Battle Gear

Paige is a sucker for a man in tights. 

In a few weeks our family will be taking a trip to Hawaii.  (Thanks to Dave's generous parents... make no mistake, WE would not be taking ourselves to Hawaii because HELLO! recession!).

And, um, I don't think I need to tell you how excited we are.  This winter has sucked the life out of all of us, and the idea of warm air and beaches is, well, very exciting. 

But one thing I'm a bit nervous about is the flight.  Eight (EIGHT!) hours non-stop from Dallas to Maui.

And did I mention I have a two year old?  Yeah.  That.

So I've been trying to gather up supplies for the flight.  I feel as if I'm arming myself for a great battle.  An eight hour war with a toddler.

And let's face it, in a battle with a toddler, the toddler usually wins.

So far, I have coloring books, playdough (small containers), iphone videos, dvd's, and leapster games.

Oh, and candy.  If all else fails, there's candy.

I don't even think a super hero would take on a toddler on an airplane.

So, Internet, tell me, am I forgetting anything? Any suggestions?

Tranquilizer dart? Yeah.  I've considered it.

The "F" Word

Tonight Dave had a dinner meeting, which meant I was on my own with the kids until bedtime.  I decided to break up the monotony of the evening by taking them to Chick Fil A for dinner.  Because: 1) delicious, and 2) playground.

'Nuff said.

While we were eating, William turned to me and politely asked "Momma, can I toot in here?".  I responded, that no, as a matter of fact, if he could PLEASE not toot in public that would be most excellent.

And before I go on, I should tell you that we say "toot" in our house.  "Fart" is not allowed.  In fact, William firmly believes that "The 'F' Word" is "fart".  And I don't plan on enlightening him as to the REAL 'F' word for, well, a LONG time.

Anyway, when I told William that I would prefer that he NOT pass gas in a crowded restaurant, he grinned and said (I swear to you) "No problem, I'll just save this one for later".

*Sigh* Boys.

After eating, the kids played on the playground for half and hour, then we loaded up in the car to head home.  As I was buckling my own seat belt, William, uh, unleashed what he'd clearly been holding in since dinner.  Let's just say that even the Russian judge would've rated this one a 10.0.  It was an impressive sound.  Manlike.  Beastlike, even.

I turned around planning to acknowledge the immensity of his emanation, but when I saw his face, I stopped short.  He was sitting there with a stunned look on his face.  And he was sort of blanched.  Horrified even.  I asked what was wrong. 

"Momma, I think I just pooped in my pants."

In my house, we refer to this as sharting.  But I wasn't about to add a word like shart to my 6 year old's lexicon.  Instead, I calmly explained that this was somewhat normal.  That it happens to everyone at some point in their lives. 

And then I faced the front and tried realllly hard not to let him see me giggling all the way home.

Sparkly Sparklepants

I spent my entire day cleaning and organizing my house. (And by 'organizing', I mean 'hiding my clutter').

No, I'm not Spring Cleaning.  I'm Panic Cleaning.

You see, I was having company.  And inviting people into my home means that every part of the house has to be clean all at the same time.

Sadly, my house is rarely (ok, never) clean at the same time.  Sometimes the bathrooms are clean.  Sometimes the dust is at bay.  And sometimes the floors are even clean.  But never on the same day.  Ever.

So, on days like today, when I'm forced to clean it all at once, I really do like it.  It's nice to have a shiny, sparkly house.

I wonder, does everyone clean like me?  In a sort of never-ending rotation.  Or do you set aside a day where you just whip the whole thing into shape?

I wonder if I should do that.  Maybe it would be easier in the long run.

Or maybe I just need maid.

And while I'm dreaming, maybe a masseuse, too.

Gray is the New Happy

Today was gray.  Cloudy. COLD. 

Oh, and also misty.  Let's not forget the mist!  The cold cold mist!

Rather than focus on the craptastically craptastic weather, I've decided to make a list of all of the things that made me happy today.

It may be cold, but the grass is still Springtime Green.

