Meaningless Gifts

Thanks for all the nice comments about the new bedroom decor!  You guys rock.  Jamie suggested using books to raise up the right hand lamp to the level of the left one, and it worked beautifully!  You're so smart!

So I have a dilemma.  The room parent is organizing a fall party for one of my girls' classes.  The note home said "feel free to bring in 22 non-food trinkets for the class."

A+ for saying "non-food."  My kid does not need 22 pieces of candy a few days before Halloween.  I am being 100% truthful when I tell you that we still have candy from last Halloween (and last Christmas, and last Easter....) in the house.  Mean Mommy does not let the children eat much candy.  Seriously, look at all the candy.

I took this, consolidated it all down into the blue bowl, threw some away,
and then promptly found ANOTHER container of candy.

Here's my problem, though...  We already do Valentine's day, and there will probably be a "holiday" party.  So, assuming that everyone participates, that means my kids will be bringing home 66 trinkets or pieces of candy per year.  Each.

132 is a lot.

I have two kids.  So assuming I spend twenty bucks to get these cute witches broom pencils for the class, times 2 kids in school, times 3 occasions per year...  That's $120 a year for a bunch of clutter.  (Or ~200 trinkets and $180 when Jack is in school!)

Furthermore, these transactional gift giving occasions - where you're required to get something for each child, and each child is required to get something for your child - I think they detract from the true meaning and spirit of what gift giving is supposed to be about.  How can I expect my kids to understand gratitude and generosity and those really important values when they're getting a bag full of cheap plastic crap from China three times a year?  (At the beginning of the school year I divided up all the pencils we got last year into two bags and sent them to the girls' teachers for their classrooms - and I still had a ton left.)

On the other hand, though, I don't want my kid to be the one jerk who shows up without something.  I don't want them to be singled out for not participating. I don't want them to feel uncomfortable if all their friends bring them something, but they don't have anything to give in return.

So what do I do?  Do I hit "reply all" and say, "Really?  Let's skip the trinkets!" and link to the blog (that is a VERY bad idea, no one should read this blog).  Do I just suck it up and send the trinkets and find something cheaper to buy in bulk to send?  Please tell me that this madness will end sometime in the next couple of years!

Love and kisses,
Scrooge

Rookie Mistake

I feel like the worst mother ever tonight.

Today was busy.  I have a lot going on, and a lot on my mind.  Jack, weirdly, took his nap from 11:30 until 1:15 rather than his usual after lunch 1ish to 3ish.  I was also babysitting a friend's kids this morning, and working with another friend on some logistical stuff for this weekend, and getting some stuff planned for the afternoon when the girls were at daycamp, and and and...

I fed the girls lunch at about 12:35.  I put away a plate for Jack.  Erin took the girls to camp for me when she picked up her kids, so Dad and I waited around for Jack to wake up before we left for an afternoon of errands.


We went to the kitchen store, to a friend's house for a quick errand, past the house that just came on the market that I am dying to see (tomorrow), around another neighborhood that I wanted to point out to my dad because I just found it and it's cool, through the car wash, through the drive-in root beer place, to the liquor store, the grocery store, and the discount store where I got wrapping paper, before I dropped Dad off, swung by to pick up the girls, and finally got him home at 4:15 for snack.  Which he inhaled.  Of course.

And that sweet boy didn't make a peep the entire time.  The root beer might have helped (he was very brave in the car wash), but I think I feel worst that I fed my kid root beer for lunch than I feel about missing lunch altogether!

I almost woke him up to feed him when I found his lunch, before I realized that we ate dinner and he had lots of fruit and he's fine, he's fine, kids miss meals all the time.  Plenty of kids in this world don't have enough to eat, and he gets three meals and two snacks almost every day.  He's fine, he's fine.

But the guilt, the guilt.

It will be a lot easier when he can say, "Hey, Ma, how about some lunch?"

Full Moon

If my Facebook friends are any indication, there really IS something to the whole, "a full moon makes everybody lose their minds," thing.

Claire had a really hard day.  It started at the park (yes, MEAN Mommy took them to the park!  With our friends M&M!  And I stopped to get the neighbor kids, N&S, too, to give their pregnant mom a break.  Gosh, I'm mean...)  I wouldn't put her in the baby swing, because she's almost five, for God's sake, and she lost. her. mind.

She cried so long and so loud that a little old lady stopped and asked her if she was lost.  I was literally 6 feet away, pushing Jack on the swing and selectively ignoring her temper tantrum.

To that I said, "You're scaring strangers now, Claire, you really have to knock it off."

The compassion drips from me.  I'm like Mother Teresa.

And, for the annals of Great Moments in Parenting, this was the second time in as many days that a stranger had approached my kids because they looked lost and/or abandoned.  I was letting Jack cruise around the playground at the school yesterday when we dropped MG off for Daisies (I honestly don't know how they can stand me, I am so horrible and rotten... taking them to playgrounds, on the way to fun activities?  How do they put up with it??)  Anyway, he was like 12 feet away, it's not like there were any cars around, or like he moves fast.  I was staying close to the dog so she wouldn't jump on any of the kids coming out of the school, and this little boy asked Jack if he was lost.  It was kind of sweet, if you ignore the part where I'm apparently so neglectful that it's obvious to 3rd graders...

Biscuit* has been charged as an accessory.
He was also sent to bed early.

ANYWAY, so we came home, and they went outside to play with their little neighbor friends, and I made Koolaid for everyone and let them finish half a bag of pretzels between the four of them (mean, mean, meanie mean meanyhead).  Mary Grace told Claire that she didn't want to do something, it's still not clear what, and Claire bashed her upside the head with Biscuit the stuffed cat.  He's one of those really large Beanie Babies, not just stuffing, so he packs a wallop.

Mary Grace started screaming, then Claire started screaming, and then I sent Claire to her room, where she proceeded to scream and cry for two hours.  Basically she cried constantly from 2:30 until 5:30.

I managed to stay calm and ignore her and speak clearly and calmly to her, until she peed her pants, just moments before BJ walked in, and I just couldn't take it anymore.

I won't go into great detail, but I got very loud and nasty (mainly with BJ, who had the great misfortune to come home in a calm, rational, good mood and therefore immediately became the enemy).  I summarily cleaned her up, made her a peanut butter sandwich, and sent her to bed without a hug or a kiss at 6 pm.

Oh, stop it.  A few minutes later when I had calmed down I went upstairs and we talked about why her behavior was unacceptable, and how when she behaves like that (especially when I'm trying my best to make a nice day for her and she's being an ungrateful little.....) it hurts my feelings and makes me angry, and blah blah blah and I read her a book and held her until she fell asleep at 6:30 (see?  She really did need a nap).

Does the full moon affect you or your kids?  Did you have a bad day today too?  Commiserate in the comments.



