Unsolicited Advice

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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...

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...

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....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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?

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

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

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

Death Toll- Two

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…

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

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

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

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

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

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….

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

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.

Don't try this at home...

I totally forgot to put Alice's chair back on the floor after vacuuming one day. The thrill of having clear carpets must have gone to my head. As I walked past the living room, this is what I found. I had to admire her resourcefulness (notice how she uses a package of new sheets for a table) and her flexibility. I stood and watched for a while (actually quite a while). I was amazed that she thought this was actually a comfortable position for television viewing. Forget for a second my current state of pregnancy (which makes any kind of bendy position unthinkable), but I don't think I could of held this for any extended time during my regular yoga days. Hmmm....I wonder if Cirque du Soleil needs a toddler acrobat?

Poop, Poop Everywhere!

Two of the most important tools in my mommyhood arsenal are my steam cleaners. Yes, I have two: a Bissel Spotbot (small machine) and a Bissel Proheat (full sized). Of all the paraphernalia associated with bringing up children, these are the most valuable. Had I known what I know now, I would have placed them on my baby registry along with a pack mule.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have cream colored carpet in my living room. This was the selection of the empty nesters from whom we purchased our home. It is beautiful carpet and was in such good shape it did not make sense to rip it up when we moved in. Then we had a child. Thanks to the steamers, the carpet has remained in good shape despite incidents such as the one that occurred Wednesday morning.

I was enjoying my breakfast and tea when Alice sauntered into the kitchen. Somehow she had managed to semi-tear her diaper off despite its duct tape reinforcement. The waist was intact but the sides were free. I laughed when I saw her come in with the diaper flapping between her legs. The laughter quickly died when I heard the dreaded words, “Mommy, poopie.” I ripped the diaper fully off and there was some brownish discoloration on the absorbent padding. The phrase “Oh, %&#!” exploded in my head. I darted into the living room to find a harbinger of doom to greet me- the pug licking her chops. I had walked into a poop crime scene. I found the pile of regurgitated poop a second later in front of the entertainment center along with a bunch of shitprints in all directions. Apparently, Alice stepped in the mess and then walked around the living room in her quest to find me. Whatever happened to the good old days when a trail of Cheerios and a vacuum pug told me where to look for Alice? Thank goodness I am no longer suffering from morning sickness because I would probably still be retching in the bathroom like a CSI rookie at a first crime scene.

In no time, the full sized steamer erased the evidence of the poop fest in my living room. Still, I will be much happier when we replace the carpet in a few years with something more practical. I am thinking something in the brown family.

But I Can’t Be Obsolete….

I do not recall being so stupid with my first pregnancy. Perhaps I was just too stupid to realize how dense I became. My husband thinks it is hysterical to have his formally smart wife turn into “fertility goddess” Barbie. I thought my blunder with the Afrin commercial was bad. I actually looked over at my husband on the couch and asked, “Why does that woman have a teddy bear head?” I was genuinely confused. I have walked into rooms only to forget why I went there. I have been unable to find things that are right in front of me, even when I have my glasses on. Yesterday morning, however, was the proverbial icing on the cake that I have seemed to misplace.

For Christmas John got me a purple Apple Nano. I was so excited to get it as my Dell Jukebox player is pretty obsolete by now. Because I have not been to the gym (per doctor’s orders) I am sad to say that yesterday morning was the first time I had to finally get it out of the box and get it started/registered. Time to fiddle with technology is not a luxury you get with a toddler underfoot. Anyway, I had some spare time as Alice was enthralled with Bob Bob Bobpants (how she refers to Spongebob Squarepants). I figured I should make sure the thing works. I am ashamed to admit it but I will own up to my “fertility goddess” Barbie moment- I couldn’t figure out how to open the damn box. In their quest for a beautiful packaging job, Apple had placed a large clear sticker on the end of the flip box that opened. There was no seam as there usually is indicating tape, so I did not realize that the sticker was even there. I thought the small arrow was giving me the direction I was supposed to turn the box to release its contents. No matter how much I struggled and pried the darn thing would not give. I almost broke out a hammer and chisel to get the blasted thing open. I could not face the prospect of going to the Apple store and confessing that I must have become so obsolete in the computer world that I cannot even open a box containing a new piece of equipment. Thankfully, I eventually realized it was a sticker. A quick peal and my Nano was in my hands. I think today I might download one of those mediation podcasts. Lord knows I need to relax after that “ordeal”.

The shit has hit the fan…thankfully not literally

Lately, Alice has begun to recognize when she needs to go #2. Initially, this made me pretty happy and proud (oh, how life has changed upon having a child). I thought it wonderful that she was learning her bodily signals and making those tentative first steps toward potty training. After all, when I consider what the cost of diapering two children would be, having one potty proficient would probably be a “good thing” to quote Martha Stewart. Who knew that this new recognition would prove to be so traumatic for the little one (and me)?

