Surviving Mommyhood (I Think...)

Bathtime Bubbles

2012-01-16T20:50:00.000-05:00

I love the fact that Angela and I have conversations- real conversations that actually make sense. Now is when the real fun begins as I learn more about how she views the world. Sometimes I am surprised by her mature understanding of things and other times ....well, words fail me because all I can do is laugh. An example of this occurred tonight during bath time.

Image- happy little naked girl splashing in the tub. A HUGE fart (with accompanying bubbles) is heard.

"Angela, was that you?" I asked smiling.

"Mommy, my butt burped!"

Yep, that is a moment the experts don't mention in all those parenting books, which is sad. At least, for me, those are the moments which make the job worthwhile.

Things I Love

2012-01-14T08:30:00.001-05:00

This is more a post for me. My kids do many things that put a smile on my face (and stuff that makes me wonder why I am missing handfuls of hair; but, we will save that subject matter for another posting). I know all to well that one day they will no longer do these things either due to maturity and/or boredom. John and I often bemoan how Alice no longer pronounces "cookie" as "coomie" because it was just so freaking cute when she said it. I realize that new silly things will take the places of the former ones. However, I fear that if I don't record this current list of silliness, the memories may, at best, become a hazy recollection or, at worst, be forgotten. So, pardon the selfishness here and bear with me.

I love...

how Angela needs to wear a "pretty dress" at all times. Right after her feet hit the floor in the morning, she is in the boxes of dress up clothing looking for something to wear. And it is not just the dress. She works the accessories (crowns, fairy wings, magic wands) too.

how Alice still pronounces "music" as "musquick".

how both girls love to dance with each other and how Alice tries to work on ballet/tap/jazz moves with her sister.

how Angela calls the play walrus in the bathtub a mermaid. His name is apparently Petey.

how Alice loves doing arts and crafts and is constantly making new things for my fridge.

how Angela calls the dog "Pudgie" instead of "Puggie".

how Angela pronounces her name- Angelahaha

how Angela cannot pronounce her name properly but has no trouble saying the word "gingerbread".

how Alice gets so excited if I let her set the table in the evening.

how both girls enjoy helping me bake/cook (although this sometimes can create some of those missing handfuls of hair moments).

how both girls try to run and hide when they hear the garage door going up (indication John is home from work). However, they are so excited to see him, they quickly leave their spots to give him a hero's welcome.

how I will sometimes find Angela in the glider of her room with a book on her lap entertaining herself.

how Alice is learning to read and how often she surprises me with a word that I didn't expect her to know.

how after I read Angela her book before bed she will say, "The end" and then say, "My turn." She then "reads" me the book.

how both girls are pretty good about saying "please" and "thank you" regularly.

how Angela likes to run and hide from John whenever he goes to give her a bath.

how Alice thinks that every morning John would forget to put on his pants if she didn't remind him to put them on. (I particularly love how John goes along with this ruse every morning).

how they give each other big hugs after being separated for a time.

how both girls look out for each other. It warms my heart because I know how great it feels to have someone in your life who constantly has your back. (Thanks Megan)

The Nursemaids

2012-01-10T21:29:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I finally admitted defeat and raised the white flag to my foe of the last few weeks- a sinus infection. Unfortunately, motherhood has changed the format of my sick days. Prior to children, I would retire to bed for a novel reading/frequent napping cycle which would last about 24 hours. Now, with a 5 year old and a 2 year old at home, that is a mere pipe dream experienced while doing laundry, emptying the dishwasher, driving kids too and from school....you get the idea.

Still, after picking up Alice from Kindergarten, I was beat. The chills seemed to penetrate my core. Exhaustion weighed my body down. Kids or no kids, I needed to lay down on the couch with a blanket (or twenty) and a cup of tea nearby. The girls looked a bit confused when I headed into the living room and stretched out. I explained to them that mommy was sick and had to take medicine to get well. And with those words, Alice and Angela became my nursemaids.

If laughter is indeed the best medicine, I overdosed on it. Alice, my future CEO (read: VERY bossy child), solicitously covered me with a princess sleeping bag. She got me a glass of water and repeatedly offered me an apple. All the while, she kept barking orders to her sister. "Angela, get Mommy a pillow." "Angela, get me a toy to give to Mommy." Following each order, Angela, in true younger sibling fashion, shouted, "NO!" She would then go and do what she wanted to do in order to restore my health. These actions included sharing her pillow pet with me and providing me with imaginary tea and soup (both where delicious by the way).

I have to admit I kind of enjoyed the novelty of my little ones caring for me. I wondered if I were getting a glimpse into the future in some ways too. I could imagine grown up Alice and Angela arguing over my aging body regarding my care. It also solidified for me that these two are a force to be reckoned with when they decide to work together for a common goal. Now that I think about it, I better get to bed. I don't want to incur their wrath by being sick one second longer than they deem acceptable.

Shock Value

2011-11-21T18:32:00.000-05:00

I woke up with the girls on Sunday morning. Before we went downstairs, both girls wanted to see John who was pretending to be asleep. Alice kept saying, "Boo!" over and over again in the hope of scaring her father into wakefulness. Angela took a different approach and yelled, "MOO!" at him.

I am not sure if she was shooting for shock or she got confused. Regardless, she "woke up" daddy whose laughter could not be contained.

Why John is Most Likely Going to Buy a Gun

2011-11-08T19:05:00.000-05:00

Given the unexpectedly beautiful November weather we are experiencing, I decided to take the girls to the park in our town. I was not surprised by the number of people there. I have to admit that I was a bit surprised by the number of high school kids there. I did not have a problem with it. I have to admit that I have always been impressed with the level of politeness displayed by the local kids. Angela was particularly enthralled by a group of high school boys. I noticed her keen interest while we were sitting on one of the benches having a snack. When they moved over to the swings, Angela stood up to have a better look.

"Angela, do you like the boys?" I asked her.

"Yes, Mama, " my two-year-old replied. "They cute."

I am so not looking forward to the teenage years.

Self Identity

2011-10-15T08:28:00.000-04:00

When she was younger, Alice did not say her first name. Instead, she would just give a blank look if someone asked her name. I was so jealous of my friends whose children would point to themselves and say, "I insert child name." It was also very anxiety producing for a first time parent. Well, there is a reason why the phrase "Be careful what you wish for" is a truism. God heard my prayers. I am now blessed with a daughter who goes up and introduces herself to EVERYONE. Thank goodness I am not a shy person. I would probably need major doses of anti-anxiety meds to cope with having such an extroverted daughter.

It seems like Angela is following in her sister's footsteps with one major exception. She refers to herself as "Me" or "Me too".

"What is your name?" I asked her.

"Me."

"No, honey, what do you call yourself?" I asked again.

"Me."

I thought about it and I realized I walked right into that last one. She wins. I give up.

Remedial Finger Painting

2011-10-14T17:15:00.000-04:00

On Tuesday I had "Back to School Night" for preschool. I knew Alice was doing great with her Kindergarten enrichment program there, but I was curious to see how Angela was doing with her "work". As I spoke with Angela's teacher, Ms. K could not say enough about Angela's great personality and her comfort with the environment. She was very impressed with how well and how quickly she adjusted to attending school. However, (why is there always a 'however'?), Angela would not finger paint properly. She will not hold her finger straight out and apply the paint with the finger pad. Instead, Angela bends her finger such that she uses her fingernail bed as her artist's brush.

I was not surprised by this. One of Angela's chief quirks is her dislike of anything liquid based on her hands. She will play in the sand box for hours. She will manipulate Play Doh with no hesitation. But, if a drop of some liquid falls on her hands, she immediately calls for me and demands that I clean her hands off.

As I stood listening to Ms. K, I was, in fact, internally marvelling at Angela's ability to reason and adapt. She figured out a way to finger paint without getting her hands dirty. Had this been Alice, I would probably have freaked out and tried to find some remedial finger painting class to "correct" the problem. Such is the joy of the second child. You realize each child has his/her quirks and they are to be embraced. I told Ms. K not to worry and to just give the kid a brush for painting.

I hope all parent-teacher conferences go so smoothly.

Penmenship

2011-09-29T16:42:00.000-04:00

Until about five minutes ago, I always thought that I had excellent handwriting.

Alice and I were working together on a homework sheet for her Kindergarten enrichment class. Together we sounded out the letters for the word "book". As Alice paired the sounds and letters, I wrote them on a piece of paper. Alice looked at my printed "book" and informed me that it "looked like a butt." Misunderstanding her reference, I wrote out " B U T T" on the paper next to the word "book".

"Alice, 'book' does not look like 'butt'," I told her.

She laughed and pointed to the "oo" in book. "Mommy, your letters look like a butt."

With new comprehension, I looked at my printed "book" and realized that Alice was correct. I also realized that for the last (fill in the blank) years, I have apparently been mooning my readers whenever I had an "oo" word in handwritten notes. I feel like I should blush, but to hell with modesty. Folks should be happy it is just letters and not the real thing.

Sweetness

2011-09-21T20:43:00.000-04:00

I admit that I am totally biased. The subjects of this blog are my children afterall; but, I had to share some recent instances that either put a smile on my face or caused my heart to swell with emotion.

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My town only does a half day kindergarten. Alice has the afternoon session, so she spends her mornings at her old preschool in a kindergarten enrichment program. I felt like I had to do something school related with her as she attended three full days of preschool last year. I did not want her inaugeration into the "big kid" school to seem like a step backward.

I love picking Alice up for kindergarten because every day I see such an example in kindness and sweetness. Alice gives every one of her classmates a hug before she leaves. The first time I saw this I got rather choked up (and it had nothing to do with hormones). It was so wonderful to see kindness to others right before me especially as it seems like news headlines are filled with the antithesis of kindness.  Today she actually chased some poor boy down because he needed to get his hug. Alice is sweet and persistent apparently.

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Alice and Angela will definately be a force to be recokened with as they age. I took them to a playground after school on Monday and watched them at work (or play as the case may be). I loved how they looked out for each other. I kind of expected Alice to keep an eye on Angela because she takes her role of "Big Sister" very seriously. What surprised me was how Angela watched out for Alice. Toward the end of our time at the playground, Alice started playing a game with a little boy around her age. Angela interpreted the game as a threat to her older sister. She kept trying to scare the boy by standing behind him, raising her arms and shouting, "BOO!!!!" Angela should not have worried. The little boy kept trying to avoid Alice because he was convinced she was going to turn him into a ferret.

A Reward

2011-09-06T19:13:00.000-04:00

Some might say that my love of Trader Joe's borders on obsession. I have to agree. I love their products; but, more importantly, my kids love when we shop there. Happy Kids= Happy Mom. Aside from their obvious enjoyment of the tasting area, they love the perpetual hide and seek game with Mr. Bananas. For those of you who don't know, Mr. Bananas is a stuffed monkey dressed in khaki pants and a Hawaiian shirt. The employees have created a "Missing" poster for him and encourage the children to search for him throughout the store. The reward when they find him is an organic lollipop. With such a reward in the balance, it should surprise no one that Alice has become very adept at finding the missing monkey. Last time we went shopping I was particularly impressed with her abilities. She found him in the rafters of a straw hut which houses the plants for sale. I have to admit that I would not never found him in such a location.

We went to get her reward from the store manager, and Alice took out a second lollipop. I told her that the manager already gave one to Angela.

"I know Mommy," Alice informed me. "I wanted to get one for Daddy. He has been a good boy."

I had to giggle a little bit at that one. She handed the lollipop to me for safekeeping until John came home.

I think he was thrilled with his treat. It is always nice to know that one rates highly enough to earn a lollipop.

The Munchkin Monster Strikes...

2011-09-02T08:47:00.000-04:00

Hurricane Irene left us without electricity for 36 hours. I was okay without the television. The lack of lights was a nuisance but manageable. The thing that drove me toward madness was lack of tea. Not only do I use an electric kettle to boil my water, but my kitchen stove is electric. Knowing my penchant for the leaves (and experiencing first hand my "pleasant" personality due to withdrawal), my dear hubby kindly went to Dunkin' Donuts to purchase their largest container of tea for me. While he was there, he decided to get a large box of munchkins. He thought the kids might enjoy picking on them.

For Angela that was an understatement.

Both John and I found her several times at the kitchen table digging in the box of sugary holes. We would quietly sneak up on her and ask, "Angela, what are you doing?" when we reached her side. I loved how she tried to pass off our discoveries with nonchalance and a sweet smile. But even those two things could not disguise the chipmunk checks she now possessed and the donut crumbs around her mouth.

We were not angry at her. However, Angela must have figured out that cramming her mouth full with donut holes might potentially cause her parental grief. Her tactic- to hide her snacking through camouflage. Instead of eating the whole munchkin, she would take one bite of it and put it back into the box. I guess she thought we were just counting the number of items in the box and we would not notice the large bite in each one.

I am not sure if I should be amused or scared by her logic. Part of me is impressed, but I am left to wonder....is this the sign of a potential criminal mastermind? Am I going to have to worry about her hacking into millions of bank accounts, taking a nickle, and hiding her ill gotten gains in some Swiss bank account?

The only thought that consoles me is that perhaps her behavior is genetic.

If Angela is the Munchkin Monster then Alice is the Muffin Monster. I have never seen a kid so crazy for muffins. I once made these apple whole wheat muffins for breakfast. We had about six left over. I left them on the counter to cool completely before storing them. A few hours later, I went into the kitchen to put the leftovers in a container. There were two left. I walked into John's office and asked, "Not that I care, but did you eat all those muffins?" He looked surprised and informed me that he didn't. This left us with only one other suspect as Angela was not born yet and Puggie is not springy enough to reach the kitchen counter. Another time I actually got the leftover muffins into a tin. Regardless, they were not safe there. When I went to eat one I discovered that all six muffin tops had been devoured. The Muffin Monster's fingerprints were all over this one again.

More proof for the genetic argument comes from the conversation I had with my sister Megan about these instances. Oddly enough while she listened to my stories, she had opened a box of muffins and was eating the top off one of them.

Genetic pools have lots of strange quirks floating around them.

Some Moments Take Your Breath Away

2011-08-19T17:38:00.000-04:00

Alice had a nurse appointment for her five year old shots today. Because I don't like to spring things like shots on a kid, I told her about it the day before. We were coloring while Angela took a surprise nap. I casually mentioned the shots and how she would not be able to go to kindergarten without them. Right after dropping the "shot bomb" news, I proceeded to mention how afterward we would go to our favorite local farm for donuts and animal feeding/petting. We also had a Toys R' Us gift card from her birthday to spend, so we would do some toy shopping as well.

The news of the good stuff seemed to counteract the fear of the shots. While Alice and I continued to color, she talked excitedly about the upcoming fun errands. After a very brief moment of silence (it is Alice, the "Motor Mouth" after all), Alice looked at me and said, "Mommy, we can get something for Angela with my gift card too so she has something new to play with." I was stunned. I totally did not expect this burst of generosity. Don't get me wrong, Alice is a great kid who is very loving of her sister, but she is also five years old. I told Alice that I would buy something for Angela with house money and thanked her for the offer.

Despite the allure of Toys R' Us, Angela fell asleep in the car on the way there. She remained asleep for most of the outing. It was a good opportunity to teach Alice the importance of making smart shopping decisions. I had her walk around the whole store before she picked her favorite thing. The funny thing about this was I had to keep reminding her to pick something for herself. Alice kept pointing out good gifts for Angela. Even when Alice finally picked her gift (the Toy Story set of Barbie and Ken), she did it with her sister in mind. "Angela can be the boy," she explained as she handed me the package.

Needless to say, Mommy splurged on a few things not covered by the gift card for her thoughtful girl. How could I not?

Random Events that Fill My Day

2011-08-09T21:08:00.000-04:00

Although I have been a stay at home mom for almost five years, I still have my moments when I am just not used to it. I did not feel that way when I was a teacher. Once I found my "teaching groove", the days took on a logical course. There was the preparation time, the instructional time, the grading time. Sure there were chaotic moments and stressful times, but the ebb and flow of things generally made sense. Stay at home motherhood has not followed that pattern. Instead of "ebb and flow", I deal with rapid fluctuations from mind numbingly mundane (e.g., watching Blue's Clues) to "pull my hair out" frustration. Thankfully, somewhere in the midst of these disparate poles lies hilarity as evidenced by the following interaction with Alice this afternoon.

* * *

Both girls love to look at catalogs, particularly those which feature toys and other kid stuff. Luckily for me a new One Step Ahead catalog showed up yesterday. The three of us relaxed on the sofa while paging through it. The first few pages showcased Halloween costumes (yes, you read that right; Halloween costumes in an AUGUST catalog). Upon seeing a witch costume, Alice got very excited and proclaimed, "Mommy, I want to be a bitch for Halloween."

Gosh, I hope not.

Alice-ism Meets Yogi-ism

2011-08-06T20:32:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Alice kept me company while I made some buttermilk biscuits for breakfast. She sat at the kitchen table and decided to pass the time by practicing her letter writing with a workbook. She was happily engaged in her work, so I made sure to give the typical "few more minutes" warning before everything was ready.

Alice looked up at me and stated, "I am going to work until I am done and then I will stop."

John and I shared a smile after hearing this remark. Apparently Yogi Berra lives at our house.

Danger Zone

2011-08-01T19:42:00.001-04:00

I took the plunge and purchased a sewing machine. I figured if I can teach myself to knit then I can teach myself to sew. Armed with the knowledge acquired from my Sewing for Dummies book and my instruction manual, I took the kiddies with me to the craft store to purchase some supplies. While we were there, Angela found a small baby doll in the clearance section. I figured I had a better chance hitting the lottery than extracting it from her hand without incident, so I told Alice to pick something out too. (Those lessons in fairness have been totally ingrained in me thanks to my mother).

Alice found a pair of Disney princess binoculars that thrilled her and we made our way to the cashier. I knew that Angela relinquishing the doll to be scanned simply would not happen. I placed my items down on the counter and proceeded to pick up Anglea so the attendant could use the handheld scanner on the doll. Fearing that her possession would leave her grasp, Angela immediately began shrieking. She finally settled down when I put her on the ground and she realized that the doll never left her hand. Still, as we walked from the store, she kept saying, "Baby" over and over again. (My sister thinks she sounds like a player Frenchman when she says it). An armored truck driver noted the incident and commented to me, "Good luck trying to get that out of her hands."

I laughed and agreed. I told him that I would have a better chance getting the money he was holding from him.

The sad thing is I was probably right.

Odd Snippets

2011-07-16T20:48:00.000-04:00

I love catching bits and pieces of the kids' chatter throughout the day. Sometimes, when they are playing together upstairs, I will brew myself a cup of tea and sit out of sight on the stairs so I can listen to them. Their imaginations and vocalizations never fail to put a smile on my face and make me chuckle.

Today the laugh of the day came while I cleaned the kitchen counters. Alice and Angela were playing next to the kitchen in the formal dining room. I am not sure what the game actually entailed. When I walked by the dining room to put something in the hall closet, I saw Angela crouched under the table and Alice was semi under one of the dining room chairs. I thought it was a game of hide and seek until I heard Alice ask her sister, "Angela, can you push me on the butt? I am stuck."

