Merry Christmas!

I promised a couple of people that I would post our holiday letter and I'm finally getting around to it. Yes, I'm totally back-dating it because there's just something that feels really wrong about posting a Christmas letter in February. Please note that the actual letter did go out in December.

The T*** 2008 Holiday Toy Catalog

Thank you for requesting this year’s T*** Holiday Toy Catalog. As you are well aware, times are tight. In order to cut our production costs, we have reduced our product line to only our five best-selling items. Remember: Order by December 24 to ensure arrival in time for Christmas!

Little Alyssa Doll - Not a Baby Anymore Version - She laughs! She cries! She scales tall furniture and swings from curtains! Push the button to hear one of 30 phrases, including: “No!” “That’s mine!” “You’re never gonna believe this!” and “I hate time-outs!” She comes with 12 baby dolls and a permanent marker to draw on your furniture. Also included are six purses, five outfits including: polka dot footy pajamas, a Dorothy costume, a ballet tutu, and a princess dress with tiara, plus seventeen pairs of shoes (though she will insist on wearing the sparkly red ones at all times). NOTE: Clothing must be changed hourly. Because of customer complaints, this version does not include the “wet diaper” feature. Instead, she comes complete with big girl panties and 47 rolls of toilet paper which she will unroll on your floor in eight seconds flat! No batteries required, simply wind her up once and she will run FOREVER. Sorry, no “off” switch or volume control.

Big Girl Amanda Doll – Your little one won’t be able to put this one down. She can read! She can write! She loves to sing and dance! She comes complete with glitter, sequins, glue and six zillion other craft supplies that she will use to decorate anything that will stand still. We’ve cut eleven inches of hair off of this year’s version! Push a button and she will say, “Can I have candy?” “Eww, I’m not eating this!” or one of 638 stories she has made up to entertain you. A fun bonus feature is that she will occasionally repeat: “I’m bored!” and “I’m hungry!” on an endless loop no matter how well fed or entertained she is. Place her near Little Alyssa Doll and she will whine, “Mommy, she’s bugging me AGAIN.” She comes with a complete wardrobe but she will refuse to wear most of it because it’s boring. No batteries required! Just feed her a steady diet of hamburgers and candy and she will run and run.

Stay-at-home Mommy Dione Doll – She comes with a camera stuck to her face to capture priceless memories and a laptop so she can keep in touch with friends and family. She’s room mom for Big Girl Amanda Doll’s first grade class, which means she can work magic with popsicle sticks and glue. She whips out Shutterfly photo books at an alarming rate, which may explain why she is so bad at keeping her blog: http://dionesdays.blogspot.com/ up to date. Push a button and she says one of 15 phrases including: “Can we please lower the volume?” “Put your clothes back on Alyssa!” and “I’m gonna count to three and if you don’t climb down from there, you’re getting a time-out!” She runs in circles looking for her keys while chanting like a crazy lady and you’ll be happy to learn that this year’s version has her head permanently attached so she can’t lose it. You’ll want to buy lots of extra batteries for this one because spending all day with Little Alyssa Doll wears her out quickly!

The Daddy Scott Action Figure – This version comes with a broken hand and a cranky attitude. Push the button and he will say: “I hate my job!” “I hate Christmas!” “Where’s the remote?” and “If you put your keys away you’ll always know where they are.” He enjoys tormenting Little Alyssa Doll, Big Girl Amanda Doll and especially Stay-at-home Mommy Dione Doll. It is nearly impossible to separate him from his TV, his blackberry or his cell phone. He knows EVERYTHING! He spouts financial advice whether you want it or not. He comes with a motorcycle he rarely rides, a set of golf clubs he whips out occasionally and an X-box which can turn him into a guitar hero-playing superstar in his own living room. For only an extra $5 you can get The Bad-Ass Daddy Scott Action Figure which also includes a B-B gun just in case Whiskers the Cat (currently unavailable) drags a rat into your kitchen. Guaranteed to shoot the rat dead in four shots or less!

The T*** “So they call this a dream house?” House – Due to a major decluttering-mission, this version comes with 60% less stuff than last year’s so we can’t understand why it’s still a mess much of the time! There’s finally room in the garage to park the Deluxe Eurovan (currently unavailable in the U.S.) so the whole family can go camping! Due to endless complaints about the hideous carpet and unsightly master bedroom furniture that came with all earlier versions, you’ll be thrilled to learn that the 2008 version comes with all new carpet and brand new bedroom furniture. The crib and changing table from last year’s version have been replaced by a tall loft bed that nobody will sleep in but the height allows Little Alyssa Doll to reach the ceiling fan with ease. (Wheeeeeee!)

Ordering information: Orders may be sent via snail mail to (our address), via email to d_***@sbcglobal.net or by phone at (our phone number). If you’re in the area please visit our outlet store! (Please call first so Stay-at-home Mommy Dione Doll has time to clean up The T*** “So they call this a dream house?” House and change out of her sweat pants.)

Quote of the day

Today Amanda and Alyssa got into an argument over their Barbies and Amanda reported that Alyssa had hit her twice because she didn't get the Barbie she wanted. I pulled Alyssa aside and said, "Alyssa it is NOT OKAY to hit. If you get angry because you don't get what you want you need to to use your words to tell us what you want. Is there something that you want Alyssa?"

She replied, "Yeah. I want to hit her!"

Baby's first haircut

I have an entire summer's worth of stuff to catch you up on but I'll do that a bit later. Right now I need to give you the current news which is that we got Baby's first haircut a few days ago. Well that's what it says on the certificate we got from the salon. The "baby" is nearly six years old and started first grade yesterday though so she doesn't exactly qualify as a baby anymore.

So Amanda donated 11 inches of hair to Locks of Love which makes wigs for kids who need them.

Neither one of us cried and both of us are happy with how it turned out. Though she did suddenly look all grown up which I was NOT prepared for.

The haircut was free since we were donating the hair, but see that little bike Amanda is riding... the salon is connected to a toy store and Scott went with us... That little bike was NOT free but we had to have it. :-)

I'm having problems loading pictures but hopefully I'll have a few more to add within the next few days.

Happy birthday to me

Scott managed to surprise me for my birthday Saturday night. For the record, being surprised by my husband on my birthday is not necessarily a good thing. But this year he arranged for his mom to come down to babysit the girls so we could go out. That alone was surprise enough. Making plans. In advance. Arranging for a babysitter? Really? Yep, I'm still talking about Scott.

So he asked me what I wanted to do and I was vague. I wanted him to make the plans, that's what I wanted. He said he was thinking maybe we would go to the city. Wow. Okay. He hates going to San Francisco. Hates fighting the crowds and the traffic. So I thought he's really going out of his way for me.

So he told me we would leave at five and that I should dress sexy-casual but warmly because it might be cold.

Huh? My husband is giving me fashion instructions? He never does that. And where did he come up with the term SEXY-CASUAL? Do I even own sexy-casual but warm? What is that anyway? Like low-rise sweatpants so my butt-crack shows if I bend over?

I threw on some jeans and a shirt that showed a bit of cleavage and figured that would have to do. He actually made me spin around and said he approved. That alone made me nervous. But I figured we would end up having a nice kid-free dinner and movie and I was ready early. Because I was just itching to get out of there. I was looking forward to an actual date with my husband.

Around five-ish his friend, Brian, shows up. He walks in like he was expected. I flash Scott a weird look and he says, "Yeah, we were gonna head out in a few minutes." Brian says, "Oh no worries I'll get out of your hair in a few minutes. I was in the neighborhood so I decided to swing by. He's a world champion mudslide maker so he made one for each of us and then Scott said, "Hey, I really don't want to drive... Brian, would you drop us off at BART?" Err... okay...

So we jump in the car with Brian and since I'm totally directionally challenged I rarely question anybody else's directions but I knew we weren't going to the closest BART station. I figured maybe he was heading somewhere and wanted us to keep him company and he'd drop us at another station. I really wasn't thinking much about it. But finally Scott asks, "Have you figured out that we're not going to the BART station?" and then, "Hey, did you get a buzz from that mudslide? Do you want to know where we're going?"

Then he says, "We're going to a swinger's club!"

Go ahead. Read it again if you must. I said a SWINGER'S CLUB. And not like swinging a baseball bat or swinging on a big old tire swing hanging from a tree. Because I asked. I'm talking about the kind of swinger's club that people admit to frequenting on the Oprah show only while wearing disguises and having their voices electronically altered. That kind of swinger's club.

And then I was like, "Ha! Very funny. Yeah. That's a good one. But where are we REALLY going?"

