I Can See The Headlines Now......

In the list of Things That Are A Very Bad Idea But I Can See We're Doing It Anyway, this is number 1.

Mr X came home from work and said 'We need to talk.'

I told the part of my brain that was screaming to run really fast to shut up. I hate it when he gets all serious like that because it usually means I'm going to have to do something I don't want to do. Like talk to his mother.

We sat down and he hemmed and hawed around what he wanted to say. The part of my brain that controls keeping my mouth shut must have been taking a nap.

"Can you just get to the point already you girl? I'm bored."

Did I ever tell you he has a great sense of humor? He does. Especially when he's about to ask me to do something he knows I'm not going to want to do.

He wants me to learn how to fire a gun.

Yeah. Take that in for a moment.

I can see his point. He leaves for work at the same time every morning. We live right next to this wooded area in a decent neighborhood, but decent neighborhoods can change from day to day.

He wants to get a gun to keep with him too since he works in a high crime area and is always the first one to work. His car has been broken into several times as has the shop.

So I get that.

But then there's the other side of my brain that keeps a running tally of all the stupid ways I hurt myself. The other side of my brain says "Self? Do you not remember the moles? The evil and so not cute like the one who is friends with Winnie-the-Pooh moles? Do you remember nearly taking yourself out with a shovel? Damn. How did I end up in the body of a moron?"

Aside from a paintball gun that my 10th grade boyfriend took from me after I accidentally shot him in the gut, and the time I took a shotgun away from a friend using it knock down a cereal box rather than using a stepstool like a normal person, and why do I know so many stupid people?, I have never held a gun, much less fired one.

And now Mr X is talking about taking me to the firing range (and I now realize that it has nothing to do with pottery) and which gun would work best in my little hands (I'm thinking a small green water gun would be the safest) and lock boxes.

And I'm wondering how long it will be before I mistake my foot for a bullseye. Oh please, you know you were thinking it too. I wonder what the Vegas odds on that would be?

Although, I guess shooting my foot off would be one way to end the issues I have with my lowest extremities. But it might make wearing shoes a bit difficult. And I really love shoes.

Things I Do For Amusement.

A couple of months ago, I had a conversation with some friends about the our kids' aversions to towers.

It used to make Hurricane crazy to see a tower of any kind in the house. It didn't matter if it was blocks or stuffed animals. He would go out of his way to immediately destroy the tower.

Die tower! Die!! AAACCCKKKKK!!

I used to wait until he was down for a nap and then I'd make little towers all over the living room just to watch him go ballistic when he woke up.

And then I got bored with it and moved onto torturing him by making him keep his clothes on and not eating Cat.

Then Girl X dug out Jenga this weekend.

Everything was fine at first.
We set up the game and started pulling out the little blocks.

Hurricane came over to see what we were doing.

I saw his little eyes narrow, trying to remember just what it was he should be doing to this thing.....

there was something......

The tower grew higher and higher.

He watched.

Just when I thought maybe he didn't care anymore, he threw down his sippy cup, screamed and threw his body at the tower as though he were protecting us from a live grenade.

Girl X's eyes got wide and she just sat back.

Hurricane, still screaming and growling, began throwing the blocks as far as his little arms could.

I think he thought that maybe if we lost a few these awful towers would never appear again.


He was oh so wrong.


Because now I remember how much fun it was to watch him go ape-shit over these things.


Even more fun?

Watching him try to destroy a tower of legos.

Random Bits

Since SJ sent me the link for extreme tracking, I have had some pretty normal search hits.

Boobs, sexy girl pictures (Sorry Ichiro!), sex diary (boy were they ever disappointed), just basic stuff you kind of expect.

But this? This makes me worry about you internet.

Tickle Belly Attacking Raspberries.

I'm wondering if it was the same person looking to "Tickle His Belly".

Seriously internet? This is what you are looking for?

I mean, 'tickle his belly' maybe but do you really need instructions for that?

I'm almost curious enough to ask about the sexual perversion that involves attacking raspberries. Almost.

After the round of e-mails I got from some foot fetish people, I know better than to actually ask.


*Hurricane's sleep issues have caused the Mr X to do the thing I HATE with a fiery fury.
Research.
It makes him insufferable.
It wouldn't be so bad if he would just stop with all the questions.
"How long does he nap?"
"What time does he nap?"
"Does he sleep with his head to the North or South?"
"What song are the birds whistling in the morning?"

He calls me throughout the day, wakes me up from the little sleep I get, interrupts my quality slacking time with these damn questions.

My only relief, is that he thinks he's found the answer.
I'll admit that it makes sense. The timing fits. I give it a week and if there is no change, he's going to see his Dr.

*Speaking of, Mr X pushed his Dr's appt back to June. Because it's fun to make me crazy. No, really.

*I am taking special measures to avoid our neighbors across the street right now. Why? Silly internet. You should know by now, I've once again made an ass of myself.
We have a mole problem (they came from these neighbors yard). The little bastards don't have the decency to just go the hell away already.
We tried castor oil.
We tried poison.
I threatened to sick my dad's little buddy on them.

So, when I counted 7 holes in our yard this morning, and realized that they didn't care that I didn't want them here, I went a little bit crazy.
Girl X was eating her breakfast, Hurricane was Opening and closing the bedroom doors (I don't know, I don't ask), so I went outside, in my blue footed pajamas (yes, I am an adult who owns a pair of footed pajamas. Shut up.) and stuck a garden hose in one of the holes. I stood back with a shovel in my hand and waited for the water to push the little bastards out.

And when they did come out, I ran screaming, slipped on the wet grass and nearly knocked myself out with the shovel.

When I got up, I saw my neighbor with her purse in her hands just staring at me like I was the world's biggest idiot.

I guess I don't have the heart to play whack-a-mole with the real thing. It's a shame too because I'm really good at it!

I Survived.

Thanks to this lovely little book the talk wasn't nearly as bad as I had thought it was going to be.

She didn't ask many questions, just listened.

And I finally understood just how my dad felt when, upon a trip to the Museum of Natural History, I found my sister and her friend giggling over a naked sculpture of some prehistoric man and my 7 year old self declared that it was 'Pshaw! Nothing I haven't already seen!" and walked away in my Miss Know-it-All pants.

We got to the part where it shows all the boy parts and Girl X waved her hand and said "I already know all about that stuff."

Unlike with my dad, I got an explanation. And it's pretty obvious.

She has a little brother.

Also, I thoroughly enjoyed telling Mr X he would someday be responsible for explaining it all to Hurricane and being witness to yet another hair turning gray.

Just Wait Until It's His Turn........

I had to have the most awkward of conversation with Mr X tonight. It left me fairly exasperated.

I sat him down and pulled out The Book. The one I'll be using this weekend when I have that talk I'm dreading with the Girl.

"It's time. She needs to know. Is there anything you think we should absolutely cover or leave out?"

