Wallydraigle

I bet they'd NEVER steal my credit card number

2012-02-09T21:57:00.002-06:00

I got this email today:

Subject: About your blogspot.com - blog. Please read.

Hello Dear, we saw your blog at http://tightwadintraining.blogspot.com and wanted to get in touch with you. We like your blog and would like to offer you a cooperation. Here is a Coupon with a 5% discount on all orders at our fashion online store http://risingtaste.com (coupon: blogspot2012). You may use it for your personal use or make a article about http://risingtaste.com at your blog. I hope you like our gift. Yours Risingtaste.com

Okay, I thought, so I shouldn't discriminate just because someone doesn't have a perfect grasp of English. You should hear some of my Spanish. Doesn't mean I can't properly serve drinks to a bunch of Spanish-speaking restaurant patrons, right? Well, usually.

Also, 5% off! I will take 5% off! Sure! Even if it is odd that you're peddling your wares to a blog that hasn't been updated in forever.

Instead of clicking on the link itself, I typed in the address. You know how spammers can be tricksy. I didn't get a virus, which is good. It's pretty much goal in any sort of interaction (having low standards makes life a lot more enjoyable).

The tagline is "Risingtaste - Where taste meets fashion." Which... seems redundant. "Risingtaste - Where pain meets terrible burns." Or, on a more positive note, "Risingtaste - Where humor meets comedy." But, again, grasp of the language doesn't necessarily mean anything, right?

Then I went to look at their clothes. I found a few cute things, but they all have the same size: "Free Size" I don't know what that means. But I also noticed that everything was under $15, which sounded crazy to me. Then I noticed in fine print under the tagline: "Wholesale clothing from China." Which got me all suspicious, so I went to their "About us!" page. And it seemed rather, well, defensive. Some choice quotes:

We are legally registered as a private company in ZHEJIANG, CHINA, and have received business license from CHINA government. Purchase at risingtaste.com indicates safe and well-managed trade.

Translation: We're totally shady and suspicious, but please buy from us anyway because the CHINESE GOVERNMENT is okay with us.

We have our own factory in Linhai, Zhejiang. also, in order to provide more styles(more than 6000 styles ),we ally with many clothing manufacturers specializing in producing export clothing in SHANGHAI,GUANGZHOU and ZHEJIANG of China, which enables us to provide trendy styles in massive amount and in remarkably low wholesale price. Now we are the best supplier to wholesalers, retailers and boutiques online or entities shops all over the world.

Translation: "We're a gigantic sweatshop. We rip off styles from manufacturers around the world and pay minuscule wages to provide you with thin, jersey-knit shirts at ridiculously low prices."

What? It looks like prison? Nooo. But look at all the natural light that these hundreds of women have to work in, with their nice sewing areas. We also feed them twice per day!

We can breathe again

2012-02-07T23:48:00.001-06:00

We are all healthy. We are all home. We are all (relatively) happy. Finally!

After Jeremy got home from his second trip, I went away to Moab for the weekend with some friends from church. It was like an extended high school slumber party, except with no parents nagging us to go to bed. Which, I know I'm getting old because I went to bed by midnight both nights even though I could have slept as late as I wanted.

Arches National Park. Is stunning. Lodging is really cheap in the off-season, especially if you go with some friends. You can look at pictures on the Internet all day if you want to, but nothing even comes close to the real thing. I got some pictures on my phone, but I haven't looked at them on a computer yet. My camera is not the most fanciest ever, so they might be garbage. If not, I'll post some.

I'm so tired I could probably pass out right now without any Ambien. To illustrate: I typed "assistance" four times before I got it right.

I did a longish workout video this afternoon, and THEN I went to the pool and swam 1700 yards. Okay, no, that's not very much. Not at all. In high school, we'd swim three times that in one practice.

But now? Well, six months ago, I could barely swim 100 yards at a time. Tonight I made up a workout as I went along, decided to do my cool down when I started feeling lousy, and then my cool down turned into 700 yards of nonstop swimming. A month ago, I got all excited when I finally broke 500 yards at the BEGINNING of a workout.

I love feeling strong and energetic again. I don't feel like I'm constantly lugging an extra carcass around on my shoulders. There's a long way to go yet, but I crossed some kind of threshold in the last few weeks. A little more muscle, a little less dead weight, and all of a sudden I have enough energy to get through the day, keep the house clean, be nice to the kids, and then voluntarily go work out at the end of it all.

My sister has been helping a lot. We post our respective weekly schedules on each others' walls on Monday, and then hold each other accountable. Or, rather, she holds me accountable. She doesn't appear to need quite as much motivation as I do.

And on Mondays and Wednesdays, I do water aerobics with a church friend. It's actually pretty hard work, if you push yourself. It's also way more fun than swimming laps, if you're a social person.

Speaking of my sister, a friend of hers works for a cloth diaper company (Sustainable Babyish). My prefolds were starting to get ragged (thanks, hard water, for requiring me to launder the snot out of my diapers), and I was thinking I'd have to buy more, but hey, my sister says, I have a gazillion of these diapers to give to you for free. Merry Christmas!

And they are so great. It takes them a while to get to their full absorbency potential, but once they do, you could just about soak up a small pond with one. I really recommend them, if you have the funds. I'm thinking about getting some REALLY good covers and giving nighttime cloth diapers another go. It's been a complete failure with everything else we've tried except for Huggies Overnites, which pretty much cost as much as the kid itself does, and that's pretty annoying.

Emmy turns two in four days. Yes. Emmy. THE BABY. I don't know whether to be excited or to sob. She still has the baby face, which Grace never had. This helps. But still, she's much more little girl than baby.

We want at least one more, badly (once we sell that house), but I love that I'm getting to enjoy her personality coming alive instead of having just enough mental and emotional energy to get through the day with a newborn and a toddler. She is so willful and such a clown. It's a terrible combination, since she comes thisclose to adorabling her way out of almost everything. But I thoroughly enjoy her even as she's trying to manipulate me.

I need to go to bed. But that is our life during the last few weeks. Mundane, but overall, pretty good.

This one jumps all over the place

2012-01-29T00:58:00.002-06:00

Grace has a fever. She claimed her ear hurt right before bed, too. Joy.

I think it's probably this virus's last hurrah. She's not acting sick, and she pointed to her outer ear, but I'm still annoyed. I'd say I can't bear another bout of sickness, but obviously I can. It's not like I'm going to run away or croak. And a person as selfish as me could probably stand a little more trial by fire (okay, weak candlelight) anyway.

We put our children to bed early tonight. They seemed very tired. They were silent within minutes. And then, half an hour later, Grumpy the Dwarf woke up and started jabbering to herself. It's been an hour and a half and she's still talking away. To what, I don't know. Her toes? Crib bars? The flower print on her crib sheet? Is she like that lady in "The Yellow Wallpaper" who goes mad while she's shut in her bedroom?

We also babysat the neighbor kids tonight. Jeremy and I took turns going upstairs and watching them. The two boys were asleep by the time I got up there. The girls were still running all around the apartment like crazy things, jumping off chairs (this is okay with their dad), doing somersaults, giggling hysterically.

The picture I paint might not say "FUN!" but it kind of was. These kids have, uh, LOTS of energy, but they're really sweet. The littlest one is a little older than Emmy, but about half her weight. She fell off a stool onto her nose and started wailing. I picked her up, the wails turned to sniffles and hiccups, and the sniffles and hiccups turned to snores. I COULD NOT PUT HER DOWN. FOR AN HOUR. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MY ARMS HURT.

Worth it.

The other one talks a mile a minute, but something about her is just so engaging. I'm sure I'd be exhausted if she were my child 24/7, but for a couple of hours, it's a lot of fun. She seemed really interested in my piano when I babysat them last time. I know next to nothing about teaching someone to play, but I think it might be fun to try.

When Jeremy went away, I got sick. But I had to function. So I took a lot of Sudafed. The real kind. Did you know that Sudafed is also an appetite suppressant? I didn't. I lost five pounds completely by accident. I was shaky and weak by the end of each day, so it wasn't the sort of weight loss I would like to continue, but it put me over some kind of threshold. I'm still losing weight (two more pounds so far), and I suddenly have buckets of energy. I feel really young all of a sudden.

I got up to 1300 yards today swimming. It may have been more, but I tend to lose count, and when I do that I add an extra 50 yards to whatever I'm doing. I lost count four times today, so it might have been as much as 1500 yards.

It's AWESOME. I know I overuse that word, but it's so true. There's something wonderful about walking in looking like the most out-of-shape person in the pool (Gold's Gym attracts every single ultra-fit person in a five-mile radius), getting in, and smoking all of them. During my warm-up.

Someone please tell me why I ever quit. Dumbest thing I've ever done.

Snotpocalypse

2012-01-18T00:10:00.000-06:00

This was the single nastiest cold virus I have ever had, or that my children have ever had.

-Extremely contagious? Check.
-Hangs out uncomfortably in your sinuses for several days before descending to the rest of your face? Check.
-Induces fever? Check.
-Causes uncontrollable coughing, if you're too young to take anything to dry you up and prevent it from spreading to your wee delicate lungs? Check.
-Creates secondary ear infections? Check.

I prefer my children to have a stomach bug. They started showing symptoms of a cold two weeks ago. Me, two and a half. Grace spent three days coughing and crying. And when she wasn't coughing or crying, she was staring listlessly into space. Emmy trudged circles around the living room and whined. She has nailed that one frequency at which all my sympathy neurons evaporate, and the only thing holding me back from rage is an ingrained duty to love my child. I prefer the listless staring. There was also a lot of screaming from both of them. Mostly at night, when they couldn't sleep, and their faces probably felt like your ears do at the bottom of a deep swimming pool.

Grace even fell asleep on me one morning. This has not happened since she was a tiny infant.

Admire her or stick random objects in her mouth? The terrible dilemmas of motherhood.

I finally took them both to the doctor last Sunday night. We waited for TWO HOURS. Grace, of course, perked up the moment we left the house and started hopping around the office. The doctor checked them both out, asked me a few questions, seemed very unimpressed with my list of horrible symptoms, and told me it was just a cold--a bad one, but no need to worry. He seemed sympathetic, but also very, "Why are you wasting my time with this?"

And then another four days of fever and horrible coughing and lots of pathetic moaning and almost no food or sleep. So I made another appointment and got to see our regular doctor, and the contrast between him and the one we'd seen before was amazing. I didn't realize how great he was with our kids before. He even listened to me like he believed I had an IQ somewhere above the single digits.

As it turned out, they both did have ear infections. They probably didn't have them yet when I'd gone in before, but I still wanted to decorate Dr. Champion's office with little post-its declaring, "I TOLD YOU SO!" and, "LEARN BEDSIDE MANNER," and, "WE LOVE DR. WALL."

Apparently this virus is making the rounds. It sticks for a few days--with a fever--and then goes away. I think the kids just got it worse because it's been kind of a stressful month for them, and their immune systems were falling asleep at the wheel. I have never seen either child so sick and miserable, not even when they had the stomach bug.

They are doing much better now that the antibiotics have kicked in. The coughs still linger, but they don't sound alarmingly croupy anymore.

Did I mention that Jeremy has been gone this entire time? Yes. Yes, he has.

Now that we're coming out the other side, I feel like superwoman. I managed to keep up with my exercise (well, videos at home, but they're tough... for me), I managed to cook meals on most of the days they felt like eating, and I only yelled at them ten or eleven times. For really, really stupid things. But hardly any of that has been this week. I'm... learning.

Okay, so I won't win any awards for my patience and long-suffering, but these last two weeks have really changed a lot of the ways I relate to them. I'm not magically calm all the time, but I'm moved to pity more often than I am anger, I enjoy being with them instead of enjoying the kids, but being bored with their repetitive games. Well, I'm still bored by repetitive games, but my enjoyment of them has begun to overshadow that.

I think we needed this little pruning. Spending every single miserable moment with them for two weeks straight had the exact opposite effect I would have expected. I feel more loving and nurturing toward them, not resentful and angry. Funny how that works.

It's easier for me to say this now that Jeremy will be home tomorrow. I told the girls they won't see him until Thursday, just in case he doesn't get in until after they're in bed. If not, though, we're going to pick him up from the airport. I won't tell them what we're doing, though. He'll just appear in the car. I can't wait! They will either scream a lot because they want to punish him, or they will be overjoyed. Either way, it should be fun.

Den of Pestilence

2012-01-12T21:23:00.000-06:00

Well, it's been quite the month.

Since mid-December: illness, illness, travel, strep, travel, illness, illness, illness, husband gone for two and a half weeks, fever, can't leave the house for days and days except for necessities, illness, ear infections, Grace waking up in the middle of the night all of the time and thinking it's morning, so she comes out to the living room and sits in a daze, like, "Why am I so exhausted?" and/or crying in confusion and waking me up.

It's been AWESOME.

Really, though, now that the end is nigh, I'm feeling okay. Tuesday was a low point. The kids were at the absolute unhealthiest, I was imagining days and days of not leaving the house (Jeremy doesn't get home until next Wednesday), and the sleep deprivation was really creeping up on me.

I texted a friend, "Do you think you could come over this evening? I'd really love to just hang out with a friend." Now, she's a busy lady, especially this time of year, since she's our church's resident baker. And she just threw a party for her three year old on Saturday. On Sunday night she picked up some diapers and diaper rash cream for me (poor, poor Emmy). Not a moment's hesitation on that one. Just, "Sure! What do you need?" So I didn't really want to make ANOTHER request, but I was about to lose my mind, and she's one of my favorite people.

Not only did she say, "Sure!" but she also said, "Can I bring margaritas?"

I LOVE THIS PLACE.

Listen to me whinge

2012-01-04T21:24:00.000-06:00

If you live in Utah, get your Sudafed at a Costco. They can sell you four boxes for four bucks. This, sadly, was the high point of my day. Jeremy seems to have passed on his cold to ALL OF US, and while he's gallivanting around frozen Quebec, we're here all trying not to kill each other. All things considered, though, the girls have been fantastic.

I'm just tired from all the various illnesses. It's been three weeks of us passing various microorganisms around, and I feel like something furry died in my face. I'm a wuss, and I (usually) never get sick. Coping has been an ordeal.

My friend brought over a workout DVD on Monday. We did the 30-minute workout. It didn't feel that difficult. Then I did my core training workout yesterday. I was sore from Monday, but wanted to do something.

Yeah, I can barely walk today. Everything from my ribcage down feels like a giant internal bruise. It's a good pain (and somehow I'm suddenly at the lowest weight I've been since right after I had Emmy), but it sure puts a damper on the taking-care-of-small-children-alone thing.

She's coming over again tonight to work out. This ought to be interesting.

When Jeremy came home from the Philippines in November, I helped him unpack. Well, actually, he unpacked halfway, gave up, and I got so annoyed with his stuff lying around that I just did the rest myself. He would've gotten around to it eventually, but there's something about unpacked stuff that drives me 'round the bend.

Then I Very Logical Placed half of it and completely forgot about the whole thing.

Monday morning, he got up at 4:30 to get ready to leave. He shook me from dead sleep around 5:30 or 6. "Hon. Hon. Hon. It's important. Hon. Wake up. Hon..." and so on, for probably ten minutes. I don't know. I was asleep. It might have been only ten seconds, but I doubt that, knowing me. I do remember the note of panic and agitation in his voice. I finally sat up, all, "What? The murglebats haven't gone to bed yet. I need ten more minutes," ready to scratch his eyes out if I'd had the energy. Slowly, as if he were speaking to a two-year-old: "HON. Do you know where my passport is?" Me: "Um. Um. It's in the... the thing in the pocket of the thing, the, uh, the.... overnight bag."

He scurried off to go look and came back empty-handed. So I dragged my rear out of bed and helped him look. We scoured the entire apartment. He even drove across the street to work to look for it there. No luck. His taxi left, which meant he was going to miss his flight.

And then. It was like a lightning strike. I suddenly remembered the Very Logical Place. Realization hit so quickly it was almost painful. Maybe it was just the coffee finally getting to my brain cells. I went into our closet, picked up a bag of stuff, and pulled the passport straight off the top. Turns out I'd shoved everything I didn't know what to do with into that bag and then thrown it on the floor of the closet to deal with later. Because there's no way I would forget where I put his passport, right? Especially not if it's ON THE FLOOR OF OUR CLOSET in a plastic bag full of random garbage like a package of airplane toothpaste, a pair of paper slippers, and a flash drive.

Idiot.

He missed his flight, but he did catch a later one and still made it to the worksite on time. It was just a much longer day of travel than he'd been hoping for.

But the thing I take away from this isn't that I'm a moron and need to start stapling locations of things to my forehead. No, the moral of the story to me is this: Unpack your own stuff before it makes your wife insane.

Not a terrible Christmas

2011-12-29T16:03:00.002-06:00

So, I'm alive. These antibiotics I'm on are kicking strep's butt (I came down with it sometime last week and woke up the day after we arrived in Denver feeling like I was dying), and I've felt completely fine since Sunday. I'm just tired.

The Sunday and Monday of our visit was great. People were mostly no longer throwing up (I got strep; all the kids got a stomach bug; it was WONDERFUL) by Sunday night. Considering the circumstances, it was a pretty good Christmas. It's always good to be with my sister and her family.

I got a number very cool presents, but the one I'm really excited about is the ice cream maker. I told my sister I liked kitchen gadgets that are useful but that I'd never spend the money on myself. I was thinking a Slap Chop, or a garlic peeler. Then I opened this box and was very excited. Way better than a salad spinner.

She gave me a recipe book (I think it's this one) to go with it, and I'm collecting the makings for my first batch now. I need to find rennet tablets, though. Does anyone know where to find such a thing? I can pick an easier recipe, but this is the one labeled "Five Star Vanilla Ice Cream," so of course that's what I'm starting with. Because "Easy Vanilla Ice Cream" would be, well, easy, and I believe in making things as needlessly complicated as possible. My first attempt at chicken broth was something to behold.

The girls got PRINCESS EXPLOSION for Christmas, and they're pretty happy about it. There's a doll Emmy got that sings "I'm a Little Teapot," and she's obsessed with it. I made the mistake of handing it to her in the van on the way home in a moment of desperation, and we were treated to literally an HOUR of that song, over and over again. Then she threw it on the floor and screamed for it, and I decided to take the screaming over the singing.

It's much easier to tolerate in the apartment. Especially since she cradles it and runs around in circles, crooning and occasionally tripping.

Speaking of the drive home, I could very happily make a living driving back and forth between Denver and Salt Lake through the Rockies. Every kind of spectacular landscape you could imagine is somewhere along that drive. It's a miracle one of us didn't drive off the road. The girls didn't appreciate the longer drive, but we considered it well worth the extra time. I've seen all the pictures, but it's something else in person.

Also! I now have a membership to Gold's Gym that includes childcare. Jeremy's work has an incredible deal, so we took it. I'm so excited. Swimming is finally clicking for me again, and now I can go anytime I want! The girls also seem to flourish when they regularly spend small amounts of time with different people. So, wish me luck! And motivation.

On the mend

2011-12-21T15:06:00.001-06:00

I'm so glad I cleaned the house on Monday. Because there has been an entirely more unpleasant kind of cleaning going on for the last day and a half. The kind of cleaning I'm not comfortable describing to you, but I'll just say it involves EVERY SINGLE ONE of the towels I washed on Monday, plus a handful of cloth diapers when those ran out, a gallon of vinegar, buckets of boiling water, and at least a cup of baking soda. Also, the washer and dryer are starting to squeak.

On the bright side, I've lost two pounds (no, I haven't gotten sick--just lots of heavy cleaning and a fear of eating). We also have several VERY clean spots in our carpet.

If I make it through another day without getting sick, it will mean I have superhuman DNA. Or that I take my vitamins and Jeremy doesn't.

Also, friends, there is nothing sadder than watching a baby throw up. I know, I know, it's a disgusting mental image. But think about how revolting and horrible it is when you're an adult, and you know why it's happening, and you know that it will be okay. Kids, they don't know. It's just completely bewildering and awful.

Emmy's young enough not to be bothered by the revolting aspect. Once the physical discomfort is over, she's all, "Eh. I'm tired. Let's go back to sleep." But Grace just cries and cries. I think she's afraid to eat now, too. She hasn't gotten sick since last night, but all she's eaten today is a piece of toast, five frozen peas, and a tiny bite of pizza.

We ought to leave for Denver tomorrow, provided I don't get sick. If I bring this illness to my sister's house, no one would ever find my body, and my sister would be one rusty gold van richer.

Sharing is caring

2011-12-20T12:35:00.001-06:00

The problem with having friends is that they pass on all their various illnesses and diseases, along with all their kids' illnesses and diseases. I'm swimming in friends here. I couldn't have kept these people away if I'd wanted to (I didn't). This is the most friendly place I have ever lived, and it's AWESOME.

Except for the whole getting sick the weekend before Christmas.

Everyone at church got sick in the last couple of weeks. I breathed a sigh of relief when it seemed to have passed us by. And then Emmy woke up from her nap yesterday with a fever. And then last night Jeremy started moaning and being sad and uncomfortable, and I rolled my eyes because I'm the best wife ever. And then he spent the entire night being violently ill. And then when I got up this morning I felt like my throat was stuffed with a giant wad of balled-up socks.

Grace is completely unaffected. As usual.

It's like we all have something different. Which is fun because we could potentially pass around various horriblenesses for weeks. Who knows what could happen? It'll be the best Christmas surprise ever.

Also, we're supposed to leave for Denver tomorrow morning.

I spent all of yesterday cleaning like a crazy person, and then I went to the liquor store (in Utah, this means driving around to seven different locations which may or may not be closed at odd hours and hoping one of them is open and has what you want) and then water aerobics, so I think maybe I'm just overtired. I get sinusy weirdness all the time lately; I think it's the pollution.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself as I alternate between sweating and shivering every five minutes.

The one bright spot in the day is that Stompy Neighbor brought down the cutest present for us this morning (four adorable mugs, hot cocoa mix, and some tea). Totally made my day. Now I feel like a horrible person for not thinking to get them anything.

Anyway, Merry Christmas, all!

(And please pray that we'll all be better tomorrow. I've been looking forward to this trip since I left there last month.)

Abs

2011-12-15T16:08:00.000-06:00

This will be short and dry. It's something I've been meaning to write about for a while because I'm quite sure there are a few others of you out there who have a similar problem and have either not been told how to fix it or haven't even been told it exists.

I've recently discovered that my persistently weak abs a stubbornly bulgy stomach are a result of an Actual, Real Thing, not just me not trying hard enough. It's called diastasis recti. It happens to most women during pregnancy and usually goes away after birth. Mine is not severe. But it's not going away on its own. Having two gigantic children 16 months apart is one of the best ways to get it. Yay me.

So I've been holding off on the ab exercises because everything I've read says they make it worse. That's just SUPER.

Well, I picked up this video on a whim at the Babysteals Boutique here in Salt Lake (online discount store, with headquarters five minutes from our apartment; yet another reason to love Utah). I was looking for a Christmas gift for my niece. I didn't find one, but this video is a total win. The lady has that weird cheerleader smile and is entirely too perky (and pretty) for my liking, but I can feel my stomach tightening up, ever so slowly. I already have far less back pain after just a couple of weeks, and my belt is getting bigger and bigger on me.

I'm still on the novice level. I have to bow out of some of the exercises because I'm too tired to do them properly. But she tells you exactly how to keep proper form, and how to keep strengthening and using those muscles throughout the day. Anyway, if any of you are having a similar problem, I really suggest trying it. Even if you can't do the full workout, it can get you started on getting those muscles back to where they're actually useful. I've also noticed my posture improving, which is nice; I really don't want to have a hunchbank when I'm 90.

Pandora: Christmas Edition

2011-12-01T15:54:00.001-06:00

After ten years working in a restaurant, I thought I was done with Christmas music forever. From Halloween to December 24th, all we listened to were inane versions of the same five Christmas songs sung over and over and over. "Jingle Bell Rock" doesn't have much charm to begin with, but try listening to it in Spanish, in country twang, in a soft rock revamp and in the original--ALL IN THE SAME HOUR. It's like having your brain sucked out through your ear.

And then. This year. I'd been a bit glum since the cloudier, cooler weather started (this is before I started shoveling in vitamin D like it was candy--10,000 IUI/day is apparently what it takes to make me happy). I got a bizarre hankering for some Christmas music, so I decided to see what Pandora had to offer.

My favorite version ever of any Christmas song ever is sung by--get this--The Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLachlan:

It is utterly perfect in every way. And I don't even like Sarah McLachlan since all the rage about her a decade or so ago (her voice is lovely, but I'm so tired of it).

So this is the song I plugged in to get my Christmas station started. There have been many good songs and many good artists. But then there are the hordes of breathy, overwrought emotional Christmas hymns or rocked-out, overwrought Christmas hymns, and it makes me want to scream.

There are two kinds of classic music that I like.

1. The original version.
2. A fresh, new version that still stays true to the spirit of the original. Please don't tell me that "O Holy Night" needs an electric guitar or breathy arpeggios. Or that "Silent Night" needs to be wailed at the top of your lungs.

So what does Pandora give me?

Breathy, flowered-up or rocked-out versions of old Christmas classics. OVER AND OVER AGAIN, despite me hovering over the computer every chance I get, plugging in thumbs up and thumbs down for every song I have a strong reaction to.

Me: Oh, what a lovely version of "Oh Come Oh Come Immanuel." LIKE.

Pandora: SIIII-III-LENT NII-II-II-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-GHT [where each "I" represents a part of the amazing scale this singer can sing], HO-HO-HOHOHOHOHOLY NII-II-II-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-GHT...

Me: DISLIKE.

Pandora: Personally, I really love this extremely twangy group of musicians who pronounce their Rs like they're trying their darndest to hold them in their mouth with their teeth until the Second Coming. You sure you don't want to give them another shot?

Me: NO.

Pandora: Okay, I'll throw you a bone. How's this for bizarre? Annie Lennox singing the most beautiful, haunting rendition of "Lullay Lullay" that you have ever heard. Enjoy crying into the soup you're cooking for your little tiny babies.

Me: *sniff* LIKE. A LOT. BUT IT'S SO SAD.

Pandora: Fine, how about something cheery like "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer"?

Me: Are you listening at ALL? HATE.

And so on.

If you can sift through the horrible stuff, Pandora does come up with real gems. If you like really strange ladies singing about terrible tragedy.

I dare you not to cry.

Too funny to wait until my next entry

2011-11-14T10:37:00.001-06:00

On the off chance that any of you ever meet Slimy the Younger, this is how she will look at you all of the time. Really, it's not personal.

I will end you.

(There are several other cute children in this picture, but they're my sister's, and I don't know if posting them here is okay.)

I still miss Woodman's

2011-11-11T15:32:00.001-06:00

I went and got us a Costco membership today. This was a bad idea. Not the Costco part. That was a great idea. It'll pay for itself in a week in fruit alone.

No, the bad idea was Friday morning at 11:00. I don't know why, but everyone in Utah over 60 was there. In my daze and wonderment, it's a miracle I didn't plow any senior citizens over with my gigantic cart full of gigantic children. I've been to stores like this before, but it's a long time since I actually shopped in one for myself. You should see the grapes I got. They're as big as my head and taste like candy. And the tomatoes... I can now support my and 2.0's habit guilt-free.

I wrote down prices as I went through--stuff we buy regularly but don't need now--, and now that I look at it, I do think this thing will pay for itself in just a couple of trips. We used to have a Sam's membership when we first got married. I think we bought toilet paper once in our first three years together. The produce was cruddy, the quantities were enormous for just the two of us, and it was clear across town. Not worth it.

I don't know what Sam's is like now, but I really like Costco's produce, meat and deli. And with two kids I can even use up a refrigerator-size package of turkey slices before it expires.

The kids were angelic in the store today. It's always a gamble with them. They're never particularly bad; they seem to be wired not to throw tantrums in stores (something I know can happen even with good parents and well-disciplined children), but they get whiny and annoying, and I'm incapable of shopping while trying to tune out whining. It's like playing the piano while a friend jams a knife in your ear.

(They did have one moment in the cheese aisle (and I don't blame them--all that cheese makes me hangry, too), in which 2.0 got a flick on the cheek and The Child got a stern lecture--so effective with a three-year-old--, and when I was done, she looked at me and said, "Snuggle?" and we hugged a bit. And while that was happening, 2.0 leaned in too, and said something that sounded like "Straaangle?")

But back to Costco. It's an airplane hangar full of economy-sized crap you think you need, and half the time it took to get through was talking myself out of buying jars of pickles the size of my torso. And not running over sweet old people. I did get suckered into buying a fancy package of dried figs, but I justify that because: 1) they're good for you 2) I hate them 3) the kids love them. It's the perfect kid snack food. They eat something healthy, and I don't devour it while they're napping.

After 45 minutes of slogging through the AARP and my own greedy brain, we finally arrived at checkout. Where we waited. And waited. And waited. See, I have a superpower. It is the ability to find the one lane with the brand new trainee. If you ever see me in the store, do not get in line behind me. Especially if you have a similar ability. Our powers will combine, and we will be stuck in that checkout until our teeth fall out.

So we waited there. And then we waited at the membership counter behind a couple who must have been buying a car or ordering a custom-made glacier. Half an hour. I wish I were kidding. My poor starving children held it together very well, but I almost went back and bought myself an economy-size missile launcher. The thing I hate about waiting in line is that I know it's no one's fault. And having no one to direct my anger and impatience at makes me even angrier and more impatient.

I'm a wonderful person. Brimming with goodness and benevolence.

The people in front of us did finish up (I'm actually not writing this while I wait in line), I got my photo taken (my worst photo EVER, by the way, but it's okay because it's so awful it's comical instead of just embarrassing), and we cleared out of there. Then poor Emmy erupted into screams--but only until we got to the car. Good baby.

An unexpectedly happy day

2011-11-08T14:47:00.004-06:00

Poor sad, sick Grace. Yesterday morning we spent at least half an hour dancing vigorously in the living room throughout the morning. Yesterday afternoon, her eye turned red, and her nose started running. Today it's a fever, nasty cough, and pinkeye.

I ran out of Ambien. I called my prescription in as soon as I could yesterday, but they still didn't get it in time to fill it yesterday. I spent almost all of last night (between Sick Child's screams) twitching in bed, praying for at least three hours of sleep. I think I got exactly that, which is nice. It's that zone right between the angry exhaustion and complete mental failure where I get hit with a weird euphoria every couple of hours. It's that or dozing on the floor next to The Child while 2.0 whacks me in the head with various paper-containing objects, shouting, "Bead! Book! Bead me... book!"

WELCOME HOME.

So I finally break down and make a doctor's appointment, and Grace perks up and starts bounding around the living room like a slimy gazelle ten minutes before naptime.

I can't tell if she was playing it up for all the TV and loving attention she got, or if she really did start feeling awesome right at that moment. I don't really care. Something about sick babies makes me weirdly happy and nostalgic for my own childhood, when my dad would give me all the Sprite and V8 and soup and Disney movies my little heart could desire. I memorized most of The Lion King on a sick day.

So, anyway. It's been kind of a cruddy day, but not without its good times. Emmy has been a darling for a change. She keeps running up to Grace with Kleenex and the Vaseline yelling, "Bless you!" (Emmyland word for Vaseline) There is nothing more comforting than an a little sister aggressively waving Kleenex in your face and loudly grunting while attempting to open the Vaseline container to sooth your poor raw nose. I know that I would want her for a nurse someday. Can you imagine how generous she'd be with the painkillers?

I should nap, but of course I'm wide awake now. They need to invent daytime Ambien. That would be the best day of my life.

Also, my children at Halloween. Emmy is a bat. This is fitting. She had that exact expression on her face pretty much the entire night. Grace is... I don't know. We think a cat or lion, maybe. It was the costume in my sister's costume box that fit her. Whatever it is, she was adorable, even if you can't tell in this picture.

Emmy: You are dead to me.

I want to live in Denver

2011-11-07T10:30:00.001-06:00

6 kids
3 adults
1 gigantic dog
1 average-sized house

Things I have learned:

1. Dog hair is well worth it if you have smallish children who suck at feeding themselves. Or if you fling gobs of food on the floor every time you make a meal.

2. TV is magical.

3. I wish we lived in Denver.

Jeremy went to the Philippines for almost two weeks, and my sister called up and asked if I wanted to come stay instead of sitting at home. Yes. Oh, yes please.

The drive out was almost perfect. I don't know if it was the DVD player a friend lent us, if it was better carseats, older children, having a van with tinted windows, or that they could entertain each other, but it was amazingly scream-free. Their little brains imploded about 45 minutes from my sister's, but it was a short-lived crisis.

I handled it maturely and gracefully by yelling a lot of dire threats. Outstanding parenting. Give me a medal.

And then... insanity. There's no way to have that many people under one roof and not have insanity. It was hard, but I kind of liked it. Working hard most of the day is a near-cure for stupid anxieties and pointless navel-gazing. I'm sure I can't sustain that level of activity without someone forcing me, but it did bring me a boatload of perspective. The more selfish I am with myself and my time, the more unhappy I am. And two kids is nothing. Well, okay, not nothing. But it'll be a while before I really start whining again.

