Tooth Fairy Duty

I was on tooth fairy duty last night, which means I didn't get much sleep. It was my fault because after quite the long battle, I finally bribed Alyssa with a movie at bedtime to get her to let me take her Band-Aid off so I could clean her icky stitches. (Yeah, I'll have to write a post about those. She stayed perfectly still and didn't make a peep when the doctor was stitching her up, but try to get a Band-Aid off of her and you would think I was trying to cut her toes off with a pair of scissors.) The thing is, I'd taken Benadryl, which totally knocks me out, to deal with the mysterious rash covering my entire body. (Between the ER rooms and Disneyland, it's a small world full of yucky germs. And yeah, I'll have to write a post about those too.)

So the plan was: take Benadryl, put the girls to bed, go to bed and sleeeeep. Instead it was: take Benadryl, do 14 other things I'd forgotten about, argue with Alyssa over a Band-Aid for probably half an hour while in a Benadryl haze, finally bribe her with a movie at bedtime, which was already way later than it should have been. Then have Amanda suddenly remember she had to write a note for the tooth fairy, then check every 10 minutes to see if Alyssa has fallen asleep yet, then wait 10 more minutes to make sure she's REALLY asleep so I can finally do tooth fairy duty because I know there's no way I will be remembering it in the middle of the night. Alyssa watched the whole darn movie of course, which is why I'm exhausted today.

I'm even more paranoid than usual because Amanda nearly caught the tooth fairy the last time she visited. It was about 2 AM when Scott got a phone call from work and I jumped half out of my skin because in my mind, 2am phone calls = a death in the family. I was annoyed at first (What? Nobody died?) knowing it would take forever to get back to sleep and then suddenly remembered: tooth fairy duty!!! That is why I have to do it before I go to bed. The whole I'll just lay down for a few minutes thing may not end well. So I did my TF thing and, of course, Amanda woke up, mid-visit. Turns out I think faster on my feet than I would have guessed. The tooth fairy got away before she was recognized.

Amanda's usual fairy leaves a lovely sprinkling of glittery fairy dust. Her very first fairy left fairy dust not just on her pillow but all over the entire backyard! I personally thought it resembled frost glittering in the sunlight but Amanda KNEW it was fairy dust and has been quietly disappointed in the laziness of the fairies she's gotten since then.

Hullooooo, she leaves a trail of dust and sometimes a certificate in beautiful, scrolly lettering. Excuse the hell out of her for not making the yard sparkle.

Some people think there is only one tooth fairy, like there's one Santa Claus or one Easter Bunny. I don't buy that. I mean Santa and the Bunny each have one day a year. And then a whole boatload of vacation time. But the tooth fairy, I can't imagine how ONE person, err fairy could handle that job, what with the zillions of children all over the world popping out teeth at such an alarming rate.

So yeah, I actually think there are a bunch of tooth fairies, and that they're all totally different, though all approximately three inches tall.

This explains why Brandon has a boy fairy, why Adam only gets cash, never a certificate or fairy dust. And why Luciana's fairies are soooo much better than ours 'cause the certificates she gets are much cooler AND Luciana gets to choose from a chart which fairy she wants (all better than ours, by the way) plus the fairy leaves money AND gifts.

I'm not sure we'll always get the same fairy every time either, 'cause fairies have lives too. They go on vacation, they work different shifts, they get sick and have personal issues. They might even take a long unexplained leave of absence and we might get stuck with a crappy temp or we might luck out and get some fab overachiever who typically works in another county.

Sometimes I like to imagine the fairies at performance review time. I like to think about the well-paying over-achievers who leave teeny tiny notes written in teeny tiny calligraphy stuffed into teeny tiny envelopes next to brand new ipods getting big raises and promotions, while the ones who toss a quarter in the general direction of the pillow and spend the rest of the night chain smoking cigarettes and watching porn getting fired or at least put on probation.

For the record I think our normal fairy is slightly above average, what with the glitter and the certificates. However she is a terrible procrastinator and has asked me NEVER to remind Amanda that it's time to leave the tooth for her. She likes her sleep okay?

Oh! Speaking of sleep, the best part of this story is that after torturing myself to stay awake last night, Amanda didn't even remember to check to see if the tooth fairy had visited! She left for school and never even checked. I didn't remind her to because I didn't want her going back into their room and waking Alyssa.

