Actual sign

(I apologize in advance for not having had my camera at the ready.)

I visited the Stop & Shop in Hudson, MA today to pick up some citrus fruit.

The sign above the lemons had a photograph of some lemons and read:

FRESH LEMONS
3/ $2.00

Great for orange juice!

Poop

New Baby has had horrible diarrhea since Christmas Eve, methinks rotovirus, and has pooped on me twice.

The cat pooped on the rug in the girl's room today.

This has been a bad day, and I'm really looking forward to tomorrow.

Bully

It must be Mama Bear week, because I'm in a tizzy about another individual who has threatened my cub. I am spitting, clawing, raging mad as any good mother would be when someone actively attempts to do harm to her child.

The problem with this, folks, is that the aggressor is 8 years old and she lives across the street.

I'll call her Mean Girl. She's the new kid on the block, just moved in at the end of summer. There is a recent divorce in the family, she seemed shy and so I was so willing to be inclusive-have her come over to play with Old Baby, invited her for dinner-the usual stuff. For a while it was fine, they seemed to get along well, and then something changed and I'm not sure why.

I have watched over the last few weeks as she has tried to play our other neighbor girl (Old Baby's BFF), whom I will call Sunshine, against Old Baby. I've seen Mean Girl whispering into Sunshine's ear and overheard some of the comments about what a baby Old Baby is (she's 2 years younger than Mean Girl) , I've heard her imperious tone, seen her get bossier, heard Sunshine's mother warn me that there was trouble, watched as she attempts to exclude Old Baby (in her own home, mind you) and I kept saying to myself that I would not get involved.

That changed this afternoon when Old Baby came home telling me that according to Sunshine, Mean Girl hates her.

Today, all three girls were at our house putting on play make-up and nail polish, playing Guitar Hero, getting along swimmingly- I thought. I was keeping a watchful eye and a listening ear and though there was a slight condescension in Mean Girl's voice, nothing alarming. After a while they went to Sunshine's house where they played for a few more hours, and then Old baby returned with this news: "Mom, I have something to tell you but I don't want to because I think it will hurt your fellings. Mean Girl said she hated me to Sunshine and she doesn't want Sunshine to play with me anymore."

At that moment I was struck by a couple of things: The first being that DAMN my child is keen in recognizing that I would be hurt by someone hating her, the second being that this is EXACTLY the kind of bullshit that happened to me when I was a kid...and I am not going to stand for it.

Girls do not fight fair, they are just as bad a boys when it comes to bullying. No, strike that, they are worse. The ringleader enlists the other girls so that the object of the bullying has no ally. They gossip, they sneer, they ostracize, they attempt to annihilate the girl by destroying her self esteem. I can recall being so afraid of what was going to be said to/about me on any given day that I would make myself sick so that I wouldn't have to go to school. (Of course, I would join the pack whenever the opportunity arose in order to avoid being the object, so I can see it from both sides). I do not, however, remember this being an issue at the age of 5. The really difficult thing about girl bullying is that they can feign concern for the victim so easily in front of parents/teachers, but the moment the authority figure is gone, they attack. Mean Girl has been pulling an Eddie Haskell on me and I suspected as much...damn, I should trust my instincts!

My dearest husband takes the attitude that we should simply tell Old Baby to ignore it and that it will eventually stop. My dearest husband was never a little girl, and never subjected to the type of colossal mind-fuck that an elementary school age girl can inflict on another. My dearest husband is completely wrong in this approach, and I told him so.

I cannot advise my child to ignore or avoid Mean Girl because we see her every day, and will probably be seeing her every day for years to come. We are going to have to do something.

For those of you who are concerned, I am not going to do anything rash. I am going to calmly and rationally approach Mean Girl's mother, a very nice woman whom I suspect has no idea what is going on. First, I am going to extend an invitation to our New Year's Eve party, then I will bring up these issues between our daughters, and I am going to make very clear that I cannot allow this to continue. I do not allow this type of behavior from my children, and I won't stand by and watch as someone mistreats another. This isn't just about my kid, and it isn't that the other kid is BAD, this isn't about me fighting my kid's battle for her- this is about the reality that parents need to protect their children as much as possible-sometimes from other children, sometimes from themselves.

I feel much better now, thank you for letting me vent, I'll let you know how it goes.

Nothing says "holiday spirit" like embarrassing a child

I am grumpy because it's Christmas, but in trying to keep with the spirit we attended a neighbor's holiday family get together---briefly.

Of course we had to watch the neighbor kids open gifts because we have terrible timing.

One of the neighbor girls recieved an American Girl doll (puke!) named "Emily" and Old Baby, wanting to be a part of the merriment, speaks up and says "I have an American Girl doll and her name is Sarah!", because her doll does look just like an American Girl doll and her doll's name IS Sarah...as are all of her dolls...

At this point the grandmother of the neighbor girl says "There ARE NO American Girl dolls named Sarah!" in a tone of voice that was totally inappropriate for use with anyone in a social setting, especially a 5-year-old. In that one small remark, this woman essentially called my child a liar, called her doll a fake, and, absurd as it may seem, made me want to cry. Old Baby didn't cry, but she looked really confused and then went and stood in the kitchen.

Merry fucking Christmas, Lady!

My husband's love for his children makes me sick.

As all of you know I am living in a constant state of home improvement. Because of the unending nature of the living room painting project, I have gotten into the bad habit of leaving all sorts of adhesives and paint, etc. laying about...out of reach of little hands but accessible at a moment's notice to me.

Last night after dinner, the kids were in the living room and B and I remained in the kitchen chatting for a while. After a few minutes New Baby ran back into the kitchen with a mouth full of something and spit it on the floor. It was white-ish in color and smooth in consistency.