Today is my first day home, back in the old routine, and I'm climbing the walls. I really need to get over my aversion to the cold, or it's going to be a long winter.

Or have twins. Either of those would work.

The drive back was less pleasant. I got to drive into the sun for six hours after a good snow. The kids loved that. Nothing like getting strapped down for eight hours and being forced to stare into the sun for six of it. There was significantly more screaming on the way back.

But! I did not threaten or yell. I gripped the steering wheel and dreamed of booze.

So, I'm back. It was a good visit. We are all safe and alive, etc.

I need a new name for Stompy Neighbors

2011-10-18T15:26:00.001-05:00

So, here's a weird update:

1. We have become friends-ish with Stompy Neighbors. In fact Lady Stompy Neighbor is my new workout buddy. And she's kind of great.

2. Speaking of workouts, I have been getting up at 6:30 to go work out. ON PURPOSE.

I want to take this moment to thank Ambien for changing my life. This is not, for once, hyperbole.

I am still not a morning person. I still squeeze every last second out of the day that I can, and I'm still nervous to go to bed at night. It's so strange to turn out the light before I feel completely exhausted. And it's so strange to find myself falling sleep almost immediately anyway. At least six hours a night, but I'm slowly learning that I can go to bed sooner. And it's awesome.

Our house is endless frustration. We had a buyer, but she got cold feet. The sewer line needs to be replaced. I keep hoping for a tornado, but it hasn't happened yet. I'm tired of the whole thing, but surprisingly anxiety-free over it. We're not in danger of bankruptcy or homelessness or foreclosure. We're just not as close to a few of the things I've wanted (new mattress, bike trailer, recipes and cooking that are more fun). I know it's good for me to have to wait for things, but IDONTWANNA.

Jeremy is going to the Philippines in a while. He found out about this trip last month, then it got canceled, and now it's back on. He'll be gone for ten days. I'm excited for him, but not excited for him to be gone. The girls are always easier than I expect them to be when he's gone, but I never believe it'll happen again until he's gone and they're surprisingly pleasant. My brain is a strange, dim place.

And Grace. Well, I think every update over the last few months has made some mention of how she's suddenly done something great, but lately she's been surprising me even more. No shrinking at the door when we go to a friends house, no running screaming into her room if someone comes to ours. She says 'hi' to random people in the grocery store even if she's not confined within the safety of the shopping cart. She now asks for baths, instead of screaming through each and every one. And not only that, but she also dumps water on her head. Oh, and food? Emmy is now the picky one. So far, in the last week, Grace has tried everything we've told her to try. At first it was with much whining, but now she does it without complaint.

The other day we went to the park, and I looked away for five seconds, only to look back and see her halfway up the inclined ladder (it's been her nemesis since we moved here), quietly freaking out.

I helped her back down, impressed enough with her willingness to take a stab at it, and immediately she said, "You wanna go back up?" And she did. And I didn't even need to help her, except to cheer her on (or bully her on, which may sound cruel to an outsider, but I find I'm much more effective if I act like a drill sergeant sometimes). She still flips out near the top every time, but she also keeps going up it, over and over again, each time we go.

I'm sorry to brag every time I write, but sometimes being her mother has been very tough. It's hard not to worry when your child is terrified of everything and seems to acquire a new phobia every day. And all of a sudden, she's hurdling these fears one right after the other. It's such a relief. She's still more fearful than most kids, but my brain no longer gives me flashes of her at age 30 living in our basement, rocking in a corner and chewing on her shirt. It's pretty great. Now, if only our house would sell...

Catching up

2011-09-16T16:07:00.002-05:00

It's amazing how little free time you have when you actually feel like living your life. I am actually able to keep busy all day long so well that I even get tired at a reasonable hour. I can't fall asleep without chemical assistance, but my rear is propelled in the direction of the medicine cabinet long before 2am, which is where I was at a week and a half ago.

There is not much to report in general, though. Little things that all people do that I haven't felt like doing before now.

A trip to a kitchen store nearby filled from floor to ceiling with every wonderful thing you could imagine you might need for cooking and baking, and then some things you didn't even know you needed until you went there. I got the girls out the door and on the way to the store by 10:30 in the morning a few days ago. That is nothing short of miraculous. I decided not to look up directions (not all streets go where you expect them to here, but it's impossible to get lost in this city with the grid system), took several turns that ended up being bad ideas, and didn't come close to panicking. It was fun. Things like that have always been fun. I just forgot.

We didn't stay long. Twenty minutes in the car, two antsy toddlers, and lots of knives are not a good combination.

We went to the park yesterday. For fun. The girls did not beg or plead. It sounded fun, so I got them dressed, and we walked over.

There was a lady there with a boy a little younger than Emmy. She spoke no English. I think it was Serbian, but I'm not sure. I remember a few phrases that the cleaning crew people taught me from my waitressing days, but I didn't think it would be so awesome if I tried the wrong but related language with her and instead of, "Hi, how are you?" said, "Hi, you smell like poo."

The Child went down the long slide by herself several times. She also climbed the mini rock wall and walked down the steps that look like a series of descending stools. The potential for falling in either case is very high. The last time she went, and I suggested it, she back away slowly while fearfully whimpering.

I think Emmy might be ready to potty train soonish. Yeah. Yeah, I know. HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE. She's more defiant, but she also lacks all the fear that made it so difficult with Grace. Once she's a bit better at following commands, I think we can do it.

Every time I change her or check her, as soon as I unsnap her diaper, she says, "WOW!" like I just opened a Christmas present for her. Yes. Merry Christmas, here's the worst present ever.

The weather is getting cooler. I... don't mind. How bizarre is that? This is the first fall in ages where the sinking feeling hasn't started sometime around the end of August.

It helps that fall in Utah (so far) means cooler weather, but not days and days of heavy, boring clouds. It's in the 70s and sunny most days recently, which is perfect for getting the kids out of the house and into the sun for some good vitamin D.

Our house has still not sold, but we have accepted an offer from a lady pending the sale of her own home. And she has accepted an offer on her house, pending financing. So we'll see. It's not a sure thing. I'm not going to allow myself to be excited until papers are signed, but I'm not worried anymore, either.

I think that's all that's happened recently. It has been a wonderful summer full of just living and doing normal things and enjoying a sort of peaceful contentment. I can't remember a summer like this in a long time. My overwhelming emotion for several months now has been gratitude. God has always been very good to me--to us--, but this year it has been in very obvious, tangible ways. I am soaking it all in and committing it to memory now before winter hits, and I get grouchy and irritable again.

But who knows? That might not happen this year.

Holy Cows

2011-09-09T10:15:00.001-05:00

My goodness. Three nights of real sleep, and I feel amazing. I'm starting to think all my issues were a result of sleep deprivation. Now I'm hoping that my thyroid levels come back normal. I've lost like two pounds since I started taking the Ambien, and my heart doesn't sink down into my toes when my kids wake up in the morning, and I don't feel like snapping everyone's heads off with my bare hands just for existing, and I want to write love sonnets to that nurse practitioner.

I knew my sleep was bad, but it must have been even worse than I'd realized. Each night I've taken the Ambien, I've woken up between 5 and 6 for some strange reason and haven't been able to get back to sleep for quite a while. But I still get up in the morning rested and ready to go.

Some people are anti-drug because they're not natural, because God didn't make them. Well, I say that God made people with gigantic brains who grow up to be scientists who create amazing things like Ambien. I know it's not a great drug for everyone, but so far it's been wonderful for me. No weird behavior, no insane dreams (well, no more than I normally have), no hangover in the morning or new appendages. It's great if you don't want to ingest chemicals and drugs; we attempt the same rather half-heartedly, within our limited budget and lack of gardening space. I've tried all the natural remedies for insomnia, and all of them have failed.

I'm not actually directing this at any of you; it's been certain other people in my life who kind of look down on others who turn to chemicals to sold these problems. Sometimes it's necessary, friends. Three days, and I'm already a new person (actually, I was a new person on the first day). I wasn't depressed, but I was definitely not right. I'm still a bit nervous, but only when I'm with people I don't know very well. I don't feel like something is hanging over me.

Alas, I know that some people can develop a tolerance to Ambien. One of my Facebook friends suggested... L-thiamine? I-thiamine? I'm not sure which. I'm too lazy to go check. Does anyone know anything about this? I don't know what I'll do if I go back to the horrible no sleeping thing, so I'd like to have some backups in place.

Anyway, this is today's PSA: Never underestimate the power of sleep deprivation. The thing that makes it so evil is that you don't realize how badly it's affecting you until you're out of it. Wow.

There's a guy who's been awake since the second world war.

2011-09-06T23:38:00.001-05:00

So, my sleep has been getting worse and worse and worse. It seems to be cyclical. It'll go a few days--weeks, even--where I get adequate sleep at night, and then deteriorate for a while until I'm going every single night on a few hours of broken sleep. Well, for most of my life, the bouts of bad insomnia were shorter and less frequent than the bouts of mild to nonexistent insomnia. Lately, though, I've had no relief. The last week, it's been about as bad as having a newborn. The cycle is no longer a cycle; it's a string of cursive e's descending a staircase into crazyland.

Proof that Utah is good for me: I'm anxious and tired and irritable, but still giddily happy. That probably doesn't sound possible, but it is. I don't have the gloom that usually accompanies sleep deprivation. But I am still losing my mind.

After Grace was born, the baby blues hit me mainly as anxiety. There was some weepiness and such, but it was mostly anxiety. It receded after the first wretched weeks, and then the same thing happened after Emmy was born. Only it didn't go away. It mostly went away, but it's always hovering. I constantly feel like there's something hanging over me (even when I can examine the contents of my brain and calendar and see that there's nothing to worry about). Something very small. Like a homework assignment. Or a library fine. I just figured it was part of having kids. That this intense bond I have with two tiny, needy little people just brings about constant nervousness. Seriously, it's the tiniest anxiety that every was. But it's exhausting.

And apparently it's not normal. Who knew?

So I went to the doctor today. Well, nurse practitioner, but I love her already. She reminds me very much of one of my OBs from Wisconsin, which is nice. I loved that place. First, she prescribed me some Ambien. Hallelujah! Then she had me fill out this questionnaire. You know, the one for mental health. "I feel sad or blue frequently." "I frequently feel irritable." "I feel like I can't do the things I used to be able to do." And then you rate them from 1-4. First thing she said after I gave it back was, "You are exhibiting classic symptoms of hypothyroidism." So it's possible I'm not just lazy. Maybe I really am legitimately tired, lethargic, and starving all of the time. It's like the trifecta of You're Never Going to Be in Shape Again, Sucker.

Speaking of which, I still work out. It still feels awesome. I will never quit, even if I never lose another pound. But it is discouraging to see no more results. So I'm actually hoping I have a thyroid disorder, or at least that the chronic insomnia is mimicking the same symptoms, and they will clear up once I get some more sleep. That would be amazing.

So, it's a ho-hum update, but maybe with some sleep, I'll be here more often again.

Toddlers are like little drunks

2011-08-24T00:24:00.001-05:00

Today while I was making dinner, I kept hearing "smack, smack, smoooch, smack, smooch..." I couldn't figure out what the noise was, so I walked around the end of the counter to see Emmy sitting on the floor kissing Nightmare Potty Training Doll on the cheeks over and over again.

Bonus points: our door was open (broiler smokes, and alarms are ultra-sensitive), and our door is directly across the hall from our neighbors'.

Extra special bonus points: Emmy gives R-rated kisses. Lots of tongue. I'm glad Nightmare Potty Training Doll (who was, as usual, naked) is not anatomically correct. That could get awkward.

Emmy is also learning a new word approximately every two minutes. She's nothing like Grace was at this age. Grace, with her perfectly clear speech and eighty bazillion words and near-sentences ("Hot grease baby running!"). But the nice thing about having two such incredibly different children is that comparing them doesn't even occur to me most of the time. It's fun to see the differences, but I don't stress myself (or them) out by weighing them against each other. Emmy walked at approximately five weeks. It evens out.

She uses a spoon now. Badly. But she's at least trying, instead of, say, combing her hair with it, or shoving it up her nose.

She likes to hit. That's a not-so-fun one.

Also, nightmares! They have begun. I'm so thrilled. It's a good thing I'm a bit softer this time around. I think it's sweet when I go in to comfort her, and she collapses back into bed after just a pat and a few words from me.

You know what else isn't fun? A wicked 18-month sleep regression. Her brain just won't stop at night. She likes to scream. For two, two and a half hours. It's really fantastic. We don't know what to do about it except wait for it to end. It's not affecting our sleep; she's out by the time we go to bed. But she's not as happy in the mornings, and she just sounds so miserable in there. Moving her bedtime and naptime hasn't helped a single bit, so I'm certain it's not that she needs to go to bed later or anything. Her brain is just in overdrive right now.

I don't remember this happening with Grace, but maybe I wasn't as easily overjoyed by the small things when I had a newborn and a shell-shocked toddler. I'm not a fan of the nighttime shenanigans, but I love seeing the results the next day. Her personality is exploding, and it's such a joy. She's so fat and determined and ridiculous.

But please, oh please, let it end soon.

Solution: set up a trough on the patio

2011-08-09T16:03:00.003-05:00

Still working on the "no grains" thing. Thank you for all the ideas and suggestions! We went a few days with no grains whatsoever, and it worked out pretty well. The other evening, I made mini spinach quiches for supper, called them "cheese muffins," and the kids ate them like they were fruit pizzas stuffed with chocolate and cocaine. As one of you lovely people so succinctly put it, "Idiots." Even the wiliest of children can be really, really dumb.

Here's the deal. It's not that I eat too much bread or grains, or even that I plan to feed them to the kids often. It's that two kids this small require a lot of attention during meals. Even Grace, who can finally operate a fork in a manner approaching that of a semi-dexterous drunk monkey, needs assistance in cutting up food and figuring out how a napkin works.

So, pretty much all day long--aside from naptimes--, I am either preparing food, helping the kids feed themselves food, cleaning up after food time, or figuring out what food to start preparing again in five minutes. By the end of lunch, after I've been up to my elbows in food-related chores all day, and all I want to do is stick them in bed and lie on the couch with a box of wine for the duration of naptime, I'm really not feeling up to preparing yet more food when they run out. So they often just get a piece of bread tossed in their general direction. Some days they barely touch their lunches, which is fine. But other days they tear through them in a manner reminiscent of Taz in a rage.

This is where the over reliance on bread comes in, and this is why I want to have foods that I can prepare in advance that don't need to be refrigerated (because by that point in the day, they've already hit their fruit quota, and we don't have a billion dollars a week to spend on bananas and grapes).

I finally unearthed a recipe for dry roasted green peas that I will try as soon as the bag I found and bought at a farmer's market runs out. The Child tried them, declared them "Mmm. This is good!" and has refused to touch them since. But Emmy thinks they're God's gift to little fat toddlers, and nearly bursts a blood vessel every time I get the bag out.

So I'll start making them regularly. Grace can just not have snacks if she refuses to eat them.

Food

2011-08-05T16:46:00.001-05:00

I've been thinking about our diet a lot lately. I'm pretty good about what I cook and prepare for dinner, and I limit consumption of the really bad stuff. But I'm sick of falling back on bread and Cheerios every time I run out of stuff to feed the kids at lunch.

I'm not anti-wheat or grains, but I do think we eat too much of them. With picky kids, it's so much easier to have peanut butter sandwiches for lunch than it is to cook something and have them turn up their noses at it. What I need to do is start cooking larger evening meals. Lately they've been eating enough at dinnertime that there aren't enough leftovers for lunch the next day.

What I would love is to have all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables on hand all the time. They will both gladly eat fruit until they pop. And kale and broccoli are favorites with both kids. But these things get expensive. I won't buy broccoli at regular price, so I have to wait until it goes on special. And they're much less enthusiastic about frozen veggies.

If I could find a way to get cheap, good vegetables regularly, I would completely eliminate bread and other starchy foods from our diet until the kids finally gave in and started eating better foods. Again, I'm not against breads and grains, but if it's available, it seems like it's all they'll eat.

Our grocery store next door has very cheap produce, but it's not great quality. There's a Sunflower Market a bit farther away, and I love it, but the prices are only good when things are on special. Gardening isn't possible with our apartment setup (even our patio is in shade for about 23 hours a day). I really want to find an actual farmer's market in the area, but I don't know where to look (Google has been unhelpful, but I lack Google-fu). Help?

Also! Make-ahead snacks for all of us. Things I can make in large quantities without spending an entire day ignoring my children. For instance, I read somewhere a while ago about dry-roasted peas, but I don't know how to make them, and I can't find them in any stores. I'd love to have a few different snacks on hand where, if I want to spend the day out with the kids, I can grab a couple baggies, fill them up, and go. Ideas?

This has really been nagging at me for the last few days. I'm not sure why. I just feel like we need to make a change, but I'm not sure how it's feasible, both financially and time-wise.

Silver linings

2011-08-04T15:10:00.001-05:00

The cherry on the Awesome Sundae that was last weekend: we emerged from the haze sometime on Sunday afternoon to realize that our refrigerator is no longer cold. We are not sure when this happened. Our refrigerator probably noticed all the commotion and thought we were dying, so it decided it wouldn't hurt to take a little vacation. If our dead bodies are stinking up the place, no one will notice a little rotting broccoli, right?

What made me the most angry is that all the stuff that went bad was food we got for a steal. Four bags of spinach (I go through it really fast), a giant bag of fresh broccoli, some deli meat--all of it around half regular price. This is truly a blessing, since we only lost about $20 worth of food, but the deal-finder in me is seething. I am bizarrely more annoyed over the loss of my Good Deals than I would be over the loss of something I just bought because we needed it.

There was a second wave to whatever this thing was on Tuesday and Wednesday. Monday was great. I even went to work out, got about five minutes in my weights and realized I was dying and probably needed to cut my arms off. I spent the next two days nearly comatose while my children wished frantically for a new mother. It was just like early *first trimester: extreme need to nap, no appetite, slight nausea, apathy, and despondency. This stomach bug not only gets you body, but it also gets your soul. By yesterday afternoon, I had no will to live.

And then, suddenly, I woke up. I even went to water aerobics and was STARVING afterward. I bought a cheeseburger with mayo on the way home, which was a mistake.

My Body: FOOOOD HOOOOONGRYYYYY FEEEED MEEEEE
Me: CHEESEBURGER! MAYO! DEATH IN FOOD FORM!
My Body: Dude, I meant, like, grapes or something.
Me: NO! CHEESEBURGER.
My Body: For this, I will punish you.

I spent the rest of the evening all miserable and whiny, but it was worth it. So worth it. Just to give you an idea, I have now lost a total of seven pounds. I needed food, and I needed bad food, and I needed filling food. So, I needed a cheeseburger.

And now, let me tell you about today. I woke up peppy and full of energy and happy. I was ready! to! go!

Well, my lovely children took their time eating breakfast, so we didn't get out the door until about an hour later than I wanted to. And then. THEN! I locked my keys in the van. While it was running. I don't even know how that happened. I unlocked the van, put my stuff in the front seat, turned it on, went back into the garage to fish Emmy out of whatever box she was attempting to excavate, and I came back to find the van locked. Rock on.

By the time Jeremy got over with the keys, it was fifteen minutes later, and I was going to have enough time to drop some stuff off and Saver's, and that was it. I was so annoyed. It was going to be a good day! A fun day! A day of getting rid of clutter and getting sunshine and happiness!

Feh.

So, we finally made it to Saver's--rockstar parking!--when I hear the noise from the backseat. Not just a noise, but the noise. The noise that has been emanating from everyone but The Child since last week.

And yep, sure enough, it was her turn. I have never witnessed something so spectacular in my entire life. She just kept going, and going, and going, and crying, and then going some more, and then crying, crying, crying. Poor thing.

The man brought me some stuff to get her cleaned up, I did what I could, and then decided it would be best to just wallpaper her with paper towels and do the real cleaning when we got home. I dropped off what I wanted to, and then headed home.

I was so mad. Not at Grace. Just at things. At Thursday for being so... crappy.

And then I realized that this whole day seemed to have gone badly, but really, it went about as well as it could have if I was determined to go out and get things done.

I could have been browsing a nice consignment store with both children free of restraints. I could have been carrying Grace through Saver's. I could have been swimming with her.

But no. That dragging breakfast, and the extra fifteen minute delay made it so she got sick at exactly the right time. Because, as much a pain as it is to have a kid get sick in the car, it's so much better than having it happen in public. Especially when you're outnumbered by toddlers.

And it could have happened yesterday, while I was still in a drunk-like stupor.

So, if she was going to get sick, it's pretty amazing how it worked out to be exactly at the right time through a series of seemingly-coincidental inconveniences and vexations.

*No. I'm not.

Death and dying and whining

2011-07-31T22:34:00.005-05:00

We are finishing up a nice round of what WebMD tells me is gastroenteritis. Or shigellosis, salmonella poisoning, sickle cell disease, or drug overdose. I was set on stomach cancer, so thank goodness for WebMD. I settled on gastroenteritis because I'm extremely careful with proper food handling, and we haven't done THAT many drugs lately. Plus, we never share with the kids, and Emmy was the first to get it.

Thanks to this weekend, I am now well-versed in:

How to neglect your children all day but still keep them alive (I nearly failed at this one when I opened my eyes to see Emmy standing on top of the piano across the room).
How to clean carpet using only laundry detergent, vinegar, and tears.
Fending off delirium.
Finding things to feed your children without actually smelling any food.
Not killing your husband, who had the nerve to get sick while you were still sick.

It's been a wildly entertaining weekend.

The Child also chose this weekend to grow some ovaries and start climbing tall things. She has no problem climbing onto the changing table now and standing on its flimsy top in the middle of the night, but she still needs to repeat, "I'm not gonna fall you, I'm not gonna fall you," as I'm bathing her in the sink. I don't even pretend to understand the logic happening in that tiny brain.

But anyway, long story short, she decided last night was the night to climb out of her bed and onto the changing table, out of her bed and onto the chair next to Emmy's crib, and so much more. In our barely-recovering haze, we resorted to bribery: "If you stay in bed for the rest of the night, you will get a treat right away in the morning." At that point, I had no idea what we could give her, but it sounded good.

It totally worked. I was amazed. See, when we first switched her to a toddler bed, my sister suggested that tactic, and it didn't work at all. She was out of bed in about three seconds. No concept of delayed reward. But last night, she stayed in bed all night. She was wide awake when I went in to get her this morning, but she was firmly planted in her bed.

We'll see how the next few nights go.

The silver lining in this weekend? I've lost five pounds. I KNOW it's not a healthy five pounds. While I've been stuck at roughly the same weight for two months now, I can still see the flab shrinking and the muscles becoming more defined; however, the psychological kick is nice.

I'm still 15 pounds over the upper end of my recommended weight range, but it's nice to kind of enjoy looking in the mirror again. Not that I stand in the mirror and flex (much), but there's no recoiling anymore. I think if I stopped losing weight right now, I would be mostly okay with that. I'd keep working out. It makes me feel good. But these few extra pounds don't really bother me the way the other 20 did.

And a final note: if you're on the tail end of an illness, and the mere thought of all food still horrifies you, despite the nausea having vanished, and you haven't eaten in two days... Don't eat a whole bag of mango chunks just because it's the only things that sounds good.

Gee, which one of us is more neurotic?

2011-07-25T16:36:00.003-05:00

I hate this side of me that resents Grace's anxiety. I know better. I do. I think part of the reason it bothers me so much is that I worry it's partly my fault. When she stopped sleeping for a few months, I was not a great mother. I joke that she wasn't held enough as a baby, but I do think it's kind of true.

I'm not saying this to get validation. I think she'd probably be neurotic no matter how amazing a mother I was. But I do think I could have kept it from being worse. And since I know it's partly my fault, I do take it personally when she flips out over dumb things.

Lately I've been sneaking her out of the room about half an hour before Emmy is due to wake up from her nap. We lie on the couch together and play silly games. It's bittersweet. It's so much like it was before she turned 9 months, back when she hardly ever cried and was almost always happy. I know that little girl is still in there. She just needs to be coaxed out.

The Child seems to have started outgrowing her abject terror of going number two. She still hates it, but I don't think it's A Thing anymore. This means... potty training! Joy. This Saturday is D-Day. Now, I don't normally care to share such things here, but it's something I've been dreading pretty much since the day she was born, so if I put it here, the only way it won't happen is if our apartment explodes.

Wish us luck.

We went to a birthday party on Saturday. A birthday party for an adult. But there was a bouncy house. Jeremy spent almost the entire time in there with the kids while I lazed around outside talking to friends. He got huge brownie points for that.

Believe it or not, The Child loves bouncy houses. She feels about them the way I feel about ponies. So, she spent hours scooting up the ramp, bouncing inside for a moment, getting launched up to the slide part by Jeremy, the running back around to the ramp to do it all over again. I was watching her finish a lap about halfway through the party when I saw her bump head-first into the our hostess's deck. Ooow, I though, but sort of ducked down so she wouldn't see me and start freaking out. But she kind of stumbled a bit, and then one of our friends picked her up, and she was obviously upset.

And then I saw BLOOD. Blood everywhere. It was all over her face and hands and in her hair, and she was hysterical. I rushed over and took her into the house, to the bathroom, and oh, she was a mess. Grace is such a cautious child that I have never seen her bleed. Not even once. It was a bit alarming. Our hostess handed me a washcloth, and I started dabbing the blood away while Grace hiccuped and sobbed. The wound itself wasn't bad, even though I'm sure it hurt like crazy. I probably would have cried, too. But I figured the night was ruined for her, and she and I would be stuck sitting in a chair while she clung to my neck.

The second she could speak through her tears, she looked up at me and said, "You wanna go down the sli-i-i-i-iiide?" Atta girl. Maybe I shouldn't worry about you so much.

The Eye of Sauron

2011-07-21T17:24:00.001-05:00

Good things are happening for us recently. I'm not allowed to go into details, but due to something wonderful and unexpected, we were able to drop the price on our house down to its current market value without having a short sale or losing money. Praise God! When we got the news, I instantly felt about twenty pounds lighter. I hadn't realized how heavily this had weighed on me. I'm continually amazed at the way things have come together for us financially over the last year, despite the early college years we spent with very little thought for the future. We certainly don't deserve it.

And, on top of this, one of my church friends gave me her old double stroller for FREE. Theirs got damaged when they flew, and the airline is reimbursing them for a brand new one. I spent about $20 to get a new axle and cup holder. We had an ancient bottom-rung Graco stroller covered in coffee and missing several (nonessential) parts. Well, we still have it. I haven't decided what I want to do with it yet. The smart thing would be to try to sell it or take it to Babies 'R' Us when they have their trade-in promotion. But I'd really like to drop it off a tall building.

Anyway, things are looking good in the house-selling department. We've had four showings since we dropped the price, and two of those were the same person. It's not a guarantee that we'll sell it soon, but it's a good chance. And you know what's funny? Now is when I get a touch melancholy over it. I remember when Grace was a baby, I'd drag out the tiny baby pool and sit in a camp chair in the yard while she splashed away. Or we'd blow bubbles in the front yard and watch them pop on the bright orange lilies. I love Emmy dearly, and having a sister has been very good for Grace and her neuroses. But I miss it just being me and Grace sometimes.

Enough of that. I'm getting all serious and mushy, and it's creeping me out.

THE SUN. The sun here is incomprehensibly intense. I wonder how long we'll live here before my brain can begin to understand this. I've learned to cover up or wear sunscreen if I'm going to be outside for more than fifteen minutes. But now I keep forgetting how unpleasant it is to be in direct sunlight between the hours of 8 am and 7 pm. This morning, the girls and I were up and finished with breakfast by eleven (yes, we get up late, but they also eat breakfast for about ten hours), so I decided it would be super fun to go for a walk along the river.

HAH. By the time I made it down the road, across the street, through the parking lot, and into the shade under the bridge, we were all listless and cranky. Like warm pieces of lettuce with PMS. I was determined to make it at least worth getting the stroller out, so we walked a little further (like, three yards), and I decided to go back. When we got in, the three of us lay on the living room floor and guzzled water for ten minutes before we could do anything else.

I was going to add more, but then I accidentally sat on a water bottle on the couch, and I should probably clean that up.

Or maybe I'll just leave it for Jeremy to discover when he gets home from work. So many difficult decisions.

Another entry about how much I love Utah. Aren't you glad?

2011-07-17T00:10:00.002-05:00

Today's PSA: Do not get on a ski lift ride in Park City, UT, unless you know how long it is, and you are okay with that. I met some friends up there earlier today for lunch. Most of them left around 3, but one lady and I walked around for a while. I've never been before. It's like Galena, IL, except in the mountains. And much, much bigger.

Anyway, we thought it would be fun to hop on the ski lift ride at the bottom of Main Street. My tiny brain still hasn't grasped the enormity of the landscape here. To me, "ski lift" means, "short jaunt up a steep hillside, and back down." But, see, this isn't Alpine Valley in Wisconsin. This is a mountain top in a spur of the Rocky Mountains.

It was at least an hour long. It's really a miracle that the only place I burned was my nose. So now I look like a wino. Yay.

Anyway, the drive up to Park City is spectacular. My aforementioned tiny brain exploded at least four times on the way there. It's a good thing I wasn't driving, or we'd be dead in a canyon somewhere off I-80. If Jeremy and I ever find ourselves in such a position that we can literally swim in money, we are so moving there.

I have my eye on this gem (notice that it says "single family home"). 12 Bedrooms of terrible, terrible decor. I'm very sorry if that's your personal preference, but I would definitely overhaul the decorating theme. And then roll through the house on the floors I've carpeted with money.

Okay, so this one is a little more reasonably priced. I mean, for being enormous and beautiful and in the middle of one of the wealthiest communities in the country.

Actually, I have decided that we can move to a tiny hovel hidden in the woods and just get some really rich friends. Can you imagine the upkeep on some of those houses?

I am suddenly fascinated with the notion of hill people. I heard today that there are caves all over the place in the Wasatch Range, and my tiny brain immediately latched on the notion of remote, inbred enclaves hidden in nooks throughout the mountains.

Something about backward societies hidden right in the middle of modern civilization fascinates me. This may have something to do with that episode of Supernatural Jeremy and I just watched last night about the crazy family that kidnaps locals and then sets them free to hunt them. But now I must know if there are any in Utah.

It has been a very long day, and I need sleep, but I also wanted to tell you about the newest addition to our family. No, I didn't have another baby, hard as that is to believe. But my sister did! The new one's name is Adelaide, and she has pudgy cheeks and fuzzy hair, and I want to hold her so badly I itch. But it will have to wait for Christmas (babies are at their best around five or six months anyway).

My sister may or may not read this, so you should all congratulate her, just in case.

The way to my heart is through my stomach.

2011-07-09T09:16:00.001-05:00

Stompy Neighbor rang the doorbell this morning. AWESOME, I thought. But then Jeremy came back inside after talking to him and plopped a basket full of deliciousness in front of me. Bread, tomatoes, broccoli, peaches, some fruit thing I have never seen before in my life, and more. It was a Bountiful Basket. An organic one, at that.

(Oh, turns out they're figs. I've never seen fresh figs before.)

How cool is that? Even the annoying people here are awesome.

If you'll excuse me, I have some fruit to gorge myself on.

I win

2011-07-05T23:50:00.004-05:00

Our neighbors have been very quiet for several days.

One night during a particularly fun bout of insomnia (and this is the night after my ER visit), I had JUST dropped off to sleep (after already waking up once) when STOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMP. I got good and angry and was about to go up there when it stopped. I should have gone up anyway, but that would mean getting out of bed and getting dressed, and I opted to just stew in the dark for a couple of hours. So much easier!

The next night, same thing. First, I got mad at Jeremy. He was lying there, all asleep, and I wanted to punch him in the head. But then I realized that I'm nearly 30 years old, and while it's fun to make funny status updates about my annoying neighbors, it really wasn't worth the trade-off in sleep, and Jeremy has to work in the morning, so just sack up, already.

Luckily, I was already dressed. And I had showered that evening, so instead of looking like a gross, dumpy housewife, my hair was all over the place in a scary but good way. I was trying to figure out what to say on my way up the stairs, but too tired to think of something appropriately scathing, but not quite so awful that it would make a friendly neighbor relationship impossible. I was still standing there glaring when he opened the door. And, honestly, I didn't mean to do it, but it just occurred to me when I saw his face in the door.

I stared.

I didn't say a word.

He turned beet red and fumbled through about ten apologies. When he wound down, I said, "Thank you," and walked back down the stairs.

It was quiet the next day, and I joked about me scaring him (because, if you have ever met me, I am the LEAST scary person ever in the world, except for maybe the little girl in Signs), but they were probably just hungover from the party last night.

And then they stayed quiet. We heard normal living noises and very faint music, some normal thumping like kids playing. But nothing at all unreasonable.

And it's stayed that way! For over a week!