I do sort of hope that Amanda suddenly remembered after arriving at school and got to experience her own torture … the sweet agony of waiting, certain that by the time she gets home her little sister will have stolen her money and destroyed any fairy evidence. Is it wrong that that the thought of that makes me feel a little better? I can't help it. I'm mean when I don't get enough sleep.

posted from my iphone

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The Princess & the Pop Star

I have to admit this Halloween was a bit tougher than usual, what with Amanda doing that really annoying thing... thinking for herself.

It was probably in July or August that we started talking about Halloween costumes. Amanda told me she wanted to be Hannah Montana and I thought to myself there's plenty of time to change her mind.

I wasn't particularly thrilled with that choice of costume for a few reasons… one being that my baby is far too young to be dressing like a teenage pop star. Another being that I'm rather old fashioned I guess, because I prefer easily recognizable costumes for kids, something more classic and timeless. And lastly, my BABY is far too young to be dressing like a teenage pop star. Yeah I know. I had to say that twice. Oh, and did I mention that the costume she wanted was $50? Fifty dollars for this totally cheap looking thing?!?

So for months I tried gently swaying her. Then I tried not so gently swaying her. I tossed out every single great idea I could think of, along with a whole bunch of not so great ones. But she wasn't budging. I like to get their costumes early, so I don't have to worry about it. But there we were only ten days before Halloween and she still hadn't decided. Well clearly she had decided, but I was still trying to pretend she hadn't. When I asked her for the 3,458^th time what she wanted to be for Halloween, her chin dropped and she said ever so sadly, "I don't know Mommy, I just don't know. Because there's only one thing I really, really want to be and you don't want me to be that."

Yep, I caved. Ordered the costume that day. And no, I didn't pay anywhere close to $50 for it. Which was good because she barely ended up wearing any of it. The leggings were see-through and the "dress" just barely covered her behind. The belt was awful and she hated the wig. So I insisted she wear a skirt and her own leggings. We used the dress as a top. The night before her Halloween party at school I discovered a huge rip under the arm on the jacket. Really? She'd only tried the thing on for a few minutes.

When Amanda saw the hole, she was seconds away from dissolving into tears so I put on my competent-Mom-face and told her I could fix it. No, I didn't actually believe I could fix it but I couldn't tell her that, could I? Much to the dismay of my mother, who is a master seamstress, I am completely unskilled in that area. Completely unskilled. So I did what the slightly less competent moms do and I got out the duct tape. Well they say you can fix anything with it, don't they? It worked too. Worked just fine until she put the jacket on and we heard this awful ripping sound. Her lip started quivering so again, I said, "Hey, no worries, I can totally fix this." Inside my head there was a lot of swearing going on but I couldn't tell her that, could I?

I finally managed to track down a needle but I couldn't find anything but black thread. When you're extremely bad at sewing, the last thing you want to do is draw attention to the fact by using the wrong color thread. I knew I had to have white thread somewhere but after a very long search and nearly giving up, I suddenly remembered... dental floss! Yup, I totally pulled a McGyver on the Hannah Montana costume from hell. It probably took me at least three times longer than it should have but I actually did a pretty darn good job on it. I'm not sure my mom would have been impressed but I totally was.

So Amanda was Hannah Montana… well no, actually she decided that without the blonde wig she would be Miley Cyrus. If you're not up on the Disney Channel and the whole Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana thing, just ask Amanda. If you wanna know about McGyver, ask me.

Alyssa was supposed to be the easy one this year. I knew anything pretty and sparkly and girly would make her happy so I was planning to put her in the princess dress Amanda wore years ago when Alyssa was just a little pea. It's been hanging in the closet for years, staring at me, just waiting to be worn again.

Except that when I went to get it so Alyssa could try it on, it had somehow managed to drop off the face of the earth. I couldn't find it anywhere. I was so desperate to find it that I reorganized the whole closet and every drawer in the place. If you know me at all, you'll sense the desperation in that move. But still, no princess dress.

Then one night I overheard Alyssa telling Scott that she was going to be Sleeping Beauty for Halloween because if she was Sleeping Beauty she could take a nap. Well that settled that. I didn't even know she knew who Sleeping Beauty was but I wasn't going to argue with napping logic.

So that's how we ended up with a princess and a pop star.

Seven years ago, part 2

We arrived at the hospital around 9am maybe. A quick test determined that my water had indeed broken, and they admitted me to the labor and delivery floor.

I have a hard time remembering details… well certain kinds of details. When I hear other moms tell the stories of their labors and deliveries, I feel inadequate when they start throwing out very specific moment-by-moment facts, like by 3:42 pm my contractions were coming every 5 minutes but I was only 3 cm dilated, his head high up, 60% effacement but after they started the pitocin drip I was 10 cm dilated, full effacement, and his head fully engaged by 4:18. That kind of information does not stay in my brain for long.