He turned bright red, squirmed, and stuttered "Now?"

"This weekend. She wants to know how babies are made and she's not buying that thing about eating a special baby capsule."

He got up and paced the room.

He started to get a little pale.

"You don't have to be in the room with me when I talk to her."

"Oh thank G-d!"

He's still a little nervous though. I catch him glancing at her and then shaking his head and frowning.

She asked if something was wrong with him.

"Yes. He has a daughter."

And that's it. He and a friend, who has 3 daughters, have a plan for the first time a guy shows up for one of the girls. They intend to answer the door in jeans, muscle t-shirts and scowls. They're both big guys. They can be very intimidating. I pity any boy who has to face them. I pity the girls because there is little chance of them getting out if their dads are home.

I look at her and think about that night in the hospital when I lay in the bed beside her and she just looked at me. She didn't make a peep. Didn't move. Just blink and stare.
I got wrapped up in that image of her. My baby. My first born. I let myself forget that eventually she would grow up and need to know things about her body and sex.
Now that time is here and it's not that the idea of telling her about it is horrible. It's the thought that she's not a baby anymore.
Every year it gets harder and harder to keep her from the things that will hurt her.
Her first heartbreak. First crush. The first time some other girl calls her a name (and I'm going to find it very difficult not to find that girl and beat her senseless for it just as I'm sure it will be hard not to run over little Johnny for breaking her heart).
I know that a large part of my fear, as mildly irrational as it may be, is that she's growing too far away from me. Because that's how it was with my mom.
The older I got, the less she wanted to have to do with me. The farther apart we grew until one day, she was just that lady who gave birth to me.
I don't want that to happen with us. I want the kind of relationship with Grown-up Girl X that I always wanted with the kind of mom I wished I had.

And ok, I am choking a little at the thought of having a sex talk with my baby girl.


I take comfort in knowing that Mr X will someday have to have the Talk with Hurricane.

The Day I've Been Dreading

Girl X wants to know where babies come from. I've been putting it off for many months. Placating her with "Soon" when she asks if I'm going to tell her.

She no longer believes me when I tell her we got Hurricane from Babies R Us.
"I'm 8. Not stupid."

Right. That's what I'm afraid of.

When I was a kid I always had questions about sex. Since my mom was, well... she was herself, I always took my questions to my dad.
His response every single time was "uh. Um. Er. Let's go to the toy store!"

I had a lot of toys.

And I learned a lot about sex on the playground. And at lunch.

Do you know how to make the lunch lady nervous? Start discussing with your 5th grade buddies how many pubic hairs you now have.
I'm not kidding.

So I could go that route. Let the school and her friends teach her. Of course, she may then end up avoiding acorns because her best friend Jenny told her that her older sister who knows everything because she's in the 7th grade said that you get pregnant when a boy makes you eat an acorn.

I was such a stupid kid.

Or I could do what my MIL did. Tell her her body is evil and only whores use tampons.

Ok, I am so not doing that.

So I have to tell her something. Thing is, she's only 8. I don't want to tell her more than she really needs to know at this point.

I also don't want her to freak out one day because I didn't prepare her for her period.

And she's 8. And that could happen.

I'll take Hurricane's sleep issues over having the sex talk with her anyday.

Wish me luck. This weekend is not going to be an easy one.

In Search of A Good Lock.........

Hurricane is ticklish. Like I am. As in, breathe lightly on the back of his neck and watch him shiver and shrug and giggle.

As part of his bedtime routine, we do the full body tickle. I lay out his pj's and catch him before he can run too far away. He helps me take off his clothes. He puts his hands over his 'bebly' and smiles. I start behind his ears and trace my fingers down to his neck.
I lightly wiggle my fingers.
He grins and hunches his shoulders.
I run my fingers down his arms and lift them.
He giggles a little.
I blow raspberries along the sides of his belly all the way up.
He wiggles and laughs and eventually pushes me away.
He again covers his belly.
He smiles.
"Bebly?" He asks.
I wiggle my fingers over his belly.
His smile widens as do his eyes.
I tickle his tummy and he laughs and rolls over.
I tickle his back and he rolls back.
I trace down to his knees and tickle the little hollow at the back of his knees.
And then we get to his favorite part.
His feet.
I get a little tickle in at his toes and then Mr X takes over.
Mr X has this perfectly scratchy stubble.
He lifts his foot up to Mr X knowing exactly what is going to happen.
He is not disappointed.
His belly laughs are one of the highlights of my day.

I know it seems off topic, but bear with me because what I told you relates to our trip to Target today.

We weren't really looking for anything. We just needed to get out of the house. I skipped the cart and let Hurricane take the lead.
We wandered around the store, flittering from one shiny object to the next. He was having a grand time with the free rein over the store.
But the thing that caught his eye and caused him to stop dead in his tracks?

The pretty redheaded teen who was studying some Rimmel eyeliner.

He ran right into her legs, smiled up at her with his most disarming smile and tilted his head. When he was sure he had her attention, he lifted his shirt and offered her his 'bebly' with a wiggle of his fingers.

She laughed and obliged him with a little tickle.


I am so screwed when this boy hits puberty.

Questions

Mr X made his appointment with his Dr. Finally. Mid-May. 4 more weeks and then maybe we'll know.
I'll be going along. When he goes by himself all he hears is "blah blah, very bad blah blah die.....".
He's talking about the future in more positive tones again. Talking about when we'll start trying again. What we'll name our next baby.
Whether this is because he no longer feels that he's going to die by the end of the year or if he's gone back to denial I don't know. He just won't talk about it.
I've been putting off thinking about the next baby. I can only handle one panic attack at a time.
In those rare moments when I do think about it; think about all that goes with it, I have to remind myself to breathe.
If I'm honest with myself, I admit that I'm scared.
As much as I would love to have another baby, another pregnancy, I wonder if I have the heart for it.
I fear repeating everything we had to go through just to have Hurricane.
I fear another black year.
I wonder if I'm being greedy. Shouldn't I just be happy with what I have? Do I really have the right to go back and do this again?
What if things go south again? What if it doesn't and I spend 9 months in a constant state of tension as I did with Hurricane?
Could I carry on day to day, being a good mom to my kids, wife to my husband, if history repeated itself?
And let's be frank. The likelihood of that is pretty damn good.

But at the end of it all, I know it's what I want. It'd just be nice if I could be knocked out cold for 9 months, wake up and have everything just so.

We Will Never Grow Up

Once upon a time, a couple decided to take their family to a baseball game. It was to be the youngest's first game. They were all so excited. See the happy family?


Unfortunately (or not depending on who you are in this story), the mommy was fairly sleep deprived and, much to the delight of the rest of her family (the little snots), she fell asleep once the game started. See the mommy snore and drool?