1.  Hearing from Denise (a long-time friend of my mother's) who reads this blog every day.  Apparently, she's having trouble commenting on my posts, and she wanted to know how to do it so that she can chime in and remind me of all the ways I was a picky eater, and otherwise awful child. (Lies! All Lies!)

2.  Telling Denise that the best way to comment on my blog was to use a Very Secret Button that was only accessible via Facebook.  (Lies! All Lies!)

3.  Having my weekly lunch date with Aunt Susie.  She's my favorite. (Inside joke)

4.  Mowing my lawn.  Yes.  Mowing is on my happy list.  Those nice, neat rows of freshly cut grass really make my heart glow.  No, really.  I'm serious. (Although, today I mowed while wearing a coat and mittens, because, did I mention the COLD and the MIST?). (But still! Mowing! Happy!)

5.  Watching two girls run to Paige and hug her neck before we left Mother's Day Out today.  Aw.  She has little FRIENDS!  So SWEET!

6.  Finally (after 2 weeks) giving up on my video monitor (and it's cacophony of CRACKLECRACKLECRACKLES of static) in favor of my trusty old Fisher Price monitors from 2004.  Tonight I will not have to sleep with a pillow over my ear (thus, totally defeating the whole monitoring part of the monitor, yes? I know.)

7. This http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJYcbxhvIX0&feature=related


8.  And then watching this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjYSERaXEGI&feature=relmfu
 
9. Cannot. Stop. Laughing.

Crafty

My six year old boy would rather be boiled in oil than have to do any sort of craft.  As I've mentioned here before, if he's really REALLY naughty, I make him color.  There is no more effective punishment.

So, last Friday, when his teacher cheerfully exclaimed that the class would be "making sculptures" during art hour, William audibly groaned.  (Thankfully, the teacher did not hear him).

Apparently, "making sculptures" involved the teacher giving each child a length of plastic-coated wire and some modeling clay.  That's it.  They were supposed to use their imaginations to create anything their little hearts desired.

As I waited in the car pool lane later that afternoon, I noticed the wee little Kindergartners carefully balancing their creations while they walked to their cars.  There were crazy curlycue's and rather good renditions of birds and people.  I even saw a fairly well-constructed airplane. 

Here is what Craft-Averse William came up with.

"The Statue of Six".  I kid you not.

I'm envisioning him taking the (already sort of curled) wire from the teacher and saying "Hey! This already looks like a six! NO EFFORT REQUIRED!".  And then I bet he RAN away from the craft table so he could PLAY ALREADY.

Hooo boy, I have walked by The Statue of Six several times today, and every. single. time. it makes me laugh.

I love that kid.

Also? I may never get rid of that sculpture.  It's classic William.

The Mice Will Play

My mother and step-dad took my children FOR THE ENTIRE WEEKEND.

FOR NO REASON AT ALL.

I CANNOT STOP YELLING!

IT'S JUST SO AWESOME!

After I delivered the children to their Nana, Dave and I went to dinner at a local lakeside restaurant.  After we'd stuffed ourselves with steak and chicken and mashed potatoes and glazed carrots - and (ahem) margaritas - we stood outside and watched the sunset.

It would have been ever so romantic if we hadn't been about to burst.  As soon as I snapped that picture up there, we waddled home and died of over-consumption.

We plan to do it all over again tonight, because HELLO? we don't have to pick up the children UNTIL TOMORROW AFTERNOON.

Sorry.  I'm yelling again.

I CAN'T HELP IT.

School's Out

Alright.  Let's talk about this.  Yesterday's post about my son's kindergarten curriculum brought out comments from many of you about the state of our public school system in this country.

Your comments really resonated with me.  It comforted me to know that you - other moms in other parts of the country - are scratching your heads about this whole education thing too.  It's scary.  I mean, what is more important than the education of our offspring?  Not just for them (as it relates to future success or failure), but for the success of our entire country. 

Folks, this school thing is BIG.  It's HEAVY. 