* Our Biscuit is more gray than orange, after having been literally dragged all over for the last couple of years.  He also has a scar on his back where I had to stitch him up after Penny got a hold of him about 6 months ago.  In other words, we'd better not lose that little bastard because he's identifiable, and I wouldn't be able to pass off some new Biscuit that I bought on Ebay as the real Biscuit in a million years.

S is for Sunrise

You may have noticed that I was a wee bit on the grumpy side today.

It all started last night.  Jack took three incredibly long naps yesterday.  He must be getting ready to do calculus or something really monumental, because he slept more than he was awake.

Until 11 pm, when he woke ALL the way up.  For three hours.

Yes, I was up with my darling child and his brand new fun-to-grind front teeth until 2 am.

I finally crawled to bed and fell asleep, then Mary Grace came down.  It felt like it was immediately after I fell asleep.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"What does the clock say?"

"S."

"Go back to bed."

I'm pretty sure S is for "5."  Or possibly "Sunrise."  Or "holyS*** it's early!"

Regardless, no one should wake up at S.

I tried, today.  I really did.  After we got MG on the bus, Claire, Jack and I got dressed and we went to the bank, then to McDonald's for breakfast (Claire wanted cinnamon rolls).  On the way out, as we were crossing the parking lot, this woman came BARRELING into the parking lot, she must have been doing 30. I had to push Claire back out of the way.  "SLOW DOWN" I yelled.

Then as I was backing out, some other idiot in a truck came screaming into the parking lot and didn't bother to stop, even though I was 2/3 of the way out of my spot before he turned in.  He got the Hoosier Salute and a little bit of reality-TV style arm action.

We were late for Claire's preschool open house because somehow I'd put it on the calendar for 9 - 10:30 instead of 9 - 10.  It's ok, we know the drill from last year.  But it wasn't the best way to start the year.  I promise I'll do better next week, Mrs. P and Mrs. D!

We made it through the grocery store with no fussing, which is a monumental accomplishment.  A nice lady even let us go ahead of her when a new line opened up.  We managed to get the frozen stuff put away and get to the school on time to get MG.

Home.  Lunch.  And then, somehow, it all fell apart.

I will spare you the gory details, but I ended up yelling at some poor customer service rep from Bank of America because they bought our mortgage from Huntington and they don't have a branch here, so I can't talk to real people, and it's just SO unfair and stupid, and I don't WANT to deal with them because when I get a late fee which was totally not my fault and I took care of it last month, immediately after they called me and said I'd mistakenly paid the wrong amount, but there's no real person to go talk to unless I go to flippin' Oklahoma or something, and just take the $45 off of my bill, lady, before I go postal, all right?

The kids were screaming in the background, I was crying.  It was not pretty.

She was like, "Step away from the knife drawer, woman.  I'll take it off."

Being insane saved me $45 today, so there's that.

Then Monica saw my angsty blog post and she was like, "Bring all the little children unto meeee!" and she even offered to keep them while I went and did something, but I had already been shopping so I couldn't think of anything to do, so I stayed and we laughed and it was all ok again.

Jack fell asleep on the way home, and I dropped the kids off at Grandpa's so I could sneak in a little nap before dinner.  BJ handled almost all of bedtime.  I'm about to go get some ice cream.  It's going to be ok.

Mama said there'd be days like this.  *sigh*

Looking forward to a long weekend, here.  How 'bout you?

Tooth Fairies

Mary Grace just lost another tooth, and it reminded me of something I've been meaning to tell you all.

We give her a dollar coin every time she loses a tooth, but some kids get $20s (I'm guessing these are the parents who stop at the ATM on the way home from work!) and others get toys.  She noticed the disparity, and do you know what I told her?  I said that every family has their own Tooth Fairy - just like every neighborhood has their own mail carrier - and some Tooth Fairies are more liberal than others. 

I might have also mumbled something about how those other kids may or may not be able to go to college after their parents have spent all their money buying baby teeth...  but she didn't hear that part.  Heh heh!

So if you have a stingy Tooth Fairy like we do, feel free to explain it thusly when your kids notice.

World Gone Mad

I saw the midwife about my migraines a few weeks ago, and she recommended that I increase my Zoloft from 25 to 50 mg, because sometimes Zoloft can prevent migraines.  It didn't, but I have kept taking 50 mg because sometimes Zoloft takes a long time to work, and she didn't give me any time frame on when to expect things to get better.  She also didn't change my prescription, so when I tried to refill it last week (much earlier than the one-month-supply allowed by insurance should have run out) I got a voicemail from the pharmacy saying, "We're trying to contact your insurance company, your refill has been delayed, we'll call you when it's ready,").  Consequently, I didn't have my medicine from last Friday till Monday of this week.

Just long enough to screw me up.

It's not a good time, historically speaking, to be off my meds.  It feels like the world is on fire, and the crushing guilt of having brought three children into a world that is so profoundly screwed up is weighing on me.  I think it's worse now that I have a draftable child.  Jack was about 2 days old when I realized that he could grow up, go to war, and get killed.  I was alone in the hospital at the time, and it hit me like a Mack truck. My head is a horrible place to have to live sometimes.  (Yay, Zoloft.)

I think to myself, "What are the odds that I can keep three kids healthy and safe until they're grown?  Statistically it's inevitable that one of them will get really sick, or really hurt, or worse, before I die.  How will I cope with that?"  The only thing keeping me sane is that my brother, sister, and I have managed so far without serious illness or injury.  If my parents did it, maybe we can too,

I think to myself, "How on earth are they ever going to have a good life, with the national debt, the world running out of oil and clean water, corrupt and stupid politicians running everything, the recession, jobs going (gone) overseas, the environment, global warming..."  I can go down that rabbit hole for hours, mentally listing everything that's wrong with the world.  The only thing that keeps me sane is thinking that the world was pretty screwed up in the 1970s, too.  My parents despaired over the world they'd brought us into (I know, I've asked) with Vietnam and the energy crisis and everything that happened in that decade, and we're ok.  And my grandparents, coming out of World War II, (or BJ's coming out of the Great Depression) probably worried about the world they'd brought their kids into, too, and they're ok.  So maybe my kids will be ok, too.

And then there are more local concerns...  My job.  Oy.  Don't even get me started.  And how long do I really think I can keep this up, with the three small kids and the working and the trying to keep the house from looking like a bomb went off?  How long can I sustain this level of activity before I crash, before I just pull the covers over my head and refuse to get out of bed for a week?  But I can't - I don't have that choice - I have to keep going for them.  For BJ.  There are too many people counting on me to be sane and functioning and somewhat cheerful, now.  I don't have the luxury of being able to check out anymore.  I feel like a hamster on a wheel, sometimes.  I run all day, yet I'm standing still.  The black cloud that follows me is that I'm letting all of them down - BJ, the kids, my family of origin, my friends, you readers.  The evil voice in the back of my mind constantly chants, "You're ruining everything.  You've let them down.  You're not good enough.  You never deserved any of this, and now you've ruined it, just like everyone knew you would, just like you knew you would.  You're a failure at this, at everything."

