Freak.

Today was such a beautiful day I couldn't wait to take the kids to the park. A few hours of reading and peace for me, a few hours of running and screaming for them. I settled into the nook of a big shady tree and cracked open my book, occasionally peeking over its' pages to check on the kids.

For awhile, it was all perfectly normal. They ran and chased each other and dug into the wood chips under the play equipment. They made up games and spun tales with other kids.

And then I heard the dialogue in my head and realized that as far as I've come from my hermit-like tendencies on the outside, I'm still that shy kid who fears rejection. Even if it's not me that faces exclusion.

I watched my 2 year old approach some boys who seemed to about 4 or 5. They were playing in the wood chips and David just sat right beside them and began digging with them and talking to them. At first they just stared at him and I found myself silently pleading with them to like him, to include him, please, please like him. In a few minutes they were smiling at him and going along with whatever game he had invented.

I realize that I do that a lot.
With David and Breanna. Silently pleading with the other kids to please like them, please include them, please want to be their friend! It's always silent (thankfully!), I don't want to be that mom. But I wonder if they know anyway. I wonder if they see my desperation for them to have friends, lots of friends, the thing I never had but always wanted and I wonder what it says to them.

I know that not everyone they meet will include them, will claim them as one of theirs. I hope that my desperation won't hurt them more when they are rejected.

I wonder what it's like to watch your kids play and just be kids and not worry about whether or not they'll turn out like you. And fervently hope that they'll be a far better version.

So what if it doesn't make sense?

I'm at the point now where I just can't wait to have this baby. At the same time, I don't want this pregnancy to end. My husband says I'm completely off my rocker and perhaps medication would work (in his defense I was blubbering something about being out of Reese's peanut butter cups at the time and threatening to shave his eyebrows but still....). Yes, he's still breathing. For now.
And this led me to favorite past time:

The Pro/Con List.

Things I Will Not Miss About Pregnancy

1) Strangers touching my belly (Did you not hear me the first time I said that I bite? Well, you were warned).

2) Leg cramps (and foot cramps and not being able to walk without wincing)

3) The penguin waddle (yes, I do. Shut up)

4) How every time I laugh, sneeze, cough, or breath I end up peeing a little (and seriously? If that freaks you out, boy are you ever in for a surprise about some of the things that happen to you during pregnancy and birth).

5) Having to pee every 20 minutes.

6) Having to crawl to the bathroom because it's too painful and a little risky to actually stand up and let the baby put full-on pressure on my bladder.

7) Random contractions

8) The regular daily phone calls asking whether I've had the baby yet and why not

Things I Will Miss

1) Having an excuse for my random acts of insanity

2) having an excuse for this big belly and giant ass

3) having this baby all to myself

4) the movement (provided it's not a foot in my ribs or a fist in my bladder)

5) An excuse for my natural gracelessness

And probably a myriad of other little things for both lists that I'm suddenly blanking on.

But never mind my whining! I've been doing enough of that lately.
I promise that I will have a better post up later.

Role Models

It's pretty much inescapable. At some point throughout the course of any given day, my daughter ends up hearing the names 'Lindsey Lohan', "Britney Spears', 'Paris Hilton' or any one of the other "celebrities" that I am trying really hard to steer her away from.

So can I just say that when she heard the name 'Britney Spears' her first reaction was to ask me, "Is she the crazy one who shaved her head?", I felt some measure of relief?

Because if at 9 years old she can recognize that there is something not quite right there, maybe there is hope that I can keep steering her away from these "role models". Even better, use them as role models of how not to be.

So now instead of cringing every time the news comes on, I've been pointing out the things that they are getting recognized for and talking to her about it.

Now she's asking (not in so many words) for girls it would be ok to look up to.
I've already mentioned Mylie Cyrus (she loves Hannah Montana) and a few others who seem to have their heads on straight with the understanding that while they do have qualities to be admired, she still must follow her own path.

What I'd really like to give her is a role model outside of Hollywood. Someone she can look up to who gives back to their community in some way. We need a website for that.

Stalked By Phone

I hate my phone. In fact, I'm not answering it anymore unless I absolutely must. So go ahead, keep on calling me every day to see if I've had the baby yet. I'm not answering so you can't drive me crazy anymore!