So I ask you this, my dear readers, if you had a choice, would you opt out of your public school?

And when I say if you had a choice, I mean 1) if a better school was available, 2) within a reasonable distance from home, 3) for an affordable (for you) price.

Would you?  No, really, I want to know.

Because I'm considering it.  I've gone so far as to tour a private school, I've even submitted an application.

No decisions have been made.  And, frankly, I never thought I'd be in this position.  I always thought my kid would go to public school.  I mean, *I* went to public school, and so far I feel I'm doing alright.  Why shouldn't it be alright for my kid?

Except school seems different now.  Worse.  In every way, worse.

But is it?  Or is it just that I'm viewing school through the prism of  motherhood.  Perhaps nothing will ever be 'good enough' for mah baybee.

I don't know.  I just don't know.

What do you think?  How did you decide where to send your children to school?  Was it a decision?  Or did you have no (or little) choice? 

What would you change if you could?

Rainbow

 A rainbow of (synthetic) fruit flavors

My boy is in kindergarten.  He attends our neighborhood public school.  It's a good school by most standards.  The teachers are (seem) qualified.  The parents are very involved.  The students are cute and lovely.

It's a good school.  In a good neighborhood.

But here's something I've noticed: the teaching seems to be geared toward the lowest common denominator.  They're teaching my kid LETTERS and LETTER SOUNDS.  Which sort of freaks me out, because my two year old knows her letters and letter sounds.  And, I swear to you, they're still learning COLORS. 

I think that seems, well, a little elementary for my kindergartner. 

And so I've spent this school year feeling sort of, I don't know, "iffy" about all of this.  I've wondered if William is in the right place.  I've wondered if he shouldn't be more challenged.  I've wondered if ANY of these children are really getting any benefit from this rather simplistic curriculum.

And then this morning happened.

Paige and I (after seeing William safely to his classroom), stopped to admire the new "spring-themed" bulletin board outside the Principal's office.  We were busy pointing out the different colored Easter eggs and flowers when a boy from William's class approached and asked if he, too, could point out and name the colors.  As I pointed at each egg and flower, he'd shout out it's color.

And he got several of them wrong. My gosh, he's a 6 year old who doesn't know his colors.

So now I see what the school is up against.  I see why the curriculum is set the way it is.  Kindergarten is the year that everyone must be brought up to speed so that they can (hopefully) enter first grade on a level playing field.

I don't know why, but this makes me feel sad.  Sad for the kid who doesn't know his colors, and sad for all the other kids who have to sit around waiting for him to catch up.

I have no suggestions as to how to solve this (in my opinion) dilemma.  But I can't help thinking, when I enter this really good school, in this really good neighborhood, that it's all a bit broken.  And yet, I can offer no discernible solutions.  I have no suggestions.  Nothing.

In fact, I have no idea what motivated me to write this post in the first place.  Because I really don't know *what* to make of all this.  Of our nation's public school system.  Of my kid's unique needs as they relate to school.

And I certainly don't know what to make of a Kindergartner who doesn't know his colors.

"Nerd" Doesn't Even Begin To Describe Me

Internet, I am a full-grown woman and I love Harry Potter.

I know.  It's sort of pathetic.

No, really.  Stop looking at me like that!

I read the first book way before I had children, but way after I was a child myself.  I have no excuse.  Other than I'm a nerd.

And here's the (even weirder) part: until recently, I'd never even READ the actual books, instead, I listened to the books on CD.  Read aloud by an amazing British theater star (Jim Dale).

Hearing the books read in a British accent really DOES add to their charm.

STOP!  I can feel you looking at me again.  I KNOW!

Anyway, my love affair with all things J.K. Rowling led me to read the first book in the series aloud to my (almost seven year old) boy over Spring break.

I was (perhaps overly) excited to share the wizarding world with William.  Honestly, I may have had an unhealthy amount of hope tied up in his opinion of the book.  I wanted him to like it SO BADLY. 

It all stared with William asking to see the movie, but I am such a fan of the book, that I refused to let him see the movie until he'd read the book first (because we ALL know the book is ALWAYS better than the movie.  Always).