I asked Darin to write down some of the details but of course I can’t find those notes now. I did run across endless emails written during my pregnancy and I may have to write another post with funny pregnancy moments, like the time a casual acquaintance at work asked me if I planned to breastfeed the baby. When I told her I was, she replied, “Well even if you don’t do anything else, I would strongly recommend that you start preparing your nipples now!”

I just smiled and nodded as if preparing my nipples was something that I had obviously given a lot of thought to and had completely under control. And then I ran from the room horrified. Who knew you had to prepare them? And how??? Should I be talking to my nipples? Warning them about what they’re in for? Should I get a puppy and let him chew on them for a while?

What I can tell you now, two kids later, both breastfed far longer than I ever planned, is that my nipples were completely, entirely, utterly unprepared. My nipples had absolutely no clue what they were getting themselves into. Once living a life of leisure they were forced into servitude. Endless hours of on-demand feeding. They were yanked on, chewed on, they’ve been through hell and back. Yet, even now, I still have absolutely no idea how I might have prepared them. Even if I had tried to warn them, they would not have believed me.

Oh but back to labor and delivery, I was saying that I don’t remember the technical details. I do remember other details though. I remember that my labor & delivery nurse had short blonde hair and made me feel totally at ease right from the first moment I arrived. I remember that she had two kids, named Amanda and Chase. Since Amanda was my chosen girl’s name and in the homestretch I still hadn’t decided on a boy’s name, I thought maybe it was some kind of sign and I was heavily weighing "Chase" as an option… not remembering that Scott had vetoed it because he didn’t want his son named after a bank.

I remember that the door to my room, along with several spots in my room were plastered with signs warning that it was a latex-free zone because of my latex allergy. When I casually mentioned that it seemed like they were making an awfully big deal of it, I got a very stern lecture from a nurse who explained that latex allergies are extremely dangerous and not to be taken lightly. She made it clear that if I wasn’t careful, one day I might drop dead, killed by a pair of latex-soled tennis shoes.

I can’t remember who arrived at the hospital first: Darin or Grandma & Grandpa T. When I was still at home, Grandma and Grandpa T had called to ask if we had a baby yet. I was annoyed at Scott, instantly assuming, that rather than sleeping as I had instructed, he had been in bed calling everyone we knew on his cell phone.

I reported, “Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving for the hospital shortly!” They were shocked. Turns out they’d only been calling to check in. As Grandpa stood by my bedside chatting with me, I had to stop talking during the contractions… to catch my breath from the pain…but I continued to smile, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. Nobody wants to see someone they care about in pain, right?

It was a relief when my sister Darin arrived. I think I invited her to the delivery when I was about three minutes pregnant. I seriously have no clue how women deliver babies without her there. I personally would not do it. Darin is like a one-woman show... a Swiss Army knife in sister form. She’s my mediator/counselor/PR person/personal assistant/birthing coach. And most of all she makes me laugh.

I wasn’t quite sure how Scott would handle the delivery room. An incident early on in the pregnancy made me think it might not go well. He’d gone with me to my second doctor appointment and nearly had to pull the car over when I casually mentioned that there was a possibility I might have another ultrasound and they might have to do it vaginally instead of the other way where they rub the instrument over your belly.

He FREAKED. “They’re going to do it HOW???

He seemed fine when we got to the office though and had all of the nurses giggling when he insisted on weighing me himself and loudly announcing my weight to everyone as I growled, “You’re never coming here again!” The nurse said she was surprised my blood pressure was so low after meeting my husband. Yeah, you’re tellin’ me.

Scott started to look pale when the nurse told me I would need to disrobe from the waist down for my ultrasound. He asked her if he could have a hit of nitrous oxide. Thinking it would distract him, I handed him the digital camera suggesting he do a video clip of the baby. But it was too late, he was already in full force panic, his face white, his forehead sweating. He said he’d taken one look at the medical equipment on the counter and got woozy.

“Umm, Sweetie…those are tongue depressors and Q-tips.”

He explained that it was just the whole doctor’s office thing. “You know they tortured me as a kid...I hate doctors… I can’t stay.” I took the camera away before he dropped it and was trying to figure out if he was going to pass out or if I was going to have to chase him down the hallway wrapped in this giant paper napkin… when the doctor walked in and Scott snapped back into manly-man-mode. I still can’t believe he tried to sell me on that whole, “I hate poop, you hate blood; you change the diapers, I’ll change the band-aids” routine when this is how he reacted to a routine doctor appointment.