Alarmed at what she may have ingested, I ran to the living room to see if she's managed to get ahold of any of the toxic chemicals I have stored there. Nothing seemed amiss, all the paint cans, etc, sealed up. I returned to the kitchen and wiped up the spit up with a paper towel, assuring the father of my children that everything was OK, she hadn't swallowed paint or glue. I stood there with the disgusting sputum covered towel in hand, about to throw it away, when my Doubting Thomas of a husband rushed over, swiped a figure through the mystery substance and TASTED it. "I had to be sure." he said.

It turns out that New Baby had squirrelled some cheese sauce from her dinner in her cheeks and had been holding it there for a while before presenting us with it.

As you might expect, I had no choice but to retch. This may be one of the most horrifying things I've seen anyone do.

I think I need to be sick again. Goodbye.

Before I forget this one forever...

When we first moved to Massachusetts and were settling in to our new home, my dear mother came for a visit-to help out with the unpacking and all of that. What she did best, of course, was watch after her two darling granddaughters.

One afternoon, Grandma took the girls on a walk to the library and for ice cream afterward. At some point during the walk, Old Baby made the decision to screw around atop a rather large piece of granite (superfluous note: this place is chock full o' igneous rocks, big chunks, which is novel to those of us used to a more sedimentary type...I'm still surprised to see big boulders of the stuff lying about), and as a result fell and injured her foot/ankle area. This is the type of thing that happens almost everyday so I didn't really pay it any mind until my new next door neighbor approached me the following day after Old Baby had spent some time playing at their house.

She looked a little confused, and asked me what exactly had happened to Old Baby's foot. I told her and a look of relief washed over her face.

"Why do you ask?" I inquired, wondering where this might be going.

"Oh, it's nothing", she replied, "only that she told me earlier today that the reason that she had a boo-boo is that she had been attacked by a police dog yesterday."

My neighbor continues, "She also claims that she has a deadly allergy to watermelon." (No, she doesn't, and I'm fairly certain no one else in the world does either.)

We're still laughing about this.



Little bullshitter.

The American Dream

After the Obama election, I walked around in a haze for a day or two, shedding the occasional tear of joy and thinking about how to best explain to Old Baby why this was so important.

As my husband and children are all "persons of color", I wanted to impress upon my 5-year-old why this election was of particular interest to our family, but I had a hard time coming up with the proper way to say it, especially due to the fact that I don't think Old Baby is yet aware of any type of racial bias.

What I ended up saying to her was simply: "This election has shown us that it is possible in this country to become whatever you want to be if you are willing to work hard enough for it." This was, admittedly, pretty lame.

Old Baby looked at me for a moment, removed her thumb from her mouth, and told me: "I want to be the Tooth Fairy".

Realizing that this would require some backpedaling on my part, I explained that the Tooth Fairy job has been taken, permanently, and that she would have to think of something else she really wanted to be.

After a couple of seconds, she tells me her second choice dream job: "Then I'll be the Mexican Tooth Fairy."

I'm losing my $#@%!!#$% mind

I will now tell you what a typical day consists of for me:

Get up, get kids up, bathroom, teeth, etc.

Kiss husband goodbye as he runs quickly from the oncoming group of chaos that is his family.

Give kids a bath.

Dress kids. Dress youngest child twice because she sticks arms into bathwater which hasn't yet drained.

Feed kids/drink coffee. Do a load of laundry. Fold 2 loads of laundry.

Clean up kitchen-load/reload dishwasher.

Dress youngest child again because she has put orange slices in her sleeves.

Attempt to do something educational and/or fun with these children. Today we read 3 issues of Highlights magazine and discussed ways to avoid further injury to our heads.

Clean up living room which has become a fort of pillows, etc., necessary for reading.

Feed children lunch.

Dress youngest child again as her sister so thoughtfully gave her a bowl of balsamic vinaigrette to dip her cheese in, which youngest child dumped on table and played in while I was in the pantry putting the crackers away.

Brush teeth again, hunt for shoes- eldest child takes approximately 14 years to tie shoes-panic because we're going to miss the school bus.

Find backpack, throw in granola bar for snack.

Bus arrives, eldest child goes to kindergarten-yay!

Return home, put youngest child down for a nap.

Realize I'm hungry, drink another coffee instead.

Go into living room and spend the next 2 hours scraping paint off the ceiling (see Sweet Calcimine post), spend another 30 minutes cleaning up tremendous mess on floor.

Get youngest child up from nap, check e-mail while cuddling her. No good e-mail.

Walk down to bus stop, fetch eldest child.

Return home and begin the project that I meant to do today- rearrange furniture in the guest room.

Give kids a snack.

Get bed that has been stored in basement out and assemble-discover that it's too big for the mattress and boxspring-put the other generic metal frame underneath and pretend that it is correct.

Give up on this, go downstairs, let kids watch cartoons while I make dinner.

Husband arrives.

We eat, clean up, etc.

Pick up freecycle item, a drafting table to put in guest room so that Old Baby can do her art projects somewhere other than kitchen table.

Return, assemble table.

Help husband and kids carve pumpkins.

(Oh, did I fail to mention the 7 diapers I changed?)

Go upstairs to put away yet another basket of laundry and honest-to-goodness overhear the following question posed by Old Baby:

"Hey Dad... why doesn't mom have a job?"

Yay! Head injury!

We had the pleasure of rushing Old Baby to the hospital last night when she learned the hard way that when mommy says; "Stop twirling that thing around and spinning in circles or you'll bust your head open on that radiator!", it's best to heed the warning.

Two stitches on her forehead, over the right eye.

It took 3 nurses and her dad to hold her still (AFTER she was wrapped in a blanket) for the stitches.

