Yes, I think she does.

James:     Take her toys outside, too.

Me:          You are quite a tattletale, aren't you, James?

Stella:      (piping up from the peanut gallery) Yeah!

February 15, 2011

Mother Suckers

Here are two shining examples of why I will never be elected as "class mother."  Below are two valentines sent home with my two year old daughter today. 

....from her two year old preschool classmates, people.

God bless these mothers... because they are either saints or... as I tend to believe... minions of Satan. 

Minions of Satan with nothing but spare time...who have set forth on evil missions to make the "rest of us" look like terrible mothers.

Mission accomplished.

(Please note that the above valentine was personalized for each individual child in the class. Dear God.)

In my case, I spent $3.97 on princess valentines for Stella. Princess valentine were a big enough stretch for me. But, these puppies came complete with free suckers. 

Well, I trudged home with the box of free suckers and valentines, only to open them up... and find that someone had actually stolen the cards from the box. 

But they left the suckers.

So, not only are fancy valentines not really an option for my dear daughter because she was born to the wrong mother...but also, the idiot who stole her valentine cards wasn't even smart enough to take the suckers too.  Poor girl was stuck with suckers and no cards.  What kind of valentine joke is that? No card? (Thankfully, Staci saved the day with extra cards.)

But seriously...what is going on in this world?? Reminder:  we are talking about two year old kids here.

Part of me wants to take these women out.  Surely I can hit them with some fancy crafts for the next holiday.  Work some mommy voodoo magic. That's the competitor in me.

And the other part of me wants to mock them.  Which is the reality of me.  So... mocking it is.

In the meantime, Stella says "thanks" for the stickers, bubbles and fancy-pants shovel from the Mother Suckers of the two year old class!  Cheers!

Attachment Parenting

I just happened to fall into this blog:  attachment parenting.  Careful, you guys.  This will make you chunk your cookies.  I really hate to even link to this. But it's too funny.  It makes me want to stand in Tree Position, and mumble "om om om" in the middle of the day.

Now, I am totally into hippie birth - water birth, hypno-breathing, the doula, the midwife - I love it all. I think more power to a woman that can do it completely natural.  Needless to say, I went almost thirty hours of drug free hell pain with both kids (twenty-nine of those hours attributed to my first born)... and I still ended up with two epidural babies - but delivered by a midwife, thankfully with no c-sections and no episiotomies (and now too much information!).  

So, I managed semi-hippie births. Hooray for me.  Yes, I want a medal. And of course, my readers know how I feel about breastfeeding.  I won't bring back that firestorm.

But then there is co-sleeping - which is where I separate myself from that nightmare of a blog. Which brings me to my main point. Oh, you can just shoot me now.

This Attachment Parenting blog says (and I quote):
"Our jobs as parents does not end when the sun goes down. It is not in a baby's best interest to be separated from its caregivers at night...." 

And here is my favorite part:

"It is the in and out of bed at night that causes terrible sleep-deprivation in new parents and it is really unnecessary. You will find that it is when you attempt to go against the grain of natural instinct that everything in life becomes so much harder and more difficult."

Baahahhahahahahhahha!  The "in and out of the bed"?  That's why I was tired???  I almost died. That's why I was so tired? Well, hello Dolly!  I am so glad you solved that riddle.

Hello, planet earth. The sleep deprivation comes from:
(2) SAID CHILD simply exisiting ("first there were no people, and then there were people"); and
(3) SAID CHILD waking up, pooping, screaming, whining, flailing, needing, wanting, helpless, sleeping, not sleeping, puking, snorting, sniffling, whimpering, eating, burping...and on and on.... 

Hilarious. I can't even stand it.

And finally, the next-best part of the blog is the section on "Baby Wearing." Another crack pot. Some people like the baby slings or the Bjorn, and I think that's great.  James hated it - screamed bloody hell when I put him in the sling.  And frankly, my kids got too heavy, too fast for either of us to enjoy the Bjorn.  Most importantly, my newborns were on me plenty.... I didn't need to wear him/her.

To summarize Attachment Parenting:
you must wear your baby inside your womb for 40 weeks; then once the baby comes out, ensure that you wear that baby on the outside; and, finally (most importantly) make sure you don't get out of the bed (because that will make you tired).

Go forth!  Wear your children, ladies!

Oh, Man

I'm upstairs working this morning.  Staci, our nanny, has the kids downstairs getting ready for breakfast. I hear Stella coughing and coughing. Then comes the tell-tale gag/gag/gag - followed by puke-a-palooza. 

