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.

Parenting Mistake 4,768: The Loft Bed

We just passed our crib and changing table on to Cara and Rick who are anxiously awaiting the arrival of my newest niece in April. (YAY!) To fill the empty space, we bought a loft bed, which just might be one of my biggest parenting mistakes so far. Also on that list would be choosing to parent my children with a man who apparently believes he is completely indestructible and that he somehow passed on that genetic wonder to his two daughters.

The loft bed was Scott’s idea. My husband is a big fan of furniture that performs more than one task. A chair that is just a chair is just STUPID. We couldn’t get the coffee table that only held a few magazines and your drink. We had to get the coffee table that has storage underneath and a top that extends up and out to become a table so you can sit on the couch and comfortably eat your dinner in front of the TV.

Somewhere I have a photo of Scott sitting on his fantasy couch, this hideously ugly enormous blue microfiber sectional thing at Sears that must have comfortably seated at least 47 with two reclining seats (yes, one for each of us because he loves me like that!), built in heat and massage units, beverage holders in the arm rests, a storage compartment for the remotes, a built in ice chest and an optional sleep section. All we would need was one end table that turned into a microwave and another that turned into a porta-potty and he could have lived out his life happily without ever leaving his big screen TV.

So it’s not at all surprising that when considering a new bed for the girls’ room, the one Scott wanted was an all-in-one unit, a loft bed with a trundle bed below, seven drawers, a built in desk with a bookshelf and a large closet area extending the length of the bed. I had to agree that it made sense for us in terms of storage space which we’re in desperate need of in their room. What didn’t make sense was the potential it held to break the necks of one or both of my children.

A bit of marriage advice: if you’re married to someone, you might want to actually talk to them every now and then. You’d think after eight years of marriage, and even having noted in our wedding vows that we are total opposites, I would have figured out that we are likely to see things quite differently. But no, there are still times when my point of view makes so much sense to me that I can’t imagine Scott feeling any different. Meanwhile he is feeling the very same way about his totally opposite point of view.

After we bought the bed from someone on Craigslist (Please note that means it’s non-returnable), dismantled it, hauled it home and reassembled it in the girls’ room, it turns out that Scott and I have very different visions of how this bed will be used.

In my mind, it was obvious that my thrill-seeking two-year-old shouldn’t have access to the top bunk with all of its potential for jumping or falling. Call me crazy, but I like my children completely intact and unbroken. I asked Scott at least ten times if the ladder was as easily removable as it appeared to be and he assured me that it was. So from that I assumed that he and I were on the same page and that the ladder would be hidden away most of the time and only placed there permanently when Alyssa was much older.

Our disconnect became obvious when I noticed he’d bolted the ladder to the bed and wanted Alyssa and Amanda to sleep on the top bunk together on the very first night. He said I was crazy and overprotective and I said well maybe but at least I’m not trying to kill the children. There’s a warning right there on the bed itself that says to avoid serious or fatal injuries, children under six should not be allowed on the top bunk, and that there should never be more than one person at a time up there. There is no little asterisk with a note saying "Unless they're Scott's children and then it should be okay."

Yes, it’s probably true that I’m overprotective. When I said we weren’t taking the training wheels off of Amanda’s bike until she turned 23 it might have been a BIT overly cautious, but I think I’m being very reasonable when it comes to this bunk bed thing.

Scott insists all we need to do is teach Alyssa the basics of ladder safety, have her practice a couple of times and tell her not to lean over the side and everything will be fine. I say perhaps he hasn’t noticed that this is ALYSSA we’re talking about and we can talk to her for days about safety and then the second we turn our backs or more likely right in front of our eyes, she’ll be jumping off the side, swinging from the ceiling fan or worse.

We’re still in deliberation over the matter and will continue to be until he manages to see things my way. I’m hoping we can come to a peaceful agreement soon so I don’t have to set fire to the ladder while he’s asleep.