Ever the obliging sister, Angela replies, "Sure." A grunt of exertion follows.

The push apparently worked because the next thing I hear is, "Thanks, Ang for pushing my butt."

Now there is a conversation I thought I would never hear.

One World, Many Stories...Adventures in Summer Reading at the Local Library

2011-07-16T09:15:00.000-04:00

It should surprise no one that both Angela and Alice are enrolled in our local library's summer reading program. Mom is a book geek after all. Knock on wood, it seems like both girls are following in their Mama's footsteps. At the Christmas Tree Shop yesterday, Angela actually squealed for joy and clapped when we entered the kiddie book section.

We are in week three with their respective reading clubs. So far, Alice has a kazoo and a little click camera to show for her reading efforts. Angela is the proud owner of a rubber duck and a blow up mini beach ball for hers. Both girls love stories, so doing the 15 minutes a day of reading is not an issue. I have to say, however, the thought of prizes is definitely an added incentive.

In addition to the reading clubs, the library also offers several all ages programs. Since the theme of this year's summer reading program is "One World, Many Stories", each all ages session highlights some aspect of various world cultures. Thursday's offering centered on instruments from Africa and various Caribbean nations. The presenter/musician was a very enthusiastic African gentleman dressed in cultural attire. He obviously LOVED music and kids. He showed and named all the instruments he brought with him and performed using them. I expected Alice to be interested but Angela (as every two year old is) was the wild card.

Well, I think she caught the presenter's contagious joy. Every note he played was met with a squeal of complete and utter joy from Angela. She relished dancing with her sister and other children and particularly loved the African version of "Simon Says" that the gentleman performed. You should have seen Angela shake her grove thing when he commanded "Shake your hips from the left and the right." After he introduced and demonstrated all the instruments, he divided the audience into two groups and gave each child a chance to play an instrument with him. As each group performed, I marvelled at how his strong lead made his motley bands actually sound good. He even had simple instruments for his younger audience members (read: Angela). She loved performing so much that she refused to give back her instrument and performed on and off with the gentleman for the remainder of the performance. He was very good natured about the whole thing. I think he appreciated her enthusiasm for his performance. The adult members of the audience also were amused, and a little surprised I think, by Angela's joy. It was one of those moments when I wished I had my video camera with me. I particularly felt its absence when Alice decided to stretch out on her stomach during a dancing break. Angela straddled her sister like a horse, draped her body over Alice's back, and wrapped her arms around Alice's neck. A little boy on his mother's lap watched this unfold as I did. He seemed confused by it and asked his mother, "What is she doing to her?"

His mother replied, "She just loves her sister very much."

I smiled at the mom's explanation. "That she does," I thought to myself as I watched my duo start to dance together again. I wonder what will be their stories as they grow up. Their love for each other seems like it will be a constant theme woven through them. I think, perhaps, there will also be an African drum circle somewhere in Angela's.

Sisterly Bonding

2011-07-09T08:32:00.000-04:00

Alice and Angela scampered off to their playroom one night after dinner. I looked at John and asked, "We're screwed, aren't we?"

Knowing exactly where my question was going, he replied, "Oh, yeah. One will lie and the other one will swear to it."

Since Alice has been on vacation, she and Angela have really bonded. Sure they have their typical arguments. No toy is as much fun as the one that a sibling has in her hand. But, more often than not, I catch little moments of love which just take my breath away- the hugs, the sleepy cuddles on the couch while watching a movie, the laughter during tea parties. I see how they look out for each other at the Tot Drop in the Y and at the local parks. Each instance dusts the haziness from childhood memories of my own and restores them into Technicolor.

When I see them playing with their dolls together, I recall the hours my sister and I spent in the basement playroom playing Barbies together. Even when Megan got too old for dolls, she would always spend some time playing with me. I remember all the little games we played from made up ones to board games.

An outdoor concert with Alice brought back all the summer evenings in the yard playing Frisbee together and catching fireflies. Swimming in the pool with the girls this week made me think about times at Stonybrook and my aunt's house. We would be in the water until we pruned. At the beach we would body surf until the waves became way too rough; we would leave the waves only to dig in the sand for sand crabs and other treasures (the ice cream truck was also good incentive to get out the water).

It is funny how all that play helps create not only fond memories but an unshakable bond. When I look at the girls, I always send up a little prayer that their relationship will be close like mine is with Megan. There is something to be said for knowing someone is in your corner to back you up whenever necessary.

Sisters rock!

Safety First

2011-07-05T08:09:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago Angela and I finished our "Mommy and Me" swim classes at the local Y. We had a great time. Angela loved, loved, loved the water. At the last class, the instructor recommended getting Coast Guard approved life jackets for the kids. When I considered Angela's enthusiasm for the pool, and the fact our backyard is essentially all pool, I decided it would be prudent to follow the instructor's advice.

I never realized the large range of life jackets on the market. Infant life jackets have the typical flotation vest that goes around the chest along with an additional pillow that goes around the neck. This construction makes floating face up the default position when they are in the water.

Upon bringing the vest home, I decided to do a trial run with it. Two year olds are a capricious lot and will sometimes take an irrational hatred toward pretty much anything (except cookies and ice cream). I waited until Angela was in a good mood and put the jacket on her. She looked quizzically at her well padded stomach. She then fondly patted her tummy and said, "Pop Pop." John and I lost it. (For those of you who don't know, my father is rather, um, "well padded", shall we say?). Needless to say, I had to call my father immediately. Thankfully, he is the kind of guy who would be tickled by the tale. I think, too, he was rather flattered to be likened to his grand daughter's life saving device.

Let the Slapping Begin!

2011-06-10T08:53:00.000-04:00

It is a rare thing when I feel like totally bitch slapping someone; but, right now, I could totally let the fists o' fury fly. In a rare moment of relaxation yesterday, I decided to check out Facebook. It was then I noticed a posting from the leader of the pug group to which I belong. (Yes, I belong to a pug group. If you owned one, you would totally understand). Anyhow, the leader of the group often posts about pug dogs in need of rescue. This particular pug cutie who needed adoption was given up because its owner has a new baby and she did not have enough time to spend with the dog.

What?!

Love Me!

Considering I have two children (one is four and the other is two), there was a time when I brought home two newborns to our pug. Even in the midst of the chaos that children (particularly freshly hatched ones) bring a household, I would never have entertained the thought of giving up Puggie. Even after the dog ate a poopy diaper, and I had to clean up regurgitated poop all over the house, I never would have gotten rid of her. Albeit, she did get a time out on the back porch until I knew she was empty. Even after rushing her to the vet after she chewed on and ingested part of a bottle of diaper cream, I would never have gotten rid of her (even after seeing the subsequent vet bill from the emergency treatment). Getting rid of Puggie would be akin to severing a limb.

Seeing the post about the rescued pug made me think of all the things my family would have missed out on without Puggie. She was my EPT. She realized I was pregnant both times before I did (using the standard EPT). Even after experiencing Alice, she still celebrated the new life growing within me when she sensed Angela. With the birth of the girls, Puggie realized a new side of her identity- that of protector. While I will admit that "pug protection" does seem like an oxymoron, Puggie takes her job seriously and has alerted me to a few things that needed my attention. She is an amazing caregiver. When Alice had pneumonia, Puggie did not leave her side. She even acted as Alice's pillow. Puggie is an amazing listener who seems very patient with Alice's constant chatter and Angela's prattling. Puggie makes Angela laugh with her playfulness and patience with dress up (a Cinderella outfit on a pug is wrong yet hilarious). Heck, "pug" was Angela's second word.

Puggie has been my children's first lesson in gentleness as she so sweetly endured those first ~~slaps~~ pats of affection from her girls. She has also been their first lessons in responsibility as they do the daily pug tasks that I have assigned them. She kept me sane during the "baby blues" period of plummeting hormones. Nothing gives comfort like a pug gently snoring alongside you. She was a great nursing pillow and book prop (pre-Kindle days).

I wish I could find that woman and have her reconsider her choice. But, perhaps, her pug is better off without someone so uncaring.

This Blog is Brought to You by the Letter "F"

2011-06-05T10:52:00.000-04:00

Unfortunately, I did not witness this interchange firsthand.

John and I decided to speed up the "getting the kids to bed so we have a few seconds of silence before we pass out" routine. I engaged in the fruitless task of rocking Peanut to sleep while John ran the water for Alice's bath. While she waited on the toliet for her bath time, Alice let out a particularly long fart. Amazed by her wind passing prowess, Alice happily exclaimed to her father, "Daddy, it sounds like an 'F'!"

I wonder if her teachers would be impressed by this application of her phonics knowledge.

What a Great Way to Wake Up

2011-05-30T08:38:00.000-04:00

I had a rough time sleeping last night. Angela woke up with teething pain and had a hard time settling back into sleep. One of those fast and furious summer-esque storms hit. My sciatica flared due to the weather. I did not want my tossing and turning to wake John, so I moved to the guest bedroom. I put a heating pad on my back and hoped to salvage the rest of the night.

I must have passed out because next thing I know Alice is in bed next to me. Angela let out a cry. "Mommy, Angela's awake," Alice informed me.

I grabbed Angela who was standing in her crib waiting for me, and I brought her back into bed with Alice and me. Whereas Alice is content to snuggle alongside of me, Angela likes to drape herself across my chest. I was enjoying the quiet (something I don't experience too often) when I discerned a series of odd puckering noises coming from Angela. It took a second to register that she was practicing her kissing. She is very adept at blowing kisses; but, lately, she has been trying to make actual contact with the person she is trying to kiss. I shifted my gaze down to her at the moment she lifted her head to look at me. Upon making eye contact with me, Angela stopped her training momentarily and said, "Happy." She then planted a kiss on my lips.

I wonder if she registered my heart's reply of "Me too."

Never Say Never

2011-05-14T13:04:00.000-04:00

Here is a picture of the girls in their Easter finery. Yes, I realize that Easter was a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, Angela does not nap anymore so things like downloading pictures from the camera are hard to fit into the day. I want to state for the record that the matching outfits were NOT my idea. Although they look cute, I will never be the type of mom who would do matching outfits of my own volition. Apparently, I am the type of mom who is a total sucker for my four year old who so wanted to match with her sister.

The shopping trip for the Easter outfits started innocently enough. I had Alice help me find her sister's dress. We then went into the Little Girl section of the store to look for Alice's. Right away, she found Angela's dress in her size and she was thrilled.

"Alice, isn't this yellow one pretty?" I asked hopefully.

"No Mommy. I want this one."

I pulled a bright pink dress from the rack (another thing that is totally makes me cringe inside; it figures pink would be her favorite color). I had her now. I had brought out the big guns, or should I say the pink ones? "How about this one? It's pink."

"No Mommy. I want to match Angela," she replied steadfastly.

I was screwed.

As I paid for the dresses, I figured I could shake things up with the shoes.

No such luck.

We went to the shoe store and I allowed Alice to find her shoes. One we got hers, we trooped to the section of shoes in Angela's size. Before I could even focus on the choices in front of me, Alice honed in on the perfect pair- the ones that matched hers.

She joyfully showed me her find. I sighed and brought the two boxes to the cashier. I realized I had been beaten. Now my only consolation will be the horror Alice will feel as a teenager looking at the Easter 2011 pictures. It will be a horror that will only be intensified when she learns it was all her idea.

True to Form

2011-04-26T08:00:00.000-04:00

Today is Angela's birthday. I cannot believe that she is two years old. Actually, there are certain times when I can totally believe she is two. They generally correlate with the times that I want to pound my head into a wall repeatedly.

After I served the girls their breakfasts, I sat down in my seat next to Angela and sang "Happy Birthday" to her. Upon its completion, she smiled and demanded, "Cake."

It is nice to see that some things don't change.

Easter Mass

2011-04-25T14:21:00.000-04:00

One day I will look at my well behaved children after Easter mass and think, "When did they become so boring?" In Alice's defense, she was great. Thankfully she did not pledge her allegiance to Satan like she did two years ago. Peanut, however, was your typical two year old (read- a pain in the butt). I spent more time walking outside the church than actually inside listening to the mass. Props to the grounds crew of the church. You did a beautiful job. Thankfully it was a nice day, so I guess God was smiling upon me in that respect. I am sure it was in appreciation for the laughs He got while Angela was inside the church.

Angela apparently really loves her Pop Pop. Unfortunately for all the white haired gentlemen wearing glasses around us, she adopted them all as her honorary grandfathers. She kissed and hugged the man sitting next to me much to the amusement of his family and persisted in kissing the back of the man in front of us throughout the time we were actually in the church. I hope they were flattered more than annoyed.

During the "Glory to God" a hand bell chimed. Angela exclaimed, "Oh no! Telephone!" I guess she took the reminder to turn off all cell phones to heart.

Another Alice-ism

2011-04-17T21:54:00.000-04:00

Today we took the kids to Dairy Queen. Alice enjoyed her chocolate and vanilla twist tremendously. As she ate, Alice surprised us with the information that ice cream has to stay cold or it will die.

Apparently, she watched Frosty the Snowman one too many times.

I don't think I will view melting the same way ever again.

Lord Help Me

2011-04-14T14:00:00.000-04:00

Alice has been home this week for her school's Spring break. Consequently, the girls have been spending more time together which has lead to good blog fodder for me.

* * *

Two mornings ago, Alice decided to teach Angela how to draw. Apparently, those seven months I taught English to high school kids while pregnant were internalized in utero. Or, perhaps, she is just bossy- take your pick. Anyway, it was amusing to witness this instruction unfold. Alice was pretty patient until she realized that her student was more interested in eating raisins. Exasperated, Alice exclaimed, "Angela, if you eat more raisins you will have to deal with a big poopage." Angela, unfazed, continued her raisin eating.

Those lessons on digestion that were part of her school's body unit obviously made a big impression on Alice.

* * *

A rainy day this week lead us to explore a new birthday place nearby. It has lots of those inflatable slides and bouncy houses (read- great way to exhaust children). I put Angela into one of the obstacle ones and waited outside. She is generally pretty brave and enjoys stuff like this. Plus, there was a very nice male attendant on duty who would fish out the little ones who got stuck. After about five minutes or so, he emerged with a smiling Angela who went right back in. I waited and again the young man fished her out. She went right back in and once again the attendant emerged from the bouncy caverns with my daughter in his arms. As I watched this unfold, I looked at Angela only to realize that she was flirting with the gentleman. The coy glance, the sweet smile...that little sneak. She was in charge of this situation all along (at least until I realized her ploy).

When I spoke to John later that night, I informed him of his daughter's use of feminine wiles. I dread when she is old enough to date.

Anatomy Lesson

2011-04-12T08:36:00.000-04:00

Lately Alice has been into drawing. The amazing thing to me is that her drawings are now recognizable. Gone are the colorful scribbles of her modern period. Last night we did some drawing after dinner while Daddy gave Angela her bath. I decided to make an Easter basket filled with colored eggs, which inspired Alice to draw the Easter bunny. Because Alice cannot do anything silently, she dictated to me all the steps that she was following.

She explained how she needed to make an oval for the body, ears, teeth, legs, arms, and a belly button. Belly button? I looked up to see her place a dot in the middle of the bunny's oval body. I don't know why but this has me still chuckling. Actually, as I write this blog entry, Alice has drawn another Easter bunny complete with belly button. I guess she has entered her navel period.

Should I Be Concerned?

2011-04-08T17:04:00.000-04:00

Angela has become rather proficient at naming body parts while pointing to them. This might not seem like much, but I am her mom and little things like this make me proud. Still, I could do without her forceful pointer finger demonstrating her knowledge of "eye" on me. If you see me sporting an eye patch any time soon, I have not entered into a life of piracy (although I would look good in those boots and flowy shirts).

Angela knows "nose", "eye", "head", and "mouth". Her recent addition to this list is "butt". She demonstrates this new knowledge by hinging at her hips and slapping her buttocks all while saying, "Butt. Butt. Butt."

John and I used to joke that given Alice's love of nudity our job was to keep her off the stripper pole (thankfully she has outgrown the need to streak through the house). Apparently, our new task is to keep Angela away from leather and whips. A parent's work is never done.

More Than Meets the Eye

2011-04-07T08:51:00.000-04:00

Angela has entered the "Terrible Two" stage. When Alice was in its throws, I was in my first trimester of pregnancy. I attributed my feelings of frustration, tiredness, and annoyance to pregnancy hormones. Now, as I enter round two of the "TT" stage, I can honestly say all those feelings had nothing to do with pregnancy. This developmental stage in a child's life just (for lack of a better word that is not a profanity) sucks.

I understand the "why" behind the tantrums- no longer napping and not having the speaking vocabulary to convey her knowledge/desires. Still, it is tough weathering through it. The other day I informed my mom and husband that there should be a law of "No tantrums before Mommy has her first sip of caffeine". Yesterday morning Angela seriously had about five meltdowns before the water for my tea even came to a full boil. Nothing made her happy, so we went to the local Y. I worked out and she played with her friends and we were both in better moods by the time we reunited.

The good mood extended into the evening hours. After dinner, Angela sat on my lap while we chatted. I hugged her and asked, "Angela, are you my big girl?"

She shook her head and replied, "No. Alice."

"Oh, Alice is my big girl?"

"Yes."

"Are you my little girl then?" I asked.

"Yes."

John and I were amazed that she reasoned this out so well. No wonder she has meltdowns. Angela has it all figured out and she has to guide her occasionally addled mom through it all. I would be frustrated too.

Political Leanings

2011-03-26T16:51:00.000-04:00

My husband John is a Republican. This information is important to keep in mind when reading the following account of our post breakfast interaction with the girls.

Alice has been a big one for making lists lately. Never mind the fact that she can't read. She persists in making lists. Apparently, on her list was a line item which looked like "ACLU." John read it, hugged his little girl, and said, "Honey, whatever you do, please don't be a pinko commie."

Alice looked up at her father and in a rather indigent tone replied, "But Daddy, I like pink."

I Guess I Need to Work on My Enunciation?

2011-02-25T16:16:00.000-05:00

I carry Dum Dum lollipops around wherever I go. Those little suckers are magic. They keep my little ones happy and cooperative (which makes Mommy happy too). Yesterday I took both girls to get their hair cut. I was so pleased with their behavior and politeness. I told them so as I strapped them into their respective car seats and dug into my coat pocket for the lollipop stash. I handed one to Angela and then held out several for Alice so she could make her choice.

Alice looked them over carefully and happily held one up for my inspection. “Look, Mommy, bananas and ice cream.”

I glanced at the wrapper. “Yes, honey. They call that flavor ‘banana split’.”

Alice looked at me quizzically and in her most serious tone informed me, “Mommy, spitting isn’t nice.”

Apparently, clear speech is no longer one of my strong suits. Oh well…

Grammar Lessons

2011-02-06T10:34:00.000-05:00

Every week Alice’s school distributes a letter outlining their plans for the week. It includes what songs they are going to sing, what books they are going to read, and what concepts they are going to work on during circle time. Alice held onto the handout while I drove home. Apparently, she is learning about the comma from her teachers because she kept commenting when she saw one on the paper. The former teacher in me saw a “teachable moment” here.

