5 months old... a few days ago

Okay, in Amanda's baby scrapbook there is a monthly letter that I wrote on a very timely basis (for all you know). No reason Alyssa needs to know her 5-month letter was late, right? Can we all just agree on that right now, please?

3.18.06 (give or take a day or four)

Dear Alyssa,

You're five months old already! I can hardly believe it. You're doing so many new things now. You say "Da-da" and you also know how to grab ahold of your feet and put them in your mouth. This has become an obsessive pastime of yours and I'm afraid you'll have to stop doing that, you know, sometime before you start school. I totally understand though. I love your toes too.

You still love bathtime and the occasional shower with mom. You're not terribly interested in the pacifier anymore. You'll take one on occasion but you prefer to suck on your fingers, almost always the middle two. You don't have any teeth yet, but I'm pretty sure you'll be getting one soon. I think you're teething because you're a little fussier these days than usual and you will try to gnaw on anything within reach…which reminds me that you're reaching for things now…toys, your dad's glasses, your sister's hair.

You roll around a lot but your favorite mode of transportation at the moment (well other than being carried around like a little princess) is scooting. I think you thought this idea up on your own…I haven't noticed other babies doing it. While you're lying on your back you use your legs to get your butt off the ground and then scoot yourself backwards. You scoot all over the place and get rather ticked off when there's an obstacle in your way.

Lately when I put you on your tummy you put both arms in the air and sort of look like you're about to take flight. You played in the grass for the first time the other day at the park. And thanks to your dad, you also went down the slide and rode on this little bouncy tractor thing, all while I was screaming like psycho mommy not to let you get hurt… and umm… taking pictures.

I don't know how to say this, but somebody has to: You are quite possibly the stinkiest baby ever. Most of the time you have that wonderful baby smell and I could just nuzzle your neck forever because you smell as yummy as warm cookies. But you have your moments, Sweetie. I actually have to warn people when you're gassy. And usually they'll say say, "Oh noooooo, not this adorable little thing," but then at some point the look of horror will cross their faces and I'll say, "I tried to warn you." Nope, your poop does not smell like roses which is something I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know about when you’re 17 and I’m sharing this information with your prom date. If, in my baby book, MY mom had so much as hinted toward the fact that I'd ever even pooped, I would have been completely MORTIFIED and probably wouldn't have left my room for years. But you're a member of the T**** Family and in your dad's family, topics way more embarassing than this are discussed on a regular basis, so you may as well just get used to it now. Moving on to sweeter topics, you are LOUD! Well actually you're pretty quiet most of the time but then every once in a while you are REALLY LOUD…and I'm not talking about when you cry. It's not just squealing or babbling either. You actually scream loudly just for the heck of it. Gets me every time too. I'll look over expecting to see that the cat just ate one of your toes but you'll have this huge proud grin on your face, like yep, that was me and then you'll scream a few more times. Makes a mother proud, I tell you… we're going to make quite a team on the roller coasters someday. But it is kind of embarassing to take you in public.
You adore your big sister almost as much as she adores you. She has been a really wonderful big sister to you, right from the beginning. As far as I know she hasn't pinched you or hit you in the head even once. (I have a big brother so I was a bit nervous for you.) I hope you'll appreciate how good she's been to you someday when she is locking you out of her room and trying to tell you that you've ruined her life. The other day after you spit-up all over me and I joked that we were going to return you to the hospital, your sister fought HARD for you to stay. Yep, she said she would miss you way too much, so we've decided to keep you.

We sometimes keep you entertained with your sister's Baby Annabell doll - the one she got for Christmas. Not only does Annabell cry real tears but she babbles and coos like a real baby, which means she's your new best friend. Finally someone who talks the way that you do! When she's around you pretty much ignore the rest of us and have private little baby conversations.

I always thought Amanda was an easy baby, but you're even easier, considering that you don't want to eat every ten minutes and you actually sleep through the night. Have I thanked you for that lately? Thank you Alyssa…really appreciate the sleeping thing… you have no idea how much! One of the things about you that still surprises me is that sometimes when you're crying, all I have to do is flash a huge smile at you and you'll break into a smile too.
You're just a really happy baby and a total joy to have around. Everybody who meets you comments on it. You smile all the time and at everyone. You have this great belly laugh too, especially when I kiss your tummy or when we make loud, scary noises for your amusement. You’re such a goof ball, such a ham–with your big, wet, gummy grin. Despite the moments where I feel worn out from lugging your little hair-pulling self around, I adore you and I wouldn't trade this time with you for anything.

Love,
Mommy

Trying to catch up

I know... I'm getting really bad about keeping this blog up to date. But there's not much excitement around here.

We spent a few days at my mother-in-law's house over the long weekend and had a great time. Amanda kept her Grandma running every single minute. That's them in the picture. (Grandma is getting a well-deserved break after Amanda finally conked out.) They adore each other and have so much fun together.

Now for an update on the girls... Amanda is her usual self... running around, playing dress-up, making lots of noise, dragging out every toy she owns. She tried out her new skates for the first time this month. I hear she did pretty well. I didn't have the nerve to watch. I just bundled her up in safety gear, took a couple of pictures and then left her alone with her dad. I would have ruined the fun anyway by screaming, "be careful" and "watch out" every two seconds. Amanda said it was fun and had no visible injuries so maybe she's not too young for skates after all. (I would have waited until she was either 34 or until they start padding the sidewalks, whichever comes first.)

For some reason everything is about heroes with her in the last couple of weeks. Super Barbie, Super Amanda. She runs around the house with a blanket tied around her neck asking, "Is anybody in trouble? Does anyone need any help?" It's a bird, it's a plane it's Super Amanda... Flying through the house saving her baby sister and her dolls from peril... destroying the house in a single bound. (Sorry about the blurry photo, but superheroes don't slow down or have time to pose for pictures.)

For the life of me, I can't figure out where the hero thing came from. Maybe from Trystan, her friend from next door. Actually it suddenly occurs to me that Amanda's "alter-ego" usually shows up when she's wearing a pair of Trystan's jammies. One night our neighbor sent Amanda home wearing a pair of Trystan's old p.j.'s, (a pair of well-worn Elmo footy jammies with the feet cut off because Trystan had loved them so much that he wasn't ready to give them up even when they started to get a bit too small.) They've been washed and ready to return for months but I keep forgetting to give them back.

When we found out a couple of weeks ago that our neighbors are moving soon (messing up our master plan that Trystan and Amanda would grow up together, fall in love and live happily ever after) I was sad and asked Amanda if she wanted to wear Trystan's jammies that night. Dumb question... of course she did... and has wanted to wear them several times since. No wonder Trystan loved them. They have super powers!

Alyssa had her four month check-up last week and was pronounced healthy, of course. (That's her and Dr. Quan, below.) She was also pronounced an easy baby and happy, happy, happy. That's because the doctor didn't stick around to see how she reacted to her four shots: not happy at all. In fact I'm not sure if I've ever seen her so mad before. And I don't blame her.