The nurses all commented on her strength and her lung capacity.

We're very proud.

I know I already said this...

...but I really abhor Sarah Palin.

I just watched the Katie Couric interview, again, and I am in a state of shock, again.

Jibberish.

Sweet Calcimine

Ah, the joys of an old house.

B and I began a rather large project over the weekend. Our living room ceiling had a series of cracks that had begun to alarm me-visions of massive chunks of old horsehair plaster falling on my children's heads began consuming my every waking thought-so I did my research and came up with two possible fixes. The first option was to tear out the entire ceiling and install new drywall, the second was to try and repair the plaster using Big Wally's Plaster Magic (sounds awesome, right?). This second option would allow us to re-glue the plaster to the lathe using a super special adhesive without removing any of the original plaster-so I decided that Big Wally's it was.

The first day consisted of drilling a bunch of holes into the ceiling, shooting them full of goo and screwing temporary supports into the lathe until the adhesive fixed. This was surprisingly easy-very little mess, very little hassle, just a lot of time.

Second day consisted of the same, but done with a slight hangover (unrelated to the project itself).

The third day I rested.

Today is the fourth day and time to remove the temporary supports. No problem, no worries, that is until I attempt to scrape the excess glue from the ceiling and discover that the paint is coming off the ceiling in sheets, big sheets and little flakes.

I'm alarmed, I keep scraping, the paint just keeps coming off, I'm even more alarmed...I run to my computer and do a Google search.

Here's the issue: In the olden days, when this house was built, after the walls were plastered it took between 6 months and a year for the plaster to cure. Walls and ceilings couldn't be painted until the plaster cured; clearly this was too long to wait and so Calcimine was applied over the uncured plaster. But what in the hell is Calcimine? Calcimine is a water-base paint containing zinc oxide and glue and coloring (I don't know this to be a fact, I got this info online).

This is all fine and well, but it seems that nothing will bond with the Calcimine except more Calcimine, which is sort of like liquid chalk dust, not really permanent (remember all those Laura Ingalls Wilder/Huck Finn-type stories where everyone was always whitewashing the house or the barn or whatever the hell it was they lived in? Same concept). Of course, eventually modern people painted over this crap with latex or oil based paints. On a ceiling it isn't such a problem unless you get moisture between the Calcimine and the paint or you start scraping at the paint as I did, and then you will find yourself in the state of mind I currently find myself in...pissed off.


The only way to properly address this issue is to wash all this crap off the ceiling, wash again, and repeat and repeat and repeat. Then let the ceiling dry. Then skimcoat the areas you damaged while scraping. Then let that dry. Then skimcoat again. Then let that dry. Then sand. Then prime. Then paint.

Wait, did I mention that this is in the living room? Where we live?

Or I could just pretend that I didn't know better and paint over it directly.

Hmm.

My toddler will have the venti latte

New Baby LOVES coffee, I've discovered.

I can no longer leave my partially finished cups laying about willy nilly as I once did, as she will find and consume them in no time.

"Mmmm", she says, "Nuk!"

In an interesting twist, this morning I found her dipping her barrettes into a cup and licking them clean.

I am tired of people, especially during this campaign

I just saw on the news that Barack Obama needs to defend himself against allegations that he uttered a sexist remark directed at Sarah Palin. The remark was in reference to John McCain's economic policies, and Obama stated that "You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig".

Really, people? This makes you angry? This is a sexist remark?

I also caught a segment where some roving reporter was interviewing women voters in Park Ridge, Illinois. When asked how they felt about Governor Palin, several responded; "Well, I like that she's a mom! I am definitely going to vote for her!" ,when these same women were asked if they knew anything about where she stands on "the issues", they said "No, not really."

Hey Gals! I'm a mom, too!!! Perhaps I should run for VP, 'cause I've put the old uterus to work a couple of times! Yay! The sisterhood is strong!

It isn't that I hate Palin personally, I don't care about her personally,she seems like an interesting person, I have no doubt that she's tough, but I have learned enough about her to say that I strongly disagree with many of her views. So, I won't vote for McCain/Palin (or as Brent said yesterday "McCalin") I think men and women both would be well advised to vote for someone who supports the things that will advance our country, and respect the best parts of our nation.

Like freedom of speech, for example.

There are many things I find objectionable about Palin's views, but what I can't get my head around is her inclination to ban books at the library of Wasilla while she was mayor. I don't care WHICH books, I don't care WHY she wanted to ban books, I'm just not having it. Should someone happen upon a bit of literature that they find objectionable, there is no reason they cannot simply stop reading. If a child brings home something that the parents find offensive, there is no reason they should not exercise their parental rights and take the material away from the child, or maybe explain to the child what it is about that material that offends them.

Information is not harmful. Ideas are not harmful. Ignorance IS harmful, and I see so much ignorance on the part of Palin: global warming is NOT the result of human activity, creationism IS a valid explanation for how the world came to be, and should be taught in schools, the war in Iraq is "a task that is from God", blah blah blah.

I don't care how many kids this woman has... She's bonkers.

Hoard the Cord

I have spent the last three days attempting to organize our office space and de-clutter the house. I was on a roll, things were bagged and driven to the donation box, I found that I could bear to give up several dozen pairs of shoes, old handbags, clothes that didn't fit right, old books, small electronics, etc. Things that I imagined I would one day require were easily and readily cast aside for the sake of simplifying life. I felt good, I felt productive, I felt invincible.

Last night, however, I hit upon a monumental snag. The snag's name is Brent, and he is my husband, and he has a disease. The disease probably doesn't have a name, only a description: the irrational need to keep each and every cord, cable, ac adapter, splitter, what have you, that has ever passed into our house. If it has a prong or a plug and is attached to a cord then it can never NEVER be thrown away. Ever. Period.