Every time he's seen me since, he has apologized. I've been very careful to be nice (because I do want to be friends; I'm such a sickening people-pleaser that I can't stand the idea of someone somewhere in the world sitting there and not liking me), but not to tell him it's okay. In fact, the last time I saw him I told him I was pissed at the time, but it's been quiet ever since, which is all I want.

This is a big thing for me, folks. I am not good at holding my ground unless I'm angry. I back down immediately once the apologies start.

I feel POWERFUL.

The last couple of days have alternated between pure delight and wishing I could mute and pause my children for a day or two. Perhaps even unplug them and put them in a nice, comfy box out of sight.

I'm just going to come out and say this: Grace's anxieties drive me CRAZY. Hey, I know it's not cool to complain about your Little Blessing's personality quirks, but there you have it. I can both love the snot out of my child AND find her crazymaking AT THE SAME TIME. It's amazing. Who knew that a human being could feel two conflicting emotions?

So far, I've been reassured at every appointment that it's well within the range of normal for a child her age, but this just doesn't seem right to me. When I take Emmy in next, I'm going to get pushy with our pediatrician.

The difference between Grace at Home and Grace out among People is like the difference between Barack Obama and Edward Scissorhands. It bothers me for selfish reasons, and it bothers me because she is missing out on so many of life's delights. It's not just shyness. She has a new phobia just about every day, it seems. She overcomes almost all of them with a little work, so I suppose they're not really phobias. But her last one (bugs--like, the minuscule bugs that come in from outdoors and just sit on the wall all day) had her screaming off and on all day for a week. And sometimes at night.

And then there are days when she is completely anxiety-free. A bug flies in her face, and she barely winces. She smiles and waves to everyone she sees. She makes jokes and does normal toddler things like climbing onto precariously high pieces of furniture. Sometimes she even eats vegetables. So I know there's a kid under there somewhere who can cope with life. I just wish I knew what it was that makes her hide all the time. And it's even more frustrating and heartbreaking because she was like that all the time in the two weeks before we moved.

At home, both kids have been great most of the time. But we've been developing a bit of a social life recently, and it's exhausting to constantly tend to her freak-outs when we're just trying to make friends.

Emmy is a trial of her own, but in a much more normal kid kind of way. She is SO willful. Happy, easygoing, delightful, physically capable, engaging. But tell her 'no,' or take something away, and be prepared for the most ear-splitting shrieks you've ever heard. It's awesome. In both the more modern sense of the word and the classic hymn sense of the word. And the ironic sense of the word. Like, by "awesome," I mean, "the sort of thing that makes you want to stab your ear out with a bendy straw full of acid."

She may actually not be that willful, but my only point of comparison is Grace, The Most Compliant Child Who Ever Lived.

So, there's been that. Also, the antibiotics I've been on have put me at risk of tendon rupture. Super! So no weightlifting the last two weeks. And I'm still at risk for months to come, but my rapidly-dough-ifying midsection won out over being smart, and I started again tonight. I'm not as horribly out of shape as I thought I'd be (probably thanks to dragging two kids all over The Promised Land of Utah, or swimming almost every night, or going for countless walks), but it was still disheartening. Ah well.

I inexplicably LOST three pounds in the last couple of weeks. I'm sure part of that is loss of muscle, but since my waist has only expanded a tiny bit, I doubt it was much.

Anyway, I need to shower and perhaps spend some time with my husband. Tomorrow, I'm going to water aerobics, and that's really hilarious to me because we used to make fun of the old ladies at the Y who had their class right before swim practice. And now I'm going to go myself, and I'm really looking forward to it.

I feel pretty(ish).

2011-07-05T00:12:00.001-05:00

I have begun putting my hair in rollers overnight. It's a pain in the rear to do, but the results are so much fun. I can now have long hair AND look like a woman AT THE SAME TIME.

Long hair does not suit me. It hangs flat no matter how it's layered, and I look like a boy in a wig with no chin. It's bad. Really, really bad. It also thinks curling irons are hilarious. And really, who wants to put her hair through that every single day?

Short hair looks great on me. You can see my face, it holds curl, it behaves when I pin it up. But I'm so sick of the layered bob and its many variations. And I have fanciful visions of long, flowing, ultra-feminine hair. I know they're ridiculous; I look LESS feminine with long hair, unless I style the snot out of it, which means lots and lots of damage.

So I found some soft curlers that I can sleep in, tried them out, and the next day, my hair was fun! And curly! It didn't start uncurling until evening, either. These curlers are cheap, and I'm pretty sure they'll fall apart on me in a matter of weeks, but for now I'm enjoying them.

Carp. I was going to write more, but Jeremy wants to play a game. And I'm too tired to be amusing anyway (spent all day cleaning and cooking, then went to a pool party with two small children and my entire church, and as much fun as it all was, I feel like my limbs are made of warm deli meat).

DOOOGKS!

2011-06-17T16:20:00.001-05:00

Do you ever wonder what happened to colicky children born into forest-dwelling tribes (or any groups that lived out in the open with little protection)? Not to be morbid or anything, but how did they not get eaten by bears? This question plagues me far more than it really should. I wonder about it daily.

That last bit had nothing to do with my kids, by the way. They have been unusually pleasant for several weeks. I have to wonder if they're lulling me into a false sense of peace. When my motherly benevolence peaks, they will once again tag team me with simultaneous horribly needy phases.

It is finally summer here. Utah is GLORIOUS this time of year. I can't imagine why we didn't move here, oh, fifteen years ago. Why doesn't everyone in the US live here? Is there something I'm missing?

I thought the honeymoon glow would wear off after we'd been here a few months, but I'm just loving this place more and more every day. At its worst, it's like Wisconsin, only slightly warmer (and without the depressing knowledge that that first drift of snow on the front walk will STILL BE THERE next May). At its best, it is paradise.

My only complaint is that we live right next to a marsh. It makes for a great view, what with all the pelicans and cormorants, avocets and blackbirds (all lumped into one category by 2.0: DOOOOGKS!, roughly translated as "ducks!"), but it also means there's a big bug population. They aren't horrible bugs. Mostly just hordes of mosquito-looking things that don't bite.

But you know what eats bugs? THE SPIDER.

Yes, the joke is on us. Half my excitement over moving here was the knowledge that I would be moving from a bug-infested town in the middle of two rivers and a marsh to a dry, bug-barren desert with fewer spiders. Hahahah! Funniest joke ever. If huddling in a corner and chewing one's hair can be called "funny."

Also! We have new upstairs neighbors. And I want to kill them.

I think it's actually the woman I want to kill. The man has been very apologetic about the music volume the first night he was here. And since that first night, there has been no nighttime bass throbbing through the walls and into my rapidly-liquefying brain.

But in the morning and afternoon, SOMEONE likes to party like it's 8th grade rec night. And I know it's not him because he works nights. So it must be the woman ("the girl who lives with me," as he put it, whatever that means). I can't decide if I want to make friends with her and reach a happy agreement on what does and does not constitute reasonable noise, or if I want to go up there with a heavy blunt object and commit a felony. It really depends on the day and how much wine is available.

We have friends coming over this evening, so I suppose I should continue getting things ready for that. Have I mentioned how much love living here? How I love having friends nearby? How inviting people over doesn't feel like an imposition ("Hi! Come drive 45 minutes each way to spend time sitting in our living room with my husband and two small children while I sequester myself in the kitchen down the hallway, and we all sweat to death in air-conditioning-free house in the most humid northern state in the union!")?

I miss our old friends very, very much, but coming here has been like coming out of a thick fog. I am so grateful.

Company picnic

2011-06-15T22:27:00.001-05:00

Wow. It has been a while. Oops.

The Child is fine. The antibiotics didn't do any of the nasty things to her that antibiotics usually do, and she was feeling almost 100% the next day. Whew.

We just got back from Jeremy's company picnic. There were probably 500 people there. The food was amazing, but it was hot, and long, and not all that suited for small children. The prize drawing lasted until after the kids' bedtime. If we'd been smart, I'd have thought to take the kids home myself around 7:30. I didn't think of it until 8:05, five minutes before they finished.

We had a good reason to hang around, though! There were a giant flat panel TV and an iPad as some of the top prizes, along with a few other nice things.

We did not win a thing.

But the kids passed out within minutes of going to bed, despite a solid five of those being filled with some of the more determined screaming I've ever heard.

I was going to write more, but I'm so tired it just wasn't interesting at all. Company picnics, while still fun, become much more draining with two small children who hate crowds. They did pretty well, but I had to alternate taking them out and walking them around, and the eating area was on top of a huge hill, so there was a lot more exercise involved than you might think. That and the SUN being a thousand degrees hotter here. I can't believe that STILL surprises me. Hopefully it will sink in before I turn 40. Also, kids like to walk downhill, but not uphill. And both of them have gotten even more enormous since they decided to start eating actual food again.

So. I'm leaving you with a super lame entry, and I am going to play Zelda until my brain falls out.

Goodnight.

Sick child, costly super powers, and The Moral of the Story

2011-05-24T09:32:00.001-05:00

The Child has an infection of some sort. 105.3 fever a couple of nights ago, and I almost panicked myself to death. I did have the presence of mind to call the doctor before calling 911, and they told me to bring her in the next morning, and only to worry if it climbed to 106. So we loaded her up with ibuprofen and Tylenol, she slept like a rock all night, and was much better in the morning (though still very hot).

I took her in, chatted with her on the way about how the doctor would have to look in her eyes and ears and mouth, and listen to her chest and back, but that he was her friend, and he was trying to figure out what was making her sick. On the way in, she was chattering away at me, and said, "We're going to the doctor to get sick!" No amount of correction would dispel that notion. Sigh.

She was her usual shy self at first, but the first nurse to wave at her, she turned the charm on. I wish I could make nurses and doctors and other highly educated people fawn over me just by touching my hairdo and declaring, "This is Naomi's pigtail!"

She is most likely fine, though we have to wait on some cultures to be sure. They put her on antibiotics, which is super awesome because she refuses yogurt. Sometimes she'll drink it in smoothie form, if we're lucky. So, I have to get to the store sometime today to pick up some probiotics. Yaay.

Jeremy and I have recently been thinking of awesome superpowers at a price. Like, if you had Fire Hands, but you had to scream constantly whenever your turned your power on.

We play too many video games, I think.

Also, Little Golden Books. I like them because they don't usually have A Message. They're just cute little stories. But I like to give them A Message. For instance, The Poky Little Puppy.

Synopsis:

Five puppies keep digging under the fence and are gone all day, exploring and doing little puppy things. They keep getting home in time for supper, but their mother sends them straight to bed because they dug a hole under the fence. The Poky Little Puppy is a dawdler, so he gets home after everyone is asleep and eats up all the dessert. The third time this happens, his brothers fill up the hole under the fence instead of just going to bed, and their mother rewards them by giving them the dessert. The Poky Little Puppy has to squeeze in through a slat in the fence, and goes to bed with nothing to eat.

Moral of the story:

If you break the rules, more often than not, you'll get a family-sized portion of dessert.

Or The Shy Little Kitten. Synopsis:

A shy little kitten wanders off by herself her first day out of the barn, meets new people, and eventually wanders back to the farmyard, where her mother gives her a bath, and they all go on a picnic.

Moral of the story:

If you wander away from your house, be sure to talk to strangers, go on long walks until you get lost, but be home in time to get a bath and some delicious food.

Also, I would like to know what the parents are doing in these stories. If my kids were consistently destroying property, I'd probably do more than just withhold supper, you know?

I am so glad I did not wear shorts

2011-05-13T14:10:00.002-05:00

(I wrote this yesterday, but then Blogger exploded)

Let's talk about how dumb I am. Yaaay! Our favorite topic!

Apparently, being closer to the sun means you burn more easily. Who would have thought?? Genius.

See, in Wisconsin, I can spend almost an entire day outside and not even tan. When we went to the zoo a couple of weeks ago (a few hours of alternating sun and shade), I came home, lounged around during the girls' nap, and this BURN appeared on my shoulders two hours later.

First, I would like to know what's with the delay in sunburns. Since when does a burn take TWO HOURS to appear?

Second, ow.

Third, duh.

Moving on.

Today we went to a park and walked around a lake. It's a newish park, so all the trees are little babies, and there is no shade. None. We live in a desert. Of course there aren't any trees just springing up for the fun of it in the middle of the valley. I'm not Jonah, for crying out loud.

For some reason, I just assumed that this time, it would be different. Like, the laws of physics and biology in Utah would have changed (OF COURSE!) for my white Wisconsin-raised self.

I came home after this two-hour walk outside. Next to a lake. In blazing sun. With no trees. Did I mention no trees? I did not see a sunburn when I arrive home twenty minutes later. I didn't even see one an hour later after the girls went to bed.

Two hours later, a brilliant cherry red blossomed all over my shoulders, arms, and face. I look like I just got done with a REALLY intense workout. Or maybe I chewed up an habañero pepper, and then took it out of my mouth and rubbed it all over my body. Or maybe I took a nap in the oven.

So you can all laugh. And I will stock up on lightweight cotton long-sleeved shirts. And scarves. And long gaucho pants.

Incidentally, did you ever wonder how Prince Feisal and all the other black-clothing-wearing people didn't melt in the fiery desert of Arabia?

Jean does not have a future in therapy

2011-05-10T22:21:00.001-05:00

We have been having some trouble getting the girls' medical records transferred to our new pediatrician. I have filled out all the forms twice, to no avail. So I finally called our old pediatrician's office today.

Lady: Blah Blah Pediatrics, how may I help you?
Me: I've been having some trouble getting our daughters' records transferr--
Lady: Oh, let me just stop you right there. I need to transfer you to records, so you don't have to explain it all twice.
Me: Oh, thanks!
Lady: Hold just a minute.

::bad music::

::more bad music::

::still more bad mu--:

Jean: Blah Blah Medical Records; this is Jean. How may I help you?
Me: Hi, I've been having some trouble getting our daughters' records transferred to our new pediatrician, specifically the--
Jean: Name please?
Me: Last name Whine--W-H-I-N-E--, first names Grace and Emmeline--E-M--
Jean: Emily?
Me: No, Emmeline. E-M-M--
Jean: How do you spell that?
Me: [For serious?] E-M-M-E-L-I-N-E

(Oh, I love the name, but I'm so sick of spelling it; poor child has a rough life ahead of her with the Americanized German atrocity that is our last name. Get married quick, 2.0!)

Jean: Okay... here it is. It shows we sent 34 pages on February 9, 2011.
Me: Hmm. Well, the main problem was the immunization records. I'm pretty sure they got the--
Jean: Well, we sent it. 34 pages.
Me: Okay, well, I'll just call and double check. Her last visit was shortly after that, so maybe they hadn't been processed yet.
Jean: Okay. Bye!

She wasn't mean, just brusque. I still wanted to shake her. She's in such a hurry to do her job, let me finish a sentence! It would have gone much more quickly.

So I called our new pediatrician's office (almost an hour later, since they close for lunch), got transferred to records again, after more bad music. The nicest lady works in that office:

Kim: New Blah Medical Records; this is Kim. How may I help you?
Me: Hi, I've been having some trouble getting our daughters' records transferred here; she has an appointment coming up, and I want to make sure they made it.
Kim: Okay, name please?
Me: Last name Whine--W-H-I-N-E--, first names Grace and Emmeline--E-M-M-E-L-I-N-E. [SEE HOW MUCH FASTER THAT WENT, JEAN?]
Kim: Okay, I have 34 pages here, but I'm not finding the immunization records. I'll just look through it for you quick...
[...
"quick" being a relative term, I suppose
...]
Kim: Hmm... Okay, there's nothing here. All I've got are two sheets saying they got their flu shots.
Me: Argh. Okay. I'll call them again. Thank you!

Me: [to self] Okay, why don't I just find the number for Blah Blah Records and call them directly so I don't have to get transferred again.
Lady2: Blah Blah Records, how may I help you?
Me: Hi, I'm calling again about my daughters' records. I'm having trouble getting them transferred.
Lady2: Name please?
Me: Last name Whine--W-H-I-N-E--, first names Grace and Emmeline--E-M-M-E-L-I-N-E.
Lady2: ...Oh, is this for pediatrics?
Me: Yes, I found the number on your website. It was the only one for records.
Lady2: Sorry; this is just the hospital; I'll need to transfer you to pediatrics.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize.
Lady2: That's fine; no problem!

::bad music::

::more bad music::

::still more bad mu--:

Jean [breathing fire]: Mrs. Whine? WHY did you call the hospital's records?
Me: Bwah? This is the only number for records on Blah Blah Health Care's website. I thought it would be easier for everyone to call directly. I didn't know--
Jean: WELL. This is pediatrics [imagine this spoken slowly, like I'm two, or Bolivian, or nearly deaf]. The hospital can't give you our records.
Me: Okay...
Jean: Now, I SENT those 34 pages to your pediatrician just now. Why did you call again?
Me: Umm... You did?
Jean: I TOLD you I was sending them.
Me: I'm very sorry. I don't remember you saying that.
Jean: Well, I sent them. Why did you call again?
Me: Excuse me? I've sent this request twice. I wanted to make sure they actually got their records this time. They hadn't. I called here again.
Jean: Okay. Bye [with that note of irritation you leave on the end of a word to let someone know you think she's an idiot].

The whole thing is ridiculous, since they are the ones who botched the whole thing, but the 4th grader in me got off the phone and almost cried. Ridiculous.

But seriously. I know nothing about how offices work. Other than wasting her time (eyeroll), is there some horrible thing about accidentally calling the wrong number in the system?

In other news, I have found some pants that fit me perfectly. Black dress pants, no less, which is good because the pair I got from Old Navy five years ago are now tissue-thin. They are Gloria Vanderbilt, which makes me feel like a 60-something Kohl's aficionado, but hey! They look good on me. They are not high-waisted, pleated, or tapered, so who cares if they're a mom jeans and cardigans kind of brand, right?

My clever idea. Clever-ish. Maybe.

2011-04-28T22:38:00.002-05:00

So many of you are so crafty and good with your hands; I'm almost embarrassed to post this since I cheated by going through CafePress. But I designed an apron (design? hah! I slapped some text over a picture of an apron and called it done. I did spend some time agonizing over the font, I guess...). Now, some people may not care for it, but it's been a joke between me and Jeremy for a long time, and someone suggested I actually put it up for sale. So I did!

Anyway, go check it out, if you don't mind. Even if you won't buy one, share it on your Facebook wall if you like it. I'd love to just sell ten of these!

Thanks!

Barefoot in the Kitchen

(I wrote a real entry earlier today)

This and that

2011-04-28T15:59:00.002-05:00

I sit down to write something at least five times a day and then blank out. This is the busiest (good busy) I've been in years, and somehow I have nothing to talk about.

I have continued to lose weight. This is nice, but it also means I'm slowly shrinking out of even my older standbys. Buy a new wardrobe, suffer self-loathing for all the money I've needlessly spent, or don't buy a new wardrobe and suffer self-loathing for how horrible I look all the time? It's a conundrum.

(Don't worry. "Self-loathing" is hyperbole, folks. My ego is far too healthy--some might even say "fat"--to do any such thing to me.)

It's very odd because I'm still 15 pounds heavier than I was right after I had Emmy (the tiniest I've been since before I got pregnant with Grace, believe it or not; eating nothing but lettuce through an entire pregnancy does wonders for your post-pregnancy body... sadly, nursing had me packing it right back on), but all my clothing from then is really loose one me. Even the stuff that was old and stretched out already. I know I've put on muscle, but I'm certain it's not fifteen pounds' worth.

You know the other disadvantage to losing weight? (WARNING: OVERSHARE AHEAD) Bloat. Yeah. Turns out, if you lose a whole bunch of water weight, it comes back every time you're on your cycle. Bonus points if yours comes every two weeks (lucky me!). Now, it's really nice to feel lighter and smaller every other week, but it's also really frustrating to go up half a pants size for four days out of every fourteen. Yech.

Utah's weather may be better, but it still likes to drag out winter for a looong time. While it's much warmer here on average than in Wisconsin, 59 degrees and windy with rain is just not happy spring weather. We get a teaser every couple of days, and then Pbbbbt, says Utah, and snots all over us.

Yesterday was one such glorious day. We were going to grill out and then couldn't figure out how to light the stupid thing. This involved Jeremy running to WinCo with Grace to buy a long-handled lighter while Emmy and I hung out on the grill patio behind the clubhouse. She's so funny. When Grace goes anywhere without her, she'll cry for five minutes. And then once she gets over it, she turns into the happiest baby. Not that she's unhappy when Grace is around, but I think she relishes her few moments alone with a parent. Yesterday, I set her down in the grass to see how she'd react. Much like Grace, she Did Not Appreciate it, and sat there crying for a few minutes. Then she gingerly stood up and took a few tentative steps, stumbled, fell, and realized how much fun it is to fall in grass. That's pretty much all she did until Jeremy came back. If anyone noticed, I'm sure they thought I was feeding my toddler beer.

In Wisconsin, that would probably earn me a hearty, "Atta girl! Start 'em young!" from most people. Not so sure about Utah.

My sister and family are coming to visit next week. I am so excited I could squeal. In fact, I have squealed. Several times. It will be an adventure to have four adults and four (five, maybe, I'm not sure) children under one roof, but I am not worried. Especially not if the weather cooperates. Hi, sister! If you are reading this. I am giddy!

With that, I leave you. We have people coming over tonight, and while there's not a LOT to do, I know that I will regret it if I procrastinate any more.

I need a good slap in the head

2011-04-16T22:06:00.002-05:00

There has been a *babyspolsion among my friends in the last couple of months. It is making me positively feverish, which I know is complete lunacy. I can barely make it through most days without ripping my hair out in frustration. The girls just happen to be at two very irritating phases.

*(I love this typo. Instead of mashing "baby" up with "explosion," I mashed it up with a misspelled "expulsion," which is pretty hilarious if you think about it.)

If I might get all math geeky on you, it's like two sine wave added together. Each of their overall behavior patterns looks like one of the top two:

But when you add them together there are spikes and dips and craziness all over the place. Each by herself is a pretty easy child with a few irritating quirks. But when they line up juuuust right, it's a week of tooth-gnashing and hair-tearing.

Grace has recently made a few huge leaps in development. She's suddenly very eager to do things like go down the slide or go for walks in the wind, and I think she's on the verge of understanding the relationships among letters and words and reading. She also recently started telling stories about things she's done, which is, in my opinion, a pretty big leap. But her milestones have always coincided with some seriously high-maintenance behavior, and this time is no exception.

Emmy, on the other hand, has had the most horrible diaper rash I have ever seen in my life. Cherry-red, broken skin, something that looks like yeast bumps, maybe some burning and hives mixed in, and nothing (NOTHING) worked on it. Gobs of Desitin, stripping the diapers, switching to disposables, cutting out any possible allergen candidates from her diet, Lotrimin, coconut oil, lots of naked time. You name it, we tried it. Two weeks of this, and we were thisclose to calling the pediatrician, when it was suddenly better this morning. I'm still baffled.

Both of them have also become even pickier eaters recently. I tell my friends with picky eaters to just let their kids choose to eat what's on the table, that it's okay if they don't eat supper once in a while (as a pediatrician and several other people have told me: "It's your job to offer a good variety of foods at each meal, and it's their job to pick and choose."). I've been pretty Zen about the whole thing for a while; I've had to with Grace, lest I go completely mad or start feeding her French fries for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But with two needy, high-maintenance children, it is just exhausting to sit through yet another dinner where they poke at the four different kinds of food laid out for them, eating nothing and occasionally whimpering. I work hard to make a variety of foods to keep things interesting, and nothing. When Grace gets a little older, she will have to start trying one small bite of each thing if she's never had it before. But she's a bit young for that yet.

Anyway, with all of this, I still feel the baby fever brimming up inside of me. Our apartment is far too small for another body, and until we get rid of our house, we really shouldn't even think about another baby anyway. Plus, imagine if you added another sine wave to the graph above. It'd look like a cocaine-addled heart rate monitor.

I know that if an "accident" happened (I know that a baby would not be an accident at all, but I'm speaking from our perspective, not God's), we would deal. Things would work out, we would pare down our expenses and be okay. But it would be really hard. And the interesting set of challenges presented by children 16 months apart (especially when the older one is needy and shy and clingy like Velcro, and the younger one is hell-bent on killing herself at every opportunity, and both of them are about ten pounds heavier than any child their age has any right to be, and you can't carry both of them at the same time anymore) would be absolute insanity with the next one just 23 months later.

What I need is a local friend with a newborn. I could go hang out at her house for a week and be reminded of all the fun involved in those early days. I'm sure that would cure me immediately. Maybe. Newborns are awfully squishy. And they smell good.

No Man's Land

2011-04-09T21:40:00.003-05:00

Picture yourself, high on the knowledge that you have sloughed yet another size off yourself, walking into Savers with a plan and a dream. A dream of a cheap wardrobe. A cheap wardrobe that must be cheap because (you hope) you won't be stopping at this size for long. But a fabulous wardrobe, one that will encourage you to keep going! We are going to have so much fun, Savers, you and me, old pal.

SHIRTS: They come in several forms.

1. Cute at a size 8, not so cute at a 10 or 12. Because a size 10 or 12 person is not the same shape as a size 8 person. If you were a size 8, the shirt would fit nicely--snug in the right spots, just barely skimming the wrong spots. When you are a size 10 or 12, it is snug in the right spots and SNUG in the wrong spots. It draws giant arrows pointing to the parts of your body you are dissatisfied with and says, "LOOK HERE, EVERYBODY! I'D SAY IT'S ABOUT TEN POUNDS!"

2. Cute at size 14 and up, does not exist at size 10 or 12. I love Lane Bryant. LOVE that store. Their clothing says, "I am maybe a little hefty, but I am still a woman and want to look beautiful and feminine." But sizes 10 and 12 are not allowed into that little club.

3. Cut right for size 10 or 12, but not cute at all in any size whatsoever. This shirt says, "I GIVE UP ON EVER LOOKING LIKE A WOMAN AGAIN."

4. Flimsy jersey knit, the bane of my existence, and the fabric every single manufacturer in the world is CRAZY over these last couple of years. I cannot find clothing that is not jersey knit. It simply does not exist. I mean, yeah, it's soft and comfortable, but it magnifies every single roll. That little baby pouch that you're still carrying around? At the part where it touches your shirt, it looks like Mount Everest. It is the most unforgiving fabric, and it is everywhere. Unless I want to dress head to toe in business casual every single day. Which I don't. I really hate ironing.

I hate you, Savers. I hate you and your stupid clothing.

To Do List

2011-03-29T02:08:00.002-05:00

I have the world's dumbest brain.

You see, I recently started writing up a To Do list every day to keep myself on task. I'm lazy and easily distracted, but I'm also incapable of being happy in a messy house. It's a terrible condition to have.

The To Do list is like magic. Aside from the last two weeks--getting the kids' sleeping issues ironed out--my house has looked pretty good most of the time. Well, okay, it's still a bit crazy here, but it's happy crazyland, not utter chaos and mayhem and depression and filth crazyland.

Whenever I'm tidying up around the house, I am usually like a gnat. I want to fold and put away laundry, so I'll fold it up and take one of the stacks to the room it belongs in, and then I'll notice Grace's sheets need changed, so I'll do that, and then when I toss them in the laundry basket, I'll see that there are a few toys in the hallway, so I'll pick those up and toss them in the living room, only to notice that Emmy has strewn Cheerios all around her high chair, so I'll sweep those up, and when I put the broom away next to the freezer, I'll remember that the chicken needs to be put in bags and frozen, so I'll start that, but then Emmy will need to be changed, so I'll have to wash my hands, and as I'm doing that, I'll see that the soap dispenser needs filled...

You get the picture. I do not think I have ADD, since I made it through school with adequate grades and very little struggle, but I have a wildly undisciplined brain. It's like a very hyper toddler.

So. I started the To Do list. It lives on my fridge. I've tried the To Do list many times before, but I kept losing the stupid list. So this one does not move from the fridge. Ever.

I am an amazing list-maker. Most people have To Do lists that look like this:

-Clean kitchen.
-Wash clothes.
-Clean floors.

That's kind of a lot of work, if you think about it. But it's only three items. You get those done, you've done a lot of work, but it looks like all you did was lie around the house all day. There's nothing inspiring about crossing off those three items.

So I do two things. First, I break down every task into it the most minuscule components possible. Now, a rookie might do this:

-Wash dishes.
-Wipe counters.
-Do three loads of laundry.
-Put away three loads of laundry.
-Sweep floors.
-Mop floors.

It's a good start, but it could be so much better:

-Unload clean dishes.
-Put away clean dishes.
-Load dishwasher.
-Run dishwasher.
-Hand wash remaining dishes.
-Put away dishes.
-Run a load of laundry.
-Fold a load of laundry.
-Put away a load of laundry.
-Run a load of laundry.
-Fold a load of laundry.
-Put away a load of laundry.
-Run a load of laundry.
-Fold a load of laundry.
-Put away a load of laundry.
-Sweep kitchen floor.
-Sweep bathroom floor.
-Mop kitchen floor.
-Mop bathroom floor.

But here's the thing. It looks a little redundant. You need to break it up with other things. That brings me to my second tactic. Put things on your list that you've already done. It takes me like two hours to wake up in the morning. We're lucky the kids are still alive by 10:00. Do you think I've made a To Do list? Hah!

So, by the time I've gotten to the daily listmaking, I've already accomplished so much that it needs to be written down.

I also add in things that would happen even if I didn't make a list.

So, by the time I wake up at 10:00, I can already cross off a quarter of my list:

-~~Make breakfast.~~
-~~Change kids.~~
-~~Feed kids.~~
-~~Drink shake.~~
-~~Unload clean dishes.~~
-~~Put away clean dishes.~~
-~~Load dishwasher.~~
-~~Run dishwasher.~~
-Change kids.
-Hand wash remaining dishes.
-Put away dishes.
-~~Take vitamins.~~
-Run a load of laundry.
-Fold a load of laundry.
-Put away a load of laundry.
-Change kids.
-Run a load of laundry.
-Fold a load of laundry.
-Put away a load of laundry.
-Make lunch.
-Feed kids.
-Run a load of laundry.
-Fold a load of laundry.
-Put away a load of laundry.
-Change kids.
-Put kids down for naps.
-Get on elliptical.
-INTERNET FOREVER
-Get kids up.
-Change kids.
-Give kids snacks.
-Sweep kitchen floor.
-Sweep bathroom floor.
-Make dinner.
-Mop kitchen floor.
-Mop bathroom floor.
-Feed kids.
-Pick up toys.
-Change kids.
-Put kids to bed.
-Get on elliptical.
-Eat popcorn.
-Play video games.
-Watch Eureka with Jeremy.
-Take Unisom.

By the time I wake up midmorning, I've already finished a quarter of the things I'm supposed to do.

And do you know the sad part? IT TOTALLY WORKS. My idiot brain falls for it. Every single day. I make that list, I cross a bunch of stupid things off, and I'm already motivated. I accomplish almost my entire list before the kids even go down for their naps. It's amazing. I wish I'd discovered this in high school.

New Levi's?

2011-03-24T16:00:00.000-05:00

Hi! How are you all? I am fantastic.

Except for STILL being a bit sleep-deprived. My own fault, though, for staying up far too late to revel in my children's rediscovered good sleep habits.

And the horrible, awful weather here. I was certain we moved to Utah. I could have sworn it. But there's a whole lot of Wisconsin out there right now. Dear Wisconsin, I hate you. Go home.

What else?

Oh! I have no pants that fit. Yes, this is a nice problem to have, but it's going to get expensive, even if I do only buy things from thrift stores anymore.

My thighs are getting larger. Trimmer, but larger. And my waist is getting smaller. Oh, boo hoo, right? I know. But see, it's already hard enough for me to find pants that fit right. My old pants that I had been wearing are ENORMOUS around the waist, and I can barely squeeze them over my legs. It's really frustrating, my friends.

Has anyone tried the new Levi's Supreme Curve jeans? I want to try them. I have heard good things. But I also heard good things about the Gap's Curvy Fit jeans, which, well, I don't know what their definition of "curvy" was, but I am pretty sure it didn't involve actual people who have carried gigantic children around in their torsos for nine months. On some levels, I am so glad I didn't actually give birth to either of my kids. It would be so much harder to find anything that fits.

I think perhaps I will just switch to long denim skirts.

...and then she realized she could milk it.

2011-03-20T14:45:00.001-05:00

You know, if I had a cozy, dark room filled with items designed exclusively for the promotion of deep, restful sleep, and a daily naptime, and an allotted 10-12 hours for sleep each night, I would be in hog heaven.

It's amazing what certain people take for granted. And it's a really good thing certain people are EXTREMELY cute.

Camping outside Grace's door worked that one night. She slept very well. And the next day she napped. Every night since has been an ever-accelerating downward spiral.

We have tried everything. Please don't suggest anything more unless it's totally NOT obvious because I assure you we've done all the obvious, and then some.

I came to the conclusion that she was milking it. She would SCREEEEAM, I'd rush into her room, hug her, and say, "Mama's here!" and realize that she was completely unsad. No tears, no hiccupping breaths. Just happiness at my presence.