Fortunately, William's reaction to the book was just as I'd hoped.  He loved it.

That's Harry there on the screen.  Can you see him?

After seeing the movie, William turned to me and said "but they left so much of the good stuff out".

And I said "exactly".  And then I think I winked (for effect).

.

Last week, William bought a stuffed owl with his own money and named it Hedwig.  And this morning, he told me he wanted to be a wizard when he grows up.

I've created a monster.  Or maybe a wizard. 

Either way, SQUEEE!

And So It Begins

What kind of tree is this? It's not a redbud. What IS it?

We wait all winter for Daylight Savings time to begin. The extra light in the evenings means that we have time after dinner to walk across the street to the golf course.

It's a summertime tradition.


.

Barefoot walks on the greens.  Hand in hand.
Heaven.

Sister Wife

The four of us in 1996.  I promise I don't wear shorts with a belt anymore.

My brother and sister-in-law visited over spring break.  They came with their three children, who entertained my two children while we four adults sat and reminisced for hours on the back porch in the cool night air.

It was lovely.

And while we chatted, I pointed out the similarities in these two brothers (Dave and his older brother Steve) and their glaring differences.

We concluded that my personality is just like Steve's, whereas Amy is more like Dave.  It's funny, but those brothers sort of married a girl just like their brother.

Weird.  But so far, it works.  They've been married 15 years.  We've been married 13.  And hey! We still like each other (most of the time).

I love that these boys (Dave and his brothers) can fix anything.  Anything. 

For instance, my husband is outside right now LAYING BRICKS.  How does a pencil-pushing white-collar office dude from small-town Oklahoma just KNOW how to mix mortar and lay bricks?

To me, the idea of just, I don't know, TACKLING a project of which you know nothing about is a form of bravery.  I think you have to have courage to buy a bag of mortar and watch a youtube brick-laying video and then just BECOME a brick-layer.

I would never dream of doing something like that.  I'm too chicken.  What if I messed it up?  What if the subsequent mess was worse than before I started?  Are there youtube videos for chickens who mess things up?

I cannot imagine watching a youtube video about sewing and then just SEWING SOMETHING.  That would be crazy!

Come to think of it, I'll bet my sister-in-law has TOTALLY done that!  I'll bet she's consulted youtube and then just BECOME a SEAMSTRESS.

Because she's just like Dave.

What I Wore - St. Patrick's Edition

Un-Pinchable

St. Patrick's Day dressing is always fun for me.  It's never a matter of whether I have something green, but rather which green item I will wear.

I am a redhead with green eyes after all.  I have quite a selection.

But yesterday was fun in a whole other wardrobe-related way.  You see, it was EIGHTY degrees in Oklahoma City yesterday.

So I broke out the FLIP FLOPS.

I need a pedicure.

WOOOOT!

And not just any flip flops.  I wore my Sanuk's.  Have you heard of these?  Flip flops made from recycled yoga mats?  Yes.  You heard me.  Wearable yoga mats.

"Comfortable" does not even begin to describe them.

You gitcha some.  Your feet will thank you.  Or me.  Whichever.

Things Are Looking Up

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I ran into another mother at the park today.  She was there with her 3 year old boy and 9 month old baby girl. 

This mother ran from the swing to the slide to the monkey bars helping her boy while simultaneously balancing her (fairly chubby) baby on her hip.

My GOD she was exhausted.  Heck, just watching her made ME exhausted.

As I chatted with her, I made a confession with the hopes that it would encourage her.

*Ahem* I just NOW started liking this motherhood gig.

I just KNEW she would think I was a MONSTER for admitting such a thing.  Instead, she was SO relieved.

And don't get me wrong.  I've had oodles of lovely moments with my wee little baby children.  But they were MOMENTS.  Moments separated by lengthy periods of hard damn work.  Emotional work.  Physical work.  EXHAUSTING work.