It wasn't long before the daddy and the girl decided it would be fun to try to throw whoppers (a perfectly good chocolate candy) into the mommy's open mouth. Meanwhile, the little boy decided it would be more fun to try to steal the pretty cotton candy from the little boy in the seat in front of him.

When a whopper pelted her in the eye and woke her up, the daddy cheered the mommy up by reminding her that it could have been worse. They could have not woken her up and had her put on the giant screen behind them for everyone to see. The mommy expressed her gratitude by sticking a whopper up the daddy's nose.

And because no family trip would be complete without it, the girl decided to fall down the stairs at the end of the night, narrowly escaping serious injury but managing to take out 2 adults in the process. Yay us! Er, I mean, Yay them!

And, um... I'm sorry. This seemed so much funnier when I thought about blogging it at 3 am Saturday morning. It's amazing the things that amuse you when you're begging a toddler to sleep.

The team lost but we still had fun. Because no matter where we go we somehow manage to make complete fools of ourselves.

And then there was Mr X. He took my camera and said he was going to just take a picture of Ichiro for me. 5 minutes later, he's giggling like a schoolgirl and he won't give me back the camera. When he finally showed me what he was doing, I nearly peed myself laughing. The following commentary is all his.

"Do these pants make my butt look big?"
"I'm too sexy for my glove..... Hey there Sexy Girlfriend!"
"I blow you keessseessss!!!!!!"

And I have 17 more pictures of Ichiro in strange poses on my camera that he took that night. My husband is the strangest person I've ever met.

Mommy Dearest

Sometime around 1:30 this morning, Mr X got up and took over. It may or may not have had something to do with the fact that I was crying and ranting about 'No more WIRE hangers!!'
He picked Hurricane up and carried him off to bed and I collapsed into a puddle on the floor where I stayed until 6 am when I peeked one bleary eye open to find Hurricane's smiling face an inch from mine.

"Cookie?"

No kid. Sleep.

He slept for a grand total of 5 hours last night. He is currently sleeping, fitfully, in his room. I have little hope of this lasting much longer.

I'm clueless about what made him decide that sleep is for losers. I am even less sure of what to do to fix it. I've read all the books. Then I promptly filed them into the recycling bin.

Been there. Done that. Didn't work.

Co-sleeping? He hates it. I have the bruised legs and bald patches to prove it.

Cry it out? Try screaming. Endless screaming.

It all boils down to this: He does not sleep because it's fun to watch mommy lose her shit after several weeks of little sleep.

I could pack for a week's vacation with the bags under my eyes.

Yes this is parenting so please spare me the sanctimonious crap about sucking it up. I know that. I don't for one minute regret having my kids. But that doesn't mean everything is all sunshine and roses all the time.

There are things about parenting that people will never tell you.

*There are moments where your instinct will fail you.

*There are times that nothing you do will work. It's not that you're a bad mom or dad. It's that somedays kids can suck the soul right out of you.
And the next day, they give it back.

*You will, on occasion, be that parent. It doesn't matter what that is specifically. It will be the thing that you swear you'll never do. Until you do it because you are so damn desperate to get the kid to eat/sleep/hold still for 2 seconds/ stop biting/ and so on.

*As much as you love them and as much as you longed for them, there will be moments where you think that if you don't get out of the house alone RIGHT NOW DAMMIT someone will have to scrape you off the ceiling.

*Peeing by yourself will become a luxury.

*Mostly, there is not a damn thing wrong with any of that. It doesn't mean you don't love your kids. It doesn't mean that you don't want them or you're a bad parent. No matter what anyone else may say, there are times where you just need to breathe alone.

And that is normal.

Shut up.

How many times can one person bitch about sleep?

If they are me? If they are me and are currently trying to figure out how the hell that little bugger is still awake? And they are oh so damned tired?

As much as they damn well please.

I knew it was too good to be true when I laid him in his bed and he fell asleep within 5 minutes. Last night he was up until 9:45 before he finally fell asleep after I whisper-sang to him. And he was awake again by 4:30.

And some asshole had the bright idea to show him how to get out of his bed and open his door and find mommy sleeping and wouldn't it be fun to stab her in the eye with this hanger? Oh yes! It would! See?? See her jump up? See the blood gushing out from where the hanger caught her skin? Fun for everyone!! (Especially fun when I find out who left the hanger on the floor for him to find because it is going straight up someone's ass sideways dammit!)

Can you tell I'm not in the best of moods?

Can you tell I'm going to rip the head off the next person who mentions how their little precious sleeps all night?

Can you tell I'd like to go back and rip off my own head for every gloating about how he was sleeping so well?

If it wasn't for the jelly belly's I stole from Girl X's Easter basket I think I'd be under a truck right now.

I need kiddie valium.

A Post About Nothing

Putting this room together gave me a headache. You may remember my rant about the thousands of coats of blue paint it took to cover the walls properly? In person, the blue is a shade lighter than what it seems in the pictures. I have a few more Disney prints to make and some pictures to add. When Hurricane outgrows his Packers jersey, I'm putting it in a shadow box and hanging it on the wall opposite the bat case. His bed is the kind that you can eventually flip so that he'll have this great space underneath where he sleeps to play.
I know it's hard to see but there is a little desk and rocking chair in the corner by the bed. It's the perfect size for him, but I realized tonight that by the time he's really ready to use it, he'll probably have outgrown it!




Also? See the dresser top? Note the Weeble?

See the train table? I put that together. In fact, I put it together and only lost a very small amount of blood when the screwdriver slipped and I stabbed myself in the knee.
And the train set? It was supposed to be a hundred piece set but they lied. I think it's on the company stationary We lie!! Because I had to put that thing together, including building the airport and roundabout, and so on and there was a hella lot of pieces. Enough that putting it all together took me 4 hours and 23 minutes.

We are never taking that thing apart.

Peter Cottontail

Ok so it's a little late for an Easter entry but, I'm lazy. So. Here it is.

We took the kids to a friend's house for an egg hunt. It amazes me how many kids you can fit into one house and still have room snake your child's candy without them noticing.



First on our journey to fun was the bunny ears on Hurricane. I caught him with a mouthful of egg and cracker. The ears lasted until just after he swallowed that bite and then he tried to eat them. As soon as he realized that they weren't full of chocolate, he stuck his finger in every deviled egg he could before Mr X could stop him. Please note the ever present Weeble in his hand. Also? See that tie? It's a clip on. Should've been easy right?
Did you read my previous entry? Yeah. It took 7 minutes and 4 arms to wrestle him into that tie. Once it was hooked and he was set loose on the floor, his head spun around ala' Linda Blair and he spit cat fur at us.

When we were kids; my brothers, sister and I would fight eachother for eggs. I once stole my brother's basket as he tried to shove an egg up my sister's nose.

My kids have inherited none of my oh so charming um..... Competitive spirit. Girl X walked along only picking up the blue eggs because they were her favorite. Meanwhile, 15 kids are rolling down the hill trying to pick up all the eggs we tossed down there because we got bored trying to hide them all.