Flattering as that is, I need my sleep. I don't doubt that this started out legitimately--bad dream, scary shadow, a day or two of insecurity. But she's been showered with attention and affection all day, every day, and all night, every night, and it's only gotten worse.

So last night we didn't put the couch cushion in the hall. We didn't leave her door cracked open. We shut our door and turned up the fans.

And she fell asleep within an hour. She woke up a few times, but always went back to sleep.

I have a feeling this will take a few days, but I think it will work out.

It may be a deep character defect that I turn into a raging monster after several days of little sleep, but that's not going to change anytime soon, however much I try to keep my patience. Either The Child continues to keep us up all night, and I end up in the loony bin (or hurting her), or she has a few miserable nights, and we both end up much happier in the end.

The last no-sleep episode lasted so long that I still harbor faint resentment toward her on bad days (yes, I DO know how ridiculous this is, especially since I did the same to my parents when I was a baby). We're not going through that again.

I am a problem solver

2011-03-15T20:59:00.001-05:00

By this point, you should all know that I don't handle sleep deprivation well. I don't usually get quite enough sleep, but I'm pretty functional and fairly happy so long as I get 6 and a half hours or more.

Well.

These last, oh, two weeks have been a spiraling maelstrom of suck.

Emmy is sick. Again. She coughs at night. She cries in her sleep. She has dirty diapers (these must get changed pronto, or she's bleeding by morning, even with the Vaseline slathered on like icing).

So there was that. For a bit.

Then on Thursday they both went on a nap strike, which was super fun. I wanted to gouge my ears out because I was also trying to get the apartment ready for friends to come over.

And then! The best part! Yesterday afternoon Grace refused to nap. She SCREAMED. For two hours. I did not know what to do--give in, let Emmy sleep, and send Grace the message loud and clear that she could get out of naptime just by screaming? Let her scream and traumatize an already sick Emmy?

So I cried for half an hour in the shower. That was fun.

She pulled the same stunt last night. Jeremy and I could not figure out what was wrong. She wouldn't tell us. I tried "monster spray." I tried telling her that her stuffed animals and blankets would protect her. And just in case she was scared for Emmy, I told her they would protect Emmy, too. I told her EMMY would protect her. I told her God would protect her. Nothing worked. The door shut, she started screaming.

FINALLY! I caught her glancing at a corner of her room, where there was a new shadow. A scary shadow. Even I thought it looked a little ominous. You see, I'd cleared out their changing table, so light shone through the bars in it instead of getting blocked by stacks of clothes. And there, on the wall, was this looming set of black and white teeth. Poor kid.

I fixed the problem, she said, "Shadow's gone!" while pointing at the ceiling, and I patted myself mightily on the back while walking out the door.

SCREEEEEEAAAAAAM.

OHMYGOSH.

At that point, I was ready to throw her through a window. There comes a point where all sympathy withers and turns to dust, and my heart turns more toward the IRE end of the spectrum. I sometimes wonder why I was allowed to have kids. I am very short on empathy in such situations. Especially when I'm running on like four hours of sleep a night for the last week and a half.

So I gave up. I lay down on the floor next to her crib because I couldn't think of anything else to do. And as I lay there, I kept thinking about all those parents who get sucked into these traps, and before they know it, the kid is five, and they still haven't slept in the same bed with their spouse in years (the silver lining is that there are no more children to appease). I know this is stupid, but I'm very fond of trotting out the worst-case scenarios whenever I'm pondering a problem. The adrenaline keeps me young.

Then! A brilliant idea! And folks, I am SO proud of myself for this one because I thought of it ALL ON MY OWN.

Every couple of minutes, I slid a little closer to the door. Soon, I was in their doorway. I sat up so Grace could still see me. Then I started shutting the door a little bit every couple of minutes. Soon, the door was shut. Every five minutes, she'd call out, "Mama?" and I'd say, "I'm right here," and eventually she fell asleep. It took a long time. And she woke up a lot last night (to be fair, once was because her water cup was empty and once was because she had soaked through her diaper). But we did an abbreviated version for naptime today, and she actually slept a little bit. And even though she didn't sleep the full three hours, she did remain happy and calm in there. And tonight, I shut the door from the start and told her I would be right on the other side. Not a peep. I'm still sitting right outside her door, just to be sure, but I think she may be okay.

I still expect to wake up a lot tonight, but hopefully it will get better over time.

My MIL comes for another visit this evening. The apartment is a total mess. One of the bathrooms hasn't been cleaned in a week, and the living room is covered in toys. It's depressing. But I'm stuck outside this stupid bedroom door, just to be completely sure she's okay in there (because once that screaming starts, it just ruins everything).

I'm so exhausted I can barely see straight. I told Jeremy that if I didn't get enough sleep tonight, we were going to switch. I don't care if he has to work in the morning. I will turn homicidal if this doesn't stop soon.

So, we'll see. Watch the Utah news.

I love hyperbole with all of my heart!

2011-03-11T14:51:00.001-06:00

I've been posting my blog entries on Facebook for a while. Not usually the mundane ones, just the ones I think might be entertaining. And I still catch myself saying to people in real life, "Wow, how did you know that??" and them saying "Dude, you blabbed all about it in your blog."

Oh. That.

Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable to have people I actually know reading this. I'm prone to exaggeration and embellishment for the sake of a good story, which I don't try to hide, but sometimes I can take it too far. When I know people are reading, it helps me keep it under control.

Life has been good lately. So good. I'm losing weight, and I have more energy. Spring is coming. I live IN THE MOUNTAINS. I'm finding more and more enjoyment in my children.

This may come as a shock to you, I know, but I think playing with kids is boring. Really, really boring. I know my kids need interaction and affection. They get plenty of both. But I have to make myself. I find them interesting, but the things they like to do bore me to tears. 2.0 is really into peek-a-boo these days. Cute as it is, I can only keep up "Where's Emmy? THERE SHE IS!" for about ten minutes at a time.

But lately, I've become more content just sitting on the living room floor, watching them play and playing with them. I don't know why. It just happened. It makes me happy.

I think part of it is that they're such fun to watch together. The other day I watched Grace get a running start across the living room, tackle Emmy in a bear hug and yell, "I LOVE YOU!"

I have gotten ONE spontaneous "I love you!" from her. She'll say it in response to me saying it, but never out of the blue like that.

We had friends over for dinner last night. The first time I have someone over, I'm very nervous. I kept checking the stupid chicken over and over again (I used breasts instead of legs and thighs like the recipe called for) and overdid the olive oil because I was worried about it drying out. So it took an extra 20 minutes. Idiot.

But it turned out pretty good.

I think.

See, there I go second-guessing myself. I'm so insecure by nature. It's ridiculous. Thank you, evil elementary school classmates. But I can't blame a herd of small children twenty years ago for all my problems.

I was fretting about everything under the sun last night while I went to sleep (which was all for naught, as my sick child kept me up until almost 4 in the morning). I imagined them going home saying, "Oh my gosh. We are never eating THERE again. Did you see how much oil was in the chicken dish? Ugh. How can they live like that?" And then I had a moment of clarity.

NICE PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT. They don't CARE. They don't make personal judgments based on how the stupid chicken tasted.

So my goal for the next month is to put the smack down on that voice of insecurity every time it pipes up. It's getting old, third grade self. Most adults aren't prepubescent Jeff Jooses or Jeannie Zimmermans.

And the ones that are? I probably don't want them for friends anyway.

The vanishing woman

2011-03-10T10:04:00.001-06:00

Wow. This will have to be shortish because the kids are waking up, but I wanted to share this with you guys.

I've made motions toward trying to lose weight off and on for months, right? And even when the motions turned into something like effort, no dice.

My sister gave me some tips, and I started on Monday, and ohmygosh. I've lost about a pound a day ever since. I know that rate probably won't continue, but even if it does for a week, I will have lost seven pounds. That's like a whole baby.

Dieting goes against everything I believe in. But I don't really consider this a diet. I don't hate it. It's not constant misery and self-deprivation. It's just eating on a schedule and being careful about what I eat. I rather like the food, and I'm only mildly hungry for parts of the day.

So, my sister's diet tips:

1: Protein shake for breakfast. I mix a scoop of whey protein, a banana, a bunch of nonfat yogurt, and some frozen berries in the blender. It's very satisfying. I have to nurse mine for about an hour, and friends, I can EAT.
2: Midmorning snack: I have a hardboiled egg with some salt; it's delicious. She also recommended some peanut butter with some apple slices, or other protein snack.
3: Healthy sandwich or salad with some dressing for lunch; also, a piece of fruit.
4: Midafternoon: handful of nuts, fresh veggies, something along those lines (I have a handful of trail mix and maybe some lettuce; I love lettuce).
5: Supper: Normal portion of whatever is for dinner. I very rarely make anything too bad for us, so I can eat a normal portion of dinner without worrying that I'm consuming 1500 calories.
6: Evening snack: Popcorn. It's actually not terrible for you. And I find I don't NEED a lot of butter to eat it (even if it is better that way). I'm not crazy about popcorn, so there's no danger of me going overboard, either. I work out at night, so I also have a slice of cheese or something else with protein afterward.

I know working out at night is not ideal, but it's pretty much the only time I can do it, unless I want to leave Jeremy alone with the kids for half the evening. Yes, I could do it in the morning, but I know me, and I know that I would fail at any endeavor involving early mornings. I get on the elliptical for 20 minutes during naptime (their napping is not reliable enough to get a full workout in), just to kick myself out of the sluggish, idle eating part of the day, and then at night I do either 40 minutes on the elliptical or 20 minutes as a warm-up for weightlifting. Last night I was feeling so great after lifting that I got on the elliptical for another 20 minutes. Nothing hardcore; I'm extremely careful about overdoing it. I felt like I could have kept going for another hour, but I'm sure Jeremy would have worried that I got kidnapped in the parking lot.

And yesterday I lost another pound. I know they say quick weight loss like this is not healthy, but that's just not the case here. My diet is very balanced, I get everything I need, and the exercise is not so intense that I will injure myself.

It feels so good to see those numbers on the scale drop. I'm starting to feel lighter, more limber, and it's so much easier to get up and down from the floor to play with the kids.

I promise to lay off the weight loss talk in future posts. I'm just really excited about this right now.

ETA: I've added an extra 20 minutes to half hour on the other end of my weight-lifting sessions, and it has made a big difference. It's not intense; it's just enough to keep my heart rate up for a little bit longer. But wow, do I feel great. And I have lost almost another pants size.

I sound like a Mac lover, except with exercise

2011-03-03T00:22:00.002-06:00

Do you know the surest way to drop a pants size? Go out to Savers, dig through every single rack of pants in your size until you come up with six pairs of pants that might not be horrible. Try them on. Discover two that are more than okay. Two pairs of pants that you love and that kind of fit (I have given up EVER finding pants that fit perfectly, without getting them tailored).

Buy said pants.

Go home.

Wait three days.

Voila! You have dropped a pants size.

This is strange because my weight hasn't budged since the trip back to Wisconsin (where I lost ANOTHER pound, during a weekend spent sitting and eating and exercising only once).

So it must be the newfound happiness with pants that I don't hate. I am not allowed to have clothing that I love.

Speaking of which! I don't really care for ellipticalling. It's my least hated of all cardio-type exercises. I love things like soccer (I'm so terrible at it, but I love it), and hiking. But I have a crunchy knee (yes, I DO know I need to see a doctor, thank you; I am weirdly averse to it because I'm so afraid I'll be told I need to have surgery NOW, and there goes my getting back in shape, which I know is really stupid, but I'm working on it), so I have to be very, very careful what I do with it.

Every time I've gotten into this exercise thing, I've pivoted wrong while cleaning house, or picked up one of the girls a little too vigorously, or jumped off a chair in a fit of youthful exuberance and idiocy. Then, BAM! no more walking, much less exercising for a week or two. It's quite discouraging.

Anyway, until I get my knee fixed, I'm stuck with low-impact machine exercise. If I don't look utterly horrifying in a swimsuit by summer, I may try the apartment pool out, but it looks too small to do anything useful, and I'm too cheap to go anywhere. Maybe once we sell our house, that will free up a few hundred a months, and I'll get back into swimming. I'd really like that. I went for a bit while I was pregnant with Emmy, but it was too hard to breathe.

Despite me not caring for the ellipticalling, this time is going much better. I'm more motivated, more into it. I dread the idea of getting on and running for forty minutes, but once I'm on, I don't have an off switch. Maybe that's the reason I dread it; I approach it much the same way I used to approach housework--tell myself I'll take it easy and chip away little by little, then once I get started, I nearly overdo it.

So, last night I ran 4.6 miles in 40 minutes on level 3 (out of 10). This is amazing to me. Just after we got the elliptical, I ran at least 30 minutes every single day for six weeks. I didn't get anywhere near that distance, stamina, or level. Not even close. So it must be the weightlifting.

I hate to sound like a weight-loss evangelist, but seriously, weightlifting is magical. MAGICAL. My weight might not have budged, but I see muscles now! I have triceps and the beginnings of defined abs (at the very top, near my ribs; the rest is hidden... but I'll take it!). And I enjoy it. After a run, I feel good, and it definitely gives me a boost for the next day. But after lifting, I'm practically euphoric.

I put off getting in there for far too long. They're all gonna laugh at you! kept ringing in my head. Guess what! Nobody cares! I still feel self-conscious, especially at the bench press, but I'm getting over. It's rare that anyone is in there, since I go at night, but when there is, well, I have yet to see anyone follow me around and take notes on the weakness of my chest muscles.

I never would have started if we didn't have a free weight room 50 feet from our door. But now, if we ever move, the first thing I am doing is getting a gym membership. Even if it means I have to go without fabulous makeup. Or electricity.

Weightlifting might not be the magical thing for everyone that it is for me, but if you've struggled to get back in shape, I highly recommend just trying it for a few weeks.

I'm not even doing it to slim down anymore; I'm doing it because it's fun, and because I feel strong, and because it makes me feel good. Try it, if it's possible!

Racist Scottish Lady

2011-02-28T23:38:00.000-06:00

Some of you are so excited about Racist Scottish Lady that I'm not sure I can make this little story amusing enough to live up to the hype. But I'll try. It may involve some embellishment. Hopefully you can imagine the hilarious awfulness of it despite my inability to reproduce it well.

So, I was sitting in the airport with my laptop at 2:00 in the morning when a middle-aged lady came up and plopped down in the seat across from me with her bags. She looked a little peeved.

(Now, bear with me because accents aren't my thing, but this story is very hard to make amusing without at least attempting to reproduce her accent; and this is hard because it was so thick I had trouble understanding her at times. It was also really lovely; I could listen to her recite the phone book.)

Her: Marnin' to yeh!
Me: Hi.
Her: Whatcha doon hur a' this arr?
Me: Oh, my flight got cancelled. I'm here till 7:30 this morning.
Her: Ooh, ain' tha' soom bad look!
Me: Yeah, the wind here was terrible earlier, and it was snowing. There was also some lightning.
Her: Ooh, ay'm gla' I goot in winnah did. Joost came frum NooOhlahns [New Orleans, and somehow she made it into one very musical syllable].
Me: Oh, cool! I've always wanted to visit there. Did you enjoy it?
Her: Noo, I came back two week earleigh! Tha' whool toon, goon to roobish.
Me: Really. I know a lot of the historical areas were destroyed by the hurricane...
Her: Noo, it ain' joost the old areas. It's evrwher! Sooch a sad toon nagh.
Me: That's too bad.
Her: Aye, I tell ya, it's thoos blacks.
Me: Excuse me?
Her: Aye, I nivvah seen sooch a lot o' booskers, thoos blacks. Lazy, lazy, lazy, the whool lot o' them.
Me: Ooh.
Yes, I know I could have done better here, but it was two in the morning, and the incongruity between that musical voice and the actual meaning of the words had me dumbstruck.
Her: Soo sad. It's bean six yeeas! The streets, filthy, the buildins, foolin' doon, and ool tha' people, sittin' aroon', waitin' for handoots. I tell ya'.
Me: ...
Her: Soo, tell me, dear, do ya' noo where tha' wee girls' room is? Imma goon for a pee, then I need a fog [= fag = cigarette; that one took me a while]. Bye nah!

The conversation was much longer than that. But it's hard work trying to reproduce her accent, and I'm lazy.

So. I hardly ever write anymore! As if you didn't notice! I'm going to stop apologizing for it, but I think I'll explain a little bit.

Normally if I don't post frequently for a while, it's because I'm stressed out, or sad, or sleep deprived. Turns out I don't post much when I'm ridiculously happy, either. Huh.

Seriously, folks, I haven't felt this good in year. Yes, you read that right. Probably since before Grace was born, maybe even earlier. I was bouncing around the house the other day when I suddenly realized that this is how I used to feel all the time. This is not abnormal for me. This is me.

I might not go so far as to say I've been depressed for two years, but now that I'm feeling so great, I can see that I was something less than great. I don't know if it was crazy hormones brought on by breastfeeding (much as I love breastfeeding and miss it, I do think it gives me a little bit of The Crazy because after weaning both times I noticed a sudden upswing on the happiness scale) that finally went away, or if it's Utah, or if it's having more time with Jeremy at home, or if it's the working out. But wow.

Of course there are bad days, but I find I'm able to take them in stride now. I don't lose my temper with the kids anywhere near as often. I am not annoyed with Jeremy for no particular reason. I spend the entire morning doing housework and I like it.

I made chicken broth for fun this morning! This turned out to be a bad idea. First, I nearly cut off my index finger (thank the in-laws for those sharp knives, or it would have bled for hours). Then it turned out to be a messy, day-long undertaking. But by golly, that broth is good. It had better be. It had better give me whiter teeth and drop me down to a lower pants size.

Tomorrow I will attempt to find my sister's box of maternity clothes (somewhere in a stack of boxes in the garage) and organize the girls' bedroom (too-small clothes everywhere, since all the bins are somewhere in a stack of boxes in the garage). If I don't write again for a while, it might be because I was smothered to death in a rain of cardboard and Rubbermaid.

I am not lying in a gutter somwhere in Chicago.

2011-02-18T23:43:00.004-06:00

I lived! And it was kind of fun. I mean, I was nearly delirious by the time I got to my friend's house and fell into bed. It was fun in the I've-never-done-anything-like-this-before-and-I-did-it-anyway kind of way. Flight canceled, spend 13 hours in the airport (I didn't post yesterday until I'd been there for a while), eat almost nothing for 24 hours, catch a new flight to a different destination, find my way through O'Hare to the bus station (which is an entirely different building, BTW), buy a ticket, and make it to my parents' town without getting mugged, lost, or kidnapped. And I won!

It's kind of exhilarating.

I miss my kids, but not as much as I thought I would (so far). I miss Jeremy MORE than I thought I would. I mean, not that I wasn't expecting to miss him at all, but I'm far more used to being away from him for a few days at a time.

I'm cutting this short because I have to get up early, but remind me to tell you about Racist Scottish Lady.

I feel naked.

2011-02-16T19:52:00.001-06:00

I am in the Salt Lake City airport waiting for my flight to Denver. Child-free until Tuesday morning.

I was half excited, half dreading this trip. The dread was mostly due to the packing. I really hate packing. Now that it's over, I'm pretty excited. I DID get pretty choked up in the car when Jeremy dropped me off.

My MIL (Grace calls her "Great Grandma" for whatever weird, toddler reason she has) was just here for a week, and she left this morning before the kids woke up. Grace is her new biggest fan. At breakfast, Grace looked up from her pancake and said, "Great Grandma?" rather plaintively.

Now I'M leaving for a week. I hope she doesn't lose her mind.

But, oh, I need a break. It's been two and a half years since I was away from them for more than a few hours. Well, a couple months ago, Jeremy kicked me out of the house to go have fun for a day and a half. But other than that, it's only been pieces of days here and there.

I feel weird.

I packed as light as I could. This means I will be wearing some bizarre outfits all week. Two pairs of pants, four shirts, and some really weird socks. I did all the laundry except the sock/towel load. So right now I'm wearing bright red socks with black horses all over them. These jeans look really weird with the one pair of shoes I brought. They're boot cut, but for some reason, with these shoes, they look like skinny jeans. Also, did I ever mention that I have gigantic feet? I do. Black clown shoes, red horse socks, skinny jeans. Awesome. I did have an awesome hair day to balance it out, but the hurricane-force wind today ruined all that. I now look like I went through a car wash in a convertible. My sister will have fun with this when she picks me up.

Ouch.

2011-02-13T00:39:00.002-06:00

I love how every time I'm beginning to lose sympathy for my always-teething children, God smites me with Terrible Wisdom Tooth of Doom.

Yes, I'm teething. Oh my heck. I have two wisdom teeth in all the way, and two halfway in, and every few months they start burrowing their way up again, and it makes me want to rip my jaw out of my face because that would hurt LESS that accidentally chewing on the wrong side of my face 37 times a day, and WHY don't I learn?

I may be the only adult in North America to still have her wisdom teeth. We used to not have insurance. Then I was firmly in the not-removing-things-from-my-body-just-because camp. Then my friend became a dental hygienist and actually explained to me why they routinely remove your wisdom teeth these days. And then I turned into a big, fat pansy.

Speaking of which, I have begun weightlifting.

I was so fed up with my ellipticalling and ellipticalling and ellipticalling and still only GAINING weight. So I poked around a bit and found that hey! One of the keys to weight loss? Is building muscle. I am an intelligent woman who knows all about how having muscles helps you burn more calories, but I never actually put it all together.

Yes, dieting is also an option, but I refuse to do it, other than just eating a decently well-rounded diet. First, I am hungry ALL OF THE TIME. I have been like this for as long as I can remember. I don't eat because I'm bored or stressed. I eat because I'm hungry. And you know what? If thinness will only happen if I have to tolerate a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach for the rest of my days, I AM NOT INTERESTED. Second, I have kids to feed who need fats in their diet. I'm not interested in having two different kinds of everything. We don't have enough refrigerators. Third, I mostly dislike the taste of low-fat, low-sugar things. I aim for foods that don't need butter or sugar, but when they do, I will use the good stuff.

So. Weightlifting. I am a weakling. No, I take that back. My arms, despite their... flying squirrel-ish appearance, are pretty ripped. I can curl as much as I could in high school. My back is stronger than I'd expected, too. But everything else is shamefully weak. Like a wilted piece of lettuce. I'm a droopy piece of broccoli.

And? I lost a pound and a half in two days. It probably would have been even more this morning, except that my MIL took us out for dinner for Emmy's birthday, and there was far more food than any of us had anticipated. It was well worth it. I will never regret fresh mozzarella or a perfect tiramisu.

Oh, the look of wonder on Emmy's face at her first taste of chocolate ice cream and whipped cream. It was almost accusatory: "You KNEW about this, and you held out on me for a YEAR?"

It was a good birthday. Thanks, MIL.

PS: I forgot to mention in my last entry that my father is adopted. So, I didn't get any DNA from my grandma, sadly. I do like the air of mystery this lends to my father's side of the family tree. I bet I am related to pirates! Norwegian pirates!

Also known as Vikings.

You should see our laundry pile.

2011-02-06T16:12:00.000-06:00

Well, I seem to have taken a turn for the totally boring and uneventful. "You were already there!" I can hear the peanut gallery muttering. Whatever. Boringer. Uneventfuler.

I am the kind of person who lives and breathes routine. The chaos of my brain makes my little routines necessary. In a new home, with everything different, everything is off kilter. Changing routines are the bane of my existence. Or, at least, the bane of my ability to function as an efficient housekeeper, wife, and mother.

We think we have found a church. This is a huge relief. I was expecting to have to church-hop for weeks before we found a place we liked. Nope. First (and closest) church we tried. I'm strangely at ease with these people. I'm never at ease with new people. I don't know what happened. I'm not going to question it. We'll just hope it's not something in the Kool-Aid, right?

Emmy is walking like a pro these days. That's another reason I haven't written much: walking, teething, a streak of independence a mile wide. She will no longer take a bottle. She has gone from 4-5 bottles a day (plus solid foods) to a few small cups of formula a day, which she will only drink while stumbling through the living room like an intoxicated baby monkey. She's suddenly picky about food, too, probably a result of the most horrific teething episode I have ever witnessed in my short life as a mother. Four molars, no sleep, and high fevers for three (four?) days straight. I wanted to strangle myself.

This set of molars is also when Grace stopped eating.

The advantage of both children living on air, water, and bread is that our cost of living just plummeted.

And now? We are sick (just a cold, but I like to be as whiny about it as possible). It just keeps getting better, doesn't it?

Another also: My grandma died. This is not as terribly sad for me as other grandparents' deaths have been. Not because I don't love her (I do, very much), but because I have almost no memories of her. Recent memories after she came to live with my parents a few months ago, yes. We had semi-regular phone conversations (less than a better granddaughter would have had, to my shame), and she and I wrote a lot of letters back and forth when I was little. So I knew her. But my knowledge of her has always been long distance. We visited a few times when I was tiny. The only thing I remember was nearly drowning in our friends' pool. A couple Christmases and weddings since then.

She was one of the funniest ladies I've ever known. Her wit was still razor sharp until just a few months ago. I remember a few years ago, she wrote me a letter recounting a terrible fall she'd taken recently. I knew she was badly hurt, but the way she wrote about it, I still laughed so hard I almost choked.

She used to knit us sweaters. I remember hating a few of them, but I'm pretty sure if I had them now, they would look gorgeous to me. I was a snotty little kid.

I'm glad I got to see a bit of her before we moved away. It wasn't much, but at least she got to meet the girls.

I'll see her again someday, and then she'll be able to remember my name and which grandchild I am.

I'm going back to Wisconsin in a couple of weeks for the memorial service. I will be leaving the kids with Jeremy for nearly a week. I don't know if I want to jump for joy or cry at the prospect of being away from the babies for that long. For now I'll just look forward to it. I'm sure I'll be busy enough I won't have much time to miss them. And then when I get back, I will smother them with so much love they'll wish I'd go away again.

Shampoo

2011-01-25T23:47:00.001-06:00

The girls woke up from their nap early. Feh.

HOWEVER. They were in much better spirits for the rest of the day. I think Grace just needed a good, solid nap, which she also got (she's in her room for three hours, but she usually only sleeps for one or two and spends the rest of the time playing in her crib; today she started screeching bloody murder after two hours, but I'm pretty sure she slept the whole time).

My attitude didn't turn around until a while later. I can be so petty. With my children. Babies. Grow up, you old hag, I keep muttering to myself.

We also turned Emmy's pack 'n' play for the night so the side with the curtain (or whatever it's called) would block her view of Grace's crib.

Like a charm. Asleep within twenty minutes. Grace woke up screaming once for a diaper change, but Emmy didn't even stir. Silence ever since (except for Grace muttering happily to herself in her crib for a little while).

Sigh. My moods are too easily subject to my children's.

Cross-posting from my Tightwad Blog:

Dear sister, I know you will laugh at this post. But don't make fun of me too much until you see my hair.

I'll never have fabulous hair, but this is the most fabulous it's ever been in my entire life. It's kind of a pain in the rear since I have to rinse it forever and a day, lest I smell like vinegar. But I consider it worth it. My hair not only looks better, but it's softer, shinier, and it does the things I tell it to. It curls and stays curled, I pin it up, and it stays up, I leave it down, and it does not plaster itself to my head like a hungover eel.

So! Here it is.

Step One: Baking soda.

Keep a cup (16 oz) in the shower. Before you get in, put in 2 Tbsp of baking soda. In the shower, fill the cup and mix until the baking soda is dissolved (I use the end of my razor handle).
Pour in sections over your dry head. I'd like to get a squeeze bottle to do this, but so many of them have really narrow necks. This method is time-consuming enough that I really don't feel like bringing a funnel into the whole business as well.
Rub into scalp, then rinse thoroughly.

Step Two: Vinegar.

Optional: Pour about 1 tsp of honey into the cup. My hair comes out shinier and sweeter-smelling when I use this.
Pour about 1/4 cup of your choice of vinegar into the cup. I use apple cider vinegar. I've heard of people using pomegranate vinegar and others. I'm sure just about anything would smell better than ACV (except maybe white vinegar). Fill the rest of the way with water and mix again.
Pour in sections over your head, work into hair, and rinse thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly. And then rinse some more. If you're still unsure, rinse a little bit more.

I won't lie; it's a pain in the rear. But I find it's well worth it. No more money spent on expensive, clarifying shampoos whenever my fine hair gets tired of the buildup. No more greasy hair days. No more bad hair days, period (so far). And even though my hair will probably never be the type that can go for a day without washing, and I am pretty sure I will never be able to go vinegar-only (some people do! and I've seen pictures! and it looks good! I'm amazed; I tried it once, and I looked like something fresh from a Sunnydale graveyard), my hair is far, far less greasy than it ever has been before. By bedtime, it used to be showing already. Now it doesn't look terrible until at least the next morning.

To be honest, it's probably not much of a money savings. I have (used to have) a taste for expensive shampoos and conditioners, but I could make them last foreeeever. A tankard of Aveda shampoo and conditioner can last me at least two years. That's about two dollars a month. A gallon of apple cider vinegar lasts about two months, and the cost of baking soda is negligible. Honey is a bit pricier, but we use so little, and we buy it in the gigantic jugs (I use it in just about everything The Child eats that's sweetened). This gets us about three cents a day. Yaaay!

This brings me to my next point.

For the longest time, it's been hard for me to get motivated to save money because I haven't ever thought to tie it to something concrete. We're only saving twelve dollars a year by doing this, but twelve dollars is a movie ticket. We love the movies! And we never get to go! Before, I would have seen that twelve dollars and thought, "Pssssh. Totally not worth the self-denial."

But it IS.

I love how I'm learning delayed gratification at 28.

(If you listen closely, you'll hear my siblings and parents snickering into their sleeves. Li'l Naomi done growed up. Kind of.)

Mother of the Year, right here

2011-01-25T13:02:00.001-06:00

Oh my goodness. I am so frustrated with The Child I could scream.

She's needy. Needy, needy, needy. Not just needy for a human being. Needy for a toddler. The way to help her has always been to shower her with affection until she feels safe. Well, that doesn't appear to be working this time. I can't do anything without her tugging on my pant leg and crying, "Want pick you up please? Want pick you up please? Want pick you up please?" All day. Every day.

She won't eat anything except cereal (Cheerios or Kashi), oatmeal, and other grain products. Once every other day or so, she'll deign to try three bites of something else, but otherwise she's living on air, starch, and fiber. It's making me crazy. I couldn't care less what she eats (so long as it's not junk), but I'm sure low blood sugar is contributing to her constant crankiness. She'll ask for something for lunch (one of the number one tricks I've been taught is to offer toddlers choices about as many things as you can), and I'll make it for her, and she refuses it. So she goes hungry because I'm not her waitress.

I am angry at her about half the day, and I feel guilty about feeling so angry the other half of the day. It's exhausting.

This might be easier to handle if she hadn't improved so dramatically in the weeks before we moved. She was eating just about everything we put in front of her. She was happy about 95% of the time.

We've lived here for weeks. Please tell me that it's totally normal for a toddler to take a long time to settle in to a new home.

And please tell me that she and Emmy will get used to sleeping in the same room someday soon. They don't stay awake and scream; they stay awake and laugh (thank goodness). But neither of them is getting enough sleep. We don't have the space to separate them.

We've had good days since we moved, don't get me wrong. Today is not one of those days. And when I'm stuck in the middle of one of these days, it always seems like there's no end in sight to this behavior.

Lullabies

2011-01-14T22:56:00.003-06:00

Jeremy and I have been watching Grace and Emmy learn to love each other. It's so comical and sweet and endearing. They shriek with joy at each other morning, noon, and night. I had to go back to having them nap separately because they would just stand in their cribs and laugh at each other until they got cranky and overtired and started screaming. If either one is hurt and cries, the other one usually starts crying, too.

The other night in the car, after we'd stayed at the restaurant a little too long, Emmy was working herself up to a rage fit on the way back to the hotel. Grace leaned over, stretched out her hand, and said, "Hey hey hey," the same way I do when Emmy falls and bumps her head, and I'm bending down to pick her up.

I've made up bedtime songs for both girls. Not really intentionally. They just sort of happened. Neither one is sophisticated or even terribly original, but each daughter has one of her own. Grace's is markedly more interesting and melodic. If we have a child or two more, the last one will be stuck with grunts and jazz hands.

But it goes like this: "Emmeline, Emmeline, I love you, Emmeline, you're so sweet, Emmeline, I love you."

Tonight Emmy was fighting sleep harder than usual. There was more fussing after we put her down than there has been in a while (they mostly just laugh until they pass out an hour or so later). Jeremy came running into our room a few minutes ago and gestured me over. We leaned our ears against the door to the girls' room to hear Grace singing (tunelessly), "Emmeline, you're so sweet, Emmeline, Emmeline, you're so sweet, Emeline, love you, you're so sweet, Emmeline," over and over. She kept it up for at least twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.

They say kids don't learn things like (real, unselfish) love and empathy until they're much older, but I don't buy it. These two are nuts about each other.