But Scott said, "No, really... It'll be fun."

And Brian throws in, "You don't have to participate. You can just watch."

And it goes on like this for quite some time while my head is spinning in pretty much every direction you can imagine and some that you really shouldn't. Both of them continue talking as if going to a swinger's club is just the most ordinary thing in the world.

Brian says he hopes traffic lightens up because you can only get the white wristbands, which indicate you're ONLY WATCHING if you get there before 7:00. "If you get there after 7:00 you'll have to have a red wristband, which means you're PARTICIPATING. But they'll be nice since it's your first time." He goes on to say we should have brought some of those cheapie rain slicker things because, "If you're in one of the front rows you might get wet."

Scott, trying to keep me calm, said it was really no big deal... that he'd been to one of these places before, a long time ago when he was married to Ioana, but she didn't go with him. He said he couldn't remember why she hadn't gone with him and I said, "Well it probably wasn't her birthday."

I kept saying, "I know you guys HAVE TO BE KIDDING." I was doing my best to be a good sport. Then one of them says we should stop for something to eat because they don't have food in the club, only alcohol. Brian says, "Stop me when you see something good... There's a Red Lobster. And there's a Quiznos..."

I think it may have been when we stopped at Safeway for sandwiches that I officially started to freak out. I mean I figured that wherever we were going, at the very least we'd be having a nice dinner. Nothing against Safeway sandwiches... but no seriously...SAFEWAY SANDWICHES?!?

Oh but I always think it's important to be a good sport in these situations... because you never know how these things will turn out. And you don't want to turn into an insane raging bitch right before you discover this was just an elaborate set-up and your husband is actually surprising you with, oh, say a diamond necklace or a trip to Cabo. Then you have to do all that back-tracking and apologizing.

This is why I was such a good sport that time we went to visit Scott's ex-wife on my birthday. And this is why I was such a good sport when I was pregnant with Alyssa and Scott had me down on my hands and knees picking rocks out of the dirt on Mother's Day. Because I just kept believing there had to be a pony hiding under all the crap. Except that we all know by now that when it comes to MY HUSBAND there is occasionally a pony but often there is just a bunch of crap. That birthday was really just a visit with his ex-wife and that Mother's Day was just a day spent yanking rocks out of the dirt.

So it was while we were there at Safeway that I realized I had to face the possibility that my husband might actually have thought taking me to some skanky sex club so that I could watch a bunch of naked middle-aged people get it on while I attempted to choke down a Safeway sandwich was a perfectly wonderful way for me to celebrate my birthday.

I.Was.Nervous. I went to the bathroom and briefly considered making a run for it. Then it popped into my mind that Amanda had almost slipped and told me something. She didn't tell me anything but started to and then said, "Oops... Daddy told me not to tell you 'cause it's a surprise."

Hard as I tried I just couldn't imagine Scott whispering to Amanda, "Daddy's going to take Mommy to a special place where we can watch other mommies and daddies get their freak on! But don't tell Mommy because it's an extra special surprise for her birthday."

So it was at that point that I decided to calm down and just go with it. Because this just HAD TO BE A JOKE. And it was. We ended up at the Colbie Caillat/John Mayer concert at the Shoreline Amphitheatre! I had mentioned to Scott months ago that I would LOVE TO GO. And then I forgot about it and moved on.

It was an awesome concert and we had a great time. Trust me it was even more enjoyable considering where I could have ended up instead. He got me good! So my husband scored lots of points in the thoughtfulness department this year.

Apparently I was too much of a good sport about the swinger's club thing though... so much so that both of the guys decided I was nowhere near as freaked out as they expected me to be... so secretly I must actually want to go. I'm afraid I may be in for a REALLY BIG big surprise next year!

Do you think this color looks good on her?

Amanda thinks Alyssa's favorite color is red, but it's obvious to me she prefers Crayola blue-green.


(October 2006 - Alyssa tries a crayon. July 2008 - Alyssa tries a marker. Do you think this is why Crayola makes their products non-toxic and washable?)

Question of the day

Amanda would like to know: How do you buy a wallet if you don't have a wallet?

Dear Summer Vacation...

Dear Summer Vacation,
Have I done something to piss you off? We've always gotten along in the past. I mean okay, in recent years we haven't been the best of friends, what with you constantly pestering me to put a bathing suit on. (Come on, is that really necessary?) But when I was younger I adored you.

Your arrival meant I would spend long, carefree days with you running through the sprinklers, hanging out at the pool and waiting for the ice cream truck to drive down our street. Wearing flip-flops and halter tops and inhaling the glorious smells of chlorine and coconut-scented sunscreen. I always hated to see you go and I would spend the whole school year missing you and waiting for you to come back.

I was looking forward to you showing up this year. I really was. I was so excited about Amanda's very first school vacation. But now that you're here I feel like you're hellbent on killing me... one brain cell at a time. I should have figured something was up when the night before Kindergarten graduation included a heated email battle of the Kindergarten mommies. It got ugly. Really ugly. It was the kind of drama I didn't expect to see until junior high. So you didn't exactly make a smooth entrance.

But graduation went fine. It was a very hot day but that was okay because after the ceremony, the kids got to change into bathing suits and break out the water toys, kiddie pools, bubbles... Then after school we drove to Grandma's house so Scott could have a relaxing Father's Day weekend. Well what we hoped would be a relaxing weekend anyway. But oh no. You were already screwing with us, Summer. He played golf Saturday but then serious work-related drama broke out. Almost as soon as he got back from the course he ended up in serious stress-mode, on nearly hourly conference calls until the problem was finally resolved in the wee morning hours.

Was it your bright idea to send Amanda's best friend, Rilie, away for a month? I mean come on. A MONTH? All Amanda talked about for weeks was how when school got out she would get to play with Rilie all day every day and then this? Thanks a lot, Summer.

I was okay with the major heat wave you sent our way. I blew up our teeny pool and after much begging, dragged it to the bottom of the slide and the girls had a blast on our somewhat lame version of a water-slide. When my friend, Wendy, sent me some great pictures of her kids playing in their blow-up pool, complete with a blow-up slide it made ours look just that much more pitiful and I just HAD to have one like she had, especially when she offered to have her husband pick one up for us and deliver it to us at Luciana's birthday party that weekend.

We continued to use our teeny pool while we waited and I felt a teeny bit guilty about my impulsive purchase. What with being married to Mr. Frugal, do I really need to buy new water toys every year? He was not going to be thrilled about this. I felt that way until on day two of operation-teeny-pool-at-bottom-of-slide, Amanda showed up in her old polkadot bikini and I asked her why she didn't have her new suit on. She thought it WAS her new suit... Really? Doesn't that thing look familiar to you? I admit I was less worried about her circulation being cut off than I was about what kind of mother people would think I am when they see photos of the kid wearing the same suit year after year. Later I dragged out an old scrapbook and showed her some pictures from summer 2005 when she was wearing the same suit! Then she pointed out that she was standing in front of the same teeny pool.

Oh, well maybe these pictures would do us some good after all! If Scott had any complaints about the new pool I'd just drag out the photos from four summers ago and talk about how deprived Amanda has been. In that same pitiful little pool and the same pitiful suit year after year after year...

S.V., I was so excited to bring home the 14-foot Banzai Cannon Ball Splash pool after Luciana's birthday party. I was ready to set it up immediately but Scott said no. He was being all practical, talking about water rationing and such... Plus he'd spent the day cleaning and refilling our hot tub (yeah, uh huh, water rationing). So we all jumped in the hot tub and I told the girls to wait til Daddy went back to work and we'd blow up the pool.

Except that when Monday rolled around, so did the cool weather. Too cool for the pool. Thanks again, S.V.. But there are some things I just HAVE to let my kids try specifically because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my mom would have said NO, NO, NO... so with that in mind, I blew up the slide and set it up in the living room. My mom would have said no way, perhaps with good reason. But channeling my inner 5-year-old... what could be better than a big inflatable slide in the living room?

S.V., I didn't like it all that much when Amanda was on the phone with my mother-in-law and reported that "Mommy just tried to go down the slide in the living room except she couldn't 'cause she's huge." Uh... did you have to tell Grandma I was playing on the slide in the LIVING ROOM and worse, did you just call me HUGE?!?"

Thanks for the colds, S.V.. First Alyssa got one... then she started to get better but not before passing it to Amanda... who then passed it right back to Alyssa who ended up in full blown misery the second time around. So I haven't slept in days because either Amanda is up having coughing fits or Alyssa is waking me up at all hours of the night to say, "Mommy, my nose is blowing." All this time I'd been blaming Kindergarten for getting us sick but this time it was YOU!