Hurricane would pick up and egg, shake it and then throw it down the hill. I'm not really sure what he was looking for, but he never found it. Mr X and I tried to show him how he was supposed to put them in the basket. He just raised his eyebrows and tugged at his tie. I think he was trying to say 'Bite me.'

Mr X said screw it and started putting eggs in the basket for him. I said it was cheating since he had helped hide them. He shrugged and asked if I was the Easter police. So I helped. More eggs= more candy to steal from them later.

In the end, the kids had fun and we have more candy that we didn't need.

And Hurricane got his revenge on those bunny ears by killing this one.

Rasslin'

Wanna' rassle?


I do it all day long. Every day.

I wrestle with Hurricane to get his clothes on. I've found that flipping him upside down and holding him with one arm is the easiest way to keep him in place while I use my other arm to hold his foot and my teeth to pull on his sock.

I magically grow 4 arms in time to wrestle him into his shoes.

I wrestle him into his car seat every time we need to leave the house, or return to it. Which? Very hard to restrain one determined toddler and strap him in. And keep him from biting my hand. Or sliding out of his seat.

I wrestle him into his bed for nap time. Not because he doesn't want to take a nap, but because he thinks it's funny.

I wrestle him away from Cat several times a day. As often as possible, before he has peed/bitten/attempted to ride on Cat. Although, occasionally, I just don't have the energy. Or care. (I did mention our Cat hates us right? Loves the kids. Hates us mere adults.)

I wrestle him out of those clothes he didn't want to put on in the morning. Again, it requires him to be upside down. And some shimmy-ing (eh).

Bath time- or more accurately, shower time- is the Smackdown of rasslin' events in our house.

First comes the getting him naked part. It's funny how he fights it because once he's undressed, he is fully amused by himself. Rubbing his belly and slapping his thighs. Occasionally, doing what boys do. As soon as he sees that I am not getting his pj's out, he realizes that it's shower night. And he runs. He hates bathes and showers.

For someone with such short legs, he can run like the wind.

Once caught, it's a matter of slinging him over my shoulder as he squeals and tugs at my hair. I pass him off to Mr X, who is much tougher than I and also a bit better of a wrestler. To be able to bathe a wriggly, slippery, 'spirited' toddler and come out of it in one piece.

Today I had to wrestle him out of a display kitchen at Home Depot. In case you ever wondered, those cabinets do open and they are big enough to fit a small body.

And in what will come as a surprise to exactly no one (except perhaps the assholes who still question whether he is ever fed), the only time we don't have to wrestle with him, is when we have food.

Then, it is a simple matter of asking (as if it was necessary) 'Eat?' and he will come running from what ever bit inanimate object he is destroying with a happy 'MMMM?'

My Evil Twin Is Trying To Kill Me

I took Girl X to sign up for cheerleading on Saturday. I'm not sure how what happened there actually started, but I'm blaming sleep deprivation. Because, as I've stated before, sleep loss has launched many a bad idea.

I was filling out the forms and half-listening to what the annoyingly perky person in front of me was saying.

"...Bale blah, blah blah Coach blah......"

Wait a minute. Did she say coach? Nah. Couldn't have. Back to ignore.

"blah, blah blahblah Coach blah... You coach blah blah...."

Shit! Did she just say that?

Sign? Sign what?

Oh. My. Shit!! Is that????

Oh. That's my name. That's my signature. NNOOOOO!!!!!

I did sign that. Shit!!

Wait. Perky is talking again.

"... We'll call and interview you... blah blah blah.....but you'll get it.. blah blah blah..."

Wait. How much torture can they fit into one paper? I suck at interviews. I always say something stupid, like how when I was 5 I thought I could fly and jumped off my porch steps onto the pavement and now I have this nasty scar, and did I mention it's on the phone? I sound like a 6 year old on the phone. And coach? Me? I was never a cheerleader. I don't know any cheers. How am I supposed to pull this one off?

When I said I would coach Girl X's cheer squad a couple months ago, I thought it would get a couple of laughs and that would be it. I mean, come on! Me? Cheer? Me, who can't even walk without tripping over the air in front of me?

But I did. And I am.


I am taking bets now on how long it will be before I fall and break something vital. Like my foot. Or my ass.


I give it a week.

The Moment He Won

Sleep deprivation makes you do funny things. I blame the Macarana on someone's sleep deprivation.

Last night, after running for the past 3 weeks on very little sleep (I just typed that as litttlllee. I need a nap), I reached my most desperate moment.

He used to fall asleep easily. I could put him down and walk away knowing he would be out in a minute. Nap times were fairly easy too. Then he got sick and that all went to hell.

Now he's better and still doesn't want to sleep. Naps? Given up for lent.

I had a small victory yesterday when I got him to nap in his 'big-boy' bed. I thought bedtime had to be easier. Right? Am so stupid.
Bedtime is 7:30.

12:30 I was still rocking him.

Tried singing, he put his hand over my mouth. He has my knack for subtlety.

Tried letting him just cry. He started to climb out so I had to give that up.

Tried the big-boy bed. Ha! Again. Stupid.

Rock. Sing. Beg. Cry (me not him). Lay down with him.

2:30 am. Am bleary-eyed. Desperate.

"If you fall asleep right now, I will buy Elmo and chain him in your room so you can dance to 'Five, No Jive' and play with Dorothy all day."

yawn

"If you sleep for five hours straight you can have ice cream for breakfast lunch and dinner."

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

For the first time in weeks, he slept for 6 hours straight.

When Elmo Attacks

Everybody loves a good understatement. Right? So, Hurricane loves Elmo. It's 'La-la!' all day long. We can be walking down the aisle at the store and there will be some lone Elmo-related item placed on the top shelf in such a way that only half of his face will be visible.

He will see it.

He will yell for 'La-la' until he gets to touch it.

He sees red and automatically assumes it's Elmo.

If I ever need to leave the house and he's hiding (which? all the time) all I have to do is yell out 'Elmo!' He will tele-transport his little self to where ever I am.

Honestly? I hate that little furry red bastard.

I've never wanted so badly to cause harm to a puppet before but if I have to watch The Best of Elmo one more time, I'm stabbing out my eyes with case. Did you know Elmo raps? I know the words to it.
Yup. At the end of my life when G-d asks me what I've accomplished, I'll be able to tell him that I know all the words to many of Elmo's songs and can sing them on demand.

His only redeeming quality is that Hurricane loves him and will actually hold still for the 3 minutes it takes me to get him dressed if he's on TV.

All this is so you can understand how absolutely hysterical (is it wrong that I thought it was funny) it was to see his reaction to his new Elmo slippers. Because what kid wouldn't want their favorite character's giant head at the end of their feet?