Let me count the ways

2011-01-08T23:35:00.001-06:00

Dear Utah:

I love you. I love you so much it borders on *idolatry.

I love mountains.

I love the grocery store one block from my house that has a produce section the size of the one in Woodman's and a bulk foods section the size of the produce section back in Jefferson. I love that a pound of ORGANIC raw sugar costs half what REGULAR raw sugar costs there.

I love that the city planners were geniuses, and I can get almost anywhere in the city within 20 minutes. Also, the grid system. Brilliant!

I love that this weather is considered unusually cold.

I love the millions of good consignment stores here. Thrift stores JUST for kids' stuff. Barely-used high-quality cloth diapers for $4.

I love this apartment. Just about everything about it, so I won't bore you with my mile-long list.

What don't I love?

Smog.

Stompy upstairs neighbors (we'll get used to it).

Our mailbox is across the complex.

As is the recycling dumpster.

And the regular dumpster.

Feh.

I suppose if Utah were perfect, I'd become spoiled. It's close enough to perfect for me.

*Dear church ladies, and maybe my dad: Not really! Hyperbole!

Today is ever so much better

2011-01-05T16:18:00.002-06:00

I would love to take the girls swimming during the day, but doing it by myself kind of scares me. Emmy would happily drown herself if I didn't duct tape her to my hands, and Grace is terrified of water any deeper than six inches. Might as well be acid. I'm going to take her swimming a lot next summer. Our pool is open 24 hours, and one-on-one, I'm not worried. I just can't imagine keeping track of both of them in such a dangerous place. I know I probably sound overly paranoid, but I almost drowned as a kid, and despite my love of swimming, I've never completely gotten over my fear of water, either. Especially not when my kids are involved.

We went and saw our new apartment last night. Well, it was a different apartment, same floor plan.

THE KITCHEN OH MY GOSH.

As much counter space as the kitchen in our house, lengthwise. But it's about a foot deeper. And granite. And the microwave is mounted over the stove, so that's an extra 4-5 sq feet (because our microwave sat in the corner on a diagonal, and that whole corner was unusable for any practical purpose, not because we had a microwave the size of a Panzer). A dishwasher! A pantry! A refrigerator that will hold more than a carton of eggs and a turnip! Drawers that roll easily! Cupboards that shut! No blasted radiators to lose peas and onion skins under!

If the rest of our apartment were a garbage heap, the kitchen alone would still make me happy.

The master bath has a gigantic tub. Okay, I've seen bigger, nicer tubs, but for an apartment, it's pretty spacious. I could fit in there sideways while pregnant with Grace, which is more than I can say for most other tubs (and doorways and grocery store aisles) in existence.

Walk-in closets in each bedroom.

Directly across the street from Jeremy's work and within walking distance of one of the best grocery stores in the area (or so I'm told--it's WinCo).

The girls have been sleeping like little champions since I last wrote. And I think they may just be good enough to nap in the same room together. I think I'll try it tomorrow. I've been skipping Emmy's morning nap. She's on the verge of giving it up, and while she might be a little crankier toward afternoon naptime, she sleeps much better and longer, and is happier overall. Plus, if they nap in the same room, it may buy me a few extra minutes while they cackle at each other after waking up.

Right now Emmy is awake in there, talking to herself and blowing bubbles and thumping around the crib. I suspect she's practicing walking. She takes a step or two at a time all day long, but I still wouldn't call her a walker. She's so, so close, though. Earlier today, she walked halfway across the living room before face-planting, but I haven't seen that feat repeated.

I should get her up soon, but it's too much fun to listen to her.

The rest of the story... so far.

2011-01-03T16:39:00.001-06:00

Okay, so. Saturday morning. We woke up an hour later than planned. Oops. It worked out fine, though; I somehow got everything organized and ready to go in the time it took Jeremy to take a shower. All he had to do was pack the suitcase.

A friend from the Internet very kindly offered to come help us get from the hotel to the airport. She called my cell phone while I was in the middle of ~~wrestling with~~ feeding Emmy, so Jeremy answered. Friend was a little shocked; turns out she had thought I was by myself with two kids.

Oops. Again. I felt like a jerk, but it was still nice to meet her. And she really was a big help--both in helping us get stuff loaded, getting the packed luggage cart through the tiny doorways of the Marriott ResidenceInn in Rosemont (which, by the way, is not as nice as it sounds; broken door handle in one room, and wireless you have to pay extra for), getting everything loaded on the shuttle, wrangling children, and putting my mind at ease after the ordeal of our first trip through O'Hare. We made it to our gate an hour and a half early.

Almost no screaming on the flight from either child, very little crying, but a lot of whining from The Child. Rationally, I know that all this was extremely hard on her, but it's hard to keep a hold on that thought when your kid is driving you up the wall. Emmy slept half the way and laughed the other half. Both of them charmed the flight attendants, who were, by the way, the nicest flight attendants ever in history. We sat at the very back of the plane. The bathroom traffic and smell was a totally acceptable tradeoff for the engine noise that lulled Emmy into a deep, deep sleep and drowned out Grace's whining.

Speaking of which, she refused to sleep on the plane for even a minute. But she was sound asleep in the stroller by the time we got to the baggage claim. Poor thing. I walked her in circles for half an hour while Jeremy got the rental and loaded our luggage. My calves are still sore (I had Emmy on my back, too).

The kids have taken pretty well to sharing a room. Emmy screams vehemently for a few minutes, then passes out, and Grace has hardly peeped. The first night, Emmy screamed off and on for an hour. Maybe more. The same for her naps yesterday. Last night, she screamed halfheartedly for about 32 seconds and passed out. For her afternoon nap today, she kept it up for only 20 minutes (though I was certain it would be 45 minutes).

Yes, I know it sounds horribly cruel. But this baby is stubborn. She's not actually distressed and unable to sleep. She's screaming in order to keep herself awake. She did the same thing as a newborn, even when I was holding her in my arms. I would watch her hold out for half an hour or better sometimes. Eyes drift shut, head shake, maybe some crying, over and over again. I didn't even know newborns could do that.

Today has been much better than yesterday. Yesterday both kids were still terribly sleep deprived and disoriented. Today they're pretty well-rested and getting used to the hotel room. It's been pleasant.

Right now I'm starving but too afraid to order food, lest it wake the beast. Emmy finally gave up fighting sleep, and I have only a few minutes before Grace wakes up from her nap. I love this hotel room, except for one thing: the doors to the bedroom aren't like real doors. They're narrow double doors that swing together. And there's a quarter-inch gap between them and between them and the floor. So you can hear everything from room to room. Genius.

It's probably just as well. Ruby Tuesday delivers here (there's no room service), and I would order a ribeye every other hour if I could.

Tonight we're going to find a mall and walk around for a long time. We didn't pack warm enough clothes to go for walks outside (too bulky and too many other necessities for such a long stay). I also want to check out more consignment shops. I am now bent on getting Emmy a booster chair. And we need something to put on the carpet under our table, since I don't think the apartment owners will appreciate Emmy's penchant for knocking anything and everything off her tray (for such a physically adept child, she's awfully clumsy).

Also, we just found out that we'll definitely be here at least until the 7th. As happy as I am about ordering ribeyes to my ever-growing heart's content, being trapped in a hotel room all day is hardly on my list of favorite things ever. It would be different if Jeremy were here, but he has to go to work (we both decided it would be better if he dove right into work this week--both to save his days off and to make a good impression). So, any of you have any brilliant suggestions on what to do with two very small children in a hotel room all day?

We're here*

2011-01-03T11:14:00.002-06:00

*Don't worry; all is well now! The girls settled into the new room well last night, and we all got some good sleep. And even the chaos of the last couple of days wasn't that bad. I was too excited to get too down about anything.

Wow, it's been a while. Again with the Full Brain Syndrome.

But we are safely on the other side. One last hurdle: moving in and unpacking. Right now we're staying in a hotel while Jeremy's job pays for meals, our room, rental car, and gas. Once the movers are here and our apartment is ready, we are good to go. I'm not sure I want to leave, though. I like not having to cook.

Friday was not fun. It was supposed to go like this:

I spend the night at my friend's house on Thursday with the girls. I stay there, keeping them to their regular schedule as much as possible, until the movers are almost done.

I go back up to Jefferson around 2. That's when the movers are supposed to be done, and that's when the tow truck is supposed to arrive for our cars. That's also when our van driver is supposed to get there to take us down to Chicago.

No. Here's how it really went:

After a late night with the girls, who would NOT fall asleep (since when have either of them been so sensitive to their surroundings?), I get a call from Jeremy at 8. The tow truck driver was there for our cars.

So I got ready as fast as I could, got the girls up, gave Emmy a bottle, and threw some Cheerios at Grace on the way home. The van driver got there around noon. The movers didn't have our stuff packed until almost 6. We and the girls spent the entire day standing around in a cold house while strange men hauled away our stuff into a gigantic truck. You can imagine how Grace felt about this. She handled it better than I would have expected, but it still wasn't fun. Emmy passed out on my back for about twenty minutes, but Grace didn't sleep at all until we got to the hotel.

Oh, the hotel. The girls slept in the same room for the first time ever and did pretty well after the first hour or so.

It was New Year's Eve. People were lighting off fireworks. I heard the police knock on the door across the hall once. People ran up and down the halls half the night. Jeremy snored blissfully through all of it, as did the girls. Me? I laid in bed getting angrier and angrier at Jeremy for breathing and moving and EXISTING. It's a good thing I have the ability to recognize when I'm being irrational and should just move to the couch.

Shoot. Need to go. Children need tending.

My head is too small

2010-12-18T21:05:00.002-06:00

Remember the "My Brain Is Full" entry a ways back? Yeah, that's what's been going on. People to see One Last Time, chipped paint to take care of, children to keep alive, et cetera. It also means my funny bone is mostly gone, but I'll update just because a few of you have asked. Once I'm less overwhelmed, I'm sure I'll have all sorts of things to say. Probably more than you want to hear.

Emmy is thisclose to walking. Grace was thisclose to walking for months, but she's certainly more cautious than Emmy. I don't think Emmy will wait until she can walk perfectly. She's perfectly happy crashing into sharp objects all over the place. I catch her halfway up the stairs several times a day. Blockading them with chairs doesn't work anymore. She just slides right under. I'm so glad we're moving soon. Carrying her on my back all the time is good for me, but it's also tiresome.

Speaking of Grace, she is suddenly... normal.

She's still shy, but she smiles at and flirts with anyone and everyone so long as one of us is close at hand. She asks for vegetables. She picks up mushy food. She doesn't throw a fit if I wait until the end of breakfast to wipe the yogurt off her face and bib. Screaming during hairwashing has gone from Psycho to barely a yelp. She ate seven large, weird-looking mushrooms (in sauce!) at dinner today. I don't know what happened, but I'm not going to question it.

We found a good home for the cat. Jeremy dropped her off today. Huuuge weight off our shoulders.

That's all. I'm kind of fried. I'll be back soon. We move in two weeks, and then I'll never shut up.

The grass is greener

2010-12-06T14:34:00.001-06:00

Please don't take this personally, but I hate all these Facebook status memes floating around. Even the funny ones. I don't know why. They make me so crazy. I think maybe it's because the "serious" ones made me so irate in the first place that even when the satirical ones came along, I only had space in my cold little heart to put them on the same shelf as the serious ones. But every time a new one pops up, I want to kick a puppy.

The more I think about this apartment we're moving to, the more I think I may never want to move again. Washer and dryer included, ground floor, single level, attached garage, open kitchen/dining/living area, no yardwork. I HATE our setup now, even though it's one of the things that attracted me to the house in the first place.

I wanted a kitchen separate from the rest of the house. Now that I have it, I hate it. Our old apartment had a tiny kitchen right in the middle of the unit. Now, it was a very efficient use of space; instead of putting a useless hallway to the bathroom and bedroom, they put a kitchen in. But it took forever to get anything done in there if there was anyone else there, and it heated up the entire apartment. So I thought I wanted a kitchen separate from the rest of the house.

Now that we have one, I know better. Our kitchen is not conducive to play time. It's always cold (or super hot) in there, and the floor is always freezing. So the girls prefer to be out in the living room and dining room. This is kind of nice; I can get things done in the kitchen without small people under my feet, but it also makes me feel a bit isolated. If Jeremy's home, he's stuck in the living room with the kids while I'm cooking. If he's not home, the girls are playing by themselves in there or long stretches of time. I'm all for independent play, but sometimes I spend a loooong time in the kitchen cleaning, cooking, preparing snacks or meals ahead of time, whatever. It just seems so neglectful.

Speaking of Facebook and bad parenting, a friend posted this:

I don't know why it bugged me so much. I don't typically take other people's parenting choices as an attack on my own. I really don't care what other people do with their kids, so long as they're not abusing them.

I'm not a "babywearer"; I mean, I tote Emmy around in the Ergo a lot, and I did the same with Grace in the sling (which Emmy loathes with every little muscle in her body), but it's purely utilitarian. My children are too heavy to babywear all the time, even with a good carrier. I breastfed, but when it wasn't working anymore... meh. We're switching to cloth diapers, but it's almost entirely to save money.

And I'm enthusiastic about the things that have worked for us, too. Early sleep training, swaddling, to name a couple. Both of these are things some people strongly dislike. That's fine. It's worked for us, and it doesn't have to work for them.

But it was sounded so smug, as if to say, "I'm a superior parent because I do X, Y and Z!" Even if X, Y, and/or Z are better for kids, that doesn't mean that the other millions of parenting choices we make every day don't even us all out. I know someone else who does all these things, but the house is filthy (we're not talking just clutter and unvacuumed floors; it's much worse than that). It is, in my opinion, a horrible environment for a child to grow up in.

Feh. This is not a person who is typically smarmy and judgmental about such things, so I should probably just let it go.

My sister dear is expecting another baby. I am positively giddy about this news. I am excited to have a cousin in the family who will be close in age to my own. And I'm excited that it will be the branch of the family that's closest to us. Not close close, but at least Colorado and Utah share a border.

Speaking of which, I need to call her.

You can ask my sister about this one

2010-11-27T14:32:00.005-06:00

Wow. That cranberry sauce was really sweet. Remind me to use about half as much raw sugar as regular. Wow.

I have a problem. My brain is not like other people's. I have an unusually large capacity for mostly useless facts. This comes in handy on very rare occasion. Sadly, they are not the kind of facts that normally appear on Trivial Pursuit or Jeopardy, or I'd be a zillionaire. They are things like knowing that "victuals" is properly pronounced "vittles." Or that Harry S. Truman's middle name was really just S. I am like Nigel Murray on Bones minus the charming accent.

Due to this large capacity for useless knowledge, I have precious little capacity for information useful for day-to-day life. The people around me don't understand this and consequently are frequently hurt by or annoyed with me. I try. I really do. I put everything into my computer calendar and set up a reminder. Sometimes I get distracted by something shiny before I have a chance to open my calendar. Or I put it in, but forget to set up the reminder. And before I know it my friend is knocking on the door just as I'm about to get in the shower at 2pm.

My problem is further complicated by the way my brain is arranged. I imagine most people have a brain like this:

Black is the base knowledge suppository. Red dots are things like "Doctor's Appointment Tomorrow," "Pay Electric Bill," and "Put on Pants." The vent hole is out the top. Once the time to know a certain thing has passed, the person can remove it, allowing space for adding new important things.

This is my brain:

Notice how the capacity is much smaller, and the vent hole is out the side. I can't intentionally remove things out the top like other people can. No, some things just sit in there until they turn black and sink into the lower portion.

I will forever remember that the Norman invasion was in 1066, even though that's information I have not needed since grade school and will probably never need. But somehow, at one point, my brain deemed it worthy of the "permanent knowledge" designation. Meanwhile, the things you see falling out the side are things like, "Feed Children," and, "Christmas is December 25th," and, "You Have Friends. Call Them."

I'm not a particularly busy person. I'm not overwhelmed by Things to Do. But once there are a few really large items inside--things that can't escape the vent hole ("Moving!" "Friend X Is Having a Baby (But I Can't Remember When)!")--, all the little stuff ("Friend Y Is Coming for Dinner," "You Are Going out for Coffee on Tuesday.") starts popping out willy-nilly. It doesn't matter if it's stuff that's important to me. If it's not completely life-altering, I can't remember it. To make matters worse, when I am under even the smallest amount of stress, my brain both shrinks and produces a kind of lubricant that makes ejection of important facts even more frequent.

This is why these past couple of months have been especially frustrating for me (and, I'm sure, for my friends and relatives). I'm a little stressed out, we have a few huge things coming up, AND the permanent knowledge field is slowly--ever so slowly--filling up with random facts.

My theory is that Alzheimer's will strike the day my entire brain is black, and the vent-hole can move no further up; at that point, permanent knowledge will begin to spill out as well. The distress this creates will cause my brain to shrink to the size of a walnut, until there's nothing left in there but basic motor function.

Is this a morbid view of my future? Yes. Yes it is. But if I consider it inevitable now, I may one day be pleasantly surprised. In the meantime, dear friends, please forgive my forgetfulness. It doesn't mean I don't love you dearly. I just can't remember your name anymore.

Cranberry sauce for people who hate cranberry sauce

2010-11-24T15:09:00.003-06:00

Cranberry Sauce Extraordinaire
(from user Leeza at allrecipes)

INGREDIENTS:

1 cup water
1 cup white sugar
1 (12 ounce) package fresh cranberries
1 orange, peeled and pureed
1 apple - peeled, cored and diced
1 pear - peeled, cored and diced
1 cup chopped dried mixed fruit
1 cup chopped pecans
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

DIRECTIONS:

In a medium saucepan, boil water and sugar until the sugar dissolves.
Reduce the heat to simmer, and stir in cranberries, pureed orange, apple, pear, dried fruit, pecans, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
Cover, and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the cranberries burst.
Remove from heat, and let cool to room temperature.

Things I do differently:

I used canned pears. Good fresh pears are nonexistent this time of year. I use about half a can for a double recipe, drain the juice, and use that as part of my two cups of water.
I dump the pears in with the oranges for pureeing.
I use a metric ton of cinnamon. Plus a few cinnamon sticks. And a little extra nutmeg.
I'm using raw sugar this year. No idea how that'll work, but I know I like it better in everything else.
I use the crock pot. I dump all the ingredients in, mix up, and then pour the boiling sugar water over the top. This is especially handy for making the day before. You get it good and cooked on Wednesday (just check on it every hour or so until berries have burst), flavors become good friends in the refrigerator overnight, and then you plug it in when you arrive at your parents' house a few hours before dinner. And if it's not hot enough by the time you eat, you can just throw it on the stove in a pot for a while.

The only drawback to making it in the crock pot the night before is that you have to smell it all day, all night, and all morning before you can eat it. And then you pig out even more than usual at Thanksgiving dinner.

Pandora

2010-11-23T15:58:00.003-06:00

Two posts in one day! The last one was getting a little long, so I decided to break it up. This one is more interesting, anyway. Well, if you're me. I don't know how you all feel about it.

I have been listening to a lot of Pandora recently. When I cook dinner, I like to dance (badly) in the kitchen to good music. I was getting sick of the songs I own, so I decided to make a new Pandora station: high-energy, fun songs I can sing along with.

My artist seeds are KT Tunstall, Regina Spektor, and She & Him. Apparently I like chick-rock with a twist of slightly crazy. All of my song seeds are up-tempo, catchy little numbers.

This is my conversation with Pandora:

Me: Okay, KT Tunstall radio, go!
Pandora: "Are you strong enough to be my man?"
Me: That's... not exactly what I had in mind. Thumbs down!
Pandora: "But the landslide brought you doooown."
Me: *shudder* Thumbs down!
Pandora: "I don't mind spending every day out on the corner in the pouring rain!"
Me: Okay, technically up-tempo, but not really what I'm looking for. Maybe if I give you some seed songs. Let's see... "Mushaboom"? "On the Radio"? "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree"? These giving you any ideas?
Pandora: "Red, red wiiiiiiine! Stay close to meeeeee!"
Me: What? No!
Pandora: Haaaah! Haaaah! You cannot skip anymore songs. "Red red wine you make me feel so fine you keep me rocking all of the time..."
Me: MUTE!

*three minutes later*

Me: UNMUTE!
Pandora: "Red, red wiiiiiiine! Go to my heeeeead!"
Me: If I don't like it when UB40 sings it, do you think I'll change my mind just because Bob Marley does?
Pandora: "Red, red wiiiiiiine! Stay close to meeeeee!"
Me: Unlike!
Pandora: "Buffalo soldier, dreadlock rasta..."
Me: I don't think you understand. I don't like Bob Marley, either. Yes, I'm the only person in America who doesn't like Bob Marley. I also dislike the Beatles. Stop looking at me like that. Bob Marley doesn't make the dishes get clean any faster. Bob Marley makes me want to be deaf.
Pandora: "You may say I'm a dreamer! But I'm not the only one! I hope somedaaaay you'll join us!"
Me: Remember how I said I didn't like the Beatles? That includes John Lennon. Okay, up-tempo, catchy, go!
Pandora: "Words like violence break the silence..."
Me: Are you kidding me.
Pandora: "I love you, you love me! We're a happy fa-mi-ly!"
Me: Now I know you're messing with me on purpose.
Pandora: "With a great big hug and kiss from me to you!"
Me: I'll give you a great big hug. With this KNIFE.
Pandora: "Won't you say you love me too?"
Me: That's it. You're going in the oven.

Don't forget. New blog.

Shaun the Sheep!

2010-11-23T15:13:00.001-06:00

The children must have sensed my mood, or maybe whatever was making them unbearable was also making me cranky. I spent all day Saturday until about 2:00 in a funk. Angry, tired, sad, and no idea why. So I dragged myself onto the elliptical and set it for forty minutes, intending to take a long but easy workout. Instead, after about five minutes, I got going at a good clip, and worked my up to an angry sprint by the end. No, I'm not in that good of shape, and I'm still feeling the effects, but it certainly cured me of my bad mood. I've been on a high ever since.

As for the kids, they've never had such a long streak of delightfulness at the same time. One or the other is usually quite pleasant, but their good streaks rarely overlap like this.

I find that children's behavior is not a steady increase in goodness. I mean, duh, right? But I kind of lull myself into this complacent security when either of them is being particularly pleasant for more than a few days, Grace especially.

And I never learn. It always surprises me when she starts acting up again. Bad behavior usually precedes a milestone of some kind. The time before last, it was her leap into speaking in real sentences. This time, I think it was some kind of internal shift. I haven't noticed any particular developments that I can put my finger on, but she suddenly seems so very Little Girl and not Baby at all.

We don't watch too much TV. I'm not anti-TV; it just doesn't occur to me. We don't have any good channels, and it's more of a bother to get everything opened (baby lock on TV cabinet), turned on, set up, closed back up again, and on the right channel than it is to just find something else to do, or let Grace entertain herself.

But lately in the evenings, after Emmy goes to bed, we've been keeping Grace up for an hour longer. All three of us climb on the bed, Grace between us, and we watch Shaun the Sheep on Netflix. That show is hysterical, people. There's no dialogue. Grace likes the SHEEP! DOGGIE! PEEG! and Jeremy I like how funny it is. I highly recommend it, especially to those of you who loathe children's television as much as I do. It's on demand, so you don't even have to wait for the DVDs to come.

Speaking of which, I have shows to watch. It's been a few days since I sat around during naptime.

November is a terrible month for gratitude

2010-11-19T15:15:00.001-06:00

Whoa, whoa, whoa, folks! My self-esteem is way more than okay. In fact, it's gone right past "healthy" and into "bloated" and "overfed." I have my insecurities, but thinking I'm ugly isn't one of them. I certainly hate a few of my features (chin wattle! chipmunk cheeks! beady eyes!), but on the whole I find myself to be rather attractive.

Sometimes, to cheer myself up, I gaze into the mirror for an hour or better.

(that was a joke)

I got to drag both children to the pediatrician's office yesterday. That was so many different kinds of fun.

It started off well enough. I put Emmy in the Ergo and Grace in the little umbrella stroller. The second the nurse took us back to a room, it all started falling apart. The nurse deigned to LOOK AT and SPEAK to Grace. Grace dissolved into tears.

With a naked Emmy in my arms, there wasn't much I could do. She followed me dejectedly when we walked across the hall to the scale, screaming the whole way. That scale wasn't working, so we got to walk all the way to the other end of the office, Emmy trying to climb my body to eat my hair and Grace trying to climb my body because of the baby-eating nurse.

At least a screaming toddler isn't unexpected at a pediatrician's office.

The problem with an extremely shy child is that the only way to get her to improve is to subject other people to this behavior. Taking her places is exhausting. I'm constantly worrying about how I'll deal with one very mobile yet untrained baby and one very frightened and vocal toddler--all without making everyone else want to pelt me with rotting vegetables.

She does fine much of the time--maybe even most, now. But there's no way to predict a bad day. You don't know it's there until you're in it, and your friends are being nice about it, but you can't help but think they wish you could just get control over that kid.

I'm a little burned out. The kids haven't been particularly difficult lately. I'm just so tired of the sameness.

I can't wait to be out of here. We move December 30th, but our lease doesn't start until January 7th. The next month is going to be long and dreary.

Don't worry. Today is mostly just a meh day. Crappy weather (oh, November, the last thing I want to do is feel thankful for things), and Emmy won't nap. She started making noise about halfway through this entry, and today is one of those days where I've been clinging to the idea of kids' naptime with all of my energy. I'll feel better tomorrow.

Vanity

2010-11-18T15:03:00.001-06:00

This is something that has been bothering me for a long, long time.

When I look at pictures of me, I don't see me. I see this:

I don't know if I'm really that horrible-looking, or if I'm really unphotogenic, but that is not what I see in the mirror. In fact, what I think I see in the mirror is usually more like this:

Do you see the disparity?

Now, here's what bothers me:

Friend: Ooh, and here's a picture of you I took at the zoo last week!
Me: I didn't know our zoo had double-chinned ogres.
Friend: No, that's YOU!
Me: Oh my. Do I really look like that?
Friend: Oh, shut up. You look fine in this picture.
Me: Oh my. Do I really look like that?
Friend: It's really not that bad!
Me: Oh my. DO I REALLY LOOK LIKE THAT??
Friend: Oh, look! Here's a baboon's behind.
Me: ...
Friend: Oh, nevermind. That's you again.

I don't expect my friends to cater to my vanity. But PLEASE stop insisting that these awful pictures of me look like me. When you tell me I look fine in a picture, I don't hear, "You look fine." I hear, "Yes, you do look like a double-chinned ogre."

If you're trying to reassure me, reassure me. Say, "Oh heavens no. You don't photograph well. You look much better in person." Or don't say anything. But don't tell me this snapshot of ugly "isn't that bad." Because I have two eyeballs (and up-to-date glasses). I can see that it is that bad.

If it were just my fragile ego, don't you think I'd see this

in the mirror, too? But I don't! I see Marita Covarrubias. If anything, my ego needs a kick to the groin.

So, here are our choices:

1. I am really ugly, and my vision goes haywire every time I step in front of a mirror.
2. I am not ugly, and my vision goes haywire every time I see a picture of myself.
3. I am somewhere in between, and the camera adds 20 pounds, a bulbous nose, shiny skin, frizzy hair, giant teeth, thin lips, a wide face, and squinty eyes.

Which would you prefer to hear? Huh? Next time a friend doesn't like a picture of herself, and you actually think it's a bad picture, say so. Don't tell her over and over that it looks just like her! and it's beautiful! Because she will either conclude that your vision makes it illegal for you to operate a motor vehicle and that she truly is hideous, or that you are a liar and that she truly is hideous.

I can guarantee she's not going to conclude that the thing leering at her from the photograph is beautiful.

PS: If she really is that ugly, it's best to just not share any photographs with her. Unless you think her ego needs a kick to the groin.

Things I hate

2010-11-04T22:12:00.002-05:00

Sorry, Gerber. That baby is real cute and all, and you have some of the most affordable baby items in existence, but I really hate you right now. These plastic pants have microscopic leg holes and are baggy everywhere else. Your cloth diapers are tiny, stupid, and non-absorbent.

I also hate me and my clumsiness. I have spent all morning trying to figure out how to properly fold and pin a diaper, and nothing is working. Also, 2.0 does not appreciate being a guinea pig, which means diaper changes just got WAY MORE FUN. I have compared her to a coked-up octopus before. The comparison still holds.

And YOU, Internet! You are no help! Tutorials, diagrams, instructions, videos, they all assume the baby will just lie there, docile and content, perfectly still. Where are they giving out babies like this? I want one! Even The Child, who is one of the most docile children I've ever known, was not that still for any diaper change ever until about the age of 18 months.

Oh, yes, I know all about Snappis. I want some. I covet them. Which brings me to the next thing I hate: Babies R Us. You are stupid and you have a stupid face. One tiny aisle dedicated to the lousiest cloth diapering supplies ever made, and all you have are pins. Given the not-so-recent trend toward cloth diapering, I think it's high time you got with the program.

And YOU. You people who say old-school cloth diapering it so EASY and SIMPLE and LA DE DA. You lie. You lie, and do you know what happens every time you lie? A baby cat dies. That's what. Think on it.

UPDATE: I still hate Gerber, but I'm no longer so stymied by pinning. I got some bars of soap out, stuck them in old socks, and use them for pincushions. The pins go in much easier now.

I also decided to ditch the prefolds. They make me too crazy. Instead, I'm just using flat fabric and using the origami fold. I fold them ahead of time and keep them in the drawer under the changing table. I think I will try the kite fold next. It will better contain 2.0's more enthusiastic output.

Those diaper covers, though... Tomorrow I get a vacation from kids. The Guy, may his name be praised, is kicking me out of the house for most of tomorrow and all of Saturday. I will be childfree until Sunday morning. Did you hear those angels singing? No? That's because they weren't angels. They were me. And I sometimes sing off key. I love my kids, and I want a million more, but it has been more than two years without a real break. I've had evenings out, but that's it.

Anyway, I am going to go to a real diaper store, not Babies R Us (which I also still hate), and I am going to find some Snappis and some diaper covers that are easier to work with. With the kids wearing at least two layers at all times, it really stinks (hah! pun!) to have to remove two pairs of pants just to get the diaper cover off. Meanwhile, the wet diaper is soaking into either the new diaper or the changing pad. Not a good system.

Maybe it's another mouse.

2010-10-27T20:47:00.002-05:00

I am in that unpleasant early stage of a cold. Something small and furry has crawled into my face and died, but it hasn't gotten really gross yet.

The poor children have been sorely neglected the last two days. Yesterday was OHMYGOSH HOUSE SHOWING MUST CLEAN! day. I trudged around like a crazy person (a really tired crazy person), getting the house all pretty, and the children were left to fend for themselves. Which is probably why they turned feral today.

No, they weren't that bad. This morning was pretty good. Emmy actually took a morning nap for the first time in days, and Grace was sweetness and light.

Post-afternoon nap was like the apocalypse.

I was too tired and nnnngh-feeling to be much of a mother. Grace had many face-melting outbursts, and Emmy cruised around the house, chewing desperately on one finger while yet another tooth evilly began poking its way through. This child sprouts teeth like dandelions. And she doesn't take it very well. How is it that the child who is fearful of everything is neither afraid of loud noises nor bothered by teething (the early ones, at least), but the child whose head is made of granite is terrified of anything louder than 10 dB and can't handle a couple of little teeth? The way she carries on, you'd think she were growing shrapnel in there.

I need to stock up on booze before the really nasty ones start coming in.

No feedback from the realtor on the showing yesterday. I didn't expect them to be impressed. Our house is nowhere near ready to sell, but we wanted to get it on the market quickly.

I cruised by the house while they were there. They were out in the front yard, looking decidedly unhappy, but that may have just been the insane wind whipping gashes into their flesh with their hair.

Speaking of wind, it has been blowing away since Monday night. I'm surprised our house is still standing. The tar paper on our half-finished back entrance is coming off. Super. That's okay; I don't think it costs much.

I ought to go to bed. I've had lousy sleep the last few nights, and I'd like my kids to still love me tomorrow evening.

Remember I have a new blog. It's definitely less fun than this one, but I could use some ideas.

I started another blog.

2010-10-24T14:44:00.003-05:00

I started another blog. I'm trying to learn to be more frugal. It's not something I'm good at because I lack any sense of personal drive. So maybe if I tell people about it, my pride will edge me in the right direction.

Behold, Tightwad in Training!

Soon-to-be deadly partners in crime

2010-10-22T09:30:00.001-05:00

I broke out the pack 'n' play and the high chair this week. Together, they keep 2.0 restrained. Has anyone ever seen Lilo and Stitch. I gave birth to Stitch.

Dinnertime has been transformed. The last few months, Jeremy and I have taken turns holding little Stitch in a deathgrip while the other attempted to feed The Child (she can kind of feed herself, but still needs help). We sneaked bites from our own ever-colder plates while Stitch made swipes at the placemat and dishes and Grace's tray, every muscle in her body focused on one thing: HAVOC.