Seriously? If you called yesterday and I didn't have the baby and you called today and I'm answering the phone.... do you really need to ask? Especially since I promised to call when this baby comes out?
Right.
So now you can sit there and keep pushing redial over and over again and keep leaving messages about how you're so sure I'm off having this kid Right! This! Very! Second! and I will sit here eating God's most perfect food (otherwise known as the corn dog) and imagining you losing your dialing finger.

Let's face it. This kid is not going to come out. I am going to have to go in after it. And you calling over and over again isn't going to help anything along. It's only going to make me want to come over and punch in the nose.

Carnage

When I was little, my grandma used to treat us with animal crackers. I loved those little red circus boxes. I'd line them up and make the animals perform. Those were the Best. Cookies. Ever.
So when I handed some to the kids I was fully expecting the same reaction.

Instead I had Bre asking me where the sprinkles were and what about chocolate chips? Didn't I know the true value of a good chocolate chip cookie? With sprinkles? What was I thinking?
But she ate them and agreed that they weren't the worst thing I had ever made her try.

David was quiet. He sat and stared at the animals and just.... stared.
I was sure that he would soon be off and running leaving behind a pile of animal crackers, untouched and unwanted. I went back to cleaning the kitchen and was soon thrilled with the little growls of a toddler and his imagination.
In a few minutes he ran off to play with his big sister and I went to see what became of the animals.
It was then that I came to fully understand that yes, I had a boy. Not a toddler, certainly not a baby. A boy.

Poor headless animal crackers.

General Whining

It started as every morning starts. A slight ache in my legs in feet. Normal. Something I had experienced in each of my previous pregnancies.
Then IT happened.
Spasms in both legs and into my feet that left me in tears and scared David (so he's not used to watching his mom roll on the floor hanging onto her legs, crying 'owowowowow' over and over again. What can I say?).
Several hours later and my legs and feet still hurt. All the nurse can tell me is to drink more water (I'm going to float away), take some Tylenol (riiiiiggghhhttt. Can't I just have my epidural now?) and rest (um. that's what I was doing before my legs exploded.)

I'm afraid to go to sleep now. I know what's going to happen. I know it's going to end up with me on the floor in tears.

Lazy

I'm at the point now where time is dragging and I'm starting to believe that all my worry of ending up in premature labor has turned to absolute conviction that I am going to have to reach up there and yank this kid out myself. I'm still contracting but I've managed to convince myself that it doesn't mean anything. Because I'm still here, still pregnant by some good fortune.

I am running out of things that I can do with the kids and it's wearing on all of us.

Out of desperation, I took them to Build-A-Bear to make a present for their sibling. (see above photos as I am too lazy to move them around right now).

We go to the library every week. We skipped the playground this week because I was afraid I would melt into the wood chips and instead spent as much time as possible in front of the air conditioning. They've played in the sandbox and on our swing set and we've done crafts and baked endless cookies and gone here, there and everywhere that is free.

And I am humbled by the fact that there is still about 8 weeks left before school starts.

********

I've been neglectful (surprise!) of my e-mail lately so this is late but I wanted to thank Dee for the giraffe shirt ideas! I love a lot of them and am trying to convince David that he only needs one, not 6.

Since you are all so good at finding things.....

David is fascinated by outer space. Planets, stars, moons, the sun. He knows what meteorites are and knows which planet is Earth. I blame Joe and the habit of watching that one Universe program on the History channel.

The problem is, he wants a book. And I haven't been able to find one with ample pictures and simple explanations. Something suitable for a not-quite-pre-schooler.

Any takers?

*********

Taking a Risk

The 10th (today for most of you) marks my 2 year blogging anniversary and I can honestly say that I don't know what the hell I've had to talk about for two years. I can't even believe that I'm still posting because I have a habit of saying 'Oh yeah, that sounds like fun!' and then promptly forgetting about it. Kind of like that time I thought I'd change this blog up and then I just.... forgot.
In that two years I've posted lots of pictures. Mostly of the kids, a few of Joe and the dogs, but never of myself. I haven't had a picture of myself that I liked in some time now.
But these.... well.... they're not so bad if you don't mind the double chin or the freaky little mole in my belly button.

My Least Favorite Holiday

So we had this great idea that we'd watch the fireworks with the kids because, yes! Our kids, they love things that go Kaboom! and are not at all scared in anyway by loud noises and fire! Yee-haw!
We're out of our fucking minds.