She weighs 13 lbs. 8 oz. now and is 24 inches long. For those of you keeping track, that's a full 6 lbs. and nearly 3 inches less than Amanda was at this age. The doctor compares their charts every time we go so this time I asked her to write down the info since people are constantly asking me how big was Amanda at this age? and I can never remember. Alyssa is in the 50th percentile, while Amanda was in the 100th so according to Dr. Quan, Alyssa is officially the little sister.

The doctor asked if Alyssa had been putting her toes in her mouth and I practically hung my head in shame. I've kept them so covered up to keep icicles from forming on them that Alyssa has barely seen her toes, let alone put them in her mouth. Amanda's baby scrapbook has a two page layout about her finding her toes and my, well... somewhat weird obsession with that particular milestone... weird because I was totally laid back about all the other milestones... but the toe milestone was celebrated like no other, mostly just because I find babies playing with their toes completely adorable.

So I've given Alyssa and her toes plenty of alone time this week. And she is fascinated with them. They haven't quite made it into her mouth yet, but they'll get there. Oh and she finally rolled over today, from back to front. She rolled from front to back weeks ago, so now she'll be rolling all over the place.

Alyssa "talked" LOUDLY through the entire episode of 24 last night. That's probably Scott's favorite show at the moment so he was not happy. I like the show too but Alyssa cracked me up. Amanda talks pretty much all day long, non-stop, but Alyssa is pretty quiet unless she really needs something and then she'll cry. Then there are times when she'll just talk and talk and talk. And that time just happened to be during the latest episode of 24.

I remember overhearing my dad tell someone once, "Dione doesn't talk that much so when she does I figure it must be important so I pay attention." I sort of feel that way about Alyssa. Like she might jump in with some wildly interesting tidbit at any moment in between the squealing and the aaaaaaaahhhs.

Scott had finally gotten Amanda to quiet down a bit by telling her to talk inside her head, but when Alyssa started up, well what are you gonna do? He kept turning around to look at us because she was so loud he couldn't hear the show and I'd just give him that sympathetic, "Those darn kids," look and say, "Alyssa, talk inside your head!"

Happy Valentine's Day

From me and my two little sweeties.

New pictures to keep Grandma happy

Two years ago

Two years ago today, I sat by my dad's hospital bedside and said good-bye to him for the very last time.

It's funny to me how some of the details of that day are so crystal clear in my memory while other details have disappeared completely. Like I don't remember the phone call telling me that I needed to get to the hospital immediately. Did my mom call me or was it my sister?

I remember riding to the hospital with my sister, daughter and nieces. But I have no idea if I met my sister at her house or if she picked me up at mine. I have no idea what we talked about during that long ride but I remember thinking that if we just acted like everything was normal that maybe things would turn out okay. We'd come close to losing my dad several times before and this would be just another one of those times. I remember telling myself that everything was going to be just fine but I also remember the voice lurking in the back of my head telling me that it might not be, not this time.

I remember that when we finally arrived at the hospital we all piled out of the car and rushed toward the door. And I'll never ever forget the sight of my brother walking toward us from the other side of the parking lot. The look on his face. The way he was shaking his head. The feeling of the wind suddenly being knocked out of me. I don't remember if it was my voice or my sister's that in a shocked tone said, "He's gone."

And then I remember the intense feeling of relief flooding my body as my brother explained that my mom had kept my dad on life-support so we would all have the chance to say good-bye. I can't imagine that I would have processed the idea of my father on life-support as good news had I not faced the other possibility first. But suddenly I was grateful for the opportunity to hold his hand one last time and to say good-bye.

I remember spending hours and hours by his bedside. Much of it is a blur but I remember talking, laughing, crying and telling lots of funny stories. I remember hoping with everything in me that he could hear us. Hoping he knew we were all there…his wife and kids and grandkids all around him. I remember Amanda dancing around like a goofball, which my dad would have appreciated. And the laughter… I know he would have been happy that there was a lot of laughter in the midst of all the tears. He wouldn't have wanted us to sink into sadness. I remember the moment my mom mentioned that she'd forgotten to turn his hearing aid back on. It had been off all day. I remember being upset at first but then I imagined my dad laughing and thinking isn't it enough that you expect me to hear you through a comatose state but I have to do it without my hearing aid too?

I remember trying to memorize the way my hand felt in his knowing that I'd never get to hold his hand again. I remember staring at the calendar on the wall and thinking that this would be one of those days that would be etched in my memory for all time. February 11 would forever be marked with sadness for me. I remember stealing that page from the calendar as I walked out the door for the last time. I remember the way my sister insisted on staying with him until the very last minute, not wanting him to be alone for even a minute. Until they came to take him away.

One year ago today I found out I was pregnant with Alyssa.

It was completely unexpected. I was writing a letter to my dad… my way of processing my emotions, I guess… when I suddenly had the sensation in my belly like a baby was kicking. Extremely weird since I wasn't pregnant. Must be indigestion...Those two sensations never felt the same to me but still I was asking myself... Geez, what could I possibly have eaten for breakfast that is now kicking me? I felt the same kicking sensation over and over again and kept thinking that even if there was the remotest chance that I could be pregnant, you can't feel kicking until the 16th week at the earliest. Yes, I'm scatterbrained... but even if I WAS pregnant I KNEW I wasn't THAT pregnant. But the kicking sensation went on for hours... what did I eat anyway?

Finally I said out loud, "Okay Dad… Real funny. I know I'm not pregnant but I'll take a pregnancy test." As soon as Scott got home, I went to the store and bought the cheapest pregnancy test they had KNOWING it would be negative and I would be throwing it away three minutes later. But NOOOOOOOO... there were those two little pink lines. I had to take a second test because I didn't quite believe the first one. It was positive too. I was pregnant.

So I decided then that from now on February 11 would have to be about celebrating life…my dad's life and my new baby's… So instead of being sad, I'll spend today being grateful that I had such a wonderful father and maybe wonder a bit which traits his youngest grandchild might inherit from him.

For Christmas 2003, I made my dad a scrapbook called "50 Reasons I Love You." I'm including the journaling below to give you an idea of what kind of father he was and why I miss him so much.