I pulled him into my lap while Mr X distracted him with a mirror. I slid the slippers over his feet and then lifted them up so he could see it.
I could see his face in the mirror go from laughing to abject horror. He jumped off my lap and started trying to run away, but he kept falling because there were these giant heads on his toes.
Then the screaming started.

"LALA! NNNNNOOOOO BBBBIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! NNNNOOOOOO BBBIIIEEEEEE!! NNNOOOOO LALA!! OOWWWWW!!"

I looked at Mr X and he was biting his arm to keep from laughing out loud.
I? I have never been good at not laughing out loud when I find something funny.
Girl X looked at us as though we were the cruelest people on the planet.

I caught up with Hurricane as he was trying to rip his feet from his body to keep Elmo from eating the rest of him. I held him tight as Mr X pulled Elmo off his feet.

Hurricane hiccuped-sighed and squinted over his toes. He poked at them. He poked at his feet.
Once satisfied that we had stopped the feeding frenzy before any real damage had been done, he set about examining Elmo.
He squeezed Elmo's head and slowly stuck his hand in the foot. Once satisfied that we had removed the teeth, he consented to us again putting them on his feet.
He adopted a funny little march-walk while wearing them, swinging his hips to music that only he can hear.

Who knew slippers could be so much fun?

What Tylenol Is For......

Girl X had her first slumber party this weekend. It was.... um... anyway.

I thought I was dreaming when she asked me if she could have one. She's a pretty smart kid. She waited until very early in the morning and whispered while I was sleeping. I remember saying yes.

And she held me to it.

I think it might have been different if the 3 girls invited hadn't been sisters. But they were. And sisters? Internet, listen because this is important.
Sisters fight. A lot.
And I know this. I have a sister. We fight all the time. Not a week goes by that I don't thank Florida for being on the other side of the country and for keeping her.
But yeah. Sisters. All her friends, really cute girls.
I spent the first 3 hours that they were there mediating fights.

"She threatened me!"

"She didn't threaten you. She just asked you to please stop hitting her in the head with your shoe."

"It wasn't my shoe it was her shoe."

"Right. Stop hitting each other."

"She won't share."

"I'll share my shoe."

"No one is sharing any footwear of any kind."

Mr X came home and I took the opportunity to go get dinner for the kids.

Yeah. That's right. I left my dear sweet husband alone with a raging toddler, 4 girls (3 of whom are sisters), several pairs of shoes and absolutely no idea what he was doing. And I laughed.
When I came home the house was quiet. I peeked in on the girls to see them crawling around Girl X's room, whispering.
When I came upstairs Mr X made me swear that I would never ever leave again.
He became desperate and told them there was a frog under her bed and if they were quiet they might find it.
It must have been pretty bad to make him resort to lying.
After dinner we got them settled into a movie and it was the quietest 20 minutes I had all day. for the other hour and 40 minutes they argued over whether Stitch was going to live or die.
Girl X ended it with "It's a Disney movie. Kids and animals always get happy endings."

Bedtime. Oh how that word sounded so sweet. I was so wrong. Because bedtime became a whole 'nother issue.

"She keeps kicking me."

"She has the better pillow."

"She said she was going to flush my bear!"

"She won't be quiet."

"She farted."

And so it went for the next hour and a half until I promised that the next person who spoke, moved or farted was going to sleep upstairs alone.

What happened to slumber parties where you stayed up and giggled and told stupid stories?

The next day they were at it again.
The last time they came to me with their fighting, I had to refrain from using my Discipline for Children book to smack them upside the back of the head. Instead I told them that if one more fight happened, everyone was going to time out. I didn't care who started it or what it was about, everyone was going to a corner.

They shut up for the rest of the day.

When it was time to go home they hugged and declared it the best time they had ever had.
I can picture it in my head. The way I looked right then. I've watched enough cartoons in my adult, er, childhood to know what I looked like when my jaw hit the floor.

"But.... but.... but....."

Mr X closed my mouth for me and said we'd love to do it again sometime soon.

His side still hurts from where I pinched him.

Good Night MMMMM............

To say Hurricane likes to eat is an understatement. You'd never know it by looking at him, but that kid can pack away some serious food.
Ex: Breakfast to lunch today, he had 2 pancakes, half a pear, 2 cereal bars, a handful of crackers, small bowl of chicken noodle soup, a banana, milk, cheese, a cookie and some cereal.
We can be in the middle of playing and he will lift his head and 'mmmm'? His cue that he's ready to eat.

He is ready to eat all. the. time.

So it should have been no surprise to me that reading Good Night Moon before bed would have led to this.

"Look Hurricane! A rabbit. In the great green room..... Oh ok. We can skip that page. And that one. Ok. A comb a brush and a bowl full of mush..."

"MMMMMM!!!!"

"What? Mush?"

"MMMMMM!!!"

He jabbed his little fingers into the book. I turned the page.

" Goodnight nobody, Goodnight mush...."

"MMMMM!!!"

There was a picture of this mush (and what is mush anyway? Because it really doesn't look appetizing!) in a bowl in black and white.

He stuck his finger into the book forcefully. I think he was trying to get some of the mush onto his finger for a little sample.

When that didn't work, he scooted off my lap and into the kitchen to Mr X.


"Daddy. MMMMMMM!!!!"

So now I guess I have to censor his bedtime stories for food.

Site Business

I've been deleting spam comments and only spam comments. If I wanted to advertise for someone's business/scam/whatever, I'd sell ad space.

Tales from Girl X's slumber party (what the hell was I thinking?) tomorrow. Right now I'm still too damned tired.

Weighing In

Yesterday I inadvertently stepped on some toes when I relayed something I had witnessed at McDonald's earlier.
I had taken the kids in for some ice cream and to just get out of the house. While there I noticed another baby boy. He was adorable, little blond curls and bright blue eyes. His mom was talking to her friend about the obesity problem in America and especially with children.
The irony in this for me was that while having this conversation, she was feeding her baby a double cheeseburger, french fries and soda. Not sharing hers, it was his own.
I heard her mention to her friend how tiny Hurricane was and (after cringing because I cannot tell you how many times I've heard that) turned to talk to her.
Her son was 11 months old and weighed 30 lbs. I looked at Hurricane.
Before he got sick he weighed in at 25 lbs fully clothes. He's 16 months.
I know that there are many reasons for a kid to be heavy, off those stupid little charts the Doctor follows at our visits.
Still, I think that double cheeseburgers, french fries and soda could play a part here (is my sarcasm showing?).
When I relayed all of this on those toes yesterday, I didn't really think much of it.
I didn't think about how it was really a judgment on this person. I didn't give a whole lot of thought to the fact that I don't know what goes on in their lives everyday. I just saw a baby eating a meal that would make most adults full and took off from there.

I get it in reverse.