Let's just start with the fact that where we live, it's just expected that all you have to do to see fireworks for the 4th (2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th too) is step out your front door because everyone and their brother went to Boom City and spent a paycheck to have the best display and see who could blow up their arm first. What? Your neighbors don't spend every fourth of July trying to blow up more body parts then the guy next to him?
Well.
Aren't you special.

Ours do.
Often at 2 am.
Right outside my fucking window (I'm sorry I'm so cranky. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the little bit of sleep I'm able to get each night is now being interrupted by the assholes behind us and their need to set our house on fire. Or you know, maybe a little about that).

So, fourth of July. Joe had bought a little box of not so noisy but oooh pretty colors! fireworks and we sat outside to watch him light them up and catch a glimpse at the neighbors spoils.
At first it was fine.
Bre hid behind the van and yelled out that she could see them much better from inside the house thank you very much until we finally convinced her that should any spark even glance in her general direction, Joe would throw himself on it to save her. She then sat in a chair in the driveway and cowered a bit. Yes. Just like last year only with fewer tears.
David was.... unsure at first. He sat in my lap and seemed ok. Even vaguely interested in the pretty pretty colors.
Then our neighbors set off one that was Really. Really. Loud.

"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After I pried his fingers from my eyes and calmed him down, he settled back into my lap and pressed his head as far into my chest as he could.

"Cober my ears! Cober my ears!"

And this is why I have no pictures of our fourth of July celebration as I spent the rest of the brief time he was willing to tolerate this with my hands over his ears and trying to interest him in the pretty pretty colors.

He simply looked at me and I'm fairly certain that if his vocabulary allowed he would've informed me that this whole fireworks business fucking sucked and I was nucking futs if I thought for one instant that he was going to actually enjoy this shit. And shove it for good measure.

After 3 roman candles, David was crawling up my head and ripping out my hair begging to be taken back in the house.

So I did.

Joe convinced Bre to stay outside with him if only because it meant that she got to stay up later. Later he told me that she actually held a sparkler for a whole 5 seconds and didn't scream.
And that is progress people.
David came in and went to sleep. I think it may have just been to much. Our dogs were happily sedated (Auggie couldn't even get off the floor) and I was..... jealous. I would love to be sedated right now. Perhaps then I wouldn't mind that our neighbors behind us and the ones across the street are attempting to blow each other up and my house stands in the middle of this fun little battle.

Happy Fucking 4th.

When In Doubt, Ask The Internets!

I've been working on some new wall art for baby Gollum's room. I decided to go with my favorite classic children's books. The problem is, some of them aren't really what I want and I'm running out of ideas. I think I need one or two more pictures and then I'm set.

So far I have:

Yeah. I don't know how to move those pictures down to here. It's one of the things that pisses me off about blogger. But, you get the idea.

Better Than American Express

If there is ever a time in your life when you think guys will not hit on you, it's when you are pregnant. Very obviously pregnant. So pregnant, in fact, that your belly button is no longer an innie and it's grossing you right the frick out. So pregnant that your ass could be used as a flotation device in the event of a flood. So pregnant that you can almost point to where you are pretty sure your ankles used to be and your 9 year old has to tie your shoes for you because you can no longer reach them without performing some intensive contortions that may or may not result in pulling several muscles and maybe cause you to use more swear words then you would normally use in front of your children and cause you to whimper piteously every time you have to move (what? just me?).
Unfortunately, this is not so.
There is a breed of a guy who will think nothing of coming up to you as you are wandering the aisles of your local grocery store with your 2 children and your baby bump and proceed to hit on you.
He may say things like:
"So you like kids?" No, I just really enjoy labor, back talk, and the smell of poopy diapers.
"Are you and your baby daddy still together or can I take you out to dinner?" Are you kidding?
"I really dig that pregnant look." I really dig in my purse for my stun gun when creepy guys won't go away.
"Can I touch your belly?" Do you value your life?

But fear not! All you really need is a 9 year old with an attitude and strong desire to eat her ice cream to tell the guy that her daddy is waiting for us and maybe he'd like to talk to him and then give him the patented Ticked Off Tween Stare.

I never leave home without it.

Waving a White Flag

Summer Vacation Day 2:

Kids have taken over.
Am barricaded behind couch.
Must be quiet or they will find me and wrap in toilet paper.
Again.
I believe I heard my daughter discussing the benefits of duct tape though it may have been delirium after being stuck back here for a few hours.
Send help.

Fast!!