50 Reasons I Love You

1. You taught me by example to make sure the people you love know that you love them.
2. You taught me that I could choose to be happy and that it’s more important to be happy than to be right.
3. You are incredibly patient. How did you raise four kids without losing your mind?
4. You’re funny. You tell great jokes and stories, sometimes over and over and over. (Is that so we won’t forget them?)
5. You always manage to stay unbelievably calm, even under stressful circumstances.
6. You always made me feel safe. I never felt like anything bad could happen to me while I was in you care.
7. You’re one of my favorite people to dance with.
8. You’re always singing. I’ve always felt comforted by that, as if when you are singing everything is right with the world. (I’m not saying that your singing is good, necessarily, but it is comforting!)
9. You taught me that life is too short to hold grudges.
10. Whenever you signed my report cards, you wrote really great comments about me for my teacher to read.
11. You always helped me with my homework.
12. You taught me that it’s okay not to have all the answers, because nobody does. Sometimes it’s okay to say, “I don’t know.” and sometimes the answers are easier than you think:
    · Dione: Why is that woman bald?
    · Dad: Because she has no hair.
13. You made Danny give me the “Kiss Me” ring in exchange for that stupid “NFL” ring when I was five, securing your position as “hero” in my eyes.
14. Whenever I had to have blood tests or get shots you held my hand and let me squeeze as hard as I could.
15. The talks we had when you drove me to school and the long walks while holding your hand meant a lot to me.
16. You taught me by example not to let little things bother me, to roll with the punches.
17. You once explained to me that when you asked me to clean my room, you were really only hoping to be able to see at least part of the floor.
18. You taught us the importance of safety. You insisted we wear seatbelts long before it was the law. (You used to reach back and PINCH us if we forgot to put them on, so I rarely forgot!) And thanks to you, I will never ever cook while wearing long loose sleeves since I imagine I would burst into flames if I even considered it.
19. You made me promise you I wouldn’t get married until I was at least 25.
20. You chauffeured me to my senior prom, filled the limo full of balloons while you waited for us, and saw to it that we had a wonderful time.
21. You taught me the importance of being able to laugh at myself.
22. You’re a hard worker. You worked hard to support our family and take care of the house, the yard, and the cars. And now that you’re retired it seems like you’re always working around the house and frequently pouring cement (What’s up with all that cement?).
23. You’re one of the wisest people I know and you give great advice.
24. You encouraged me to do the things I love.
25. You give great hugs, and I get at least one every time I see you.
26. You taught me how to treat people:
    - Be generous with praise and sparse with criticism.
    - Treat people with respect; treat them like you would want to be treated.
    - When someone gives you a compliment, just say “Thank you!” (Don’t try to convince them of being wrong.)
    - When someone insults you, say “Thank you.” (It will blow that person’s mind).
    - Admit when you’re wrong. People will respect you for it.
    - Always look people in the eye and SMILE. (You said that I’d be surprised how many people would smile at me if I smiled first, and it’s true!)
27. You made us get all dressed up in Christmas jammies and do a photo-shoot.
28. You encouraged my love of writing. You taught me that if I didn’t know the meaning of a word, to look it up in the dictionary. You read my papers and gave me constructive criticism. You told me to write to be understood, not to impress.
29. I inherited my fabulous sense of direction from you. 3? 5? 4? 6???
30. You taught me that life isn’t all fun & games by having Danny & I spend Saturday mornings doing yard work (Man, I HATED that!!!).
31. You’re brave. You’ve faced your battle with leukemia head on, somehow maintaining a positive attitude and doing whatever you had to do to fight this horrible disease. I don’t think I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you. Your strength amazes me!
32. You bought me my first camera and then patiently taught me how to take great pictures.
33. You make great breakfasts, especially your biscuits and poached eggs (but why did you have to make the scrambled eggs green?).
34. You always said you had a blast raising us kids, which made me look forward to having kids of my own.
35. You have always been there for the most important moments in my life.
36. You have always been able to fix what’s broken (plus you made a very cool light-box for me!).
37. You were always there to encourage me when I was afraid to do something. Even now, when I’m nervous about trying something, I hear your voice in my head asking, “What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?”
38. When you had to give me spankings, you always said, “This is going to hurt me worse than it’s going to hurt you.” (A nice thought but I still don’t believe it!)
39. You always said, “Never look a gift-horse in the mouth.” I understood the concept, but for years I wondered, “What the heck is a gift-horse and WHY shouldn’t you look it in the mouth???”
40. Mom could have done a lot worse. Two words: Bald redhead.
41. You always told me that I was adaptable, that you thought I could survive in any situation. I never really believed that about myself, but the fact that YOU believed it made me think there was a chance it might actually be true.
42. You always told me not to worry about what other people think of me.
43. I have always felt lucky to be your daughter. I always loved being able to “show you off” to my friends. And they all loved you too. In fact, everyone who knows you loves you!
44. You’re the only one I ever wanted to walk me down the aisle. And one of my favorite wedding moments was when you were asked, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" and you responded, "Her mother and I do FINALLY. She's our baby and she's a good one so you better be good to her, Scott, or…”
45. You always tried to be fair... like spanking both Danny and I even when it was Danny that caused the problem, so that he didn’t feel singled out...Wait a second, that wasn’t FAIR!
46. You’re a wonderful grandpa.
47. You always told me that there is no point in worrying. “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?”
48. I can always count on you to tell me I’m beautiful, even when I don’t feel beautiful.
49. You taught me to hide an extra car key somewhere on my car and an extra house-key outside my house (Just these two simple ideas have saved my butt about a million times!).
50. I’ve never had to wonder how you felt about me. You have always made me feel loved, always made me feel special, and always told me that you’re proud of me. You’ll never know how much that means to me.
    

On the agenda this week at our house...

Finger-eating and finger-painting. Just don't try to do both at the same time.

Just sharing a picture

Here's Amanda in one of the new sweaters she got for Christmas. Thanks Grandma!

People told me that Amanda would suddenly look much older when I brought the new baby home and it's so true. She just looks like such a little girl here. Where did my baby go?

Can she really be three months old?

Yep, it's true. Alyssa turned three months old yesterday. I just love this age. She's cooing like a crazy woman. I can be in the worst mood ever and she flashes me one of those smiles, throws in a big enthusiastic gaaaaaaaaaaaah and I'm just falling all over myself. We have long conversations now. I just wish I knew what she was saying.

She still seems so small to me, which I am truly grateful for. Amanda flew through the tiny baby stage in about a minute and a half, I think. Alyssa can still wear most of her size 0 – 3 months clothes and I love that. At Alyssa's last appointment, her doctor made a point of telling me several times that she is average. (She doesn't have kids or she would know better than to tell a mother that her child is average. Average? Are you kidding me? Can't you see that she is spectacular in every single way?) She was only referring to Alyssa's size though. She's in the 55th percentile, which is tiny compared to her sister, who was a little butterball baby and was already off the charts in height and weight by this age.

She loves her pacifier but if it's not available she will happily put her fingers in her mouth, as many fingers as she can, as a matter of fact. She slurps so loudly and enthusiastically that it sounds like she's devouring some sinful dessert. Every once in a while I want to yank those little fingers out of her mouth to make sure she hasn't found my chocolate stash. Alyssa is fascinated by her hands, frequently staring at one of her fists as if it's just the coolest thing she's ever seen. (I remember I thought it was odd when Amanda did this but I guess it's a normal baby thing…or perhaps both of my children are freaks.) She's still sleeping through the night. (Thank you Alyssa!) She loves her swing, her mobile, and her rattle. Her sister is continually offering up a wide variety of other toys for her enjoyment but mostly gets a pretty unenthusiastic response.