Take for instance last night at the diner. Alice, normally the Cookie Monster of French fries, spent the entire dinner crying because “I made a poopie.” I am not talking about whimpering here. I mean full- fledged shrieking complete with tears running down her face. My assurances of a change did nothing to assuage her upset. Since my dinner ruined by poopie, tears, and trauma, I decided to take her to the car while John settled the bill and packed up the food. No sense being the hated family in the diner. Upon changing her diaper, John discovered only two little poop pebbles. Still the crying continued. You would have thought she passed/was passing shards of glass. I shoveled the rest of my dinner into my gullet while Alice hung onto me screaming about “Poopie!” I figured that perhaps she was constipated—not something that happens often to my fruitaholic daughter. She did not even want fun bath time with Daddy. Apparently, if you are going to scream and be upset in the tub then only Mommy will do (gee, thanks honey).

Soaking in the warm water did nothing to improve her mood and just frazzled mine more. By the time books were read, child was rocked and put into her crib I was done. I went downstairs and said to John, “Go to Carvel. I need a hot fudge, vanilla soft serve sundae.” This is my pregnant glass of wine. While we were eating our ice cream, the monitor picked up some groaning about (you guessed it) POOPIE! Thankfully, she fell back asleep no doubt dreaming of little turds running amuck in some field, jumping over a fence and into a potty.

The next day there was no upset about bowel movements at all—even after she made some. Toddlers…too bad they don’t come with instructions.

Caught…by a Two Year Old…

Last week we had our new refrigerator delivered. Pre- delivery John and I made a concerted effort to use up much of the stuff in the fridge and freezer. We figured it would make it easier to empty out the old if there was less stuff to move before the new one arrived. I determined milk levels perfectly (yet another one of those abilities one acquires with children). Alice had enough milk to see her through to the delivery time as long as I kept her to her usual quota. My daughter, aka “The Dairy Whore”, however did not want to cooperate with my finally laid plan. The night before our delivery was due she stood before the refrigerator demanding, “Milk, more milk.”

Thankfully, Alice is not able to open the doors on her own, so I decided to use this lack of ability to my advantage. I calmly said to her, “Sorry Alice but we don’t have any more milk. I have to buy some tomorrow.” My rational parent brain knew I could not explain to a two year old that if she drank the milk that was in the fridge now she would not have any in the morning. Delayed gratification is not a forte among two year olds. With my lie now justified in my mind, I proceeded to get dinner on the table. Alice would not be deterred. She remained standing at her post now with her hand on the door handle. She demanded that I “open it” because “I saw it there.” I was stunned. Not only did she use a full sentence; not only did she show remarkable powers of observation, but she caught me in a lie. It is funny how one can be proud and ashamed all at the same time.

A girl and her dog....

Oftentimes I am taken aback by the relationship that has grown between Puggie Smalls, the Notorious P.U.G. and Alice. I have to admit to being a bit concerned while pregnant with Alice about how Puggie would react to a new member of the family. After all, Puggie was the only child for two years. She had all the attention and the run of the house. Also, since young children were not part of our social circle, she had never really been socialized around young little ones. I knew from the research I did when we were looking into the various breeds that pugs were great family dogs and good around children, but I was still concerned. Now, I watch the two of them interact and I laugh at how worried I was.

Every morning Alice and I snuggle in bed while I wake up. Actually I snuggle with the covers while Alice spends the time pulling my hair and doing her vocal practice of random words, letters and numbers. I know the time to drag my carcass out of bed has come when she happily shouts her first logical statement, “Puggie, pug, dog, puppy dog, puggie.” That said, she climbs out of bed, hands me my socks and slippers and runs to the alarm panel indicating that I should disarm it so we can go downstairs and start the day.

Before even drinking her milk, Alice rushes to the first floor bathroom to release Puggie from her crate. One of Alice’s happiest days was when she figured out the movement needed to unlatch the crate. As she pulls back the catch, Alice waves to her friend and says a cheerful “Hi!”. I then hear a giggle. Puggie is out and has given Alice a morning smooch. Puggie runs out to see me in the kitchen and Alice follows close behind with the dog’s collar. She hands me the collar and demands I put it on the dog. This task done Alice drinks some milk and presents me with the dog’s food bowl. There have been some attempts on Alice’ s part to fill the bowl herself. These tries have generally resulted in an entire bag of dog food on the floor, me stressed out trying to clean it up and Puggie trying to gorge herself. Alice, unfortunately, follows the dog’s example. Yes, my child, gourmand that she is, enjoys munching on Iams dry dog food. It is my own fault. Sometimes my “cleverness” gets the better of me. When Alice was much younger, she decided she wanted to eat the dog’s food. I decided to let her try it. I figured the disgusting taste would end her curiosity. No such luck. She found dog food quite delicious. Consequently, I now have to put the dog in her pen to feed her or Alice sits next to her and steals the kibble out from under the poor dog. After the dog eats, Alice then chases her around with a water bowl, admonishing her to “drink, drink.”