James, age three, immediately screams, "OH MAN, SISSY!"

February 14, 2011

Happy Virus Day

The thing with kids - seems like one is always sick. James had the flu two weeks ago, and now Stella Rae has the creeping crud... a hacking, chesty cough that goes on for five minutes, then followed by three rounds of dry heaving, topped off with a nasty vomit. 

Every time Stella throws up, James cries and screams "oooooh, no, Sissy!!!" and the house spins around in circles of utter mayhem. 

Sick children are so pitiful.  But sick children are also.... ew-eee nasty.  The stuff that comes out of something the size of a tree stump..... man.  Enough to make an Expert gag.

Poor Stella, in her icky state, didn't get to take her serious work of art fabulous Valentine's Box to school today.  Poor baby girl.

Hoping for better day tomorrow.  All around.  We won't even go into the crapola mess that was my day.  It was pretty close to the artwork on Stella's box.

February 12, 2011

February 9, 2011

Chopped Liver

The Expert has returned from Australia, and one little lady in particular is very happy.... two year-old Stella Rae.  From the second he woke her from nap, she's been attached to him.

I asked her, "Stella, what am I now? Chopped liver?"

"Yeah," she said.

February 6, 2011

My Milkshake Brings the Stink to the Car

I found a kid-sized vanilla milkshake face down in my car on Friday morning. 

It had been there a week.

All I can say:  thank God it wasn't summer and 107 degrees.

You Take a Nap

James is very proud of himself now that he no longer takes naps.  Almost cocky.  "I no take a nap no more, Sissy."  And now he is bossy.  When Stella naps, it's a good time for James and I to catch up and have some down time.  I liked it when I had two napping children (which meant time during the day to workout or whatever)... but I'll take one still napping.  Lord help me when they both shed naps.

At 10:30 this morning the convo already turned to napping, and went something like this:

James:        Sissy, time for you to nap.

Stella:         No!

James:        Stella, go to bed now.

Stella:         I no!  You go. No!

James:        Momma, I think Sissy needs nap.  I think Sissy go to bed.

Me:             James, it's not time for a nap for Stella

James:       Yes.  Sissy tired. (He thinks for a minute). 
                    Look at Sissy.  It time.

Me:             I see her.  She doesn't need a nap yet.

James:       (he's thinking again)
                    Is that the truth?

Me:             Yes.

James:        (hearing an airplane outside). Oooh, what's that sound?

Me:             I think that's an airplane outside.

James:        I think that's right.

Poopy Liars

I spent most of the morning blaming my children for pooping and lying about it.  I smelled poop.  "Did you poop?" "Who pooped?"  "I smell it, somebody pooped."

"No, I good," James says.  "No!" says Stella.

I checked diaper after diaper and nothing.

"You guys, I smell poop," I say.  They stare at me.

Only then do I realize that the smell is wafting down from upstairs... where I left Stella's enormous diaper bomb from this morning.  The kids weren't poopy.  It was my fault.

Drat.  So much for the new air fresheners. It's going to take a crew from the EPA to fix this damage.  Once a diaper smell is allowed to permeate the walls... it's all over.

So I get the offending diaper out of the house.  And fifteen minutes later, I still smell it. Stronger.  I think I am losing my mind.

Then James walks by.  WHOA.

"Dude! Did you poop," I ask.

"Yes. I poopy poop poop pooped, Momma!"

Well, here we go again.  At least the kid is honest. 

I never got a Diaper Genie, because newborn diapers just weren't a big deal. Especially breastfed babies.  But man.... toddler diapers.  I feel like even if I had a really nasty, fat uncle who wore diapers...that James and Stella would still out poop him.  Gross-o-rific. Diaper Genie should market to the bigger bombs... I should have bought one of those last year.

Or..... I could start potty training.  I know.  When the Expert returns... one week.

February 2, 2011

Problems in Quotations

I joke around alot.  (No kidding).  But it's all in fun, and even when I'm throwing stuff outside or giving teachers hell, I'm really laughing about it....mostly cracking up at the sheer lunacy of raising children and especially trying to discipline people with the size and sense of large possums.

That being said.  I think I am a good mother.  I love my kids. I complain about them; I joke about them - but duh,who wants to read blog after blog about how much a parent loves their kids (losers). [Oh, see... I can't stop.]