Oh! Alyssa laughed for the first time a few days ago. I was washing her face with a warm washcloth and she started giggling. She did it a couple of times but then stopped. Later that night, Scott made a loud noise and it startled her. Her whole body jerked and I thought she might cry, but instead she laughed. So of course he repeated the loud scary stuff over and over again. She would laugh each time, which was just about the cutest sound on earth so then we would all laugh. But since then, she hasn't laughed even once, despite our repeated annoying attempts to get her to do so. I know… her face can only get so clean and if Scott doesn't knock it off with all the "BOO!" stuff we'll have to put her on anxiety medication before she hits the six-month mark. She's probably thinking we need to get some better material and don't think we're not trying.

Did I mention that I'm loving every minute of this? I am. But why does she have to grow up? I keep finding myself trying to memorize every single detail about her yummy little baby-self… the way she wraps all of her fingers around my pinky, the smell of her little fuzzy head, the sound of her sweet voice, the big drooling gummy smile she breaks into if you even so much as glance in her general direction… I find myself watching her while she sleeps and I keep wishing there was a way to freeze time somehow. But then I remind myself that I've felt exactly the same way about Amanda at every single age along the way.

Every age and stage they go through is wonderful for different reasons. (Well the screaming tantrum stage is not exactly delightful.) I know it will only get better but I still plan to enjoy every minute of this stage. So when she falls asleep in my arms I won't be rushing to put her down so I can finish the laundry or anything silly like that. Clean socks are highly overrated anyway.

Aren't they sweet when they're sleeping?

I know, I know… where have I been?

I just disappeared for a while, didn't I? Sorry about that. I've been busy and trying to stay off the computer so I could get some work done around here.

After packing up all the Christmas stuff I had my annual new-year-new-start desire to get the house totally clean and organized. So I did what I do every year when this desire comes over me: I told myself to sit tight and the urge would pass.

No, I'm kidding. I started cleaning. I started organizing. I started tossing out a humongous amount of crap. I still have a ways to go but things are looking up.

Scott actually tried to get Amanda and I to start the decluttering process before Christmas, but it didn't go well. Actually it went a little something like this:

Scott explains to Amanda that in order to make space for all of the new toys she'll be getting for Christmas, she will have to get rid of some of the toys she has now, the things that she doesn't play with anymore. He tells her that we will give them away to other little boys and girls who don't have as many toys as she does.

I start twitching uncomfortably. I know Amanda won't want to part with any of her toys. This isn't gonna be pretty.

Amanda, completely unfazed, scans her bedroom: Hmm, okay… I can get rid of that teddy bear.

Me: Which teddy bear? That one? What? Grandma gave you that teddy bear when you were born. You LOVE that teddy bear. Scott, she loves that teddy bear. She was just carrying it around yesterday. See how beat-up that bear is? That's called LOVE. We're keeping the bear. Amanda you love that bear.

Amanda, looking confused: Okay, I wanna keep the bear.

Scott, shaking his head and shooting me dirty looks: Okay what else could you get rid of?

Amanda looking at me, hesitantly: Okay, the frog…we can get rid of the frog.

Me: Which frog? Not the pink one…Fok? How can you get rid of Fok? You can't get rid of Fok!

(Many of you have heard the Fok story. Remember Fok? Can you believe she wanted to get rid of FOK??? For those of you who haven't heard the story, I'll try to dig it up and post it here so you'll understand why I couldn't bear to part with Fok. It's one of my favorite stories from a couple of years ago, though please be warned there is rough language involved.)

Amanda: Umm, I think I wanna keep the frog.

I realized at that moment that as much as I wanted to believe I was teaching Amanda to value her belongings, it was highly possible that I was actually destining her to a lifetime of psychotic hoarding so she'd end up one of those lonely old ladies with 14 cats living in a house piled high with endless boxes full of crap because she'd never been able to part with any object she'd ever come in contact with.

So I decided Mommy needed a time-out and we should attack the clutter issue a little later. Like after Christmas when I was feeling a lot less sentimental because it had become nearly impossible to walk through the house without stepping on some kind of toy. That was all the inspiration I needed to help me get ruthless.

Actually I think I might have made a complete turnaround when it comes to all of these stupid toys. I think I'm now turning into the wicked evil mother I never wanted to be. I spent my whole childhood feeling utterly deprived because none of my Barbies ever had shoes. They'd have them for all of two minutes and then somehow they would mysteriously disappear never to be seen again. All of my friends' Barbies had shoes, but not mine, ever. I was determined that one day I would buy my daughters those little multi-packs of tiny shoes. That's the kind of mom I was going to be.

And yet here I was not even two weeks after Christmas just wanting to accidentally suck those pointy little shoes up into the vacuum right along with the Christmas tree needles. You'd think I'd at least feel some guilt over it but really, not so much. I keep telling myself it's because those tiny shoes present a choking hazard to Alyssa and that you can't feel guilt over trying to save your kid's life (plus they hurt like a @#%$ when you step on them) but I still can't help feeling like I'm turning cold and heartless.

Oh well.

So I spent a day going through all of Amanda's toys, tossed a bunch, bagged up a bunch for charity, put some stuff in the attic and stored the rest in neatly labeled rubbermaid containers. The room is pristine and I expect it to remain this way for at least another 10 minutes in case anyone wants to stop by and see it.

No, I could not bear to part with the teddy bear or Fok. I'm not that cold and heartless. And I'll have you know that yesterday when Amanda was inconsolable over some great tragedy (she probably dropped an M&M behind the couch or something) she laid there on the floor moaning, "I want my teddy bear, I want my teddy bear." She would probably still be lying on the floor if I'd trashed the bear. Occasionally Mommy does know best, okay?

And now the story of Fok, the hot pink Frog… These are old pictures… both of them have aged a bit and Fok is looking a lot more loved these days.



August 8, 2004

After a recent horrifying shopping experience, I was NOT anxious to go shopping with Amanda again, but I was desperate. Mommy needed a new pair of shoes. So we had a little chat in the car about what a good girl she was going to be. She said, "yes yes, good gullllll" and I made sure she understood what she had to do to qualify as a good girl. (I know, I know... I hate the good girl/bad girl labels, but desperate times call for desperate measures) I explained how she would hold my hand until we got inside and then sit in the stroller the whole time we were inside without screaming or begging to get up, "yeah, good gull... hode han...sih stroh..." She said it so convincingly too, over and over again as if it was silly of me to even question it.

Well I have to say she did a lot better than I expected. She held my hand until we got right in front of the oncoming car and then she went limp like spaghetti and dropped to the asphalt so I would pick her up. Fine, fine... She happily got into the stroller, no biggie. The entrance we walked through took us directly into the kid section - toys right there in her face. I hoped that it would at least temporarily trick her into believing we'd come to a fun place with really great stuff instead of where we really were: a big, stupid, boring department store.