But then the rational part of me takes over, and says, "Everyone's fine.  You're fine.  The house isn't that bad.  The job stuff will work out.  You can't do anything about the national debt or the environment, so you might as well not worry about it until it's time to vote.  Just keep swimming, it'll be ok.  You'll feel better in a few days."  And so I put my head down, and I keep swimming, because I don't have any other choice.  I hold my kids, and I hope that they'll have a part in fixing all the things I worry about, somehow.  And when they're asleep, I whisper, "I'm sorry, for everything."

What Would You Do?

We went up to Grammaland to celebrate Uncle Chuck's birthday, and there was an incident.

I was sitting on a picnic bench talking to the grownups, and I heard Claire crying.  There were at least 50 kids there, so it was kind of awesome - my maternal ears are tuned into my kids so carefully that I heard her over the din and located her.  She was at the upper left of this huge thing:

I flew over the recycled tires that make up the "mulch" under the structure, shouting, "That's Claire," over my shoulder.  I made it up the stairs and had my arms around her within 15 seconds.

Mary Grace told me that "the big kid in the blue shirt" had pushed her, then pushed Claire, then choked a little boy whose mother also has magic ears and was already there.  She looked, and he had angry looking red marks on his collarbone.  He was clearly terrified.  I think he was about four years old.

The perp, who was clearly much older and bigger, I'm guessing 9 or 10 and 85 to 95 pounds, was up the structure further, being scolded by his own mother.  A crowd of wide-eyed kids had gathered to see what happened.

"I'm sorry," explained the mother.  "He's autistic.  He doesn't know any better.  He really tries, but he just doesn't know any better."  She made her son apologize to all the kids.  He tried to hug the little boy he'd choked, but the little boy wanted none of that.  (I watched, and the littler boy's mom tried for 30 minutes to calm him down before giving up and taking him home.  He was truly hurt and scared).  The perp's mom took him off the play structure and to the car, saying, "You've lost your privilege.  You can't hurt children at the park." 

She'd been through this before.

I felt compassion for the mom.  I also felt terrified for my kids.  He was MUCH larger than they are, and they were at the top of a huge flight of stairs, and he could easily have really hurt them. 

I went to my car to get my kids, and the kid who got choked, a Kleenex.  On the way I noticed that the family of the boy with autism was still sitting in their car.  I knocked on the window.  "I used to be a special ed teacher," I explained.  "I just want you to know, I understand, and I don't have any hard feelings.  I hope it gets easier for all of you."

And I could end the story there and sound like the greatest mom on the planet, showing compassion to the poor kid's mom, showing that I understand how hard it is for the boy...  I could leave the next part out, because I don't know, honestly, if it's the right thing to do.  But this is the part I really want to talk about, so brace yourselves.

On the way home, the kids and I talked about what had happened, and I said, "What if that kid had choked you or Claire?  What would you have done?"  They said they would have run, and I said, "But if his hands are on your neck, you won't be able to get away, will you?  Listen.  If a kid ever hurts you, I want you to try to get away and to a grown up.  I want you to call for help.  But if you can't do those things, I want you to bite him or poke him in the eye."

Oh yes, I did.

Nice girls get hurt.  I'm sorry, but it's true and I have proof.  Nice girls get forced to do things that they're not ready to do, particularly when they get a little bit older than my kids are now.  I am not interested in raising nice girls.  I'm raising kids who know how to take care of themselves, and who aren't afraid to stand up for themselves (or their sister).  If another kid starts it, I want my kids to finish it.

We went through a couple situations, "If a kid takes a toy from you, can you hurt him?"  "YEAH!" they both said (they thought it was funny that Mom was telling them to hurt people).  "NO!"  I corrected, "ONLY if he hurts you."  "If a kid hurts your feelings, can you bite him?"  "YEAH!" they both said.  "NO!  ONLY if he hurts you."  "If a kid chokes Claire, Mary Grace, can you bite him?"  "YEAH!" she said.  "That's right, but you'd better also scream for help."  This went on for a while, until I ran out of examples and they got bored.

We're going to have this conversation again, and BJ and I are going to look for a self-defense or martial arts class to get the kids into.

Should I teach my kids to fight to protect themselves?  I told BJ on the phone, "If some other kid starts it, I want our kids to end it.  And I don't care if they get suspended from school for fighting - if they tell me that it was self-defense, I will back them up." 

What would you do?

Kids and Death

I am totally screwing up the conversation with Mary Grace about death. 

It started when her classmate's mom died.  The conversation has paused, since then, but it hasn't really stopped.  It probably never will - I know my parents and I still talk about death (it's probably still hard for my parents).  Mary Grace is aware of death, now.  For example, when characters in her shows say the words "die" and "dying" (and it's kind of astonishing how often they do in children's shows!) they just bounced off of her blissfully oblivious little head before, but she hears them now.  She hears those words on the news.  She notices when we talk about people in our lives who have died (my aunt's father-in-law died, and we will attend his wake this weekend in Grammaland, and I was making arrangements for someone to watch the kids, because they didn't know him well enough to go, and she heard me on the phone).  She asks me questions.

I know this is normal stuff for a child her age, but it's still so hard.

I don't want to lie to her, but I don't want to scare her. 

So far, I've told her the following, in small bits and pieces:

About the process:  You know how your toys have batteries?  Well, people kind of have batteries too.  And when you get really old, or sometimes if you get really hurt or really sick, those batteries can stop working.  And just like your toys don't do anything, anymore, after their batteries run out, people don't move or talk or eat or do anything anymore after they've died.


To give perspective:  It's not the sort of sick that you and Claire get when you have a pukey flu or when you have a cold - in order to die you have to be really, really sick or really, really hurt.  That's why Mommy and Daddy tell you to stay out of the street, by the way, a car hitting someone can hurt them really, really badly.


To teach empathy:  Generally people are very old when they die, but sometimes people die before they get very old, like Marly's mom.  That's why it's important to love each other and take care of each other every day.  Because sometimes people die when no one expects them to, and that's really hard.


To comfort:  Mommy and Daddy probably won't die until we're very very old.  My mom and dad are still alive, and so are Daddy's mom and dad, right?  Mommy and Daddy are grown ups.  And chances are that you will be much older and more grown up than Mommy is before you have to worry about Mommy or Daddy dying.  (And now I have to watch myself, saying things like "I'm so old!" when I realize that it's has been 17 years since I was 17 years old.  Hearing me say that could completely freak her out, now.)



To reassure:  You probably won't die until you're very old, either.