Hurricane has always been a bit smaller than every other baby. A bit slower in his development. His adjusted age isn't that much but what a difference it makes.
I get asked if we ever feed him. I usually laugh it off because really? I never thought they could be so stupid as to be serious.
I occasionally hear someone talking about the 'sad skinny baby'.
I roll my eyes.
For all of the food issues this kid has, it's not lack of calories (vegetables sure, but everything else?). He likes the occasional cheeseburger and a couple of fries. I can't tell you how many times I've hidden shredded carrots in his pizza. He loves tacos and will actually eat the tomatoes in them. And in what makes me question how he could possibly be mine, he likes black olives (*shiver*).
I wonder if he'll always be underweight. Sometimes I worry about him, especially when he's sick and losing weight.
I try not to make a big deal of food in general. When Girl X is around I am extra careful. I fear the day she will stand in front of the mirror sucking in her flat tummy and crying about how fat she thinks she is.

But I did the same thing to that woman. Right?
I looked at her baby and what she was feeding him and decided she was feeding him to obesity.
But what if she's not.
There are medical conditions that can cause a child to gain extra weight. And what about heredity?

And more importantly, what business is it of mine?
Maybe that's the problem. We all worry so much about what everyone else is doing when we just need to butt out.
I know I have enough to worry about without taking on something that has nothing to do with me.

20 Shades of Red

Girl X has spring break this week (how unfair is that? We never had spring break as kids. If I wanted a whole week off of school I had to cover myself in little red spots (thank you crayola) and stick the thermometer up to the lightbulb like every other normal kid.) and has been home demanding to be entertained.
I almost had her convinced that dusting and folding laundry was fun, but then she heard me tell Mr X that I had her cleaning the house and it was over.
Since I was getting a little stir crazy and Hurricane still refuses to nap (dammit), we went to the library.
We will not be going to the library again for as long as I can stand it, or until I'm convinced that the librarians have very short memories.
It was fine at first- isn't it always? Girl X found a book and tucked down into a quiet corner near where her brother was happily playing with this block set.
I walked 5 feet away, kids still in sight, to look at the non-fiction section for some books I've been waiting to check out.
I was reading the backcover of one when I felt it.
It being the sharp teeth of one very small barracuda.
I yelped- it so COULD NOT be helped- and jumped back, knocking Hurricane to the ground and thus causing him to scream.
I carried him out of the library with my eyes half closed so as to avoid the angry shushing of the librarian. He calmed down instantly and 'ooed' at the pretty flowers nearby.
We snuck back in and he went straight for his sister, who shrugged and started to read to him.
I went back to my book hunt.
Then I heard this familiar noise.
Whenever we're in the living room, Hurricane has this compulsion where he must pull off every single DVD on the shelves because Gah! If I don't mom the whole world will end! Those things belong on the floor!
I turned around and saw that Hurricane feels the same way about books as he does DVD's. Girl X just rolled her eyes and went back to reading.
I put the books back on the shelf in as close to order as I could as quickly as I could and redirected my little monster to the toys.
I started checking out Girl X's books and mine when Hurricane decided that it was his turn to push the buttons on the computer and the kid who was on it had better just deal with it.

My toddler made a 4 year old cry.

I picked him up and told him 'no'.

He smiled at me, stuck his finger up my nose and said 'no'.

I pulled his finger out of my nose and said 'no'.

He has been weaned for 4 months now. He has shown no signs of missing it or even remembering what the boobs were once for. Therefore I can only assume that he chose to do this because of something his father told him.

He grabbed my shirt, pulled down the front and yelled 'MMMMMM' (which he only does when he's going to eat).

Yes. A roomful of kids, librarians and parents got to see the goods.

We aren't leaving the house for the rest of the week.

Spring break be damned.

Mommy Needs A Nap

When Girl X was about 18 months old she gave up naps. There was no warning, no compromise. She simply decided that naps were beneath her and that was that.

Hurricane, always in a hurry to outdo his older sibling, has decided that 16 months is the right time to give up naps.
I pleaded with him. I swore that Lent was over and he could nap, it was totally ok with G-d if he slept. He looked at me as though I had lost my mind.
I laid down with him.
He poked me in the eye and said 'ball!'
I pretended to be asleep.
He took the opportunity to pull his diaper off and pee on my pillow.

I tried to wear him down by letting him run free through the yard, which in retrospect was really stupid since I found out this morning that we have moles. At least, that's what I'm assuming it means when you find giant piles of dirt randomly appearing in your yard. Sometimes right in front of your eyes.
Hurricane thought this was fun. A perfect place to sit and roll around.
If those moles had any sense at all they would quiver in fear at the mere hint of odor being emitted from those diapers as he is still full of gas from being sick last week. Who needs poison? We can get noxious gas for free.
I brought him back into the house and changed his clothes. I carefully washed his face and hands as he chattered non-stop.
Suddenly I miss last week when all he wanted was to curl up in my arms and sleep all day.
He ate. And ate.

And ate.

How a body so tiny can stash so much food is beyond me. Pizza, pancakes, veggie puffs, crackers, cheese, pb & J, pears, the ice cream Mr X gave him because he thought it was funny that Hurricane kept loudly 'MMMMM'ing at him. And then more because Hurricane wouldn't stop making the sign for 'more' and bumping him. And of course by bumping I mean slamming all 22 lbs of lean sleepless boy.
Recently he has taken to hitting his head on whatever solid object is handy in answer to being told 'no' or simply not getting his way. The walls are a favorite way to accomplish this. He now has a lovely eggplant bruise on his head.
His sister shakes her head and rolls her eyes until I tell her that she used to do the same thing.
To top it all off, he has decided that he no longer needs to sleep through the night. Sleep is his issue, for Girl X it was food.
First it was getting him to sleep in his own bed. This meant putting him in while he was awake. Putting him in while asleep meant he would wake up within 20 minutes and freak right the hell out.
It also meant *gasp* letting him cry. I know this is a touchy subject for many people, but it worked for us. I feel like you have to do whatever works for your family and that's that. If we all spent a little less time worrying about what everyone else was doing and a little more caring for our own, I would have a lot fewer headaches. And ok, so the world would probably be a better place too.
By 10 months of age I was still getting up with him once a night until he finally decided that it was boring to play with mommy at 2 am because she just kind of sat there and stared at him with squinty eyes.
Then we decided to see if we could get him to sleep not only through the night but also until 7:30.
It worked until he got sick.
I am trying to convince myself that it's just a fluke. Surely he'll start napping again tomorrow. Right?
Come on internet, lie to me!

Happy Birthday To Me And Then Some

Sunday was my 29th birthday.

Yippee!!

Birthdays aren't really a big deal to me anymore. Aging doesn't bother me (says the a girl with no wrinkles, gray hairs or errant signs of aging). I never feel any different.
Which makes me think of my 16th birthday, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one, but I remember going to sleep the night before absolutely certain that I would feel different the next day. Surely my 16 year old self would be more mature, more lean, far superior in all ways to my infantile 15 year old self.
I was sadly disappointed the next day to look in the mirror and see that 16 year olds could still have bad hair days.