Oh but back to labor and delivery…

I don’t remember how much I was dilated the first time they checked me. I just remember I wasn’t nearly as far along as I expected or hoped. I was irritated that Scott had rushed me because had I stayed home, I would have had time to reorganize my closet and clean the ceiling fans. At some point they started me on pitocin to help move things along.

The nurse showed me a chart similar to the one above to measure my pain. I remember Darin and I laughing about that chart. It just seemed ridiculous and completely inadequate. Was that chart designed for a child? Was it designed by a child? I mean I’m a woman. I've already mentioned that I smile through my pain. A woman can get a 104 degree fever and be in danger of coughing up a lung but as long as she can stand up, she will paste on a smile and go on as normal.

They might as well have handed me a chart covered with photographs of several smiling women and let me guess which one was in the most pain: The virgin Mary smiling weakly after having just ridden endless miles on a donkey before giving birth to Jesus in a manger… Maya Angelou, smiling serenely while transforming 80 years of pain into poetry… Mother Teresa smiling peacefully as she witnesses endless suffering and poverty…perhaps Martha Stewart smiling happily from behind glass in prison while holding up a beautifully calligraphied sign for her lawyer, saying “Get me out of this f*ing place NOW or heads are going to roll.”… Lorena Bobbit smiling brightly holding a knife in one hand and her husband’s severed penis in the other.

I thought a more helpful chart would have cartoon drawings of actual injuries:

A stick figure with a splinter, a stick figure with a skinned knee, one with a severed arm, one with a gunshot wound to the head… that type of thing. How would you rate your pain compared to these? I really think I could wrap my brain around those possibilities.

Early on in my pregnancy I watched dozens of episodes of TLC’s “A Baby Story”. Each show follows a pregnant woman from shortly before birth through labor and delivery. I noticed that women who were completely determined not to have an epidural during the pre-labor interviews, quite frequently ended up begging and pleading in a high pitch rage for them at some point during labor. So I decided very early on not to do that whole brave face thing myself. Sign me up for the epidural, please!

I can’t remember the magic number I had to choose on the pain chart before it was epidural time, but I really thought I’d have to suffer more first. I do remember falling head over heels in love with the anesthesiologist who gave me that epidural. We only spent a brief few minutes together, many of them with him shoving a ginormous needle into my spine. But I loved him, nevertheless. Somewhere there is a photo of him and me together. I’m in my hospital gown smiling a happy, giddy, suddenly pain-free new love smile… meanwhile he’s smiling that oh brother, another laboring woman has fallen in love with me smile…

My entire outlook changed after I got my epidural. The rest of the day is a bit of a blur, but a happy, mostly pain-free day. It was late in the day before I got to start pushing and it did seem like I had to push FOREVER.

Finally, at 8:33pm the baby arrived. I waited several long agonizing seconds before the doctor gave me the information I was waiting for: “She is perfect and beautiful.”
SHE!?! She??? … It’s a girl!!!

Amanda Noelle was 8lbs, 20 1/4 inches long and with a full head of dark hair. She was perfect and beautiful just like the doctor said. And I was happier than I’d ever been in my life.

Seven years ago (on Random Photo Tuesday)

Years ago I read a lovely story about this woman who, each year on her children's birthdays, tells them the story of the day they were born. Well you know me with my screwed up inability to say no to anything even vaguely resembling a tradition, I latched on to that puppy right away. Traditions always sound like such a great idea in the beginning... it's all that darn follow-through that's hard to live with.

So each year at bedtime on their birthdays, if we have time and if I remember, I tell the girls all about the day they were born. Well okay, I tell them a very watered down, shortened version of the events of the day. Because at this age I don't think they really need the blood, puke and swearing version right before they drift off to dreamland. I've always meant to write down the long version though so here goes...

Seven years ago today I awoke somewhere around 2am, startled. Sat bolt upright on the couch and flipped the light on immediately. I may have said something along the lines of, “Oh crap!” because it was either that or the light being turned on that woke Scott up. Before he woke up, clearly also startled, half asleep on the floor, mumbling, “What??? What’s wrong?” I had no clue that he was in the living room with me.

I’d taken to sleeping on the couch during the later months of my pregnancy because it was more comfortable and easier to get up for the what seemed like dozens of trips to the bathroom each night. Plus I wasn’t sleeping well and I could watch TV without disturbing Scott. But on this night, we’d both fallen asleep watching a movie and he hadn’t gotten around to moving to the bed. When I realized he was there I switched the light off and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I think maybe my water just broke. You should go get in bed.”