Now we just pop her in the high chair with some Cheerios and enjoy the fun. It's like watching a drunk try to embroider with his toes.

If Emmy is Stitch, Grace is The Shy Little Kitten.

The Child had her two-year checkup yesterday. I came armed with her favorite blanket, her kitty, and many suckers. I told her all about it three times that morning: when I woke her up, when I was feeding her breakfast, and then in the car on the way there. I even gave her thigh a little pinch to show her what the shot would feel like.

I had bottles of booze waiting for me in the fridge, and plans to flee the premises the moment Jeremy got home.

No, the last checkup did not go so well. The Child is afraid of everything. Grass, wind, sun in her face. People, dogs. Do not even think about touching her. She cries if she gets dirt on her hand. She cries if someone gets too close to her.

As usual, she surprised me. She did not fuss when she had to be weighed. She did not fuss when she had to be measured. She did not fuss when the nurse had to touch her. While the nurse asked me all the developmental questions, Grace sat on the floor in just a diaper, fiddling with a toy and repeating the last two words of each question. The last question was, "Can your child say two or more words at a time?" The nurse and I both got a chuckle out of that.

She did not fuss when Dr. Orange shined lights in her eyes and looked in her ears. She did not fuss when Dr. Orange listened to her heart and stomach. She didn't even fuss when she checked her hips and reflexes.

The real test came at shot time. I cringed for the happy, chattering little girl. I knew what was coming. I hated to ruin it. She was so very happy. The needle went in, The Child kept chattering, the needle came out, and she was still chattering. She smiled at the nurse.

As each person left, she said, "Tatchyou! Bye bye, lady."

I don't even know who this kid is sometimes. I don't think I'll ever figure her out. She has changed so much in just the last week. Strange people have been cycling in and out of the house for various reasons since last Saturday.

Our friends have been over helping us rebuild our back entryway. The wife is one of the least scary people I know, yet Grace was terrified of her. While I made supper Sunday night, Grace used me as a human shield the entire time. Do you know how hard that makes it to cook?

After about an hour of this, she very suddenly decided that Erin was okay. She wanted Erin to play with blocks, she wanted Erin to read to her; Erin tickled her feet, and Grace shrieked happily.

On Monday, when the realtor came over to do a few things (Grace had never met her before), Grace made a beeline for her. I actually had to restrain her from climbing all over her.

It's like she just gets fed up with being scared of everything and suddenly decides, "Okay, this is stupid. I'm just going to suck it up and enjoy myself if they insist on bringing people over." At two. I'm so proud of her.

On the other hand...

2010-10-20T15:37:00.003-05:00

Our house went on the market on Monday.

Every time I come down the stairs in the morning and see the sign in the front yard, my heart and stomach give me a little jolt. It's really happening!

I have no illusions that we'll sell our house in anything like good time. I also know that we're moving by February or March whether we sell the house or not. For some reason, though, the for sale sign in the yard makes it so real.

And, of course, now that plans are in motion, I'm having little moments of regret here and there.

My girls won't be near any relatives. I loved the idea of them growing up knowing my parents and two of my siblings and their families. Some of my best memories are of my grandparents. I wanted that for them.

(The good news is that will be much closer to my sister--not close, but close enough that seeing each other more than once every three years is possible)

And our house! I like our house! Since the possibility of moving first came up, all my discontent has started to bubble up and over. Once moving became real, and not just a possibility, I started falling in love with our house all over again. Of course. Because that is the way I operate.

(I still hate this town, though, and that's not likely to change.)

One of the librarians here in town is about my age. She has three kids, one of whom is the same age as Emmy. She seems super cool. We've gotten to chatting each of the last few times we've seen each other at the library. Why could I not have met this person, oh, TWO YEARS AGO?

Next time I see her, I'm still going to ask her to be my friend: "Do you like me? Check one: _yes _no _maybe"

(But she's one of only about three people I've met here who seem like friend material, and none of the others have been remotely responsive to hospitality or other overtures.)

I have good friends. Friends who are becoming better friends. Acquaintances who are kind of awesome, and who would be friends someday, I'm sure.

(But they're all 45 minutes or more away. And some of the cooler people from Jeremy's work are moving to Salt Lake, too. People who like kids. People who like to babysit...)

Our house is our own. That's probably the biggest one, next to family. I like having something that is MINE.

(But these are the kinds of apartments we're looking at. Provided they're close enough to Jeremy's work that we can sell the car, we're still looking at a lower cost of living than we have here. And that's before we factor his raise, which, after taxes, won't be gobs of cash or anything, but it will help.)

(Also:)

I think I'm still pretty okay with this decision.

Busy busy

2010-10-09T09:11:00.001-05:00

I have been a whirlwind of productivity this past week. Well, for me, at least. Packed away many boxes for storage, packed away many more for donation or selling, and tossed out a bunch of stuff that we don't need and can't be donated. Removing one small bookshelf from out living room has made it look about twice as big.

Now that we're fixing the house up at a much faster rate, I'm starting to love it all over again. Funny how that works. We put up sheer curtains in the downstairs, and all the light down there is amazing. It's half the reason we liked the house in the first place.

There's still so much to do, but now that a few things are out of the way, I'm less anxious.

I nursed Emmy for the last time the other night. It was sad, I may have teared up a little bit, but it's also a bit of a relief. I love nursing, but when each feeding becomes a battle, it ceases to be a sweet bonding experience. I mostly blame the Unisom for the sudden demise of my supply. We were getting three feedings a day before I started taking it, and the morning after I took it the first time, I could only manage two. Still, being able to sleep and feel human and enjoy my children far outweighs the negatives.

I also blame her insatiable curiosity. Even before my supply started going downhill, getting her to eat in less than an hour was becoming a struggle. If there's anything even remotely interesting going on in the room, she whips her head around every three seconds to see what it is. Bottles don't have nerve endings or a need to wait a bit for letdown.

So, it's not all bad, but I'm still sad.

Speaking of sleep, I've gotten a solid 8-9 hours every night for the last week and a half. It's amazing. No more waking up three times a night and waiting to go back to sleep (seriously, it was like having a newborn again--except without all the happy hormones). I sometimes even wake up on my own before Emmy even starts to cry.

I haven't written because things are just crazy between the house and two very mobile children. Emmy's increasing mobility (she's cruising already, folks) doesn't just mean having to look after another kid. It also means a lot more intervention between her and Grace. Admittedly, there's not as much of that as there could be. Grace knows that she must not hurt Emmy.

It's pathetically hilarious. Several times a day, I come into the room after hearing Grace scream, and I find her backing into a corner, The Dreaded Emmy intent on chewing her toes or stealing her toy. Grace won't hit her or push her to keep her away, so she just stands there and cries, poor thing. Imagine being bullied by an eight-month-old. If anyone has any solutions for me, I'd be glad to hear them. I don't know how to teach a toddler that there are appropriate ways of defending yourself against smaller siblings. She can't really climb onto chairs well, so getting to higher ground isn't an option. I don't want her to think that she can only ever run from Emmy, either.

It's going to be a long day today, and I need to get moving. Jeremy's going to be working outside all day, so I should probably get my carcass in gear.

Sleep is for people who like to be happy

2010-10-04T16:00:00.002-05:00

I! Have! Been! Sleeping! A! Lot!

The night of my birthday, I popped a Unisom and went to bed around ten or eleven. Wonderful little Emmy woke up an hour early, or I would have gotten nine or ten hours of sleep.

She finally figured out how to get herself unstuck from a standing position. So she has been sleeping and napping like a decent, civilized baby the last two days. And not a moment too soon. I was thisclose to selling her (now she just needs to stop teething for five seconds, and she may survive to adulthood).

Sweet baby. I can't wait until you're old enough for hill people milk.

Anyway, oops! I forgot that a whole Unisom makes me utterly useless for the next fourteen or fifteen hours. I spent the morning after my birthday lolling about on the floor, couch, bed, using my body as a barrier across the more dangerous parts of the house and hoping that day wasn't the day Emmy learned to jump. Or fly.

Since then, I've taken half of one every single night around 8. I've gotten seven or more hours of sleep each night for the last week, and I feel FABULOUS. Like, this afternoon, I have so much energy that all I could do for the last hour was lie on the bed and wait for the twitching to stop. That might have been the third cup of coffee, though. I keep forgetting I don't need this much to function anymore.

House stuff is... coming along. Kind of. Ish.

We hauled a bunch of boxes over to our storage unit. Next step is getting rid of any furniture or items we can bear to part with. We have a toaster oven, a table, a bunch of chairs, and a microwave cart/cupboard that are much loved but no longer needed. The house already feels about half a room bigger, and I'm just getting started.

(Did I tell you about the Amish-made oak dining set my MIL passed on to us when she moved? It's the nicest thing I've ever owned, except for maybe my piano. I'm a little afraid of it. It's too nice for people like us.)

Still working on the peeling paint in the dining room. The trouble with this stuff is that it's hard to tell what paint is loose and what should just be left alone. Yes, we could just make a quick job of it, slap some paint on where it's peeling, and it would be good for a few months. But that seems so dishonest. With our accidentally pink walls, I'm sure any new owners would want to repaint.

Do you know how maddening it is to paint an entire room and then find out the people who painted before you did an awful job? No? Well, we do! And it's crazymaking. Especially when your baby is due in three weeks, and half the paint in the nursery has decided to strip itself off all the way down to the bare plaster.

Speaking of which, I should go work on that some more. If I do a little bit every day, I suppose it will eventually get done. When working on huge projects that are made up of many smaller projects, it helps me to develop tunnel vision. I have to trick myself. Telling myself I'm doing it for people I love doesn't work. Tell myself how happy I'll be once it's done doesn't work. No, the only think that really works is constantly lying to myself and pretending I only have three total minutes of work that needs to be done. It's like getting a toddler to pick up ALL the toys. For pretty much every household duty I ever do. My internal monologue for cleaning the messy kitchen after I've cooked dinner.

Okay, Naomi. Let's empty the drainboard! Okay? Now remember, you can quit anytime you want to! Just put a couple dishes away for now. Okay, goooood! Good girl! Yes, keep going! Gooood! Okay, now, fill up the sink with some hot water and put some soap in. All right, put some dishes in to soak. If you don't feel like washing them, we can just come back later, okay? All right. Now, while they're soaking, let's wipe up the counters. Good! Oh, look! The floor could use some sweeping. Let's just do that real quick. Excellent work! High five! Good! Oh, I bet those dishes have just about soaked themselves clean. Okay, great. Let's just wipe off the plates. Yes, anytime. You can quit anytime. You don't have to wash the dishes. Just walk away if you feel like it. Oh! Hey! The plates are done! And so are the bowls. Good. Now the silverware, and we're all done. How 'bout that? Yaaay! Good girl!

I so wish I were joking.

I keep listening for the little voices

2010-09-29T14:42:00.001-05:00

It's my birthday! You know what the best thing about today is? Jeremy took the day off work. It's like an extra Saturday. An extra Saturday where I get to go to a coffee shop and lounge around and feel like a responsibility-free college student again. Okay, I had a lot of responsibilities in college, but homework never threw itself on the ground and screamed if I didn't do something exactly right. In fact, I could ignore homework up until the very last minute possible, and it still never uttered a word of protest. Something tells me the children would not allow that.

Yesterday I got the kitchen cabinet re-hung. And that's about it. Other than some of my regular everyday duties. I took a stab at the peeling paint in the dining room, but I didn't know what I was doing and made it way worse. So I stopped, lest I pull down the plaster or burn the house down by accident.

This insomnia business is making me crazy. My brain will go back to normal for a few days, just long enough to lull me into a false sense of happiness and (almost) well-restedness.

Then, BAM! The night before my birthday I wake up three times for no reason at all and take forever to get back to sleep. The BABY sleeps better than I do. I think I need to be swaddled at night or something.

There are some slightly crazy ladies (crazy in the fun way) at the table next to me. I'm trying not to eavesdrop, but that's not really possible. They're talking pretty loudly, and I can even hear them over my headphones. It's funny that the most granola people I've run across in years are here in Jefferson of all places. And I lived in the Crunchy Capital of the Midwest for five years. Excellent people-watching there.

Oh, Madison, I do so miss you. Enthusiastic road construction and all.

House stuff, mostly

2010-09-27T15:24:00.001-05:00

I decided to try something new. Whenever Emmy falls, I try to make her laugh instead of picking her up. If I can't get her to laugh, it means she's really hurt and needs love. So far, so good. She's toughened up quite a bit in just the one day I've been doing it.

This is good, because she started pulling herself to standing minutes after I hit "save" on that last entry.

So, it's official. We are MOVING! (2-6 months from now)

This house needs so many things done. Any peeling or chipped paint needs taken care of. I'm looking at YOU, crappy front porch that I spend half the morning de-webbing--pointlessly, I might add, since there will be just as many spider webs up tomorrow morning, and I can still feel them crawling all over me ew gross gross.

I need a gold star for my morning's work.

Lots of other little annoying things that we can live with (and had planned to live with while fixing them slowly), but would make the house harder to sell:

-Clean the siding
-De-spider the porch and deck
-Clean the windows (I'm afraid to do this because every time I have, a million gigantic spiders have come out)--really clean them, not just wipe the inside with some vinegar and paper towel
-Paint the porch (the floor of the porch, which was the worst, got done this weekend; one of my dad's church members does that kind of work, and he did a great job)
-Possibly paint the downstairs bathroom (more on that later)
-Clean the carpets (this is utterly pointless until Emmy is past the spitting-up stage, but it should really get done before any showings)
-Finish painting the upstairs hallway
-Sand down and paint over plaster patches in kitchen
-Re-hang kitchen cabinet door
-Sand down, prime, and repaint parts of dining room (someone who shall remain nameless didn't prime all the way to the edges, so the paint is peeling off the plaster in spots)
-Go through all our stuff and get rid of anything we don't need
-Go through all our stuff and box up anything we won't need in the next six months
-Go through all that stuff and look for more stuff that we actually can get rid of but just don't want to because someone who shall remain nameless gets stupidly sentimental about the dumbest stuff, like t-shirts and old notes
-Find a storage unit and start carting stuff away
-Possibly sew a couch cover from the old curtains down here (totally weird, I know, but our couch is BLUE! in a pink-and-maroon living room, and while the curtains are ugly, they're not BLUE!, and couch covers cost a trillion arms and legs)
-Get curtains and curtain rods for girls' rooms
-Hang curtains in girls' rooms (yes, for people like us, these two steps need to be articulated; do you know how long we had the curtains and curtain rods for our living room before we finally hung them?)
-Figure out what's wrong with the stupid upstairs hallway light
-Paint radiators (maybe)
-Paint office door (the old color scheme is on there, and it's so hilariously awful that we just couldn't let it go)
-Hang curtains over closets (maybe)
-Clean
-Clean
-CLEAN

It's not that the house is a dump (I do a pretty good job of keeping up most of the time, if I do say so myself), but there are all those little unseen corners that don't get scrubbed regularly. And after a while you just don't notice anymore. But if you're looking at a house with new eyes, it's the sum of all those dusty little nooks that can make a house seem dingy and dirty even when it's not. Ugh. Nooks mean spiders. Spiders mean constant adrenaline and nightmares every night.

Come to think of it, all that adrenaline might be a good thing. It would certainly get me moving.

Most of this is stuff I can do even when the kids are awake. Both are pretty good at entertaining themselves for decent periods of time. Especially Grace. So long as I'm nearby and available, she's usually happy to play her imaginary games with her stuffed animals and to read her books and to spout nonsense sentences (today's favorite: "Downstairs crining baby mocha psychos!" [Downstairs crying baby motorcycles]).

It's the painting that I'm a little worried about. Grace can be told not to touch something, and she'll stay away. But she just forgets after a while. And Emmy is still far too young to learn any of that. We have a pack 'n' play. I need to break that out and see if Emmy will play in there contentedly. Yes, I'm willing to let her scream if need be, but I'd rather avoid it. Screaming babies wear me out. Constant emotional distress is not something I handle well.

The Bathroom

When we first moved in, we affectionately referred to our bathroom as "The Hunting Lodge." Diagonal wood paneling (real wood; it looks like the inside of a sauna), dark mossy greenish linoleum (it's actually kind of pretty), very small space, and frayed flannel curtains with a moose/duck/bear theme. Oh, and a gigantic pipe right between the sink and the toilet. There's also the huge gold-framed mirror over the sink. It's actually kind of awesome. One of those things that is really ugly in the room the way it is, but might actually be cool if we could figure out something better to do with the room.

The appliances and wire shelving over the washer and dryer are bright white. The tiny little cabinet over the toilet is wood. I've already mentioned the mirror. Then there's the sink counter, which is a beigy color, like coffee with LOTS of cream.

I really think painting the paneling would make the room seem much bigger. One of the things this house has going for it is the first-floor laundry, and I would like people to see that and say, "Oh, sweet!" and not say, "Oh, I am having a panic attack from claustrophobia. Also, you have a BATHROOM just feet from you dining room table?" I drew a kind of to-scale diagram:

The red is exposed pipes. The one near the toilet is about 6" in diameter. It's hideous. And painted beige. Which, I suppose, is better than unpainted, but just barely. The radiator runs along the wall (our house has the kind that is low to the floor and runs along the wall, not the taller, shorter kind), and it's off-white. The window has new curtains that I sewed myself. They're not pretty (especially not if you get close enough to see my horrible seams), but they let light in, and they're an inoffensive off-white/light beige pattern.

So, what color for the bathroom? I can't decide. It has to go with brownish mossy green, beige, and bright white. I'm thinking GOLD! would be a lot of fun, but I don't think it would sell well.

Couch Cover

So, we have these hideous old curtains that we had hung up in the living room. We replaced them with off-white sheers because they made the room feel tiny and dark. The sheers don't afford much privacy, but I guess that's what blinds are for. The old curtains are hideous as curtains, but as I was taking them off the rods and tossing them on the couch, I noticed that they look a bit like upholstery. I'm wondering if I could sew a couch cover with them. I don't even know where to begin, though. I can still barely sew a straight seam. I have a sewing book, but I do not learn well by reading directions. Ideally, I would take sewing lessons and learn by doing, but we can't afford that either time-wise or money-wise. What say you, Internet?

Radiators

Our radiators are scuffed and ugly. I really thinking painting them (or at least the visible ones) would brighten up the rooms. You don't really see them, but I think they make the rooms looks dirtier and darker than they are.

We have to walk a line between making the house salable for a decent price and spending so much money on getting the house sold, that we come out even further behind. I don't know what it take to paint radiators, if they need special paint or equipment or what.

One realtor pointed out to us that most people who look at a house like ours will probably be looking for the same thing we were: a decent house that needs a little work. They'll probably be like us: young people who don't yet have the money to buy a dream home, but are looking for something they can grow into and eventually sell for a good price. They're not going to care about everything being perfect. We want to do as little as possible to get the house sold. Both because we don't have much time, and because all the little projects are going to add up to a money-sucking black hole of grrrr.

So I'm looking at you Internet people who are wiser than I. What do you people think? I know it's hard to say without actually having seen the house, but I still want to hear your thoughts.

Where I've (not) been

2010-09-23T14:27:00.000-05:00

Life with two very small children just got a LOT harder. Emmy isn't just crawling clumsily around the floor anymore. No. We have an obsession with all things climbing. I'm of the firm opinion that unless she's in danger of causing permanent or severe damage to herself, we need to let her fall and hurt herself. Also, Grace sometimes requires my attention (like when going down for naps). I can't drag Emmy with me every time. This means leaving Emmy to her own devices in the living room or dining room.

I thought the downstairs was mostly free of serious baby hazards. But no, not this baby. If she were alone in a rubber room, she'd fashion a noose for herself out of her diaper, her hair, and her toenails, and hang it from the ceiling with a fingernail. This child is hellbent on offing herself, and I'm not sure I can stop her unless I stick her in an exersaucer or her crib all day.

I was upstairs yesterday afternoon, about to get Grace up from her nap when I heard horrible screams downstairs. I haven't ever heard Emmy scream like this, and let me tell you, that girl can scream when she wants to. I came flying down the stairs to find her throat-first across the support beam on one of the chairs. I think she was trying to get at the straps on Grace's booster seat and slipped. It was really awful, and I nearly panicked (and I did cry). She still has a bruise on her neck.

Okay, bad experience, but maybe this means she'll learn a lesson, right? ... right?

No. She was right back at it today.

She tries to climb the book boxes in the living room, always the ones closest to a hard corner of the piano or TV cabinet. She tries to climb the couch, always at exactly the right distance from the coffee table that she'll whack her head on the top on her way down. She has a radar for power cords and small spaces that the laws of physics say she shouldn't even be able to occupy.

So that's why I haven't written in a few days. That, and Jeremy being gone. Yesterday was the most exhausting day I've had in a long time. I'm very thankful for the seven hours of sleep that preceded it. Oh, and Emmy is teething. So on top of the suicide attempts, she's just been grouchy in general.

She's like that nursery rhyme: "There was a little girl who had a curl right in the middle of her forehead [okay, so she only has peach fuzz, no curls]. When she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was HORRID." My grandpa used to say that to me when I was acting up. He'd growl out the "HORRID" like he was a bear. Anyway, Emmy is happy and sweet about 90% of the time. But that other 10% is wretched.

I think I've aged about five years since Emmy started crawling and teething again. Someone send me booze. Or more Vicodin.

Laundry Room Security...

2010-09-09T22:20:00.002-05:00

...I wash clothes so Jeremy doesn't have to.

(It was funnier in my head, as so many things are.)

I was doing so well with house work for so long. Tidy house, clean(ish) floors, dishes done, dinner planned every night, laundry always folded and put away. I must have reached around too far to pat myself on the back over this because I seemed to have sprained something and can't do anything but lie around anymore. I need a pool boy.

You can always tell how many days it's been since I've done laundry by the pants I'm wearing around the house. I made a threat level diagram. I'm omitting shorts and skirts because temperatures around here plummeted a few days ago, and because it's a lot of work to make basic pictures in paint. Especially with a touch pad. Maybe I'll make a new threat level diagram for the summer. But probably not.

Laundry day, and the day after (Threat Level: None):

Jeans, they go with everything! The fabric is stiff enough to shape my waistline into something resembling a waist!

Two days post-laundry (Threat Level: Low):

Jeans, they stretch out! And sag! And the only thing they hold in are the flesh just below your waist.

I didn't draw the love handles. You're welcome.

Four days post-laundry (Threat Level: Guarded):

By now they are barely staying on. And I've eaten a few meals, thus the polka dots (they're actually food, but I'm not good with Paint). Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to find jeans that fit? Jeans that I won't have to sell one of the kids in order to afford?

Wait. That's genius!

Six days post-laundry (Threat Level: Elevated):

This is odd, I know, but these are my nice pants. I save them for church. So if you see me wearing them, and it's not Sunday, it probably means I accidentally poured ketchup on myself the day before.

Ten days post-laundry (Threat Level: High):

Yes, I wore the other pants for four days. Shut up. They make me look skinny. Don't judge.

These are my fleece pants from Christmas three years ago. They're very comfortable. I love them. But they're not for public consumption. And they don't make a housewife feel sexy. I don't think they make anyone feel sexy.

Twelve days post-laundry (Threat Level: Severe):

If you stop by my house and find me in these, it probably means you want to turn right around and go back to wherever you came from. We have no clean laundry. The kids are probably naked. Jeremy is wearing that one shirt I always shove to the back of the closet because I hate it but don't have the heart to tell him, so I just hope he'll forget about it back there.

I couldn't capture the correct color on here. They are horrible enough to be offensive, but just unhorrible enough to maybe make a person think I wore them on purpose because I like them. This is why the pajama pants are a lower threat level. At least if I have to dart into the front yard, my neighbors will look at me and say, "Oh, she's still in her pajamas." If I run into the yard with these horrors on my legs, they'll say, "What was she thinking paying money for those?"

They were THREE DOLLARS at Wal-Mart. And the only pants ever in existence that didn't slice into my C-section wound. OKAY?

(Yes, my neighbors do pay close attention to my pants. It's a really small town.)

(They don't really.)

(But I always imagine people are talking about me... and not in a nice way.)

I am feeling curmudgeonly

2010-09-07T14:49:00.003-05:00

I had some tea last night. Big ol' cup. That means three tea bags. The first one said, "THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT." Okay. I mean, I bought a product; I didn't donate, but if it makes you feel good, you can go ahead and think I'm supporting you.

The second one said, "YOUR CHOICES WILL CHANGE THE WORLD." Is that supposed to make me feel fuzzy inside? Everyone's choices change the world. I want to see tea bags that say, "BIRDS SIT IN TREES," and, "THIS IS PAPER," and, "IT HURTS TO LAND FACE-FIRST ON PAVEMENT." Stalin's choices changed the world. I don't think you'd send him little encouragement platitudes in his tea, now, would you?

The third one--and this is my favorite--said, "HERBAL WISDOM IN A CUP." I don't know what that means. Does one absorb wisdom by drinking tea? Am I supposed to read the dregs when I'm done?

Today sucks. No, nothing tragic has happened. It's the Sneaky Hate Spiral kind of suckage.

I lay wide awake in bed until 2:00 this morning. I thought I'd figured out this whole jolting awake thing: take a melatonin one hour before bed, then another right before turning out the light. It worked for a couple days. Then, last night, back to staring at the ceiling.

The morning started out well. Both kids in very good moods all morning. I got a lot of picking up done. It's a beautiful day, and I have all the blinds open. All this light is one of the best things about this house.

And then, naptime. I put Grace down an hour and a half ago. She's still awake. I've gone in there twice. The second time, she was hot and sweaty. She's had a runny nose all day. Ooooh boy. I gave her some ibuprofen and put her back to bed. If she's sick, she needs to sleep. I'll get her up for good if she's still awake in half an hour.

Emmy's mood went from cheery to SCOWL! in about three second around 1:30. She's been sneezing for two days. I gave her some Tylenol before bed, and I'm hoping she sleeps, too.

Poor kids. I must admit, I'm more worried about me right now. Grace's long bout with sleeplessness gave me this panic response to any kind of bad napping or waking in the middle of the night, even if it's just for one day. If either child cries once in her sleep just once during the night, my heart plummets to my knees, and I can't fall asleep again for the next hour. It's ridiculous. Somehow getting up all the time with a newborn is so much different from going back to it once the kid has been sleeping well for a while.

Oooh... silence!

Please please please stay asleep.

I hope I didn't just jinx it.

Frivolity! I promise!

2010-09-03T23:33:00.006-05:00

Thanks for all the notes on the last entry. It helps SO MUCH to know that this is not anything terribly out of the ordinary. Why do all the cool kids have to live so far? I think the closest one of you is in St. Louis. You people are lame.

The Child likes to recite random words these days. I think she's experimenting with sentences, but doesn't quite realize that the words actually have to make sense together in order for it to work. Also, when she's upset, she recites her very favorite words. The more upset she is, and the harder she's trying to calm down, the longer the string of words. A few gems for you:

Hot baby grease!
Hot baby horses run daddies.
Hot titties run! (ahem. that's kitties.)

It seems "hot" is a new favorite.

I need to start writing these down because there were a few today that had me in tears. Going up the stairs behind her at bedtime tonight, she counted the steps. Only it was three counts to each step, and it went like this: "One... six, seven, eight... six, seven, eight..." all the way up. She can get to ten, but she's really, really fond of six, seven and eight. I heard her practicing at the end of her nap the other day. Other times her counting to ten sounds more like, "One, two, three, six, seven, eight, twelve, ten!" I know this is another one of those things that every kid in the world does, but I think it is hilarious.

Emmy went to bed an hour early tonight. She was SO grouchy this evening. It was like having a newborn all over again. A newborn with the lungs of a diva.

I hope this early bedtime does not mean I have to get up at six tomorrow morning.

I am losing my supply. I tried everything: fenugreek, beer, lots of water, extra feedings, tea, everything. The extra feedings are a little difficult anyway, since trying to feed Emmy if she's not hungry just makes her really mad. Things! To! Do! And! See! And pumping only works right away in the morning. Even with my awesome new pump.

I don't really mind that much. I've nursed her for almost seven months, and I still only have to supplement her very last feeding of the night, but for some reason it still makes me a little sad. And formula is expensive. I will have to hit up my friend for some tips on finding deals on formula. Silly me, I gave away all the free stuff we got in the mail, which would have been at least a couple weeks' worth.

As usual, I thought I had more to write about, but now I've forgotten. Earlier tonight, I had something very amusing to tell you people. I was SO AMUSING that I just knew I couldn't forget it. Kind of like my Very Logical Places, right? Will I ever learn?

(UPDATE: There are a few more pictures up on Facebook. They're on my wall. You'll have to scroll down just a little.)

In which there is a sappy tangent, I'm so sorry.

2010-09-02T01:27:00.001-05:00

I am so tired.

Yet! So! Awake! Augh!

Whenever I'm wide awake like this in the middle of the night, I get this compulsion to Do Something Cool.

Sometimes I actually get up and do it. Before we moved here, I would get up in the middle of the night and clean the apartment top to bottom. Or study a whole lot. Or--and this was always an exercise in lunacy, because I can't bake--try to bake something delicious.

Right now I want to go downstairs and sew some more curtains.

But I probably won't. Instead I'll lie awake, getting more and more excited and more and more awake about Doing Something Cool. Curtains! Cleaning! Decluttering! Making baby food! And at some point, I will suddenly be very, very sleepy, and next thing I know, Jeremy will be bending over me with a cup of coffee at 7:30 in the morning, and I will want to shoot him in the head. Even though he is the kind of guy who brings me coffee in bed every morning.

This sucks.

I don't know why this happens. Often I can't sleep because I've done something stupid that day--watched an exciting movie right 'til bedtime, or downed six cups of coffee with dinner. But the bouts of real insomnia, when it happens in spite of doing everything right, last for two weeks or more when they do happen. And they always happen right after I've finally gotten into a good schedule and have caught up on sleep. Maybe I'm supposed to live in constant sleep debt.

Let me tell you, though, it really sucks. I'm a very happy person. Mostly. But last week (two weeks ago?), when I'd finally had several days in a row of good sleep, I realized just how lousy I'd been feeling. For months! Months of not being very happy. I wouldn't go so far as to say depressed. Just... not all there. Eugh. At least I don't realize how I feel until after it's gone. Or I'd be really depressed.

I'm probably not making any sense because it's 1:00 in the morning, and I should be sound asleep.

A friend came over for lunch today with her two kids (she took some pictures; two of them are up on my Facebook wall, if any of you are my friends there). I was looking forward to the visit. I was not looking forward to Grace's behavior during that visit. She alternates between shy-but-personable and oh-my-gosh-we-need-to-call-a-behavioral-expert. I've found that holding her as much as she needs or wants to be held helps more than trying to get her to interact. But it's a trial sometimes to have people over. I have to keep track of her, and of Emmy, and somewhere in there, I want to have a conversation with my friends.

(I worry too much. I'm 99% sure she's just shy, as I was. But that little 1% is screaming, "Spectrum disorder! See how she sucks her thumb and plays with her hair? That's stimming! Early intervention is key! If you don't get her in now, she'll be chewing on tablecloths and counting toothpicks by the age of 12!")

Today was a happy surprise. She clung a little at first. Then she was content to sit on the couch next to me. On the other side from where my friend was sitting. Then I had to get up to go into the kitchen. I expected her to follow me, most likely screaming. She didn't. Five minutes later, I walked back in to see her still sitting on the couch, smiling at my friend (from a safe distance, of course).

What really bothers me is criticism from other people who aren't there day in, day out. "You baby her too much." "Stop holding her all the time." "She needs to learn how to behave." People who get up in her face when she's clinging to me or Jeremy in terror. Because spazzing out inches from a frightened child's face is certainly going to cure her shyness.

I know where we've made mistakes. She's a firstborn, practically guaranteed to be screwed up. But the things we do now--holding her, helping her calm down instead of disciplining her when she's frightened--are things we've that we've learned help her the most. We have to walk a line between pushing her just past her comfort zone and traumatizing her. Believe me, we're trying, and we're very conscious of her shyness. And making us stress out over it even more doesn't help.

(This is not directed at anyone I know who reads this blog; I'm just frustrated. I didn't even intend to write about this right now.)

Grace is afraid of so many things. Water in her face. Other people. Falling. Stairs. It's exhausting to constantly work with her on these things, and pushing her too hard takes us ten steps back.

On the other hand, she sits and looks through books for half an hour, an hour at a time. She has countless words and is working on sentences. She has a sense of humor (though I think, as a proud parent, I might be seeing more than what is really there). She can and does will herself to master her fears when pushed long enough and gently enough.

This spring, when the weather was first warm, I took her outside in the grass several days in a row. At first she wouldn't even walk in it with shoes on. This went on for a few days. I'd plunk her down in the middle of the yard and walk ten feet away. After a sufficient length of time, I'd pick her up, and we'd go back inside. Then, one day, she just started walking around in it. Barefoot, even. Falling on purpose and shouting, "Whoah!"

The same thing happened with the stairs a few days ago. The thrill of such small victories is almost worth all the angst.