And did you think I would let you off the hook for the fires? Seriously? 400 wildfires throughout Northern California? Really? The dry lightening. The crazy winds. Now that it's finally cool enough to open the windows we can't because it's so smoky outside. And everybody is nervous because nobody is really safe. Way to go, Summer.

Could you possibly make my children bicker any more, S.V.? I swear there are days when I think if I have to hear even one more minute of arguing and complaining my head might explode into a zillion tiny little pieces. It's mine, no it's mine...no it's MINE. I wanted the red one! I hate the blue one! She got more than me! And the worst: I'm bored. There's nothing to do, Mom... This day is so boring!

School hasn't even been out for two weeks and I feel like we've run through all of our options. We've played games, we've played Barbies, we've played school, we've given each other manicures... I've even already dragged out the big guns: the paint, the 6 billion piece craft kits, the moon sand... Was the moon sand your idea, Summer? Because it really wasn't a GOOD one. Just sayin'. Let's give the kids sand to play with. Let's bring the beach INSIDE! Yeah really bright. We've made trips to the park and the dollar store and Target and still, they're bored.

I thought my mom had the ultimate cure for boredom but it's not working for me, Summer. When I went running to my mom whining about being bored I always got the same answer: "If you're bored, go clean your room." Umm. Did I say I was bored? I didn't mean bored. I meant... I'm gonna go play... Or read a book... Or... yeah... anything but clean my room. Brilliant, Mom. It was brilliant.

And I might as well mention that unfortunately my dad used the same tactics to permanently cure me from punctuality. If I was ready for school early or ready to go anywhere early he'd say, "You have extra time? Why don't you go clean your room?" So I get ready early and I get punished for it? I think not. I haven't been ready on time for anything since. Not my dad's smartest move.

But back to you, Summer Vacation. We'll be together for a couple more months. Cut me some slack will you? Send Rilie back to us. Heat up the weather enough for the pool. Put out the fires. And if there's anything you can do to cut down on the whining at my house that would be fabulous. Oh and stop bugging me about the swimsuits. Either that or make my thighs smaller. And if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know. Thanks!

Love,
Dione

(Photos to be added later... maybe.)

Shutterfly

I'm so excited! Shutterfly is featuring two more of my photobooks in their Gallery right now! The first is a book called This is What Kindergarten Looks Like that I made as a gift for Amanda's teacher. Several parents of her classmates bought copies as well. How cool is that?

The second is a storybook I made for the girls out of the last three years worth of Halloween photos: The Princess and the Pea and Other Halloween Tales.

Just another day

Yesterday was the worst day of Amanda's life. First a birthday party at school, complete with frost-it-yourself cupcakes followed by a playdate with Brandon who is the boy Amanda is just friends with but might marry. Then she played with Rilie for a few hours and they had a tea party with real food and apple juice which they managed to enthusiastically spill EVERYWHERE.

That was followed by this sweet and seemingly harmless request to play a board game which actually meant they were going to remove every single these-toys-are-on-the-top-closet-shelf-for-a-reason games, toys and crafts and spread the parts and pieces as far as they could within a three mile radius.

When I went in to check on how the board game was going, Rilie was trying to tear open a baggy of glitter glue with her teeth. She managed to get all the tubes of paint and the petrified clay that smelled like a toxic waste dump open all by herself. "Umm, yeah... Rilie we don't paint on Amanda's bed."

Oh! But I was proud... I'd spent hours cleaning her room this weekend because it was BAD so I was being all MOM with Amanda and Rilie and kept telling them they had to clean up one thing before they started on another. Figured they'd be in there FOREVER.

But a couple of minutes later they reported they were done and started their next project. I thought they must be lying so I went in there and the place was spotless. I checked all the obvious places...under the bed, in the drawers... and then finally found all the stuff crammed haphazardly into the closet behind the loft bed. Definitely not where it was supposed to go. Yet I was proud. Another milestone... Amanda's first time cleaning her room in the sneakiest way possible.

Then Rilie went home and I made Amanda take a bath without her bathing suit because I am the meanest mom in the entire world. That's when it became the worst day of her entire life.

Alyssa insisted on wearing her ballerina dress to pick-up Amanda from school yesterday. I compromised and said yes to the dress and no to the slutty princess shoes which turned out to be a wise decision considering the impromptu playdate that followed Amanda prefers to just call it a "date" as she's getting a bit old for playdates. And because it was with Brandon and any girl would be lucky to have a date with him.

A while ago Amanda and Alyssa were blocking the walkway in my bedroom and after I'd asked about six times for them to move so I could get to the bathroom while they completely ignored me, perhaps because they thought I was talking to someone else, I finally said loudly, "BOTH OF YOU MOVE IT NOW!!!" and then continued to rant about how I expect them to listen when I talk and haven't I told them a billion times not to block the walkway and...

That's when Alyssa looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Mommy why you tabby?" which when translated means, Mommy why are you crabby?" or more likely, "Mommy why are you acting like a crazy lunatic bitch when we were just trying to play Barbies?" I started laughing and then we all did, as we all repeated what became my favorite phrase of the day. "Why you tabby?" Great question.

A while after I'd put Alyssa to bed she came running out to see me and I said, "How about you go get back into bed now?" and she jumped into my lap and said, "How about NO?"

She's full of them this morning too. Before school she informed me that my butt was upside down and as I put her into her carseat she said, "It tastes like a dirty muffin in here."

This one's for Darin (who I still think is AMAZING)

After my post yesterday I haven't been able to get ironing out of my head. Yeah, trust me, it's a crummy thing to have stuck in your head.

Anyway, I was thinking about how the last time my sister, Darin, and I were at my brother's house (the house we all grew up in, by the way), we discovered that my brother had installed a fold-out ironing board in the hallway. It's very cool, with an outlet and storage for the iron, plus a task light, all hidden away by this lovely door so you'd never know it was there unless you're nosy like I am and say "Hey, this cupboard didn't use to be here!" so that your sister-in-law will feel obligated to show you.

Anyway, my sister and I were just insanely jealous and immediately called my brother to the scene to find out what it would take to get him to install ironing cupboards at our houses. I'm not sure if other people can have a conversation like that with their brothers and sisters without resorting to umm, childish tactics, but ours quickly unravelled into a who loves who more and who owes who more debate until finally my sister said to me, "Wait! You never iron anyway!"

"Oh. Yeah. That's right. But I WOULD! If I had a beautiful and convenient ironing cabinet like this one."

But I couldn't lie. I probably wouldn't. "FINE. You win!" I had to say.

Anyway, I realized I haven't posted a random memory from my past in quite a while so I'm going to cheat and post something that I wrote a long time ago for a college English class. You'll understand why I chose this one in a bit. I'm guessing I was 21 or 22 when I wrote it...

I remember when she first told me she was moving out. "It’s Grandpa Rose’s house,” she explained. He’d lived there most of his life and raised three sons there. Now he was over ninety years old and his children were moving him into a nursing home and putting his house up for rent. "It’s the two-story Victorian across from Harvey and Ila’s. You must have seen it a million times. It’s white with a little balcony. I’ve always loved it and now I ‘ll get to live there!" I pretended to be enthusiastic, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts to care about some old man’s house.

My big sister is deserting me, I kept thinking. All my life she’d been just a couple bedrooms away. Every week we snuggled up in her bed to watch "Little House on the Prairie,” my brother laughing at us when we cried at the sad parts. She ' d set my hair on hot rollers and let me wear her lip gloss for special occasions and I would tell her about who I had a crush on , and asked her questions I was afraid to ask anyone else. She even bought me my first training bra, assuring me that, "Yes, someday you too will have boobs." On weekends, we’d go to the bookstore together and then lie out in the backyard reading our new books. I hoped I would be just like her when I grew up. Though I was eleven years younger than she was, she never treated me like a little kid. Now she was leaving and I was afraid everything would change between us. How was I going to get by without her?

A couple of days after she moved, she invited me to spend the weekend. "My first house guest!" she said, obviously thrilled to show the place off. "Let me give you the grand tour , " she said enthusiastically and then led me from one end of the house to the other , pointing out all its special attributes , as if she were a real estate agent and I her prospective customer.

"Here in the bedroom we have a lovely antique bed and dresser!" she said with a wide sweep of her hand.

"They’re beautiful, just beautiful!"

"Notice the high ceilings. They give the house such an airy, spacious feeling. Don't you agree?"

"Oh yes, definitely, " I answered, taking an exaggerated deep breath. "Very airy."

"The bathroom is bright and sunny. Notice that the tub has feet."