“Alice, did you know that a comma with a dot on top of it is called a semicolon?” I asked her.

“No, it’s not,” Alice informed me.

I was a little taken aback, but I persisted. “Yes, Alice, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

I decided against going into a long dissertation about my teaching and education qualifications. Instead, I asked, “Well, then what is it?”

“It’s an ‘I’.”

Oy….

Mocking Me Already?

2011-01-20T19:45:00.001-05:00

Angela will be 21 months old next week. Unfortunately, like her sister did at this age, she is showing signs of giving up her nap. Please bow your heads for a moment of silence. If she naps, she is hard to put down in the evening; but, if she doesn't nap, she hits the wall around 5 in the evening (and boy it is not pretty). I try to put her in the crib around one in the afternoon and see what happens. If she is still up, it is a "no nap" day; but, if she falls asleep, I do a happy jig around the house (until bedtime hits).

Yesterday was a "no nap" day. For 45 minutes she babbled and thumped around good naturedly in her crib. I entered her room to find her laughing with her legs over her head (yes, I am hoping she grows out of that before puberty). I looked at her and asked, "So, no nap today, huh?"

Apparently, when I tell Angela "no," I wag my finger back and forth because she looked at me, laughed, wagged her finger, and said, "No, no, no."

And here I thought I had to wait until she was a teenager to be the subject of her mockery. Lucky me.

Not Again

2011-01-11T21:50:00.001-05:00

I realize that my hubby has a potty mouth. There is not much I can do about it. It is just a part of him. Thanks to teaching, I am so used to censoring myself around children that using "fudge" instead of "fuck" or "shoot" instead of "shit" is second nature. I have tried to correct him, but I don't like to be a nag. Now I just tell him that he will have to deal with teacher calls over inappropriate language.

Surprising, the naughty language perpetrator was Angela. As I made breakfast for Alice, I heard her happily babbling in her crib. I went upstairs to take her out. Upon seeing me, Angela became very excited. She tried to hop up, but she got tangled in her sleep sack and fell down.

"Oh, fuck."

My brain shot into overdrive. "Did I hear that right? Did my toddler just use the word 'fuck'?" I had just convinced myself that I must have misheard her when Angela tried to stand again and fell over.

"Oh, fuck."

There is nothing quite like hearing your 20 month old drop the F bomb first thing in the morning. While a large part of me was horrified, I have to admit to feeling a little bit proud. She did use it in the right context, after all.

Here Comes Peter Cottontail

2011-01-10T21:41:00.000-05:00

It is funny how having an older sibling affects development. Yeah, I know that every kid develops at his/her own pace, but I do think that having an older brother or sister does speed some things along. While many would attribute this more rapid development to a desire to "keep up" with the older one, I am not totally on board with that hypothesis. Instead, I firmly believe that reaching certain milestones sooner simply stems from actually having an example to follow. Alice did not do an inordinate amount of climbing, hopping and whatnot at a young age because she did not see too much of it unless we were at a park or she was at school. (I know it is surprising that I typically do not climb on kitchen counters or hop up and down on one foot like a madwoman). Angela has this example in Alice. Consequently, Angela has learned how to climb on things at a much earlier age than her sister. She has learned the fun of dressing up from Alice. She even manipulates toys in a very similar manner to her sister. Still, there are some things that Angela can't do very well simply due to her young age and lack of coordination. One such thing is hopping.

Angela hopping (or rather trying to hop) is the cutest and most hysterical thing to watch. She bends her knees and raises her arms up in the air as if to propel her body for liftoff. She then proceeds to straighten up without her feet breaking contact with solid ground. Upon fully straightening, she grins with pride and says, "Hop". It is like saying the word indicates that the desired action has actually happened. She started doing this during a construction project on our house. While we were having a meeting with our contractor, we had Angela demonstrate her hopping to him. Now, whenever he is around, Angela starts "hopping" around the house. Today I knew Ed was in the house before actually seeing him because Angela kept saying, "Hop, hop, hop."

I wonder what will happen when she finally does achieve liftoff.

Favorite Christmas Memories of 2010

2011-01-04T17:16:00.001-05:00

Yeah, I realize it is now January, but such is my life. Better late than never, right?

I have to say Christmas and the time leading up to it was filled with fun (and a little bit of insanity). Note to self- never do a home renovation project around the holidays. Still, despite all the uproar, some silly times (naturally) ensued:

The Christmas Card Photo Shoot at JCPenny's- I have been unable to get a decent picture of Angela for the last two months. The child is in her "perpetual motion" stage. Consequently, whenever I try to get a picture of Angela and Alice, the picture usually looks like the two are engaged in some WWF wrestling move as Alice tries to keep her sister in position. Since I did not want "Sister Smack Down" on the Christmas card this year, I decided to hand over the task of generating a usable picture to professionals. The fact that our photographer got a few good shots still amazes me because Angela was certainly no help. At one point, she bolted out of our photo shoot to join in on another child's. Needless to say, Mommy checked the informational handout on her antibiotics when she got home and was thrilled that there was no mention of not being able to have alcohol. Joy to the World!
Alice's Honesty- As I was sitting in the living room catching a breather, Alice ran in all excited. We had just decorated the tree and she was giddy with thoughts of Santa and, more specifically, presents. I reminded Alice that only good children got gifts and asked her if she has been good. Alice thought a moment and replied, "I have been good….enough." I was rather impressed with her accurate self assessment.

Cookie Baking- Baking with small children is always an adventure. Alice became known as "the Enforcer" to her father. The poor man could not sneak a cookie without old eagle eye catching him and reprimanding him for his cookie intake. Angela, the "Cookie Monster", even stole balls of raw dough from the trays. Now that I think about it, in some ways her behavior reminded me of a junkie. I hope Lindsey Lohan did not start out this way. Perhaps some intervention is needed. Does Cookies Anonymous exist?

Gift Exchange- As I set up the gifts on Christmas Eve, I was so excited. I couldn't wait to see Alice and Angela's reactions to their gifts. I spent so much time making sure that each present would be perfect for them. On Christmas morning, the girls opened their gifts, looked at the other's pile, and promptly began playing with each other's toys. So much for finding each one the perfect things. Next year I am just going to toss everything into a big pile and let them duke it out.

Needless to say, it was a wonderful time. Kids really do bring an extra bit of excitement to Christmas. I can't wait until next year.

No, I Did Not Put Her Up to It…

2011-01-03T20:48:00.002-05:00

After dinner Alice wanted John to give her a big hug- the type of hug that involves being lifted off her feet and embraced. John made a slight groan as he picked her up (she is over 40 pounds after all). Upon reaching eye level with him, Alice looked at her father and said, "Daddy, you are getting old."

Needless to say, I cracked up. I love when her zingers are not directed at me.

Cookie Monster

2011-01-01T20:26:00.001-05:00

I have mentioned in several blog posts how much I love to bake. Every December, a week or so before Christmas, I do my extreme cookie baking. This year I made 764 cookies, which actually is a low total for me. Last year I reached over 1000. However, a sinus infection, coupled with a stomach virus toward the end of my antibiotic treatment, laid me low for a good portion of the month. Always the optimist, I remarked to my mom that in some ways, the stomach virus was probably a good thing since I did not gain overmuch from my cookie sampling. Still, I would have happily done without that diet plan.

The cookies are mainly gifts. Nothing makes people feel as loved as a bag of yummy treats. Needless to say, the family loves this yearly tradition, particularly the tasting component. I am used to John's and Alice's reactions to my Cookie Baking Extravaganza, but Angela's was novel. Last Christmas, she was eight months old. Solid food eating comprised of stage one foods and runny cereal. Cookies were not the ultimate food that they are now that she is 20 months. While too many cookies are not a good thing, I have to admire how Angela's love of cookies has really turned on the critical thinking part of her brain. Her quest of cookies has resulted in her learning that step stools are portable and not too heavy for her to carry. This knowledge has become very handy in cookie larceny. I cannot tell you how many times I have found her standing in front of the cookie stash with a bag in hand ready to flee. In essence, she has become Cookie Monster in human form.

This new status solidified itself on Christmas. My sister in law gave Angela a stuffed Cookie Monster as a gift. The stuffed Cookie Monster has a chocolate chip cookie in its hand. When presented with the gift, my hard core cookie crook tried to steal the fake cookie from Cookie Monster's hand.

If that is not hardcore, I don't know what is.

Screwups with the Nativity Set- Part Deux

2010-12-05T12:06:00.001-05:00

I have not been the best Catholic in the last few years. I pray, but I have not been to church in a long while, mainly because the thought of keeping two kids still and quite for an hour makes me break out in hives. Still, I try to take those "teachable moments" when I can and explain elements of the faith that a little one can grasp. Unfortunately, last year my explanation of the Nativity set fell on deaf ears. I had given birth a little over seven months ago. I guess the addition of Angela was so fresh in her mind that Alice, then three, was convinced the Holy Family was a representation of our family. She even connected family member names to the shepherd and the Magi Poor Uncle Joe and Aunt Louise got the short shrift. Alice ran out of figurines so they became, collectively, the ass. Never one to admit defeat, I decided to try again this year. Alice was a year older and I purchased the Fisher Price Nativity set complete with the inn at Bethlehem, the stable, and the Magi. There are so many people, habitations and animals that upon seeing it set up John asked if I purchased "the whole town of Bethlehem."

As I unpacked the set and told Alice the story of Christ's birth, I was happy to notice that she seemed to comprehend it better than last year. I was also happy with the durability of the set which has survived the explorations of her and her sister. And then yesterday morning any hope I held for Alice's religious education died out. I found her holding Tinkerbell over the stable so Tinkerbell could sprinkle some pixie dust over it. Hmmm....frankincense, gold, myrrh and pixie dust...I guess it could work. Later in the afternoon, I found Woody from Toy Story at the inn of Bethlehem. Oh well, maybe next year.

Hard Core

2010-11-16T14:40:00.001-05:00

"Hmmmm....what's in here?"

I meant to post this a while ago, but nothing could immediately top the "stuck in the mud" post. Now that I am not so traumatized....

Although last year's Halloween was technically Angela's first Halloween, I don't really count it. At six months old, she had no clue what was going on. She probably thought her bag of money costume was some odd sleep sack. This year mobility coupled with a pretty good cause and effect understanding made it Angela's first "I get it" Halloween. I wish I had a camera when she received candy at the first house we went to for trick or treating. My chocoholic looked like she had discovered nirvana and she planned on fully experiencing it at her earliest opportunity. I stupidly did not consider this when I fastened her in the car seat. I let Angela continue to hold onto her treat bag. John and I chatted while we drove to our next stop. We paused when we heard ripping paper. We looked back at the same time to find that Angela had fished out a Kit Kat from her bag and was eating it- wrapper and all.

If that is not hard core, I don't know what is.

Mothers Know Best

2010-11-03T22:10:00.001-04:00

As a kid, I hated how my mom was always right. "Be careful or you will fall". Splat! Down I went. "Don't forget your coat. It's going to get cold." Defiant and fashion conscious, I would blithely leave the coat at home and later shiver while cursing her knowledge. And now I am a mother, who like my mother and her mother, issues these orders gentle reminders to her offspring with similar results.

The park outing started off lovely. The air was brisk but bearable. Oddly, neither of the girls wanted to play on the equipment, but instead wanted to walk around the large duck pond in the middle of the park. We collected leaves and acorns. We threw rocks in the water. It seemed idyllic- like one of those moments that you just wish you could capture on film. If someone did capture what happened next on film, it will probably be featured on America's Funniest Home Videos. If you do happen to see what I am about to describe, please let me know, especially if prize money is involved. I deserve a large cut.

Anyway, I digress.

While we walked along the water's edge, I kept reminding Alice not to get too close. I explained how even though parts of the shoreline looked solid, the ground was soft and mushy. I turned away from Alice to watch Angela climb down from a rock wall. A cry of horror and fear pulled my attention back to my eldest who was mired up to her knees in mud. Arms outstretched she called out to me, "Quicksand. Mommy, help!!!" My body jolted into action while my mind thought, "Shit. I would have to be wearing my favorite shoes." Still, love of my daughter outweighed that thought and I gingerly walked into the quagmire. I could feel the cold dampness of the mud ooze into my shoes and through my socks. I squelched the "God, this is gross" thoughts and proceeded to pull my terror stricken and stuck daughter out while praying the little one decided not to join us. I have to say I could understand the panic Alice felt because my feet got really stuck in the ooze. I pulled her out and got us both on pavement. I looked down and saw we each only had one shoe on. Fuck. I decided to ditch her $15 Payless pair, but I went back to pull out my beloved Ugg shoe. By the time I got out of the mud again my hands were covered, but I had my two shoes. I stuck my foot into the muddy bed and picked up Angela who quickly became muddy from me. What a sight we must have been. A crazy lady with mud squishing out of her shoes carrying a toddler while berating the one shoed, mud covered preschooler following her.

I have to say I was not overly angry at Alice. There are some things that you just have to experience for yourself. In doing so, you learn the ever important lesson- Your mother is always right.

Slut

2010-10-30T09:01:00.000-04:00

That got your attention, didn't it? Thankfully, I am not referring to anyone I know of the human variety. It is the pug of which I speak. Yes, Puggie Smalls, the Notoriuos P.U.G is also a notorious whore, for belly rubs in particular, but she will take any pats anywhere from anyone. This was reinforced several times yesterday. My sister came over to see the girls (and me, but I am realistic enough to realize she wanted to play with her nieces more). The poor girl could not go anywhere without the pug falling at her feet exposing her belly. You would think that with four people in the house the dog would get enough. Heck, even Angela at 18 months knows how to rub the dog's stomach (pretty gently too I might add). But that silly dog is never satisfied. There she always wants more. I wonder if they have doggie support groups for this affliction.

Even after my sister left, the dog was striving to capture our attention and center it on her belly. After dinner on Friday nights, the girls and I (poor John has been travelling nonstop for work) cuddle together in the playroom and watch some kind of animated movie. Last night, as we were enjoying Toy Story, I noticed that the pug had somehow figured out a way to lie down and have contact with all three of us. After I put Angela to bed, the pug was able to really hone in on the two of us. I have to admit that my heart kind of melted when she rested her head on Alice and used her as a pillow. Alice looked at me and said, "Mommy, Puggie is tired." I agreed and Alice proceeded to get the dog a blanket and a stuffed animal companion. The pug's snores filled the room. Maybe the life of a slut is not too bad after all.

Quirks

2010-10-12T18:01:00.001-04:00

As I watch my offspring go about their day, I often feel like Jane Goodall studying gorillas. Their behavior is heartwarming, frustrating, and baffling. For instance, I always know when Alice is tired because she starts stroking her hair. She has done this since infancy (only then it was my hair as she did not have enough of her own). Yes, my hair was her "transitional object" as the experts have dubbed it. Sometimes it was annoying; but, I have to admit, there were perks to her love of my hair. I always had it with me was the major one. How many times have I seen a distressed parent in search of a missing (fill in the blank)? Another Alice quirk is her tendency to walk on her toes when she is happy. It reminds me of a dog wagging her tail. If she is not on her toes, I know to be on mine and step warily.

Perhaps, because Alice is older, her foibles make much more sense to me. I have had longer to study them. Right now, Angela has me completely baffled with her love of onions, more particularly, her need to place them throughout the house. I find them everywhere- the playroom, the bathroom, on my favorite chair. Once I found one with teeth marks in it. Boy, would I have loved to have seen her face after that taste. I know I could move my root vegetable drawer, but that is not the issue. Yes, I have a drawer solely for root veggies. My husband chalks it up to my Irish heritage. I need to figure out her purpose here. If it were garlic, I would figure she was protecting us from vampires, but I am unsure if onions offer any protection against the undead. Any thoughts?

Why I Need Caffeine…

2010-10-06T21:02:00.000-04:00

I am not one of those people who don't "do" mornings. Morning is fine, especially now that Alice has evolved out of her need to wake up at 5 a.m. I do, however, require a jump start with some caffeine. My physical and cognitive abilities are simply not at their peak without a little stimulus. Even when I was pregnant, I could not give up my cup of "real" tea in the morning. I could easily drink decaffeinated the rest of the day, but I needed that initial caffeine burst. I figured that any injury I sustained due to impaired functioning would be worse for my unborn child than the little buzz she would get in utero.

This need was especially apparent this morning. Angela is teething and was up around one needing some pain relief. By the time I got her settled down, I was wide awake with busy head. I finally settled down after two, so I was a little more sluggish than usual this morning. I got the kids their breakfast and had them settled at the table while I organized mine. My anally on time self was getting irritated by Alice who instead of diving into her breakfast was teasing her sister. Why couldn't she just eat her waffle and leave her sister alone? Needless to say, I reprimanded her; however, it did not come out right. I meant to say, "Alice, eat your breakfast and stop annoying your sister." Unfortunately, because I had not even sipped my tea, my admonishment came out as, "Alice, eat your sister!"

Alice stopped what she was doing and looked up at me quizzically. She replied, "But, Mommy, then I would not have baby Angela anymore, and that would make me cranky."

And now we see why I need caffeine. Apparently, I become so addled without it that I promote cannibalism in place of Eggo's.

A Harsh Winter???

2010-10-04T13:02:00.001-04:00

Little pieces of folk wisdom hit me at odd moments. In particular the change of season seems to be loaded with these pearls of wisdom (?). I often hear people commenting on the large amount of acorns on the ground and how the squirrels' coats seem especially thick. These are apparently indicative of very cold weather ahead. All this came to mind yesterday at the park. My sister and her husband were playing with Alice leaving me to concentrate solely on Angela, who quickly became a little bit bored on the playground. She had a go on all the park equipment I would allow her on, so I broke out the soccer ball. I thought she might enjoy a game on the field adjoining the playground. She liked it, but all the curious things around her soon became much more appealing. Our soccer game turned into a little nature walk.

I followed my bow-legged wonder as she chased leaves and just enjoyed the large expanse of lawn. Soon she discovered a walking path that was littered with acorns. For some reason, she was totally fascinated with them. Of course, this is also the child who is obsessed with vacuum cleaners. It is nice not having to expend too much time, energy or money to keep her happy. Anyhow, she quickly started to amass quite a collection of them. She darted back and forth from her gathering site to the picnic tables nearby where she carefully placed them on the table. As I followed her back and forth, I began to wonder: Is a toddler hording acorns a sign of a bitter winter? If so get your woolies organized. We are in for some rough weather.

Armed and Dangerous

2010-09-30T21:34:00.000-04:00

It's funny how snippets of your children's language creep into your own. It makes sense. Lord knows they pick up plenty of profanity words from us. John and I still call cookies "coomies" thanks to Alice's initial pronunciation of the word. Sometimes we will just point to each other and say, "SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS" because of Angela's early propensity to do so. Well, this evening Alice provided us with a verbal "thrown gauntlet" for when we are ready to battle.

I was relaxing and semi dozing on the couch while John and Alice played with her train set. Apparently, they were having a race. In the heat of the competition, Alice informed her father, "I'm going to kick your butt and I have a shoe." I am not sure if I should be horrified or amused. I am going with amused and forewarned. Beware, world. My four year old is equipped with footware and ready to rumble.