Never mind that the adapter is very clearly marked as belonging to a set of speakers long ago disposed of, forget the fact that most items such as scanners or printers come with their own adapters and cables ,etc. and that all the scanners and printers we own are currently connected to their respective cords and functioning correctly. All of that most be disregarded because someday we will find ourselves in need of this very THING that I proposed might be disposed of.

"Uh, what are doing?"

"I'm getting rid of these cords that were all jumbled up together in this box that has been sitting untouched since we moved in 4 months ago, and before that sat untouched in our office at the last house for 5 years."

"No, I need to keep those."

"Why?"

"Because I ALWAYS need adapters just like that one."

" But clearly you don't because they've been in this box for our eldest child's entire lifetime and you haven't used them."

"I was looking for them, but you keep getting rid of things."

"But I didn't get rid of these, here they are."

"Just let me take care of it, I'll take care of all of this"

"You've been saying that for half a decade"

And on it went until I agreed to untangle all of them and neatly store them in an enormous plastic bin which I placed in the attic and which I will probably lay eyes on again several years from now when we move them to the next house.

Is this some sort of a joke?

So, it is now established without a doubt that the elder of my two girls was the easy one and that the younger will challenge me to the end of my patience and beyond.

She is an escape artist. She has gotten away 3 times in the past week and to be honest I am considering the need for round the clock security guards as I clearly cannot keep track of her on my own. Twice she crossed the street and was discovered on the neighbors front porch, once by my neighbor (this time the police weren't involved). New Baby now knows how to push the screen door just right, so that she can squeeze her way out of the house, unbeknownst to me, when I'm doing something irresponsible like going to the bathroom or putting laundry away and thus not giving her my COMPLETE and UNDIVIDED attention. We have also found that the cat door in the kitchen is just the right size for a small creature like a cat, small dog or 19-month-old human to pass through-this we probably could have figured out had we thought to think of it...and don't get me started on her older sister's habit of flying out the door without noticing baby following at her heels.

The problem I have, aside from the safety issues, is that I feel like a bad mother who is failing repeatedly to keep her child safe. As soon as I think I have the solution, she finds a way around it, and to these actions I have begun to ascribe devious intent. In the same vein, New Baby will do something like, say, climb atop the computer desk and start dancing. She is immediately removed from this surface and put on the floor, and she looks up at me *winks* and climbs right back up as if to say "You and I both know that you can't keep me from dancing on the keyboard, why do you try?". Or she'll hit her sister, or the cat, or me, and give me the same *wink*. I assume that this has to be hardwired, Old Baby hasn't ever demonstrated such obstinacy

How does one effectively disciple a child who is not yet 2 years old? Redirection? Forget it-this child has one single purpose in life and that is to do whatever it is you are directing her from at the moment. Time outs are clearly not an option. Attempting to show her a better way or demonstrating another options are met with *winks*, and the occasional slap.

.

(By the way, I'm really not asking for advice, so don't bother...sigh...this is my cross to bear...)

Labor Day

Today we attended the Labor Day parade here in our little town, and once again I am amazed at the people one encounters at a parade.

In addition to the scheduled groups like the fire department, Shriners, Amvets, etc. there were the ever popular parade of teenaged mothers, the overweight girls in hot pants and half shirts, the young men with pit bulls (and two with snakes), the old men in stained wife beater t's and my personal favorite: mothers who let their children run wild and then get pissed when someone says something about it.

As with most parade, there was a lot of candy being thrown from the floats into the crowd, and Old Baby and friend would scramble to pick up every piece they could in "our area" in front of our chairs. One slightly older girl kept coming over and fighting with my kid and her friend over these various crappy candies (mostly Tootsie Rolls-ew!) I was, truthfully, getting annoyed with this little girl because it seems that there is an unspoken rule during these events that you stay within your own boundaries and don't infringe on the candy grubbing of others.

After about 45 minutes of this, Old Baby approaches me in tears because she says the girl in question pushed her. I approach this little girl and ask her where her mommy is, and suggest that she stay closer to mommy because it wasn't fair to the other kids that they weren't getting a chance at the candy and that it seemed things were getting too rough...and that's when her lovely mother starts yelling at me from behind. She claims that her daughter wasn't "doin'nothin'" and on and on and she was sitting "right there" and gestures to a spot about 1/2 a block down.

I'm thinking that she has just proven my point, that she was too far away to see what was going on and why wasn't she telling her daughter to stop being a candy bully, and besides-if my daughter says that someone pushed her it's my job to believe her and make sure that it doesn't continue...but at the same time I'm thinking that this is about the most stupid arguement that an adult can have and maybe I shouldn't have said anything because now it has become a spectacle.

I try to calmly explain that my daughter claims that she was pushed, and that I simply felt that her daughter should stay closer to her...and she continues to yell but finally walks away, picks up one of her other younger children, a baby, sits down and lights a cigarette, blows smoke in baby's face.

Ah, parenting at it's finest.

Cherish is the word I use....

Our family received a most wonderful gift last week...two Cherished Teddies collectables dressed in winter gear.

What the giver didn't realize, I'm sure, is that we have already started our Cherished Teddies collection and that they have without question raised the level of cherishing in the household exponentionally.

Prior to the arrival of Bianca and Nikki, Sara and Jacki and Karen had to be content with a family of only three, but now that the family has expanded to 5, it's as though the joy is a forcefield that encompasses the entire second floor of our home. You can positively feel the radiance as you look at the expressions on their adorable faces. Just look at the difference in these before and after photos:

The obligatory first day of school post

I did in fact shed a single tear when Old Baby got on the school bus, but I am actually relieved that she has something productive to do with her afternoons. I pray to God that New Baby will nap for the full stretch between 12:15 and 3:00.