"It’s lovely. I notice there's no shower…but really, who needs a shower when your bathtub has feet?"

"Exactly. Let’s move on to the kitchen where you'll see that the stove is -- is – "

"Really, really old. Does that thing actually work?" I asked sarcastically.

"Antique. That’s the word I was looking for. And wait 'til you see this, " she said as she pulled open what looked like a long, thin cupboard. "A fold-out ironing board! Folds in and out in under two seconds," she said with more enthusiasm than anyone has ever used when referring to an ironing board.

I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of all the mornings she'd come flying through the kitchen door, running late for work. She would pull the ironing board out from beside the refrigerator, and lock the folding legs into place with one hand, while she dialed the phone to wake up her boyfriend with the other. She'd stand there in her underwear, ironing her skirt, drinking a glass of chocolate milk, and talking to her boyfriend all at once. And I would be sitting there watching her in adoration, thinking Wow, she’s amazing!

"And now here we are in the breakfast nook."

"Breakfast nook?" I practically gushed, "That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard of. They actually built a little room just to eat breakfast in…and they called it a nook?"

"Well yes, breakfast was the intended purpose, but for right now we’re going to call it the 'laundry nook'"

"What a lovely view!" I cried, pointing out the window to what appeared to be just a huge expanse of dirt and some kind of pitiful structure that might fall down if you blew on it hard enough.

"Oh yes, the backyard. Follow me," she said, leading me outside. "Now at first glance, it doesn’t look like much, but if you imagine a swimming pool there, and a hot tub there…" she offered, pointing in two different directions.

"Yeah, that’s much better. How 'bout a deck right here, and I bet with a few nails and a couple of boards, you could turn that chicken coop into a gorgeous guest house."

"Now you’re getting it. Oh, I almost forgot!" she cried, grabbing my hand and yanking me back up the stairs. Standing on the back porch, she stood pointing to a window. The window to Grandpa Rose’s room. The only room in the house that was off limits, according to her landlord. And locked tightly for storage, it was the room that, of course, held the most mystery. "Look inside," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, either out of respect or maybe a sense that we were doing something wrong by intruding on the quiet privacy of this room. The window shade was pushed away just far enough so that if you looked closely you could see inside. "Go ahead and look!" she said, more anxiously this time.

I held my breath as I leaned in close to the window, unsure of what I was about to see. I cupped my hands up against the sides of my face to block out the sunlight and as my eyes adjusted, the contents of the room slowly came into view. I glanced around quickly at first and then went over it again a little more slowly.
It looked a lot like the other two bedrooms, except it was overflowing with furniture. The enormous bed in the middle, old and tired from so many years of faithful service, looked as if it would be content to sit there forever surrounded by the other strong, dark pieces. Night table, bookshelf, two chests of drawers, a couple of lamps and an overstuffed chair. But nothing out of the ordinary, as far as I could tell. "Yep, it’s a storage room all right," I said sarcastically, backing away from the window.

"The headboard, look at the headboard!" she practically screeched. And I leaned in again, letting my eyes fall on the sensible, sturdy looking mahogany headboard. It was in good condition except that there were two round spots where the smooth, shiny finish had worn away. "Oh!" I said, finally understanding.

"Head prints. One for him and one for her," my sister said in a tone that I would imitate from then on, every time I gave someone a tour of the house, ending with the head prints.

Since I had never heard anything about Grandpa Rose’s wife, I had created her in my head. I’d imagined an early death for her. Some quiet, horrible disease killing her when she was still young and beautiful, leaving her adoring husband behind to care for three young children. But this headboard conflicted with my story, proving that she had been around a long time, probably long enough to become "Grandma Rose."

I couldn't help but smile as I pictured the cute little gray-haired couple , spending lazy Sunday mornings in bed together, side by side, drinking coffee and reading the paper, one pausing every once in a while to read an interesting passage to the other. "This is a great house," I said, really meaning it.

After the tour she insisted that I take a bubble bath in the old fashioned tub. The perfect hostess, she made sure I had all the necessities: a good book, my favorite radio station, and Dr. Pepper in an elegant wine glass. "And don’t get out until you’re all pruney, okay?" I could hear her in the kitchen arranging her new dishes in the cupboards, singing happily off-key to one of her favorite songs. She’s definitely my sister, I thought, knowing then that everything was going to be okay.

Heredity saw to it that we got the same awful singing voice, the same funny little toes. Time spent together caused a lot of who she is to rub off on me. Same taste in music, same ability to fry the perfect egg, same sense of humor. We’re sisters. Moving across town or even across the country won’t change that. Our lives are wrapped around each other in a very permanent way.

And I think about that every time I iron in my underwear.

Ten Minutes

These pictures were taken last weekend while the girls and I were waiting to go to Costco with Scott. They were going stir-crazy by the time I finally managed to pry Scott off the couch to start his ten-minutes-to-out-the-door routine. So to entertain them for a bit, we headed outside and took some self-portraits with the remote for my camera. Mostly the girls just fought over the remote, which is supposed to be so tiny that you can't see it in photos but it didn't turn out that way. I guess I could edit the remote out of the pictures but right now it makes me laugh because I spent so much time telling the girls to keep it down and out of view and then I notice that I'm the doofus holding it up to the camera for all to see.

"I can be ready in ten minutes."

I’ve heard that line approximately three million, four thousand, five hundred and forty-six times during my relationship with Scott. I don’t know if it’s a guy thing or just a Scott thing but he swears that he can be ready for ANYTHING in 10 minutes. From a prone position in front of the TV or sound asleep in bed he can be showered, shaved, dressed and out the door in 10 minutes. Whether it’s a trip to the mall, or the end of the world. Just give him 10 minutes warning. He will be ready.

AND he would prefer that the girls and I be completely ready to go before the 10-minute warning is given. If he could have it his way we would not only be READY but sitting in the car with the engine running. Because nothing on earth is worse than sitting around waiting for your wife to get ready. Because you never know how long that could take.

Because after your wife says she’s ready she always has at least eight more things to do before she’s actually ready… And even then she probably won’t really be ready. She’ll have to run back inside for the sippy cup she left on the counter or run to the bathroom just one last time or SOMETHING.

You might be wondering if he can actually get ready in ten minutes, and yes, he can. Because anything he can’t actually achieve within ten minutes can simply be delegated to ME.

In the early years of our relationship, many a battle was fought during the 10 minutes before we were supposed to walk out the door before a wedding or Thanksgiving dinner, when I would already be running around like a crazy woman and he would say, “Could you find me some brown shoe polish?” or “Can you find me some black socks?” or “These grey pants don’t fit me anymore, can you find me something else to wear?” or my personal favorite, “Hey, could you iron this shirt for me?”

Can I iron this shirt for you? Are you f*#ing nuts?

Those might sound like reasonable requests to most people but being ready on time has always been something I’ve struggled with. A lot. I know this about myself so if I’m going somewhere important I do as much preparation ahead of time as possible. This includes getting clothes, shoes, jewelry and any other random accessories all lined up and ready to go. During that preparation time I ask Scott, usually multiple times what he’s going to wear and almost invariably he will say, “I don’t know. Don’t worry about it,” or “I’ll figure it out later.”

Uh huh. I know exactly when you’re gonna figure it out.

But that particular battle ended long ago when I started telling him if he needed anything found, washed, shined or ironed he better tell me long before it was time to leave because I would not be available at ten minutes before take-off.

I knew just how far we’d come when shopping for work clothes for the job he’s doing now. He carefully checked all the labels and wouldn’t buy anything unless it was marked “wrinkle-free” or “no ironing.” When he told the sales guy “My wife doesn’t like to iron,” other women might have been embarrassed but I wanted to kiss him right there in the middle of the department store. Ahh, look at him, he’s come so far!

And as long as I’m wandering off in random directions I will never forget when maybe a year or two into our relationship, we broke up for a while. It was a friendly break up that we’d both agreed was for the best and in a very un-Scott like moment during the big break-up speech, he wanted to talk about what we’d learned from each other.

Anyone who knows us knows that Scott is an extremely practical guy and I am his polar opposite. So I guess it makes sense that when he reeled off his list of what he’d learned from me they weren’t practical things at all… they were in fact very warm and fuzzy things… I wish I could remember now what they were, but imagine Scott saying something like, “I’ve learned to look for the good in people and to stop and smell the flowers and that sometimes it’s okay to let people go in front of you in line at the store, and always take your shoes off when walking through the grass…” It was total sunshine and puppies stuff. Totally not Scott, but totally me.