So we happily strolled along for a good twenty to thirty seconds before she started yelling, "GEH UP! GEH UP!!!!" and we had to go over the good-girl talk again. The talk was rather rudely interrupted by her yelling loudly, "Fok!!! Fok! FOKKKKK!!!"

I was horrified, of course, but it turned out she wasn't actually swearing like a sailor, but instead she was trying to say "frog," which I finally figured out because she was desperately motioning toward a hot pink stuffed frog while yelling these profanities. I fetched it for her immediately hoping it would quiet her down. And it did for a bit. But as it is when she learns any new words, she likes to try them out repeatedly. So we strolled through the store with her chanting, "fok, fok, fok!" and me loudly saying, "Oh you love that FROG, don't you, Sweetie! It's such a nice FROG."

That was one quick shopping trip, let me tell you. Though I managed to find some really cute sandals to throw in my cart. When we reached the cash register I was afraid to take the frog away from her, but it was that or shoplifting, because you better believe that thing was going home with us. I pried it out of her little hands and threw it on the counter explaining to Amanda that she could have it back in a second, at which time she screamed in horror, "FOKKKKK! Fok! Fokkkkk..." I turned to the woman in line behind me and with my cheeks, bright red, I exclaimed loudly enough for the whole line to hear, "She sure does love this FROG!"

And that's why Amanda and I are never going shopping together again.

Happy 2006!

Midnight at our house...

My party girl was sleeping and my sleeping girl was partying.

Happy New Year to all!!!

My Goofy Girls

These definitely aren't the best pictures but they make me smile every time I look at them. Hope they make you happy too. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Magic

It was two days before Christmas when I decided I couldn't put it off any longer…it was time to head to the mall to see Santa. Amanda has seen Santa every year but never at the mall. We saw him at PeopleSoft parties her first two years and then at Disneyland last year. It's not Santa Claus that scares me, because I love Santa. It's the thought of standing in a really long line with an impatient three year-old and all those other impatient children that completely terrifies me.

Scott tried to talk me out of it. He figures Amanda is so young that she wouldn't care or notice that she hadn't seen Santa. But I can't help thinking that they're little for such a very short time and it's our job as their parents to cram as much magic and wonder into these years as we possibly can.

So we were at the end of a very long Santa line when Scott went off to do some research. After talking to several other frazzled parents, he determined that the wait from where we were standing would be at least two hours plus Santa would be taking a lunch break. How long does it take Santa to eat anyway? So we were probably facing about a three-hour wait. That's like six years in Amanda time. If it had just been Amanda and I, I probably would have braved it, but Scott was with me and I had a two-month-old strapped to my chest. I was afraid things could get ugly.

We'd been chatting with the family ahead of us in line and they were debating the idea of leaving too. They mentioned that they'd heard Santa was going to be out in front of a house in our area later that night. As the woman tried to explain to us where the house was, we realized it was probably the same house Amanda and I had visited last weekend, the one I talked about in my Holiday Lights story below. That sort of clinched it for me because I already knew there was something magical about that house.

Amanda was not happy that we weren't staying to see Santa. Let's just say that there were tears involved and that I was glad we were near an exit. She did calm down once we promised her that we would be going to see Santa later that night. But even as I promised her, in the back of my mind I kept thinking, what if he's not there?

The later it got, the more nervous I got. The weather was pretty crummy and I was afraid Santa might not show up if it rained. I told Amanda several times that there was a possibility that Santa wouldn't be there. You know, if there was some kind of emergency at the North Pole for instance. But I was really hoping.

Unfortunately when we drove up to the house about ten minutes after we'd heard he was supposed to arrive, Santa was nowhere in sight. We drove around the neighborhood for a while thinking maybe Santa was at some other house, but we didn't see him anywhere. We drove back to that same house, still hoping, but no Santa.

Finally I had to tell Amanda that we weren't going to see Santa Claus. She started to cry and I couldn't blame her because I wanted to cry too. I felt like I'd totally blown it as a parent. So much for magic and wonder. I reminded her that she had written a letter to Santa so he knew what she wanted for Christmas and that she'd been a good girl so everything was under control. But that didn't help much.

I was quickly trying to come up with a consolation prize and in the meantime I said, "Hey, let's get out and go look at the lights. We can take some pictures!" I was secretly hoping that maybe Santa was hiding inside and might come out if he saw us out there.

As luck would have it, a man came out of the house but he wasn't wearing a red suit. He appeared to be in a hurry, running back and forth to his truck but I quickly told him that his decorations were beautiful and asked him if it was okay if we took some pictures. He was incredibly nice and said absolutely… that's what they were there for, for people to enjoy. He said it was too bad we hadn't come the night before because Santa had been there.

Acch! It was official. We missed him!!! I said, "Oh! Too bad. We heard he was supposed to be here tonight."

When he was sure that Amanda wouldn't be able to hear, he said that unfortunately he had to be somewhere in 15 minutes, he had a party to go to, or otherwise maybe he would be able to help. It seemed that a visit with Santa was just not in our future. I pretended to be cheerful and said, "Oh, no problem!" Thanked him again and told him that would enjoy the lights and he went back into his house.

A few minutes later, the man came out of his house again and asked me how much time we had. All the time in the world, of course. He said, "Well if you can wait about 15 minutes, Santa will be here."

That was the second time in less than a week that I found myself trying not to cry in front of this house. I was incredibly moved that he would take the time to do this for a total stranger when he clearly had other places to go. What a great guy! I can only assume that while he should have been getting ready to leave for his party, he instead went inside and gave Santa Claus a call and convinced him to make a special appearance just for Amanda! Wasn't that sweet? Have no fear, there are still good people in this world!

Before we knew it, Santa arrived. The details of the visit are a little blurry because I turned into a total goofball as soon as he showed up. I swear I felt like I was five again. I was giddy… Santa! I had to keep reminding myself that I was the parent so I didn't fall all over myself. I do know that Santa asked Amanda what she wanted for Christmas and she said a baby doll that cries real tears. (Yep, I know… we have a real live baby that cries real live tears, but she wants one with an on/off switch.) I tried to take a few pictures of her and Santa. Most of them are blurry, but I love them anyway. Thank you Santa for making a little girl's (and her Mommy's) Christmas very, very special. This will always be one of my very favorite Christmas memories.

Happy Holidays to everyone!

Holiday lights

I took Amanda for a drive last night to look at the Christmas…err Holiday... lights. Scott asked me to pick up dinner while we were out because I think the thought of taking a drive just to take a drive was probably painful for him... but anyway it was so cool checking out the lights with her. We're definitely adding the Holiday Lights Drive as a new tradition.

Scott told me about a house that really went all out with the decorations this year so we headed in that direction. It wasn't the Arlington from my childhood, but I figure for Amanda it was. So we got out of the car to take a closer look. We were the only ones out there and I, being my mother's daughter, was a little paranoid, imagining the news headlines: Mother and young daughter blugeoned to death while enjoying holiday light display.