Between Two Worlds

2010-09-01T21:23:00.001-04:00

I am nursing some motherhood war wounds as I sit here typing. The pre-bedtime ritual started off nicely enough. The girls were happily dancing to a Backyardigan's song while I (gasp!) sat on the couch. I had just cautioned Alice about the dangers of spinning until the point of extreme dizziness. Naturally, at that point, she collapsed onto the instep of my right foot with all her weight. Her hard noggin also connected with my right knee. While I leaned over to grasp my leg in pain, Angela came by with a ladle in her hand and conked me on the head. She laughed and then tripped and fell on my injured instep. This is what I get for sitting down on the job, I guess. In all fairness, I needed the sit down. After all, I spend the majority of my day navigating between two polar worlds: the non-stop verbal world and the baby cavewoman world of non-stop movement. And thus we see why I have not blogged in a while. So without further ado, here are the latest moments of hilarity occurring in my household:

Yesterday Alice decided to arrange pillows on the floor for a picnic/party. Ever the considerate hostess, she kindly handed me a pillow and told me to "spread your butt on this one." Thanks, love.

While we had a tea party a few weeks ago, Alice, again the considerate hostess, handed me a pretend cake for my enjoyment. I told her it was delicious and asked what her secret ingredients were. She informed me that they were "sugar, leaves, and pus." I am still unsure where she learned the word pus. I did learn never to ask for seconds.

Angela has begun to make sounds like the dog whenever she sees a dog or someone asks her, "What sound does a dog make?" Unfortunately, my pug sounds like a 90 year old, asthmatic smoker experiencing lung failure. Needless to say, she (and I) get many quizzical looks and I dread when Old MacDonald is the song of choice at Gymboree.

For Pat

2010-08-17T21:03:00.001-04:00

All too often we hear about the negatives regarding the Internet. The Craigslist killer comes to mind as does instances of students utilizing things like My Space to bully other students. We are warned by the experts about identity theft and computer viruses which can wreak havoc not just on our computer but on those of all the people who might email us. In the midst of all these national, and sometimes global headlines, the good stories are often overlooked. This is one such story.

About eight years ago, I joined Weight Watchers online. John and I, like most dating couples, spent our courting days wining and dining. Consequently, along with finding love, I found additional pounds creeping on my frame. Being the "take charge" gal that I am, I decided to nip this weight gain in the bud. I found a great deal of success following the Weight Watchers plan online. Although I did not attend meetings, I found the community section of the Weight Watchers online site was very supportive. It was a place where I could ask questions, vent about my frustrations, and boast about my successes (those weeks of a half pound loss). It was within the community section that I noticed a weekly thread with the same group of women posting to it. I introduced myself and was welcomed to this thread with open arms. Soon I began posting daily with a group of women from all areas of the country. We could not have been more different. We had different ideologies, geographical locations, ages, family formations, careers, and so forth. Yet, despite all the disparities, our weight loss struggles initially served as our link. It is funny to look back and think of those early days. Weight loss was our standard topic, but soon we began to open up about other things (probably since weight gain/loss does not occur in a bubble). We dubbed our thread "the porch" and, somehow in this typically anonymous cyber world, we created the homey feel of a front porch littered with rockers. Given that most of us hug our respective coastlines, I often imagined it as the front porch of a beachfront home. I could picture us rocking on its weathered boards while wrapped in shawls or afghans. Our conversation would pause momentarily as we took sips of steaming cups of tea. Sometimes conversation would bubble excitedly with words tripping over the other while at other times we would rock in companionable silence just enjoying each other's company.

As our friendship grew, we changed venues and began posting on a private message board. I see these women as my grandmothers, my aunts, my sisters and my friends. I have met only one person in the flesh. Regardless, when I learned today that one of our older porch dwellers passed away, I have mourned just as I would for a friend who lived nearby. Pat was one of those people who made you believe that growing old did not have to be a bad thing. She amazed me daily with her zest for life, even when health issues reduced her capacities. Instead of becoming bitter or giving up, Pat found ways to adapt to her new situation and keep on keeping on. She was an excellent example of graceful acceptance and resourcefulness. I loved reading posts from Pat because she had such eloquence and an eye for detail. I often felt I was in her kitchen baking bread alongside of her. I could easily imagine myself in the field of poppies she discovered while walking with her photographer husband. I could hear her cat Bit purring and demanding her treat. I loved how Pat could hone in on these bits of everyday minutia. It highlighted for me how life is truly made up of wonderful, albeit simple, pleasures if you allow yourself to be open to them. I was also impressed by Pat's community mindedness. One of the last things I recall her posting about was helping to organize a book sale for her local library. This volunteer effort is one of the many things I remember Pat talking about. It seemed like she was always experimenting with something be it memoir writing or baking brown bread. I am so thankful for knowing Pat. I often told her that she was an excellent role model. I hope that as I age I am as feisty and wise as her. In many ways, I feel like she is the embodiment of the Serenity Prayer for wisdom, courage, and knowledge were the cornerstones of who she was.

May you rest in peace dear friend.

Paging Doctor Barile

2010-08-10T20:56:00.000-04:00

One of the cool (and terrifying) bits of being a parent is imagining your child as a grown up. For instance, sometimes as I watch Alice construct amazing train track formations, I wonder if the future engineer in her is emerging. Once in Gymboree I witnessed her during bubble popping time take a grid approach to popping the bubbles on the gymnastics mats. It made me think of archeologists searching for artifacts. Unfortunately, my imaginings are not all good. After watching the movie Madagascar Alice enjoyed dancing and singing to the song "Move It". That in itself is not too bad. The fact that she preferred to dance and sing naked caused concern (and cold sweats for me). I could only envision a pole in her future or a role in her generation's version of Jersey Shore.

And, oftentimes, my dreams for Alice's future are interrupted by laughter (usually mine). This hit home during dinner today. While I finished eating, Alice examined the butterfly garden map we received at the Bronx Zoo with a magnifying glass. She was so intent on her study she was actually silent for small periods of time (stunning, I know). While I cleaned up, I thought to myself, "Wow…maybe that trip to the Bronx Zoo might lead to a career in lepidopterology. How cool would that be?" I had just completed this mental self dialogue when I noticed Alice was now on the floor and using the magnifying glass to study the pug's ass. Alice saw me looking at her and said, "Look, Mommy. Big butt (move magnifying glass away from pug's rear). Little butt" (move magnifying glass close to pug's rear). Oh well, maybe a career in proctology is on the horizon.

Pavlov in Action

2010-08-07T08:56:00.000-04:00

I am sad to say that throughout my life I have identified more with Pavlov's dog than with Pavlov. Each September, after I received my teaching schedule for the year, I would begin to train my body to respond to the bells of the day. For instance, after the fourth bell I could pee and have my snack. At around the eleventh bell, I could have my lunch…so on and so forth. I knew my response was bell driven as opposed to time driven because on condensed schedule days, I would not only be eating my lunch at 10 in the morning but I would also be hungry for it. Since leaving the classroom, I have relished in the lack of bells in my life. It is rather liberating to take care of bodily needs according to my body's prompting and not due to some external stimuli. Still, I have my moments wondering if Pavlov remains in control.

This has been on the forefront of my mind lately due to Angela's emergent language and obsession with cookies. One day she noticed a box of cookies on the kitchen counter. She pointed to them and said, "Good girl." I had to laugh and provide her with the desired cookie for such cuteness. Now, whenever she wants a cookie, she points to the box and says, "Cookie. Good Girl." I am ashamed to admit that it gets me every time. There is part of me that wonders if I am setting her up for a lifetime of food/behavioral issues. Additionally, there is a part of me which wonders if she has trained me exceptionally well already. Regardless, I am just going to enjoy the cuteness and let the chips fall where they may. Now if I could just overcome the need for a belly rub and to pee outside….

Channeling Beavis and Butthead

2010-08-04T20:50:00.000-04:00

Yesterday John and I decided to take the girls to the Bronx Zoo. We had not been there since our initial dating days close to (gasp!) 10 years ago. It was a great excursion and we had a ball. The girls were entranced by all the different animals that they saw. I was surprised by how much Alice loved the butterfly garden. Upon entering the exhibit, the attendant provided us with a map picturing the different types of butterflies in the enclosure. Alice became a pro at identifying the butterflies that perched near us. Despite the lure of the 4-D Dora and Diego movie, Alice kept getting sidetracked every time a new butterfly fluttered by. Even Angela surprised me by her joy in the Congo exhibit. Who knew how enamored she would be by the gorillas? She kept pointing at them and squealing at their antics in their habitat enclosure. However, my "Beavis and Butthead" moment of the day came while we were in the Children's Zoo exhibit.

It was not until we were in the Children's Zoo that I remembered all the wandering peacocks that speckle the zoo landscape. I think in the food court they actually outnumber the pigeons, which, when you consider we are in the Bronx, is saying something. Anyhow, I had just placed Angela down from her perch in my arms when she noticed a peacock right in front of her. She was so excited to see the exotic bird so close to her. In answer to her finger point and quizzical look, I informed her that it was a peacock. Unfortunately, she zeroed in on the second syllable of the word and kept saying the word "cock" over and over. It did not help that her pointing finger was not only in line with the large bird but also in line with most folks' genitals. Needless to say, those in earshot must have been a mite confused as to why a 15 month old girl was running around, finger outstretched, saying a rather vulgar word for penis. However, if you keep up with this blog, you can understand why I was unfazed by this. I guess Alice has broken me in. I had no choice but to follow John's example and break into my best Beavis and Butthead laugh, do my best Butthead impression, and say, "She said cock."

It’s All about Perspective

2010-07-27T20:52:00.001-04:00

It is funny how kids can make you see things in a totally different way. This hit home while I was driving to a local park with Alice and Angela. As we passed a local farm, I noticed that there were several horses grazing in the pasture. Knowing Alice's love of animals, I called her attention to this. She peered into the field from the vantage point of her Britax car seat and informed me that "the horses look funny." I did a double take but I did not notice anything odd about them. Albeit, they looked to be miniature horses, but they seemed to have all the typical characteristics of an equine. I asked her why they looked funny to her. She informed me, "Because they don't have any heads." At that moment, the phrase, "What the hell?" came to mind and then in dawned on me. The horses were grazing. The car was going 40 miles per hour. Yes, at that speed, it probably did look like the pasture was filled with headless horses.

And there you have it…my Alice-ism of the day.

Charge!!!!!

2010-07-11T07:09:00.000-04:00

Angela took her first independent steps about three weeks ago. Now she rarely crawls. I figure by next week she will have evolved from her Baby Frankenstein lurching into a pretty typical gait, until college overindulgences anyway. In about two more weeks, she will probably be happily running about while chasing particles of dust (funny how kids and animals share that trait). I love this stage because it really highlights each child's idiosyncrasies and there is nothing I like better than observing someone else's quirks.

For instance, I love how Angela has used scuttling to her advantage. Somehow she has figured out that if she wants speed, she needs to sidestep. This was particularly amusing while at the shore. Unfortunately, it did have one negative effect. Her crab like saunter resulted in an overwhelming urge to chase her while wearing a lobster bid and smother her with drawn butter. I also like Angela's propensity of pointing to her ultimate destination when walking. I am not sure if it helps her maintain focus or balance, but it is easy to figure out where she is heading by a glance at her outstretched finger. Essentially, I have given birth to the Babe Ruth of walking.

It is funny how the dog has also picked up on this peculiarity. Just when I think Puggie lacks two synapses to fire up, she shows remarkable intelligence. It is nice to see that she has a sense of self preservation. This kicked in rapidly when Angela started toward the dog with a hairbrush in her hand (substitute for the pointing finger). She looked like Don Quixote charging the windmills. Puggie woke up from her perpetual snooze and moved faster than I had seen her in a while. She managed to elude a grooming from Angela mainly due to Angela's lack of coordination. Enjoy the respite now dog. Coordination and speed are just around the corner.

A New Offering from Your Local Library

2010-07-08T21:05:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Dora the Explorer, I am able to accomplish three errands per day before Alice gets antsy. For those of you unfamiliar with the "Dora formula", Dora and her monkey friend Boots must complete a task in each episode. To do so, they consult Map to figure out the best way to get from Point A to Point B. Map always gives Dora and Boots three locations that they must pass through in order to get to their ultimate destination. For some reason, this just clicks for Alice; so, whenever I have to do something with her (and Peanut), we break it down into three steps. Today we had grocery store, hair cut, and library.

It was on the way to the library that Alice provided me with my daily "scratch my head" moment. While I drove, I talked up the fun things that we would do once we got there.

"Alice, we are going to get some new books and new movies. Isn't that…"

"And pickles," Alice interjected.

"Huh?" I asked.

"We are going to get some pickles too," Alice clarified.

I decided to overlook the fact that I have never seen this child eat a pickle in her almost four years on this planet; and, instead, correct her mistaken belief regarding what constitutes proper library materials. Alice would have none of it. She was adamant that one could get pickles from the library. Apparently, she was privy to some new program, which despite loss of funding for libraries in general, was going to be instituted. So let me know what you think of the "Pickles for Patrons" program the next time you check something out.

Let’s Get Ready to Rumble!

2010-06-20T12:56:00.002-04:00

I blame the book Playful Parenting. I read it when I was a new inductee into Mommyhood. Actually, I read a slew of parenting books in those early months. I think was I looking for that non-existent user manual for children. Now that I am a grizzled veteran, I know to take all parenting books and their contradictory theories on how to raise your children and use them as bonfire fodder. S'mores, anyone? Aside from its title, I don't recall much about Playful Parenting beyond the author's advocating of nontraditional play with children (e.g. wrestling with girls). His argument for doing so seemed sound. He believed it would help make them more confident and comfortable in their bodies. Given my issues with body distortion, I wanted to spare my daughter that particular angst, so I began to playfully wrestle with Alice who loved it.

The point to this back story- a few Sundays ago John was heading to the airport, so it was just me and the girls. They were playing in the living room while I puttered around the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. I smiled as I heard gales of little girl laughter erupt regularly; at least until the laughter was interspersed with odd thumping noises. I generally try to leave well enough alone when they are contentedly playing. I did not hear limbs being severed or screeches of terror. Still, my curiosity was piqued, so I decided to investigate.

I stood in the doorway of the living room and watched aghast as my two girls (ages 3 and 1) wrestled together. The World Wrestling Federation had nothing on these two. I decided to reprimand Alice, the oldest who should know better. As Alice lay prone on the floor, I lit into her for treating her smaller and more fragile sister so roughly. I should have known better. While I listed the reasons why wrestling with Angela was the wrong thing to do, Angela, who was kneeling next to her sister, decided stand up and then body slam Alice. While they laughed uproariously, I muttered, "Never mind" to Alice and walked out of the room. Angela can fend for herself, which now leaves me time to decide what their professional wrestling names should be. Any suggestions?

In Favor of Adulthood

2010-06-05T12:12:00.000-04:00

The other day while I was on Facebook, I noticed a new group. I don't recall the exact title of the group, but it went something along the lines of wishing to be a child when the most difficult choice was deciding what color crayon to use. I smiled and thought of those idyllic childhood days until my attention was diverted by a crying Angela who stood in front of the two steps transitioning from the kitchen to the living room. Normally, she is such a happy go lucky soul; however, of late I have noticed an uptick in crying. Frustration has reached an apex for her. She is caught between desire (to get up the stairs) and her limitations (not being able to coordinate all the body parts necessary for this feat). As I watched her struggle with the step, I realized that group on Facebook had it all wrong. Adulthood is the better stage. No, I am not being sarcastic, droll, or any derivation of those words. I am being 100% honest. I prefer bring an adult.

Yes, as an adult, one faces major stresses and responsibilities (think mortgages, bosses, parenthood), but it's not like childhood is devoid of stresses and responsibilities. While it is true that kids play all day, remember that play is their work and that work is exhausting physically and mentally. I can personally attest to the physical exhaustion of play. On the days Alice is home from school, we are on the go, go, go. I work out simply so I can build the endurance to keep up with her. For Angela the physical aspect of play is all consuming as she works on refining walking skills. Can you imagine the constant stress and frustration felt by the bourgeoning walker? The fact that she keeps trying despite constant failure awes me. Then there is the mental aspect of play. All that "common knowledge" that we have stored in our craws came from somewhere. Imagine constantly being bombarded by new things, experiences, and stimuli. Kids deal with this on a constant basis. Add to this limited language/communication skills and is it any wonder that they have tantrums? As adults, we have the words to express how we feel for when we are frustrated, sad, tired and so forth. We have also learned coping mechanisms for when we experience these feelings (that is the hope anyway); but, kids have not developed that side of themselves yet. There is also the extreme of this- no words at all. Angela can say and understand the words: Mama, Dada, and Pup (for Pug). She can point to things that she wants. She can laugh to express approval and scream/cry to show displeasure. Imagine dealing with those limitations on a regular basis. That does not sound idyllic to me.

There is also the issue of personal autonomy. Yes, due to adult responsibilities, it is limited, but it is worse for children. I realized this the other day when Alice told me she wanted to stay home and play with her trains. I needed to get to the grocery store to pick up dinner. Guess who won? Kids are dragged everywhere regardless of whether they want to come along for the ride or not. When presented with choices, the choices are limited to the ones that I provide. Ideas like ice cream for dinner are rebuffed along with extended bedtimes (little do my children know that John and I frequently indulge in an ice cream dinner). This highlights the next stinky thing about childhood- learning the lesson that life is unfair and people are mean. As adults, we know this already. Again, we have built coping mechanisms for this. When I encounter a stuck up mom on the playground, I cease trying to be friendly and walk away (probably thinking the word "bitch" as I do so). I don't take things like that personally. Kids can't help but take it personally. I periodically deal with this when Alice tries playing with the ubiquitous "mean girls." How does one explain this phenomenon to a 3 year old? They don't get that some people are just mean, and no matter how friendly you are, they will still be mean.

So give me adulthood with its ice cream dinners and knowledge. Heck, I will take any stage that does not involve going through puberty again. That will be a post at a later date I am sure.

Flashback

2010-05-25T08:15:00.000-04:00

"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

I remember hearing this phrase as a teenager and thinking how profound it was. Examples of it seem to permeate society; however, I never really thought of it applying to me and toilet paper until yesterday afternoon.

Our story begins about six years ago around this time. John and I had been married for close to a year. I was lonely for a pet, especially as John was travelling so much for work. A cat was out of the question due to John's allergies. If I wanted a four legged furry friend, I had to get a dog. Enter Puggie. During those early, not house trained days, I would put Puggie in our main floor bathroom before I went off to work. A baby gate kept her confined but she had more space than she did in her crate at night (and my carpets were safe). One day I came home from work to find the bathroom totally wrapped in toilet paper. It seriously looked like a roll exploded in the bathroom. Apparently, Puggie discovered the roll of paper just hanging on the wall and figured it was a good plaything. I will never forget how happy she looked surrounded by Charmin (once I finally located her under the pile). She looked at me as if to say, "Mommy! I had so much fun today." Needless to say, I learned my lesson and kept the toilet paper away from the pup. Unfortunately doing so required explanation when visitors used the facilities.