To make her feel like she has some power and control:  Part of the reason that Mommy and Daddy have been working very hard at being healthier (weight loss is another frequent topic in this house - they've watched their parents lose over 100 pounds in half a year, and they've noticed) is so that we can keep our bodies healthy to live even longer.  And we take good care of you and Claire, too - we take you to the doctor and we feed you fruits and vegetables so that you can be healthy and strong and live a very long time.  What are some things that you think you could to do keep yourself healthy, and to keep yourself safe?  (Eat vegetables, stay out of the street, etc.)

And, because she goes to a Christian preschool:  A lot of people think you get to go to Heaven and be with God when you die.  That is a nice thing to think, isn't it?  Thankfully, she hasn't asked me (yet) if I believe that.  I did say, Do you remember what it was like before you were born?  Me neither.  But I think that's probably what it's like for people after they die.  My own religious beliefs could fill an entire blog, so I don't want to go into it other than to say that I can't really tell her for sure "you go to heaven" without feeling like a big hypocrite.  I don't honestly know that the whole heaven thing is true, and neither does anyone else.  The best I can do without feeling like a fraud is "no one knows what happens when we die, but here are some things that some people have guessed." 


Times like these, it would be a lot easier to be a religious person.

And, because I do believe this:  Death doesn't stop love.  Just because someone dies, that doesn't mean that we stop loving them, or that they stop loving us.  (I do believe in The Princess Bride!  I'm not sure if that's awesome or sad.)

Now remember, I'm giving this to her in small bites, over the course of several months, but I still feel like I'm about 6 grade levels ahead of her with all this.

I need help.  Anyone out there have any suggestions?

(I borrowed the image from someone else's blog, but they probably don't own the IP, either, so I guess it's ok.  I'm very unsure of how all that works.  I did check Wikimedia Commons, and I tried to use IMDB.com's copy of the above photo, but it didn't work.)

Clutter Threshold Status - Breached

(I had to look up whether it was "breached" or "breeched.")

Everywhere I look in my house, there is clutter.  There is not a single flat surface anywhere in this house that doesn't have something on it.  More likely than "something" is "a lot of somethings" and even occasionally "enough crap that the table/counter/dresser is bowing under the weight."

I could never be one of those people with hoarding disorder.  When the crap builds up to a certain level, I snap.  I start throwing things into the trash and the Goodwill pile with reckless abandon.  Once we get to that point, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

I've already cleaned the kitchen today, and I cleaned out the front hall closet.  I'm about to attack the toyroom. 

While BJ was home for lunch he helpfully put Mary Grace's Lego robot up....  on the mantle.  And I snapped.  "Are you kidding me?  Really?" 

I mean, it's a nice robot and all, but it certainly isn't something that needs to be displayed on the mantle like a trophy. 

If you're reading this and you're BJ, I refer you to yesterday's post, posted this morning, and the second bullet point specifically.

It's just not fair - there are three of them (five, if you count the pets, which in this case you should) and one of me, and they can mess things up a LOT faster than I can clean. 

So, if you're in the mood to clean and organize, come on over.  Bring your shovel.  And if I haven't come out within 24 hours, that probably means there was an avalanche.  Send rescue.  Chances are that I'm buried under a pile of Lego.

So BJ fixed my computer in 24 hours and I'm drunk

Those things don't actually have anything to do with each other, they're just both what's going on right now.  I went to a funeral today.  I know, right?  So I got some wine.  But unless I'm going to introduce the kids into the joy of vino WAY too early, I'm the only drinker in this house...

...and I can't let it go to waste, right?  It's a $10 bottle of ....  Hot Pot?  No.  Big Dog?  No...  Mod Squad?  Shit.  I'd better get up and check the name.  And while I'm there, I should probably get more....

........

HOB NOB Pinot Noir, on sale at Marsh for $9.99.  WOO HOO!  Little did I know when I bought and then drank the wine that BJ had a meeting tonight, which means that I am in charge of keeping two preschoolers breathing, one of whom is potty training, and I am not in any condition to drive anyone to the hospital if they choke, or give anyone the Heimlich maneuver (although, I suppose I can't... See More be too far gone if I can still spell "Heimlich maneuver" correctly, and with correct capitalization, without spell check), or be a responsible adult in any capacity.

I'm not going to let anyone eat or get off of the couch until he gets home in 90 minutes. I think that's the only answer. I put on Alvin and the Chipmunks, so maybe they won't notice their confinement.

No one call CPS, ok? 

Ok, I just totally copied that from my Facebook status, but it would have been a LOT of work to type out, so hush.

Seymore who?


I have a GREAT rant about C-sections and the Today show percolating in the "saved but unpublished" file, but Jenny ... shit, links are hard.  JENNY started chatting me and being hilarious in the middle of my writing it last night which made it totally hard to finish.  But it's coming, because I am SO PISSED at Meredith Viera about...  Something.  Something involving surgery.  I need more wine.


Right.


So I just realized that we're potty training Claire and she hasn't gone since before dinner, so I said, "Claire, do you need to go potty?" and she said, "Yep!" so I took her.  And after she did what was needed, I picked her up to give her a kiss and tell her what a big girl she is, and she smelled my wine breath and I SWEAR TO GOD THIS IS TRUE, she said, "You're just like Gramma!" at which point I laughed so hard I almost peed myself, which is not at all the kind of example I'm trying to set here, and put her down before I dropped her funny little ass.


Gramma Denna, for those of you who don't know her, likes her wine.  HAHHAhahhaha...


N.E. Way.  I have nothing to report other than that there's a good rant coming, but I'm too mellow right now to write the ending, which is the most important part, so you're going to have to wait.  It occurs to me that the mark of a good writer (pay no attention to the fact that I misspelled "writer" four times) is that they save stuff to edit and publish later.  I'm not just a trigger happy Jack hitting publish when I get to 1000 words.


Most of the time...

I need a nap. 

Is it bedtime yet?

Help! (Valentine's Day)

Maybe it's this stupid cold, that persists in moving back and forth between my sinuses and my lungs, but I have no ideas.

The other "room mom" and I are in charge of the kids' Valentine's day party at pre-school.  We can delegate, assuming that the other parents stop screaming and running in the other direction when they see us coming.  We are supposed to come up with a (nut free) snack, a craft, and a game or activity.

I have no ideas.  Zip.  Zilch.

Well, that's not entirely true - I have ideas, but they're all inappropriate.  I don't know WHY my mind went immediately to Spin the Bottle when they said "game," it just did.  I'm so wrong.  Don't judge me.

(In my defense, in The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Birthday they play Spin the Bottle at Sister Bear's sixth birthday party.  That's a parenting decision that makes me say, "WTF?" every time we read it.  But I digress...)

I'm considering telling my co-room-mom that I'll do the snack (and I'll just get some pretty cupcakes at the store because I'm lazy and also I suck at cake decorating) if she'll do the other two, but I don't want to be a jerk about it.