But, hard as I tried, I couldn't talk Amanda back into the car because she was slowly taking in each and every decoration as if it were simply the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. Look at the elves on the teeter-totter! Look at the reindeer, they're dancing! There's Baby Jesus! They have three wisemen just like we do!

So I decided to make the best of it and forced myself to step out of my uptight it's cold and raining and we could get killed out here parent role and tried to imagine how the scene must look from Amanda's point-of-view and you know what? It was really beautiful... miraculous and completely magical, as a matter of fact, you know with the Christmas carols playing and Baby Jesus sharing space with the elves. God was in his heaven, Santa was on the roof and all was right with the world.

For a moment I actually tried to figure out how I could talk Scott into getting an over-the-top display for our own front lawn to spread the joy a little. Only for a moment because we all know that would so NEVER happen. Just imagine our PG&E bill. And instead of Christmas carols there would be the joyful sound of Scott swearing about all the jerks parked in front of our house.

But that's okay because a couple of weeks ago we happened to pull into our driveway while the guy across the street was setting up a small and very tasteful display on his front lawn (they're a young couple with no kids). He told Amanda that she'd be able to see the lights from our window and he seemed really happy about that, which I thought was sweet.

A couple of days ago while doing the "Amanda Interview," (hopefully another new annual tradition at our house) I asked Amanda, "Who are your favorite people in the whole wide world?" Her response: "Brian, Roony, and Grandma." I (determined not to sway her answers in any way, of course), asked, "What about Mommy & Daddy? We don't even make the long list?"

She said, "Yeah they're my favorite people too. Oh. And the guy across the street."

I couldn't figure which guy she was talking about until she finally explained, "You know, the guy who put up the reindeer for me." Oh right, him.

So anyway, the Holiday Lights Drive was a success and apparently it made quite the impression on Amanda too. Just a minute ago I asked her, "What was your favorite thing about going to see the Christmas lights last night?" and she enthusiastically responded,"What Christmas lights???"

Little People in a Manger

The newest addition to our Christmas decorations can be seen at left: the Fisher Price Little People Deluxe Christmas story.

We had a nativity scene at our house when I was growing up. My grandma had several. My aunt has collected them from her travels all over the world and I swear she has so many that there seems to be one on every flat surface of her house. Even her washer and dryer hold manger scenes. I'm not kidding.

We only have one nativity set, the Little People one, because as much as I enjoyed looking at these scenes when I was a kid, there also seemed to be something cruel about them... All of those little dolls and animals that I wasn't allowed to play with. Man I hate myself every time I utter those words that I hated so badly as a child: Don't touch, just look. So as soon as I saw this set, I knew we had to have it.

I stole the picture above from the Fisher Price website. Ours looks just like that, of course. Well in the Martha Stewarty portion of my brain I imagine that ours looks just like that. Except at our house all the Little People sets get mixed together and played with at the same time.

So at our house, sometimes Mary and Joseph drive a hot-pink minivan and sometimes the policeman rides a camel. One of our wisemen (the one pictured front and center) is a woman. Amanda swears it and she's probably right. We're all for equal rights at our house. Our wisemen don't come bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh either. Our wisemen come bearing pennies, spaghetti and pork. I have no idea where Amanda came up with that but I like to think she just has some natural womanly instinct for gift-giving. Somehow she knows that what new parents really need is a lot of money and a hot meal every now and then.

Can birth control make you crazy?

I would have thought it was just me but Scott skipped - blammo - right over the postpartum insanity question and asked me if maybe the birth control was messing with me. I am apparently behaving like a psycho lunatic. I'm not sure if those are my words or his. But unfortunately they seem fitting either way.

Really, besides asking dumb questions, he's trying to be so sweet too. It being our anniversary today, well yesterday... at several points I just wanted to say, no actually yell... can't you just act like a jerk so I don't have to feel guilty for acting like a psycho lunatic?

So I did just go on birth control as of Thursday... this thing called a NuvaRing... The doctor had three options for me since I'm breastfeeding... one was the progesterone-only pill... none of the benefits of estrogen, safest for the baby... but for that one it was critical that it be taken not only every day but at the same time each day. I immediately crossed that option off my list. I often forget to eat these days. Did I shower today? I think so, but this pill is not for me.

Option two, another pill but with some estrogen... still gotta take the pill at roughly the same time each day.

Or option three, the NuvaRing - this plastic ring that sits in your vagina and slowly releases a low dose of hormones into your system... has some estrogen but less than option two AND I only have to think about it once a month. Well not that I don't think about it. Actually every time I have to sneeze I wonder if it will go flying across the room... but umm, other than that...Oh...and get this, you know the 3 weeks on, 1 week off for your period routine for the pill? The doctor said I could do it the same way with the ring... or I can just leave it in for 4 weeks and then put in a new one... cuz who needs a freakin' period anyway? So hmm... lemme think... try to remember to take a pill every day and get a period every three weeks or only think about this ring thing once a month and no period. Hmmm... tough choice. It's really a great alternative.

Unless it happens to be the thing that's making me crazy. Or is it the fact that going on birth control is forcing me to deal with the fact that Alyssa is probably my last baby... is that what's making me crazy?

Or it could be that Scott is on vacation for the next two weeks... so as of Friday he entered the "vacation zone" or something like that. Welcome to my personal hell. So let me get this straight... you actually think you're gonna get three meals a day? And sex too? I don't care that I'm on birth control now and that you would like to find out if you're one of the 8 out of 10 men who does not even notice the ring or one of the 2 out of 10 who aren't bothered by it if they do notice. I just changed the sixth poopy diaper of the day, Alyssa cries every time I put her down, I feel like I haven't bathed since Easter and I don't care that you're on vacation and need a break.

Yesterday he played golf all day, then went out for drinks with his buddies while I was at home doing about fifty loads of laundry with one arm because - did I mention that Alyssa cries every time I put her down? And that's not the norm for her... just since she's been on birth control, or since I have... or since her mother who, normally pretty calm though scattered, has suddenly turned into a psycho lunatic.

Or is it all the crying that has made me crazy?

Oh but where I was going with the laundry thing is that I was trying to get ready for our trip to my mother-in-law's house. And dreading that little trip with every unbathed inch of my body. No, I think I showered yesterday. Did I? I was not looking forward to going to my mother-in-law's. And that had absolutely nothing to do with my mother-in-law. I love her, I do. But just the thought of leaving home for several days. I mean even just the thought of packing all that stuff just almost flattened me... just overwhelmed me... I always just WAY overpack when I do stuff with his family because I imagine my mother-in-law's voice in my head... Oh it's okay that you didn't bring the matching lavender socks. Oh. You forgot to bring pajamas? Oh. Don't worry. I'll go buy diapers. I guess you FORGOT.