There's the delivery, then the nursing (omg with the nursing!), and then sleep training, then potty training, then *sigh* MANNERS training.  And my GOSH with the tantrums and the vaccinations.

Babies and toddlers are exhausting.  You know this.  Everyone knows.

And yet, we mothers - whether working or staying at home - agonize about these formative years.  Even if moms choose to work, they second-guess their decision NOT to stay home.  Because "they're only babies once".

And to this I say "thank GOODNESS".  Because, as cute as they are, babies are just HARD! And toddlers are HARD.

Cute.  Yes, they're very cute.  And cuddly.  But mostly they're a whole lot of work.

I've finally arrived at a place where I have, as Sue cleverly said, "no diapers and no drivers".  This?  THIS is the part of motherhood that's good.  THIS part! 

So I told that mother at the park today.  I told her there's a really good part coming.

Because I wish I'd known about this part back when I was struggling with post-partem.  Barely able to lift my head off the pillow.  I wish someone had said 'this baby part sometimes sucks'.

Because it does. 

.

But it gets better.

Cutie Patootie

This is Stella.

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Stella is wearing a new outfit.  An adorable tunic and matching leggings.

And this is Paige holding Stella.

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Notice Paige is wearing an outfit just like Stella's?  Yeah.   Her Nana bought it for her.

I cannot properly express how excited I am about these matching baby doll/toddler outfits. The cuteness is unbearable.  I can't stand it.  Squeeee!

I love having a girl! 

Outta My Head

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I've had a debilitating headache for two days now.  The kind that makes me want to curl up in a dark, odorless room.  It's kept me up at night.  It's turned my stomach upside down.

This headache has robbed me of, well, me.

I've had headaches since I was in my early teens.  I have no idea why they come.  Food allergy? Hormones? Pollen? Barometric pressure?  Or is it just that my mother always gets headaches.  And her mother did too.  So I suppose I can truly blame genetics.  Genetics are really always getting the blame, aren't they?

Poor genetics.

Anyway, we went out this morning (me, my headache, my husband, my children).  First to Target (groceries) then to Lowe's (plants).  I hate buying plants on a good day (so many choices!).  Factor in the headache and I was miserable.  Dave saw me struggling to just function and suggested we eat.  He remembered that food sometimes takes the edge off of my headaches.

Why didn't I remember that? 

Sure enough, a few bites into my meal I felt a bit better.  In this instance, it turns out my husband knows me better than I know myself.

Or maybe he was just tired of looking at me looking miserable.

On a completely different (and only slightly related) note, I read this today.  A post by a mother who recognizes a weakness in her child because it is her (the mother's) weakness as well.  I have these epiphanies with my children.  I see something they're struggling with that I also struggle with, and I'm glad when I can give them a bit of grace in that moment.  Grace I wish I'd been given.  Or perhaps grace I just wish I'd give myself.

I like (sometimes) knowing them better than they know themselves.

Cowabunga

The cow came to Chick-Fil-A today.



Cows are terrifying, apparently.



Cows require a pep talk from Nana.



Bravery.

Scaredy Cat



I just love spending Friday at the pediatrician's office!

 Paige slept an hour later than normal this morning.  Which was odd. 

When she woke, she was crying.  Hard.  She said she'd dreamed of "a big striped cat that growled and made vacuum noises".  Apparently, in her dream, the Striped Vacuum Cat of Death had been standing just outside her window and she was absolutely terrified.

As I comforted her, I noticed she was hot to the touch.  Then I noticed her glassy eyes.  And her weird complexion. 

Ear infection? Maybe.

Turns out the Striped Vacuum Cat of Death was most likely fever-induced.

Which did not change the fact that Paige flatly refused to go upstairs (near her bedroom, and thus the SVCoD) all morning.

So when it came time for her nap, I had to pull out The Big Guns.  The same ones I used when William was her age.

Scare Spray.

Magic Elixir

Years ago, when William was 3ish, he began to have all sorts of nighttime fears.  He'd wake up crying and shaking claiming dark and evil things were trying to get him.  Enter my sister-in-law, who had the perfect plan to rid our home of all things spooky.