So, I thought I'd appeal to my most creative readers.  Any great Valentine's day ideas for preschoolers of the snack, game, or craft variety?

Fun with Amazon Associates

So, remember yesterday's post, where I linked to a whole bunch of books that I'm reading (or am going to when I get my cabinets cleaned out)? In my little "FTC disclaimer" at the bottom I was going to put something snarky about "the 37 cents I've earned via Amazon Associates," so I clicked over to it to check my balance, and it turns out that because of YOUR purchases, I've made 49 bucks!

(Thanks, beloved readers reader!!)

Being entirely new to all this, I got fascinated and started clicking around on the reports. It turns out that no matter what you buy, as long as your trip through Amazon originates through Pretty Babies, I get a cut. I thought it was only if you bought the specific item I'd linked to.

So I went through the list of what people have bought. Someone bought a Roomba. Several of you bought a Res-Q-Me (which is weird, because I never even published the post I was going to write about them). The thing that cracked me up the most, though, was someone bought a case of condoms!

That's right!! Reading about the pretty babies inspired someone to buy a case of Trojans. I think I'd be a little bit insulted, if it weren't so funny. I wish I could see which post they clicked through on. Which bad day was it? There are so many to choose from (mainly because I bitch a lot, the pretty babies are actually pretty good kids).

From now on, these are the official condom of Pretty Babies: Trojan Ultra Thin Latex Condoms, Lubricated, 36-Count Boxes (Pack of 2)

(Don't worry, I can't see who bought what - only that it was bought at all. :) )

Partly Cranky with a Chance of Narg

I keep losing track of what day it is. That's getting annoying.

It is Wednesday. I know that because I looked at the calendar. Today I went to the office with the kids (always an adventure) to pay BJ's quarterly taxes (a month late - whoops! It would be nice if quarterly taxes were due, you know, quarterly) and catch a few things up. I'm going to take them to the drop off program at the church tomorrow so I can spend a couple more hours there. Lucky me!

Then we went shopping. I would've found a bunch of great stuff if I were a 300 pound black woman. I need to have a very serious talk with the people who make clothing for women. It'll go something like this:

Not everyone who weighs more than 150 pounds can pull off leopard print. In fact, I think it would be good for all of us if you stepped away from the prints altogether. And while you're at it, can we please refrain from anything involving stripes? And polka dots? Seriously - I found a red top with two inch white polka dots that would look extremely cute - on Minnie Mouse! Can't we make cute, conservative clothes for those of us who weren't blessed with a love of exercise or a metabolism, and happen to be under 60 years old? Because I'll tell you what, if you don't start making cute clothes for women my age who look like me, then we're all going to start walking around naked, and none of us want that. I'm putting you on notice. If next summer's clothes don't meet my very simple requirements, I'm going to show up at your headquarters wearing nothing but a smile. Capiche?

Shopping makes me want to eat. Fortunately it's too hot and humid to even think about baking anything, or I'd be 12 cookies closer to the next size up.

I hate it when I get in this mood. I do NOT want to pass this on to my kids. I did find a few cute things for MG, which is good, because she's outgrown all of her summer clothes. The kid is solidly into 5s, approaching 6s. She's so tall.

That's the problem - I'm not overweight, I'm undertall.

A lot of the BlogHer girls are writing confessional posts about all their foibles so that we won't be surprised when we meet them and they aren't practically perfect in every way. I'm not planning on telling anyone that I snore like a lumberjack, or that I sweat like my dad, or that I can't hold my liquor until it's too late. I don't want them to find another roommate and make me sleep in the lobby fountain (although that would be convenient, because I wouldn't have to take the time to shower in the morning if I slept in a fountain... This idea has possibilities). The more I think about it, the more it feels like the Sheraton is going to turn into a college dorm in a week (a week! GAH!).

I did not love the dorm. I never really fit in with the other 7 Amys on my floor. Maybe they hated me for snoring. I don't know, but I'm getting that nervous dread thing... I'm about ready to sell my ticket to the highest bidder and stay home with my head under the pillow, sobbing.

It's because I went shopping. To hell with TJ Maxx. I am not going to let them ruin my fun. I can't possibly be the only person attending BlogHer who is a size 18.

There, that's my confession. I'm a size 18. Sometimes a 20. Sometimes a 16, but only because women's clothes sizes are so stupid.

I went to a PiYo class with Casey the other night and before the class I was complaining (to Casey) about a Facebook discussion I'd gotten into about breastfeeding. I told her I was going to write a breastfeeding book for people who aren't militant. Some random woman in front of me said something like, "They say that breastfeeding helps you lose your baby weight." "Oh REALLY?" I said, holding my arms out wide so she could see the exact size of my body, "Because I nursed my oldest for 28 months, two kids simultaneously for 9 months, and my youngest for a total of 22 months. I must have been doing it wrong!" She didn't say anything else.

I should have knocked her over when she was doing her sun salutations. I could've taken her. And knocking someone over might make me feel better.

I need a drink.

C'mon Barbie Let's Go Potty (a somewhat true story)

My maternal ancestors came to the United States on the Mayflower (seriously - me and most other people, actually... It's not that uncommon). In the late 1700s the patriarch, who was probably named Jedediah or Ezekiel or something (actual names from my geneology - Freelove and Prentice Eagles, but I digress), decided to load up a Conestoga wagon and head west to seek his fortune.

And now I know why Jedediah and clan didn't get farther than Iowa - he had kids.

We loaded up the family truckster on Monday and drove from northern Indiana to Huntsville. A trip that should have taken approximately 7 hours.

Ha. Hahahahaha.

In our modern day Conestoga wagon we had the following gear:

• Two laptops
• Two smartphones
• Two Amazon Kindles (we don't share well)
• One GPS (thanks to Pierre!)
• One in-ceiling DVD player
• Three iPods (his, mine, and kids!)
• One iPod speaker
• One digital camera
  
• Assorted cables, chargers, and other gear

I am not kidding or being at all facetious when I tell you that we had more computing power on board our Conestoga minivan than they have on the Space Shuttle.

We hadn't been in the car ten minutes, we weren't even out of our own town, when the kids got bored. Let me tell you something, though, something important. You have not lived until you've heard a 3 year old sing along with music on headphones. Oh my God it was funny. I put Barbie Girl on her iPod because she loves Barbies, but she doesn't know the lyrics. We laughed ourselves silly listening to her sing, "C'mon Barbie, let's go potty!" (it's supposed to be party).

One of the most awesome features of my van is the in-ceiling DVD thing. I resisted, at first, but I am so glad we have a DVD player. They may not see anything when we travel, but as I recently read in Reader's Digest, the interstate highway system has ensured that you can drive from coast to coast in this country without seeing anything. Personally, I think kids looking out windows is highly overrated. So, we had the kids watching their movies in the back, and we were listening to music or talk radio in the front, and everyone was happy...