And no, my mother-in-law is not like that. Not at all. I adore her, I do. And no, I don't think I've forgotten anything ever. Not since that time when Amanda was about 4 months old and I felt like the worst mother on the planet because I hadn't packed baby powder and apparently my baby desperately NEEDED baby powder for the little rash she had on her neck because she was such a roly-poly baby and had all those little rolls on her fat little neck. And me, without baby powder. Never mind that I had previously made the decision not to use baby powder on my baby ever because they say it's unnecessary and can be very dangerous since babies can inhale the stuff. I still felt really guilty about not having it.

Note to self: in the future pack everything that you might possibly use as well as everything that you would never even consider using... because your mother-in-law may ask for it. Oh and guess what? They now sell baby powder in liquid form... So you can give your baby that fresh baby smell without, you know, endangering her life.

So was it the impending trip to my mother-in-law's -- and the intense feelings of dread that went with it -- that made me crazy?

Or is it that after I packed 57 outfits apiece for both Amanda and Alyssa... you know just in case, because it could snow or there might be a hot streak... that I realized that I had pretty much nothing to pack for myself. What on earth was I thinking when I got rid of all my fat clothes? I'm pretty much living in sweats these days. And one pair of my old jeans... which I can deal with for an hour or two at a time and then I need my circulation back. And they actually only fit because they're the low-rise kind... and my jelly-like belly just hangs nicely over the top. Yeah, now that's a pretty picture, just trust me. Thank goodness it's winter and I can get away with wearing a long jacket... But anyway, barring maternity clothes or sweats, I had nothing to pack. Oh and my hair is so overdue for a cut that I could probably be declared legally blind because my bangs are in my eyes constantly. Oh and I just totally stood up my hairdresser because I'm an idiot.

After my doctor appointment on Thursday, if I'd had a brain, I was supposed to come home, feed Alyssa and then head out a couple hours later for my haircut appointment. Except that I arrived home to Alyssa screaming at the top of her lungs while I tried to unload a trunkful of groceries because Scott and Amanda were playing this really fun joke where they pretended to be asleep...but of course Amanda just talked and talked because pretending to sleep involves a lot of questions... but they did manage to ignore both Alyssa's screaming and me with a trunkful of perishables. And then Scott lectured me because Alyssa had a blowout in her diaper and he was just sure that she'd had it before I left but that I'd chosen to run off on my merry way so he could deal with it. Trust me, I did not. Not that I'm above doing it in the future, but this time I DID NOT.

He was not only upset that he had to deal with the messy diaper but he also doesn't know where I keep her clothes (2nd drawer from the bottom) so he - poor baby - had to find them all by himself. This, apparently, was almost as bad as when he has to operate the sippy cups on his own. So anyway... between trying to console an hysterical baby, arguing with my husband and then finally discussing the joys of the ring. I totally, completely forgot all about my hair appointment. It was almost two hours after I'd missed it that it finally crossed my mind.

So is it that I'm fat and my hair looks like crap and that I've probably really pissed off the only woman who can give me a decent haircut... is that what has made me crazy?

Or is it that I'm not getting any sleep because I either lay around watching my baby sleep or stay up writing long rambling emails? Is that what has made me crazy?

Or is it postpartum depression? I know, Tom Cruise would suggest vitamins and exercise. But I swear I was just fine before. Before I went on birth control and Scott went on vacation. Before Alyssa started in with the crying jags and I started dreading the trip to my mother-in-law's and before I started focusing on the fact that I'm fat and have nothing to wear and I've pissed off my hairdresser. I really think that before that I was doing pretty good.

Oh! And guess what... we're not going to my mother-in-law's now. I'm sure I've completely pissed her off now too. Add that to the list. But I know I was crazy before that because when Scott and I were arguing about who was going to call her to tell her we weren't coming he threatened to tell her that we weren't coming because I was going through some stuff and was acting like a psycho lunatic. I told him that sounded like just about as good a reason as any and handed him the phone.

Six years, already?

I wrote this for Scott several months ago before my birthday. I guess he shared it with a couple of friends and he tells me that it is now circulating on email. He says people want to know if he actually did these things. Well I'm here to confirm...umm, yes! (You can't make this stuff up.) And I love him anyway. So in honor of our wedding anniversary, I'm sharing:

SCOTT'S SIMPLE GUIDE TO BIRTHDAYS, HOLIDAYS AND ANNIVERSARIES
(Or How Not To Screw Up The Days That I Will Remember
For The Rest Of My Life. Yes, My Memory is Really THAT Long )
First Edition July '05

Like it or not, birthdays and holidays are important to me. Maybe it's hard for you to understand because they don't mean much to you, but in my mind these days are supposed to be special. Birthdays are important to me. Blowjobs are important to you. Get my point?

I know these days stress you out because you think I'm totally impossible to please so I've put together this list of DO's and DON'Ts to help you out. Please note that nearly every one of the DON'Ts is based on an actual past birthday/holiday experience with you. You may have forgotten some of these special moments, but I just can't! Most of them are included only for the purposes of humor so don't think I'm trying to be bitchy. A few of them are included just because I'm being bitchy. What can I say? I've been told I'm always a bitch on my birthday and tomorrow is my birthday so deal with it.

GENERAL TIPS:

DO just be nice to me. Small gestures go a long way. Bring me a cup of coffee. Do the dishes or change a diaper or two so I don't have to.

DO NOT tell me I'm moody; DO NOT tell me I'm grumpy. DO NOT tell me that I am always a bitch on my birthday. I don't care if you think it's true. I don't even care if it actually IS true. DO NOT say it ever, ever again.

DO NOT act so damn surprised that I don't want to spend my birthday weekend at your mother's house even though they have two tee-times set up and one of your golf games will be free. It is MY birthday. It is not YOUR birthday.

DO get me some kind of dessert on my birthday. Put candles in it and sing Happy Birthday. This may seem silly to you, but it's important to me. I'm not asking you to bake me a cake, just get me some kind of dessert and at least one candle. If you want to score really big points, mudd pie is a good choice, and apple pie (especially French apple pie from Baker's Square) is a sentimental favorite.

DO NOT tell me that you don't have to do anything for me for Mother's Day because I am not your mother. I am the mother of your children, Sweetie, and like it or not you need to treat me like Queen for a Day.

DO NOT take me to see your ex-wife on my birthday even if we are in the neighborhood and you haven't seen her in a long time. Especially if I have told you in no uncertain terms that I do not want to go see your ex-wife. Do not call her when I'm out of hearing distance and then insist we HAVE to go see your ex-wife because she really wants us to stop by and you don't want to hurt her feelings. Trust me, your current wife's feelings are ALWAYS more important than your ex-wife's feelings. This is especially true on her birthday, especially if she is seven months pregnant with your baby.