This didn’t go over as peacefully as I’d hoped. “WHAT?!? Your water just broke and you want me to go to BED?!!??!”

“Yep. Yeah… I think so. That would be good. I’m not actually sure it broke.”

I really didn’t want to tell him that part. That I wasn’t sure. A week or so before I’d gone to the doctor because I was spotting and they hooked me up to a monitor to make sure all was well. The nurse, looking at the print-out as it rolled off of the machine, said calmly, “Tell me when you’re having a contraction.”

“Tell you when I’m having a WHAT?!?” I asked, slightly shocked, then quickly deciding there’d probably just been a lack of communication, I explained, “Oh I’m not having contractions. I just came here because I’m spotting a bit and wanted to make sure everything is okay.”

She looked at me and then at the print-out and then back at me with confusion and asked, “You didn’t feel that?!?”

“Feel what?”

“You’re having contractions. Strong ones.”

Holy crap. Breathe.

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“Nothing? No pain at all? No cramping?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

At that moment I was a happy little mixture of terror (Is the baby coming NOW?) and relief (If I can’t feel strong contractions at ALL, perhaps this childbirth thing is going to be way easier than I thought!)

Scott, on the other hand, was not even a tiny bit happy about my lack of feeling. It scared him. A lot. “You’re a woman. You’re supposed to know when you’re having contractions, aren’t you? It’s a good thing we came here. Otherwise you might have just woken up one morning and the baby would be laying there next to you and you’d be like How did that get there!?!” I told him that apparently living with him for so many years had completely numbed me to pain.

They ended up sending me home that day since I wasn't actually in labor yet. The contractions I was having were just preparing my body for labor. But when I had to tell him in the middle of the night that I thought my water broke instead of that I knew… I figured he was going to give me a hard time.

In the movies the water breaking is so OBVIOUS. It floods out all over the poor woman's shoes in a gush and usually provides a moment of comic relief for the audience. But it doesn't always work that way in real life. Often there’s just a small trickle and often your water doesn’t break at all and the doctor has to break it for you. I’d decided I was going to go that route. Better that the doctor breaks it than an embarrassing scene at the grocery store or something. Unfortunately, it turns out that you don’t actually get to decide.

At 2am, I awoke thinking I’d heard a POP! and then felt some wetness, but not much. One of those glamorous details they don’t always mention about pregnancy is that bladder control isn’t necessarily a given in the later months. Sometimes hard laughter or a good sneeze can lead to a little surprise. I’d been pretty lucky in that way in my first pregnancy but that night I wondered… Did I just wet my pants? Did I imagine that sound or dream it?

I’ll admit now, that I was pretty sure my water had broken but when it did, panic set in and I headed straight into denial. Scott was being all calm and logical about it… Okay well not calm exactly, but logical, and thought we should go to the hospital. Because when your water breaks that’s what you do, right? Except that I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital… and so I said, “Don’t you remember what the doctor said?”

We’d attended the “Everything You Need to Know About Labor and Delivery” lecture shortly before and my doctor had run down the list of ways you would know that it was time to go to the hospital. If you’re just having contractions it can be a little tough to figure out. But if your water breaks, that’s a pretty clear sign. He said if your water breaks you need to go to the hospital, because once your water breaks you need to deliver the baby within 24 hours… But then he added… unless of course this is your first delivery and your water breaks in the middle of the night while your husband is sound asleep. In this case, as long as you're feeling okay, there’s really no need to wake him right away.

He said that. I swear he did. I remembered it clearly because it completely pissed me off.

I loved my doctor too. He was this great combination of years of experience, a great reputation, a completely laid back attitude and a really wacky sense of humor. The first two things were important but the laid back attitude and the off-the-wall sense of humor were critical in my mind. I loved him because he would tell Scott stuff like, “You know she’s building a baby in there right? She’s doing all the hard work so at this point your job is to worship her like the goddess she is.”

Later he advised Scott to give me foot massages and to take over doing the dishes because it’s hard for her to lean over a sink with a big belly in the way. So this “let your husband sleep if your water breaks in the middle of the night,” comment threw me off and pissed me off as I already mentioned. Now I like to think that he was joking and I just missed it. At the time I was thinking you’ve got to be kidding. I’m the one about to go through labor and delivery, one of the most difficult physical experiences of my life, and I’m supposed to be worried about HIM getting enough sleep?