Well, puppies eventually mellow into dogs (read couch potatoes) and outgrow such mischievousness. I rejoiced when I could finally put the paper back on the roll. No more explanations to bathroom users. A page in my history was written and completed.

Until yesterday.

I was busy getting ready to go to the grocery store. John was working at home so I assumed Angela was playing underfoot in the office. She has an odd fascination for the bright silver zippers on his briefcase. Apparently, this fascination also extends to toilet paper. I was ready to leave and went to collect the little one. As I walked over to the office, I noticed some movement in the bathroom. There was Angela surrounded by toilet paper with a big smile on her face. As I looked at her, my mind flashed back to that pug puppy from six years ago. I had to laugh. It looks like I have re-entered the keeping the toilet paper away from puppies/babies stage.

Consider this your warning when you use the main floor bathroom. Look on the shelf behind you if you need a square.

The River Palm Terrace- A Steak house That Cannot Cook Steak

2010-05-23T21:50:00.000-04:00

I am a Foodie. I love seeking out new experiences for my taste buds. I have eaten in some of the world's finest dining establishments from Thomas Keller's Per Se to Disney's Victoria and Albert's. In my entire dining out history, there has been only one time when I sent something back to the kitchen. At least, that was my history until last night. Last night, while dining at the River Palm Terrace in Mahwah, I had to send my dinner back to the kitchen not once but twice. Yes, you did, in fact, read that last sentence correctly. I had to send a filet mignon back twice. I simply gave up after the second screw up. I feared what would appear before me if I chanced a third time. I am still dumbfounded that "New Jersey's premier steak house" (their description as it appears on their website) apparently does not know how to cook a piece of meat. Actually, they did not know how to cook two pieces of meat. They incorrectly prepared John's veal chop as well.

The night started out well. My family and I were in a celebratory mood. We were gathered together for my father's seventieth birthday dinner. The ambiance was lovely. The menu got my mouth watering. I was in a particularly carnivorous mood, so I ordered the filet mignon. John and I decided to split our appetizers and sides in order to get a broader experience of the menu. The coconut shrimp were delicious. The shrimp were plump and tender. The coconut coating was dense and crispy. Although fried, it was not greasy at all. The fruit chutney accompaniment complimented the dish well, but the shrimp were so well prepared and tasty, it was not necessary. The crab cake was wonderful as well. It had just the right amount of binding ingredients to keep the crab in its cake form without cutting into the taste of the crab itself. The horseradish/mustard dressing provided a surprisingly spicy kick which was welcome to the palate. The chopped salad which appeared after the appetizers was fine. The vegetables were fresh and dressed well. The oil and vinegar combination was well balanced with neither ingredient dominant. The only reason I did not finish the salad was I did not want to spoil my appetite for my main dish.

The main courses appeared with the sides. Everything looked wonderful. I cut into my filet and happily noted its gradations of pink (the meat was ordered medium rare). I placed the first piece in my mouth and was assaulted by a plethora of salt. I was taken aback. I cut into another part of the steak. I figured I just hit a slightly over salted patch. To my dismay, the next piece was just as horribly over salted as the first. Unless something is described as "salt encrusted", I should not encounter a salty crunch. The salt was so overpowering it killed the taste of the meat. I commented to my family that my dish was horrible. My husband looked relieved that it was not just him who had an over salted piece of meat. We called the manager over and sent both our meals back. Unfortunately, both our dishes had half of the sides we ordered on them so we lost that part of our dinner as well. I was upset, but I figured the situation would be remedied quickly. Apparently, the staff at The River Palm and I have differing definitions of the word quickly. Twenty five minutes later John and I were presented with our main meals (minus the sides we had previously plated). By this point, my family had finished their dinners and the servers had cleared the table. They actually tried to clear away my utensils as well until I informed them that I had not even had my dinner yet. Needless to say, I was disappointed. The point of the family going out to eat was (gasp) to actually eat together. I swallowed my displeasure and cut into my filet once again. I looked at my steak and I could not believe my eyes. Instead of medium rare, I had a cool pink raw slab of cow in front of me. I looked over at John who, likewise, was staring in disbelief at his overly pink chop. We called the manager over again and showed him our meals. His response was a mumbled, "Sorry. We rushed it." Rushed it? Twenty five minutes to be presented with a raw steak is rushing a meal?!

Both John and I had the mud pie for dessert dinner. I honestly cannot give a good description of its taste. All the aggravation and upset of the last hour soured everything. In addition to careless food preparation, I had to deal with a staff that did care that my dinner was messed up not once, but twice. Our server never apologized for what happened either time. I also had to contend with the manager who had the audacity to waylay me as I left the restroom. Instead of apologizing for all the issues surrounding the meal, he informed me that there was nothing wrong with the food and I should inform the cooking staff of any salt sensitivity. I could not believe my ears. He was actually trying to pin a preparation mistake on me! I explained that I have never experienced such sensitivity before. Why would I think that one would develop suddenly? Additionally, regardless of his opinion of the steak, it is the diner's opinion which matters. I then expressed my disappointment with their inability to cook meat properly and my shock that it took so long to have something raw come to the table. The manager told me that the meat went on the grill right away. I explained that if that was true then I would not have gotten a raw piece of meat but a charred one considering the length of time that passed and the high temperatures they use when cooking. I guess it was a fitting end to a horrible dining experience. It is sad that the staff at my local diner would show more concern over my disappointment with a meal.

Poor John

2010-04-21T21:34:00.000-04:00

When I was pregnant with both girls, John and I decided against finding out the sex of the baby beforehand. Since the number of pleasant surprises significantly decreases with age, and either outcome would have made us happy, we decided to relish in our nine month mystery. Although I have an uncanny sense for determining what other women are carrying, I had no gut feeling about my own children. People would ask if I had "the dream." The only dream that I recall of that ilk was during my pregnancy with Alice. In my dream, I had just delivered the baby. The doctor presented me with a swaddled child and announced, "Congratulations. It's a …" However, I never knew what the doctor said because in my dream I was exhausted from labor and fell asleep. John, however, did not draw the blank that I did in reality or dreamland. Every time John was asked, he replied, "a girl." If someone pressed him for his rationale, he would explain it was God's way of paying him back for the sins of his youth. I logically pointed out that if that was indeed true the world's population would be composed entirely of women with a few isolated males here and there. Still, John persisted in his way of thinking.

This came back to me while I was at the park with the girls last week. Angela was on the swing and Alice was off playing with a newly made friend. Angela loves the swing. Her whole body was shaking with delight as she went back and forth giggling the entire time. Her happiness attracted two young boys who I pegged to be in sixth or seventh grade. As I pushed, they started asking me about my daughter- her age and things of that nature. They then started doing silly things to make her laugh. They loved her deep whole body laughs and she loved making silly faces and batting her eyes at them. The thing that really amazed me about the whole interaction was when a few of the boys' friends called to them from the basketball court and asked them to come and play. These young boys actually declined the invitation in order to spend more time with Angela. Holy crap! The kid is not even one and older boys are besotted. John must have really been a bad boy.

Tail of Woe

2010-04-14T21:31:00.000-04:00

Alice is a great kid. More often than not, she amazes me with her thoughtfulness, intelligence and humor. And then she pulls a "typical toddler" move. Lately, she has been taking the toy(s) Angela is playing with right from her hands. Now, I totally understand that sharing is a really hard concept to learn. I think we all know adults who have not mastered the skill. Regardless, my home looks like a toy factory threw up in it. There is no end to playthings littering the floor, tables, bins, and dark shadowy corners protected by killer dust bunnies. I simply don't fully understand why she HAS to play with that particular toy at that exact moment. Typically, Alice and Angela play really well (actually surprisingly well) together. Alice enjoys being with her sister and making her laugh so I am totally at a loss as to why she continually does something to make Angela cry.

I have done the whole "gentle explanation in terms she can understand" deal. I might as well have tried teaching her algebra. She now loses her television privileges for a period of time. That has helped curtail it a great deal but still the behavior persists. The whole thing has been driving me nuts. I told Angela that when she is big enough to defend her turf Mommy will deliberately turn a blind eye a time or two so she can have some payback. I have warned Alice of this but right now she does not fear her little sister.

This last Sunday, the whole situation took a humorous turn. I was cleaning up from dinner and enjoying a moment of peaceful serenity. John was with the two little ones in the living room playing. I was basking in some solo time and actually starting and finishing a task (gasp). A cry from Angela, a scolding from John and a full blown tantrum from Alice threw all that serenity out the window. Alice ran to the kitchen to tell me her tale of woe. Needless to say, she got no compassion from me and instead got an additional reprimand. I returned to my cleaning fuming all the while. As I finished the last pot, I realized Alice was under the table but still carrying on a conversation. Curiously, I peered under the table to find Alice pouring out all her sorrow to a very patient pug who just sat there and listened. Alice hysterically related to the dog, "I'm so angry. I'm so tired. I'm so cranky and I'm so hungry again." I silently left the room to laugh and tell John what was going on in the kitchen. A few minutes later I called to Alice and once she quieted down we talked about why she was scolded. Puggie hopped between the two of us and proceeded to lick Alice's tears. Once all was settled, Alice returned to play in the living room and I called the pug into the kitchen. I went to the treat closet and took out two. After listening to Alice's tale of woe, she surely deserved a double.

Abs of Peanut

2010-03-28T09:43:00.000-04:00

One of the many "joys" of pregnancy is learning just how much your body can stretch and expand. On one hand, I have to admit, it is kind of cool. John's chief disappointment during this "I looked like I swallowed a beach ball stage" was that my belly button never popped out. Personally, I was very happy that I missed that experience. Whenever I see a popped out belly button, I think of a Purdue oven stuffer. You know, the one that has the timer which pops out when the bird is ready. I didn't want that running through my mind throughout my pregnancy. Anyway, the reality of body expansion kicks in upon the baby's exit. Think of what a balloon looks like when air is let out and you have an excellent visual. Peanut's arrival via cesarean section killed what little core strength I had left. Needles to say, my core/abs have been a focus during this post partum "I need to look less like a deflated balloon" stage.

I distinctly recall doing my first Pilates routine post partum mainly because I think the only workout my core got was through my laughter. Actually, I did fine until I came to the Pilates roll up exercise. For those of you unfamiliar with this move it involves one being in a prone position on the floor with arms straight overhead. You are then supposed to roll up from the floor one vertebra at a time until you reach a seated position. The key is that you generate all the energy for this move from your core and you don't use any momentum from the swing of your arms. Angela was next to me on the floor at the time and the two of us struggled to get into that seated position. Our lack of abdominal strength became an unexpected bonding moment and at that moment it dawned on me that instead of abs of steel I have abs of Peanut.

Thankfully things have improved for both of us. Neither of us can do the Pilates roll up but we have become very good at Cobra and Plank position in yoga. I have even managed a side plank. Still, there is room for improvement. On days I cannot make it to the gym, I have been working out to exercise DVDs at home. It was while I was exercising at home the other day that Alice decided to join me. As expected, she was naked. I looked down at her mirroring my movements to the DVD program and realized how ripped she is. Yes, my three year old has a six pack. Damn. Oh, well. It is something to aspire to. Maybe one day instead of abs of Peanut I will have abs of Alice.

Oh, #@&$!

2010-03-05T17:08:00.000-05:00

I was dreading this day. I knew it was going to happen. Alice dropped the F bomb.

After years of teaching high school, I am extremely conscious about the words that fall from my lips. Let's face it, people would most likely look down upon a teacher (an English teacher no less) who used profanity regularly in class. I often thanked the gods that people are not like cartoons because if my students knew the mental dialogue that ran through my mind 99.9% of the time they would have been shocked. Since, as the proverbial phrase goes, "old habits die hard", I regularly say "shoot" and "fudge" when I want to say something different. Since John mainly works with adults, who don't melt when a profanity slips, he has not had to ever worry about checking his language. And thus we see why I had the following conversation with my daughter:

I am driving home after picking up Alice from preschool. Both kiddies are strapped into their respective car seats and the Cars soundtrack in on the radio. A moronic (writer is being kind here) driver decides to just reverse out of her driveway without actually checking to see if (gasp) cars are driving along the main road. I blare on the horn and slightly swerve the car to avoid getting hit.

Me: Idiot!

Alice: Fuck!

Me: What did you say, Alice?

Alice: Fuck.

Me: Honey, that is a naughty word. We don't use words like that.

Alice: Daddy does.

Me: (internally) Oh, shit.

Good for the Soul

2010-02-28T08:21:00.000-05:00

It is funny how certain things that people stay stick with you. Lately I have been thinking often about an old college professor that I had when I went to Villanova. Dr. Ernest Ramirez was a 300 pound good old boy with a Texas drawl. I distinctly remember our first day in class and his admonishment to call him "Ernie". He was the antithesis of pretentious which in academia is pretty rare. Needless to say, I so enjoyed his down to earth manner and humor that I don't think I ever missed one of his education classes that semester.

It was during one of these education classes that Ernie mentioned how sad it was that the use of art and aesthetics in the classroom declined as the student got older. The truth of this statement clicked with me, and when I finally had a classroom to call my own, I made sure to create several assignments each marking period that required some type of art work. All the students, regardless of age or level, enjoyed these assignments and I was always taken away by the results. Now that I have children of my own, I find Ernie's comment coming to mind more and more often; perhaps it is because I often find myself coloring or painting or involved in some type of artistic endeavor with my three year old. These experiences have made me realize Ernie's observation left out a whole other group of people- adults. We don't have enough art and aesthetics in our adult lives. Now, I realize that many people have objects d' art in their homes and offices. As adults, we have the means and ways to go to galleries and museums. What I mean by "art" here is the stuff that we create with our own two hands (regardless of how skillful those hands are). When you consider all the stresses that percolate in the typical adult life( bills, work and family situations…the list is endless) the lack of art is particularly sad as we need the release that it provides the most. Personally, I did not realize how "art-less" my adult life was until I became enmeshed in a Crayola centric world. I forgot how much fun coloring in a coloring book can be; and, as dorky as it sounds, I still get a little charge of excitement when I open up a box of perfectly sharpened new crayons. I love finger painting the shapes that Alice and I fashioned with cookie cutters and our homemade Bake Doh. I have a blast creating decorations and mobiles using some of my yarn stash. Despite being forced by my three year old to use safety scissors (hard when you are left handed and an adult) and having some hefty clean up after most projects, I find myself smiling and less tense as I look at the results of our artistic activities. I even have noticed a difference in John after he manipulates some Play-Doh with Alice. The work pressures and annoyances seem to wash off of him as he creates airplanes and cars and the odd assortment of objects Alice requests.

Now I am not a Pollyanna. Coloring will not make bills, a bad relationship or clinical depression go away. But, it might make you forget about some of these things, at least for a few minutes. So, go to the store and buy yourself a new book of crayons and a coloring book. Now that you are an adult, you can even give yourself some freedom to play outside of the lines (and perhaps have some ice cream for dinner).

Never Thought to Put that on My “To Do” List

2010-02-20T09:28:00.000-05:00

I hate Blue's Clues, Blue's Room or any derivation of the Blue franchise. Actually, let me clarify this a bit. Hate is a strong word after all. I like the concept behind the show- taking things step by step as a way to introduce the concept of critical thinking/reasoning. Unfortunately, the execution is rather nerve grating. Naturally, Alice enjoys the show tremendously and has days when all she wants to watch is Blue. Those are the days when John comes home and instead of saying, "Hi Honey. How was your day?" I greet him with, "We are having wine with dinner."

I particularly despise the "Old MacDonald" farm episode. Blue and her brother Sprinkles fill in for Old MacDonald on the farm. I am not sure why he leaves in the first place. Perhaps he is off to visit a brothel? Anyhow, Blue and Sprinkles have to take care of the farm and they use a "handy dandy" checklist to help them remember the four things that need to be done. I can't believe that they need a list to remember four things but I digress. The first thing they need to do is collect a dozen eggs. This is when I really appreciate Disney and their care for the motherhood induced ADHD parent. Disney would have a conveyer belt under the chickens catching the eggs. The eggs would come out of the chickens with the same speed as machine gun fire. I swear, with Blue and Sprinkles, it seriously takes over five minutes to count twelve freaking eggs. The next item on the checklist is to milk the cows. The first time this episode was on I was in another room. Panic shot through me as I thought a porn came on. All I kept hearing was the command, "Squeeze, squeeze!" I ran into the room to see Blue and Sprinkles milking imaginary cows. It looked like they were giving imaginary hand jobs. Again, once the task is complete it got checked off the list. This happens two more times, which when you multiply that by the number of times Alice has watched the show, is enough for her to have internalized the concept of a "to do" list and checking off the items that are completed.

It was also enough to provide me with a good laugh yesterday. I was finishing up changing Angela's poopy diaper. Alice came by with a piece of fabric (her list) and a game piece from Don't Break the Ice (her pencil). She asked me what I was doing. "Changing Angela's poopy diaper, honey." Alice gave a big smile and said, "Check" as she made an imaginary check on her pretend list. I looked at her and quizzed, "Angela taking a poop was on your 'to do' list?" Alice nodded and left the room all the while checking off random things.

Well, at least I can now accomplish something from my "to do" list every day. Who knew I could put regularity and laundry on the same list?

Home Sweet Home

2010-02-19T12:11:00.003-05:00

I was really dreading this week and not because Alice is home on vacation. I enjoy spending time with her, except when she is recovering from an illness. To say she is not a good patient is a very politically correct way of stating she is a major pain in the rear. For whatever reason, Alice becomes this clingy, whiny adhesive shadow as she transitions from sickness to health. So, you can imagine how I was feeling as I cancelled all our outside activities and prepared to hunker down with a post pneumonia toddler.

I am still shocked that my pith helmet was not needed. Alice has been downright pleasant and fun. The week has generally unfolded with her and Angela playing together in the morning and afternoon with some cartoon or other in the background. Alice has been creating picnics, tea parties, and birthday parties around her sister. Every morning Alice takes a blanket from our pile in the living room and spreads it out on the floor next to her sister. She then proceeds to set up all her plates, cups, and other paraphernalia on top. Angela knocks it all down and smiles a great deal. In many respects, Angela reminds me of my former students who did not speak English. She looks amused and she smiles a great deal; but, you know that in her mind she is wondering, "What the heck is going on?" I like to stay out of the room as they play because I hear the cutest things (especially of late because Alice has taken to supplying her sister's dialogue during their "conversations"). I am still chucking about one of these said "conversations" from two days ago.

A little background- I have been trying to teach Alice that she cannot take a toy from her sister if Angela is actively playing with it. I don't know why Alice always wants that one particular toy, especially when you consider my home is teeming with playthings. I guess the toy someone else is playing with always looks like the most fun toy in the universe at that moment. Anyhow, I was checking email in the kitchen and the latest tea party was unfolding in the dining room nearby. I was listening and half watching them as I replied to the day's communications. Here is the written account of the scene:

Angela is happily playing with a toy as Alice enters stage right. Alice sits down next to her sister and watches what she is doing for a few seconds.

ALICE: Hi Angela. Can I play with that?

ANGELA (dialogue supplied by Alice in a slightly different tone to indicate a different person) Sure Alice. Enjoy.