Until we got to Kentucky.

Back to Jedediah, though, what in the hell did he do for weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks on the trip between Massachusettes and Iowa? What did his kids do? They did not have on-board DVDs or GPS or iPods. I tell you, we never would've made it. I think that we'd find, if we studied it, that most children walked behind the wagon to the west. If it had been me and my kids? They would've walked WAAAAAAY behind the wagon. Like, in Massachusettes. Can you imagine how many times you'd hear "Are we there yet?" if you were on the Oregon Trail? Losing a kid to a bear here and there is the price that parents paid to not have to listen to them bitch for 1000 miles. "I'm thirsty. I'm hot. I want a snack. Are we there yet? She's touching me. She's touching meeeee. That's mine! Are we there yet?" Yeah, suddenly bears are looking like my best friends.

Thank God for technology.

In Kentucky, they were doing construction on a bridge, and there was an accident on top of that, so the traffic was backed up for miles and miles and miles. It added over two hours to our trip. I finally got bored with sitting on the freeway, so we turned around and tried to take a state highway. That was backed up, too, with all the other people who had given up on the freeway. Eventually I got tired of sitting in that, too, so we went seriously off the map.

The thing about Indiana is that everything is pretty much on a big grid. If you go west you'll eventually find another highway that's going south.

You know what? You can't count on that logic in the mountains.

At least Jedediah never got stuck in wagon gridlock. He may have broken an axle or a wheel here and there, and he didn't have an iPod, but by golly, if he wanted to go south, he went south, and if there was something in his way, he could just go around it.

We wound around a mountain, and eventually ended up on the same highway we'd been on before, but about 5 miles south of where we'd been. Things were moving by that point, so we gassed up, got some snacks, and got back on the freeway. I have never been so glad to see a four lane, 70 mph freeway in my life.

We kept the kids happy by promising them that they could swim when we arrived at the hotel. Because of the extra time, I was really worried that the pool at the hotel would be closed by the time we arrived. Fortunately, we made it in time and were able to take a quick dip before bed. Do you think that Jedediah promised the kids a dip in the Mississippi if they made it by nightfall? Maybe he didn't know the names of the rivers beyond there, because he didn't get much farther...

"Daaaad! I'm not going to South Dakota! There's no swimmin'!"

"All right, fine, we'll stay here in Cedar Rapids! At least there's a river..."

Today we went to the NASA museum, where they host Space Camp. The kids enjoyed that, but it was a lot of walking around outside in 90 degree heat. We spent the morning looking at "Daddy's rockets," then we went to a drive-thru "safari" this afternoon.

We learned that Claire does not like emus.

They tell you it's ok to let the kids out of the car seats (you're only going 2 mph!), and that it's ok to let your windows down about 8 inches. What they don't tell you is that all the animals have been fed from car windows so many times in their lives, that if they hear you roll down a window, they'll come right up and help themselves. Claire was sitting in the front passenger seat when a really large emu came up to meet her. I've never seen her move so fast. "Big scare-y bird! I don't like it, Mommy! Bird scared me!"

I'm a bad Mommy - I was taking pictures while she was scrambling to get away from the emu.

I think Jedediah would've done the same thing, if he'd had a digital camera.

Hey, at least it wasn't a bear.

Found Photos

While doing a project for BJ at work, I found a bunch of old photos on my computer that I'd totally forgotten about.

At home with good friends:

Who is this little pixie?

Was she really this little? I hardly remember. I honestly looked at these pictures of my own child and thought, "Who is that?"

How can such a terrible mother make such pretty babies? These were taking in December of 2006, when I was pregnant with Claire. I guess we'll call it a bad case of Placenta Head.

Tone of Voice

Mary Grace is about |-| this close to being kept home today because of her bad attitude. She's whining and bitching and crying and being an absolute snot to her sister. She had a third degree hissy fit over which outfit she was going to wear (she wanted to wear winter dresses, I said no because she'd roast).

We're headed to an outdoor art festival, then to Brandon's house this evening. It would be a serious punishment if I said, "Nope, sorry, you blew it," and kept her here. She's been warned. Twice.

But then I listen to Mary Grace speak to Claire, and I realize that she uses the same angry tone of voice when she speaks to Claire that I often use when I speak to Mary Grace.

I really need to work on this. I need to work on the yelling. I need to work on the anger. But OH! it's hard. They don't effing listen to me half the time. Claire will be doing something, and I'll say, "Stop," and she'll just look right at me and keep doing it. They Never. Stop. Talking. Ever. The constant babbling and chatter and noise just grates on my nerves, and is starting to drive me insane. Mary Grace is in a big Baby Talking phase, and she calls me "Mama" (which drives me INSANE, and she knows it) and baby talks. Short of washing her mouth out with soap when she baby talks, what do we do?

And how do I stop yelling? Because maybe if I stop, Mary Grace will, too.

Backhanded Gifts

A friend of mine, let's call her Fiona, and I were chatting yesterday. She's a first-time mother of a 12 week old. For Mother's Day her husband, we'll call him Shrek, gave her a weekend away in a nearby state (we're in the midwest, so it would be about a 4 hour drive from home).

Shrek's motivation? "I need to have you all to myself."

Poor Fiona said, "Whenever I think of leaving her for two nights, I feel like I'm going to vomit."

Shrek, along with other folks inside this situation, is making Fiona feel crazy for not wanting to leave her 12 week old baby for two nights. Other pertinent information - Fiona is breastfeeding, and Fiona works nearly full time and has to be away from her baby all week. She and Shrek can't afford for her to stay home, even though she wants to.

My reaction to all of the above was unprintable, because this is a family blog, but let's just say that there's also a finger to express the feelings I have toward Shrek right now.

Oh, how I remember those early days of motherhood. It is such a huge adjustment. And you don't want to be crazy. You don't want to be, already at 12 weeks in, that overprotective hovering mom. It's so easy to make a first-time mom question her choices, to make her feel like if she doesn't leave her baby with loving grandparents for two nights she's somehow doomed to be that "helicopter mom" at the playground who practically drowns her kid in Purell and makes him wear a helmet to go down the slide.

New moms are so vulnerable. They are under intense internal and external pressure to do everything right, even though they're doing something that they've never done before (raising a kid) and that they could never have imagined accurately pre-kids. It starts at birth - did you have a "natural" birth without drugs, an epidural, a c-section? Did you really need that c-section or are you "too posh to push"?

Hell, it starts before birth - are you eating 100% organic ice cream from happy cows raised in Vermont when you crave ice cream, or are you getting the cheap store brand? Vlassic pickles? Why not? Don't you want to give your baby the best???