But suddenly at 2am I appreciated the advice. Because suddenly I wasn’t ready to go to the hospital. I wasn’t READY to give birth. It’s only the 8th of September. Hulloooooo… the baby is due on the 9th. I’m a procrastinator. It’s hard enough for me to get anything done on time… let alone EARLY. This has to be a mistake.

I ordered Scott back to bed. "JUST GO TO SLEEP. It’s fine. Sleep."

“Yeah right. You really think I can sleep now?!?”

“DOCTOR’S ORDERS! GOOOOOO!”

And then I did a load of laundry. Emptied the dishwasher. Finished packing my hospital suitcase. Showered. Did my hair and make-up. Composed and sent several emails. Ate some oatmeal because I knew I'd be cranky enough on that delivery table without adding HUNGRY to the mix. All of this was between painful contractions, which I was trying to pretend weren't happening, and all while Scott yelled occasionally from the bedroom, "NOW what are you doing???"

“Watering the plants. Go to sleep.”

And as long as he was already awake, I vacuumed. I mean my mother-in-law would be visiting, right? Somewhere along the way I called the doctor, who was just as laid back as I needed him to be. He did tell me it was time to head to the hospital. But that there was no need to run any red lights.

Mind you, I’m not one of those obsessive compulsive the house must be perfect at all times types. I’m somewhere on the other end of that spectrum, unfortunately. My cleaning the house and other tasks were mostly just serving the purpose of keeping me away from the hospital at that point. Because here’s the thing: I’m not really a worrier. Well okay I’m an extreme worrier. No. Well okay, the thing is that I’m a product of both of my parents....my dad was the calmest dude on the planet. His words still ring out in my ears on a regular basis: There’s no point in worrying, Dione. If there’s something you can do about it, do it. If there’s nothing you can do about it, then what’s the point in worrying?

My mom, on the other hand, wrote the book on worrying. She could find something to worry about in the most harmless of situations. At best those roller skates would lead to bumps and bruises. At worst you’d roller skate past some kid practicing fishing in a bucket and you’d lose an eye when that hook hit you. (Okay, this actually happened to my sister. Though she sees fine today, it permanently ruined roller skating for all of us. Because roller skating is DANGEROUS!)

When it came to this labor and delivery thing I’d chosen to go with my dad’s theory. Though I worried about the baby, I didn’t bother worrying about the actual delivery. I’d hear other pregnant women freaking out about every detail...the pain, the embarassment, the possible complications... and just think this kid is coming out one way or the other whether I like it or not. Worrying would be pointless. This worked out pretty darn well for the first nine months. More precisely, it worked right up until my water broke or until I thought my water broke and then all bets were off. I immediately turned into my mother and I completely freaked out and worried about EVERYTHING.

At some point Scott told me if I didn’t hurry up he was going to the hospital without me. Such a tempting offer… Could we make that work somehow, do you think?

But THEN we went to the hospital.

(Sorry this post got way longer than I expected. At this rate the story might last longer than the actual labor. I'm on official birthday-celebrating-duty today so consider this "to be continued...")

One from Amanda

Right after I was whining about not being able to share Amanda quotes, my friend shared one from today. Amanda wasn't around to ban it from the blog. (Insert evil laughter here.)

Tomorrow is baseball day at school. The kids will not only be playing baseball, but they're supposed to wear something baseball-related and bring something baseball-related to share. Do I look like I have any baseball stuff? Nope! So my friend was nice enough to help us out. She tried a baseball cap on her daughter and surprised it still fit, said, "Wow, your head is small." Then she tried it on Amanda and said, "Wow, your head is big!"

Amanda replied, "Yeah, that's 'cause I've got a lot of stuff in there."

The Leprechauns Visit on Random Photo Tuesday

So I have this bad habit of starting new traditions… like I'll hear a cute idea and instead of thinking I should do this once I immediately jump directly to wouldn't it be fun to start a new tradition and do this EVERY YEAR? Don't ask me why.

A few weeks ago I saw this idea in a magazine about leprechaun catchers. Well first the leprechauns would show up at your house and leave behind all kinds of fun clues…trails of shamrock confetti, green footprints, green kiss marks on sleeping children's foreheads, green toilet water (Yep, leprechaun pee! A personal favorite.) So of course you would build this totally adorable leprechaun trap to try to catch one, right? I mean you would right? Am I alone here?