Dear Hurricane,

The other day you skipped your nap and stayed up way past your bedtime. I had been anticipating a full-on meltdown at any moment but you surprised us all with your very happy self. You had fun playing with our friends and playing games.
At 10 that night we started to finally wind down. You had your spiderman jammies on and shot webs at our guests as they left. We were in the kitchen laughing when you decided that was just enough.
You took my hand and yawned.
"Come on Mom. Les' go seep now."
So we did.
You said goodnight to your sister.
We crawled into my bed and daddy said goodnight before running downstairs to watch a movie.
We whispered for a few minutes about how much fun we'd had.
"I need a hug now."
You rarely ask for hugs and I am never one to turn down the feel of your little arms reaching around my neck.
As we settled back against the pillows, you curled into me and rested your head on my shoulder.
Within seconds, you were snoring softly against my arm. I breathed in the scent of you as I kissed your head and soon, I was asleep too.
It was a perfect day.
It was a day I could not possibly appreciate more knowing that just down the street, a mother will never again get that chance.
Because of something very foolish, something so heartbreakingly stupid, her baby boy has died.
And it makes me appreciate even more that despite my blundering, you've made it this far.
So when I ask you for another kiss, or squeeze you just a little bit tighter, indulge me. I'm just reminding myself how lucky I am.

Mommy Needs A Maid

I have a massive list of Things That Must Get Done, Like Yesterday You Fool. Which is exactly why while David took his nap, I played games on the computer. Because nothing says 'hard work' like a little goofing off.
Internet? I have issues.
Not the whole procrastination thing. Big deal. Stuff gets done eventually, usually. No, my issues came to light when at 2 pm this afternoon I had this overwhelming urge to punch a video game character.
I was playing NannyMania on MSN. At first it was ok. Granted it was a bit like real life and I wondered how this was goofing off since it was just reminding me of all the things I should be doing, but whatever. I played on.
Then I found myself calling the kids bitches and wondering where the sterilization button for the dad was. Because I could 'clean' something and 5 minutes later, I had to go back and do it again and OMG!! What. The. Fuck??? Have they been to my house lately? Because this is what I freaking do all day. Well, minus another adult woman following me around and shaking her head while the kids destroy the house. And by the time the kids were school age and drawing all over the bathroom while the dad watched tv and the mom just walked around in some valium-induced hazed, I found myself yelling "Ha Ha Motherfuckers!" every time I completed a level. And then that stupid nanny would say something moronic like "This is too easy, I could handle another baby!" and I'd begin wondering if these characters could feel pain.
"Well, why didn't you quit playing then?"

Because I had hoped (and fully expected) that at the end of the game, the nanny would be rewarded by being able to drop -kick that family into Sims Hell.

I think maybe it's time to tell my husband that it would be a good idea to put his clothes in the hamper all by himself. For my sake.

And his.

But I don't even like peppermint.........

We were in a restaurant. A really nice restaurant. The kind with cloth napkins and people taking your order instead of the garbled voice of a teenager through a speaker at the drive-thru.
I was so looking forward to a nice thick steak (something I never would have touched before this pregnancy but is now a constant craving).
The waiter turned and asked me what I would like.
I opened my mouth and..........


nothing.

Or more specifically, a mouth so full that I could not speak.

My mouth was suddenly so full of gum that I could no longer close it.
No matter how much gum I pulled out of my mouth, more would quickly take it's place. I was starting to panic but everyone around me just watched as though this were all perfectly normal.

"I'll just bring you a nice plate of chicken parmesan."

NO!! I hate chicken parmesan! I want steak!

But all I managed to do was spit out more gum.


I'm not sure what it all means but at least it wasn't as bad as that ice cream truck dream.

As Promised..........

Yes, I threw that shirt Joe is wearing in the trash just as soon as he took it off.

Why My House Will Be Getting Egged

When we were kids, we would hang out well after curfew talking, running, just being kids. But we did manage to keep the volume down, if only because our parents would have taped our mouths shut if we got out of line.

Which may partially explain why I've become the Old Bitch Woman Down The Street.

It's Friday night and the kids are asleep. Joe has to work in the morning so he went to bed a few hours ago. I'm sitting in my living room watching a movie and trying to ignore the screaming teenagers hanging out in the street in front of my house.
It's only 10:30.
I see my neighbor come out and know that she's asking them to keep it down.
I turn the volume on the tv up just a little bit more.
They continue screaming.
It's 11:00 and I'm contemplating whether or not it's worth it to go out and tell them to shut up.
That's when one of them decides it would be fun to run down our street yelling 'fuck' at full volume.