DO NOT insist that everything I ask for on my birthday is secret code for something else. I figured out a long, long time ago that you do not pick up on subtle hints or even completely obvious ones. I do not expect you to read my mind. If I say I want pizza it means I want pizza. I am not testing you. I am not secretly hoping you will take me out for a six-course meal. Just get me a damn pizza. (And while we are here, DO NOT try to talk me into a cheaper brand of pizza, DO NOT ask me to find a coupon for the pizza, and DO NOT ask me to go pick up the pizza myself.)

DO NOT expect me to make all the plans. I HATE making plans; it's like punishment to me. You can ask me what I want to do. You can come up with a few ideas and ask me to choose the one I want (i.e. "I'll get a babysitter and we can go out for dinner and a movie OR I'll watch the kid(s) for a few hours while you go out shopping OR we could go camping at Lake Winnie-PoohPooh), but don't just say, "We can do whatever you want, you figure it out." I hate that.

DO NOT make me do some crummy chore on any holiday or birthday (i.e. making me pick rocks out of the dirt on Mother's Day while you entertain Brian and his kids who are hanging out at our house because his wife's gift was a fabulous massage chair and a day to herself.)


CARDS AND GIFTS:

A gift is not required (it's nice, it's very appreciated, it earns you major points in the good husband department, but it isn't required). But DO get me a card. No excuses. You can make it with a broken crayon and a piece of toilet paper if you have to.

DO NOT proudly announce that while chatting with the guys at work about what they were all doing for their wives for Mother's Day that you told them you know me really well and that cards are not important to me (especially DO NOT make this announcement while I'm knee-deep in cardstock because I'm hand making Mother's Day cards for our mothers and your grandmothers specifically because I think cards are important). DO NOT then go on to say that you told them you know what I would really like is for you to give me money to go shopping while you stay home and watch Amanda (which I really would love) if you do not intend to follow through with that offer but instead plan to make me spend Mother's Day picking rocks out of the dirt while you entertain Brian and his kids.

Again, gifts are not required but if you decide to get me a gift:

DO NOT tell me that the most recent home improvement project is my gift (i.e. don't tell me on Valentine's Day that the bathroom that we had to redo because the floor was rotting out is my Valentine's gift. And don't tell me on Mother's Day that the backyard is my gift. I'm not stupid. We were going to redo the backyard anyway. Though I do appreciate the work you put into home improvement projects, let's not pretend these projects are special gifts just for me.)

You DO NOT have to buy me flowers but if you do, please DO NOT complain about how much they cost or whine about how they are going to die soon. (What I will actually hear is, "Man, I just wasted a whole bunch of money on you and I totally regret it.")

DO NOT choose my gift based on someone else's preferences but if you do, please DO NOT tell me that's how you chose the gift (i.e. DO NOT hand me the blue sweatshirt and explain to me that you know I hate the color blue and you know I would much rather have had the purple one, but the girl in the shop's favorite color was blue and she was really cute!)

DO NOT feel the need to explain to me that all of my stocking stuffer gifts were freebies you got from work.

DO NOT get me a gift that I have never expressed any interest in whatsoever (i.e. don't spend a whole lot of time debating between the bicycle or the golf clubs. I do not want either one. But if you do decide to give me the bicycle, DO NOT feel the need to throw in a pair of bike shorts with a CONTROL TOP tummy panel. And while I'm at it, let me just say DO NOT buy me any piece of clothing, beauty product, exercise item or surgical procedure that is meant to improve my figure flaws unless I have specifically begged for it many, many times. It will take many times because you should refuse my first two hundred requests on the basis that "Sweetie, you don't need that turbo girdle/treadmill/boob lift because you are perfect just the way you are!")

DO give me a gift early (i.e. This camera is for your birthday next month) but DO NOT announce on my birthday that something I got months ago is actually my birthday gift (i.e. yeah the printer we bought in April WAS your birthday gift.)

DO NOT let your ex-wife pick out my gift. I don't care if those dresses came from Paris and cost an outrageous amount of money. They were BUTT-UGLY and I will always assume that she was laughing her ass off when she made those sales, first for Christmas and then seven months later for my birthday.

DO NOT give me a gift that you found in a parking lot but if you do feel the need to present this item as a gift then please, please DO NOT tell me, or at least PLEASE wait until Valentine's Day is over before you feel the need to tell me that the beautiful gold bracelet on my wrist which I've been oohing and ahhing over for ten minutes was actually one that you found at work and turned into Lost and Found, who in a stroke of pure luck/destiny saved you from a trip to 7-11 to buy me a card by calling you on Valentine's Day to say nobody had claimed the bracelet and it was yours!

No, I'm not expecting a gift, but please DO NOT ask the question, "You're not expecting me to get you a gift are you?" (That question never fails to give me warm fuzzies all over.) If you do feel the need to ask that stupid question, and I respond with the usual, "No, but a card would be nice." DO NOT roll your eyes and ask in an exasperated tone, "What? You want me to actually put effort into this?" Umm yeah, DUH. That's the idea, buddy.

Behold the amazing sleeping baby

Alyssa is a good sleeper. And I'm feeling guilty about it.

Amanda was one of those babies who woke up every 2 or 3 hours all night every night and this went on for a very (and when I say very I mean VERY) long time. She slept for longer stretches as time went on, but she didn't actually sleep through the night on a regular basis until she was a couple months short of her third birthday. By then I was pregnant with Alyssa and was up every few hours to pee so I never really got to enjoy the uninterrupted sleep.

I've heard that difficulty sleeping while you're pregnant is nature's way of preparing you for after the baby is born when you'll need to be up every few hours. And oh, did I ever feel prepared… totally prepared to care for a newborn alarm clock that went off at 2-3 hour intervals expecting to be fed. But instead I got Alyssa, the amazing sleeping baby.

At night, Alyssa usually sleeps at least six hours at a stretch, often more. But I wake up every 2-3 hours to wonder why she's not crying… to check to see if she's breathing… to gaze at her sleeping and wish that I were sleeping too… to watch infomercials and Oprah re-runs... and to feel guilty.

Her pediatrician says she's growing just fine and has assured me there's no need to wake her up to feed her. So I'm not feeling guilty that I might be starving the poor little thing, I'm feeling guilty that there are parents out there who would really be taking advantage of a sleeping baby by actually sleeping themselves. Not me. I've spent the last three years complaining about my lack of sleep but now that I have the opportunity to sleep, my body or my brain just won't let me do it.

I have to admit now that during those several non-sleeping years with Amanda that if you told me about your angelic baby who had slept through the night from the moment you brought her home from the hospital, I was probably not quite as happy for you as I might have appeared. In fact I may have had some pretty evil thoughts about you in the middle of one of my many sleepless nights. It's nothing personal, trust me. I didn't really mean it when I had fantasies about your little sleeping angels growing up to be wild-partying-fast-driving-law-breaking-completely-uncontrollable teenagers so that you wouldn't get a decent night's sleep for years on end. But it just seemed so unfair.

And now I know that it is unfair. Some people don't deserve amazing sleeping babies. People like ME, who just waste them.

Santa Baby