The Scoop on Valentine's Day

Well we survived another Valentine’s Day. I say survived only because by the end of the day I felt a bit like I’d been run over by a bus. But other than that it was a perfectly nice day. I volunteered in Amanda’s class to help out with their party and there’s just something completely exhausting about trying to keep up with 18 5 and 6-year-olds PLUS Alyssa.

I swear it’s the addition of Alyssa that kills me. I volunteered without Alyssa only a couple of days before that when they celebrated the 100th day of school and it was no problem. But try to supervise the making of 18 heart-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while chasing down Alyssa and I’m wiped out.

Also whose bright idea was it to start all kinds of fun little traditions for my children and why didn’t anyone tell me that not only would I have to remember what those traditions are but then also follow through with them in a somewhat timely manner?

After making a last minute trip to the grocery store for Kindergarten party supplies, then overseeing the folding, signing, and envelope stuffing of the Valentine’s for Amanda’s classmates (Hello Kitty for the girls and Ratatouille for the boys), then putting together mini goody bags for each kid (which included mini tubs of play-doh among other things because just because my kids aren’t allowed to play with it doesn’t mean her friends shouldn’t) I had Amanda’s back-pack packed and was ready to call it a night when I suddenly remembered that I always make a trail of Hershey’s kisses to lead the girls to their Valentine’s gifts. And of course I didn’t have any Hershey’s kisses. And what’s a trail of kisses without kisses? It’s just a trail, that’s what it is. So back to the grocery store I went.

Then on Valentine’s Day I told Amanda she could open her gift as soon as she finished her homework, hoping this would inspire her to work quickly instead of piddling around like she usually does. Well it didn’t work. She goofed around and finally finished her homework just as Scott arrived home with dinner, a heart-shaped pizza (another Valentine’s Day tradition that is far more wildly romantic than it sounds simply because the fact that Scott is paying the same amount of money for less pizza almost kills my painfully practical husband. To show you how difficult this was for him he said next year he’s going to buy a regular pizza and cut it into a heart-shape himself and eat the remnants when I’m not looking.). I suggested to Amanda that we wait until after dinner to open our gifts and her lip started quivering.

“But you promised…”

So that’s why I presented my children with a boatload of chocolate only moments before dinner. Just another brilliant move on my part. And that’s why I never bothered with tradition #3, these Choco-Hoto-Pots in cute little heart shaped ramekins. Luckily it’s also a tradition for me to be scatterbrained and forgetful and I’m frequently known to extend holidays and birthdays by doing stuff late. I will eventually get around to making my dessert, hopefully tonight. Happy Valentine’s Day to us.

Happy Valentine's Day

Sending you our love and lots of hugs and kisses...

The Kiss Me Ring

It’s time for another random memory from my past. When I was little my dad would occasionally take my brother and I on long walks on Sunday mornings. I would hold my dad’s hand or ride on his shoulders if I got tired. Whenever I see one of the girls riding on Scott’s shoulders I can feel myself go back to that place where I was safe, secure and on top of the world.

My brother, Danny, would usually walk a few steps ahead of us and scan the streets for money or random other treasures. He would flip open the change door on every pay phone and newspaper stand we passed in hopes of scoring a dime or a quarter left behind. We often would go to this restaurant called Sambos where I always ordered the same thing: pancakes and hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was heavenly because it came piled high with a tower of whipped cream and sometimes the waitress would come around and give you even more whipped cream if you ran out.

On one of our walks we stopped at a store to pick up milk or bread or who knows what and after sufficient begging, my dad gave us money for the candy/toy machines. This was a rare treat, if I’m remembering correctly, so when after agonizing over which machine to choose and then twisting the dial, and holding my breath while I waited to see which treasure dropped, I was CRUSHED when out popped this ugly brown plastic football shaped ring.

To make matters worse it said “NFL”. I was five and learning how to read so I KNEW that wasn’t a real word. It couldn’t be since it didn’t have any vowels. Where was the A-E-I-O-U or sometimes Y? I tried sounding it out but what was it? Niffle? Nuffle? It was the DUMBEST RING EVER, that’s what it was.