Emmy, though. Emmy is... going to be a handful, in a whole different way. I think. I guess I don't know this, but that's how it seems so far. Emmy has never cried over water in her face, not even as a newborn. She faceplants in the carpet hard enough to leave a mark, and all she says is, "Mah!" in irritation. Diaper changes have become an Olympic sport. Feeding her anywhere but a quiet room is like intubating a coke user in the middle of an epileptic fit. She's crawling all over now. Not well. It's like watching a drunk try to pirouette. But she does it. There is a lot of running face-first into hard objects and screaming. And then getting back up and doing it all over. Grace had the decency to wait until her brain development could catch up a little; she went through this phase when she was a wee bit smarter. Emmy has a divine mandate to grab and chew anything in her path. Twice now I have found her face-first in a mangled magazine, cheeks and fists smeared with ink and paper fibers. She screams for five minutes after I take it away from her. She's happiest being thrown through the air or hanging upside down.

In fact, she's happy almost all the time. Except, when she's not, SHE'S REALLY, REALLY NOT ROAR GROUCH HISS. How so much rage can be bundled up inside such a tiny ball of sunshine is a mystery.

This is such a cliche for anyone who knows pretty much any parents, I know. Yes, KIDS ARE ALL DIFFERENT. KIDS ARE MIRACLES. KIDS ARE FULL OF WONDER. BLAH DE BLAH. But it's so much different to have such a close look at it. These girls share DNA and parents and environments. They both sleep well. They even look alike. But in almost every single other way, they are opposites.

It's such a wonder to see the person emerge from the (seemingly) blank slate. I could do this a hundred times.

(I say that today; ask me again tomorrow.)

Calm down, friends

2010-08-30T23:51:00.002-05:00

I seem to have alarmed a few of you. NOT PREGNANT. Just extraordinarily paranoid. And since my paranoia has been proven right once already, it's a thousand times worse than it was last time. That's ALL I was saying in the last entry.

Clear? Ok.

I am trying to whip the house into shape. We both really want to move, we want to know more about a few things before we commit. I won't go into detail. It will bore you. If we had to move now, we could, but money would be really, really tight for a while if a few extras didn't fall into our laps. There's a good chance they will, but we don't know yet. Most of it is up to Jeremy's employers.

The house needs whipped into shape anyway. We bought it intending to fix it up, and then a baby came, and I was juuust getting a few little projects done around the place when we found out about the second one. I turned into an apathetic *blog for almost the entirety of my pregnancy, and now I need to start doing stuff again. Extra stuff. Like touching up paint. And vacuuming (I hate cleaning floors; it's one of a couple of household tasks that get shamefully neglected around here, but our carpet hides it, so I get away with it, mostly).

(*I meant to write "blob," but I liked my typo too much to remove it. And I had to retype this note three times before I could write "blob" instead of "blog.")

This is difficult when I have to do two loads of laundry and three loads of dishes (no dishwasher) every day just to keep up. I do keep the house clean and picked up. Most days, if someone showed up on my front doorstep, I wouldn't be embarrassed by the state of the inside (unless it's a Monday; Mondays are the worst). But it just stays good enough.

It's still cluttered and disorganized. I am the worst organizer in the world. I start out well, and then get overwhelmed and start shoving things in random corners and drawers when I'm picking up, and that's how Very Logical Places are born. I think, "Oh, I need to put this in a Very Special Place! A place that I will remember later! A place that is... logical." And whoomp! There it goes, into the black hole.

I remember in middle school the teachers or administrators or whoever concocted this bizarre method of getting students to get homework turned in. They had this very specific system with a folder and a notebook for each class (or was it one giant binder? I think it was one giant binder). There were more details that I don't remember, but it was pretty elaborate. And a complete waste of time. Forcing someone else's organization system (YOU MUST HAVE RED FOLDERS FOR HISTORY! RED!) on a flake is like forcing a caveman to dance the Nutcracker around his bonfire. It's not going to be pretty, and someone will probably get hurt. I always did much better just cramming everything into one folder. It took me forever to find assignments, and I still lost a lot or forgot to do them, but The Binder of Doom was not the answer.

So, obvious answer: box up everything we possibly can and store it in the basement. I'm also getting rid of a bookshelf. But how do I keep the house ready for showing with Emmy drooling through the house and Grace leaving a trail of books and crayons everywhere she goes? Help?

You do know how that happens, right?

2010-08-24T00:28:00.001-05:00

You folks may remember from last time I had a surprise baby that I always think I'm pregnant. A little more thirsty than usual? I'm pregnant. I dropped something 46 times today instead of 45? Pregnant. Suddenly not a big fan of chicken? KNOCKED. UP. You hussy. Don't you know how that happens?

But I got over it, because, hey, protection and nursing and all that. But then? Then I found out I was RIGHT to be paranoid. Do you know what that does to a person's head?

People, I love babies. But a third right now would probably kill me. Don't misunderstand; I would grow to love that baby, but it would take... a while.

I have been convinced I was pregnant at least fifteen times since I had Emmy. This last time, I was so sure of it that I took three pregnancy tests in four days. That was a few days ago. When people jokingly say things like, "Maybe you're pregnant!" I don't say, "Hahahah." I say, "WHAT? WHY DO YOU SAY THAT? DO YOU KNOW SOMETHING I DON'T?" And then I go cry. Or punch the person. Or throw up.

It's not paranoia if you're right, right? And if it's happened once, not only CAN it happen again, but it probably WILL. Which is why I'm joining a nunnery.

Mice?? Seriously??

2010-08-18T17:47:00.001-05:00

ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh

I just found what look like mouse droppings in my tupperware cupboard.

I'm not afraid of mice themselves (I think they're cute), but their habits disgust me. Like leaving droppings in my clean cupboard.

I just went through my entire kitchen and found only one other piece of evidence: a bag of egg noodles. It's clamped shut with a binder clip. This must be one lazy and/or stupid mouse because there's chewing all along the top part of the bag, above the clip. What a lame attempt at thieving.

I'm obsessive about ants and mice. It may even be a disorder. Almost everything goes into canisters. There are a couple boxes of pasta (the opened ones got thrown out), and that's it. Even rice goes in the freezer. Dishes aren't always washed right away, but they are always rinsed clean of food immediately.

Does this mean he's made his attempt and is now moving on, having decided this house bears little fruit? Or was he just chewing up plastic to make his nest?

How do I clean the cabinet? Hot soapy water and a cloth? Boiling water and bleach? Gasoline and a blow torch?

Halp!

Utah

2010-08-17T00:20:00.002-05:00

I love my dentist. Two crowns and a bridge, and you'd never even know they're there. They look like real teeth. And my mouth feels much better. Still a bit tender, but nothing like it was.

So that thing I wasn't supposed to talk about a few weeks ago, the thing that's been constantly on my mind and keeping me from writing (at least, writing anything that's actually amusing)?

We may be moving. Jeremy's job wants us to move out to Salt Lake City. The offer is very attractive, though we don't have all the details yet. We've kept it on the down-low, but I don't think anyone from his work is reading this blog, and if they are, they've probably put the pieces together already.

Two things stand in the way: selling the house, which we will almost certainly have to take a loss on, and leaving our friends and family.

Our house is still in fixer-upper condition. We've cleaned it and painted, but none of the major projects have been done. It was something we were going to spread out of the course of the next several years. It's a cute little house, and I've been happy with it the last two years. But now that the possibility of getting out of it is here, all the little things about it that annoy me have been magnified tenfold.

But there's so much to DO. Clean and paint the porch. Clean the siding. Reinforce the back deck and restain it. Trim the bushes (and I just can't bring myself to do the outdoor work because of spiders, so all this is on Jeremy). Patch the paint in the dining room that we didn't do properly the first time. Reclean the carpets and replace those that aren't cleanable (poor Grace--her room is the stinky room, the one that has a faint odor no matter how much we scrub and how much we leave the window open). Recaulk the tub upstairs or, possibly, replace the floor and tub upstairs (oh joy). Make the kitchen cupboards look something better than horrible (they're this awful forest green, and one of them has fallen off--Klassy!).

This is all much less exciting when it's a house you're not going to be staying in.

I am *just* starting to make friends. This is not something that I am good at, not when I don't have classes or a job to conveniently put new friends right there in front of me. I'm outgoing when I have a good reason to talk to people, but I'm too timid to walk up and strike up a conversation with someone who looks interesting.

We love our church. There are several churches of our same denomination in the area, but the people in ours are not replaceable. It's taken a while; we live a good distance away from the core of our church, and, as I said, we make friends slowly. But these people are starting to feel like family, and it will break my heart to leave. There are a few families in particular that I wish I could pack up and take with us.

And the grandparents and cousins. I was looking forward to the girls growing up close to their grandparents. I was very close to my mom's parents, and some of my best childhood memories are from staying at their house.

My most absurd worry is over finding new doctors. I'm afraid I'll never find OBs as good as the ones I have now. Our dentist is one of a kind, and the girls' pediatrician is fabulous, competent, and hilarious. She's the trifecta of awesome.

Even after all that, the offer is pretty sweet. I've never liked Wisconsin. The last twenty years of my life have not been a misery, but it hasn't ever felt like home, either. When we went out to visit SLC, This is home, kept popping into my head. Something clicked. I was thinking it before we even got to the hotel. Which is saying a lot, since the trip from the airport to the hotel was miserable. I've only ever felt this way about South Dakota, which is where I'm from, and Denver.

The idea of picking up and starting fresh is exhilarating. I've never done anything adventurous in my life. And I do think that if I were completely cut off from all my friends, I would learn to get out there and just do it. I'm lazy and timid and shy, but I can also rise to challenges. Since I've always had friends near enough, I've never had the motivation to just get over my hangups and make some new friends here in our town.

That's what I keep tell myself, at least. Feh.

Good day

2010-08-15T23:16:00.001-05:00

We spent the day at my mother-in-law's house today. It was a really nice visit. Grace warms up to her more quickly than almost anyone else (she's always shy initially, even with people she sees pretty frequently). Sometimes I think kids can sense warmth and kindness in other people. That sounds so hokey, but I think it's true. I'm not unkind (mostly), but I'm also not very comfortable around small kids. Even the ones I know and like. Which is probably why they always look at me like I'm nuts when I try to play with them.

My mother-in-law has this gorgeous blue and red parrot named Chloe. Grace has spasms every time she sees it. "BEAK! BEAK! Nose. *snort* BEAK! Mouth. BIRD!" I've explained to her that a beak is a nose and a mouth ALL IN ONE, and that concept just blows her mind. Also, she loves the word "beak." I don't know why.

(The snort is to demonstrate how the nose functions; she started doing this a few days ago. It would be cute if it weren't also gross.)

We watched Avatar. Everything I'd heard about it completely turned me off. I hate movies with A Very Important Message, even if it's one I agree with. You know, the movies that take an idea and smack you over the head with it repeatedly, then slap a lame storyline over the top of it and call it a "film." *cough* Happy Feet *cough*

(It should not even be possible to make a movie about little penguins unenjoyable, but somehow they managed.)

But I really liked Avatar. Good movie. The message was pretty obvious, but it didn't annoy me as much as it could have. When it was over, I found myself wishing I could go visit that world.

We ate steak (oooh, steak), sat around and talked, played with the babies, who were both happy for most of the day. It was nice. I always feel so cozy and relaxed there. We need to visit more often. I just hate schlepping two pack 'n' plays and 800 diapers around.

Speaking of which, I SUCK at keeping in touch with people. People who aren't even that far away. I hate this about myself. I've let a few good friendships nearly die because of this stupid guilt-shame-procrastination spiral: lose touch, feel guilty, put off picking up the phone because I'm embarrassed, feel more guilty, put it off even more, and so on. Part of it is this weird telephone phobia I've developed in the last several years, but I can't blame it on that. The Internet took that excuse away.

How do you people with multiple long-distance friendships do it?

Dentist appointment tomorrow. Thank goodness. I forgot about my stupid teeth earlier today and downed the last of Grace's cold milk after supper. My jaw exploded in pins and needles. I could feel my pulse in my teeth for the next hour. Nnngh.

Emmy is crawling. Oh my gosh. It just... happened today. She JUST started getting up on her hands and knees and rocking. She's no good at crawling. It's a very awkward process: get up on all fours, put every ounce of effort into keeping balance while scooting one knee forward, then one hand forward, then flop on face. But she knows what she's doing.

The kid can't even SIT yet, people. I don't even know.

I do know one thing: we need more booze in this house.

The kids

2010-08-12T01:39:00.001-05:00

Vicodin makes me REALLY happy. Don't worry; I've only take one a day since the temporary crowns went on. But I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts, that's for sure.

I think my gums may hurt more than they're supposed to. I finally got up the courage to floss back there today after not doing it for two days. YEOW. If they still hurt like this tomorrow, I'll call the dentist.

It's a good thing I love my dentist so much (I floss now! Every day! And I don't hate it! This is how good this guy is!) because I hate everything else tooth-related.

Man, I have so many things to write about, but the funny just is not coming. So I'm giving up on this section now. Maybe once my tooth feels better.

The rest of this is just updates on the kids. Haven't talked about them much lately. I know some of you probably aren't that interested in that, so I figured I'd warn you before you waded through a page of KIDS! KIDS! KIDS!

The Child is entering the terrible twos. Her new favorite things is to test my resolve. Disciplining her is not my most favorite thing in the world, but it has to be done. On days when I get lazy and let her get away with things, her overall demeanor is whiny and unhappy the entire day. On days when I'm firm and consistent from the start, she's a ball of sunshine (aside from one or two "tests" in the morning).

We had an especially long back-and-forth this morning. It usually happens when I tell her or ask her to do something, and she refuses out of the blue. Usually it's something she ordinarily does with glee. Fifteen minutes later, she finally gave up and let me hold her for the next ten. She's so BUSY these days that I cherish those times when she does want to cuddle. Even if they're preceded by fifteen minutes of crying and swattings, and both of us are sobbing messes.

It's amazing to me that the child who inherited my people pleasing gene has such a stubborn streak. It's exhausting sometimes, but I really see the difference on the days I do my job.

The good? Well, she's talking up a storm. A few weeks ago, her behavior turned HORRIBLE for a few days. That week at church was kind of a nightmare. She took a very long nap that Sunday, and then slept like a rock that night. When she woke up, she was using sentences. Not, "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog," but, "I see you." Creepy! And, "Want -----," and, "This is -----," and a few others.

She doesn't talk much when we're around other people (sometimes her shyness worries me; maybe I should make her get a waitressing gig), but at home she never shuts up. And I could listen to it all day (MUST record some of this so she can listen when she's older). She'll sit down on the couch with a book and read to herself for half an hour at a time. "Baby? Man. Boy. Babyman. Emmy? Want bread? Baby bird. MAMA BIRD! Ooooh, Gwace!" with a bunch of nonsense mixed in.

The kid is an outstanding mimic. She's not mastered all the sounds of the English language, but she has inflections and intonations down perfectly. Whenever she surprises me with some disaster (cat food dumped out, crayon all over one of her books, water knocked off the coffee table), the first thing I almost always say is, "Ooooh, Grace!" with much annoyance. She started shouting that at random a few weeks ago. She sounds just like me.

I don't think I'll be getting away with anything anytime soon, either. It's like having a brutally honest mirror held up to my face at all times.

She's still painfully shy. She's gotten better about dealing with it, but I still worry sometimes. I don't know what to do about it. Emmy still needs to be carried much of the time, so going places with her and Grace is hard. She's too large to go comfortably in the wrap (the holds that work for a baby her age mean my teeth and or chin will quickly become embedded the back of her head), and she hates the sling more than anything on Earth.

I can't focus on more than one thing at a time. They always said I'd learn once I had kids, but those were the same people who told me I'd become a morning person. If I'm holding Emmy, and Grace is screaming, and someone is trying to talk to me, my brain shorts out. I love my friends, but hanging out with them while I have the kids is completely exhausting. So I avoid it. And, of course, that just digs the hole deeper. Feh.

Other than that, though, Grace is a delight. I look forward to waking her up in the morning. It wasn't so long ago that I couldn't say that.

I'm going to admit to something that's going to sound strange, and maybe kind of awful here. Grace stopped sleeping for several months while I was pregnant with Emmy. I have never been so exhausted in my life. And it went on for so long. And it wasn't just that I was sleep deprived and pregnant. Grace's behavior was pretty bad much of the time, too, because she was sleep-deprived.

I stopped liking her for a long time. I loved her, but I didn't like her. I didn't enjoy her most of the time.

I didn't realize how miserable I was until we were past it. The resentment (that word is a little strong for what I'm trying to say) didn't start going away until Emmy was a couple months old. How awful is that? I'm not blaming Grace. She was a baby, for Pete's sake. But that's just how it was. It's such a relief not to feel that way anymore. I'm so thankful.

Emmy is rolling all over town now. No more leaving her on the living room floor to gape at the ceiling fan while I tend to Grace for the duration of lunch. If I'm going to be out of the room for more than ten, I need to strap her down. Diaper changing has become an Olympic sport. It's like trying to tie down a cloud of gnats.

She can't sit up yet. I blame it on her ridiculously long torso and bowling ball head. That and her intense desire to eat her toes, even if it means diving head-first onto the floor or ramming her face into the front of the Bumbo. But she IS getting up on her hands and knees and rocking already. She face-plants immediately, which is hilarious, but she can get up there.

The two of them are night and day. I think Grace was just mastering rolling at this point, but she could sit.

When do children first start to develop a sense of humor? Emmy has taken to pressing her face up against the nearest smooth surface, blowing a raspberry, and then looking around for a reaction. If you giggle, she rewards you with a face-splitting grin. I swear this is the baby version of making jokes. I also know I'm biased.

Music stops her dead. Grace likes music, but I don't think she really responded to it until she was much older. Emmy was just a couple of months old when I discovered that playing the flute would make her stop whatever she was doing (screaming, most likely) and stare in wonder. I was practicing piano for church the other night, and I turned around to see her across the living room, staring at the piano like a herd of sparkly unicorns had just burst from the top.

Oh my. It's 1:30. I may want to go to sleep, yes?

Class dork

2010-08-10T22:04:00.002-05:00

So, I had a class reunion on Saturday.

Let me explain something before I tell you about this. From second through sixth grade I was the class dork. I didn't have a single real friend until the summer after fifth grade, when one of the girls sent me a note out of the blue, apologizing for the way she'd treated me and asking if we could still be friends.

Sixth grade was a lot easier, but everyone else still bullied me. Mostly it was a good thing. I'm a much kinder person than I would have otherwise been. I have a mean girl streak (just about anything will pop out of my mouth so long as I think it might make someone laugh), and this certainly put a damper on that.

But I'm still very insecure about what people think of me. I never think people like me. I know better, of course, so I don't make a habit of going psycho on friends for every perceived slight, but the thought is always in the back of my head. It doesn't help that I'm a people pleaser. There's a little part of me that wants to run after every person I meet, screaming, "LIKE ME! LIKE ME! PLEASE!" So pathetic.

Seventh grade was better. New school. I was still a dork, but at least I had a few friends. Every year after that was better, in fact. I'm still a dork to the core, but I'm usually pretty secure in it. Dorkdom has its perks. Especially if you're married to one.

But then this high school reunion, and hi, I'm ten again and have no friends, and all my clothes are too loose and too short, and my ears stick out, and my teeth are too big, and my otherwise stick-straight hair floofs out in giant clouds of fuzzy curls around my temples. It'd be cute if I were five again.

I can look in the mirror and think, "Whoah. You look really good today," and then walk away and five seconds later feel like the most unattractive girl in the room. I know better, but my stupid feelings don't. I could be the next Gisele and still feel like that awkward little girl.

So, I went mostly out of curiosity. There were a few people I was looking forward to catching up with, but mostly it was curiosity. I was hoping a few of the jerks would show up looking all bloated and ugly (because I'm juvenile). Maybe with a few teeth missing.

No such luck. Sadly, everyone there was still really good looking (curse you!).

But! It was so much fun. None of the real jerks were there. I was expecting it to be a lot more like high school, but it wasn't. People mingled. People remembered my name. People expressed interest in what I'd been doing with my life.

(Rather than act embarrassed, even though I kind of am, I find it's better to poke fun at myself: "I went to college for eight years, went through three majors, and got myself knocked up a year before graduation. You?" I find this is a very awkward start to conversation, but I like to just lay all the potential let's-make-fun-of-Naomi topics right out there before someone else has a chance to get a hold of them. If the person is still standing there when I'm done, I know I have a keeper. Or that he or she has had too much to drink.)

Even the guy who dumped me two days before homecoming and then ignored me through most of the dance and after party was nice. Sadly, he was not bloated, ugly, or missing any teeth, but I rescind my long-held assessment of him. He seems to have turned into an okay person. He came up and talked to me for a few minutes even though he didn't have to, since I never even saw him. I found out later he bought the beer for the reunion.

People grow up. People get nicer. People don't stay 18 for the rest of their lives. They turn into people I wouldn't mind being friends with. It's mind-blowing, I tell you. The people who were nice got nicer, and the people who weren't so nice turned decent.

I stayed until after two in the morning. I'd been planning to go home by ten. But I got to talking with people from my junior high class, and we sat on the back deck of the restaurant for several hours.

(And, of course, despite there being no reason to think this, there's still that voice in the back of my head saying they all made fun of me behind my back once I left. Stupidstupidstupid.)

SLC

2010-08-10T01:34:00.001-05:00

I just took a Vicodin an hour ago or so. I may seem a little loopy. But not really fun loopy. I should have taken one more so I could at least be funny.

Don't worry. Nothing bad happened. I'm finally getting a permanent bridge in where that freak tooth got pulled, and they started by putting temporary crowns on the teeth on either side (they're going to solder the implant to the permanent crowns on either side, and I can't even begin to tell you how freaked out I am by the idea of having a soldering iron waved around in my face. This means grinding down the teeth, first, which means, inevitably, grinding the gums a little bit.

Just writing that made me want to throw up a little. Not the pain so much as the sounds. The only thing worse than the sound of a tooth grinding down is the sound of a tooth being pulled. I can now check those two things off my bucket list.

I didn't hurt much at all until a little bit ago. And then it started hurting like a mother. No idea why, but nothing seems amiss, so I might just be a sissy. That's very possible.

So. Our trip.

Was awesome.

Except for the getting to and from.

Emmy refused to nurse for takeoff. So that was fun. She screamed instead. Grace was okay. We discovered about halfway through the flight that if we just kept putting food in front of her, she'd stay quiet. And yes, we did drug her. I have no compunctions about that. Except that it didn't work. I didn't make her hyper or sleepy. It had zero effect. Okay, maybe it made her a tiny bit more mellow, but that might just be in my head. Normally we don't bribe her with food or treats, but on a plane full of other passengers, I'm willing to do just about anything to keep them as quiet as possible.

Even when they were fussing, you couldn't hear it more than two rows away. And the people around us were so nice. No dirty looks or dramatic sighs. Mostly just sympathetic looks. The old guy behind us was besotted with Emmy. He kept making faces at her and making her smile. Few things charm me more than people who think my kids are cute.

We couldn't find the hotel. The worthless GPS we rented for some ridiculous amount of money per day wasn't updated, so the hotel wasn't even in it. Oh, and it was also broken. So it kept drooping down to face the dashboard, like the dashboard could do anything with it. Maybe it had a crush.

We got to the hotel, only to find the promised cribs were not there. They arrived half an hour later. No bumpers. OK for Grace, but Emmy is still in the when-I'm-upset-I'm-going-to-smash-my-face-repeatedly-into-metal-bars phase. Jeremy went out to look for bumpers while I fed Emmy. An HOUR later he still wasn't back. Great. Stupid GPS.

No. The problem was that crib bumpers do not exist in Salt Lake City. He ended up spending $50 on a crib set just to get at the bumpers. Lame (but it is a cute set).

Other than those first few hiccups, the visit was so much fun.

The only place I've ever visited that is awesomer is Denver. We spent most of the two days just looking around the city. The zoo is all kinds of fun. Grace almost had brain aneurysms. She got to see two tigers play fighting. And MONKEYS. APESSSS. And BEAKS (she's strangely obsessed with any word that ends with an "-eek" sound; she repeats it over and over again with extra emphasis on the "k").

Our vacation was exactly the right length. Both girls slept perfectly the entire time we were there, even though Emmy's room was a corner of the main room (two-bedroom suite, with the entry in the kitchen/living area) behind a chair and under a blanket. I think one more day away from home would have been too much, but two days was exactly right.

The plane ride home went much better. Emmy was crabby, but I was much more at ease and handled it a lot better. We also all got to sit next to one another, Grace in the middle. And I had a window seat that time. Kidless, I could do that every single day.

Even part of the drive home went well. About an hour and a half from home, though, Grace dissolved into snot, screams, and tears, then passed out for fifteen whole minutes. Then she woke up and did it again. I missed two turns because I was so distracted by her. I think it only added about fifteen minutes to the drive, but it felt like centuries.

She was, of course, sunshine and lollipops the moment she came out of the car seat.

I think there were more interesting things that happened, but I'm having trouble recalling them. I'd like to go to bed, but I'm the SUPER AWAKE! kind of loopy. The kind where you lie in bed and count the bumps on your ceiling while your eyes bulge from their sockets.

Tomorrow is going to be so much fun. I can just feel it.

How to lose 25 lbs by stress alone

2010-07-27T15:40:00.002-05:00

We went on a little vacation to Utah last week. Left on Wednesday, came back on Saturday.

Tuesday night I packed everything up. And, miracle of miracles, I didn't forget anything. I know. Divine intervention.

We left a wee bit later than we wanted Wednesday morning--9:15 instead of 9:00--, but the day started out great. Grace was happy in the backseat while Emmy dozed (she started sleeping in the car again, hallelujah). About an hour in we stopped for gas.

When we got back in, the excrement hit the ventilator. Emmy wouldn't sleep, and Grace decided to scream. A LOT. The best part of her screaming is that her nose runs like a fountain, and it's totally disgusting, and then we get to our destination, and she's been rubbing her face, and she looks homeless as we scurry and sweat through the largest airport ever in the entire world (OK, I know O'Hare is not the largest airport, but oh does it feel like it when you're about to miss your flight and can't find the stupid gate).

Getting ahead of myself.

We made good time until we got to I-90. And then the last twenty minutes took an hour. Meanwhile, kids screaming in the back, clock ticking away, idiot drivers everywhere, and these are the three things in the world that make me the most anxious. It was the Trifecta of Suck. I've never wished so fervently for hard drugs.

FINALLY we made it to the airport. There we discovered that Wednesday afternoon was, for some reason, a REALLY BIG DAY at O'Hare. We parked out in the boonies. I had the double stroller loaded up with kids, a diaper bag, and a carry-on, and Jeremy had the suitcase with a carry on and the stupid car seat. People, I packed light. I really did. But Emmy requires a LOT of clothing, and then there were diapers and wipes and just a few things to keep Grace entertained, and before you know it, we have way too much luggage. Stupid car seats.

So we had to walk from Africa to the airport. And there were a lot of curbs. And cars parked too closely together, which mean a lot of weaving back and forth, and with all that weaving, we probably doubled the distance, and the kids were screaming, and it was 8000 degrees out, and the sun was beating down, and I started developing some very violent compulsions, which, thankfully, I kept under control. But it was hard. There were a few very bad parkers who almost got their windshields smashed in with an angry baby.

As we were racing through the last bit of parking lot, we noticed that they'd decided to open up a new section of the parking garage MINUTES after we'd parked clear out in Zimbabwe. I may have said bad words.

Then. THEN. We were seven pounds over on our suitcase. Seven pounds. Oh my gosh. While Emmy screamed and Grace sat there looking homeless and unhappy, Jeremy ripped a bunch of stuff out of the suitcase and shoved it randomly into our carry-ons. It added a whole thirty seconds to the process, but it felt like an eternity. And meanwhile, my baby is screaming bloody murder in the middle of an echo-y airport, and all I can think about is how glad I am that guns aren't allowed, or somebody would have shot the four of us by now.

Security actually went very well. I am grateful for that. But then we had to find our stupid gate. O'Hare is not user-friendly. At least, not when you're blind with panic and 25 minutes from boarding.

Here I'm going to stop and climb up on my little soapbox. People, if you must text message all of the time, STOP. SIT DOWN. DO NOT DO IT WHILE WALKING THROUGH AN AIRPORT. OR SOME CRAZY LADY WILL KILL YOU. At least a hundred people wandered aimlessly in front of me during that panicked trek through the airport, noses and thumbs pressed up to their cramped little keyboards, and I almost killed them all with my giant stroller.

We raced through the airport as quickly and politely as we could, me calling out, "Excuse me please!" to every moron who plodded directly into my path, mesmerized by the blue gaze of his phone display. Even the non-texting slow people we passed felt the need to plod slowly down the MIDDLE of the hallways, not off to the side like I thought everyone knew you were supposed to do. If looks could kill, O'Hare airport would have exploded in an angry maelstrom of fire and lightning. There were a lot of people I was angry at that day.

Our gate was at the very end of terminal 2. The gate number wasn't on the ticket. No, we had to stop and search each bank of monitors down that endless hallway until we found the Delta flights. I was starting to think we were in the wrong terminal when we finally found them. Almost the last gate in the terminal, but we made it! Ten minutes to spare until boarding.

And then, the cherry: Because of the way the oxygen masks are arranged (three on one side, two on the other, even though the plane was two seats on each side of the aisle), three of us had to sit on one side of the plane. Which mean a lone adult on one side of the plane while the other adult tended to Grace in her car seat AND Emmy in arms. And that meant ME, since I was going to nurse Emmy during takeoff and landing. Delta did not deem this important information to have ahead of time. No, we found out as we were boarding. So that was awesome.

Thankfully, the flight went so much better than expected. But that's next time. Because my fingers are tired, and my children are going to wake up soon.

(In case this was unclear, I wasn't barreling around, running over any reasonable person who happened to be moving a little to slowly. Momentum did make it very hard to stop in time for some people who stepped right in front of me, and I was mightily annoyed with people who walked as slowly as possible right in the middle of traffic. But I wasn't all, "I GOTS ME A STROLLER BETTER MOVE YO BEHINDS" or anything.)

My world is made of flypaper

2010-07-08T00:25:00.003-05:00

Thank you, thank you for all the chicken suggestions! I can look forward to eating again.

Crushing heat and humidity here lately. I like to say it's like living in a bowl of hot jello. The children were little hellions today. No fault of their own, but when I'm hot and sticky, it's very hard to be patient with them.

It's not actually THAT hot (for me, anyway), but oh my, the humidity. I don't remember a summer like this since I was in junior high. Everything is damp to the touch. And sticky. Like elves run through our house every night, brushing every surface with rubber cement. Worst magical elves ever.

Yesterday I was upstairs putting laundry away when I heard frantic screams downstairs. I came running down the stairs, didn't see Grace anywhere. So I went into the kitchen, where the poor thing was perched on a chair. The seat was so sticky she couldn't get off the chair. Hilarious now, but then it was pitiful.

Why do I choose the most horrible days to go on cooking and cleaning rampages? A few weeks ago, when it got into the 90s, I decided to spend all day cooking up a huge batch of bolognese sauce to freeze. It's not a lot of work, but it has to simmer on the stove for hours.

Idiot.

Then yesterday, I decided the upstairs had gone far too long without vacuuming, and it had to be done RIGHT THEN. This on top of the laundry I had running all day (side note: dryers kick up a lot of heat! who knew?). This meant moving all the furniture in the girls' rooms, then moving it all back. Then I noticed all the dust on the window sills and radiators. So I wiped everything down with Pine-Sol. Which brought to attention the abysmal state of the bathroom floor. I scrubbed that down with hot water and Pine-Sol, too. And then the bathroom counter and mirror and toilet. The stairs were looking pretty sorry, too, so I got them.

It's been a long time since I last vacuumed up there. This took a while.

Moron.

Speaking of vacuuming, I bought a little handheld cordless vacuum a couple of weeks ago. It is AWESOME. It has a brushy head thinger, even. So I can vacuum my stairs without lugging the entire upright vacuum up and down the stairs (the attachments on my upright are slightly more useless than the thing itself). If the brushy head thinger weren't so tiny, I'd be vacuuming all the carpets with it; it's about six times as powerful as my regular vacuum.

Since I got it, I've been making up reasons to use it. A single Cheerio on the floor? Must get the vacuum! Oops, I "accidentally" dropped that wad of paper. Must get the vacuum! Months-old spiderwebs in the corner that have been too scary before? The new vacuum gives me courage! Out of things to vacuum in my newly sterile environment? COME HERE CAT I HAVE PRESENT FOR YOU.

Cat does not appreciate the newest member of the household.

Oh look! It's midnight! Probably should have gone to bed an hour ago. But once the kids are down (8 for Grace, 9ish for Emmy), James and I are all, wooo! video games! fun! TV! and go to bed way too late. This is why we're tired all the time.

Numbskulls.

That and even when I do go to bed on time, I lie awake, usually itching. I always itch when I can't sleep. This sounds really gross, I know, but it has nothing to do with sanitation and everything to do with being a neurotic insomniac. And breastfeeding means I can't take anything good to help me sleep except melatonin. Which is okay, but it's kind of the baby Tylenol of the sleep aid world.