When I jumped on instant messenger and told my friend Wendy all about my latest brilliant plan, she saw the warning signs immediately… She may have mentioned something about barely being able to keep up with the Easter Bunny and Santa. Oh it's true that the whole Santa thing sounds like a great idea until 2am on Christmas morning when you're wondering what moron came up with the whole Santa thing. But then I sent her the link with the pictures of the leprechaun traps… because they were really cute traps, let me tell you… she knew there was no use trying to reason with me. Because I was already determined to build the one that looked like a leprechaun hat, yes I was!

Luckily Amanda's first grade teacher showed up in time to save me from myself. How? Well as room mom, I was asked to send out a letter to the class announcing that the leprechauns had arrived for a visit and would probably be causing all kinds of mischief. AND she asked the class to build leprechaun traps. Really? Yep. Oh and we were throwing a little party, emphasis on little, (complete with lots of tiny little green food like green finger jello and teeny mint ice cream cones) to celebrate our visiting guests. While I was getting ready for the party I found myself thinking these guys better show up.

So anyway, I… I mean Amanda and I… got to build our totally cute trap and display it at home until yesterday, but as far as the leprechaun thing… I just got to hear about their pranks every day (They messed up desks and moved furniture and left cute little notes, among other things) but I didn't have to do any of the work. Now I have another year to decide whether I want to attempt the leprechaun thing next year.

The kids set up their traps yesterday afternoon and I snuck in this morning to take pictures before class started. The leprechauns visited last night. They did, they really did! They were there… Well okay, they got away, but they WERE THERE I tell ya... I saw the little green footprints, I saw the little shamrock confetti… the teensy little trophies left next to each of the traps. I could picture them laughing, saying, "Nice try!" There was even a tiny little bathtub full of green water. And one of them left a tiny little vest behind. Actually it freaks me out a little to think of the little guys frolicking around the classroom naked. But who am I to judge?

So anyway, the before picture of our trap as it looked at home. The after picture shows how we found it this morning. Yeah okay, so maybe it doesn't exactly look like the work of a six year old? That's a whole 'nother subject which I'll save for a different blog post or a therapy session, which ever comes first. I can't take credit for the design. It's an exact replica of the one I saw in the magazine. Because I wouldn't have the foggiest idea how to go about building a leprechaun trap and because it was just too cute NOT to copy.
Let me explain how the trap works. Rumor has it that leprechauns aren't known for following rules, hence the "do not climb ladder" sign. The hope was that they would spot the hunk of gold on top of the hat. Okay the hope was that a little old near-sighted leprechaun would spot the wadded up foil left over from reeses peanut butter cups and hopefully thinking it was gold, or perhaps hoping there were more reeses peanut butter cups where those came from, would climb the little ladder (built from sticks Amanda collected from our backyard… 'cause she's crafty like that) and when he stepped on top of the hat to reach for the gold or the peanut butter cups… he'd plunge through the trap door and be stuck there 'til morning in the oatmeal container, just wishing there was actually some chocolate or peanut butter or something in there… because leprechauns get hungry too.
Unfortunately it appears that our wily little leprechaun escaped. Don't ask me how. I assume that somewhere there's a big -- okay probably a little -- party goin' on and some leprechaun is tossing back a thimble full of Guinness and laughing at the thought that someone was silly enough to think a Quaker Oats box could hold him.

That's Amanda holding the tiny trophy. I'll add more photos soon. I just had to get a couple in under my Tuesday deadline. Happy St. Patrick's Day to all!

Random Photo Tuesday

Yep, that's right, it's Random Photo Tuesday! And just in case you're wondering what Random Photo Tuesday is, you're in luck, because I'm about to tell you... It's when I post at least one picture of absolutely anything or anyone from any time with an explanation or without. Simple enough right?

Oh and the plan is that I'll do this every Tuesday. That part is important. Because to be honest, the main reason I'm doing this is just to make sure I keep checking in on a regular basis... so I don't fall off the edge of the blogging universe again. You have my permission to kick me in the butt if I don't follow through with this.

So now, for your viewing pleasure, a few random photos, posted on a Tuesday. This time I just chose some very typical moments captured around our house.

The first one is Amanda pulling Alyssa around on a "blanket sled". This scene gets repeated on a very regular basis, not always with a blanket, but with whatever happens to be around - a cardboard box, a laundry basket--if they can sit on it or in it, they will turn it into a mode of transportation if they can.

The next one is typical Amanda, doing the chef thing... I am frequently banned from the kitchen while she comes up with one of her creations... I think this is banana slices topped by grapes, surrounded by a circle of wheat thins. Martha Stewart, look out.