What will I do with this free time...I think probably waste it blogging about what I should do with this free time.

My baby ate her own poop

My lovely sister came for a visit and we spent the week generally running around doing stuff. We were so busy that I neglected to notice that we were completely out of diapers for New Baby, so I ask my lovely sister to remind me as we are en route to a friends house that we need diapers...she does... I ignore the reminder thinking we'll stop once we get closer to our destination.

A few minutes later I hear from the back seat "Ah-kee, Ah-kee!"

I turn to find that New Baby has a chocolate beard and mustache, only I haven't given her any chocolate and she is also extending her index finger toward me, which is also covered in chocolate....I mean shit... Which is exactly what I say:

"Shit!"

My sister replies:

"We forgot to get diapers?"

I say:

"No, literally, shit. She is eating her poop."

I start to gag as I tend to do when confronted with the ingestion (by anyone) of feces.

My sister is laughing so hard she is swerving all over the road and is threatening to pee her pants, which would seem at this point seem to be downright hygenic.

Babies are gross.

When I am an old woman I will look like a huge dumbass

We happened upon this group of Red Hat Society ladies during a recent excursion and I had to surreptitiously take their picture so that I could mock them in this blog.

I get the idea behind it...being at the point in one's life where one can just throw all caution to the wind and enjoy one's self, ok, but do you have to throw all dignity to the wind as well? Why not just throw in some rubber noses and clown shoes? (The red espadrilles are close enough, I guess) It's not cute, it's not delightful, this is embarrassing for everyone.

If any of you reading this are considering becoming old soon and joining this herd, I caution you that I will find you and beat you to death with that stupid red hat.

Baby talk

I feel that I have written so much about Old Baby, and really neglected New Baby, so I thought I would catch you all up to date on her verbal development.

"Nuk"= Milk

"Nack"= Snack

"Shoe"=Shoe

"Bi-boe"= Diaper (indicating the need for a change)

"Ah-kee"=Yucky (indicating the presence of a poop in her diaper, she usually says this simultaneously with the insertion of a finger into her diaper so that we can all witness the ah-kee-ness)

"Daddy"=Daddy, or Mommy. When I encourage the use of the word "Mommy" she shakes her head and says "No"

"No"=No, or Yes, watch for whether the head is shaking side to side or nodding up and down.

"Tee-ta"=Kitty cat, or Dog

"Meow"=what every animal in the world says.

Surprisingly, we understand one another just fine.

Bedtime stories

After watching a ghost movie ( Disney's Haunted Mansion, I think?) with her dad this evening, Old Baby was understandably upset at the notion of going to bed by herself what with all the ghosts she might encounter...so I laid down with her and we had a lovely chat. I will now recount verbatim what was said:

OB: "I am afraid of being dead"

Me: "Oh, honey, you don't need to be afraid, because when that happens a long time from now, it will just mean that everything is ok with you-nothing will be hurting you or making you sick...you'll be perfectly happy, it's just the people that are still alive that remember you who will be sad."

OB: "But how long do I have to stay in the graveyard?"

Me:"Well, after your body dies it gets buried, or cremated, but the part of you that is you...inside...um...the part that makes you who you are...uh, your soul, well, that doesn't have to stay in the graveyard, it just goes on living somewhere in the universe and everything is ok for you"

OB:"What part inside? Like if I cut my arm off?"

Me: "No, the part of you...well, it's not a part of you like an arm, it's invisible, it's the spirit part that makes you who you are...but you can't see it"

OB: "So am I going to live forever?"

Me: "Kind of, but not like you live here now, because you have a body and people can see you and you have to stay in your body, but when you die you don't have a body anymore so you can be everywhere."

OB: "So when I die, can I see myself?"

Me: "Your body?"

OB: "No, the invisible part inside."

(...and with that I was really stumped. I would guess no, because a.) you don't have a material body to see and b.) even if you could you wouldn't have any eyes to see yourself with...but what the hell do I know?)

Me: "I'm not sure, I don't think so, maybe."

OB: "So was I dead before I was born?"

(Good question, right? Was she dead before she was born? Did she not exist at all? Why is she asking me these questions? Who in the hell is this kid?)

Me: "Hmmm...not sure...O.k.... well, it's time to go to sleep, I love you, goodnight!"

Did you know?

I learned something from Old Baby this morning:

"Mom, it hurts a little in my throat when I swallow...the Frog Purter came last night while I was sleeping and purt (put) a frog in there, and that's why it hurts."

Also:

"I think these little bumps in the medicine came from the plant that they have next door, it's a medicine plant and they chopped it up and put it in the red stuff and that's why it makes me feel all better."

I'm definitely thinking medical school for this child.

I have more and more respect for the worker bees

You all may or may not know that in my previous life I worked as a project manager overseeing the rehab of many a home. It was my main duty to make sure things got done quickly, and cheaply, and correctly. This last part rarely happened (due to the "cheaply" part of the equation), which would prompt me to chastise those doing shoddy work, often while shaking my head in disbelief.

Now that I am working at the rehab of my own home without benefit of large numbers of immigrants to do the actual labor, I am coming to understand exactly why their standards tended to be lower than my own. This shit is exhausting!

This evening I did a test run on the old skim coating technique, and I have come to one conclusion: it is infinitely more difficult than I had imagined. It doesn't really take a great deal of skill, but apparently it requires more patience that I have at my disposal because I will need to apply this joint compound one molecular layer at a time or else it bubbles and does other strange things. At the rate I am proceeding, my bathroom will be finished at never o' clock.