I was STUNNED. But then when he asked what I’d learned from him I just blurted out: “OH! I learned that if you fold or hang up your clothes as soon as you take them out of the drier you will never have to iron again!”

He was also stunned. But not in a good way. “That’s it? That’s what you’ve learned from me?” he asked, totally deflated and sad.

"Well no of course not. But that’s one of the big ones. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Not at all. I mean do you know how many hours of my life I’ve wasted IRONING? I totally could have spent all that time smelling the flowers or running barefoot through the grass. It’s big. But I’ve learned other things too. Like do tons of research before making any large purchase. Never buy anything unless it’s on sale. Coupons are our friends. Max out your retirement plan. Never ever use the ATM at someone else’s bank…Open an IRA. Lots of stuff! Really, I’m a better person for knowing you, okay?"

But the ironing thing? That's huge.

A bit of an update

Here's the scoop on what's going on here lately. We're all okay other than the same crummy cold and nasty cough that just keeps going around and around and around in our house.

Amanda has already started blaming me for everything that goes wrong in her life. I didn’t expect this to happen for a few years but apparently she’s very advanced in the highly emotional drama and angst department.

She'll say,“I wish I were in the early class instead of the late one.” I know, Sweetie but it was up to the teacher. I told her we could do either one and she decided. There’s nothing we can do about it now. “It’s all your fault.” Well no, it’s not really. “I’m going to blame it all on you anyway.” Okay.

And…

“I really want to go to the drive-in tonight, Mommy.” I know, Sweetie, I really wanted to go too but your Dad says no, so we’ll go another time, okay? “It’s all your fault.” But I’m the one who wanted to go in the first place. I’ve been trying to talk your Daddy into it all day. “I know, but you couldn’t. So it’s all your fault.” Okay.

Wow. What have I done to this kid? I told you she’s a teenager disguised as a five-year-old. I’m telling myself that she’s practicing the whole mad thing on me because she feels safe with me or something. Because it’s easier to tell myself that than to write a Dear Dr . Phil, I think I must be a bad mom. Can you help me? And while you're at it, can you come to my house and plant cameras everywhere so the entire world can see how inept I am at this mothering stuff instead of just the people reading my blog? letter.

Other than that, things are not too exciting. Though I have to admit there’s a lot of drama around getting dressed these days. And I'm not even talking about me. Because I'm not about to admit to the entire world wide web that I'm packing some extra pounds right now that are making it NOT FUN to get dressed. I'm talking about my little sweeties. Both of them. And I say that through my smiling gritted teeth.

Amanda is all about wanting to be a grown-up right now. Look like a grown-up, dress like a grown-up, act like a grown-up. All she wants to wear are jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, preferably one of her three grown-up looking ones, a headband in her hair and pink sketchers on her feet. (The pics are of her in her "uniform".) Fine, whatever. But it's getting warmer. So I bought her these cute little denim capris. They’re JEANS only shorter. so I thought she’d love ‘em.

“I AM NOT WEARING THOSE THINGS! Those are BABY PANTS, Mommy.” When I pointed out to her that Kailani, Luciana and Ariella were all wearing baby pants that day she said, "Yeah well they can but I NEVER will." And the next day when her fashion diva friend, Holly, showed up in them I said, "OH! Look… Holly’s wearing baby pants! Doesn’t she look cute?”

“Yes Mom. They’re cute….ON HOLLY. But I’m never wearing those things!"

Alyssa, after going through a month or two of being satisfied to wear whatever dorky thing I put on her has returned to being extremely picky too. It seemed to start the day I decided to try on her Easter dress. Yes, in retrospect, that was a really stupid move. Considering all the trouble it has caused, what difference would it really have made if on Easter morning her pink sundress had turned out to be too big? Couldn't I have just scotch-taped it to her shoulders like any other decent mother and been done with it? OH NO. I had to be sure that it fit so I could buy a different size if not.

But Alyssa doesn't seem to understand the concept of "trying it on" yet. So after we put on her cute little dress and her cute little pink and green matching sandals and proclaimed her the cutest thing on the planet earth as she twirled around and around and around the living room, for some reason she did not want to take the dress off. She pitched a fit at just the mention of it. A BIG fit. She wanted to keep her pity dress on. PITY! PITY! I PITY!!!

Now she's all persnickety about everything she wears. “I hate this shirt!!!” she will say as she frantically tries to take it off twisting and turning as she tries to remove it as quickly as possible like it's burning her skin or something. “I hate this shirt, I hate these pants...”

Why the hate? Can't we crank it down a level? Hate is a pretty strong word. Especially for a harmless purple shirt that you loved only an hour ago.

Mostly all she wants to wear are pretty dresses. Apparently Amanda went through the same phase at this age because when I dragged out a box of Amanda's old warm weather clothes for Alyssa I was thrilled to see that we are now rolling in pretty dresses. No occasion is too small to get all dressed up. Going to pick up Amanda from school? Want pity dress. Going to the grocery store or Home Depot? Need pity dress! Going to bed? Can I sleep in my pity dress?

There's a whole lot of pity going on around here.

Oh and Shutterfly is featuring my "50 Reasons I Love You" scrapbook on their home page! How cool is that? Of course the first thing Scott wanted to know was, "How much are they paying you?" Umm, nothing. "Well what did you say to them?"

"I said, 'Thank you!'" 'cause how cool is that?

Just a picture and a promise

Is it pitiful that I feel like I've fallen off the edge of the universe when I don't have access to the internet? My computer doesn't work. Hasn't worked for several weeks now... and my husband, who works with computers for a living, says helpful things like, "Just figure out what's wrong with it and fix it." Oh. Okey-doke. I'll do that.

This is almost as helpful as when I'm desperately searching for something I've lost and he says, "Well where do you think it might be?"

So my computer is probably broken beyond repair. It was a slow painful death. It didn't come as a shock or anything but it's still sad. Though I'm pretty sure I could get over it very quickly if a new computer showed up.

Anyway, the good news is that at the moment I have access to Scott's computer so the promise that I referred to in my title is that I will try to post an update SOON, as in the next couple of days.

Aside from my computer we're doing well. More soon, I hope.

Five is the new fifteen

Can I just tell you that I gave birth to the most delightful 5-year-old on the entire planet? No really, I did. Amanda is so wise and funny and adorable. I hate to brag, but she is simply charming and an absolute joy to be around.

Unless you piss her off. Then you need to just clear the room. Duck for cover. Get out of her way as fast as you can because it will not be pretty.

Unfortunately, as the one who gave birth to her, it is my job to piss her off on a very regular basis. No, you can’t have candy for breakfast. Yes, you DO have to go to bed now even if you’re not a little bit tired. No, you cannot watch "Desperate Housewives". No you cannot skip dinner and move straight to dessert. No it is not okay to hit your sister even if she just hit you. No we cannot call Grandma again. Her ear needs time to recover from when you almost talked it off an hour ago.

She has mastered the art of the pout, the dramatic sigh, the door-slam, the eye-roll, the smirk, the angry stomp, the guilt trip, the tantrum and the silent treatment. She is also very skilled at achieving shock and indignation over any punishment she receives. She often tries to negotiate the terms of said punishment.

Me: Amanda, time-out now, five minutes.
Amanda: WHAT??? Four minutes!
Me: Six minutes. Go NOW.
Amanda: Five minutes!
Me: I highly recommend you go NOW, Amanda.
Amanda: You are SO mean! (sticks tongue out)
Me: I know. Make that seven minutes.

How does she come up with this stuff? Are there classes offered during Kindergarten recess? I can’t help picturing a group of 5 and 6-year-olds gathered around the swing set brainstorming ideas for how to slowly wear their parents down.

“I know, I know! Ask for what you want while they’re on the phone!”

“Oh! Or cooking dinner.”

“Or trying to get your baby sister to sleep!”

“Yes, good! And how many times do we ask?”

“Once!”

(Looks of pure disdain and lots of eye rolling are aimed at the poor kid who came up with that dumb answer)

“Anybody else?”

“A hundred! No, a BILLION-TRILLION!!!”

(A round of applause for that kid.)

“A BILLION-TRILLION! Yes! That’s the right answer. We keep asking until they give in. We peck away at them slowly, like little tiny birds. We CAN wear them down. We WILL wear them down. We NEVER give up until we reach our goal.

(Applause, high-fives, woo-hooing all over the place.)

“Okay people, get some sleep tonight… we have a big day tomorrow. We’ll be working on whining and back-talk.”

The fact that Amanda is already so good at all this stuff scares the crap out of me. I didn't learn or use some of those techniques until I was at least 12 or 13. When I think about the teenage years I shudder in fear. Sometimes when Amanda is in a time-out I wonder if it would be okay to just hide under the table until she graduates from high school.