This one is typical Alyssa, wearing an outfit she picked out herself: a glittery ballerina tutu, a superhero cape and some cowboy boots. And she flies through the air with the greatest of ease.

The last one is from just a couple of hours ago when Alyssa tucked Daddy in for a nap. She covered him with her blankie, tucked her teddy bear in next to him under a dish towel and then read them both a bed time story. Well okay, she can't actually read yet, but she did her thing.

Hmm…(with perfectly logical explanation added)

This is the scene I found this morning. And I'm kind of curious about what's going on here. Or maybe I don't really want to know. I'm sure there's a completely innocent explanation like maybe it's just that nightmare where Barbie suddenly realizes she showed up at school naked. Or maybe it's a church service and Eve of "Adam & Eve" fame is the guest speaker but they confiscated her fig leaf at the airport. On second thought, I think it's better if I don't think about it.

Update: So we were on our way home from school today, taking Amanda's friend, Holly, with us. They were planning out their time together, starting with Barbie-time. Holly loves to play Barbies at our house because she says we have the very best Barbie stuff. That's right I finally live at the house with the best Barbie stuff. Not that this is about me.

So Amanda says, "Oh wait 'til I show you what I did...Mom, did Alyssa mess up the Barbies today?"

Me: "Umm, I'm not sure. So what was going on with the Barbies anyway?"

Amanda: "What are you talking about?"

Me: "Well, there was that big line of Barbies and then there was that one Barbie sitting in front of them all... and she was, umm wearing her birthday suit... you know, naked?"

(giggles)

Amanda: "Oh, well she was... she was wearing an imaginary bathing suit."

Me: "Ohhhhhh! Of course she was. I can't believe I didn't notice that. Now I understand."

(Long pause)

Me: "So how come she was the only one wearing her bathing suit in front of all those people?"

(Silence)

Me: "Was she teaching a swim class?"

Amanda: "Yeah, she was."

Me: "Ah, okay. Got it. But umm... If she was teaching a swim class, shouldn't they... oh wait... don't tell me... were they in an imaginary swimming pool?"

Amanda: (clearly horrified) "Mommmmmmm... Can we talk about this later?"

Me: "Oh sure. Later."

If she thinks she's embarassed now, just wait until the next time I take her swimming and I wear my imaginary bathing suit.

Scrapbooking can be hazardous

We narrowly averted some drama on Wednesday. I knew when I made the scrapbook page several years ago that it was risky. I felt like the story should be told though. The whole family knew it already but I wanted it preserved somewhere for historical purposes just in case I got hit by a bus.

I thought maybe I should hide the page away somewhere until Amanda was a bit older because my hope was that she’d be flipping through her books and reading these stories whenever she felt like it and I was already picturing the exact embarassing scenario that almost happened this week.

But knowing how un-sentimental my husband is, if I did actually get hit by a bus, any pages not permanently affixed to the scrapbook would certainly be lost in the Everything Must Go! sale that would be held while the funeral home was still trying to figure out how to disguise the tire marks on my forehead.

So I made the page and put it in her scrapbook and from time to time Amanda pulls the book off the shelf and asks me to read her the stories. I thought I’d only given her the very PG edited version of this particular story, but apparently she knew the specific detail I didn’t want her to know.

So as we were getting ready for school I suddenly remembered, “Oh, today’s your sharing day. Do you have something to share?” They called it show-and-tell when I was a kid, now it’s just “Sharing.” And before they reveal the item they give three clues about it and let their classmates guess what it might be.

Amanda pulled the hot pink stuffed frog out of her backpack to show me and said, “Yeah, I’m taking this and I already know my clues!”

I was only slightly nervous when I said, “Okay, let’s hear ‘em.”

She said, "Okay, 1) It’s pink. 2) It’s really soft. And 3) When I was little I couldn’t say its name right so I really embarrassed my mom in the middle of the store because I yelled out,
“Fok, Fok, FOKKKKKKKKK!!!”

"Umm, we're going to have to rethink that third one. Your principal seems like a nice guy but I don't really want to get a phone call from him today."

Crisis averted this time but there are years worth of opportunities for humiliation ahead of us. I don’t think it would have been as bad as the time the son of a distant relative announced to his classmates during show-and-tell that, “My mommy was wounded in battle!” and then pulled out a pair of his mommy’s bloody panties as evidence.

(In case you missed it, the original fokking story can be found toward the bottom of this post.)

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.

Question of the day

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

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."

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?

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.

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.