Presents are super

This is my birthday week, and I have recieved many special gifts, but 2 really stand out: one is from my husband, and one is from my cat-see if you can tell which is which.

Are Glade and Cream of Wheat owned by the same company?

If there is one thing I hate, it is artificial smells-cheap scented candles, air fresheners, and the like-the kind that people buy at the supermarket or the dollar store (For those of you who may be thinking to gift me with a scented candle at some point, I am not opposed to the good ones) . Particularly vile is the "apples 'n' cinnamon" variety of synthetic perfume...while I think it may in some way be reminiscent of apples and/or cinnamon it mostly reeks of trailer park. I would honestly prefer the smell of garbage, or anything else.

So the other day, my husband arrives home from the store ALL EXCITED because he has FINALLY found his FAVORITE variety of instant Cream of Wheat, he's been looking for it for YEARS, since he was a child...and it is, of course, apples and cinnamon.

The following morning I awoke with a slight headache and a terrible attitude because I'm convinced that someone is burning a Glade "Apples 'n' Cinnamon" candle in my room. Ugh, the stench! The horror! I look around, and there is no candle to be found, I check every room and come up with nothing. Upon entering the kitchen I find husband and child finishing up their breakfast, which is of course, the Cream of Wheat that he bought yesterday and which I now realize is the source of the stench. The food scientists have created a substance in this breakfast item that is so potent it can alarm people with it's "apples 'n' cinnamon"qualities from an entire house away.

I suspect that Glade and Cream of Wheat are sharing a lab.

I do love my husband. I do. He is smart and funny and nice and hardworking.

Unfortunately, basic housekeeping skills are not among his numerous fine qualities.

We have had the same discussion many many many times over the past couple of months about how once the dishes are loaded into the dishwasher it is imperative that the dishwasher actually gets started. In recent days I have begun to feel as though my pleas were finally sinking in, and I was so happy.

This morning, however, all feeling of progress came to screeching halt as I stepped into a kitchen with no less than 6 inches of foamy bubbles covering 75% of the floor.

Puzzled, I called my mate to inquire as to why this may be happening, and it would seem that he is unable to differentiate betwixt soap for hand washed dishes (in a small white bottle kept ON the kitchen sink) and soap for machine washed dishes (in a much larger white bottle UNDER the kitchen sink). Not realizing that there might be a difference, handsome hubby poured a whole mess of bubbly hand washing soap into the dishwasher, turned it on and left for work.

Now, think back to that Brady Bunch episode where the kids do the laundry and the entire house fills with bubbles. It was exactly like that, but much less funny and with a few more f-bombs uttered.

I am not impressed

Dear Massachusetts Driver,

Prior to joining you here in the Commonwealth, I had been warned about "Boston Drivers" and how crazy they are. For the record-I haven't found this to be the case on any type of large scale and I haven't had any issues with any driver in the city of Boston itself.

That being said, I have begun to notice that there are those of you in and around my home city that are among the worst I've ever encountered...not because of any feats of daring-do or impressive manuevering that blows my midwestern mind. No, you are just assholes for no apparent reason. You aren't even creative, it's the same stunt over and over.

To elaborate, I feel I must first explain that the changing of lanes on a motorway is NOT a slight directed at you personally. Sometimes, there are situations that require one to move one's automobile from the right lane to the left or vice versa. When these events occur, there is a protocol that the rest of the country accepts as common practice; namely, checking the rear view or side view mirror to ascertain that there is room to maneuver, putting one's blinker on in the direction one wishes to move to and then smoothly changing lanes. As I said, this is not an attempt to hurt your feelings. So perhaps you can understand my confusion over why my attempts to move closer to an exit or turn lane are met with the act of you punching the gas in order to close the sizable gap between our cars to prevent me from making the afore mentioned lane change. Usually, you are screaming at me through your closed window as you do so. Usually, you are an over weight middle aged man in a badly maintained car.

I know that on the surface it might seem to you that I am rubbing your nose in the myriad failures that make up your life: your lack of economic success and/or high school diploma, your repulsive visage, etc. I also know that my car being "first" means that you have lost yet another round in the game of life. Let me reassure you once and for all that my attempt to get from point A to point B safely really has nothing to do with any of the above. Driving up onto the sidewalk in order to block me from going through the green light ahead of you isn't going to solve a thing.

I wish that you would learn to accept your lot in life and stop endangering mine.

Many thanks,

Me

True and Terrifying

As most of you who bother to read this blog already know, I tend to be a rather relaxed parent-I don't hover or worry needlessly about potential dangers.

As of today all that has changed.

This evening I needed to get dinner ready early as Old Baby and I had somewhere to be at 7...so about 5:00 I send the girls out on the deck to play while I cook. Our kitchen window looks right onto our (fenced in!) yard, there is also a screen door that opens onto the deck. I'm not more than 10 feet from them.

They are playing nicely, the sun is shining, I'm happy because no one is climbing the table or pulling on me. I see the two of them sitting together in the back yard and at the same moment Brent's car pulls up. Perfect, nothing could be wrong.

I turn to the stove for a couple minutes, B walks in and we chat, Old Baby walks in, and after a couple of moments pass I ask Old Baby where her sister is "Is she still on the deck?", Old Baby shrugs and B looks at me and says "What are you talking about? She wasn't outside when I came through the yard."

Not worried yet, because I'm sure she's in the playhouse but I just can't see her because she's short. Check playhouse, no baby. Check back yard, no baby. Check living room, no baby. Walk out the front door and notice a gathering of neighbors across the street, one of them has my child in her arms.

"I just called 911," the neighbor whom I've never met tells me, "I didn't know who she belonged to and so I called the police-she was running down the middle of the street"

SHE WAS RUNNING DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET

After the police officer shows up and I tell him what happened, (and I'm wondering if I will get a visit from DCFS), I thank the neighbors and take New Baby back home.