Think I'm kidding? Read the diet section of the (extremely evil) book "What to Expect When You're Expecting." I'd quote it, but I burned my copy in effigy. It said something like, "You only get 9 short months to give your baby the best nutrition possible! So you must agonize over every bite of food that goes into your mouth. Are you SURE that what you're eating is the best?" Screw them, I just wanted watermelon, guacamole, and ice cream... Mary Grace had so much Mexican food in utero that I was concerned she'd be born saying, "Hola Mama! Como est ca?" or "S-O-C-K-S." Mmmmm... fajitas!

It never ends. My siblings and I are extremely close, and yet my brother has questioned some of my parenting choices. I gave my kids a bit of Diet Pepsi once when we were at my mom's (my sister and I were going to run to the store to get the organic, sugar free, juice made from apples hand picked by Oompa Loompas - we were on our way out the door, actually, but the kids were thirsty and Diet Pepsi was what was available. I figured a couple ounces wasn't likely to kill them or give them cancer). He asked me, if I recall correctly, if I was crazy. I told him that when he had kids he was free to let them drink Diet Pepsi, or not, as he saw fit.

We talked about it later (I wasn't mad, I've been doing this for 4-1/2 years if you include my pregnancy with MG, I'm used to it), and he said he was just surprised. I said, "It's not like I give them Diet Pepsi every day, or even every week, but they have pop occasionally for a treat." Moderation in all things, right? He assured me that he wasn't trying to be critical at the time, he was just genuinely surprised.

Now it's on the record, I give my kids diet soda sometimes. They also watch more than an hour of TV a day. And they eat fast food, too. And I don't always get the apples, sometimes I get them fries. BAD MOMMY!

Anyway, the trouble with being a first time mom is that you don't have any data to support your decisions. If I give Claire Diet Pepsi, and someone looks at me askance, I can point to Mary Grace and say, "Hey, I haven't killed her, yet, I must be doing something right!" But when you only have one, and your one is so little, and you're still questioning yourself at every turn, you are so vulnerable to criticism... It's really cruel of anyone, even the baby's father, especially the baby's father, to make the new mother feel nuts for anything - - unless she truly is nuts, like I was, and then you need to do whatever it takes to get her help. Of course, that didn't happen until MG was older...

Here is my point - if you're a new mommy and someone is trying to make you do something that you don't want to do, particularly if that thing causes a visceral reaction, as Fiona's thinking of leaving made her want to vomit:

Don't do it!

Have the self-confidence to put your foot down. You love your baby. You are doing what you feel is best. You are the only person who is going to have to live with the choices you make as a mother, so make sure that you're making you're own choices - not the choices dictated to you by others. Who wants to live with somebody else's choices?

You can't please everyone. If you breastfeed, someone is going to give you a dirty look for doing it in public. If you don't nurse in public, and instead you pump, the La Leche League is going to get all up in your grill about nipple confusion, if you feed formula, instead, all the boob nazis are going to come at you - even if you have the best of reasons for choosing formula (I've had friends who have been on life-saving medication and have had to feed formula because it was either take the medicine that would make the baby sick if she nursed while taking it, or die, and they still get given the business about nursing, and they still feel guilty deep down inside - that's just sick). Your every choice will be questioned and scrutinized, and someone will think you're making the wrong choice, no matter what. So don't listen to them - make your own (informed, rational, reasonable) choices.

Here's another little truism I decided to live by when Mary Grace was really little - only take advice from people whose children you would choose to live with. Think about it. If Sally Sunshine is telling you to do A, B, and C, but Sally's kids are hellions who make your blood pressure go up just thinking about them, why would you take Sally's advice? So your kids can turn out like hers? I don't think so! And the same goes for me - if you wouldn't want to live with my delightful, charming, beautiful, perfect children, don't listen to me, either.

So how do you deal with unwanted advice? How do you deal when your own family is questioning your parental choices? They should just hand out laminated cards in the hospital that look like this:
Just print that one out and put it in your wallet and use it, as needed.

That would make an awesome t-shirt. Hmmmm....

As for you, Shrek, you've had Fiona "all to yourself" for 10 years, and you'll have her "all to yourself" for the next 50. But this first year of your daughter's life is different, and fleeting, and you don't get her all to yourself for the next, oh, 280 days or so, ok? You're just going to have to be a grown up and cope.

Because I said so.

Nothing to Report

The kids and I are home, while BJ's on a business trip in Wisconsin. He'll be home after they go to bed tonight, assuming the traffic in Chicago isn't too horrendous. Of course, I'm on Twitter and get a "Breaking News Alert" about a Cessna that's been stolen in Canada and is being intercepted by F-16s over Central Wisconsin. Where BJ is. Right now. With our friend "Pierre," who is French and likely to surrender to the Cessna (he doesn't read or want to be mentioned on the blog - that'll teach him!!). Fortunately I'm pretty sure they're a couple hours south of where the action is, and I'm just hoping that the F-16s have the situation well in hand and won't allow the plane to get too close to a populated area like Milwaukee or Chicago.

Crazy.

Our social calendar is really starting to fill up for April, so since our only planned activity today was Open Gym, we decided to stay home and chill and watch movies. It's 7:30 pm and the girls are still in their jammies. Not already, still. I've been reading, watching Oprah (all the Mommybloggers were on today - it was very odd, like watching a bunch of my friends on TV, even though none of them have the faintest clue who I am. But once you've heard someone's kid's potty training horror stories, it makes you close, you know? Even if it's a one-way close), and dorking around on the 'net all day, while also doing laundry and waiting hand and foot on my kids (seriously, the next person to ask for something, whether it be popcorn or PB&J or cocoa is going to get it).

Claire was fun today...

Claire: I want drink!
Me: Do you want milk?
Claire: I WANT drink!
Me: Do you want juice?
Claire: I want DRINK!
Me: Do you want water?
Claire: I WANT DRINK!
Me: Do you want tea?
Claire: I WANT DRINK!
Me: Do you want whiskey?
Claire: I WANT DRIIINK!!
Me, opens fridge: Show me what you want.
Claire: I want milk.

Was all of that strictly necessary?

In other, completely unrelated news, my friend Amy Turn Sharp Stumbled my April Fools Post and I had almost 2000 hits on 4/2. I looked at my stats and thought I had clicked on the wrong blog. I felt famous. I liked it. I can't wait to go to BlogHer and figure out how to have more 2000 hit days!

(For those of you who aren't big geeks like myself, that means that Amy hit a button that's basically a thumbs up that she has installed on her web browser, which added me to a database, and other people hit their, "So, what's cool today?" buttons and came to my blog. 2000 people, to be exact. That's a lot of people. And BlogHer is the conference I'm going to in July, where I'm going to learn how to be an even better geek.)

I can't figure out why April is shaping up to be so busy. Is it because of my birthday, or is everyone just coming out of hibernation? Either way, I like it. It's hard to believe that it's April when we wake up to a covering of snow on the ground. On the other hand, my friend Cate in Alaska had like 6 feet of snow on the ground the other day, so I feel silly worrying about such a little bit.