My brother put his money in a second later and out popped a hard plastic neon-pink puffy heart-shaped ring with gold embossed lettering that read “KISS ME”. In other words it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. For a brief moment I thought everything had actually worked out fine. I got the boy ring, Danny got the girl ring; we would trade and everything would be right with the world again.

But seeing how desperately I wanted that ring made my brother just as desperately want me not to have it. The tears flowed freely as I imagined how he would torment me with it. Knowing him, he would flaunt it endlessly and when that got boring he would make me watch as he ran it over with his bicycle, crushed it with a rock or lit it on fire. It was a horribly traumatic bad awful tragedy, the kind that only a five-year-old understands. I was devastated and probably proclaiming it loudly enough for all to hear.

Finally my dad stepped in very calmly, as usual, and said, “Son, give your sister the ring.” As I wrote in #13 on my 50 Reasons I Love You list, that’s when my dad achieved hero status in my eyes. He swept in like a superhero and saved the day. I doubt he would have been thrilled to know that the ring would play a big part in my first kiss only a few days later.

I proudly wore my ring to Kindergarten, showing off like I was a movie star or something. And just like a moment right out of the movies, at morning recess Tim Snead walked up to me and asked, “What does your ring say?”

I responded, “Kiss me.”

And he did!

I lub you too

Alyssa is in this super-sweet-most-adorable-child-on-earth phase. To be sure of this, I just looked over at her as she’s napping next to me and noted that perhaps some would not find the snot-bubble blowing in and out of her nose adorable, exactly… but other than that she’s pretty cute. She’s very much into giving hugs and kisses and saying, “I lub you.” Not just saying it but often yelling it from room to room.

Here’s how it goes: I disappear from the room for more than three seconds. Alyssa cries out, “Mommy? Mommy? Mommmmmmmm-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?” If she doesn’t hear me respond immediately (and I have that kind of voice that is so quiet even when I’m yelling, that NOBODY EVER SEEMS TO HEAR ME) she will reach the same level of complete hysteria as if, say, I have moved to another country without leaving a forwarding address and she’s never ever going to see me again. (I've thought about it but I wouldn't actually do it, okay?)

Me: “Yes Alyssa, I’m right here.”

Alyssa: Very matter of factly, completely hiding the terror in her voice just a second before: “I LUB YOU!”

Me: “I love you too!”

Alyssa: “Awwwwwwwww!”

The awwwww part gets me every time because that’s what I said the first three thousand times she caught me by surprise with an “I lub you.” Now she has claimed it as her own. So it appears she thinks it’s just the sweetest thing ever that I’ve said I love her. Mommy loves me. Awwwwwww…

Unfortunately it’s not just about me though. She loves everyone. All the expected people, like her sister, her dad, her grandparents and other family. But she also loves Bob, our next door neighbor. Random friends who she sees only occasionally, Amanda’s teacher, the cashier at the grocery store… She’d probably love the UPS man if he wouldn’t run back to his truck so quickly.

She’s also into giving tons of hugs and kisses and again, for a while there I thought it was all about me. Awwwwww, she loves her mommy… until I saw her kissing the wall in the hallway. Umm. Okay, this isn’t about me at all.

Why can’t it ever just be about ME?

Her First Talent Show

Amanda made her big debut last Thursday in the school talent show.

She was snowman #7 in "Ten Little Snowmen." ("One Little, Two Little, Three Little Snowmen"..."Ten Little Snowmen learning to read.")
They also sang:

I'm a little snowman short and fat.
Here are my buttons.
Here is my hat.
When the sun comes out, I cannot play.
Slowly I just melt away.

Complete with motions and all. I'm sure I don't have to tell you they were adorable!

Are you happy?

Quote of the day:

Alyssa: "Are you happy, Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, I'm happy. How 'bout you? Are you happy?"

Alyssa: "No, I not happy. I Alyssa!"