Old Baby is hiding upstairs in her room and has that look about her that tells me she knows something-but she won't talk.

Eventually, I am able to determine that at the moment Brent pulled up in the driveway and I turned to the stove, Old Baby opened the gate to go out and greet her father and New Baby took that opportunity to bolt out into the neighbors yard, down their driveway and into the street and because she is small and fast and fearless, she escaped B's notice.

My heart is still racing, and I'm still crying-hours later-and the locks for the gate have already been purchased and installed and they are officially inoperable by anyone under 12.

Likewise, I am embarking on my new life as "Helicopter Mom".

Stinky

As I write this there is a tiny, fluffy, absolutely adorable skunk on our deck. (I'm not joking...it is precious.) The skunk is eating the cat food that we forgot to bring in this evening. The cat food is on the porch because our cats have been banished to the outdoors. The cats have been banished due to one of them developing a habit of peeing in inappropriate places.

It would seem we are doomed to suffer stink one way or another.

Massholes

I know I go back and forth on this frequently, but I am now much more in love with Massachusetts.

As my stepson was visiting these past two weeks, we have done many of the touristy things that one does when they have a house guest. We visited 2 beaches: Hampton (which is actually in NH), and one in Marblehead (aptly named as the beach was SO rough Old Baby hit her head on a huge rock and nearly brained herself while bodysurfing), we visited Salem, took a harbor cruise, hung out around Fanueil Hall and watched the street performers, went to the Aquarium, visited the Ecotarium in Worcester, took the kids fishing (ok, I didn't-B did), went to the little lake by our house several times, ate lots of local seafood and generally felt as though we were on vacation- and we didn't have to travel more than an hour to do any of the above. Next on my list of things to do is take a tour of the mansions in Newport, RI and visit Plimouth Plantation, which is a recreation of the first permanent European settlement in New England.

Based upon these more recent experiences, I am going to go ahead and rank Massachusetts as being much more fun than Illinois. For those of you who care to dispute this: don't bother, my mind is made up and I will just think you are jealous.

I Miss You

Dear Chicago,

I happened to see a video earlier today and it was all about you. The images that still feel like home but aren't anymore made me feel so homesick that I started to cry.

Love,

Me

Frankenbaby

Whilst unpacking some miscellaneous items a few weeks ago, I happened upon the brace I had to wear on my leg during my tenderest and most formative time of life.

I am fortunate enough to have a child of similar size and proportion to model this device so that we can once again enjoy the sheer asthetic beauty and delicacy of this finely tooled apparatus.

Ye Olde Swimmin' Hole

We are fortunate enough to live about 5 minutes from a nice little lake with a public beach. When we first moved here we asked about said beach and were told by several people that it was terrible and that if we were really interested in swimming there was a swim and racquet club down the street that we should join. Of course, now that we are a one income family I find that membership fees to a racquet club don't qualify as a justifiable expense, so I signed Old Baby up for swim lessons at the lake and lo and behold it isn't terrible-quite the contrary.

As one who so recently left the more urban enviornment where the only choice was a chlorinated pool or the fetid E-Coli waters of the city beaches, I have to say shame on those who would take such a nice little childhood memory maker for granted.

Old Baby birthday, condensed version

Talent Extravaganza!

This afternoon Old Baby was telling me all about her plans to put on a talent show in the back yard with the girl next door. The scheduled events are as follows:

Doing Circus tricks

Dancing

Making music

Learning how to cook

Swimming

Sending Postcards

Garage Sale (my personal favorite talent category)


***Happy Solstice Everybody**

Teething is hell

For the past 36 hours, New Baby has done little else but scream bloody murder. This, I assume, because she has two brand new teeth coming in.This constant auditory barrage is making me nervous and exhausted.

Old Baby, jealous of the attention her sister commands, has done little else but whine...as I write this she is writhing on the floor whining "mama, mama....mommy...mommy...mama"...and this has the odd effect of making me not so thrilled to be her mommy.

The cherry on top, however, is the PMS I'm currently experiencing, and I have considered running away from home and leaving these two to their own devices...but I won't.

Instead, I just spent a fortune on dietary supplements for myself, and I just know that this time the vitamins and minerals will rush to my brain and solve all my problems by making me happier, healthier and completely capable of doing everything exactly right-this won't be like the last time I spent a fortune on supplements and found myself throwing 90% of them away years past their expiration date vowing never to do that again.

Dream

I had this dream the other night:

I was in the home of a former design client for some type of holiday or celebratory meal. He leans over to me and tells me conspiratorially that he is Jewish even though everyone thinks he's Irish.

At this point one of his young children is thought to be missing, and so everyone leaves the table and goes on the search except for me and I realize that I am drinking a large cardboard container of whipping cream (heavy). I am mortified to be in the process such a faux pas, and so quickly check the label on the back of the carton, and I find the periodic table listed there and somehow I am reassured that this is NOT whipping cream but 2% milk, so I'm not embarrassed anymore.

When everyone returns to the table I notice that in lieu of bread with dinner, this family serves pancakes, and I am spreading mayonnaise on mine-but it keeps melting and disappearing and so I keep spreading it thicker and thicker, and one of this man's aunts leans over to speak with me, but I don't want her to know I am putting mayo on my pancake...

...and then I woke up.

I found a dream interpretation website which tells me this:

To see or eat cream in your dream, indicates that you appreciate the minor and sweet things in life. It is symbolic of nurturance and richness.

To dream that you are drinking milk, signifies domestic bliss and inner nourishment. It may also imply your need to strengthen your ties and relationships with others.