We spent the day doing very little. We took the kids to McDonald's so we could unleash them upon the germland of slides and plastic boxes. After about an hour of screaming and french fries and one spilled milkshake, we decided to go to the toy store. The kids spent the rest of their Christmas gift cards and we found a train table for Hurricane.
I broke my own personal rules against store bought cakes and got a small one from Dairy Queen after Girl X pleaded for several days.
They surprised me with gifts. A handprint kit from Hurricane, a Ray Charles CD I'd been hinting at since Christmas (to which Mr X laughs hysterically because I am as subtle as a sledgehammer) and Marley & Me- a book I am already halfway through and completely engrossed in.
It was quiet and sweet. Perfect.

A far cry from the way I used to celebrate birthdays. Once upon a time I would have ended the night extremely drunk and singing (Poor patrons of my old favorite dive bar!) along with the jukebox.
Then there was the early birthday celebration I shared with another friend before I moved out here. Girl X was at my parents for the night and my friend decided to introduce me to the fine art of jello shots.
I ate half a tray and started drinking whatever was handed to me.
I ended the night making snow angels in 3 feet of snow wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Someone thought it would be funny to take pictures and I have one tucked away in a box along with the day after pictures where I look like Joan Rivers after the last stitch holding her face in place snaps.

Sometimes I'd like to go back and slap me and other times all I can do is laugh at some of the things I pulled (all while hoping my own kids don't ever do the same things).

In an act of solidarity, I gave up drinking. Mr X can never have another drop of alcohol. His illness prevents him from ever taking the chance. It's not like he was a big drinker before anyway. He had been in his early 20's but by the time I met him it was a rare occasion.
Still, I know sometimes he misses being able to just go to a bar and shoot pool and have a beer. I miss it too. But I can't imagine sitting there and drinking a beer in front of him. I imagine it's like taking an diabetic to a candy factory.

And I did not mean for this to turn into this!

New subject!
We put together Hurricane's bedroom furniture this weekend. He was not even remotely impressed with all the tools and wood and instructions. We got through it with only a few strange swear words (flatulent cow!) and missing pieces. Mr X managed to give himself a staph infection because you know, furniture building requires wounds and staph.
Hurricane remained entirely uninterested in the whole process until Mr X put the canopy over his bed and we climbed in.

He pointed his little finger over his head to the blue star-strewn canopy and breathily uttered his one-word approval, "wow".

He then ran into his closet and hid, leaping out from the corners to yell 'GAR!!' and scare us every time we passed by.
He has not slept in there yet. He is not ready (translation: I am not ready to be reduced to a weeping little puddle of tears at the sight of that little body sleeping in that giant (twin) bed). He is still recovering from being sick last week. I don't know that I'm up for another round of sleep training right now either.
Talk to me in another 3 months when he finds a new way to climb out of his crib. We moved his crib away from the wall because I caught him using the wall to propel himself up and over his crib. My little acrobat.
Girl X was so much easier. She climbed out of her crib and never looked back. She slept through the night by 2 months and once she was asleep there was no waking her up. When she was 7 months old, I took her to the local park to watch the fireworks.
She fell asleep 5 minutes into it.
Aside from the 2 years of sleep walking and sleep talking, she's been easy to get to sleep.
Hurricane won't go to sleep unless he wants to no matter how tired he is.

I am not really looking forward to the 'big boy' bed. I will no longer be able to contain him in his bed, thereby making his efforts to elude sleep futile.
It's moments like this that I wish I still drank.

Yet They Still Love Me

I anticipate April Fool's Day the way my Girl X does Christmas. I plot out little tricks and giggle as I imagine the reaction. I research online for new tricks. I execute them quietly and quickly.
Yes. I am an overgrown child with entirely too much time on her hands. And my family is totally ok with that.
Mr X typically bears the brunt of my jokes and thankfully thinks it's funny too. Girl X did not take the one and only prank I played on her this year very well. She is laughing at it now though.
First, I wanted to cheese his deodorant. For those unaware, You cut off the top chunk of a person's deodorant and mold cream cheese in it's place. Use a string to make little hair lines and voila... instant ick. Sadly, Mr X uses clear deodorant so this wasn't going to work. I was going to use clear jello but that has some problems I have yet to work out. (**If you fill a toilet with clear jello, let it set and then run a think layer of water over the top it makes for a great and potentially messy prank.**)


I did have gel thought. Result: Sticky pits.

For Girl X's prank, I took a pair of her sweat pants and sewed them up at the knee. I also did this with a pair of Mr X's boxers.

Girl X had a virtual meltdown over it and we had to make a rule that you could not play pranks on people unless you could also take them.

Mr X.... it was the end of the night. He was not expecting anything at this point. He was tired and didn't even notice that I was grinning maniacally. He tried a couple of times and said something about his 'legs not working tonight'. I? I am laughing my ass off. Even more because it just didn't dawn on him that I had done anything.

This should have been an excellent prank. And would have been if I had known that Mr X had decided to use a new kind of toothpaste because he didn't like the aquafresh.

First, I glued toilet paper in the top to plug it up. Then, I used a box cutter to cut open the sides along the seam.

He thought it was pretty funny though and squeezed the tube anyway.

This was simple, but very effective. I simply stuck his toothbrush under water and then poured salt over it.

As he started brushing his teeth, he got an odd look on his face. He picked up the tube of toothpaste (one he'd never tried before) and began reading the ingredients. He was convinced it was the peroxide.

An Ordinary Life

My sister and I are at this weird point in our relationship where we're talking, but always careful to avoid any mention of what she did to burn me. I'm trying to just accept that this is how it will always be.
We were recently talking about feminism. Which? No. Not going there today. I could go on for miles but I can sum it up really quickly with this:
Feminism is about choice and being a stay at home mom is my choice. And no, my being one does not set back feminism 100 years.
Her main question?
"When you were young didn't you imagine more than this?"

"Well yeah. When I was a kid I had my heart set on being Rainbow Brite."

"I mean, didn't you want more than just an ordinary life?"

The honest answer is no. There were many things I wanted when I was a kid. An ordinary life was right at the top of that list. Although, at the time I don't think I realized that it was 'ordinary'.
I wanted a husband who loved me and kids, Lots of kids. In fact, before I learned where they come out of, I wanted 12. After I learned where they come out of, I wanted my future husband to be the first pregnant man in history. I wanted a house and a dog. I wanted my kids to be involved in sports and love to read. I wanted to live near my dad and stepmom so they could have a huge part of my kids lives. I wanted to live far away from my mom so she couldn't. I wanted in-laws I adored. Weekend trips to the beach, museums, mini-golf and bowling. I wanted a family. Happy and healthy. Hallmark perfect family.
For the most part I have that.
Except that my parents live far enough away that we only get to see them maybe once a year and my in-laws? Well. Yeah. There is that. My mom died before my husband and I even met. We're happy, but health.........
I think now the only thing I could really ask for is health.
So my life is, mostly, ordinary.
When my sister says it, it sounds like a disease.
"I'm sorry Sister X. You have Ordinaryoma. I'm afraid you only have 45 years left with your kids and husband and good health."