ALICE: Thank you, Angela.

Alice takes the toy leaving a slightly bemused Angela in her wake until a shadow on the wall distracts her.

By now I had stopped typing and sat there wondering what I should do. Do I reprimand her for taking the toy? In Alice's mind, Angela gave her the toy willingly. It's times like these when I realize how much Alice has grown up. Perhaps that is why she was so good this week. She is growing up (and has Angela as a captive constant playmate). Whatever the reason, I will take it.

Go Away, Germs!

2010-02-16T09:28:00.002-05:00

Alice has pneumonia. Thankfully, the two antibiotics that the doctor prescribed are working their magic. She is almost back to her old self. Although Alice has not reached her "hurricane" status yet, she is definitely a "tropical depression". While I generally long for peace and quiet several times a day, I have to admit I am happy to have the crashing, yelling, laughing and general chaos back. It is funny how unnatural silence is these days.

The dissipation of the hurricane started a week ago on Tuesday. Alice came down with a fever. Because she also had a persistent cough for the last few weeks, I figured it was high time for us to check in with the doctor. Alice was diagnosed with a sinus infection and bronchitis. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, and I left the office with a sense of ease. What she had could be named, and more importantly, I had something to give to her for her illness. I hate the viral stuff. No drugs speed up the healing process.

And then nighttime came.

I don't care how many children someone has or how great a parent they are. Nothing makes a mom/dad feel more like a bumbling and helpless idiot than those nighttime cries. Alice crawled into the king sized bed with John and me. The heat that rolled off her body was staggering. The thermometer read 103.7 degrees. At this point, I learned something new about my daughter. She hallucinates when her fever reaches this level. It was so freaky seeing her sitting up between John and me in bed with her eyes open and "awake" but lost in a world of her own, reliving incidents that happened at her preschool. It killed me that there was nothing I could do to calm her except wait for the Motrin to take effect and wrap my arms around her.

The rest of the week was a constant cycle of fever spikes and waning energy. The pug must have even realized how sick Alice was. She allowed Alice to use her as a pillow without any type of protest. By Friday, all Alice wanted to do was curl up in fetal position on the floor. I brought her back to the doctor, and after a strep test and white blood cell count, pneumonia was diagnosed. The second drug prescribed was a godsend. The night of Alice's first dose she had no fever spikes and she slept through the night in her own bed. The recovery had begun.

Just yesterday Alice resumed her nudist lifestyle. When I saw the pile of clothing in the living room, I realized something new about my daughter. One can determine Alice's energy level and health based on the state of her dress (or undress as the case may be). Never was I so happy to see a flash of naked butt streaking through my kitchen. Still, I hope she outgrows this as she ages.

Hopefully God Has a Sense of Humor

2010-01-17T21:19:00.001-05:00

I have been really amused by Alice's play of late. She likes to impose herself into various constructs. For instance, while looking at the Where's Santa book my mother-in-law gave her, Alice told me, "I'm the baby rabbit (the book featured baby Loony Tunes characters). When I asked her why she was the rabbit, she replied, "Because I like carrots." When she watches Word World, she tells me, "I'm the duck, you're the sheep, Peanut's the ant, and Daddy's the pig." I find this new practice amusing, but it really cracked me up around Christmas time when Alice discovered the Nativity set.

I waited until right before Christmas to set up the Nativity. I had a feeling I would find the figurines all over the house and I did not want anything broken. While I unwrapped each piece from its protective paper, Alice, of course, came over to investigate. The former teacher in me thought this might be a good "teaching moment" to introduce the concept of religion and the chief players in Christianity. I started with Jesus.

"Alice, this is Jesus," I said, showing her the infant.

"No Mommy. It's Peanut."

No matter how many times I tried to correct her, she kept correcting me. Finally, I decided to see who was who according to the Gospel of Alice. The cast went as follows:

Jesus- Peanut

Mary- me

Joseph- John

Three Wise Men- Alice, Grandma, PopPop

Lamb- Puggie

Cow- Aunt Louise and Uncle Joe (Initially, my sister in law was a little saddened that Alice saw her as part of the cow. I told her it could be worse. She could be part of an ass.)

Shepherd- Aunt Megan

Yep, all those years of Catholic school are having such a great effect on my kid.

God, I Am an Idiot!

2010-01-14T20:54:00.001-05:00

I say the above AT LEAST once a day. I would like to blame things like hormones, sleep deprivation, parenthood, star alignment, and so forth. However, I won't. I will proudly admit that there are just times when I am, in fact, an idiot. Take one minute ago. I decided some hot chocolate would be a nice accompaniment to checking out Facebook and potentially writing on my blog. Poured the milk into the mug and set the microwave for two minutes and thirty seconds. Somehow I pressed twenty-three minutes on the keypad and have for the last five minutes been wondering, "Why are two minutes feeling like five?" Well, the reason for that would be it was five minutes and I am an idiot.

My big "God, I am an Idiot" moment of the week occurred yesterday. I decided to clean out the junk drawers in my kitchen. While cleaning, I found the Use and Care Guide to the good cookware I got when John and I got married. After cooking with one of the pans from the set the other day, I realized why I stopped using them. Food stuck to the surface and it was a total bitch to clean. Upon unearthing my guide, I thought, "Cool, maybe I just need to re-season or something." I opened the guide and realized that for the last six years I have been using the pan completely WRONG! Apparently, the pan needs to be heated before even the oil is placed in it. Once the oil is poured in that too needs to be heated before the "real" cooking begins. Talk about wanting to take said pan and just pound it on my head a few times! I followed the guide's directions when making dinner that night and guess what? Nothing stuck. The pan even cleaned up with minimal effort.

Yes, I am an idiot!

Namaste My Ass

2010-01-01T21:34:00.002-05:00

Ever since Angela's birth, I have been experiencing pretty frequent back and hip pain. At times, the pains are so sharp they cause me to catch my breath. During a routine physical with my doctor, I spoke with her about these newfound aches and pains. Apparently, what I am experiencing is common for post partum women. We are more prone to injury in these areas for a variety of reasons. Additionally, the c-section I had this time around further compromised my core strength. The doctor recommended cardio and exercises to strengthen my core and back. As she spoke, the word "yoga" popped into my mind.

I was not surprised by my mind's solution for curing my aches and pains. I enjoy yoga. I find it profoundly relaxes me and makes me feel great about my body. I like its noncompetitive philosophy and its stress on body acceptance. When I was in my early twenties, I belonged to a yoga studio and learned how to properly do the postures. Eventually work responsibilities made me leave the studio, but I continued to enjoy yoga classes at my gym. Unfortunately, after Alice's birth, yoga fell out of my life. I still went to the gym, but my gym times were dictated by Alice's nap schedule which did not correspond with the yoga classes offered.

This week I started on my back/hip pain solution plan. As per my plan, I would go to the gym and do cardio three days a week and on my off days I would do yoga at home. I picked up some new yoga DVDs from my local library and proceeded to rejoin the world of yoga. My initiation has been pretty hilarious. I don't think the founders of yoga anticipated practicing with a three year old, an eight month old, and a pug underfoot. Here is the breakdown of the degeneration of my quest for inner peace and flexibility:

The DVD started with breathing exercises to center self. To do these exercises I needed to be prone on my yoga mat. First, I had to fight for position on my yoga mat as Alice decided to "play yoga" with me.
Once Alice and I established our territory, I tried to focus on the instructor's directions. This was difficult due to persistent snoring in my left ear. The pug, curious as to why I was laying down on the floor, came to investigate. Since ears are a fetish for her, I then had to spend a few minutes pushing off a pug who decided to lavish my ear with amorous attentions. Angela thought this was hysterical and proceeded to bounce in her bouncer with such intensity that I thought she would shoot out of the thing.
During a forward bend on my left side, I forgot about Angela's grabby arms. She, however, was on the alert and seized my hair as my head sunk downward. I missed a few poses as I gently extricated myself from baby death grip.
A brief glance downward while in tree pose revealed a pug planted at my feet begging for a belly rub.
Downward dog for me meant upward dog for pug as she gave me kisses.
The funniest moment, however, came as I moved out of a forward bend. I looked up to check the screen for the next posture only to find myself face to face with Alice's naked butt. Apparently, the light that salutes me comes from a full moon.

Namaste

Unsolicited Advice

2009-12-31T22:00:00.002-05:00

I am not afraid to ask questions. Not only do I readily admit ignorance, but I am quick to ask for help from experts. Consequently, I have received many great bits of information and advice throughout the years and every New Year's Eve I always look back on those bits of information and advice. Like most folks, I find standing at a temporal crossroads makes me reflective. I don't know why but this year I finally noticed two threads of commonality in the two best pieces of advice ever handed to me- they were unsolicited and given to me by plucky old ladies.

The first great bit of life guidance came ironically at a funeral. I vividly recall my meeting with Mrs. E at my Great-Aunt Ceil's wake. Mrs. E was a neighbor of my mother's from when she lived in Brooklyn. The woman must have been around 4 feet tall but she somehow managed to get me in a headlock, press my head into her ample bosom and whisper in my ear, "Do you want to know the secret to a long life?" Without waiting for my reply (which was a good thing since I was running out of air), Mrs. E looked around to make sure no one else was listening and told me, "A hot toddy, every night before bed." Considering at last check, she was still alive pressing unsuspecting bystanders into her breasts, this is a piece of advice that I have filed away for future use.

Getting married and having kids opened a whole new area for the advice givers in my life. Take for instance, the Christmas card I received this year from John's Great- Aunt G. I admit that I am a major dork who enjoys getting Christmas cards. Despite this enjoyment, I did feel some trepidation when I opened a card from John's great aunt and found a letter in it. You see, when John and I were newly married I received a letter from Aunt G. I was a little surprised when I looked at the envelope and saw it was addressed solely to me. I had never met the woman. She was too far away and a little too old to make the trip to our wedding. Plus, she had already given us a card extending her good wishes for our lives together. Curiously, I tore open the envelope and pulled out a longish handwritten letter. I remember thinking how nice it was to actually get a handwritten note. Sadly, it has become something of a lost art. Again, I thought it a little odd that she would take the time to write me and that she had so much to say. Well, Aunt G had taken the time to provide me with VERY DETAILED advice on how to get pregnant with a boy or a girl. Once I got over the shock, I have to admit I found it kind of sweet. Apparently, Aunt G writes to all the newlyweds that she knows and outlines the same plan. I saved the letter and it is now in Alice's baby book. So, when I found a letter in Aunt G's Christmas card to us, I jokingly said to John, "I bet it is a repeat of the advice since we now have two girls." We laughed and I proceeded to read the letter aloud. Well, let's just say, I was right. I guess Aunt G felt we needed a refresher course on baby making as we got two of the same sex. While I am a little mortified that Aunt G thinks John and I need Baby Making for Dummies at least now I have a letter for Angela's baby book.

Ladies, although I did not try out Aunt G's advice, here is her method for making a boy or girl. Apparently you need to have sex on the first full moon following your period. For a boy you then need to sleep on your right side. For a girl you need to sleep on your left. According to Aunt G what the male does "doesn't matter."

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

2009-12-24T08:13:00.002-05:00

Here is the copy of our annual Christmas letter along with the pictures that were on the card. For those of you who already received it sorry for the repeat.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!

I nearly had a heart attack a few weeks ago when I flipped the calendar to the December page. All the things that needed to be done before Christmas popped into my head simultaneously; hence, the near heart attack. Since Angela's birth, time has become this hazy period in between feedings and sleep. I shook myself out of my fog and logged onto Snapfish's website. If nothing else, I could get our annual Christmas card designed quickly.

The top left picture was taken during our first apple picking excursion at Masker Orchards. As you can tell from the background, it was the perfect day to pick apples or as John would phrase it "pay to be migrant workers." Alice had a ball and really got into the whole picking experience. At least now I can rest easily, knowing that if college does not work out, she has skill as an itinerant worker. I also learned that I can use 40 lbs of apples in only two weeks. Yes, Martha Stewart has nothing on me. For a while, however, I felt like I was living in that movie scene from Forrest Gump when he was in the army and his buddy listed the many uses for shrimp. Substitute apples and you had my life for those two weeks: apple butter, apple pancakes, apple sauce, apples covered in chocolate. Okay, I didn't try that last one but maybe next year. After all, everything is better with chocolate.

The next photo is of Angela on the day she was born. She decided to surprise the heck out of us and exit a month early. I don't think I will ever forget the start to that morning. I was trying to haul my pregnant body out of bed for yet another trip to the bathroom when my water broke. Nothing like starting your day with the feeling that a water balloon just exploded (and kept exploding) in between your legs. Since Angela was breech, I needed to have a c-section. Poor John got yet another anatomy lesson he could have happily done without, but, at least he can say he experienced firsthand all the ways that a child can exit a woman. Despite being early, Angela weighed 6 lbs 6 oz. and was 19 inches long. Alice has taken on the role of "big sister" exceptionally well. I hope they always get on the way they currently do.

At the bottom left is a picture of Alice at a pancake house during our vacation to Lake George. I just love her smile in this picture. Alice is now 3 years old and a hoot. She daily provides me with excellent fodder for my blog, especially now that her language and imagination have taken off. Just yesterday while we were making sugar cookies, Alice treated the balls of dough like little people. They took a swim in the green and red sugar sea and then proceeded to have all kinds of adventures on the cookie sheet. I felt a bit guilty about putting the tray in the oven but thankfully, she was not traumatized.

Finally, we have a picture of Angela with her bud Puggie. Angela just loves the dog to pieces. Whenever she hears the dog's nails clicking on the tile floor, she perks up and starts looking for her. The smile that erupts when she finally sees Puggie is just a wonderful expression of pure joy. The dog likewise loves having another little one around and has adapted very well to being knocked a little lower in the pecking order. She seizes every opportunity to be near Angela and kiss her. Personally, I think she is trying to curry favor for when Angela transitions to finger foods. Alice has become miserly with the handouts and her diet is much more Spartan than it has been in the last two years. Consequently, I now have a dog three pounds thinner who eats lint off the floor in the hope it is food.

While I am pleased with how the card looks, I realize that it does not really tell the tale of our family. To really highlight the events of this year pictorially I would need a few more photos. There would be a picture of me with the carpet steamer juxtaposed with Alice on the potty. Thankfully everything has clicked, but the journey was not easy. You can lead a toddler to the potty but you can't make them go, especially if the toddler in question is a strong willed sort like Alice. Using great judgment on my part, I concentrated on potty training post pregnancy. It enabled me to enjoy some wine with my whines about the process. The card would also need a picture of me sitting down and breastfeeding Angela. Next to me would be Alice who would be breastfeeding her stuffed Cat in the Hat doll. Alice is a great big sister and helper. More than once she would lift her shirt and offer to feed Angela. Given Angela's undiscerning love for all things nipple, she probably would have latched on. Unfortunately, John quickly saw through my ploys of trying to get him to hold Angela without his shirt on. He feared I would not explain how to pop her off. I tried to convince him that I totally would show him (eventually), but alas my plan was foiled. Our card would need a shot with John and Alice playing with Play-Doh. Who knew that my CPA husband was the Michelangelo of Play-Doh? He has made armies of characters and done much surgery on them after Godzilla Alice left her path of destruction in her wake. The card would also need a picture of Alice in front of her school building. Alice loves preschool, but the beginning was a little rocky. Apparently, she did not like being reprimanded for something on the first day and popped the director in the nose. Thankfully, despite this rocky start, Alice settled in and loves it (and the director). The card would also need a picture of Alice naked. Our resident nudist peels off her clothes the second she gets home. One day John came home from work and asked her, "Alice, why are you naked?" Alice happily told him, "Because I took my clothes off." This brings me to the next requirement for a Christmas card that would really depict my family-- a soundtrack with no pauses for silence coupled with a laugh track.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and start of a new year. If you would like to keep posted on the craziness of our family life or if you need a dose of birth control feel free to read my blog. You can access it as http://www.twohumansandapug.blogspot.com/

Looks Like Puggie Got Off the "Naughty" List

2009-12-10T12:47:00.012-05:00

I am happy to report that Puggie got herself off the "Naughty" list, which is good because I don't rightly know the dog equivalent of coal in the stocking. Actually, "naughty" is not really the right word to describe her behavior of late. Puggie is simply acting like a mischievous puppy again. Who knew that a three pound weight loss coupled with cooler weather could transform my snorty couch potato pug into the playful pup she once was? For the first two years of her life, John and I were convinced that she did not sleep because we NEVER saw her snoozing. These last two years I don't think we ever caught her awake. Due to this re-emergence of puppy pug, we now have a dog that cannot get enough playtime, belly rubs, fetch....you name it. Needless to say, she is driving me nuts. Keeping up with the girls is hard enough without adding a newly recharged pug into the mix.

Normally her energy would not annoy me so much. Unfortunately, I am majorly sleep deprived and sleep deprivation makes me downright edgy. This week has been worse than usual. In addition to the typical breastfeeding rousings, I have been up due to Angela's ear infection pain and Alice's night terrors. I feel like the walking dead. While running errands yesterday, I actually looked at concrete sidewalks with longing. They seemed like such an inviting place to lay down and rest a while. Needless to say, having the pug jumping all over me when I finally do sit down has not been as welcome as it normally would be. It also seems like every time I turn around she has been engaged in some misdeed or another . The big "you freaking dog" moment of the week came when I caught her in the basement eating the ornaments Alice and I made from bake-doh. Apparently, they were so delicious that she is now stalking the Christmas tree with the pug equivalent of panther like stealth (read: no stealth at all). I never would have thought that flour, salt, water and non toxic paint would be so delicious; however, considering that the dog is not above noshing on a shitty diaper, I guess anything is a step up from that.

And then on Tuesday Puggie got herself back into my good graces. Alice, Angela and I were in the living room playing and watching television while waiting for John to return home from work. Angela is now sitting up independently for stretches of time. I was periodically handing her toys to entertain her when Puggie came into the room with her favorite scrunchy dog in her mouth. She walked over to Angela, placed it on her lap, and sat down, waiting for Angela to play with her. Angela whacked the toy a few times and laughed. This resulted in the infamous "pug head tilt" as the dog tried to process how exactly this is fun. She decided to try a different track. After leaving the room for a moment, Puggie came back with her green soccer ball. She placed this next to Angela in the hope of a more rousing game but was disappointed once again. After a while, she sprawled herself next to the baby and let Angela pet her (read: whack her roughly due to a lack of fine motor development and delicacy).

The sweetness of the moment made me remember all the good that is in "that damn dog." She is so patient and tolerant with both girls. John and I often comment how we could not have a better dog, especially with two little ones running about. Puggie just takes everything in stride. For instance, last week the dog was enjoying gnawing on her rawhide. Angela decided to get in on the action and gum the dog's hind leg. The dog paused to see what was going on and then resumed her bone chewing. She never runs away and hides from Alice even when their games get too rough for my taste. Just yesterday, Alice was chasing the dog with a pirate sword. They were engaged in a game of hair stylist and she wanted to cut the dog's hair. A few minutes after telling Alice to stop with the sword, I went to check on the two. There was Alice combing the dog's hair with a comb she found and the dog patiently sitting there allowing Alice to play her game. "That damn dog" is my faithful babysitter, persistent face cleaner, and determined crumb hunter. I could not have a better pal. Sharing motherhood with her has brought more smiles and sweet moments than I would have thought possible.