Anyway. My point: I love my kids.  James = my heart;  Stella = my soul.  I'd die for them. I'd kill you if you harmed them.

But tonight, I was a bad mother.  All jokes aside. I was just sour and bad and rotten. 

I had no patience.  I raised my voice in screeches and madness...and not just stop-poking-your-sister's-eyes-out type stuff.   Yes, the kids were terrors tonight.  The flu seemingly on its way out, the kids are stir-crazed maniacs on wheels.  This resulted in drawers being emptied, legos thrown at faces, and grapes smushed into carpet.  James and Stella are crazy kids anyway.  Usually, I just say "no you stop that don't do that quit it do you want your toys outside" and that's the way it goes.  But tonight, I lost it.  I yelled, then I cried, then I hugged them, then I cried some more, feeling like I couldn't possibly handle this parenting thing another second longer.  Emails from work are dinging in, the kids are screaming, and I wanted to cover my eyes, ears and mouth, but didn't have enough limbs to do it.

So today, the typical 5:00 to 8:00 precious window with my kids resulted in a crazy cycle of me get mad, me hug them, and me get mad again. 


So on the part of the "me get mad" bedtime cycle, I tossed the kids into their beds, trying not to mutter something like: Go to sleep Hellboy and Hellgirl, and then I went outside to check the mail.  Ooooh, my Runner's World arrived, and as I am walking into the house, I flipped the magazine to a story that knocked me out. 

Like God putting His giant (but gentle) thumb on my face and saying "can't breathe now, can't you sucker?"

There it was. A story (here's the link) about a professional pitcher, Trever Miller, turned avid marathon runner who has a disabled little girl, Grace.  Long story - he runs and takes her along - so she can feel the wind on her face when he pushes her;  he runs so he maintains the patience to handle the struggles associated with a disabled child; and he is thankful, because "Every day [Grace is] alive is another one of God's gifts to us."


So.  Not only am I am bad mother tonight, but I am also a terrible human being. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.  Whining about crazy children, when I could have a sick/disabled child; I could have lost a child; a husband; a job; my parents; my limbs; my sense (questionable); my home. 

A million things could be really wrong right now.  And actually, absolutely nothing is.

So I closed the magazine and ran upstairs.  I woke up the kids (which they didn't like) and I squeezed them and kissed them all over (which they kinda liked). 

I may have been a bad mother tonight, but I am not a bad mother (or a bad person).  And tomorrow is a new day.   "Take all your so-called problems; Better put them in quotations...Say what you need to say."

And in the spirit of my resolutions, I am also forgiving myself for this one crappy night.

February 1, 2011

The List of It

So far, on the list of "What Do We Call It", I have received many, many funny emails with great (and sick... hello, "Spanky?") suggestions.

Here's the List Thus Far:
Mine (I'm not sure grammatically, how to handle this one)
Long Duck Dong (very funny, Expert)
Mister (oh, no)
Dangle (!)
Pinkie (ew)
Tattle (?)
Trucky (?)
Tee Tee
LuLu (just added)
Monkey (!)
Dilly Wong (from the same contributor as 'Dilly')

(Oh, and the one annoying comment from a reader saying we ought to call it by the proper physiological name.  Clearly, this blog is not for you. Proper. Hah. Move on.)

And I will not print the completely icky ones, and of course, the adult names.  Even though some of the above are icky.  Some of the others.... oh man.... anyway.

And in what could be the best name of the day... my grandmother called me about thirty minutes ago. "I've got a name," she says.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes!  Pedro.  Isn't that Spanish for 'Peter'?"

Oh wow. That's a winner.  Er, a wiener.  Oh, whatever.  Love Pedro. Right now, I'm seriously considering Pedro and Tally.  I guess, really, it's up to the Expert to decide since he's the man of the house... and this is kind of a man decision.  But I must present him with all the information.

T-minus.... hmmmmm... two weeks to potty training?  I'm just not sure, Momma.

What Do We Call It?

Our nanny raised an interesting point today.  Since James is going to embark on potty training soon (yes, he's over three ....shut up, everyone), we need to have a "name" for his...um... well, for his.... boy part.

I always thought "pee pee" was reasonable; but then, that's probably going to confuse things when we are emphasizing the act of actually peeing

And "wiener", he loves to say, but I'm not sure about that's acceptable.

Help, you guys! What do we call "it" ...I need a name that won't get me evil looks in public (aside from the evil looks I already get).