I told William that Aunt Amy was going to mail him a special bottle of Scare Spray.  Scare spray is "magic".  When sprayed in the vicinity of Scary Things, it is guaranteed to make them go away.  You see, Scary Things (ghosts, monsters, cats with suction) cannot STAND the smell of Scare Spray.  It makes them gag.  Sometimes they're even known to vomit before darting away.

Aunt Amy (being the mom of older children) was an expert Scare Spray Chef.  She cooked up a specially strong batch and mailed it the very next day.

Special recipe includes Mardi Gras beads, confetti, and glitter.

It worked like a charm for William.  In fact, our bottle of Scare Spray has been hanging at the foot of his bed for 4 years.  Always there just in case.

So today, I showed Paige the worn out bottle of Scare Spray and explained how it works.  Then we went all over the upstairs spraying every nook and cranny. 

And I suppose it worked.  She fell asleep instantly.

If you have a scaredy cat at YOUR house, let me know, I'm sure I could talk Aunt Amy into giving us her secret recipe. *wink*

Bladder Blather

::photo credit here::

I have a UTI.

Is that TMI?

Should I keep such things on the DL?

Either way, if you came here expecting something interesting, you're SOL.

TTFN.

Bellini's

The groom.

I had lunch with my husband today.  Paige was in Mother's Day Out.  William was in school.  Which meant our lunch was a bona fide DATE.

A date, y'all!  Woot!

We decided to go to Bellini's.  Which is where Dave took me on our very first date.  Back then, we considered it a "fancy" restaurant.  "Fancy", to us, meant anything without a drive-thru.  The fact that *this* place had things like waiters and tablecloths? Double fancy!  Remember, we were in college.  And broke.

Four years later, Dave proposed to me in that restaurant, in the very same booth where we had our first date, in fact.

I'll tell you that whole story sometime.  It was amazing.

Anyway, imagine our delight today when the hostess seated us at "our booth".

Delicious.

Watchful Eye Gone Awry

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Today I was shopping at Target.  Again.  It seems I'm always there. 

Since I only had a few things on my list, I allowed Paige to walk along beside the shopping cart, rather than buckling (trapping) her in the little seat.  This required quite a bit of bravery on my part.  Paige is TWO, after all, and is known to (1) run off, (2) touch things, and/or (3) break things.  But I was feeling extra patient, I suppose.

As I walked along the aisles, I kept my eyes glued to Paige's little toddling body making sure she didn't, I don't know, somehow cause the entire store to cave in (a real possibility with this child).  And I guess I was so busy watching Paige that I wasn't really watching where *I* was going with the shopping cart.

And I knocked a HUGE fire extinguisher off of the wall.

The resulting KLANGKLANGKERTHUMP caused everyone in the vicinity to stop and stare.  The store became eerily quiet.

And that's when Paige said (LOUDLY), "Oh NO Momma! You broke the trumpet!"

I suppose the extinguisher spray hose *did* look a bit like a horn. 

When the Target employee showed up to re-attach the extinguisher to the wall, Paige was sure to inform him that her mommy was "very naughty".

Indeed.

Fail

We can't take much more of this, woman.

Well, I'm at it again.  I'm up to my old hijinks in the kitchen.  Those being the ones where I:

1)  Wait until the last possible minute to decide what we're going to eat for dinner. 
2)  Then I throw together something substandard. 
3)  Then I realize 9 minutes before we sit down that I'm missing a key ingredient. 
4)  Then I have to call Dave (at the end of a long work day) to ask him to stop at the store on his way home to pick up the missing ingredient. 
5)  And then I feel like a failure as a wife, mother, home economist, and, well, citizen of the Earth.
6)  And then I act out on my feelings of failure by being grumpy. 
7)  So my family gets to eat a craptastically bad meal with a grumpy woman.

And here's the kicker: I was at the grocery store TODAY.  And yet I still can't seem to get my act together.  I'm afraid I might be a hopeless case. 