Update- Just Because

2009-12-02T20:00:00.003-05:00

Irish guilt has been rearing its ugly head lately. I have been remiss about keeping up with my blog. I promised myself when I started this that I would do at least an entry a week. I wanted a way to keep up with my writing and to record the ins and outs of mommyhood for the entertainment of the masses. And then the reality of motherhood hit. Potty training, colds, fevers, driving to and from school, breastfeeding, cooking, cleaning (not that you can tell)...the list seems to grow by the minute (along with the piles of laundry in my basement). Consequently, the writing goes by the wayside. Lord knows my cyber-silence is not due to lack of material. If anything, the material comes too fast and furious to process it (let alone write about it). Yep, life with a three year old and a seven month old definitely keeps my days (and unfortunately my nights) busy, so I decided to post some snippets of the last few weeks. Enjoy!

Angela is teething and gnashing her gums on anything that comes her way. Just today Angela grabbed the pug's leg while she was distracted by a rawhide. I was amused by the "chain of chewing" but the best teething story so far occurred when Angela chowed down on Alice's hands. Alice looked at her sister gnawing on her hands and happily declared, "Mommy, I'm delicious!"

Alice, our resident nudist, ran to the door to greet her father who had just come home from work one evening. Upon seeing Alice, John asked, "Alice, why are you naked?" To which Alice replied, "Because I took my clothes off." You have to love how toddler logic works.

While driving the girls home one afternoon, Alice and I were chatting. During our conversation, Alice declared, "Peanut's scared." I asked what Peanut was frightened by so I could help her. Alice replied, "Dinosaurs." I had to pause for a bit after that one to take in the enormity of just how non sequitur her comment was. On the plus side, at least I can wholeheartedly promise that I can manage to protect my youngest from bands of roving dinosaurs. Unless, of course, Alice means old people. If so, then I am screwed.

I am happy to report that Alice's potty training has finally clicked. While John and I were finishing dinner, Alice bolted to the bathroom. After a minute or so, we heard the flush and Alice's triumphant shout, "I made poopie in the potty!" She dashed back into the kitchen for her praise. After hugging her, John asked, "Do you have a nice clean butt?" Alice said, "Yes". She then bent over and spread her butt checks to show him that indeed her butt was nice and clean. We both nearly spit our food out from laughing so hard. It was good to learn that our daughter has become adept at wiping herself. It is also good to learn that certain questions are better not asked when we dine out.

Potty Training Sucks- Part Deux

2009-11-03T17:24:00.004-05:00

Alice has been doing really well with her potty training. Actually, she has been doing so well that the teachers at her school felt it was time to abandon the Pull Ups and bring on the panties. Even I felt emotionally ready for the transition. Cut me some slack. I am a postpartum woman. I am still a little hormonally charged. Anyhow, this past Monday was the day I took a deep breath and hid the few Pull Ups I had left in the closet. When I got her dressed for school, I put on her favorite Cinderella panties. When she asked for her Pull Up, I told her that the Pull Up fairy took them away and that there would be no more Pull Ups only panties. She was not too thrilled but she let me put the panties on and pull her leggings over them.

Success!

Until her nap time anyhow. The teachers at her school put a Pull Up on the students for their rest period and once Alice got that absorbant puppy on her butt she was not letting it go. She refused to let the teachers change her or to go to the potty. When I got her home, I convinced her to let me put on some panties. She wet a few, but before bedtime she managed to use the potty and to keep her panties dry.

Success!

Until today anyhow. I guess I should be happy that she wore her panties all day today without a major battle. Still I am disappointed that I had to learn the importance of packing socks along with changes of pants and panties. I know I have no real control over this whole process. I think that is the most difficult part of not only potty training but parenthood in general. When it comes down to it, you really don't have any control over anything. Yes, you can make rules and have expectations. But, in terms of development, the kid runs the show. It doesn't matter how often you model a behavior or talk about something. Your kid is the one that has to figure it out for himself or herself. It is so hard to stand back and let things happen according to a timetable that is not yours. With all this in mind, I shall head to Target tomorrow and purchase at least 10 pairs of black leggings. This way when I change yet another soaked pair of panties and pants, I won't have to worry about matching.

Foot Fetish

2009-10-03T08:06:00.010-04:00

Angela is now a little over five months old. Thankfully, she is evolving out of "baby blob" mode. I love my children and have loved them at each level of development. However, I have to confess that I am one of those freaky moms that doesn't really LOVE the newborn stage. Sure they are adorable and I love building a bond with this tiny little creature tugging at my breast. But, let's face it, the cycle of eat, sleep, poop, repeat gets kind of old really quickly. Personally, I start to have fun with my little ones when they reach the 3-4 month marker and now that Angela has entered the five month realm things are really taking off for her and me. She laughs and smiles. She recognizes us. She prattles excitedly when she accomplishes something new or when her sister enters the room. For instance, the other day, she gave a good left hook to the blue elephant dangling above her. The laughs and smiles that followed made my day.

I love spending time just watching her facial expressions as she takes in the world: the look of "What the hell is that?" when she saw a cow for the first time; the expression of love and happiness when her sister enters the room; the coy grin with which she dazzles my fellow walkers with as we take our respective morning constitutionals. Most of all I love her looks as she discovers something new about herself- be it about her body or her abilities. Finding her toes fulfilled both of these criteria. I don't think I will ever forget the moment she first really noticed them. She was sitting in her Bumbo chair chewing on her hands and watching her toes move. She was mesmerised by them. You could see by the expression on her face that she was thinking, "Hmmmm...what are those things? They look kinda interesting. Mom just ran her fingers on them. Wooo...that makes me laugh." A few jerky arm movements later, Anglea managed to capture her elusive prey. A squeal of delight erupted from the little one (much more palatable than the usual eruptions that emanate from her I have to add). A look of triumph such as I have seen on Olympic athletes as they win the gold came upon her face. She had scored victory over those wiggly things.

Now, more often than not, you will see Angela happily holding her feet. Since she is teething, she is also experiencing her first dilemma. Where should she put her hands? Crammed in her mouth to relieve pressure on her gums or should they be wrapped around her feet? I am happy to see that she has found a compromise that works for her- one in each place. Although it has been several weeks since her toe finding, I am still struck by the sheer joy she experiences from them. They have become her ten new best friends. The first time I put socks on her, she was so despondent. Thankfully, it was easy to make her happy again. I took off the socks. I wish it could always be that easy to please my kids. Watching Angela with her feet made me realize that kids have the right ideas about living- take joy in the body you have, always maintain a sense of wonder in it and the world around you, and sometimes your friends are closer to you than you think.

Makes you want to run around barefoot, doesn't it?

You Can't Make This Stuff Up...

2009-09-17T17:58:00.003-04:00

I used to think that teaching was the absolute perfect profession to read or hear the oddest things. Nothing like a pop quiz or a well aimed question to a daydreaming student to get their creative blood flowing. Parenthood has blown this belief away. I guess the saying, "Kids say the darndest things" is trite for a reason, which leads me to this afternoon and my now daily chuckle:

Walking into the living room, I notice Alice naked from the waist down.

"Honey, where are your panties?" I asked dreading the answer. Alice has become great at taking off her panties after peeing in them. I scanned the room seeking the telltale wet spot on the carpet.

"Here Mommy." Alice pointed to her play kitchen. She then walked over and opened the oven door where her Pixie Hollow panties were wadded. "They're cooking," she added.

"You are cooking your panties?"

"Yes, they're cooking."

"O.K. Ummm...let me know when they're done."

"O.K. Mommy."

I walked from the room totally befuddled- amused as all hell but befuddled nonetheless.

Potty Training Sucks...

2009-08-25T08:31:00.003-04:00

I have been feeling like a competent mom for a while, so I should have known something would come up which would give those feelings a good kick to the curb. Enter potty training. I just feel like I am doing everything wrong with this one. Did I start too early? Too late? Am I being too easy going in my approach or too forceful? Reading for tips on the Internet only results in more questions, confusion and feelings of inadequacy. Thankfully, even in the midst of all this angst, there have been things to laugh about.

I am happy to report that Alice has kept her panties clean more often than not; unfortunately, she is easily distracted. If something fun is happening she ignores her body signals until it is too late. Because of this, whenever she has an accident, she has to help me clean it up. I don't do it as a punishment but as a lesson that the things we do have consequences. As her clean up responsibility, she has to rinse her panties out in the sink and wring them out. Apparently, Alice has really internalized this lesson. Last night as I was cleaning up from dinner Alice walked into the kitchen and took a dishcloth. This is nothing new. She uses them as blankets for her stuffed animals or as towels for when they go to the "beach". A little while later she came into the kitchen with her legs stretched to avoid touching her wet panties and asked me to help her get clean. After finishing that task, I asked Alice to show me where she made pee so I could clean it up. She took me to the spot and there it was- the kitchen towel was drenched from its absorption of her puddle. It is amazing how quickly disappointment can turn to pride.

Uh Oh, I Ran Out of Curry Powder...

2009-08-17T11:51:00.000-04:00

I love how Alice is such an adventurous eater. Whereas many of my friends bemoan their children's steady diet of chicken fingers, hot dogs, and buttered noodles, I don't have that issue. Alice eats according to the mantra "the spicier, the better". When we order Chinese, Alice winds up eating more spicy pork than John. She enjoys her fajitas with habereno sauce. She devours her daddy's steak pizzaole. However, if I had to pick her favorite cuisine, I would have to say it is Indian food. This love actually began in utero.

Most people laugh and look at me with expressions of disbelief when I say that, but it is true. Chicken curry was my primary food craving when I was pregnant with Alice. Yes, like most pregnant women, I loved ice cream, but for some inexplicable reason chicken curry was like a drug for me. The sauce and spices caressed my taste buds and created feelings of euphoria within my swollen body. When you feel as big as an overheated, beached whale (the joys of being pregnant in August) any feeling of euphoria is pretty scarce. Needless to say, because everything felt better after a serving of curry, the waiters at our favorite local place became like family and tracked my pregnancy with the same interest as my real family.

Not long after Alice was born, we went back for some curry, and despite being postpartum, it still tasted wonderful. It was after digestion that things got a little weird. When I went to nurse Alice after dinner, she attacked me. I was used to enthusiastic nursing but what ensued was particularly intense. I still don't think that my nipples have forgiven me. I remembered thinking, "Wow...did I not feed her enough today?" I chalked it up to a fluke but when it kept happening whenever I ate Indian food I realized how my pregnancy craving manifested itself.

As Alice aged, her love of Indian food evolved. Not long after the typical foray into solid foods (rice cereal, strained fruits and veggies and the ubiquitous Cheerios), I decided I would never deny Alice a food that she expressed interest in. If I felt it could be easily chewed or gummed, I gave her a sample. This horrified my mother to no end. She was convinced I would give the child a stomach ulcer or something to that effect. My argument that children who live in (fill in the blank) country most likely eat this among their first foods and live to tell the tale did not sit well with her.

Which leads me to one of my favorite Alice memories of her sitting in her booster seat at our Indian place. I remember her looking at our meal from her vantage point and smacking her lips, so I decided to give her a sample. I placed some basmati rice and cut up chicken curry on her tray. Her eyes lit up when she tried it. Whenever her tray became empty, she would make little noises to get my attention. She even added kicking legs to make sure I noticed her empty tray predicament. The wait staff watched in awe as little Alice devoured the rice and little pieces of chicken drenched in curry sauce. When they brought us our check, they presented Alice with a shot glass of mango lassi. They were curious to see what would happen. The consistency was a little thick so I fed it to her with a spoon. Alice took a bite, smiled, and then proceeded to down the whole glass. The waiters gathered around our table, picked her up, and hugged her. Actually, they still hug her every time we go out to dinner there. The only difference now is we order Alice her own plate of food. Someone does not share nicely.

So That's Why He Married Me....

2009-08-15T08:48:00.000-04:00

Alice has been a bit befuddled by the emergence of her first freckle. She keeps pointing it out to me. She is convinced it is a "boo boo" and I should kiss it and make it better. I tried explaining to her that she now has a freckle. I even showed her my freckle covered arms to make her feel better. The lesson did not completely sink in. Alice is now convinced she has a "sprinkle". By default I guess that means I am covered in sprinkles. Now I know why my ice cream loving husband married me. Who can resist a woman covered with "sprinkles"?

Not My Own Anymore

2009-07-30T09:12:00.000-04:00

About a week ago, I was in the bathroom attending to business when Alice walked in. While I sat there, she began to itemize my body parts: Mommy's hair, Mommy's eyes and so forth. I was impressed with her recognition of all the body parts until she got to my breasts. Those she said were, "Angela's boobies." Come to think of it, she is technically right (at least for now). Note to self: remind Angela that they are loaners.

I Don't Think Miss Manners Would Approve

2009-07-24T20:12:00.000-04:00

I have been working with Alice on her manners. I have to admit I am really pleased with her progress (if only we could extend her success to potty training but that is another post/therapy session). She says "thank you" frequently and "I'm sorry" or "Excuse me" in the appropriate contexts. There have been some difficulties with "please" however. I realize that "please" runs counter to the toddler mindset of "Gimme" and "Mine". Still, my parents were sticklers for manners, and the apple does not fall far from the proverbial tree in this respect. Lately I have been gently reminding Alice of the "extra word" she needs when she requests (read: demands)something. She is doing much better but yesterday I had to ruefully laugh at another instance of toddler logic.

I took the girls to see my parents yesterday. I try to go see them once a week. I enjoy their company and the girls love visiting with them. Alice was happily eating her animal crackers snack and had run out of milk. She imperiously demanded, "More milk." I told Alice to remember that extra word she needed to say. She then amended her request to: "More milk, Grandma." Got to love how their minds work.

Words that Bug Me

2009-07-19T08:57:00.000-04:00

Sometimes new trends in language just irritate me. I realize I tend to over think the nuances of words and phrases. Old habits die hard and I was a former English teacher. Although I enjoy celebrity gossip as much as the next girl (my favorite guilty pleasure is The Superficial web site), I hate how celebrity press feels the compulsion to create a one word name for famous couples. TomKat, Bradgelina, and so forth. It annoys the heck out of me. Yes, by getting married you do become a united couple and you are tied together, but do we really have to highlight that by creating a name for the couple? Whatever happened to the idea of maintaining a sense of self in marriage? Besides annoying me, the whole joined name sounds like a weird space alien fusion project. It might make a cool movie though. Godzilla Takes On JonKate Plus Their Eight. Perhaps that is why so many celebrities divorce. They want their name back. Then again, maybe my annoyance is really jealousy because I would not have a cool celebrity marriage name. The combination of Maura and John would create something that sounds like "Moron" which is not very flattering now is it?

The latest language irritation is the word "staycation". Why do we need a word for remaining home on a vacation? Is it to make it sound more exotic or something? John and I are staying home when he takes off in August. I am looking forward to it. It means I do not have to pack up every object that we own (and you need them when travelling with small children). I do not have to fight traffic to get to my destination as I am already there. I know where all the good restaurants are for an adult meal and where I can get excellent food in under an hour. This is the same place where hyper toddlers and screaming newborns are welcome. I do not have to stay in a room with my entire family since we have a whole house. I am within driving distance of the beach, amusement parks, theater, museums, gardens, and whatever else takes my fancy. I plan on letting the dust bunnies relax, swimming in the pool, playing with the kids and reconnecting with my hubby. I do not feel deprived that I am not going to do this in some other locale. In fact, I might create some postcards with a picture of my house on front. Flip it over and it will read: We never left. We are having a wonderful time. XOXO Maura

Toddler Logic

2009-07-07T21:04:00.000-04:00

While I was still teaching, the school librarian gave me a great piece of advice. She told me to get a journal and use it to record all those silly things that your child(ren) will say as they acquire language. She kept such a journal for her son. In it she would not only write what he said but also provide some context with which to enrich her memory. I guess instead of a journal I am using a blog, but the idea is the same- to write down all the silly memories of motherhood that somehow get lost among all the other moments. Pictures are great, and so is video, but the English teacher that I am favors the written word.

Which brings me to last Saturday. I decided to pick up some bagels for our breakfast. Alice is a big fan of bagels and cream cheese so it is always a winner of a breakfast. When she saw her plain bagel and cream cheese on her plate she shrieked, "Yeah, bagel and butt cheese!" John and I looked at each other with the same question in our eyes, "Butt cheese?" I feverishly started running a list of all the possibilities for this odd phrasing: Something she picked up in school? Is it because we are potty training? Does she just like the word "butt"? Nothing seemed right and then John hit on it- diaper rash ointment. Every night after he gives Alice a bath, she tells her he is going to put on her "butt cream". Both creams are white. In toddler logic, it makes perfect sense. Now I just have to make sure to keep the diaper cream in the kitchen out of her reach or we might have a culinary disaster on our hands.

Breastfeeding 101 and John in Time Out

2009-05-22T09:06:00.001-04:00

Things have been crazy in our household the last few weeks. I have been recovering from the c-section, establishing breastfeeding, and sleep deprived. Alice got sick with a fever that never broke for a week along with a cough and congestion. I could tell I reached a new parenting low when at our third visit that week the pediatrician told me she had an ear infection. All I could think of was "Yahoo antibiotics!" Unfortunately, I said the same thing the next day when my doctor diagnosed me with an ear infection, a sinus infection and pink eye.

Despite all the clingy whininess and sleep deprivation, there have been moments of utter hilarity mixed in which made it all semi manageable. Here are a few examples of what I mean:

After eating dinner John and I were chatting before our respective "clean up" jobs (his the child and mine the dishes). Alice hopped up on her chair with her new Cat in the Hat stuffed animal. She lifted up her shirt, put the Cat in the Hat to her breast area, and then made yummy noises. John and I looked at each other stunned. Our toddler was breastfeeding her Cat in the Hat!

Alice and I have been coloring together for a good portion of each day. While we were coloring, Angela woke for a feeding. Despite a long time at the breast, she became fussy when I took her off for a burp. I looked at her and said, "Sweetie, you couldn't possibly still be hungry!" Alice stopped coloring, lifted her shirt and held out her arms for her sister telling me that she would "feed Angela." Oh if only...

John came out to the sounds of Alice crying over something ready to assist me. When she saw her father, she pushed him back into his office and told him, "Go to your house and get on the phone."

Thankfully both Alice and I are on the mend. I hope to start writing here again regularly- if only for my sanity.

Pardon this Interruption

2009-05-14T07:49:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the lack of posts recently. It certainly has not been due to lack of material! Someone decided to evict herself from her cramped uterine lodging about four weeks early. I have forgotten how mind bending (and brain frying) life with a newborn can be. I will post again when my synapses stop misfiring due to lack of sleep.

What are designers thinking?

2009-04-18T07:20:00.000-04:00

This weekend I have to attend a wedding. Normally, I would have gotten a dress weeks ago, but since I am pregnant I decided to wait on the purchase. When I was preggo with Alice I bloomed (or exploded, your pick) in my last trimester. It KILLED me to have to go up a pregnancy size. Thus, I waited until the last possible second to secure my attire for the wedding.