But then she gets out of time-out and returns to her normal sweet self and I think, okay, I can do this.

All in a day's work

Yesterday, in addition to the normal everyday messes, I cleaned up the following:

• A full cup of piping hot coffee and the broken pieces of a coffee mug off the bathroom floor, walls and toilet (my fault)

• A puddle of cat puke off the living room carpet (cat’s fault)

• A piece of Styrofoam packing, ripped into teeny tiny pieces and scattered all over my bed and floor (Alyssa’s fault. She was supposed to be quietly watching a show with her sister. Amanda didn’t report the incident until it looked like the ceiling had opened up just in time for a snowstorm. When I asked Amanda why she hadn’t taken the Styrofoam away or come to tell me earlier she said. "Well I was going to but she was having so much fun!")

• A whole gallon of spilled apple juice (Amanda fault. And can I tell you, I’m still shocked at how far a gallon of STICKY liquid can travel when dropped from two or three feet above the floor. The plastic jug broke when it hit, it splashed nearly 6 feet up on one wall, all over a bookshelf, all over Alyssa and Amanda, all over the kitchen counters and covered a large portion of the kitchen and dining room floor, including under the refrigerator which is always fun. Though Amanda shouldn’t have attempted it, I knew it was an accident, so I tried to remain calm. Turns out it doesn’t matter if you say, “It’s no big deal, you didn’t mean to do it, no really it’s okay!” if you say it like a completely hysterical insane woman. Apparently it’s all in the delivery and if you say it wrong, your five year old will go flying into her room under the assumption that she will be in trouble for the rest of her life. BUT NO REALLY. IT’S OKAY.)

• About a gazillion pennies off the dining room floor (Alyssa’s fault…and if you’ve never had to pick up a gazillion pennies you would be surprised to find how time-consuming it actually is no matter how many techniques you try. The only thing that would have made this chore worse would have been if the pennies had been poured out onto the sticky apple-juice covered portion of the floor. Okay, if the cat-puke had been involved it would have been much, much worse. If the cat starts puking up pennies you won’t be hearing from me until I return from a short stay at a privately run mental institution.)

On being prepared...

There’s this part of me that desperately wants to be prepared for any situation. I tend to take too much stuff everywhere I go. My car runneth over with extra changes of clothes and maps and crayons and sippy cups and diapers and more crayons and bandaids and snacks and umbrellas and plastic bags and baby wipes and bottles of water just in case.

But still, often when a Situation arrives, I feel blindsided. For instance, it seems that I always carry an umbrella except during a storm. And it seems that I always have every map there is except for a map of the area I’m lost in. And it seems I keep at least two bottles of water with me at all times unless my children are actually thirsty. So I push my cart full of wet, giggling children through a rainy parking lot with plastic bags covering our heads and we’re okay. Or we drive until we find somewhere interesting to stop (often better than our original destination anyway) and ask for directions and we’re okay. Or we go in search of a water fountain or a cozy café or a drive-thru to get a drink and again, we’re okay and possibly happier than we would have been if I’d managed to be prepared in the first place.

So I’ve been telling myself that maybe my inability to be prepared may actually be preparing me somehow. A week or so ago, a couple of my very favorite family members were in a serious car accident. They’re okay. Or at least they will be in time. But it has sort of changed the way I look at things. Because when you think about it, there are some things in life that just happen completely out of the blue, unexpectedly, and you can’t really be prepared for them at all. Your entire world can be turned upside down in an instant. And then what do you do?

You just have to show up and hope that whoever you are is enough to stand up and handle whatever it is that’s thrown your way. You might not have the right clothes or a pen and paper or a working cell phone or even working legs. But somehow you will get through and find a way to make it work. Maybe in a completely different way than you ever imagined.

But I have to believe that somehow you’ll be okay. And who knows, in some weird way, maybe you’ll even be better off. At the very least you might learn something wonderful about yourself in the process. At least I’d like to hope so.

Do you love me?

Me: Do you love Mommy?
Alyssa: Umm, let me think about it.
(Pause)
Alyssa: Yeah, I love Mommy!

LET ME THINK ABOUT IT?!?

She's TWO.

What does she need to think about?

I love this last pic because it's just typical Alyssa. This is what I got when I asked her to look at me. Brat!

Not yet

I guess I need to face the truth: I’m not ready for a big kid bed yet. When it was time to part with the crib I thought I was so lucky because I wouldn’t have to deal with the “end of the crib era” trauma that most parents do. As babies (and often still today), Amanda and Alyssa slept with me so they didn’t spend that much time in the crib, other than for naps or the occasional nights when Scott insisted we try the crib. So I wasn’t that attached to the crib as a symbol of their baby-dom.

Amanda has only slept in the top bunk once since we got the loft bed. And though she seemed perfectly happy up there, she hasn’t been anxious to do it again. Scott tries to talk her into sleeping up there every night and for some reason it makes me a little nuts. He’s very melodramatic and does this oh fine then if you don’t want to sleep up there I guess we’ll take the bed back thing. I get a little gleeful even though I know he doesn’t mean it. I don’t understand why he’s pushing it. I don’t get what the rush is. Am I the only one who thinks she’s too little to be sleeping on the top bunk? What’s the hurry?

The second night we had the loft bed Amanda told Scott she didn’t want to sleep up there because she wanted to cuddle with Mommy. So she climbed into her old bed and I laid down next to her and then Alyssa jumped aboard and carefully wedged herself between us like she always does, saying, “MY mommy!” and then we read a couple chapters of Stuart Little until Amanda’s breathing slowed and I thought she was asleep and Alyssa was too but I kept reading for another few pages until I could be sure.

And then I laid there thinking this is it. This is what I’m not ready to give up yet. It’s this kind of stuff that you don’t really notice you’re missing until it’s gone. Like the pacifiers that hang around in the drawer and you suddenly wonder when did Alyssa give those up? Or the stuffed giraffe you find at the bottom of the toy box, the one that Amanda, at one time, couldn’t sleep without. When did she stop needing Giraffe?

I’m so careful about noticing and recording the firsts: first tooth, first words, first steps, but it’s the lasts that I’m afraid will escape my notice and it’s the lasts I think I’ll end up really missing. Someday I’ll wonder when was the last time they ran to me so I could magically kiss their boo-boos away or when was the last time I rocked them to sleep? The idea that those last times could just slip away from me without even being noticed, let alone treasured, makes me sad.

I closed Stuart Little and slowly, quietly, picked up Alyssa and turned to tip-toe out of the bedroom, when Amanda’s eyes popped wide open and she said, “Kiss?” I kissed her goodnight and she rolled over to go back to sleep and that's when I knew for sure that I’m not ready to have her up on the top bunk where it will be tough to even hug her goodnight, let alone snuggle next to her while reading her a goodnight story.

Could somebody please explain to my husband that I’m just not ready for a big girl bed yet?

A Day in the Life, 5 years ago

I can't believe I'm actually posting this on the world wide web. Five years ago today, I kept a detailed log of my day. It's a testament to my scatterbrained ways, my lack of a routine, and my lack of housekeeping skills. No big suprises there, huh? It's embarassing, but what's new? It's also boring and I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than read it. No really, come on... Go turn on some educational TV or go for a walk already! If you insist on reading it, then suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Since 2003, I've had February 19 marked on my electronic calendar every year thinking I'd do another "day in the life" to see how our lives have changed, but I've never gotten around to it. I'm finally attempting it today. I doubt it can be too much more embarassing than the one from 5 years ago so I'll probably post it one of these days.

By the way, the pictures below weren't necessarily taken that day. I just picked a few from the month.

Thursday, February 21, 2003

The other day, Scott suggested that I keep a log of everything I do so I can find a better, faster way of doing things and put together a schedule. This, of course, made me want to kill him with my bare hands. It was in the midst of a discussion about how he doesn’t understand how I can be tired because I should just be taking naps every day. When I said I didn’t have time, he said of course I did. The nerve! No doubt he thinks I spend my days lounging on the sofa. How does he expect me to keep to a schedule with a 5-month-old baby around?

What upset me even more was that I really thought I’d been doing a great job, trying a new recipe or two every week and keeping the house cleaner than it ever has been. Since I’ve been on leave, I've decided that I should look at this as a job. So in addition to taking care of Amanda, I figure I should make an effort to keep the house relatively clean and make dinner on a regular, well at least semi-regular basis.