I *was* doing really great.  Planning all our meals on Sunday.  Buying the groceries on Monday.  I was ON IT! 

And then we started dieting.

Which means that we're eating salads.  And chicken.  And steamed vegetables.  And that's pretty much IT. No recipes required.  So I haven't been planning our meals.  Because our meals are tasteless and healthy.  Who wants to put forth a plan for tasteless and healthy?

Not me, apparently.

There, I Said It

Why yes, I *do* own a blanket covered in cows.  What's your point?


I have two kids.  And I love them very much.  I always have.  Since the day I met them.

Which makes me (I assume) like every other mother out there.

And when I say "love", I mean that I would calmly stand in front of a speeding train for them.  I would (and have) paced the floors with their fevered bodies and I've laid next to the crib while they slept.  I've waited outside classrooms "just to be sure" they were alright.  I've wiped every form of bodily fluid from their bodies with nary a shudder.

That's what I like to call Momma Bear Love.  Animal love.  Fierce.  Protective. Intense.

And the Momma Bear Love starts the instant a woman finds out she's pregnant.  Suddenly the growing belly is shielded from harm.   Not just from external forces, but internal ones as well.  Women forsake even aspirin for fear of harming this unknown creature.

And the world expects all that.  The animal love.

But lately I'm noticing that, in addition to the I'd-Take-a-Bullet-for-You love, that I'm starting to love my children in an entirely different way.  Now that they're getting older, I enjoy them.  As actual PEOPLE not just progeny.  I like their personalities.  I like spending time with them. 

I don't just love my children anymore.  I genuinely like them.  And I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be able to say that.  And how, well, surprised I am that this has happened.  Does it seem awful to say that I did not expect this?  Motherhood, up to this point, has been so HARD.  So much WORK.  Such a SLOG.  With the crying and the diapers and the 'use your manners' and the constant messes and the potty training, and, and, and...

No one told me I was working toward this honeymoon of sorts.  This "grace period" before they are surly teenagers where they are fairly independent, yet so very sweet and child-like and innocent.  Why did no one mention this?  Why is this a secret?  Does everyone get this mid-child rearing honeymoon?  Or am I just lucky?

Either way, I really like my kids. 

There, I said it.

Feed Me

Yesterday, I ate FRIED CHICKEN.

Have I mentioned I'm dieting?

Yeah.

But they served real-live authentic REE DRUMMOND fried chicken.

What choice did I have?

So today I vowed to make up for yesterday.

And I did.

My food was healthy.

It was light.

It was SPARSE.

And in addition to sparsely feeding myself, I decided I'd add to my workout routine.

By taking a brisk walk through the neighborhood.

Next to Paige.

On her bike.

.

Except, Paige thought we were RACING.

"Oh fun! I beating you, mommy!"

So instead of walking briskly,

I ran. Briskly.

Brisk running is sometimes called SPRINTING.

I'm so stupid.

Why did I think I could walk next to a bicycle?

Even a tiny one?

The good news is: a bike ride makes Paige very sleepy.

She took an excellent nap.

Which is why it PAINED me to wake her.

But, alas, I could not leave her big brother at school.

Except, when I arrived for carpool there was no one there..

Because school hours were extended.

Starting today they go 25 minutes longer each day.

To make up for all those snow days.

And I forgot. 

Which means Paige could have napped longer.

I'm so stupid.

I took Paige to get an ice cream.

To kill those 25 minutes.

She chose blue ice cream.

To match her eyes.

.

 

.



.

And, no, I did not eat any ice cream.

I'm not *that* stupid.

And yes, she *is* wearing a Darth Vader t-shirt.

She has no idea who he is.

Only that her brother loves him.

And that's enough for her.

If They Only Knew

Me and my Momma with our new BFF, The Pioneer Woman.

So, I've been looking forward to this day for weeks.  WEEKS.  Today I attended a fundraiser for my sorority wherein REE DRUMMOND was the guest speaker. 