Also, the sheets (even freshly washed and dried!) are always just slightly damp in this weather. And what is more disturbing and uncomfortable than damp sheets, I ask you?

Yeah. Time for bed. Before I say anything that's even more creepy than damp sheets.

(at least I didn't say "moist!")

Stuck

2010-07-05T15:56:00.002-05:00

Sorry for the absence. There are Things Maybe Happening, and my brain is obsessing over them so constantly that I can't think of anything else to write about. Alas, I'm not supposed to talk about it. I wasn't going to mention it at all. I loathe what is known as vaguebooking--posting cryptic, often dramatic status updates on Facebook for the purpose of drumming up attention--, and this smacks of that to me. But it will be a while before we get answers, and I wanted you all to know why I've been absent if it's going to be several more weeks before I can get my brain out of this rut.

I should reassure you, though, that I'm not pregnant, and it's not a bad thing at all. Part of the problem is that it's something I'm pretty excited about, but can't get my hopes up because it might not happen at all.

Oh, and I'm not writing a book. Sadly. But that's something I've been toying with for ages now. I just don't know what to write that hasn't been done already. Humorous observations on life as a SAHM? Done. A million times by people funnier then me, and then a million more by people not very funny at all, but who got published because it was a booming niche market for a while, and now the market is saturated, and people who are moderately funny are screwed. Aaaaand, that's all I got.

Unless there's a market for the memoirs of an ambitionless loser who spent eight years in college, only to get knocked up and have nothing to show for those years except a mediocre knowledge of Biblical Hebrew and a lot of random, useless facts about mathematics and physics. I can just see the cash rolling in now.

(I'm really not as bitter as I sound, honest.)

We have been eating a lot of chicken lately. It's cheap. We have chicken coming out our ears. I am so sick of chicken I could barf. Aside from beans, it's pretty much the cheapest protein source available, so it's what we eat. And I strongly dislike most bean-heavy dishes. The ones I don't dislike I do get sick of very easily. So chicken it is.

I'm requesting fun chicken recipes. Especially ones suitable for an unusually hot and humid summer in a house with no air conditioning. I really like vinaigrette-heavy dishes, but I don't know how James feels about them.

I grilled up five pounds of chicken breasts the other night and froze them, just to get the hot cooking part out of the way. I have four more pounds of raw chicken sitting in the freezer.

And now I'm imagining how horrifying my house would seem in a children's book written from the perspective of cute, cuddly, *anthropomorphized chickens.

And there's my niche market. Horror books for children.

Time to go. Naptime over. Yay.

*Firefox assures me that this is not a word, but all variations thereon are. Hmph.

HALP

2010-06-18T16:14:00.002-05:00

Suggestions needed:

I have a class reunion coming up soon. I will still be nursing Emmy then, so that extra ten or fifteen pounds will still be hanging around, mocking me. Also, my belly skin has not regained its tautness yet (will it ever?), so everything is just lumpy and weird. And guess what EVERY SINGLE DRESS IN EXISTENCE is made out of? Rayon. Rayon, which might as well be made of thousands of tiny neon signs flashing, "FAT ROLL HERE FAT ROLL HERE FAT ROLL HERE!"

I went to Target last week to find a shirt for a wedding shower. Everything is made for really skinny women. Skinny women with great arms and no cellulite. I'm not plus-size, and I'm not skinny. I look like a woman who just hand two babies and is trying to work the weight off but hasn't quite succeeded. Folks, I am by no means obsessed with my weight, but that doesn't mean I want to expose my upper arms and thighs to the piercing gaze of former classmates who have somehow not gained a pound in the last ten years.

Emmy has learned to roll over. Not quite on purpose yet. I lay her on her back, and she gets really interested in something next to her, and before you know it, oops! I'm on my stomach! Waaaaaah! Or I lay her on her stomach, and she knows that sometimes if she thrashes about wildly enough, the world eventually rights itself, and she is comfortable again, but doesn't know exactly how it happens.

Wednesday I went out to fiddle with the lawnmower and came back in to find her face-down on our scratchy carpet, thumb in mouth, sound asleep. When she was a newborn, she gave us a lot more trouble learning to sleep through the night than Grace did, but now I think I could hang her by her toes from the ceiling fan, and she'd doze off within ten minutes. I don't even know how they share the same DNA.

Cat is, I think, on her last legs. Maybe. I don't know much about cats. But she's been listless and weird this last week. She was *wheezing over in the corner the other night, and the pangs of sympathy and worry for her shocked me. It was a bit alarming, this tiny bit of empathy for a creature I've always found annoying and far too hairy. And now when she meows, it sounds hoarse, like a little old lady who's been smoking for 70 years.

She doesn't seem truly miserable, just lethargic and whiny. I do hope if she's near the end, that it's quick. I don't like her, she doesn't like me, but still, nothing kills me more than animals in pain.

*It was very brief. If she'd kept it up, I wouldn't be quite so meh about it. But it was also definitely not a hairball noise.

We have crazy thunderstorms due any minute. I'm hoping a tornado comes through and destroys our house, but miraculously spares me and the girls and the computers and piano. Then we would get to build a bigger house with all-new materials. I already have plans. First item: a cement porch that will not attract anywhere near as many spiders and crawling horrors as the one we now have. Our porch now is wooden and up off the ground. I don't even want to know what's in there, or I'd probably never go out the front door again. I'd just out one of our windows. Which would be bad because our house is built on an incline, and all of our windows are several feet off the ground. Plus, that would be awkward with a car seat and a toddler.

Naptime is over. Sigh. Time to wake the beasts.

PhotoBooth is better than nothing, I guess.

2010-06-10T21:10:00.000-05:00

Emmy likes my laptop. A whole lot. She was not upset when it joined her in her crib:

Hey, hey, good-lookin'! You look just like this baby I always see in the bathroom. Maybe a little creepy.

Then it had to go away:

Wait, I did not mean that about the creepy. Please come back.

Sorry, Emmy. Not for babies.

Crappy photos, but better than nothing. Also, you know how the camera adds ten pounds most of the time? Yeah, I think it subtracted this time. She looks thinner than in real life. Yes, thinner.

I can't remember what this entry is about.

2010-06-07T15:35:00.002-05:00

I know a lot of you have been clamoring for pictures of Emmy. I, too, would like photographic evidence of her early existence so she doesn't think she was secretly adopted. However, we have now lost the power cable to the stupid camera. And cell phone pictures are never good unless it's outdoors in blazing sunlight.

I don't know what's with me and losing things. I often think that I have mild ADD, but then I meet someone with actual ADD and realize that it's probably just really poor mental discipline on my part.

I have lately become incredibly flaky. While I'd love to blame it on the Spawn, I can't. They sleep fifteen and eighteen hours a day, respectively, and are both very low maintenance when they are awake (well, low maintenance as far as small children go).

I've forgotten to RSVP to something like five different events in the last two months. I've invited people over and then completely forgotten they were coming until they showed up at my door. The other day I almost walked out the front door without a shirt on (I so wish I were joking).

Since Emmy was born I have found no fewer than five unsent thank-you notes for baby gifts. And one of them was a note that got sent with a bunch of others, except that I forgot to put a stamp on it, so it go sent back and sat on our dining room table for two months.

I just found a pile of birth announcements that never went out. I know you have six months to send them, but more than half got sent months ago, so there are probably more than a few people out there wondering why they weren't good enough to get an announcement when everyone and their brother did already.

People, I'm losing my mind, and I don't know why. I started doing Sudoku puzzles, but they haven't helped. I just dream all night of giant man-eating numbers.

Maybe I inadvertently ate a human brain and contracted Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.

(yes, I HAVE watched too much X-Files; why do you ask?)

Speaking of Crazy, Saturday night I woke up four times, certain that centipedes and spiders were invading my bed.

If I ever really do get attacked in bed at night, James will sleep right through it. And then he'll probably be the leading suspect in the murder investigation, and a jury will never believe that he slept through his wife's stabbing, poor man.

So, just in case, you heard it here first: Dear jury and policepeople, if I'm ever found stabbed to death in bed, it totally IS possible that my husband never woke up. He's become very desensitized to nighttime screams over the last seven years.

Is it weird that I really love our pediatrician and want to be her BFF? She's really pretty and has fabulous hair (no, really, it's GREAT hair). Also, she is very funny. Did I tell you about the time I took Grace in for an appointment after Haircut Fail #3 (wisps all over the place, like a glam rocker), and she made a joke involving David Bowie and The Labyrinth?

Anyway, we had an appointment today. Emmy is FREAKING ENORMOUS, but we knew that already. I know someone whose baby was something like 20 pounds at four months, but other than that, I've never seen such an enormous child that age. She's 17 pounds and 27 inches. And since she still has ultra-stumpy legs, about 21 of those inches are in the torso. She's wearing 12-month onesies (barely) and 3-month pants.

Also, we are done with swaddling, hallelujah! I love swaddling in the early months. I credit that and Baby Wise for my remaining sanity. But the continuing dependency on it is a royal pain. Now, if we could just get Emmy to take a bottle again, life would be perfect.

Yes, you read that right. Emmy Does Not Appreciate the bottle. It used to be, I'd give her one every night or every other night, and she'd slurp them down with no fuss. Obviously, the girl didn't care where her food was coming from, so long as she got it, and she got a lot of it.

But I was not vigilant enough. She took to them so readily and kept it up for so long that I figured we were in the clear. Pumping and then giving a bottle is such a pain that I slacked off. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I wanted to go out, so I had Jeremy try a test-run a couple days before, just in case things had changed.

That went over like a lead balloon.

If I went out often enough, or if I had a job, or if she didn't sleep eleven hours a night, we would definitely just let her go hungry for a day until she broke down and took the bottle. But it's just not worth it. I can get out of the house after she's gone to bed, and she only eats every 3.5 hours now, so it's not the horrible burden it was with Grace (who ate every 2.5 hours for MONTHS).

We're going to keep trying, though. It's like us getting a second car. I rarely use it; the van just sits in the driveway most days, but knowing it's there makes me feel so much better. I'd like to be able to know I can go out for an evening if I want to.

Oh my, it's 3:30. Emmy has been sleeping for almost three hours. I should go wake her.

PS If you would like a birth announcement, I have a few left over. I sent a few to some of you, and I meant to send a few to some of you but forgot to find addresses or get stamps, and still others I probably would have meant to send to you except I got distracted by something shiny.

The funniest person ever

2010-06-05T22:26:00.001-05:00

I have a problem. The problem is my face.

Have any of you ever been flipping through a beauty magazine and stumbled across an article on how to choose the correct shape of frames or necklines or hairdos for your face shape? And the three options are oval, heart-shaped, and square? And the shapes look roughly like this:

Mine kind of looks like this:

(Sister Dear, yes, I know you jaw is squarer than mine, but you have a fun hairline with a widow's peak to make it look good. All I have is forehead, acres and acres of forehead. With almost-bald spots at my temples where my hair is really fine and wispy, which is really cute on a toddler, but I'm 27.)

They don't sell glasses for women with faces like this, people. In fact, I found my last pair in the men's section.

So, I've been putting off getting new glasses for about four years now. The pair I found way back then was perfect for my face and I haven't found any like it since.

I eventually broke when my glasses got so scratched that putting them on almost made my vision worse. I was aggravated.

And the only place even remotely close to us that took our insurance was the Wal-mart vision center. Wal-mart. I was pretty sure I'd only find glasses like this:

Instead, I found these:

Oh, PhotoBooth. I love you and your crappy, flattering photos. Did you know that the one other picture of me in existence that I do not hate is also grainy? Hmmmm.

These glasses are almost identical to my old ones, only more flattering. It's a Christmas miracle! I love these glasses beyond all reason.

Also, I can see again. I suppose that's kind of cool, too.

I should mention that I recently discovered the funniest person on the Internet: Hyperbole and a Half. She does a lot of entries with lots of paint pictures, so it might look like I'm stealing ideas from her.

A) I'm not very good at Paint, whereas she is.
B) I've done entries before using Paint, but my Mac didn't have an equivalent program until now, which is why I haven't.
C) She inspired me to find a Mac Paint program so that I can go back to doing really crappy photo editing and diagrams for my entries.

Just so we're clear.

I'm sorry. Now I've lost the stupid camera power cord.

2010-06-01T22:01:00.001-05:00

I know you people don't care, but we are in Phase II of Operation: Deswaddle. Phase I was one arm out. Now it's two arms out. Phase III will be no swaddle at all. That's next week.

I was shocked last night when she went to sleep on her own with both arms out. I thought this was going to be a battle. It took her a few extra minutes to settle down, but it was just intermittent bleats for about ten minutes. Tonight it's more of the same. Oh, and she found her thumb. I went in to wake her up this morning (yes, I had to wake her up), and she was sucking her thumb. This is odd because when she's a wake she tries SO HARD to get that thumb in there and is always poking herself in the eye or punching herself in the forehead instead.

I didn't know it was possible to have a baby easier than Grace.

If the trend continues, I will next give birth to a bean bag.

James is going away for a week pretty soon. Even with the two easiest babies in the entire world, I'm dreading it. Evenings are the hardest time of day; it's when Emmy's naps are the shortest and least reliable, it's when Emmy is the closest to grouchy she ever gets, it's when I have to get dinner together with a needy toddler hanging off my leg, it's when I'm completely worn out and short on patience. Feh.

Well, the first time he went away after Grace was born was nowhere near as hard as I'd expected, so maybe it will be that way this time.

When I was sick a few weeks ago, James was doing pretty much all the household work plus his own work for the last day and a half. He was ready to stay home from a birthday party that weekend, but he needed a break, and all I had was a stupid cold anyway.

I was dreading it. I felt like my limbs were made of hummus, and my face was packed with more of the same. So that night was not looking to be super awesome fun time with two small humans.

But! It was easy. I gave Grace a bath, Emmy stayed pretty content all on her own. Both of them went to bed without a fuss, and I laid in bed the rest of the evening

Really, life with two kids this small is not anywhere near as difficult as I'd imagined. I'm sure there will be another period of adjustment once Emmy gets mobile, but even that will be fine once I adapt.

I'm so scatterbrained and naturally lazy that I pictured a chaos-filled household, miserable children, and an alcoholic me. But it's been very good for me. I've fallen into a schedule of sorts that keeps me moving all morning, keeps the house clean, the kids happy(ish, most of the time), and homemade dinners on the table. I get a 40-minute workout every afternoon (when it's not twelve thousand degrees in here), and then have the rest of the day free to spend with family, or do a little extra picking up, or go for a walk, or whatever.

I'm more worn out by the end of the day, and it's much harder to get out of the house now, but I'd say, on the whole, I'm better off now than I was with just Grace. Having two of them keeps me on my toes, keeps me from lazing around all day. It's nice.

Speaking of working out, DUDE. STILL HAVE NOT LOST WEIGHT. I blame the breastfeeding. For most of the day, I'm not that hungry. For breakfast I'll have oatmeal, yogurt, and a banana, or something like it, and then not be hungry again until one or two. Even if I do get hungry, it doesn't bother me that much. I can wait until I have more time to throw something together.

And then evening comes, and I'm like an animal. I don't even need to be hungry to have this compulsion to eat, eat, eat (but if I am hungry, WATCH OUT).

I crave ice cream like it's the only thing on Earth that will keep me alive. If I can't get ice cream, it's glazed doughnuts. If I can't get glazed doughnuts, I'm pretty miserable for the last, oh, seven hours of the day (which is pretty much every day since I've all but banned such things from our home, knowing what I do to them).

I've never had a sweet tooth except while breastfeeding, so this is not a lifetime of ingrained eating habits. If that were it, I'd be shoveling in bricks of cheese and dill pickles and lettuce (yes, I know, I like weird things). I would very much like to know why healthy alternatives to ice cream are not at all satisfying, not in the least. What did frontier women do while breastfeeding? What do desert nomads do while breastfeeding? Do they all just go stark raving mad? Or do some humans actually eat their young? Why does my body compel me to want ice cream, yet completely reject delicious fruits and frozen yogurt?

I MUST KNOW. I am sick of hauling all this weight around. I feel heavy and tired and gross and BLAAAAGH.

(The good things is that, while my belly looks worse, my legs have not looked this close to fabulous since my sophomore year of college.)

(I will never actually have fabulous legs, because I am genetically predisposed to mutant cellulite awfulness, which started at the ripe old age of 12, when I was in 8th grade and had approximately 4% body fat.)

(Yes, I'm ANGRY.)

Dear show, thank you for ruining my life

2010-05-25T00:10:00.002-05:00

Dudes. I got nothin'.

My darling sister and Adventures in Cooking have both been breathing down my neck to write another entry, but the last couple of weeks were one long blur of suck and then busyness, and now more suck. It's like 800 degrees here with 146% humidity, and my brain feels like this looks, except half-melted:

Wedding shower on Saturday. I consumed more sugar in those two hours than I normally do in a year. Woke up with a headache on Sunday, and now it's sweltering, and there's no way I'm getting on the elliptical anytime this week. I feel gross and worthless. Maybe I will start jogging outside at night.

Wait, no. No, I won't.

2.0 is more like 2.0 x 10⁸ (too bad I didn't name her 3.0 because then she'd be the speed of light, and I am such a dork). I'm obsessed with her weight and length because I have never seen a baby grow so fast. It's almost obscene. She's about 17 pounds and 26 inches now. As big as Grace was around 7 or 8 months. I do not feed her Sprite and doughnuts, I swear.

I watched the finale of Lost. Now, I figured it would be a letdown. A show that great just can't have a satisfying finale. It's pretty much impossible. But oh my gosh, people. I can't even tell you how irritating this was.

It was so schmaltzy and argh. And schmaltzy. Did I mention that? Because it was. I expect better from you, show.

For most of the episode, I was pretty sure we were looking at a Rambaldi device, which would have been annoying, but not as lame as what it really was, which I'm still not sure of. Have you ever been talking about something and suddenly realized you were running off at the mouth, and you let your sentence just trail off aimlessly because you didn't know where it was going anyway? That was the finale of Lost. I think the writers were all drunk and got tired.

And then the scene in the church at the end. Oh my gosh. What annoyed me the most--and I know this is stupid--was the stained-glass window. A cross, a moon and star, a star of David, and a bunch of other Major World Religion symbols. It was so ridiculously heavy-handed I wanted to barf.

So, we took our mower to the hardware store to get repaired. It's always been broken. One of the wheels likes to come off, and James has to stop and kick it back on. It adds more than a few minutes to the job.

It's now been a week and a half, and they're still not done with it. Meanwhile, our lawn looks like something out of Little House on the Prairie. I'm afraid to go play in the yard with Grace because I'm pretty sure I'd lose her. Soon, the neighbors will start complaining. Too bad Shirtless Yardwork Neighbor Man is no longer around to mow our lawn when it gets too long.

We need a new car seat. The Enormous One is not going to fit into hers much longer unless she stops eating (hah!). It needs to be a convertible, easy to install without LATCH, and rear-facing up to a pretty high weight. Also, it must not exceed the value of the child who will be sitting in it. Otherwise, I'll just sell her to the highest bidder and buy myself a cute little sports car.

I am running out of shows to watch on Netflix while I feed the rabid beast. I started Torchwood and was intrigued, but it's not really clicking with me. Any suggestions?

I would like to read while feeding the baby, but I find it difficult to hold her and a book at the same time.

We started weaning her from the swaddle tonight. It was so hot in her room. I left one arm out. Hopefully we don't wake at three in the morning to an enraged, naked baby. Few things are less pleasant.

Remember earlier how I talked about trailing off at the end of a sentence because you realize you're rambling on about nothing? Yeah, that's what I'm doing. So now I'll stop.

Next haircut will be The Schrute

2010-05-08T23:30:00.001-05:00

I am dying. Of a cold. The Spawn had it for a day and are now just fine. Me, though, I feel like my face is about to come off. Even my teeth hurt.

The good news is that, since it hurts so much to chew, I've lost a little weight.

Speaking of The Spawn, The Child got a haircut a few days ago. The last one went really well, and she had the cutest little bob with bangs. She fussed and squirmed a little bit, but not enough to screw up the haircut.

Then it grew out. My sister pointed out the Lloyd Christmasness of it while she was here visiting last week. As hilarious as I think this is, I decided it was probably time to get another haircut. So Jeremy took her on Tuesday evening. By himself. I was not there.

(have I mentioned that she recently switched sides from Team Daddy to Team Mama?)

They were back much, much sooner than expected. And her hair... Oh, her hair. It's not really that bad, I suppose. Especially considering how three of the four haircuts I've given her have turned out. But her bangs are crooked, and instead of the little layered bob, she now has something close to a bowl cut. With little extra-long wisps behind the ears.

Totally not the stylist's fault, I should add (though we can take her back to get it fixed for free). James said Grace wouldn't hold still, and screamed, and tried to climb up his body, and chanted "donedonedonedonedonedonedone" the entire ten minutes. Next time we're both going.

So now she looks like Lloyd Christmas got caught in a combine.

My sister! Came to visit last weekend! And now I have nothing to live for!

Okay, that's not true. And I'm not just saying that because I know she reads this. But I need to find a new Big Thing to look forward to. I don't need much excitement in life, but I feel so aimless when there isn't a Big Thing off in the distance.

Anyway, she and my brother (both lunatics, if you ask me) ran a marathon. On purpose.

I might think they're lunatics, but I still think it's pretty awesome. Go siblings! I will cheer you from the comfy underachiever's chair over here.

James has been picking up the slack for the last day and half since I got sick. I get nasty colds, but they're not usually this bad. I think it's that I haven't been sleeping since Emmy got here.

It's not her fault. I won't tell you how well she sleeps, since all you other mothers will want to kill me, but it's long enough that I could get more than enough sleep every night. It's the same thing I did when Grace first arrived: spend all day paying attention to a needy human incapable of irrational thought, and after bedtime, there's not way you're wasting those precious hours by sleeping. Geez.

I always regret it the next morning. Especially when I wake up wishing to be decapitated. Like yesterday and today. No pseudoephedrine, since it can affect milk supply, so I'm left without any means of relief. Except for the neti pot that James got me a few months ago. The thing is amazing, people. Sure, it's only temporary relief, but it's wonderful. I could sleep with one of those glued to my face, except that I would probably drown. They need to make something that flushes your entire sinus system. It would be amazing.

I discovered that Netflix has the entire Office series on its website. Guess what I've been doing for the last day and a half while wishing to die. Yes, watching a lot of The Office. Also, I tend to have really, really weird dreams when I'm sick. You can perhaps imagine what kind of fresh new horrors my subconscious has invented that involve beets, Toby's dead eyes, and Dwight's cousin Mose.

On that note, I need to go back to sleep again. I'd like to be able to go to church tomorrow.

Grumps and Stumps

2010-04-26T22:33:00.000-05:00

A friend came over today to help me rearrange my kitchen. Even if you were reading this then, you may not remember that there was insane flooding in our town when we first bought the house. All those months we'd planned to spend fixing up the house and moving in slowly were crammed into just a couple of weeks, and most of our moving was done in one day. So my kitchen was arranged somewhat haphazardly, with newly acquired items and products crammed in wherever they fit, but not in any logical manner.

I'm terrible at this sort of thing. With nowhere to even start, I'm paralyzed. It got to be too much this week, and I posted (jokingly) on Facebook that I needed Martha Stewart to come rearrange my kitchen for me. My friend offered instead. Can you believe she likes this sort of thing?

So she came over, stood in my kitchen, and pointed at things while I told her how often I used them and where I used them. Then she told me where to put them. Or she did it herself, sometimes. Did I mention she has a newborn? Her first baby? Who hardly sleeps? And needs to be carried at all times in a Moby wrap?

I think I may have spent half the visit gaping at her in awe. Grace slept like a champ within two weeks, and I was still a mess until she was about 6 months old.

I consider Emmy to be our second chance. Poor Grace was the experiment. She seems a little emotionally disturbed, but otherwise okay, so maybe I shouldn't feel too bad.

Anyway, my kitchen is now arranged perfectly to my liking. Acres of counter space that were once crammed with stuff. All my utensils within easy reach of food prep areas. Most-used dishes and silverware right next to the drain board. It's magical. I made dinner in about five seconds tonight. And it wasn't microwaved. Three different burners going on the stove at the same time.

(If you know me and know how big a flake I am, you will know that this is remarkable; zero multitasking skills here.)

Grace may be more damaged than I realize. We've started teaching her the Catechism for Young Children. We're still on question one, for obvious reasons:

Me: Grace, who made you?
Grace: Oatmeal?

Every single time.

Grace has always been a little slow to do everything (except talk). She took forever to roll over, took forever to sit, took forever to crawl and walk.

Emmy is her polar opposite in almost every way imaginable: She looks like me. She started out being a poor sleeper (compared to Grace, at least), but a great napper. And now she's a far better sleeper overall than Grace was at this age (sleeps 10.5 hours a night at 10 weeks, please don't hunt me down and kill me). She started out tiny, and is now a Babyzilla. Grace started out as Babyzilla and got skinnier and skinnier every day. Emmy started out grumpy and is now happy almost all the time. Grace started out happy and got really grumpy for about three months.

I did some research (read: I looked up a developmental milestone chart on Babycenter), and it turns out I'm NOT an overly proud, biased parent. Emmy actually IS freakishly advanced.

She's two and a half months old.

Going by percentiles, she is about the size of a 4.5-month-old.

She has gained an average of 12 oz/week since she bottomed out about three days after birth. Normal is 4-7 oz.

She's been doing mini-pushups for over a month now (half of all kids can do that at 3 months).

She can roll over front to back. Half of all kids can do that at 4 months.

She is in size 3 diapers.

Her torso is the size of a 6-9 month-old's.

The hilarious part is that her legs are still newborn-sized. We call her Stumps. James has taken to calling the two of them "Grumps and Stumps." Grace's sleeping patterns have devolved again, though they're not as bad as they were. She's semi-grouchy much of the time instead of freaking out all of the time. I'll take it.

One last little thing. I love cooking. LOVE it. But I'm slow. And scatterbrained. And no one ever really taught me. I fumbled my way through it on my honeymoon and have been slowly acquiring skills ever since.

(Uuuuh. Ignore the double meaning there, that I didn't even notice until I'd already typed the sentence.)

Are there any books that tell you how to get better at cooking? I try new recipes all the time, so I've got that part covered. But I mean cookingING books (not cook books) that are kind of like textbooks. And that aren't really dry. Something I'll actually read, use and enjoy.

Anyone? Thanks.

TV really does make you stupider

2010-04-22T15:29:00.003-05:00

So, I finally decide to get in shape, and what happens? I gain seven pounds, and my thighs grow an inch. Now, I truly do not mind my thighs get larger. If anything, it'll make my waist look smaller. It's all about the pants. I hate pants. Pants suck.

And don't suggest dresses and skirts. I have my reasons for hating most of those, too.

I'm beginning to understand mom jeans.

Someone needs to make mom jeans that don't look like mom jeans. Like, they still go up to your armpits so all that weird skin (TMI! Sorry!) is contained and doesn't hang over you waistband, but put the pockets nice and low so they look normal if you're wearing a shirt. Will they look totally bizarre on the rack? Yes. I do not care.

(Yes, I've tried Gap curvy fit jeans, and while I don't know what planet they are getting their "curvy" women from, I do know it's not Earth. Maybe planet America's Next Top Model.)

Speaking of shirts, who decided that women's shirts all had to be really short? My torso is about the same length as my toddler's, and I still have problems finding shirts that are long enough. I'd like to be able to do yardwork without sharing intimate details of my backside with the neighbors. Men's shirts are an option, of course, but I also like to resemble a woman more than a tent, even when I am getting all grubby. How do you people with normal proportions find shirts that aren't cut just below your ribcage? Am I missing something? Shopping in the girls' section by accident? What?

A friend from church gave us a CD of kids' music. I like it. It's cute without being obnoxious, which sets it apart from 99% of all other kids' CDs out there. Then there's this song:

Five little ducks went out one day,
Over the hills and far away.
Mother duck said, "Quack, quack, quack, quack!"
But only four little ducks came back.

Four little ducks went out one day,
Over the hills and far away.
Mother duck said, "Quack, quack, quack, quack!"
But only three little ducks came back.

Three little ducks went out one day,
Over the hills and far away.
Mother duck said, "Quack, quack, quack, quack!"
But only two little ducks came back.

Two little ducks went out one day,
Over the hills and far away.
Mother duck said, "Quack, quack, quack, quack!"
But only one little duck came back.

One little duck went out one day,
Over the hills and far away.
Mother duck said, "Quack, quack, quack, quack!"
And none of the five little ducks came back.

What kind of mother does that? I can kind of understand if she'd sent her kids out once after the first one went missing--I mean, you can't spend your whole life in fear just because something bad happens once, right? But after the second kid disappears, maybe it's time to change things a little. Maybe move to a better neighborhood, or perhaps go with your children when they go out to play. Stop smoking weed while they play in the street.

PBS programming. Does anyone ever watch this? It makes me want to bleed from the eyes. I turn on the TV to distract Grace while I nurse Emmy in the morning. For a while I stuck to PBS Kids, but it's got to be the most mind-numbing, awful TV ever in the universe. There is this sciency program that might be interesting, except that it's exactly like the videos we used to watch in 8th grade biology, down to the yellow subtitles and Casio keyboard soundtrack. While the subject matter is interesting, the delivery system just kills it. I keep having flashbacks to Mr. Titus and his habit of sending me to sit by myself in the back of the room every time I'd start talking.

Oh, wait. That would have been my fault, not his. But still. It was only because with the lights down and the narrator droning on in a monotone, the only way I could stay awake at 2:00 in the afternoon was to bug my neighbor. Man, I was annoying.

But then, after that, there's Dragon Tales. There are these two idiotic children who have a magical stone that take them to Dragon Land. I guessing the magical stone is really a giant crack rock, but don't tell PBS Kids. The other magical thing about it is that all these dragons don't eat these brain dead children alive. Max and Emmy, they're called.

One of the dragons has two heads. One head is a girl, one head is a boy. I can't even begin to understand how they think that works. Can you imagine how awkward it's going to be when one of them gets married?

One of the dragons is almost as brain dead as the children, and he even talks in this doofy voice that will drop your IQ three points for every minute that you watch (come to think of it, this explains a few things...).

One of the dragons has what sounds like a Mexican accent. No idea why. I mean, nothing wrong with that, but it just seems so random. Like he's their token nod to multiculturalism.

The dragon that annoys me the most is the shy pink one. She's supposedly the smarty pants of the bunch, but I'm pretty sure if she were any dumber, she'd be licking doorknobs.

The worst part is the plotlines. Now, I realize these are geared toward kids and their tiny, underdeveloped brains, but I don't remember being this dumb when I was that age. In fact, they're so dumb that I've completely forgotten the one that prompted me to write about the show in the first place.

I'll just put it this way: Instead of watching Dragon Tales, I now turn on America's Funniest Videos (hey, it's either that, infomercials, soap operas, or Spanish-language soap operas, which, come to think of it, are pretty awesome).

Does anyone have an iPad? I do not know what all the hype is about, but even if it were a bar of gold filled with everlasting chocolate, I do not think I could bring myself to buy one. It's the name. What a terribly unfortunate name. Every time I hear the word, "iPad," I imagine an electronic box of Kotex. I am pretty sure a man came up with the name. An older man who has never cringed through a commercial for feminine products.

Speaking of which, I have had the Summer's Eve jingle stuck in my head for about a week. Please shoot me.

And while we're on the topic of commercials, I have two that just kill me every single time.

All the Activia commercials are just awful, but my most favorite is the one with Jamie Lee Curtis (bless your heart, Jamie Lee, and I hope I look half as good as you do at whatever age you are) and the mom and daughter. And they're all standing around this gorgeous kitchen, eating their Activia, talking about their bowel movements and irregularity as if it were the latest celeb gossip. I looked for a video of it online, but couldn't find one. It's utterly bizarre. It's impossible to pinpoint exactly what about it sets me off, but I think it's the daughter's breezy openness about her irregularity problem and the way she pats her tummy.

Then there's the Life Alert commercial. It opens with this lady:

And while that's funny (not that old people fall, but the way they stage it), what is most hilarious to me is that they then put a bubble around her, and do the zoom-out and shrink thing, with an arrow pointing to where she is on a floor plan of a house. Like a "You Are Here!" pop-out on a map. You are here! Far from any telephones! Let me draw you a diagram!

Hm. I guess you have to see it because it's not as funny in writing. That's all. I have children who will not nap. Which is odd. They ALWAYS nap. Maybe it's the fresh spring air or the catnip in the yard or the ghosts in their closets.

Oh, but one last thing: a lot of you suggested just letting Grace cry, and then usually said something about being bad moms. First, I don't think you're bad moms. Second, that's what we've been doing. For weeks. We had an epiphany the other day, though, and tried moving her nap up an hour. She's slept like a rock every night since. I hate how dumb we are sometimes. I blame it on bad TV.