Fuck indeed. How about 'fuck this, now I'm pissed'?

I went outside but held my temper in check.

"Hey guys, it's 11. Can you please stop screaming?"

That's when one of those asshats lost their mind and came back with "My curfew isn't until 1."

Time-out for a moment before I tell you about the bloodshed that followed that idiotic statement.

1) He was (clearly) underage. Not for a minute do I believe that the curfew here for minors is 1 am. Maybe his parents don't care how late he is out, but the cops do.

2) He was not a neighborhood kid. In fact, only one kid out of the 14 that were outside actually lived here and she belonged to the people who think it's ok for their 15 year old daughter to dress like a hooker (half shirt with thin straps, mini-skirt, make-up by Tammy Fay?) so clearly, they weren't going to care that their daughter and her friends were annoying the piss out of their neighbors.

3) That poor fool apparently doesn't understand that when you mess with a tired hormonal pregnant woman you will lose a limb. Possibly one that you really need.

On to the bloodshed.... (ok, not literally but given the fact that they all left immediately after, rather quickly in fact, I think I may have scared them a little).

"I don't give a shit when your curfew is you half-wit! It's 11 at night, my kids are sleeping and if I have to hear another one of you little assholes yelling in front of my house we're going to have a problem! Now, your choice is to shut the hell up or shut the hell up. Which is going to be?"

"yes, ma'am. Sorry."

Yes, that's kind of what I thought.

Doesn't sound to bad, except I have a very loud voice and I spit acid.

Joe asked me why I didn't just call the cops.
Answer?

I'm scarier.

Hot- and not the good kind.

I can no longer trust my own ability to judge temperature. This is especially bad for David since I'm the one who gets him dressed every morning. Lately, he is just as likely to end up in sweatpants and his winter coat on a warm day as he is shorts and a t-shirt when it's cold and wet.
Usually, it's the cold I can't feel.
I sleep with the window open, and if I can get away with it the fan is on, even though it's 40 degrees out at night. If I don't, I wake up several times a night in a sweat after dreaming that I'm being suffocated by mutant moles (those things just freak me the hell out).
It's not that I didn't expect this, I knew it was coming. When I had Bre (in November in PA where it actually gets cold) I was running my air conditioning all. the. time. So what if it was snowing? All the better actually because then I could go sit in the snow and cool down.
No, the problem isn't me.
The problem is my husband.
Because despite having been through this before, despite clearly remembering all the nights he slept in the guest room because our room was too cold for his poor delicate skin (freakin' wear pajamas and sleep under the covers then!), he just didn't think we'd have to go through this again.
Because I'm pregnant in the summer and therefore it cancels out that whole over-heated thing?
I had the air conditioning on for about 30 minutes just to cool down while I was making dinner.
He chose this moment to tell me that he had turned the heat back on.
I threatened to run naked down on our street.
I think I got my point across because the heat is now off.

He Just Doesn't Understand.

"My new maternity clothes came today and I think I'm in love."

"Delivery guy that cute?"

"I've never had a more comfortable pair of pants. My ass is completely covered no matter how much I dance and they feel so good!"

"They look like sweat pants."

"No they don't. They're yoga pants. I'm never taking them off."

"Well, eventually you're going to have that baby and they'll have to come off."

"Nope. Never. In fact, if you ever want to have sex again, you're going to have to find a way to get around these pants. My ass is permanently encased in these pants."

"Our neighbors can only hope."

"In Pants. Cannot hear you. Lalalala......"

She's At It Again!!

Remember my oh-so-fun adventure with the moles and how well that day I decided to be rid of them turned out?
My head aches just thinking of it.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was tonight when our neighbor came over, right after we ate dinner, to show us what he caught (barehanded) in his garden.

A mole.

In a bucket.

Except he didn't tell me it was a mole. He just held out the bucket and said "look what I found". So, like any moron, I looked.

And then I did my perfectly naturally 'icky' dance.
You know, the one where your whole body looks like you're convulsing and you shake.
Except that I was wearing non-maternity pants that are just hanging on there (I hadn't planned on going anywhere).
Thankfully I was mostly behind the door when my pants fell down so he didn't see anything except my very red face and my husband laughing.