Turns out The Pioneer Woman was a Pi Phi too! 

And before I go any further, I need to admit to you that I was NOT a very good sorority girl.  It was not the highlight of my college experience.  I did not make dozens of lifelong friends.  Don't get me wrong, none of this was the fault of Pi Beta Phi.  It just turns out that I am not really a Big Group of People kind of person.  I need my space.  I need alone time.  And I tend to have just a handful of really close friends.

So living in a house full of 80 hormonal girls was not really all that fun for me.  Honestly, it was downright stressful.  And I feel bad about that, I really do.  Like I *should* have figured out a way to be, I don't know, NOT me for just those 4 years so that I could say (as many do) that those were the Good 'ol Days.

Anyway.  I went to this sorority thing today. 

And since I hadn't seen many of these women in YEARS (since 1996!), I worried (as women ALWAYS do) about what to wear.  I settled on my Easter dress from last year.  It's very "ladies-who-lunch" looking, which was the exact look I was going for. 

After I dropped William off at school, I brought the baby back home and parked her in front of Dora the Explorer (go ahead and judge me) while I showered.  After I'd dried of, I realized I needed my extra-special mega-boosting-vavoom-push up bra for my Easter dress.  I remembered seeing it hanging in the laundry room so I dashed (completely nekkid) from my bedroom, through the kitchen, and into the (windowless and secluded) laundry room.  I grabbed the bra and headed back to the bedroom.

And on my way back through the kitchen my cell phone made that "ping" noise.  I had a new email.  And apparently I just HAD to check it RIGHTTHATVERYMINUTE.  So I stopped (still nekkid) and checked it.  Right in front of the window to the back yard.

You SO totally know where this is going, right?

Yeah.

So that is the exact moment that our dry cleaning delivery man decided to enter my back yard to drop off Dave's clean shirts.  And yes, he saw my completely naked body standing smack in front of the window.

But only for a second.

Because when I heard the latch on the gate I dropped, no, make that COLLAPSED into a tight ball on the floor (and out of sight of the window) where I hugged my knees and screamed a scream that I believe only dogs and bats could hear.  I swear I think I lost consciousness for a second.  I might've even seen a bright light.  I have never, ever, EVER been more embarrassed.

Then I crawled (NAKED, y'all!) back to the bedroom where Paige was still happily watching Dora, completely oblivious to the near death experience that had just occurred in the next room.

I did manage to stop blushing long enough to apply my make-up and get dressed for the event.  And as I sat there today, surrounded by five hundred and fifty of the most beautiful, classy well-dressed women in all of Oklahoma City, all I could think was:

"If these women only knew that I flashed my bare breasts to a stranger this morning."

See what I mean?  I am not meant for the sorority life.

ps. Do you think mom and I look alike?  Everyone said so today.
(which is crazy, because I never looked like her as a kid)

Heavy

I haven't felt much like writing the last couple of days.

Things felt heavy.  *I* felt heavy.  I didn't want to burden you with heavy.

Turns out, after an exploratory medical procedure on Monday, that my mother has a hiatal hernia.  Which, honestly, is great news.  It could have been something awful.  And I tend to worry.  Overly. 

Which is heavy.

And I didn't want to write about that heaviness until I made sure it was a false alarm.  Which it was. Whew.

And then there's this girl.

"Little".  Hardly.

The one who was a tiny newborn baby YESTERDAY.  Now, she looks at me and says "I will play dis game wiff you momma, because *I* am a Big Girl.".

And she is.

Which is heavy. Where did the time go?

And then there's the matter of my diet.  The one where I'm trying to eat Very Little and exercise Very Much in an effort to NOT look like a water buffalo in my swimsuit. 

Me, 10lbs ago, with my THEN tiny newborn baby.

I will be wearing my swimsuit in Hawaii in just FOUR short weeks.  Four weeks and 4 days to be exact.   And yes, I'm counting those four extra days.  I need them.

And when I talk about my weight, and the size of my bottom, well, THAT'S heavy.

Both figuratively and literally.