John was on vacation last week, so it was the perfect time to head to my favorite local maternity store. He could distract Alice while I tried on clothing. Surprisingly, Alice fell asleep in the car and remained so in John’s arms while I shopped. As an added bonus, John got a small taste of pregnancy. Because he sat for a quite a while with Alice sprawled on top of him, he found he couldn’t get out of the chair when it was time to leave because of Alice’s position and weight. Being the supportive spouse that I am, I cracked up when I saw his predicament and told him, “Welcome to my world.”

Although I normally hate to shop, it was such a nice retail experience. Because it was a few days before Easter, there was a large selection of dresses to explore. I grabbed a handful and headed to the changing room. With each dress I put on, the laughter within me welled. Each dress looked sillier than the next on me. Now, let me say straight out, I am in no way ashamed of my pregnant figure. Age and the perspective of a second pregnancy has put my head on straight in that way. That being said, what are designers thinking regarding the amount of Lycra they put into these dresses? I seriously looked like I had a torpedo or a watermelon under my dress. Additionally, the pulling in the stomach area caused the dress to pull around the butt area rather tautly. Even when I am not pregnant , I typically never have a “good butt day”, so you can imagine how I perceive my rear when I am pregnant. It was so ridiculous that I had to laugh.

So, all you fashion designers out there, take heed: during pregnancy a woman should not have to worry about panty lines. I know pregnancy thongs exist but so do nuclear weapons. Using either is not a good choice for society.

Where is that big black hole when you need it?

2009-04-14T11:21:00.000-04:00

Surprisingly, years of Catholic school instruction has not made me disenchanted in terms of my faith. I am not the best Catholic, and Lord knows there are church doctrines with which I disagree. Still, I find more good things in its teachings than bad. I used to be pretty good about attending mass regularly- at least until Alice was born. I can’t say I really blame her. Sometimes I find it hard to sit still and listen to the mass. Because I did not want to be the couple with “that child”, I decided to take a brief hiatus from actually attending mass physically. Instead, John and I DVR-ed it. I have to admit that although God is everywhere sometimes it is a bit hard to focus on that fact with the pug snorting, snoring, and begging for belly rubs and Alice wrestling with me on the couch. Now that Alice has discovered the joys of coloring, we can generally get through a mass at church. That is not to say that the mass goes entirely smoothly. On Palm Sunday, Alice cheered “Hooray!” after every bit of singing and kept requesting, “More songs.” However, she saved her best bit of commentary for Easter Sunday.

Easter Sunday found Alice decked out in her finery and I well stocked with pretzels, coloring book and crayons. Things went pretty well overall, but the mass was a little too long for my toddler’s typical patience and attention span. She started acting up right around the profession of faith. Instead of the usual recitation of the Apostle’s creed, the congregation was asked to renew their baptismal vows by answering “I do” to a list of questions. Alice decided to get in on the action. The priest asked the congregation, “Do you reject Satan?” Alice’s resounding “No!” could be heard VERY CLEARLY amid the sea of “I do” responses. All around us folks were cracking up. I turned to John and chuckled, “It certainly explains an awful lot now doesn’t it?” And thus my central point about parenting is proved yet once again- - not only do you need a great capacity for love, you need a pretty keen sense of humor to survive.

The Pug

2009-04-07T08:51:00.001-04:00

It is nice to know that the tiredness John and I feel at the end of the day is not ours exclusively. Honestly, I sometimes feel that the pug gets the brunt of Alice. I cannot imagine what she will look like at the end of the day when number two becomes mobile.

Baking

2009-04-07T08:28:00.000-04:00

I have always listed baking as one of my hobbies/passions, but lately I have been very into it. I am not sure if it is due to the weather this winter/hoax of Spring or pregnancy cravings, but I have been puttering around the kitchen with my dear friends butter, flour, and sugar close to every two weeks or so for the last nine months. Although I would not classify myself as an “organic, back to the earth mommy” I have to admit, in these days of food recalls, that there is some peace of mind in knowing exactly what is in that cake/cookie/pie that I am eating and feeding to my family.

Anyhow, as last Wednesday was a gray rainy day, I decided to while away some time by making a chocolate-cinnamon marble cake. I found the recipe in a chocolate book that I took out from the library. I have been on a quest for the perfect coffee cake recipe as of late so I decided to give this one a go. Alice was happily watching The Backyardigans in the living room. I was happily assembling ingredients in the kitchen. We stayed in our separate spheres until I turned the mixer on; then, like Pavlov’s dog, Alice came running. She grabbed her step stool and positioned it right next to the mixer. As one of the last ingredients to be put in the mix, I added a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. Alice took the empty bag to search for any missed morsels. Upon discovering it completely empty, she looked forlornly into the mixer and called out: “Chocolate come back!” (Wow, she is her mother’s daughter after all.) Her sadness was replaced by upmost joy when I finally shut the mixer off and gave her the beater. She took off like a shot to savor her treat in the living room. Peace and quiet at last. I began assembling the cake. It was one of those recipes where you pour half the batter into the pan, add the middle filling and then top off with the remaining batter. I was smoothing everything out when Alice returned with her perfectly clean beater. She brought her stool over to my new work location and proceeded to watch my painstaking smoothing and marbling of the cake. I was in the middle of making sure everything was even when out of the corner of my eye I saw a quick movement. Alice had dunked her beater back into the pan. The stinker. Despite using this as a lesson against double dipping, I don’t think my message got through. It is hard to listen when you are busy licking.

Shower Dangers....Cheerios

2009-03-28T21:13:00.000-04:00

Death Toll- Two

2009-03-28T17:30:00.000-04:00

I love animals and nature outside where it belongs. I don’t keep plants or whatnot in my house as my tendency is to kill them. I also prefer the only furry thing in the house to be the pug, so it goes without saying that I was totally skived out when I found evidence of a mouse in the house. John and I took an immediate defensive position. Steel wool. Poison. Traps. Things seemed quiet for a bit. We assumed the situation was resolved and did not think too much about it. Then last week, when my daily chocolate craving hit, I took out my bag of individually wrapped Ghirardelli 72% dark chocolates. To my horror, I discovered a hole in the bag and several pieces half eaten. Poking around the drawer showed my stash of expensive English breakfast tea was also ravaged. The die was cast and the kid gloves were now off. My chocolate and tea in one fell swoop? Prepare to die, sucka.

I was leery to call the exterminator. I did not want to engage in chemical warfare unless absolutely necessary. Instead, I decided to be strategic in trap placement. Speaking of traps, we use the mouse equivalent of the roach motel. It goes in but does not come out. My kind of trap that is for sure. The next day I heard nails scratching on plastic. The culprit had been captured. Eventually, our POW suffered a heart attack. The war was resolved…or so I thought.

The next morning after I prepared Alice her breakfast, I saw the enemy scurrying along the perimeters of my kitchen, apparently involved in some recon mission. Now, I pride myself on not being a “girly girl”. I kill spiders, assemble things with tools, open my own doors and whatnot. With furry scurrying things, however, I screech for the nearest knight in shining armor. I screamed for John, “A MOUSE….UGGHHH!” To which my gallant hero replied, “Well, kill it.” Despite my panic mode, I gave pause. “What the fuck does he want me to kill it with?” I thought. My laser vision has been on the fritz lately as have the flames that shoot from my finger tips. The pitch of my screams must have more power than I initially thought because not long after John came down stairs, I heard the telltale scratching within the trap. Wow, I actually drove a mouse to suicide with just the power of my voice. Perhaps I have super hero qualities after all.

And the Honor Goes to…

2009-03-18T09:14:00.000-04:00

Ah…the joys of pregnancy. This morning Alice and I were having breakfast together when out of nowhere, I made the loudest fart. Alice looked up at me, laughed, and told me that I made, “Daddy’s noise.” As yet another sign of how pathetic I have become, I am glad my daughter does not think of me as the flatulent one. Sorry John.

Toddlers- A Delightful Force of Destruction

2009-03-14T09:06:00.000-04:00

Let me preface this blog entry with a little clarifying information. My husband is a coffee snob who absolutely loves his Krups coffee maker. Although a tea drinker myself, I can’t fault his love of this machine. It comes with this carafe that is fantastic in keeping the coffee hot for hours (and I mean hours). For whatever reason, however, no one seems to understand how to use it. To pour the coffee all you need to do is turn the top a bit which breaks the vacuum seal and releases the coffee. Instead, people constantly look for a button on it. Despite showing the coffee drinkers who frequently come over the mechanism, it does not seem to sink in. Yesterday, all those folks would have been put to shame by our two year old.

* * *

I came down from my morning shower dressed and ready to go to Gymboree. It was a lovely morning so far- Alice slept until 8, had a good breakfast, and did not disturb my shower with a tantrum. All these positives should have alerted me to some doom in the immediate future, but I am generally an optimist. As I came down the stairs, I noticed a very strong smell of coffee throughout the first floor. I was really puzzled. John was at his office in New Jersey so no coffee was made that day. I figured it must have been some weird quirk of my pregnancy nose. I was probably picking up the scent of coffee from several houses away. And then I went into the living room. Alice decided to cook with coffee on her little play kitchen. I now had huge splotches of coffee on my cream colored carpet and a caffeinated toddler and pug to contend with as well. How pathetic am I that I was happy it was just coffee on the carpet? Thankfully the steam cleaners worked their usual magic and I learned a way to get an old pug active again is some Kona coffee.

Imagination

2009-03-12T08:25:00.000-04:00

For the last few weeks, I have noticed a major uptick in Alice’s imaginative play. Now instead of just manipulating her toys, she has been using them to create little stories and conversations. For now, the blocks and coloring have taken a back seat to her stuffed animals and Little People sets. Additionally, Alice is also imagining herself in other forms. Not surprisingly, most of the time she pretends that she is a dog. Now when the doorbell rings, I have two dogs barking. Yesterday, Alice retrieved a rubber glove for me and brought it over to me in her mouth while on all fours. She has taken to eating her morning Cheerios in a bowl on the floor. Although confused at times, the pug seems appreciative of this new side to her human. There is much tail wagging on both sides.

Returning to the Land of the Living

2009-03-06T06:34:00.000-05:00

I never thought I would say this, but sometimes being a conscientious mommy does not pay off. Take my downward spiral into hell last week. On Wednesday I was at the pediatrician’s office for Alice’s two and a half year check up. During our consultation and exam, Alice’s pediatrician told us to make sure we washed our hands upon leaving as a rather nasty stomach bug has been going around. No problem. I carry antibacterial hand goo in my coat pocket these days (along with snacks, sippy cups, bandages, coupons…). I waited until we were safely by the car and proceeded to give our hands a good going over. 24 hours later….

I heard the crying at 2 in the morning. Wondering what could be up, I stumbled into Alice’s darkened bedroom and then it hit me- the smell, the slime beneath my bare feet. “Oh #%$@!” screeched itself through my brain. I turned on the light to see my daughter (along with her sheets and carpet) covered in vomit. Thankfully John was home for this one. I set her up in the tub, got John to wash her and proceeded to strip, steam, and clean. Part of me realized the futility of all this action. If she got sick once, she was going to go again. I was up about five more times in the night.

John went off to work the next morning leaving me with puke girl. I was pleasantly surprised that despite the heaving she was perfectly content to hang around the house and watch Spongebob Squarepants. Thankfully, by the end of the day, the vomiting stopped and for the next two days I went on a cleaning/disinfecting frenzy probably made all the more intense by my pregnancy and nesting urges. I finished on Saturday afternoon, took a long hot shower and proceeded to never leave the bathroom. Yep, I got Alice’s stomach virus.

I don't think I ever had such a virulent stomach bug before. According to the stomach flu gods, it was not enough that I would vomit; but, it had to happen in sets of three and in rapid succession. After several hours of that suffocating torture, the other end decided to get into the action. I was surprised there was anything left inside of me. You know things are bad when you think to yourself, “Boy, am I glad the sink is so close to the toilet.” After another sleepless night, I realized that none of the fluids I forced upon myself had any effect; I was dehydrated. This would have caused me to be upset under normal circumstances but in my pregnant state I was a bit freaked out. I wanted to cry, and I did try to, but no tears would fall. I called my gynecologist and was told to head to the emergency room for an IV. Several hours and three liters of fluid later, I was finally able to urinate and was released.

I am on the mend but still really tired. Unfortunately, toddlerhood allows no rest for the weary mommy. I look forward to the weekend and John being around so I can pull a Rip Van Winkle. Now if only I can get through today…

Alice’s Latest Obsession- The Humorous Fall Out

2009-02-19T09:56:00.000-05:00

I am so fascinated by Alice’s tendency to fixate on something to the point of obsession. I guess I am just amused by the whole process. I enjoy seeing what makes her so happy, I laugh at her reactions to said thing, and I like to see how the latest passion is going to play itself out in our day.

For the most part Alice’s absorptions have centered on the pug (obviously) and several television shows. Yes, I will admit I am one of those parents who has the television on in the background often. Despite my former English teacher profession, I don’t really see television as the devil. I believe in the idea of everything in moderation. Actually, I enjoy seeing her reactions to the shows (I also enjoy the time they give me to occasionally put my feet up and have a cup of tea). The repercussions from her television watching have not been the dangers the “experts” caution us already paranoid parents about. I have not noticed exceptionally violent behavior or severe lack of attention to tasks. Rather, the quirks she has picked up have been very cute and sweet. Whenever The Backyardigans or Jack’s Big Music Show come on, I know I will have my own show of Alice dancing (read: spinning around in a circle until dizziness becomes too much) and singing (read: screaming when the characters hit a high note). After an episode or two of Blue’s Clues, I will be amused with Alice’s tendency to talk to inanimate objects like the dishes in my china cabinet. I am sure they appreciate her salutations of “Hi dish” and “Hi plate”. It is probably pretty boring day in and out in the same place. Dora the Explorer has resulted in her peppering her language with Swiper’s “Oh Man” exclamation when she is thwarted in an attempt to pull one over on me. The latest, however, has me still laughing even days later.

Last week I took 101 Dalmatians from the library. I thought Alice might enjoy it due to the focus on dogs. “Enjoy” is a weak word to describe Alice’s ecstasy. As soon as the movie is over, she clamors for “More puppies.” Ever since we have watched the movie (probably 101 times by now), I notice Alice often makes up little melodies when she does things. Walking down the stairs has a song as does playing with her toys. I wondered for a while as to the cause of this newfound quirk and then it hit me. She has seen her first real movie with a soundtrack. Consequently, she has now created her own. I have to admit I am envious of her soundtrack, especially as my life generally seems accompanied by a laugh track.

Baking Lessons

2009-02-13T08:25:00.000-05:00

To shake things up a bit, I thought I would write about a pleasant experience with Alice. I realize that while my tales from the trenches are humorous, they could act as a form of birth control. Since my goal is laughter, and not necessarily reduction of the human population, I thought it might be nice to write about one of those sweet mommyhood moments to prove that, yes, they actually do exist, and to remind me that they exist when I forget.

Wednesday morning Alice and I were invited to a play date. I hate going to someone’s home empty handed, so I decided some homemade corn bread would be just the thing to bring. Alice, much like her father, has learned the significance of certain items coming out of the pantry. This time she not only decided to hang around the kitchen but she also hopped up on her new footstool from Ikea to get a better look. The recipe I use for corn bread is simple- just toss in a handful of ingredients, stir, put into a pan and bake. It dawned on me that this would be a good introduction to baking for Alice. I put the blue Pyrex mixing bowl in front of her and handed her each measured ingredient to dump into the bowl. She would repeat the ingredient's name right after I said it. She seemed puzzled by the flour and then it hit me. She thought I meant “flower”. I explained the difference but part of me thinks she believes if you pulverize the pretty things white powder results. Mental note: make sure she does not experiment in other people’s gardens. After the ingredients were together in the bowl, I took out two wooden spoons and we mixed everything together. Alice declared the raw batter “delicious” and I poured it into the baking pan and put it into the oven. She was very excited 20 minutes later when I took the pan from the oven and she saw the transformation from yellow runny stuff to yellow cake stuff before her eyes. It was a fun lesson for both of us. However, I don’t yet have the nerves to tackle a soufflé with her quite yet.

And the winner by KO….

2009-02-10T14:19:00.000-05:00

Alice has been transitioning away from her afternoon nap lately. I think I am the one who misses it more than she does. Actually, now that I am not fighting her anymore about going down to sleep, things are much more peaceful. However, last Wednesday, I was still under the delusion that she was just going through a phase. I had to practically drag her upstairs kicking and screaming. Carrying her in such a state is challenging in general, but it has become even more so due to her long legs, heavy weight and my increasing belly. For those without children try climbing up a flight of stairs with a bowling ball tucked into your pants while carrying a 30 pound weight that squirms. You will fully experience and understand my struggle.

Anyhow, I got Alice into her new bedroom (which she is having difficulty accepting as her new pad) and put her down to assemble the book collection. Once I got everything ready, I went to pick up Alice who was now face down on the carpet. At the exact moment I had finished bending down to pick her up Alice decided to jump up. Her head connected with my chin causing my top teeth to sink into my bottom lip. I am sure some mathematical minded person could figure out the force of our collision. Remnants of a formula from my physics days flash through my mind. However, when you consider I nearly failed physics, I don’t think my calculations would be accurate. All I know is it hurt like hell. By the way, that the whole “seeing stars” thing upon impact is not a myth. Nap time was delayed while I attended to yet one more mommyhood war wound. Thankfully, I no longer look like a collagen treatment gone horribly wrong.

The Great Candy Caper Solved

2009-02-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

While I was showering yesterday morning Alice came to me with a mini bag of M & Ms to open. I had to smile as I experienced yet another mark of motherhood- multitasking in the shower. I used to happy if I managed to shave my legs and pits without permanently scarring myself and staining the white porcelain with blood. Motherhood has made me master pealing bananas, fixing toys, puncturing juice boxes, and the like all while under a steaming hot spray of water. I have become the MacGyver of showers.

Anyhow, I made a mental note to check the status of the candy bowl on the kitchen counter when I got downstairs. I thought was out of Alice’s reach. Yet again, I either underestimated Alice’s height or resourcefulness. The stainless steel bowl was on the floor empty. A handful of candy was around it, but those few pieces in no way accounted for the bowl’s contents. I took solace in the fact that the candy pieces were all individually wrapped, but I still had to act quickly. I had a large amount of chocolate missing and a vacuum cleaner pug on the prowl. I donned my Sherlock Holmes persona and began to do a quick inventory of the crime scene along with establishing the crime’s timeline. The culprit did not have a large amount of time to stash the goodies as greed got in her way (she wanted to eat some candy immediately,) so where would a two year old hide evidence to enjoy later? Near the empty bowl and candies was Alice’s ride on Mater toy (the tow truck from the movie Cars). “Hmmmm…,” I thought, “could this be it?” I held my breath and lifted the seat. Bingo! There in the cargo hold of the toy were the missing candies. Case solved. Pug medical crisis averted and one ticked off toddler created. You can’t win them all I guess.