To make or eat pancakes in your dream, represents gratification and pleasure in your current situation. It may also mean that take pleasure and comfort in your work.

To see or eat mayonnaise in your dream, represents disappointment in your waking life. It also indicates the occurrence of insults and disrespect in some situation or relationship.

There was nothing I could find that would indicate what secretly jewish dinner hosts might say about my mental and emotional well being.

I love our neighborhood

Our next door neighbors had a cookout for Father's Day, and several families from the neighborhood came with their children. I literally had to bite my lip at one point to keep from gushing; "This is so cool! I love you guys! I am so happy that we moved here!" Partly because I felt that would seem strangely emotional for a barbeque and because I am guessing that it's fairly normal for many neighbors to spend time with one another, and also because I had drunk enough wine by that point that I wasn't sure how I would feel about it in the morning.

Now that a couple days have passed I can say with some certainty that I do indeed feel that way. After 5 years in our last home, I never felt this type of community with the people I lived next to. Of course, we were civil and waved hello, etc., but the general feeling was that we just happened to share space near one another and that was no reason to be friends or anything.

I feel generally less stressed since we've moved-not sure why exactly- but it feels like time has slowed down to a more reasonable pace. There is less noise here, less artificial light, less traffic. People smile at me and say "hi" when we pass on the street. Our mail carrier stops to chat. We leave our doors open most of the time.

Old Baby and the girl next door just sort of drift back and forth between yards and our two houses and their meals are eaten wherever they happen to be at the moment (if they time it right, sometimes dessert happens twice). Instead of calling on the phone, my neighbor literally sticks her head in our door if she has something to say to me.

Where in the world did we move...Maybury?

This is why people hire professionals

I have been scraping paint and sanding woodwork and patching plaster and inhaling lead and sweeping up dust for a month now and I am now officially able to start painting the girls bedroom...and my back is crooked and my elbow hurts and my hands are scabbed and bloody; at this point I would be willing to pay any amount of money to just have it over with.

Good thing I have no money or someone might take advantage of me.

I was kidding about the bloody hands part.

Our latest former friend

Meet Sarah.

Old Baby picked her out of a tank at the supermarket after a great many minutes of examination and discussion. We bagged Sarah up and brought her home to live in our refrigerator for a couple of hours. She loved frolicking amongst the produce and dairy during our brief relationship and thus I didn't feel that bad when B forced her into a pot of boiling water.

Old Baby was thrilled to have a pet that could also be dinner...















New Baby, obviously the less sadistic of my two offspring, seemed unhappy to see Sarah in this condition.

We enjoyed Sarah thoroughly, with the exception of a small portion of her tail which accidentally became contaminated with lobster shit, which tasted exactly like what you might think it tastes like.


And then we had ice cream. Amen.

ugh

It is approximately 1000 degrees right now.

It's so humid everything feels spongy and sticky and the ants are making inroads into our dining room and kitchen despite my best efforts to eliminate the tasty morsels my children tend to leave scattered about the floor....so I fear opening the windows and making it easier for them, and it's hotter and more humid with the windows open anyway. The most comfortable place to be right now is the basement, but that is too horrorshow what with cobwebs, etc.

Did I mention that we now live in Spidertown? I'll have to start photo documenting how many I find in any given day- when I enter the bathroom every night to brush my teeth it isn't a question of whether or not there will be a spider waiting for me, it's a question of where and how many. There is also some type of freakishly huge tarantula type beast that has taken up residence in the vicinity of our trash can and waits for me...this reminds me of when I was a kid and there was another freakishly huge spider that used to wait for me at the bottom of the basement stairs for me. No one believed me-for months I tried to tell my mom and sister why I just couldn't go down there and this was met with a "yeah, right" until the damned thing died and left it's leggy remains where it used to lie in wait for me and I could definitively prove that I was neither hallucinating nor was I lying...at any rate I'm a bit surprised by the sheer number and variety of arachnids in the area around our home.

Oh, I forgot the part about taking New Baby to her sandbox today and finding the lid COVERED in some daddy long leg things. Are they nesting there? Is that possible?

Kleptobinky

This is what my youngest child stole from KB toys earlier today-just slipped it right in the bag while no one was watching-I was about to write about theft but just noticed how much this looks like a long thin brown penis and now I am too busy laughing...

06.08.08-UPDATE: for those of you (mom) who inquired as to what exactly this is, it seems to be a bullwhip- flavored chinese yo-yo ( I don't even know if that's what I mean to say....what in the hell is a chinese yo-yo? I Googled it and got something else entirely), or maybe it's supposed to be lariat-y chinese yo-yo...actually it's certainly supposed to be a lariat...I need to sleep now, I just spelled "actually" with a k.

Old Baby makes a funny

Yesterday in the car:

Old Baby:"Mom, do you know what this car needs?"

Me: "No, what does it need?"

Old Baby: "A f(unintelligible)"

Me: "What?"

Old Baby: "A f(unintelligible)"

Me: "What?"

Old Baby: " A fart... but it's ok, I already gave it one"

Hello Again

I had given up this blog months ago when I realized that I was boring myself with the endless rants, but as the family has moved far far away from everyone we know and love I think this is a good time to start 'er up again to keep everyone informed about the minutiae of our daily life.

A quick update: We now reside in New England. We bought an old and gorgeous house that needs endless work and limitless love. Big Papa has a new job. Old Baby is almost 5 and New Baby is really not so new anymore at 17 months. Our new town is small. I am homesick for the big city and all my friends. I am trying to channel all of my mixed emotions into home improvement.

Here are a few things that are different here:

Shopping carts are called "carriages"

Dinner is called "suppah"

There are hills.

There is no sales tax on groceries.