I’ve even been patiently working my way through Scott's list of complaints. Actually I’ve worked my way through almost the entire house wondering if his list will ever end but even he admits it never will. The house could be pristine and he would be saying, “Is that a speck of dust under the refrigerator?” He insists there is always room for improvement. I insist that perfection is not my goal and never will be. I want it to be clean enough, but I really don’t care if the cabinets are perfect. I’d rather spend time with Amanda than spend time organizing the bathroom.

Anyway, so like I said, his suggestion ticked me off, but still, I thought the idea of keeping a log might have some validity. Of course I would never tell him that, but the truth is that often the hours do seem to run together. I get to the end of the day and think I haven’t accomplished anything. Sometimes it feels like all I do is feed Amanda, change her, bathe her, etc. So I thought it might be interesting to keep track of where the hours actually go. Humiliating as it is, it might be fun for Amanda to read someday. I just have to hope that Scott never gets a hold of it.

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

8:15am Breast-feed Amanda, change diaper. Do dishes from the night before. Take recycling outside, spray new bleach spray on sink and countertop stains and straighten up living room.

9:15 Amanda falls asleep. Turn on computer and the Dr. Phil show in living room.

9:17 Pause Dr. Phil to search for camera battery charger. Check diaper bag in Amanda’s room…nope… check duffle bag in your room that hasn’t been unpacked from last week’s trip to Monterey/Irvine. Work quietly so you don’t wake Amanda. Discover baby bottles, pacifiers, a box of wheat thins and the battery charger. Plug in battery on way to kitchen with other stuff. Admire how sink is sparkling. Bleach is miraculous! Decide to try bleach on guest bathroom sink. Want to spray shower in your bathroom but don’t want fumes to kill baby who is sleeping peacefully in your bed.

9:26 Unpause Dr. Phil, restart computer because Internet connection isn’t working.

9:35 Decide to work on eBay stuff. Start looking through one of the huge tubs of cameras and become overwhelmed at the confusion of it. Go to bathroom. Stop to admire the way brown gunk behind faucet has started to disappear, spray with more bleach.

9:36 Amanda is awake. Decide immediately that there is no way she is going back to sleep. She is too wide-awake, happily playing with her toes. Snuggle for a while, discuss your plans for the day, play silly games with her and then carry her to living room, put her on blanket surrounded by toys. Return to bedroom where you clean puddle of spit-up off carpet. Feel relieved that she managed to miss her clothing and yours. Return to bathroom and search for old toothbrush to scrub behind faucet. Feel horrified at the amount of gunk behind faucet. Wonder if mother-in-law has noticed. Realize that you may have never cleaned this spot since moving into house 3 years ago. Wonder why you care. Turn on fan because perhaps bleach fumes are causing permanent brain damage. Refill liquid soap. Check on baby and then go to your bathroom and spray down shower with bleach. Feel annoyed about it because Scott asked you to spray the shower when he spotted you with the bleach earlier. Decide you should feel grateful that he usually cleans the shower since you hate it so much. Return to kitchen to put bleach away. Check for gunk behind faucet. None there but notice that in comparison to sparkling sink, stovetop looks really gross. Spray generously with scrubbing bubbles bathroom cleaner. Realize with complete relief that you are probably not turning into obsessive housewife, but rather that you are procrastinating on the eBay stuff. Check on baby who is happily eating giraffe. Scrub down stovetop and vow to put away bleach for the rest of day.

9:50 Attempt to feed Amanda oatmeal for the first time. Hope she likes it better than rice cereal. She doesn’t. As you try to feed her, she tries to eat her bib, her chair, her hand, your hand, everything but her cereal. She flatly refuses to eat any cereal. Try some of it yourself to see if it’s really all that bad. After all, she was right about the baby cough medicine. After telling her over and over that it was cherry-flavored and yummy, yummy, yummy, you tried it yourself to discover that it truly was nasty. The oatmeal is really not bad though. Definitely edible, though you wouldn’t eat it yourself. But someone like Amanda, who would eat her Daddy’s shoes if you allowed her, should really enjoy it, you’d think. Finally you give up. Wash as much as you can off of her face and hands, give her a pacifier and then clean the oatmeal off her chair, the floor, and the side of your hutch. Cuddle with her on the couch for a bit. Notice that her nails are getting really long again already. Didn’t you just clip them yesterday? Go in search of clippers. To keep her entertained, let her rip out handfuls of your hair with one hand while you clip the nails on her other.

10:20 Hear instant message warning. Put Amanda on blanket with toys and start chatting with Cara. When Amanda fusses, comfort her. Play with her a bit while continuing to chat. Discuss the best place to buy jeans, Valentine’s Day, Bryan’s new girlfriend.

10:50 Amanda falls asleep on blanket next to you. Remember you need to thaw chicken for dinner. Realize that rather than skinless boneless chicken breasts, you bought split chicken breast with ribs. Get confused about how many you need for your recipe. Put chicken back in freezer and return to living room to continue instant messaging Cara. Talk about her relationship problems, dating, and her shriveling ovaries. (Click here for up-to-date information related to Cara's ovaries.)

11:20 Amanda wakes up. Change diaper and put her in her gymini. Jiggle toys around in hopes of keeping her entertained for a bit. When that doesn’t work, take off her socks so she can play with her toes. Feel surge of pride when she manages to get them into her mouth. Praise her like crazy and then picture yourself getting a phone call from her fourth-grade teacher saying, “She’s been eating her toes in class again.” Decide to cut back on the praise a bit.

11:40 Stop chatting with Cara and give Amanda your full focus. Hear non-lady-like noises coming from diaper region. Decide it’s a good time for the two of you to take a shower. Gather her stuff: clean blanket, clothes, diaper, wipes, towel.

12:00pm Move Amanda into her crib. Turn on aquarium, wind up mobile, and go take a shower. Truly enjoy first two minutes and then wonder if Amanda is okay. Think about article Scott emailed you recently where a new mother asked if it was okay to take a 5-minute shower, leaving infant alone and know-it-all nurse practitioner with 20+ years of experience and probably no children of her own says that under no circumstances should you EVER leave your child alone, that you should take showers when someone is there to watch the baby and if that is not possible, say perhaps you’re a single mother with no friends and the stench from your unwashed pits begins to threaten the health of your baby, then and only then, should you risk taking a shower and then you should only do it if you can bring the baby into the bathroom with you or leave her right outside the door where you can see her at all times. Guess that this same nurse practitioner would be completely opposed to the idea of letting your baby sleep in bed with you because of the possibility that you might crush her in her sleep or at the very least, destroy her emotionally. Yes, much better to let her sleep down the hall in her own crib all night, as long as you don’t take a shower during that time.

12:09 Grab your robe and return to Amanda’s room to discover that, thank God, she has survived yet another one of your showers. She not only survived, but she is in fact squealing happily. Undress her while singing the naked baby song and then swoop her off to the your bathroom where you both do the naked baby dance in front of the mirror. Reassure yourself that she is laughing because she is having fun, not because she thinks you look funny naked. Get into the shower with her and sit cross-legged on floor with her in your lap. Begin washing baby as you sing a delightful medley of shower tunes. Vow once again to look up the words to “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair”. When she happily sticks out her tongue every time the shower sprayer gets near her face, let her drink a tiny bit of water, vowing that nobody needs to know. Wrap her in her towel and whisk her onto your bed where you wrap a warm blanket around her and run back for your robe. Get her dressed and as you do, remember that the chicken for tonight’s dinner is still in the freezer. Put Amanda in her ultrasaucer. Play with her for a minute and then return to kitchen where you spend several minutes trying to decide how much of the chicken you should thaw. Decide that this is why you don’t cook more often. It’s too complicated. Call Mom. Have long conversation about frozen chicken. Decide she’s probably right and then disregard her advice anyway. Put some chicken in the fridge to thaw. Admire sparkling sink again. Eat a banana and then a can of slimfast. Feel bad about horrible eating habits. Comfort yourself with a Reeses peanut butter cup or three.

1:00 Breastfeed Amanda. Clean spit-up off the front of her clean outfit. Move her back to gymini. Throw a load of whites into the washing machine. Turn off the Dr. Phil show, which has been paused since this morning, and turn on some music in hopes of stimulating Amanda’s brain. And yours.

1:50 She’s asleep again! Move her to crib. Remember that you’ve only had one cup of coffee today and you’re allowed two. Go to kitchen to pour coffee and wonder if someday they will determine that even two cups of coffee while breastfeeding will stunt her growth or lower her IQ. Use coffee to wash down prenatal vitamin and feel much better. Finally check email for the first time today. Get email from Darin asking if she’s done something to offend you. Assume it’s been way too long since you’ve talked to her, because she’s not the overly sensitive type. Wish she would get instant messaging. Write her a long, chatty email.