And what is so damn wrong with ordinary? What is so wrong about not wanting to be famous or insanely wealthy?
What is so bad about being happy just being who you are?

I Thought We Had An Understanding.

In between all the puking and diaper blow-outs (which? Can I tell you how much not fun it was to be at the Dr's office when his first blow-out of the day happened only to discover that Mr X had not restocked the diaper bag after he took the kids out on Sunday while I shampooed the carpet? Right. I'm sitting in the middle of the waiting room and the receptionist is 10 feet away asking what that smell is and there are no damn diapers in the bag! Also? What happened to his spare pants? He wasn't wearing them when he came home on Sunday. They aren't in the wash. So... the hell? Please? And to add to my level of stress, he lost a little more than 3 lbs in a week with all this puking. He's still well hydrated but the weight thing bothers me). Hurricane has learned a new trick.
He has learned how to freak mommy right the fuck out. Because there is nothing more thrilling after a grand total of 3 choppy hours of sleep than being woken up by a toddler standing at your door screaming. Especially when he's supposed to be in his crib.
Apparently he can fly. Or that tele-transportation thing is advancing. Whatever it was, I was not ready for this.
He's not ready for this.
He's not ready for his big boy bed. He can't sleep in the same spot for more than 5 minutes. He rolls and flips and grunts his way through the night much like his sister did.
I'm not ready for the battle of getting him to actually stay on his mattress to go to sleep when there are no bars to keep him there.


You weren't moving fast enough for me woman.


And now I can't keep his little feet on the ground. He climbs on the couch, the chairs, the bookcase the gate above the stairs, the dog, his toy shelf. I'm going to end up on Supernanny with those little no no stickers.
I'll be easily recognizable by the bald patches where my hair has been pulled out during one of his climbs. I'm hoping by then that I'll at least not be covered in puke. But I make no promises.

Listen kid, we had a deal. You were supposed to keep being the easy-going kid you were during your first year, meaning no monkey-business, and I was going to keep sneaking you cookies when Daddy wasn't looking. What happened?

An Entry Which I Will Later Deny Ever Writing.

Today is a day for bad bodily functions. The kind of day you tell your parents about and they laugh at you because ha! Didn't they tell you about the time you puked on them in the middle of Disneyworld's Space Mountain? After they had fed you cotton candy, ice cream, and popcorn? No, the ride so soon after you had gorged your little tummy on crap had nothing to do with it. Ha! You got puked on!
Yeah. Thanks dad.
So far I've been puked on 3 times, had pedialyte dumped in my lap once, been surprised by toiletus eruptus twice, gone through 5 outfit changes for me and 4 for Hurricane, 3 showers (mine) 2 baths (his), one load of laundry containing only puked on clothing, and 4 attempted naps (no sleep actually involved).
Hurricane saves all his puking for me. Mr X can be holding him, but then he reaches for me so I take him. And then he pukes on me. Isn't that thoughtful? He saves it all for the parent who can't even pick up a cat turd without 2 pairs of disposable gloves, a roll of paper towels, 409 and a gas mask.
Girl X flooded the toilet. I don't know why I was surprised. It happens at least once a week. And I just realized I'm going to have to set up a separate account for her therapy.
Also? Blogging while insanely sleep-deprived? Not smart.
Do you know what happens when you blog while insanely sleep-deprived?
You give people an entry dedicated to vomit and potty overflow. And typos. Lots of typos. Which I fixed. I think it's the least I can do if you are actually going to read an entry involving me getting puked on.

Whose Child Is This?

Once upon a time, when I was really stupid (I mean even more so than now. Shut up.) I thought having a daughter would be easy.
I thought being a girl would make it easier to raise one of my own. In my naive little mind, I imagined a girl with pigtails and a sunny smile who didn't know the meaning of 'argue' and we would have much in common.
Like I said, when I was really stupid.
She looks like me. A prettier version, I think. Same big green eyes, crooked grin, thick hair, and smooth, fair skin. She has more of an athletic build than I ever did. Her hair is lighter. Her lips slightly less full. We both have a weakness for mint chocolate chip ice cream and small furry creatures.
But that's where our similarities end.
I was always a bookworm as a kid. She's an excellent reader, but she feels her time is better spent hanging upside down from the monkey bars. She loves sports. Baseball is her 'thing'. We go to Mariner's games mostly because it's something she loves. Her most prized possession is the bat and ball signed by Kenji Johjima. She loves to watch the game on TV with her dad. I try, but I get fidgety and this seems to annoy her (I can only assume that's what it means when she jabs me with her elbow and admonishes me to sit still). She's a cheerleader. I go to her practices and games and love to watch her but it's always with this strange fascination. I wonder where she came from.
I was an introvert as a kid. The quiet one with her nose in a book.
Girl X is a social butterfly. She's friends with everyone in her grade and several others. She knows their moms and siblings.
It amazes me that she remembers their names but she always forgets to tie her shoes or turn in her homework.
She loves skirts and dresses, shoes, hair ties, bracelets and necklaces. All the girly things that sometimes freak me out.
I love shoes, but I can't wear anything with a heel. Unless of course I feel like falling flat on my face. Which I can actually do in flats too, but heels make it happen faster. I'm ok with picking out clothes for her, but when it comes to mine I'm at a loss. It's probably why Mr X has banned me from buying anymore sweatshirts.
Hair? I hope she has a nice friend who takes pity on her and teaches her how to do her hair because I'm still trying to figure out mine. Everytime I think I've got it, it falls. Most of the time I'm happy if it's brushed. And while we're on the subject of hair, I hope she finds someone with a nice mom who can teach her how to pluck eyebrows because I am at a loss. Wax is my friend. Not because I like it (I'm not a masochist!) but because I don't want to be the one-browed she wonder.
What I'm realizing now, all these years later, is that Girl X got the short end of the mother stick. I'm winging it as much as I can but I'm afraid I'm falling short and someday she's going to look back and ask me what the hell I was thinking.
Kind of like I'm doing now with my mom. I feel like there are all these secrets to being a woman that I should know, but I so don't. I wonder how my sister managed to get them out of her.
I can picture Girl X and I when she's a teenager getting ready for her first date. We'll be sitting on her bed and she has her clothes laid out between us.
"See, simple jeans, vintage tee, scarf for a belt, boots. Simple, pretty, young. Get it now mom?"
And I will nod my head and pretend I understand.