Once this morning routine is exhausted, the two sojourn to the living room for play, tomfoolery and whatnot. Alice has learned gentleness over the last few months in particular (much to the dog’s relief) and as a result, I find the dog seeking out Alice’s company more and more. There have been times she has even woken Alice up from a nap to play. I look forward to seeing how Puggie reacts when we bring #2 home now that she is a seasoned veteran. Most likely she will ignore the munchkin until solid foods are introduced and a new food source is born.

A Better Frame of Mind

I haven’t posted in the last few days. I just was not in the right frame of mind. A cartoon rendering of my thoughts would have included an ominous looking gray cloud along with symbols indicating expletives in the bubble over my head. I felt like posting a few times and detailing my litany of complaints ranging from an aching back to a sick dog, but I realized I didn’t want to write about them. No good would have really come of it. Sure, there are times when writing is wonderfully cathartic, but there are also times when it just perpetuates a bad mood. A posting over the last few days would have just done the later for me. Let’s face it--there are just days when motherhood (and impending motherhood) just plain sucks.

Dr. Seuss addresses this fact about life in his book “Oh The Places You’ll Go.” Had he written this book in relationship to motherhood, a line might have read something like this:
“I’m sorry to say so
But sadly it’s true
That teething toddlers, puking dogs, and leaking pipes on new refrigerators will happen to you.”

And, much like the good doctor explains in his book, there are times you just have to rise above it. Thankfully, many of the annoyances motherhood presents are finite although they may not seem so at the time. My advice- go to bed early. It ends the day and who knows, tomorrow just might be better. After all, as the old saying goes, “While there is breath there is hope.”

A Pleasant Morning and then Crime Struck…

I was a bit fearful when Monday rolled around and John went back to work after his vacation. I figured Alice would be a banshee without her beloved Daddy around full time. How happily surprised was I when she slipped right back into our former routine? Pregnancy mush brain must have hit me strongly that morning because I stupidly forgot certain aspects of our “former routine”. My defenses were slow as was my reaction time.

On the surface all seemed fine. Alice and Puggie played in the living room while I went through the house doing my usual stuff. Now that I think about it, I should have known they were up to something. The furtive glances in my direction; the hushed whispers; the camouflage. A heist was obviously going to go down.

As I put away holiday decorations and cleaned, Alice and her partner in crime, Puggie pilfered a bag of sweet potato chips from the kitchen. A long period of silence and deeply contented pug snorting forewarned me of potential disaster in the living room. All my senses were now sharp and alert; however, by the time I got there, all that was left were some miniscule crumbs and an empty chip bag. Puggie, with absolutely no remorse, blew her diet big time that morning. She was sent into solitary (her pen) with no breakfast and two bowls of water to counteract her increased sodium intake.

Don’t feel too badly for her. When I went to the basement to fold laundry, Alice sprung her associate from the “big house”. They remained on the lam until naptime.

Would you like a moment alone?

John and I were relaxing in the living room on Saturday night watching television. The pug's snores were particularly loud and content which made us curious enough to look for her. This is what we found. Puggie Smalls, the Notorious P.U.G. apparently decided to make Pooh her "special friend". Rest assured, there was no naughty business going on despite the way the photo looks. Puggie honestly was just sleeping on the stuffed toy, and thus, we witness the evidence of neutering and age.

My living room is here somewhere…

Let me start off by saying I am not a neat freak, although current nesting practices/freak outs might call that statement into question. For a while I think my husband John worried about staying in one place for too long for fear I would clean him with bleach, find a better place for him elsewhere in the house or put him by the curb along with the recycling. I try to practice the adage, “My house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy.” At least, this was the case, and then Alice turned into a tornado…I mean toddler.

Sometimes I wander through the house wondering what the hell happened. I tidy things up and no sooner do I leave the room then it looks cluttered and messy again. For a while I thought mischievous fairies were at work. It seemed impossible that one toddler could cause such chaos but unfortunately that is the case. I don’t think there is a room in the house that does not bare her mark in the form of toys, discarded clothing, board books, and whatnot. I shower with rubber ducks and squirt toys. I eat with Spongebob Squarepants. I found pirate Pablo from the Backyardigans in my shoe the other day.