I think I'm going to get the girlies to bed early tonight, then work on a new blog design. I hate the way the blog looks. I liked that header before, but now it does nothing for me. Time to move on. I'm thinking polka dots...

What did you do on this chilly, wet Monday?

Updated to add: Just now, while on the phone with BJ I checked for updates on the Cessna situation. He remains unimpressed. He says, "Well, we're not in Wisconsin anymore," and I swear, I hit refresh on Twitter at that exact moment and saw this:

FAA officials tell BNO News that the stolen Cessna aircraft has flown into Illinois and is still being chased by F16s. Details to come.

They're following him.

And BJ, my calm, calm husband, says, "I don't think I've made any enemies in Canada recently."

Do you think they're safe at Giordano's? 'Cause I'm not loving this.

Rebe - look out the window and let me know if you see any F-16s. This is getting too close to home. I have about a zillion friends and relatives in the Greater Chicago Area. Yuck. BJ insists that a Cessna 172 is teeny and couldn't do much damage. I say, it can do enough that it has a couple of F-16s on its tail! Shoot it down over the lake!

Hopefully it'll get south of BJ and "Pierre" while they're eating. Sheesh. Never a dull moment at Chez Prettybabies.

Kid Wars

To all who have been obsessively hitting "refresh" - I'm still here. I haven't posted since Thursday because I've been spending almost all of my time refereeing fights between my kids. Ah, the gods have senses of humor - just after I post the top 10 parenting rules, my kids have to go and prove to me that I have no freaking idea what I'm doing.

Here's how it went down...

Claire got a really cute Fur Real kitten from her Grandpa Ben for Christmas. It's the one on the left. It meows and purrs and kneads its paws, it is very sweet. Anyway, Mary Grace got about 10,000 presents, so it's not like she got socks and underwear and Claire got everything cool... but of course, MG is obsessed with Claire's kitten.

Claire was playing with it this morning, and MG took it away from her (for the dozenth time). I gave her a time out (again). There was a lot of crying and screaming in the time out (but she was on the step, I guess...). Claire, having the same tender, sweet heart that her daddy has, went over, sat down next to MG, and handed her the kitten... This after a day or three of having stuff taken right out of her hands, of being told, "NOOOOOOOO!!!" when she tried to play with one of the dozen Barbies that MG got, etc.

So what did my darling oldest daughter do when her baby sister handed her the kitty? She stood up, screamed, and hurled it onto the staircase, hitting the vertical part of a step about two feet up. The kitty bounced down the stairs and stopped working.

I went ballistic. I walked over and grabbed her by the arms, turned her around, and shouted at her. I'm not proud of this, but I was honestly livid. "Claire was trying to be NICE, she wanted you to feel better, and she gave you her kitty? And what did you do? You BROKE it! You are acting like a horrible brat, and I am sick. of. it. The next time you take something away from Claire, two princess Barbies are going in the garage, do you HEAR me? And if that kitty is broken, you are going to buy Claire a new one with your own money, now GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

I have never sent her to her room before, but I seriously wanted to tan her hide, and it was safest for both of us that she get as far away from me as possible at that moment.

Fortunately, the kitty wasn't broken. After about 5 minutes I got a very weepy Mary Grace down from her room, and we sat and talked. I told her that I would take her to buy a kitty just like Claire's with her piggy bank money, and that I was sorry I lost my temper. She apologized to me, and to Claire, and was honestly better for most of the rest of the day.

Of course the entire universe is sold out of that kitty, so we had to get one for her online.

It wouldn't be so hard if Claire were giving it back to MG as good as she gets, but Claire doesn't have a mean or selfish bone in her body. She doesn't want to take MG's stuff, she wants to play with her. She wants to be like MG, and liked by MG, and it just breaks my heart when MG spits in her eye instead. It makes that defensive streak that every mom has come out in me, and even though MG is just as much mine as Claire, I want to spank the snot right out of her.

I know it's normal. I know it's abnormal for Claire, at her age, to be capable of playing with MG - she should still be doing "parallel play," but she's socially advanced - probably due to having an older sister. I know it's normal for MG to think "what's mine is mine and what's yours is mine..." I know it's normal for siblings to fight - I fought with mine and the three of us are extremely close today. But it makes me nuts. I have a very hard time following my own advice to "stay calm" and "avoid a battle of wills" when it comes to kid vs. kid evilness. Do we have to buy two of everything until they're a certain age?

I think we're strung out (like a broken strand of lights) on the holidays at this point. We're out of our routine, we're strung out on sugar and carbs, we're spoiled with new toys... We're in desperate need of getting back to normal around here, and I know we aren't the only ones. Don't get me wrong, we've had a super Christmas season, with minimal holiday-induced-insanity on my part, and lots of family and friends and food and fun... But I think we've had enough. As with most things, if you have too much merriness eventually it'll make you a little sick.

I Probably Need Therapy

Friday is Mary Grace's day to bring snack to preschool, and I was trying to think of something to take. Cupcakes and cookies are a bad idea, since it's morning preschool. I was amusing myself, trying to come up with the least-appropriate snack I could possibly bring, without breaking the law. The best I could come up with was Red Bull and Sugar Pops. Oh, if the other mommies knew what evil lurks inside my tiny mind, we'd never be invited to another playdate.

I need help.

In other news, the weaning continues to continue, and I am hopeful that we're past the hardest part (knock on wood).

Wednesdays are our crazy days. Mary Grace's preschool lets out at 11:30 am (and I actually remembered to take her dollar for the Christmas project today - go me!), then we have to grab lunch and get to tap/ballet at 12:30. By the time we get done with ballet at 1:30 or so, Claire is beyond ready for nap. I'm looking forward to changing our schedule - next week is the last week of these classes before we start a new session at the gymnastics/dance place. It's just a little too hectic from 11:15 until 2 around here right now. Allison's schedule will be entirely different next semester, so my work schedule will be entirely different... Everything changes in January. I'm not sure how I'm going to get all my work done at the office this month, since tomorrow is Allison's last day before winter break. Yikes. It'll all work out somehow, but I'm really going to miss having her here over the lunch hour. It's really good for Mommy's sanity to have lunch like a grown up once in a while, even if that lunch is eaten in the warm glow from my monitor at work. The sneaky Allison also worked it out so that the kids will be napping for a good portion of the time she's here. Coincidence?

I need to drag the kids to the mall to get a couple of gifts. I'm really not motivated to do so today, though. I should also start baking, but I'm not motivated to do that, either. Really, I'm motivated to put in a movie and crash on the couch while they zone out. Great Moments in Parenting, huh? It's BJ's fault, I was up late with him watching Batman, the Dark Knight.

What are you procrastinating today?