2:20 Amanda is awake and crying. Decide to change her diaper whether it needs it or not. Stand her up on her changing table holding her under her arms and watch as she does this new thing where she swivels her hips around and round. Wish you had a teeny baby hoola-hoop. Consider this may be her secret hidden talent and that you should do everything you can to cultivate it. Okay, not really.

2:45 Hear the mailman come and realize that you can’t go outside to get the mail because you’re still wearing your purple bathrobe and your hair has dried in the most unattractive way. Put Amanda down for some tummy-time and go to your room to get dressed. Try to remember how much time she has spent on her tummy today. Remember that Scott had her on her belly for a while in bed this morning. Think that with you as her Mommy, this child may never crawl. Suddenly picture her as a fifty-year-old immobile woman still laying on a blanket on your living room floor. Shudder at the image. Hear her crying in the other room. She hates tummy-time. Resist your urge to rescue too soon and finish getting dressed. Check on her again and notice that she is now playing happily. Return to bedroom. Make bed quickly and retrieve dirty diaper you left there earlier. Drop it in the diaper genie and hear Amanda getting fussy again. Return to living room. Feel startled to see her new stacking toy sitting next to her. You can’t remember putting it there. Wonder for a second if she waited for you to turn your back so she could run to her room and get her toy just to screw with you. Scoop her up and take her back to your room where you dance in front of the mirror until you’re exhausted. This is a guaranteed laugh for both of you. Put her on your bed and attempt to do something with your hair, nothing fancy, but just enough so you don’t scare the neighbors. Amanda starts whining, a habit she’s picked up only recently. Feel it grating on your nerves almost immediately. Wonder why whining bothers you so much when few things do. Decide it might be because it reminds you a bit of her father. Try propping her up on a pillow so she can watch you and see herself in the mirror. When that fails to stop the whining try singing whatever song comes to mind...”Just a spoonful of sugar” and then the theme song to “Green Acres”. Carry Amanda outside to get the mail. Feel minor disappointment over today’s mail selection, which is mainly junk except for a baby magazine that you only noticed recently focuses completely on the age your baby is. Vow to read this issue, which is all about your 5-month-old, before she is a 6-month-old. Shove it under the coffee table where you most certainly will forget all about it. Remember load of clothes in washer. Move to dryer.

3:45 Another instant message from Cara. She asks what you’re doing this evening and if you plan on watching The Bachelorette. Tonight’s the finale. Of course you’re watching it, you admit, shamefully. She wants to know if she can come over and offers to bring the makings for tacos. She’ll be here at 5:30. Chicken cancelled until further notice.

4:02 Straighten up living room. Drag the two huge two tubfuls of eBay cameras into Scott’s office. Put Amanda in her ultrasuaucer so she can watch you vacuum. Feel grateful the house is so clean. Doubt that Cara will notice your sparkling sink. Call Scott to tell him about your new dinner plans. He says, “I thought you were gonna make that chicken thing. I’m not really hungry. I had a big burrito for lunch.” Tell him you’ll make the chicken thing tomorrow and ask in a slightly annoyed tone if he intentionally had a big lunch because he knew you were cooking.

5:00 Breastfeed Amanda. Realize with disgust that you forgot to put breastpads in your bra, and as you feed her with your left boob, a large wet spot is growing on the front of your right. Curse your boobs. When will they ever learn? According to the breastfeeding book, it’s normal at first for one to leak while you’re feeding with the other. Maybe your boobs assume you have twins. But eventually your boobs are supposed to figure out that you’re only using one at a time and start behaving. Well it’s been over 5 months now. Perhaps your boobs are slow-learners, just like you, who can’t seem to remember the stupid breast pads after 5 months. HATE the new game Amanda has started playing with your nipple. She keeps her jaw clenched tightly on it and then quickly turns her head away from you while you can only watch in horror as your nipple stretches to a completely unnatural length. Tell her as sweetly as you can that if she tears off Mommy’s nipple, Mommy is not going to feed her anymore. Watch as she repeats game. And just think, it was so cute a couple of days ago when she played the same game with her pacifier. Holding her jaw shut and yanking the pacifier quickly out of her mouth so that it made a loud “POP”. It was so adorable that you and Scott cheered her on as she did it over and over again, not considering that she would later be using you as the pacifier and the loud pop would be replaced with a loud, “OUCH!”

5:20 Change wet bra and shirt and Amanda’s diaper.

5:35 Cara arrives. Put away food while she plays with Amanda. She says that her mom told her about every single moment of her trip with you to Monterey & Irvine. Including the parts Cara thought she might leave out, like her little panic attack when she couldn’t calm Amanda down when you and Scott went to a dinner party in Monterey and about how she puked in the car on the drive to Irvine. Apparently her mom said she understands you better now. You immediately start over-analyzing this statement. Assume it means something negative. You didn’t know she didn’t understand you before. Picture your mother-in-law with a confused expression on her face saying, “I just don’t understand her...” Wonder what on earth it was you did during your week together that made her understand you better. Picture your mother-in-law observing you with that same confused expression and then suddenly hear her saying, “OHHHhhhhhhh…it’s all starting to make sense now.” Ask Cara if she has any idea what on earth her mom was talking about and she says no, she was just really glad she’d gone. Said she felt like she’d really bonded with you. Oh. Bonded. Consider for a moment that perhaps when she said she understood you better she meant it in a good way. Nah. Decide to analyze every move you made later on.

6:00 You make dinner, well really, she makes dinner while you run around locating items for her and helping occasionally, well not much at all actually.

6:30 Leave dinner warming while waiting for Scott to return from his cat-sitting job at Ravi’s.

7:00 Amanda starts acting cranky. Her “mommy is about to eat” sensor is working just fine. Notice she’s rubbing her eyes. Lay her down in her crib and cross your fingers. Miraculously, she falls asleep instantly. She must be on her best behavior for Auntie Cara’s benefit. You eat dinner while watching the Bachelorette, a show where one single woman chooses the man she wants to marry from 25 single men. The fact that you watch the show is rather humiliating so, of course, it’s more fun to suffer this kind of humiliation with someone else. You all make fun of the bachelorette and the bachelors. You actually cry at the part where one of the final two bachelors asks for the bachelorette’s father’s permission to marry her if it comes to that. Your mother-in-law calls partway through the show to find out how her grandbaby is doing and to say how much she enjoyed the trip. She’s grateful you asked her to go with you. Says she feels like she got a chance to get to know you better and to spend quality time with Amanda. You decide not to bother analyzing the “understand her better” line from earlier. Pretty sure she meant it in a good way. She talks to Scott and then Cara while you do the dishes and clean the kitchen.

8:30 Amanda wakes up and you finally continue watching the Bachelorette. Scott talks endlessly through most of it and when it gets to the end where the bachelorette finally tells the guy she’s chosen him (and of course she completely shocks everyone by not choosing the guy we expected), Scott will NOT shut up. The bachelorette launches into this speech about how she’s dreamed about this day since she was a little girl, and Scott starts retching. You tell him not to wreck your moment, you get so little romance in your life as it is, but he can’t help himself. You threaten to rewind every time he opens his mouth and soon all of you - yes even you - are gagging at her sappy sweet speech which includes something like: “I see a future of dreams come true, I see smiles and laughter, I see babies and grandbabies, I see comfort and safety, I see a white dress...” You are getting to know this speech well because you rewind it many times as Scott continues to pretend to be all choked up saying stuff like, “I see smiles and puppies and dresses and more puppies… I see trees and clouds and smiles and babies and laughing puppies...” Though you want to kill him, it is rather amusing.

9:00 Cara leaves. You make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and a pot of coffee for tomorrow. Amanda starts getting fussy. It’s bedtime and she’s hungry and you know you have a very limited amount of time before she starts screaming. You change her diaper and put on her jammies. The bad news: Scott wants to try feeding her oatmeal. Try to convince him it won’t work, she’s too far gone: too hungry, too cranky, crying already, not to mention she HATES oatmeal, but he insists.

9:30 She SCREAMS as he tries to feed her, but he just keeps trying. You hate to discourage him from what might be the right thing to do, so you go along with him encouraging her to eat. He finally realizes it’s not working. You wash her face, her hands and the wall, then take her to bed and breastfeed her until she falls asleep.

10:20pm You suddenly remember the load of laundry is still sitting in the dryer wrinkling. The laundry can wait, you think as you look over at Amanda sleeping peacefully and then kiss her forehead before rolling over to go to sleep yourself.