Thankfully the people who come to visit us have children too so they find our home (not necessarily the occupants) perfectly normal. Those who don’t have kids probably view our home as a form of birth control. It is rather nice to know that our house after four years finally looks “lived in” and acts as a public service announcement.

Why I Should Start the Richard Drew and Johnson and Johnson Fan Club…

I was reminded of this as I tried to eat my whole wheat toast while it was still warm and drink my tea while it was still hot. The toast became a lost cause. Thankfully, the microwave made my first and only cup of “real” British Breakfast tea salvageable. Decaffeinated while better than nothing is really no substitute for the real thing. I had just taken my first bite of toast when Alice ran into the kitchen sans pajama pants. This would not be a big deal per se if she had not taken the diaper off along with them. Alice is not fully potty trained yet, so her walking about diaperless is akin to me playing a much less fatal version of Russian roulette with my carpets.

Unfortunately, as the wet spots on the cream colored carpet could attest, I was too late. On the bright side I was not too late to foil pug’s plans. She had just discovered the discarded diaper and was about to enjoy this tasty (?) delicacy when I entered the room. I could envision my toast hardening with cold and the butter congealing as I pulled out the portable steam cleaner and set it up to work its magic. Alice, now empty, was happily sitting on her potty.

With Alice once again covered, we headed to the kitchen for her “special tape”. Nowadays no diaper is complete without a strip of silver over the diaper’s adhesive tabs. So thank you Richard Drew and Johnson and Johnson for your work on perfecting duct tape. I raise my now tepid tea to you!

Happy New Year...resolutions

This Christmas I sent out our family newsletter- a chronicle of all the ways my two year old daughter is making me laugh or cry (depending on my hormone levels). My cousin Ellen called demanding I, at the very least, start a blog explaining that in this day an age we need more humorists.

Ellen- this one is for you....

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Everyone!

I hope this letter finds you doing well. I usually try not to rely on the typed note, but writing, “I am pregnant” ad nauseum would probably make me nauseous. I am enjoying finally being over morning sickness too much to chance it. Yep, I am pregnant. I am sorry if I am repeating myself. Blame “mommy mush brain” for my forgetfulness. Cletus the Fetus, 2.0 is due to arrive around May 21, 2009. We decided not to find out the sex ahead of time. At the first ultrasound, the little one was kicking around so much that the technician could not get a good look to determine sex. John has to be out of town for the next ultrasound, so we decided that the fates and fetus have spoken. We did not find out with Alice and it was a great surprise. It was a great motivation to push after nine months of not knowing. Additionally, it has the side benefit of driving people crazy. Most folks simply don’t comprehend not finding out ahead of time. The silly side of me enjoys when people ask if it is a boy or girl and I reply, “Those are generally the two options.” Considering the list of things I can’t enjoy these days, I have to take my kicks where and when I can. Alice so far seems clueless about what is to come despite my growing belly, diminishing lap, and our repeated statements about her becoming a big sister. She will point to my stomach and say “baby”, but she now does that to hers too. I told her not until she is married and established in a good career or I will kill her…ha ha.

Alice turned 2 years old in August and has entered the “terrible twos”. Actually, they probably would not be too horrible if I could unwind in the evening with a glass of wine and a long soak in a steaming hot bath. More often than not I am trying not to laugh as I inform her that she should not give Cookie Monster a bath in the toilet and just because you can reach the chocolate stash does not mean you are having any for breakfast. Motherhood has caused me to utter sentences I never thought would exit my mouth such as “Alice, don’t chase the pug with a light saber/fork/plunger/Swifer sweeper.” Life is never boring that is for sure. Whenever people hear I have a girl, they get goofy smiles on their faces. I know they are imagining demure tea parties, dress up, and other girlie activities. While they get lost in their dreams, I recall the reality- Alice jumping off the furniture topless and beating her chest a la Tarzan (complete with the yell). She must have been a nudist in a past life for at any moment she will strip off her clothing. The diaper used to go too until I discovered yet another use for duct tape (I am not kidding). Wrestling, running and rock collecting are the norm. So far several of my toothbrushes have met with watery demises in the toilet and I have discovered that the magic eraser does take off crayon from wallpaper (along with the wall paper). Alice and Puggie spend their days playing, and I have to say Puggie should be canonized for what she puts up with. Alice loves to hug the dog but in doing so winds up wrestling her to the ground in her love and enthusiasm. The other day John walked in to find Alice walking the dog around the living room like a wheelbarrow. I guess Puggie works under the belief that any attention is better than none. She also realizes that Alice is a great food source so I am sure that helps the relationship.

I would love to write more, but I don’t want to bore you with the details. Also, Alice is beckoning me to the living room for Blue’s Clues. I am sure if Dante were writing The Divine Comedy today children’s programming would be one of the levels of hell.